#the truth is. it's right there. it's literally with women

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Unfriended

JK Rowling: i was jusst thinking, maybe we should ssecretly photograph women in public bathroomss Rowling: you know, in casse they're transss Stephen Fry: so um Fry: i don't think we should be friends anymore Rowling: omg that came out of nowhere

Rowling: you can't do unfriend me over my legally protected gender critical beliefss! Rowling: that'ss literally illegal! Rowling: you'll hear from my lawyer! Allison Bailey: [feeding spaghetti to dog] haha look at him go, he loves his spaghetti

Rowling: i cannot believe that Ssstephen Fry doesssn't want to be my friend anymore Rowling: there wass no warning! Rowling: it wass like rapid onsset defriending ssyndrome

Rowling: sstephen fry can't jusst not be my friend, right? Kathleen Stock: a just question, dark lord Rowling: only i'm allowed to end friendshipsss! Rowling: he's taking away my agency!

[mysterious circle of robed figures] JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: i want you all to know i've never been friendss with sstephen fry Kathleen Stock: i thought he narrated your books? Rowling: WE'VE NEVER BEEN FRIENDSSS Rowling: alssso we've alwayss been at war with eurassia

Rowling: i think it'ss time we took our fight againsst transs rightss to the next level Kathleen Stock: but dark lord i thought we won Rowling: the fight againsst transs rightss can never truly be won, only essscalated

Rowling: itss time that we sstarted photographing women in public resstroomsss Rowling: itss important becausse Kathleen Stock: right away, dark lord! Helen Lewis: at once, dark lord! Jesse Singal: we'll start today, dark lord! Rowling: oh wow truth be told i wass expecting more pushback but hey thiss iss great

Rowling: finally, once we've completely normalized creepsshots, women will finally be ssafe Rowling: to sstop the bathroom pervertss, we musst become bathroom pervertss

Rowling: it sssure is a good thing that UK cellphones don't have a legally mandated shutter sssnap anti-creepshot sssound like in Japan Rowling: sssure hope no one ever changess that

Rowling: [rising over the stall divider] excusse me i sssaw you acrossss the bar and couldn't help but notice your sssussspiciousssly narrow pelvisssss

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Tweeted From the Lap of the Woman I Fear” — Reneé Rapp x Reader

— Everyone Ships It Except Them (Allegedly).

You weren’t trying to start discourse.

You weren’t trying to come out.

You were literally just sitting in Reneé Rapp’s lap, trying to find the charger under the couch without dislocating a rib, when your thumb slipped, and you sent the tweet.

[@/you] PROTECT GAY MARRIAGE

No context. No thread. Just… vibes.

And it would’ve been fine.

A normal tweet. Maybe even brave. Maybe people would think you were finally stepping into your truth—after years of dodgeballing the question with ironic astrology memes and chaotic fanfiction—and they’d clap, send flags, drop the gay-flag-heart emojis like it was digital confetti.

Except.

You weren’t done.

You just typed too fast.

[@/you, reply] SORRY I TYPED TOO FAST I MEANT PROTECT ME FROM GAY MARRIAGE 🚫🏳️‍🌈

Silence.

Then: the internet explodes.

You don’t even notice the chaos at first because Reneé is literally under you, laughing so hard she chokes on the cinnamon popcorn she just tried to sneak from your bowl.

“There’s something so psychotic about tweeting that while sitting in my lap,” she wheezes.

“I was unwell,” you mutter, scrolling with your other hand. “And also, your thighs are not structurally made for tweeting.”

“Excuse me—”

“You jiggle. My accuracy was compromised.”

Reneé tries to toss a kernel at your head but misses and hits her own knee. You ignore her.

Instead, you glance at the tweet again and that’s when you see it.

Over 1,500 likes in under ten minutes. Quote tweets rolling in like a tide of unhinged sapphics and confused allies.

“The bisexual urge to fear both commitment and women.” “no bc what does she MEAN by this 😭” “why is she literally sitting in Reneé’s lap in the tagged pic while tweeting this 😭😭😭” “girl WHAT” “this is what compulsory heterosexuality looks like y’all” “someone check on Reneé.”

You lower the phone slowly.

“I fear I may have tweeted a little too strongly.”

Reneé snorts. “You sound like a southern grandmother.”

“I have scandalized the timeline. They think I’m either a raging internalized homophobe or someone who wants a gay wedding with you but not too soon.”

“They’re not wrong.”

You side-eye her. “Which part.”

She shrugs. Grins like a gremlin.

“The wedding. I’d let you fake-cancel on me three times before we get married in a lesbian Home Depot.”

“That is oddly specific.”

“I’ve thought about it.”

You blink. Her hand is still on your hip.

You shift slightly on her lap, definitely not because your heart did something stupid and fluttery. Definitely not.

“I’m not gay,” you say flatly.

“You’re literally wearing my shirt.”

“This is just laundry efficiency.”

“You’re straddling me.”

“Because the remote is right there and I didn’t feel like moving around you.”

“And you tweeted about gay marriage while seated on me like a throne.”

“…It’s called nuance, Rapp.”

Your phone dings again.

Another quote tweet.

“not her sitting in Reneé Rapp’s lap typing ‘protect me from gay marriage’ like she hasn’t already emotionally married that woman four times and divorced her six���

You show it to Reneé.

She howls.

“No because that’s SO true,” she gasps, tears in her eyes. “You literally filed emotional divorce papers after I didn’t watch your favorite movie on your birthday.”

“Because it was Jennifer’s Body and you aggressively said Megan Fox was mid—”

“I was trolling! I love hot women!”

“So love me properly, coward!”

You’re yelling now. Over popcorn. From her lap. Your legs are tangled with hers. Your phone’s somewhere in the cushions, buzzing like a broken bee.

The timeline is full-on spiral mode now.

People are making memes. Screenshots. Threads dissecting your dynamic like it's queer theory in real time.

One of them posts a screenshot of your tweet with the caption:

“can’t decide if she’s closeted or just mentally unwell in a gay little way”

And honestly?

You retweet it.

Because yes.

It’s not like you’ve ever said the words. Not to your family. Not to the public. Not even to Reneé. You just kind of... existed. Drifted into her life like a post-credit scene. Fell into routines, jokes, glances that lingered. You don’t know when she became a constant. You just know she is.

You don’t need to define it.

Not when you’re like this.

On her lap, in her hoodie, screaming at your own tweet while she wipes popcorn grease from your cheek.

She leans in eventually.

When you’ve both stopped laughing.

When the room has settled.

When the sun’s nearly gone and your phone’s face-down.

“You scared of gay marriage?” she asks softly.

You smirk. “Only if it’s not you.”

Her mouth twitches. “So you admit it?”

“I admit nothing.”

She nods. “Okay.”

Then:

“But you do realize that typing ‘protect me from gay marriage’ while my hands were literally on your waist is kind of the funniest way to not come out.”

“You say that like I’m hiding something.”

“I say that like I know something.”

You look down at her. She looks up at you.

She doesn’t kiss you.

But her hand does slide up your thigh, warm and steady.

And you don’t stop her.

[fungusrice]

What are your thoughts on the idea of Stu/Sidney as a couple? Did you know that the actors that played them dated for 3 years in real life?

I'm sure this is something that would possibly trigger those who ship Stu and Billy, but I genuinely don't care about "shipping" or offended people, so I won't have issue sharing down on earth observations, so let's dive into it.

Whether people like it or not, Stu had a thing for women and for the female body. It is more than obvious, as we've received a lot of proofs -not just subtle hints- that he has been consuming girls, and had a very high sex-drive which he even joked about. Do we remember how he wanted to see breasts, and how it has been a returning subject? How proud he was when he said he was with Tatum last night? Or when Randy said that having sex is a big no-no in a horror movie, and Stu literally said that "then he'd be a dead man" with this expression?

Yes, this guy loves sex, and loves fucking women.

Now, about him and Sidney, this is not something I've been exploring that deep yet, however, I'd definitely want to dive deeper into this, because I think he might have been telling the truth and then we can try to figure out what Stu ways of "love" truly means.

You could see him making constantly mocking Randy whenever he tried to approach Sidney or talked about his chances, almost as if he'd try to disencourage him from even trying. He also called Sidney "baby" a couple of times (if my memory serves, but I'll double check those scenes that I certainly remember him addressing her in a sweet way). Of course, he is a highly energetic, very "clingy" person who is all about over exaggerated self-expression to get some attention -an another sad sign of how neglected and looked over he has been-, so it could mean anything.

However, let's be real, Stu was emotionally very unstable, and the lack of genuine love and attention he received (or should I straight up say he did NOT receive) definitely made him have a troublesome way of understanding relationships and "love" or "bonding".

It makes me feel like he used sex and invading others space as a form of "connection", because that was the only way he could "express himself", which was not much. Through the body.

Script time

In a script, Sidney actually asked Tatum about sex with Stu, to which she responded the following:

Sid pushes the cart out of the glass door with Tatum riding it. The GHOST MASKED FIGURE is nowhere to be found. Sidney: What do you think about when you're having sex? Tatum: With Stu, there's little time to stop and reflect. But sometimes before, to relax and get in the mood, I think about Grant Goodeve.

What could this indicate?

"There's little time to stop and reflect" This might hint that sex with Stu is intense, impulsive and rather physical than emotional. It's possibly fast-paced, perhaps even a bit wild. He likely jumps right into things with high energy (which'd be very fitting for Stu’s personality) without much cuddly foreplay or slow build-up, which Tatum has been missing.

But remember, Stu likely did not love Tatum.

There are multiple reasons why he possibly started to date her right after he got dumped (which he lied about to his friends and Tatum, acting as if he was the one dumping Casey, possibly to preserve himself from taunts and the humiliation that comes from getting replaced by someone "better"). Dating Tatum helped him get closer to Sidney.

[tw1stedthicket]

i think i might be a lesbian

[tendergutzz]

When does reality become worse than the handmaid's tale? When do we stop using that as the reference point?

[ellipsus-writes]

The words they're afraid of.

(Read on our blog.)

The recently appointed Department of Defense head Pete Hegseth (formerly Fox News pundit, perpetually soused creepy uncle, and current group chat leaker of classified intel) banned images of the Enola Gay from the Pentagon’s website for the offense of “DEI” language. In keeping with the far right’s stated war on anything vaguely resembling diversity, equity and inclusion, even historical photos are up for cancellation. When a literal weapon of mass destruction is censored for being a bit fruity under the Trump administration’s war against inconvenient truths, what exactly is left untouched?

This is clown show stuff, but the stakes are far from funny. While some might be hesitant to compare the current administration to the very worst history has to offer, we can at least all agree that they are dyed-in-the-wool grammar Nazis. Policing language has been the objective of the MAGA culture war long before Project 2025’s debut—the wave of book bans orchestrated by astroturf movements like Moms for Liberty, and Florida’s 2022 Don’t Say Gay bill have already had a profound effect in the arena of free speech and freedom of expression (despite the far right’s long tradition of doublespeak performative free-speech martyrdom to the contrary). Don’t Say Gay ostensibly targeted K-3 education, but LGBT+ content at all levels of education (and beyond) was either quietly censored or entirely preempted in practice. The results were not just a war on so-called ideology, or words alone—but on reality and essential freedoms.

Now, words as innocuous and important as racism, climate change, hate speech, prejudice, mental health, and inequality are targeted as subversive. Entire concepts are being vanished from government institutions, scrubbed not only from descriptions but from metadata, search indexes, and archival frameworks.

If you don’t name a thing, does it exist?

These words are as numerous as they are generic: women, race, Black, immigrants, multicultural, gender, injustice. But what is painfully unserious is also particularly dangerous in its real-world consequences. The process of controlling words is a well-worn authoritarian tendency. Fifty-two universities are now under investigation as part of the President's effort to curb “woke” research and thought crimes. Institutions are being coerced to comply with a nebulous set of ideological demands, or face budgetary annihilation. That means cutting funding for entire departments, slashing financial aid, defunding scientific grants, and pressuring faculty to self-censor.

The possibilities for censorship extend far and wide—interfering, by extension, in everything from reproductive healthcare programs, to libraries and museums. The Trump administration’s proposed budget slashing all federal funding for libraries, including the Institute of Museum and Library Services, will effectively gut an infrastructure that supports over 100,000 libraries and museums across the country—community centers, educational lifelines, internet access points, and archives of marginalized histories (starting with the Smithsonian Institution).

When you erase access, you erase participation. And when you erase participation, you erase people, and the means by which future generations might even learn they existed. A culture that cannot remember is a culture that cannot resist.

The erasure is, yet again, unsurprisingly targeted at minorities and LGBT+ people. The National Parks Service quietly revised the Stonewall Monument’s website to remove references to transgender people—a fundamental part of the original protests. Not an oversight, not a mistake, but a deliberate excision—one point in a wider plan of erasure depicted in stark detail in Project 2025, a blueprint to dismantle civil rights, defund LGBT+-related healthcare, and rewrite history from the ground up.

Dehumanization by deletion—welcome to the reactionary resurgence of doubleplusungood governance. In Trumpland, words are weapons—but not in the way they intend. Their fear of language betrays its power; that’s why they’re trying so hard to police it.

Words hurt them.

Hurt them back.

- the Ellipsus Team

[tokoyamisstuff]

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]

[toothfa-1-ry]

JUST FATHER ACTIVITIES

Imagine in an alternative universe, somehow you and your baby daddy Thanos escape the games (don't ask me how) and you guys pay off all of your debts and have financial stability

Basically father! Thanos headcannons!!

First of all, thanos is a girl dad. Idc i do not make the rules you CANNOT and WILL not change my mind otherwise

After the games, irrelevant of whether you were also in the games with him or not, he'd quit his drug addiction and go to a rehabilitation centre for the sake of your daughter

You couldn't change him, but your daughter could

Thanos would go with you to the gynae every single time without fail, he'd brag about it (very loudly) though

"Look" thanos points at all the patients in the waiting room in the gynae clinic "how many women do you see with their husband's accompanying them?"

"Thanos shut the fuck up" you'd hiss at him, while hitting his arm. The women around you guys giving you the stink eye which he proudly gave back

"I'm just saying the truth- is it a sin to speak the truth?!?"

Will brag to the doctor and nurses too

"Say doctor miss" he leans back at his chair with his head held up high "how many husband's accompany their wives to the clinic?"

"Oh well that depends, not all the time-"

*insert thanos's loud proud laugh, his head thrown back while you grimace*

"I'm the fucking best aren't i"

*insert your slow head shaking* "Yes babe, you sure are"

He was always protective of you, but it grew even stronger after he found out you were pregnant

The type to protect you from a pigeon if he felt like it looked at you for a second too long

"Wtf are you looking at you cross eyed motherfucker"

*glares at the pigeon from a distance"

The type of person to hyper fixated on whatever small movement you do cause he's doesn't want you to get hurt

"Oh be careful be careful" *Holds your hand* "hold my hand and dont let go, use your other hand on the railing"

Says that he doesn't need to read or watch those "pregnancy classes" or "how to take care of a new born" classes cause he's already fully prepared

You later find out that he signed up for one of those seminars online and attends those lectures at night while your asleep

Bro probably has even stronger baby fever than you do

Buys things for the baby and you

"Thanos.. what's that in your hand"

"It's a costume, a ironman costume"

"For?"

"Our daughter 🙄 duh y/n"

"Babe, she still isn't even born"

"I got you a costume too" *takes out a black widow costume that seemed a little too racey* "you should try wearing it now just incase-"

*he got hit by you for trying to get you pregnant again while you were pregnant*

Let's say nam gyu wasn't the slimy bitch he was in the series

Best GODFATHER ever. GOATED godfather, S TIER godfather

I already mentioned this but I'm sure Thanos and nam gyu would come up with names for the baby

I'm talking wack ass names that they genuinely find cool

The list of names would include marvel character names (cause cmon, the child's dad is literally called thanos) or rapper names

"Add cardi b on the list too"

"You know that's not her real name right?" Nam gyu asked, pausing before quickly scribbling the name down

"WHAT?!? Since when??"

I'm sure nam gyu even accompanied the two of you to the clinic atleast once or twice

He was banned from coming though cause him and Thanos together made too much noise

Whenever you and thanos are in public, it doesn't matter if your in a cafe or restaurant or if your just out for a walk

If he meets anyone and i mean anyone

He'd tell them that he was gonna be a dad

"Hey do you know that I'm gonna be a dad?" *points at you* "and that's the mom- she's carrying my baby"

"Sir I'm the waiter"

On the softer note though

Kisses you on the lips first and then kisses your stomach second before you both go to sleep

If you groan or even if he senses a inch of your discomfort he'll automatically try to figure out a way to make you feel in ease

Tries his best not to annoy you

(It doesn't always work cause being annoying is his entire personality trait but it's the effort that counts!!)

Ties your shoelaces for you cause you can't bend over

Traces shapes over your stomach while you both lie next to eachother

Reminds you how pretty you are everyday

"If I'm the legend Thanos, then I guess you would be a myth, cause only a face like yours could make a man like me want to quit"

"Your so corny"

But you wouldn't have it any other way

[lovedrruunk]

Arcane women and their very specific toxic traits/red flags

this hurt my soul to make but THE TRUTH MUST BE SPOKEN!!!

Caitlyn, constantly feels the need to correct you. Whether it be your grammar, spelling, literally just anything you get wrong, you best believe she’s right there correcting you like the KNOW IT ALL she is. She also has the tiniest savior complex but if you point it out she'll deny it and get defensive. If you don’t meet her high standards or expectations (that r UNSPOKEN), she’ll try to “help” you improve but it just feels more like constant nitpicking than support.

Sevika, don’t even try to ask this woman something. 100% believes in stupid questions. If you ask her something she deems as dumb she will actually get so pissed off even if you’re completely serious. She’ll give you this look of pure annoyance/disappointment that will honestly just make you shut yourself up. Loves to answer with “’Dunno.” WHEN SHE DAMN WELL BE KNOWING!!!! Has a whole “Figure it out yourself” attitude

Jinx, never gives you details about anything. Will just randomly leave the house without telling you where she's going because she thinks there's no reason for you to know. She doesn't do it to be secretive like she genuinely just doesn't understand why you need to know if it has 'nothing to do with you.' If you scold her about it she'll pretend to understand but still won't remember to tell you whenever she goes out. Also this isn’t JUST about her leaving the house it’s about literally everything like she just won’t tell u anything

Vi, has a really bad interrupting problem. You'll be telling her about something and if you say even one word that reminds her of something else she'll bring it up and change the entire conversation topic. She thinks she's being engaging but really it's just super annoying and makes you not even want to tell her about your day because you know she'll just end up talking about something else.

Mel, is lowkey highkey really manipulative... like she definitely knows how to use her charm to get you to do what she wants. She's like so good at it too like you won't notice what she was doing until you're already stuck doing what she's asked for. She's so like nice and sweet with the way she gives you attention right before asking you to get something done for her.

edit: I WROTE THIS LAST NIGHT WHEN I WAS SLEEP DEPRIVED AND FORGOT I POSTED IT LMAO I feel like these could’ve been better so maybe part 2 soon…

[ahqkas]

“MILLION DOLLAR MAN — bruce wayne.

PAIRING! bruce wayne 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! bruce met you through a dating app (his sons’ doing, really) and the temptation to invite you over for christmas is getting harder to resist WORD COUNT! 3.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, bruce is literally down bad for reader in this one, unedited + lmk if found! NOTES! for nat & based on this req. , header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE AVOIDED RELATIONSHIPS LIKE A SOLDIER DODGING BULLETS, each attempt adding yet another layer to the armor he wore daily. He didn’t need them, the women, or so he told himself. They entered his life easily — at his own charity galas, where one pretty bird thought she could get a kiss from him by the end of the night. Female admirers who ate up his charming smiles and sharp eyes seemed to flock around him at all times. And those countless girls who were lured in by the Wayne name, the status, the wealth.

And Bruce gave them the attention they craved from him.

The women served their purpose as brief districtions, companions who helped him maintain his public image, but none of them really mattered to him.

They kept the colder side of his bed warm, but never his heart.

It wasn’t that Bruce didn’t want love — some part of him did, but that part was buried under the weight of Batman. Allowing himself to lose the walls around him and find an attachment in a woman wasn't something his alter ego was okay with, not with the way he’d been living. And another part convinced him that his duties as Gotham’s protector, with all his scars and wounds, didn’t make him a possible object for such things. Love and vigilantism didn’t mingle together well.

Maybe that’s why his own sons and personal butler teamed up on him. Batman was a hero to many, but with how much it damaged Bruce’s internal beliefs, it would ruin him soon enough.

It started as something innocent (but it seemed the wolf was clothed in sheep’s wool): Dick, his oldest, had teased him about his non-existent love life during a training session in the Batcave.

The large space was full with flickering lights coming from the monitors and grunts from the fighting men. Sweat filled the air, masculine and strong, but that only indicated to the hard work they were doing. Training wasn’t easy, they liked to train with the maximum intensity ( it was kinda needed, too ) and it showed. From their damp hair and glistening skin to the rippling muscles underneath their clothes.

“You know, Bruce,” his son started when he blocked yet another strike coming from the man in question. A puff of air left his mouth upon the attack. Not fair. “for someone who spends his nights saving people, you sure are terrible at saving yourself from eternal loneliness.”

Bruce delivered another jab, this one directed straight at Dick’s weak point. “Not now, Dick.”

But his son was nothing if not persistent and he always got what he wanted, whether it was with or without serious consequences. “I’m serious. When was the last time you went on a date? And don’t try to tell me you had one on your arm during the last charity event. That doesn’t count.”

Both of them fully knew Bruce’s arm candies were way more interested in his name and money than in his heart and soul. The truth made his jaw muscles tighten at the realization.

“My personal life is irrelevant to my work.”

Dick took the opportunity and circled the older man like a predator catching the prey’s scent of blood. A sweet weakness, that one. He’d be stupid if he didn’t take the chance. “Is it though? I mean, sure, you’re great at taking down supervillains and brooding on top of high rooftops, but even Batman needs a little action sometimes. The different kind of action, of course. Or are you planning to spend the rest of your life married to the job?”

Bruce swiped his right leg toward Dick’s shins, trying to take him down like he was the said supervillain but the acrobat jumped right on time, avoiding Bruce’s attempt with a grin on his face.

He landed on his feet and crossed his arms at his chest, leaning the weight of his body against one leg. The playfulness disappeared from both his voice and expression and instead, seriousness graced him whole. “Seriously, Bruce, even Alfred’s worried. He brought it up the other day while we were decorating the tree. Something about how the manor feels colder than usual this year.”

“The heating system is fine.”

With Jason gone, it was the truth. His second son had this strange relationship with all the members of the family. Off and on. Off and on. No one truly knew where they stood in Jason’s eyes but he made the effort and showed up on Christmas Eve the other year upon receiving Alfred’s invitation.

Bruce doubted he would show up two years in a row.

“That’s not what he meant, and you know it,” Dick pressed, and effectively added more salt into Bruce’s wounds. It stung and it fucking hurt. As much as Batman was ruthless, it didn’t mean the man under the mask was resistant against the pain his life brought. “You’re not getting any younger, B. It wouldn’t kill you to let someone in. And I don’t mean us. Try to meet someone who isn’t friendly with a criminal record.”

The older man could only stare helplessly at the other. Those words his son, partner, spoke were loud, crawling their way into his mind and much to his dismay, his heart as well.

Before he could voice his dismissal, a younger voice called out. It was familiar in a way family tended to be.

“You are wasting your breath, Grayson. Father has neither the time nor the inclination to entertain your nonsense,” his youngest son declared into the space of Batcave, his voice ringing out and echoing every single word. The blood son, Damian Wayne.

The father didn’t even flinch, just let out a deep sigh through his nose. It was as usual between those two, always bickering from Damian’s side and teasing remarks from Dick’s. You could mistake the blood running through their system as one, if not for the physical differences. They were brothers in all but red.

“Damian,” Dick started in that lecturing tone he’d always seemed to use with the younger boy, “when was the last time you saw Bruce here even try to have a social life?”

Damian rolled his eyes, the green disappearing behind his eyelids before they reappeared, rougher than they were. “The so called ‘social life’ you’re referring to consists of women who barely last through dinner. Why would he waste his energy on distractions when Gotham requires his full attention?”

“Because even Batman needs a break. You know, normal human things? Like dating, smiling, not dying alone in this cave surrounded by bats?”

“If Father is content with his choices, who are you to meddle? Unlike you, he does not require constant companionship to validate his existence.”

“Ouch,” Dick put his palm against his heart in a mocking manner, feigning hurt as his lips formed a pout. “You’ve got a real gift for the Christmas spirit, don’t you?”

The younger son narrowed his eyes at his supposed brother. The constant bickering was almost normal in their lives so far, and nothing seemed to be changing any time soon. He had to learn how to live with the excuse of a brother, although he started to form a light liking towards him. He wasn’t so bad. “I only speak the truth,” his green irises flicked to Bruce. “Though it is peculiar he tolerates your interference. Perhaps even Father has realized how pathetic his current romantic life—or lack thereof—appears.”

The object of the conversation let out another sigh, this one loud enough for the boys to hear. Their gazes snapped toward Bruce with accusingly great speed.

“If you two are done debating my personal life, there’s actual work to be done.”

He missed the glance his oldest threw at the youngest. He missed the look filled with amusement and a plan that was already brewing. He missed the nod they gave each other, although Dick’s was more pronounced and determined.

The next few hours were spent creating Bruce’s dating app profile.

The final result was the definition of real sugar daddy vibes. Every detail had been debated (mostly argued over though) and thought through, so to say the boys were satisfied with it was an understatement. The oldest prided in the work, saying how it would get so many women to reply which would eventually lead to the right one. The middle one Dick and Damian (only Dick) dragged into the activity beamed up once the profile was set while the youngest scoffed and scowled during the entire process.

During the next evening, the boys showed the main man his new account.

Bruce was left speechless upon seeing the bright screen flash before his eyes. Not a single word was muttered as he watched his boys showing him the app and explaining how exactly it worked (he’d never used a dating app before all this so bear with him). The main photo on the profile was a candid one of him, the one Cass had taken on a sunny day in the Wayne Manor gardern. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, the long sleeves rolled up past his elbows as the muscles of his forearms bulged up. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the sunlight casting shadows across his sharp features and Bruce had to admit they chose a good photo.

It wasn’t intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly friendly as well. The good old middle.

The boys knew he was convinced to give it a try when he waved them off with a deep sigh slipping past his lips.

The game was on.

It was past the midnight when he lied in his bed, propped against one too many pillows and wondered why he was still scrolling through the damned dating app. It was late—far past the time he should have been out on patrol, but Red Hood and Red Robin got it covered for him.

Bruce wasn’t looking for anything specific, really. If he were honest, this whole situation felt out of place for him. Swiping through the profiles was more like an exercise for his thumb.

First was Madison K. Her profile opened with flashy colors that immediately put Bruce into a doubtful situation. Were all these women going to be like this? Madison was beautiful and her looks screamed professionalism: her makeup was done flawlessly, adorning her bright eyes and full lips. She looked like she belonged on a cover for a fashion magazine, not a dating app. Her bio made his thumb swipe left.

‘Manifesting my best life. CEO of my own happiness. Looking for someone who’s successful, ambitious, and knows how to treat me like a queen.’

The next account’s bio made him grimace and swipe left once again.

‘Looking for someone who can keep me living the dream. If you’re successful, generous, and ready to spoil me, let’s talk.”

At this point, Bruce was ready to delete the dating app his boys set up and enjoy the rest of his night. Most of the profiles he swiped through were simply bland to him. Nothing felt genuine. Right. It was safe to say he was losing the hope Dick had set in him earlier in the evening. Until he stumbled upon your profile.

The account stood out among the others—simple, elegant, but with a certain amount of warmth that seemed genuine. Bruce’s heart skipped a beat once he scrolled further and came across your photo. The picture showed you in a cozy cafe, the one Steph adored so much for their cinnamon roll buns. A soft smile danced on your pretty face, highlighting the curve of your cheeks as you looked off to the side. You captured Bruce in a way the others didn’t.

You looked like a fawn surrounded by hungry wolves. You were admirable while they were craving wealth and status. Two different sides of a coin, but Bruce had already known his pick.

Your bio was sincere, a sight the man liked to see.

‘I enjoy the little moments — finding beauty in the simple things. I believe in kindness, and I’m looking for someone who values honesty and a deep conversation.’

His mind flicked briefly toward the countless hours he spends in the cave, surrounded by work and worries. You seemed like the one who could understand the balance between the quiet and the loud, someone who could exist in both of his worlds without losing that spark you held in your gaze.

Before he could overthink it, Bruce clicked on the “message” button.

Once the screen of your non-existent chat appeared, his mind went blank and all he was capable of was to stare mindlessly at the phone. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but no words came to him. What did one say to someone like you? He wasn’t used to thinking ahead when it came to women. This was a new field. And he couldn’t screw up.

Finally, his fingers moved before his mind could think of whatever embarrassing thing it was capable of.

> Hey, I noticed your profile and wanted to reach out. There’s something about your words that struck a chord with me. I’d like to know more about you.

And that’s how the two of you started your relationship, or whatever you could call it. Neither of you voiced it as official, but that was okay. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, not so soon. And yet it came at him, crashing like a large wave of emotions every time you were around. You changed everything for him.

Your conversations became the highlight of his days.

His ears perked up every single time without a fail when he heard the soft ‘ping!’ of the notification, already convinced it was from you (and it 98 percent was). Whether it was early in the morning before he started working in the chaotic Wayne Enterprises or late at night when the Batcave was quiet and felt at peace. You were always there with him.

You were thoughtful, generous, and refreshingly kind. You asked him questions that no one else dared to: what he wanted from life, what made him happy, what kept him awake at night. You didn’t flinch at his silence. You didn’t push him to give answers he wasn’t ready to share. You understood him in a way only a few people did.

Piece by piece, he let you into his world — not that part filled with constant danger and threats, but that part that longed for something real.

By the time Christmas approached, Bruce was sure of one thing: he wanted you in his life.

The holiday was just around the corner, filling the air with joy and gratitude as it always did. The snow was blanketing the streets with white powder, and although many people were complaining about the cold, it had its charm.

Christmas had always been about family for Bruce, about gathering around the tree and full table with the people who mattered most. It was lonely at first, after the death of his parents, but over the years, Alfred had made it work. The table was always full of tasty food the kids adored and presents Bruce knew would make them more than happy were neatly waiting for them every morning after Christmas Eve.

This year though, Bruce wanted it to be a little different. He wanted you to be part of it.

You might actually fit into the chaos of the Wayne family — the teasing and playful banters between you, Dick, and Tim would be absolute gold to hear. You probably even could handle Damian’s wit which was something his father would like to see. He could picture you smiling, holding back your own remarks. The idea of you sitting beside him at the long dining table, sharing their traditions, made his chest feel warm in a way he wasn’t used to.

That night, he sent you a message.

> Are you free on Christmas Eve?

Your response came in quickly, as it always did. Bruce’s heart thumped against the bones of his ribs.

> I am. Why?

He hesitated for a bit, overthinking his decision.

> I’d like you to join me for dinner. It’s a family thing but I’d really like for you to be there.

> Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude.

> You wouldn’t be intruding.

Bruce could picture the light frown between your brows and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. You often did it unconsciously, never knowing how pretty you looked this way. But even as he pictured your face, a part of him was growing more nervous about the situation. Would you agree to an event this serious? Spend Christmas with him. And his family. Or were you coming up with excuses right now? He wouldn’t blame you.

> Then I’d love to come.

His heart skipped a beat and that night, Bruce went to bed feeling a little lighter than he usually did.

Snow blanketed the long driveway leading up to Wayne Manor and for once, Bruce wasn’t thinking about the pressure of Batman or the chaos the boys would definitely stir up tonight. His attention was entirely focused on the one making your way towards him. He stood just outside the grand entrance, dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit that fit him like a glove. The soft crunch of tires on the white powder alerted him to your arrival, and as your car pulled up, Bruce started to feel the nervousness. He adjusted his tie with a single hand.

When you stepped out, his breath caught.

You were breathtakingly beautiful. Dressed in an inky black that hugged your figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmered under the outdoor lights of the mansion. The smile you gave him when your eyes met melted all the nerves that had been harboring in his system. He was finally calm and composed, for what seemed like the first time in the evening.

“You’re early,” Bruce pointed out softly when you walked up the stairs to meet him in front of the door, and his eyes sparkled with little stars at the sight of you. How did he get so lucky? “You look stunning, by the way.”

“I didn’t want to keep you waiting. And thank you. You clean up well, too, Bruce.”

Your gaze held a playful edge in it as you accepted his hand, locking your palm around his bulging biceps and squeezing warmly. The touch added the missing piece of the puzzle Bruce was trying to solve while his cheeks warmed a rosy pink under your influence without any hesitation. The gesture felt natural, like it always belonged there.

The two of you approached the doors of the manor in a shared silence, although it didn’t feel a bit awkward. You took a moment to take in the place. It was like something out of your childhood dreams — tall, arched windows glowing with the soft light of a dozen garlands lining the entryway. The faint hum of holiday music and the occasional sound of laughter echoed through the manor.

It was Bruce’s home.

“Do you always go this big for Christmas?” you voiced a question that's been sitting on your mind since the moment you saw the large Christmas tree from the entryway to Bruce’s living room. Decorated with lots of ornaments, it looked lovely, accompanied by a heap of presents.

“Alfred insists,” admitting with a soft chuckle, Bruce rubbed the nape of his neck as he led you deeper into his home. “And the boys like the holidays. I want them to have the best.”

The scent of pine and cinnamon enveloped your senses the further you moved. The sounds grew louder, too. You awe made him feel lighter somehow. The dining room at Wayne Manor was nothing short of spectacular this night, with the long mahogany table adorned with a dozen of flickering candles and plates of food that looked like it belonged in a holiday spread for a cookbook.

You were sitting beside Bruce (he kind of insisted anyway), your hand occasionally brushing against his. He helped you settle into the chair which earned a teasing glance from Dick. Speaking of his oldest son, he was sitting across from you with an easy grin that told you some questions would come your way sooner or later. Tim was at Dick’s right, while Damian occupied the chair from the other side of his father.

The evening was more than successful in your opinion. Steph asked you about your favorite literature, while Tim quizzed you on trivia about Gotham (which you surprisingly got all right). Damian, after much persistence from Dick, shared a story about his latest art project, though he kept glancing at you as if trying to gauge your reaction.

Through it all, Bruce remained by your side.

When the night finally came to an end, and everyone drifted to their own space of the manor, Bruce walked you to the entrance with a gentle hand against the small of your back.

“Thank you,” his gaze met yours as he handed you your coat, effortlessly helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. “For coming tonight. For putting up with them.”

You gifted him with the most precious kind of a present; your smile, smaller hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his dark suit. “Of course. They’re wonderful, Bruce. I enjoyed myself tonight.”

For a man who othen found himself at loss for words when it came to talking in emotions, Bruce found himself smiling softly with his heart feeling lighter than it had in years. Because for the first time, Christmas didn’t feel like an obligation. It felt like a new beginning.

[rafecameronsslut4ever]

CASUAL pt.2— lando norris (angst)

pairing; fem!reader x lando norris summary: it took lando too long to realise it wasn't just 'casual'. warnings: a LOT of angst, toxic relationship, sexual implication, not proofread a/n: casual part 2 was not really a part of the plan but the audience had demands 🦧also i think this was too long lmao. AND IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG DELAY OMG

part 1 - casual

miami grand prix: the biggest pr nightmare for every driver—especially lando norris.

the media had been all over him that weekend, going to the lengths of literally calling him 'the hottest catch on the single market'. hollywood stars and instagram models were so desperate to marry him and have his kids that they didn't catch on the fact that he was a 23-year-old racing driver who couldn't give a fuck about them.

because he was stuck on you.

for weeks, he'd waited—hoping you’d reach out, or at the very least, watch his instagram stories. he posted shirtless photos, sun-kissed photos—hell, he even threw out a thirst trap just for you. But you didn’t take the bait. you didn't take the fucking bait.

you hadn't texted him or spoken to him since the moment you walked out of that hotel room weeks ago, so he didn't try to reach out either. "would've been a blow to my ego," he'd told sainz.

but now, he didn't give a shit about his ego. he was tired of waiting.

his eyes darted across the packed club, friends and guests scattered all around. he couldn't wait to get out of there.

he hadn't been drinking. didn't really feel like it. truth be told, he hadn’t been feeling much of anything at all.

pool parties, clubs, yachts, champagne and girls.

he was tired of the glitz and glam of his life, and you were the only escape from it.

but you were gone.

his mind wandered to that morning, when you had kissed him and the two of you had ordered room service. when he had held you for the last time.

he hated how the only thing on his mind was you. how it was the only thing on his mind all through the celebrations, as hookers danced around him and people tried to pour drinks into his mouth.

for fuck's sake, he had won a grand prix for the first time in his life, and yet he was unhappy.

how did he get here?

he looked up, eyes falling on a group of men in the VIP section, the lights illuminating their faces.

everyone could tell something was off with lando. he didn't want to do any of this.

all he wanted was you. you, you, you.

the girl who had left without an explanation.

why had you left, anyway? no calls, no texts. your friends avoided him, and you avoided his friends. it was like the two of you were nothing.

lando norris was many things, but he was not a fool. he could recognise when something was wrong, or when a situation had escalated beyond his control.

he knew that there was a reason why you left, but the reason never clicked in that thick brain of his. what had he done wrong? where had he gone wrong?

"i'm not feeling too well, mate." he muttered, handing the beer bottle back to the guy standing next to him.

okay, maybe not admitting his feelings for you had fucked things up. but, what could you expect? he didn't have the time to give you what you deserved.

not right now, at least.

"what are you waiting for, then?" the other man asked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"what?"

"just call her, bro. i know it's about a girl because there's no way any sane man would say no to expensive beers and a million hot hookers."

did lando even know this man? probably not.

"i can't call her. she doesn't want to talk to me. trust me, i've tried."

"have you?"

he didn't know how to deal with rejection. not like this, not with you. you weren't supposed to leave.

"judging by your sulkiness, i doubt you're going to find a girl like her again. and you'll never have her if you're here."

lando didn't have a heart of stone, as much as his social media persona might suggest. he didn't care for any of this. the women, the money, the fame.

he wanted to hold you again. kiss you, tell you he loves you. he wanted to hold your hand. he wanted to be near you, and only you.

so, when his feet hit the floor and he found himself walking towards the exit, he wasn't surprised.

yeah, it was foolish of him to leave a party full of women who were celebrating him (literally) for a girl who had ghosted him, but the need was stronger than his pride.

out of the yacht, he was dialling the only number he'd ever memorised. the phone rang, and then it rang again.

would she be wearing his clothes, or would she have gotten rid of everything related to him?

maybe she'd found another man, finally realising that lando was a bad investment.

as the phone rang, you were hidden in your apartment with blankets wrapped around you and a youtube video playing in the background.

it had been months since you'd heard the word 'casual' leave his mouth. months since you had fled london and monaco to move to miami.

at first, his words had echoed in your mind constantly, and you'd cried yourself to sleep a few times more than you'd like to admit.

but just like every heartbroken poet in history, the hurt faded and the pain slowly morphed into hatred. and anger.

you wanted to slam your head against a wall. scratch that, you wanted to slam his head against a wall.

it was so stupid, and you hated yourself for believing he'd been genuine.

it was just sex. that's all it ever was. it truly was just casual.

the phone was still ringing. your finger hesitated over the answer button. you weren't going to answer it.

it wasn't worth it. you didn't want to hear his voice. didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that his words had hurt you. you didn't want to know if he was sleeping around, if his girlfriends were prettier than you.

so the line went dead.

lando stood by the harbour, watching as yachts and ships sailed past him. the air was humid and his t-shirt clung to his body, the heat almost unbearable. the sound of waves, the distant laughter and music, and the sound of his ragged breaths.

he ran his fingers through his hair, looking around. where was his car?

he had to find his way back to his hotel. he was a mess, and his clothes were sticking to his skin. he needed to fix his appearance, buy a bouquet a flowers.

he checked the time on his watch, and cursed as he saw the numbers. it was almost 3 am. he wouldn't find flowers anywhere at 3 am.

"fuck it." he said, running over to his car. the drive was quiet, save for the low hum of music and his occasional swearing when someone drove a little bit slower than he'd like.

lando norris had the world on his fingertips. he could have any girl he wanted. anyone, really. but he only wanted you. he was a hopeless romantic, and you were his muse.

when he pulled up outside the apartment, his nerves were going haywire. he ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath before getting out of the car.

he knocked twice on the door and when it opened, his eyes lit up.

you stared back at him, sleepiness in your eyes and confusion etched on your face.

and god, did you look gorgeous.

he loved you, he realised. he had to cross his hands behind his back to stop them from reaching out and holding you close.

"lando?" you breathed out.

he had grown a slight stubble since you last saw him. his hair were still the same, except a little bit longer. his blue eyes were wide as he looked at you.

"hey," his voice was shaky.

"what the fuck are you doing here?"

he wanted to say so many things. ask you why you left, where it went wrong, why you moved to miami. he wanted to declare his love for you, press his lips to yours, hold you by the waist. he wanted to hear you say that you loved him too.

he was so in love with you, and you had no idea.

"lando? why are you here?" you asked again.

he was at a loss of words. what could he say? he couldn't exactly just stand there and say nothing.

"because," his voice cracked, "i miss you."

your throat went dry. he could not just say that.

it had been weeks. weeks of him not contacting you, weeks of you not speaking to him. the phone calls had stopped, the text messages had stopped, the late night chats had stopped. everything was just gone.

and now, he missed you?

tears welled up in your eyes, a lump forming in your throat. you shook your head, pushing back the tears, "go away."

"what? no, wait. wait. don't do this." he pleaded, his voice fragile and desperate, like a child trying to avoid bedtime.

"lando-"

he interrupted you, voice louder than before. "can we please talk about this?"

"what is there to talk about?" you were raising your voice. you hated him. how could he act like this after all that happened?

"everything. just—please, can i come in?" he sounded so pathetic. he felt so pathetic. his hands were slightly hovering over the door, ready to push it open and walk in.

the request took you by surprise. "i-no."

you missed him. there was no denying that.

you wanted him to tell you it was okay. wanted to go back to that night in his mclaren, the night he told you he liked you. wanted the weekends spent in london with his family. you wanted him, all of him.

his curly hair wrapped around your fingers, blue eyes staring at you, soft lips kissing you. his cold hands grabbing yours, and his voice saying your name. you wanted it to not be casual.

"i just want to talk to you."

he was drunk. there was no other way he would've showed up here, let alone begged to talk to you. the fact that he needed to be drunk to have this conversation made your blood boil.

"do you still have my jacket?"

of course, you still had his stupid jacket. the one that had his smell embedded into the fabric. it was an exclusive print mclaren had given him, and he had swung it around your shoulders after the night you had first made love to each other.

but he didn't care about the jacket, and neither did you. it was just a reminder.

you were silent for a while, taking in the sight of each other. it was his breath mingling with yours.

"i love you." he whispered.

your breath hitched in your throat, the tears finally falling out of your eyes as you sighed.

"i love you," he repeated to himself. "yes, i do. and i've known that since the day i met you."

you choked back sobs as you shook your head, "you're drunk, lando."

"i'm not," he chuckled, "maybe a little, but not enough."

then, he added, "i mean it. i love you." his voice was steady. he truly meant every word. but he didn't know what would happen now.

"what do you want me to say, lando?"

he sighed, "anything."

you laughed bitterly. anything, he said.

anything would've been better than what had happened.

"i don't think i can do this, lando."

"we can take it slow."

"you've never done slow."

he fell silent again because you were right. he'd never done slow. he didn't know how to take things slow. he was a fucking formula 1 driver, after all. slow wasn't something he did. he'd always lived life like it was the last day. and that's how he had lost you.

"i'm sorry," he began, his voice breaking. "i should've been a better person. i'm sorry for everything i did. i should've given you more, i-i should've loved you more, because you deserve so much more. i'm so, so, sorry."

"lando," you whispered, "it's not—"

"don't make excuses for me, please. i love you, i really do. and if i have to spend the rest of my life proving that, i will." and he meant every word. "i just want you back."

your mind was racing, a million thoughts running through it. it was like a movie. his blue eyes, his voice, the desperation in his tone, the way he stood before you.

"okay," you muttered.

"wait, okay? does that mean—"

"you're gonna have to work for this," you said.

"i know, and i will. i promise."

you sighed, rubbing your temple. this wasn't a good idea. "get in."

lando's face lit up, and before you could change your mind, he had walked into the apartment. he hadn't really been here before, considering you moved here after the two of you had stopped talking. but the apartment was lovely, homely. everything you.

you closed the door behind him, watching him look around the living room.

"how'd you know where i live?"

he chuckled, turning to face you. "i'm a famous driver. i have my sources."

"i'm sure." a tense silence followed, neither of you knowing what to say.

"i'm not letting this happen again," he blurted, "i'm not. i don't know how, but i won't."

"i don't believe you." you scoffed.

"fuck, baby, what do i have to do for you to believe me?" he stepped towards you, closing the distance.

"stop calling me that."

"you are my baby." he tried to joke.

"lando, i'm not joking."

"i'm serious too," his voice was sincere, "i love you, and i'll do whatever it takes for you to believe me."

you had been through a lot together. the highs, the lows. you had seen him at his best, and at his worst. the good and the bad.

he moved closer, reaching a hand out to hold yours. you didn't know why, but the moment his hand touched yours, it was like a switch had flipped inside of you.

you let his hand wander over yours like a ghost, his calloused fingertips tracing over your knuckles. he intertwined your fingers together, eyes casted down.

"i've never cared about anyone the way i care about you." he admitted in a soft voice.

and then he pressed his lips to yours. his other hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

and god, did he taste the same. lando had a way with his lips. it was a talent. he kissed you like he needed your lips to survive. he was desperate for your touch as if he had been starving without it.

you were so lost in the feeling that you hadn't realised how far you had pushed him until the back of his knees hit the couch, and he fell on top of it.

his eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. his shirt was halfway unbuttoned, exposing his chest and toned abs.

the two of you stared at each other, eyes searching the other's.

"i love you." he murmured for what seemed like the hundredth time that night.

maybe it was the way his blue eyes bore into yours, or the way his lips quivered, or maybe it was the fact that he had driven across the city to say this.

but for the first time that night, you believed him. and suddenly, the anger was gone. it was all gone.

"i love you, too." you whispered.

it was the only thing the two of you needed. the confirmation, the reassurance. the love.

you leaned down and connected your lips once more, hand reaching up to his curls and tugging lightly. he moaned into the kiss, pulling you on top of him.

your tongue entered his mouth, the taste of him making you lightheaded. his hands roamed over your body, the feeling of his skin against yours.

"baby," he whispered between kisses, "i want you so bad. i've waited so long."

his lips trailed along your jaw and down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin.

"i want you," he murmured against the crook of your neck, "so fucking bad."

but he pulled away, flipping the two of you over so he was on top of you. he took off his shirt, and rested his head on your chest. he cleared his throat, "i should've asked this question earlier, but are you single?"

"yeah." you chuckled, running a hand through his curls.

"so, can i be your boyfriend?"

"lando norris," you hummed, "did you finally get the guts to ask me out?"

"yes," he smiled, lifting his head up to look at you, "yes, i did. will you be my girlfriend?"

"you're a dork."

"that's not an answer."

"yes," you laughed, "yes, i'll be your girlfriend."

lando grinned, and you grinned back.

yeah, it wasn't casual anymore.

(u guys im so sorry if i've tagged someone who doesnt want to be tagged i just had no idea how to let non-followers know part 2 is out bcs tumblr is not letting me reply to comments😭if anyone wants their tag removed, feel free to dm me!! i hope u liked this) @oscarpiassrri @meglouise00 @f1fantasys @technicallypleasanttree @ggaslyp1 @obxstiles @nataliambc @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @ushygushybaby @emilyroxy @yootvi @fishingarden @pillowprincess4him @herexpertcollector

[reidrum]

safety net | b.b.

A/N: screaming nervously into the void bc this is my first bucky fic!!! i am literally on my knees please tell me what u think of it!!!!!! also i'm taking requests for bucky and spencer now <333

summary: in which bucky barnes needs a favor from his favorite senator

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, senator!reader, fingering in the blind spot we are so back baby, pet names, reader gets in her feels at the end sorry

wc: 2.2k

Bucky stands at the top of the stairs of Valentina’s mansion, vibranium hand holding a champagne flute as he surveys the span of the party. He takes slow enough sips to look busy but approachable, waiting for his moment to strike on the target.

It still feels odd for him to play into politics as a congressman, he’s used to fighting fist and bone to get his way and now he’s reduced to his own vocal devices to enact change. It’s harder some days when he has to advocate to a bunch of old senators who are decades beyond their retirement age. Oftentimes he has to dig into his 40’s trivia to be able to make small talk comeplling enough for them to listen.

Other times he can get away with using his reputation as the Winter Soldier—pardoned for being involved in the defeat of Thanos, there are times he finds it lucky to be considered a hero instead of the war criminal narrative he was used to.

Tonight, however, is his most preferred way to play the game of politics.

His eyes finally catch your figure, your silk gown hugging your body in ways he can only be envious of. You’re standing in the middle of the main room, a matching champagne flute in your hand as you charm the policymakers around you.

You are Bucky’s target tonight. You, the senator residing over Valentina’s impeachment case.

Nothing too extreme, just a little convincing on his end. A push in the right direction.

Your laugh carries all the way up the stairs straight into his chest, a warmth blooming through his heart. He tries to convince himself it’s the champagne working through him, but there’s a reason he made sure to get his suit tailored for tonight and put on enough cologne to drown you in it.

He watches you excuse yourself and set your empty glass on a nearby table, lifting the bottom of your dress while you head towards the stairs. He quickly jumps into action and walks a few steps down closer to you, holding out a hand. “It’s good to see you, Senator.”

“Congressman,” your eyes light up in recognition, “likewise. Are you typically waiting for women to struggle their way up the stairs or am I special?”

“You want the diplomatic answer or the truth?” he retorts, letting his hand fall to the small of your back as he guides you up the stairs.

You smirk, “What’s the diplomatic answer?”

“That I’m a good samaritan who didn’t want a colleague to fall over.”

“And the truth?”

Bucky pinches your hip, “Needed to get my hands on you somehow.”

You gasp as you reach the top step, abruptly letting your dress go, “Is that so? You couldn’t just, you know, talk to me?”

“Now what fun would that be, doll?” his arm curls around your hips as soon as you’re both out of sight from the main ballroom. “We do need to talk about something.”

A sigh leaves you before you can help it, “Bucky, I told you there’s nothing more I can do about Valentina’s impeachment. There is no evidence, without anything  she’s not getting nailed for this.”

“I know, I know,” he says softly, “I just need a bit more time. Few days, and there’ll be damning evidence to put her away.”

“You know I can’t do anything to change it.”

Vibranium rests on your other hip, pulling you square with his, “See that’s why I needed to talk to you alone, because I know you can. You’ve done it before.”

“No I haven’t.”

His fingers curl slightly into your dress and raise the hem off the floor. A gentleman above all before he starts walking you back slowly. “I beg to differ, doll. I watched you delay that arms safety bill by five days last week.”

You think back, all the days you spent lobbying and pushing against the opposition. It took a lot of arguing, canvassing, and damn near begging on your part for them to delay as much as you did. If they had voted five days prior, you knew the government would have more blood on their hands than they anticipated, or cared for. You knew it was a worthy cause, and without your efforts a lot of people would be dead because of it.

You could delay Valentina’s case, if you wanted to. It would be easier than the bill. You could read Bucky’s intentions from the millisecond you laid eyes on him. But from the second Bucky found your hand to lead you up the stairs you’ve watched his eyes grow wider and darker in sensation as he talks to you. Like he knows what his end goal is, and he’s hoping you catch on soon too. Lucky for you, you caught on the moment you stepped foot into the mansion at the start of the night.

It’s always a means to an end with Bucky Barnes, the same cat and mouse game you both play that you inherently know is silly but you’re both too wrapped up in the chase of it all to say anything.

“I think someone just needs to prove to you that it’s worth your time.”

“And that’s supposed to be you?”

“I’m whatever you need me to be. Let me show you.”

Your eyes widen and dart across the ceiling as your back meets the wall, “Someone’s going to see us!”

“This is a blind spot, baby don’t worry. I won’t let anyone see anyone see you come, for my eyes only right?” He mouths your ear and works downward, “Will you let me do that? Can I prove it to you?”

“I—I…” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut as his lips latch down onto your neck, “I’m listening.”

He grins into your skin and kisses back up your jaw, landing soundly on your lips capturing them in a hurried yet gentle kiss. He guides your hands to wrap around his neck and lets his own slide down to the swell of your ass.

You feel Bucky imprint his fingers into your flesh and you silently pray there’s proof of it in the morning. Your hips roll on their own accord towards his, desperate for any friction it can find.

“Patience, doll. I got you, I'm gonna take good care of you.” he whispers. You suppress a shiver as you feel his finger trail to the front of your dress, dipping behind the high slit and traveling to the fabric of your panties. A single digit traces a path along the edges of the fabric left to right, ghosting over where you need him the most. He lets his finger press into the center of your core, relishing in the sharp gasp that leaves you.

“Bucky,” you breathe, “please.”

His lips return to the sensitive spot on your neck and the feeling overwhelms you so much that you don’t realize he’s pulled your panties to the side and swiped a finger through your folds.

You moan brokenly at the feeling and Bucky quickly stills his movement, “Shh, don’t want anyone to come find us right? Gotta stay quiet.”

You nod rapidly, willing to agree to the most heinous of crimes if it meant he didn’t stop. You slap a hand over your mouth for emphasis, and the bastard has the audacity to laugh at your efforts to stay quiet.

Bucky’s fingers move through your folds with a guided ease, your core practically dripping in invitation for him to enter. “Did you get this wet just from us talking? If I had known I had that kind of effect on you, I’d have done this to get my way ages ago.”

“That’s all I am to you, right?” your voice raising in octave slightly at the end as he finally sinks a finger into you, “An obstacle to remove? Or use?”

“You wound me doll,” his finger goes about setting a rhythm before another slips in and joins, “but I know you’re smart. And I know that’s not what you think of me.”

The slide of his fingers is enough to set you on the course for delirium, rendering any and every responsibility or obligation that isn’t him obsolete. The pace he sets is downright ridiculous, addicting. His thick fingers leave you wondering and yearning for what it could feel like to be stretched out by him instead.

“And what do I think of you, Barnes?” you try to brave.

He chuckles, his thumb landing and circling your clit,  “Well darling, I think you do hate me. I just think you hate that I can get you like this. That I can make that pretty brain of yours turn to mush the second I get my hands on you.”

You let out a soft whimper and roll your eyes, although it’s counterintuitive because they roll in pleasure for him and not your poorly conceived disdain for him.

Because you know he’s right, god he’s so right it makes you see red. This isn’t the first time you’ve bent your morals for Bucky Barnes, and you know it won’t be the last.

“That’s why you let me have my way with you in the middle of this mansion, where anyone can walk by. You love the thrill of it. You love risking it all, but you love risking it all with me.”

His fingers speed up, “I…Bucky no, I—“ you feign.

“No? So you’d let anyone do this to you?”

Never, you think, there’s not a single person you would let this happen with. Only him, always him.

Vibranium snakes up your throat and cinches around it, forcing your eyes to make contact with his icy blue ones. His other hand continues to pump relentlessly in and out of you, brushing against your clit every few strokes and causing you to break a sweat. “Answer me, sweetheart. You lettin’ anyone touch you like this?”

You languishly shake your head, “No! No, no one. I swear.”

Bucky doesn’t let up on his pace, “Who gets to have you like this, baby?”

The building pleasure imbeds into every neuron in your body, clouding any and every sense in existence until you’re a mess of whimpers and broken moans. 

“Y—You.” you whisper.

His metal hand squeezes around your neck, “Can’t hear you, doll.”

“Buck,” you whimper.

He relishes in your feeble gaze, “This gone on my fingers, makes me wonder how you’ll be cockdrunk on me.”

His thumb circles your clit fervently, adding a third finger and stretching you out with a pain that hurts too good. Your head falls back against the wall as you let him take over, his hand laying firm against your throat to ensure you don’t lose his eyes.

Not that you’d ever want to, for as long as Bucky is willing to play this game or for as long as he’s willing to have you, you would never dare be the one to tap out first. If you could have him in any capacity you would, and you’d let him take as much as he wants if he kept him right between your legs.

You hope he mistakes the budding tears in your eyes for proof of his overwhelming ministrations and not for the vulnerability he threatens to expose with every thrust of his fingers. “ ‘m close.” you pant.

Bucky hums, “Want you to come all over my fingers, doll. Wanna feel you give me everything, can you do that?” 

There’s no voice left in you to give him a response, your body speaking for itself in deep heaves and your arching back. Bucky groans into your neck feeling you clamp down onto his fingers as you reach your peak, working you through the pleasure as it consumes you entirely.

He whispers coos and praises into your ear, “Did so good f’me baby. It’s okay, I got you. Shh, I’m here.” as he anchors you back down to this realm.

Bucky pulls out a handkerchief from his back pocket, because of course he has one, and dabs at your eyes delicately. “Was it too much? I’m sorry if I got carried away, you can always tell me to stop, you know that.” he whispers with worry.

You sniffle and swallow your emotion down, “It was okay, I’m fine don’t worry.”

He doesn’t look convinced, “You sure?”

“Promise.”

“Okay,” he goes about fixing your dress and hair, hands resting at your hips again as he leans in and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “will you talk to the council, please?

Right, you think, the trial. That’s all this was.

You nod automatically and smile solemnly, “I’ll see what I can do, Buck.”

He doesn’t pick up on your sullen smile, “Thank you, doll. I have to go make some calls, but I’ll talk to you soon, yeah?”

The lump in your throat thickens, “Sure, I’ll be in touch. Good to see you, Congressman.” 

“Likewise, Senator.” he gives your cheek one last kiss before disappearing into the night.

Maybe one day you’ll tell him how you really feel, that one day you’ll feel like it’s worth telling him how much he really means to you.

But so long as Bucky Barnes has an agenda, you are simply not the priority. 

Just an item to tick off.

[lunarcowgirl]

feelings unfettered | three

I am a helpless victim of my own crush on this man, take a part three of my goofy little jack abbot x f!doctor!reader fic <33

you can read part one here, and part two here !!

not my gif! but i am foaming at the mouth because of it! follow @ho-ii for all your juicy jack abbot gif needs x

~

yeah, there's something in the air at your shared post-confession breakfast. and it's not just 50 years worth of oil from the diner fryer.

~

from the office of the author: literally obsessed with my own creations so I've made a part three. it's not my fault, blame shawn and his facial structure and chosen character aura of dork/loser/demon-in-the-sheets. more soon? i'm scared of smut but then again i'm scared of not seeing these two get freaky

REQUESTS IN THE ASK BOX PLS!!!

warnings/content: 10+ year age gap, very EaRNEST feelings from these two, mentions of the horrors of american foods, author disrespects consistent perspective and grammatical rules like they owe her money, veryyyy minimal angst, mostly fluff, someone gets a their ass grabbed as a treat <33

word count: 2.6k (woooo baby we're back)

Dr Abbot considered himself to be in control of his own hands at all times and places thank you very much. He had over 30 years of experience in the profession of control. He had studied it, mastered it. It was not his fault that just 20 minutes prior to this moment your lips had been at his throat and your body so very soft under his touch. Now the mere two feet of sticky diner table between the two of you seemed an ocean. Would it be so strange, he pondered, to pull your chair around to be beside him? To bump knees and elbows into each other, for plates to stack and glasses to get mixed up in the bubble of space carved just for the two of you? He coughed slightly at the path of his own brain, embarrassed at the enormity of his feelings.

You were focused on the menu, eyes ticking down the options with care, lips formed into a rosebud pout. Jack wanted to crawl across the divide and kiss you silly, to taste the sweetness and the redness and to hear your heartbeat’s call from your throat. He wanted to feel that fizzing life under his hands, he wanted you to laugh your laugh into his mouth so he could swallow it whole, he wanted—

The shrill screech of a pack of kids attempting a prison break called him swiftly to earth, their poor father one poorly timed arm barrier away from a dislocated shoulder. He really, really, didn’t want to have to be a doctor right now. In fact, it seemed mighty appealing to give up the healing business altogether and put all his energy into memorising every last thing there was to know about you. Some dam wall within him had broken up on the roof, now every truth he’d covered up and hidden and repressed now sitting out in the unfettered daylight. It was terrifying…and exhilarating.

“I can never decide between sweet and savoury when it comes to breakfast.” You declared, slamming the menu down in a huff.

An endeared smile twitched at the corner of Jack’s mouth. He filed the information away, “Why not have both?”

Your eyebrows raised just a touch, a smirk appearing, “Why Dr Abbot, what a dangerous proposition…”

Jack shrugged, if only to dislodge the growing warmth in his chest, “When was the last time you ate? Your body could do with the carbs and sugar.”

In a flash your hand was across the table, grabbing his and raising it to your mouth. Two quick kisses were pressed to his knuckles, “Finally, a man that supports women’s right to choose both.”

You bit your bottom lip at your own cheek, winked and carefully deposited his hand back to him in exchange for the menu once more.

Oh God he was going to eat. You. Alive. You looked so innocent, as you kindly waved over a waitress, ordering in a clear, polite voice. What he wouldn’t give to have that polite mouth all over him.

For two people who had spent more time in uniform than either would like to admit, you had vastly different approaches to the return to American food. Jack had remained staunch in his habits, maintaining his belief that well-done toast with bacon and eggs was all a person really needed. Butter, perhaps, if one felt luxurious. You on the other hand, had spent each and every moment on foreign soil waiting for the moment you could feel the preservatives hit your veins again.

“I don’t care that I’m a doctor,” You said, smoothing cream across your already syrup soaked waffle, “If food cannot hold pleasure, then neither can life.”

Jack had finished his meal in a flash, eating like he was being chased. Now he had all the time in the world to lean back and watch you, noting and labelling every pronouncement and observation you made, filing them away in a little part of his mind that until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to open.

You took a big bite, nose scrunching in delight, shoulders dancing at an amount of sugar running through your system that would likely kill a small child. Jack was keeping a very firm hold on his own elbows, fingers digging into the skin to prevent it from falling straight off his bones. There was syrup, right in the corner of your mouth that you hadn’t noticed, lost in your own ecstasy.

The older he’d become, the easier is was to just surrender. To drift. His hand swept across the table in one smooth motion, his thumb finding your skin, wiping the sugar away. Your eyes flew open, surprise bright and red and hot on your cheeks. One soft blink, another - like you were seeing him for the very first time. His touch lingered there, drawing a soft reverent line across your bottom lip, relishing the fullness of it. If he couldn’t have those lips on his face, his neck and mouth, then he’d have them all over his fingers. It was barely a thought then, to draw back and bring his thumb into his own mouth. The man that never even looked sideways at sugar having his fill of it, and you.

There was something unreadable on your face as your gaze flicked across him, hunger maybe, hope. And then the flash of your tongue across your lip - finding just the remnants of him there, the butter he’d had on them from picking apart his toast. You feasted on each other from opposite sides of the table, rolling tastes across your tongue, finding them satisfactory, finding them addicting. If the appetizers where this good; the main meal was set to fill an empty stomach that had ached for a long, long time.

Waffle forgotten, Jack watched as you dived into your purse, rustling out a haphazard chunk of bills, tucking them quickly under the nearest plate.

“Wait, I’ll pay—”

“If we do not leave right now,” You hissed, “I am going to jump you in front of those very nice families.”

Jack made a bizarre croaking noise, his laugh getting lost somewhere in a cough. All the same, he dutifully rose to his feet, only somehow remembering to grab his backpack and coat. The pair of your writhed down the tight aisle towards the door, struggling to bundle up, not make any unnecessary contact with each other or send coffee flying into anyone’s laps. Bursting into the street, your head twisted this way and that, as if you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what you were supposed to be doing.

“Hey, hey…” Jack reached your side, gently taking your hand in his, “It’s ok, there’s no rush.”

You let out a slow breath, dancing from foot to foot, “Well we might have to rush, cause I don’t have gloves and I kinda need my fingers for work.”

Jack smiled, the biggest one you’d seen, “Well then hand the others over.” With both of your hands in his he pulled you gently to him, lifting your important doctoring tools to his mouth. Warm air blew across them, quickly followed by heat down your arms and into your chest and heart.

This close to him, so bundled up and protected and safe, you let a truth fall out onto the iced pavement.

“I’m scared you’re going to disappear.”

Jack frowned, moving your hands aside so they remained warm pressed against his face, “Why do you say that?”

“Well,” You shuffled nervously under the intensity of his gaze, “I hate to get into it all in the immense privacy offered by this public street.”

He cocked an eyebrow in subtle amusement but didn’t say a word, silently urging you on.

“You have a bit of a record of running hot and cold. And while this is obviously the hottest you’ve ever been, and I really mean that in all senses of the word, well…” You fought for the right words, wanting desperately not to push him away, but wanting to honour the twin desire of respecting your own heart.

Jack nodded slowly, letting the faint grey stubble rasp gently across your hands, “That makes a lot of sense.”

A breath you hadn’t realised you were holding released, the desire to run melted into nothingness, your feet stilled.

“I am sorry for being so…unreadable all this time. It was my own selfish way of keeping myself protected while also getting to have tastes of you,” He offered, eyes a little sad.

You just couldn’t help it, the vulnerability of his gorgeous, perpetually cranky man was going to have you on your knees.

He ploughed on, oblivious to the effect his words were having, “It’s not that the tastes weren’t good or that I didn’t want more…they were too good. Too powerful, too…” He shrugged, “fucking scary.”

Tears were threatening to make a fool of you, so you quickly popped onto your tip toes, lips now seeking the warmth of his own. He relinquished his hold on your hands to slide his fingers to the back of your neck and around your waist, drawing you up and up and up until you thought you would float out into space.

Behind you the door crashed open, spilling dozens of children out into the street, rushing to get to school, their parents furiously clucking and scolding and shooing them along. Caught in the swarm, the pair of you clung to each other, cheeks pressed tightly together to maintain some kind of mutual centre of gravity.

“Ok,” You laughed, “Now I seriously have to get you alone.”

Jack gently extracted himself so he could face you again, his large hands still encasing yours.

“As much as I want that…and believe me—,” His eyes were dark, “I want that—I think we should take this slow.”

You ducked your head, something that felt like embarrassment churning in your gut. You were the one just expressing fear at his intentions, and now you were surprised he didn’t want to take you in the street?

He took your chin gently and lifted your eyes up to meet his. So many times, you had found that gaze across a trauma table, something horrible and twisted stretched out between you, so many times you had found trust and respect and understanding in those eyes. They never failed to steady you, then and now.

“I would like to take you out sometime. Somewhere other than the diner across the street from the train station,” He said, earnestness clear in each word.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed.

“You can call me old fashioned,” He said, smile wide, “I don’t care — I’m old.”

You reached up and took his face in your hands, thumbs smoothing across his skin that had seen and weathered a lot of grief and pain. You were ready to show him some joy.

“I’d love that,” Came your simple reply, “And you might be old, but that means you’re wise. And there’s nothing sexier than a man with wisdom.”

He scoffed, wrestling you playfully down under his arm, lightly pinching your side until you shrieked with laughter and danced away.

“You are trouble.” He called, as you skipped away from him, “Trouble!”

In the end he caught you before you could dash up to the train platform, insisting again that his old-fashioned ways wouldn’t allow him to let you take public transport when he had a perfectly good passenger seat in his truck.

You curled comfortably up in the leather, relishing the seat warmer and Jack’s hand sandwiched between both of yours on your lap. Every now and then, you’d peek over your shoulder just so you could see your backpacks sitting next to each other in the backseat. You felt altogether giddy, and at peace - completely beside yourself with your luck.

“It wasn’t luck,” Jack said, eyes not shifting from the road, his free hand placed with precision at 2 o’clock on the wheel. You had said the words aloud without realising, your heart now altogether open.

“Well it feels like luck.” You replied, gently tracing the lines on the back of Jack’s hand. “Very nice dorsal metacarpel veins by the way.”

He let out a puff of a laugh, then repeated himself, “It wasn’t luck.”

“Then what was it, did I subconsciously bewitch you with the speed of my oxygen concentration calculations?”

“They are very impressive; you are way fucking quicker than I will ever be at them. But no,” He looked over at you, “It’s because you are brave.”

You returned to your tracing, but it was difficult to find the lines with tears in your eyes.

“You never let your mistakes define you, you are brave enough to try again. You choose to keep being happy, you are brave enough to keep fighting. You kept seeing something in me, even when I wasn’t brave enough to let you in.”

“Jesus,” You muttered, “This is why you never talk; you’d have people falling to their knees for you every minute of the day.”

His hand in your lap squeezed, “No, that didn’t just come from nowhere. I’ve been thinking those things for a long, long time.”

“You are worth being brave for,” Your words were quiet, but they felt heavy and steady in the space between you both.

You looked up and realised with a start you had made it to your street, your apartment building just a few feet in front of you.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come up? After that speech the least I can do is offer you a tea?”

He reached over and tucked a piece of hair that had escaped from your braid behind your ear, careful not to bump your still healing piercing, “You don’t want me snoring on your couch, which is what I will be doing before the tea cools.”

“No,” You said, returning the favour by tucking a curl behind his ear, “I want you snoring in my bed.”

“God dammit James,” He groaned leaning back into his seat and running his hands over his face, “You are gonna kill me, I swear to God.”

“Don’t sound so—” A yawn overtook your words, “—pleased.”

He gave you a pointed look, “If we’re gonna do this, let’s at least be awake for it.”

You unclipped yourself, leant back into the backseat for your bag (sure to give Jack a full and unobstructed view of your favourite personal asset) and turned to open your door. At the last moment, you twisted back to him, face set.

He raised his eyebrows, a slightly braced smirk sitting on his face.

“If you’re not going to accept a lady’s very polite invitation upstairs then you legally have to do me a favour.”

The eyebrows shot down over a suspecting set of narrowed eyes, “This sounds dangerous.”

“Not at all,” You grinned, “Although…I thought you liked danger.”

“Like I said, you’re gonna kill me.”

“I’ve worked a tough shift Jack. A tough night shift. A girl sometimes needs a little extra something to give her the energy to make it up the front stairs.”

You leaned in with each word, letting your hand trail down his arm from his shoulder until you clasped around his wrist. Mouths inches from each other, you breathed in his anticipation, his hunger.

In one smooth motion you brought his hand to your ass, and closed your lips over his.

Something that tasted awfully like a moan slipped from his tongue to yours, and you relished each little bit of it. His hand squeezed, just a touch, as if unable to help itself. You released him with a pop, schooling your features into an innocent smile, and nudging the door open with your hip.

“I’ll see you at work Dr Abbot.”

A beat. A man restarting his heart, his brain.

“I’ll see you at work Trouble.”

~~~~

all for now, thanks for the luv xo

previous | next

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Ours to Claim

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd x Reader

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: who would’ve thought an old friend would have that affect on Paige and Azzi…

Sorry it took so long, @paigeluvvr

🏷️: @yailtsv , @sitawita , @thatonesuschix , @vamptizm , @elalfywhore , @starfulani , @authentic-girl03 , @paige05bby , @paxaz535 , @azziswrld

I was just about to head into the little café in Storrs when I heard my name called from across the street.

“Y/N? No way!”

I turned to see a familiar face—Josh, an old friend from high school. We hadn’t spoken much since graduation, but he was one of those people who always felt easy to reconnect with.

“Josh?” I grinned, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Business trip,” he said, jogging across the street. “Figured I’d grab some coffee before heading to my next meeting. How have you been?”

We started catching up, talking about old times, laughing about how much had changed since high school. It was nice, lighthearted, and completely innocent.

But the warmth in my chest quickly turned to unease when I caught sight of Paige and Azzi standing at the entrance of the café, staring at us.

Both of their expressions were tight, unreadable to anyone who didn’t know them well. But I did. And I knew that kind of silence meant trouble.

I wrapped up my conversation with Josh, giving him a quick side hug before he left, and turned to my girlfriends.

“Hey,” I said, a little breathless, stepping up to them. “I was just catching up with an old friend. He was in town for—”

“We saw,” Paige cut me off, her voice sharp.

Azzi crossed her arms, gaze cool but jaw clenched. “Looked real cozy.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the edge in her voice. “Wait, are you guys serious right now?”

Neither of them responded, just turned and walked into the café. I followed, confused and already irritated.

Lunch was tense. Paige barely touched her food, and Azzi was quieter than usual, both of them simmering in unspoken jealousy.

By the time we got into the car to head back to our apartment, the silence had stretched too thin. I sighed, arms crossed over my chest as I sat in the passenger seat while Paige drove.

“So are we gonna talk about this?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Azzi scoffed from the backseat. “Talk about what? How our girlfriend was giggling with some guy we’ve never even heard of?”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh my God, you’re both being dramatic.”

Paige let out a bitter laugh, gripping the steering wheel a little too tight. “Dramatic?” she echoed. “We show up for lunch and see you hugging some random guy, looking all happy and touchy, and we’re supposed to just be cool with that?”

“He’s not a ‘random guy,’ he’s an old friend!” I snapped. “I haven’t seen him in years, and we were literally just talking. You two are acting like I was making out with him in the street!”

Azzi leaned forward, her voice lower, but firm. “You weren’t, but the way he was looking at you? He wanted to.”

I scoffed. “And how the hell do you know that?”

“Because we know what it looks like when someone wants you,” Paige said, eyes locked on the road.

I clenched my jaw, frustration bubbling under my skin. “Well, too bad for him, because I’m already taken,” I shot back.

Paige pulled into our parking spot, threw the car in park, and turned to me with piercing eyes. “Are you?” she challenged.

I inhaled sharply, heat flashing in my chest. “You know damn well I am.”

Azzi tilted her head. “Then why didn’t you introduce us?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it, because I didn’t have a real answer. The truth was, I had gotten caught up in the moment and hadn’t even thought about it.

Paige smirked slightly, but it wasn’t a kind one. “Exactly.”

The moment we stepped into our apartment, I turned to them, ready to argue some more, but Paige was on me in an instant.

She pressed me against the wall, her hands gripping my waist firmly, possessively. My breath hitched, and before I could react, Azzi was right there too, her body caging me in from the other side.

“Wait—”

“Not so fast,” Paige murmured, her lips brushing against my jaw. “You had your fun catching up with him. Now, we remind you who you belong to.”

My heart pounded as Azzi’s fingers traced up my arm, her touch featherlight but intentional.

“You’re ours,” Azzi whispered against my ear, sending a shiver down my spine.

Their jealousy had shifted into something else—something intense and undeniable.

Paige kissed along my neck, slow but with a purpose, her lips and teeth leaving marks. I gasped, gripping her hoodie, torn between protesting and melting under their attention.

“Look at you,” Azzi mused, tilting my chin so I had to meet her eyes. “Always saying we’re dramatic, but you love when we get like this, don’t you?”

I swallowed hard, my body betraying me as I pressed further into them.

Paige chuckled against my skin. “That’s what I thought.”

Their hands roamed, leaving no part of me untouched. A shiver coursed through me as Azzi’s fingers danced along the hem of my shirt, slowly inching it upwards. Paige’s hands were equally skilled, tracing the curve of my hips, sending sparks of anticipation through every nerve ending.

“We’re going to spoil you tonight,” Azzi whispered, her breath warm against my ear. “Completely and utterly spoil you.”

I didn’t doubt her for a second. There was a hunger in their eyes, a possessiveness that both thrilled and intimidated me. I knew I was walking a dangerous line, surrendering control to their desires, but the temptation was too strong to resist.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Azzi pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it carelessly to the side. The cool air of the room kissed my skin, heightening my awareness of their touch. Paige’s gaze intensified as she took in my exposed torso, her eyes lingering on every curve and contour.

“Beautiful,” she breathed, her voice husky with desire.

Before I could respond, Azzi’s lips were on mine, her kiss deep and demanding. I met her intensity with my own, losing myself in the intoxicating swirl of passion. Paige joined in, her hands tracing the sensitive skin of my back, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine.

Their kisses were a symphony of desire, a tantalizing blend of tenderness and dominance. I moaned softly, my body aching for more. They seemed to take pleasure in my reaction, their touch becoming bolder, more insistent.

Azzi broke away from the kiss, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Ready for the next step?” she purred, reaching for the bedside drawer.

My heart pounded in my chest as she retrieved a sleek, purple strap-on. I had seen it before, of course, but the sight of it now, in Azzi’s hands, sent a jolt of electricity through me.

Paige gently guided me to the edge of the bed, positioning me so that my legs dangled over the side. I watched, mesmerized, as Azzi expertly strapped the harness around her waist, her movements fluid and confident.

“Relax,” Paige murmured, stroking my hair. “We’re going to take care of you.”

I tried to follow her instructions, but my nerves were on edge. I had never done anything like this before, and the anticipation was almost overwhelming.

Azzi straddled my lap, her eyes locking with mine. “Are you ready?” she asked, her voice low and seductive.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.

With a slow, teasing motion, Azzi pressed the head of the strap-on against my entrance. I gasped, my body tensing in anticipation.

“Easy,” Paige whispered, her hands gently kneading the muscles in my shoulders. “Just breathe.”

Azzi began to move, slowly at first, testing my limits. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations that were building within me. It was intense, unfamiliar, but undeniably pleasurable.

As Azzi’s pace quickened, I lost myself in the rhythm of her movements. My body arched against hers, craving more. Paige’s hands roamed my body, teasing and tantalizing, driving me closer to the edge.

Just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Azzi stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Your turn to worship, baby” she commanded, her voice husky with passion.

I didn’t hesitate. I reached for Azzi, pulling her closer, my lips meeting hers in a searing kiss. Paige moved to stand in front of me, her eyes filled with desire.

I lowered my head, my tongue tracing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Paige moaned softly, her hands gripping my hair. I continued my exploration, teasing and tantalizing, until she was writhing in my grasp.

With a final, desperate plea, Paige guided me to her most sensitive spot. I licked and sucked, my tongue working its magic, until she was screaming my name.

As Paige’s climax subsided, Azzi took her place. I knelt before her, my eyes locking with hers. She was a vision of raw desire, her body trembling with anticipation.

I lowered my head, my lips brushing against her most sensitive point. Azzi gasped, her hands gripping my head, urging me closer.

I knew what she wanted, and I was more than happy to oblige. I licked and sucked, my tongue dancing over her sensitive flesh, until she was moaning and begging for more.

As Azzi’s climax approached, Paige took over, her fingers expertly teasing and tantalizing, driving her over the edge. Azzi screamed, her body convulsing in pleasure.

When Azzi had recovered, it was her turn to take control. She positioned me on my hands and knees, my back arched, my body exposed. Paige stood beside her, coaching her through every move.

“Easy, baby,” Paige murmured, her voice soft and encouraging. “Just take it slow.”

Azzi hesitated for a moment, her eyes filled with uncertainty. But with Paige’s guidance, she found her confidence.

She positioned the strap-on at my entrance, her hands trembling slightly.

With a deep breath, she pushed forward, slowly and deliberately. I gasped, my body tensing in anticipation.

“Relax,” Paige whispered, her hands gently stroking my back. “You’re doing great.”

As Azzi’s pace quickened, I lost myself in the rhythm of her movements. My body arched against hers, craving more. Paige’s hands roamed my body, teasing and tantalizing, driving me closer to the edge.

Just as I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Azzi stopped, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice filled with concern.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry.“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, her eyes searching mine.

“You’re not hurting me,” I assured her. “I want this.”

Azzi’s eyes lit up with renewed determination. She took a deep breath and began to move again, her pace quickening, her movements becoming more confident.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensations that were building within me. It was intense, exhilarating, and undeniably pleasurable.

As Azzi’s climax approached, I felt myself spiraling out of control. My body convulsed, my muscles tensing and releasing in a wave of pure ecstasy.

I screamed, my voice echoing through the room. Azzi continued to move, her own climax building, until she finally collapsed on top of me, her body trembling with exhaustion.

We lay there for a long time, our bodies intertwined, our breath coming in ragged gasps. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a testament to the intensity of our passion.

Finally, Paige stirred, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. “That was… incredible,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Azzi nodded in agreement, her head resting on my chest. “Definitely one for the books,” she added, her voice equally soft

The room was quiet now, save for the slow, steady rhythm of our breathing. My body was still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened—Paige and Azzi’s hands, their mouths, their whispered claims against my skin.

Now, I lay sandwiched between them in our bed, their warmth pressing against me from both sides. My skin still tingled where they had marked me, but the raw tension from earlier had softened into something gentler, something tender.

Paige was tracing slow circles along my side, while Azzi’s fingers were lightly combing through my hair, her touch soothing. I exhaled, my body sinking deeper into the mattress.

For a while, none of us spoke. The jealousy-fueled storm had passed, leaving only the quiet hum of comfort in its wake.

Then, Paige let out a sigh against my shoulder, her lips brushing my skin. “We were assholes,” she murmured.

Azzi hummed in agreement, her fingers still carding through my hair. “Yeah… we were way out of line.”

I blinked, tilting my head slightly to look at them. “So you admit you were being dramatic?” I teased, though my voice was softer now, no real bite behind it.

Paige groaned, burying her face against my neck. “Don’t rub it in, ma.”

Azzi chuckled, but then her voice turned more serious. “For real, though… we shouldn’t have made you feel like that. We trust you—we know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt us.”

Paige lifted her head, her blue eyes meeting mine. “But that doesn’t excuse how we acted. We let our jealousy get the best of us, and instead of talking about it like normal people, we just…” She trailed off, exhaling. “Yeah, we fucked up.”

I watched them for a moment, taking in the sincerity in their faces. My chest ached—not with anger anymore, but with affection.

“You really did,” I admitted, but my tone was gentle. “You made me feel like I did something wrong when I was just catching up with an old friend.”

Azzi winced. “We know. And we’re sorry, baby.”

Paige nodded, brushing a hand along my jaw. “We love you. So much. And sometimes, that love makes us a little…” She searched for the right word.

Azzi smirked. “Possessive?”

I rolled my eyes playfully. “A little?”

Paige huffed, nudging my nose with hers. “Fine. A lot.”

I sighed, letting some of the last remnants of tension leave my body. “I love you guys too. But next time, just talk to me, okay? Instead of jumping straight into jealousy mode.”

Azzi nodded, leaning in to kiss my forehead. “Promise.”

Paige followed suit, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “Promise.”

For a moment, we just lay there, wrapped up in each other.

Then Paige shifted, pulling the covers up around us. “You good? Need anything?”

Azzi’s fingers traced down my arm. “Water? Snacks? A bath?”

I smiled, feeling the warmth of their care settle deep in my chest. “Honestly? Just wanna stay like this for a while.”

Paige smirked. “Good, ‘cause I wasn’t planning on letting you go anytime soon.”

Azzi grinned. “Yeah, we gotta make sure you remember exactly who you belong to, right?”

I rolled my eyes but snuggled deeper between them. “Yeah, yeah… I got the message loud and clear.”

Paige pressed another kiss to my shoulder, and Azzi tucked me closer into her warmth.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[medusas-daughter]

I can dislike Blake Lively for her plantation wedding and tone deaf marketting and believe her when she says she has been harrassed because I'm an adult and my brain is developped enough to hold two truths at once, especially when these two truths have nothing to do with one another.

I'll believe her on her word alone, because when I said "me too" and "believe victims" I didn't mean "but only likeable victims though the annoying ones can stfu". But I don't have to. Because he literally signed a legal document agreeing not to do these behaviors again, emphasis on again.

And while she had the grace to only request that he stop those behaviors so she can keep working and didn't sue his ass right away, he decided to retaliate in a smear campaign that had even the staunchest feminists rallying around him. I'll admit, even I fell for his good guy spiel there, especially because years of his "man enough" podcast have bought him so much good will within the feminist community. And to find out that he was using us to prop up his career and harrass women behind the scenes? That is a betrayal. And the fact that the tactics of his team worked so well is something I have to sit with and unpack.

And yes, it's uncomfortable to realize you've been had. But the solution isn't to double down on a victim. It's to take a step back and admit that we are not immune to propaganda. Only then can we start taking steps to escape, or at least learn to see the signs. If you're 100% convinced propaganda and brainwashing will never work on you, you'll be the first one to fall for it. You have to admit to a fault before you can start fixing it.

And this case is not about the harrassment. She's not suing him for harrassment. She already settled that with a legally binding document. She's suing him for retaliation and exposing something that women in the public eye have been talking about for so long but without any physical proof they couldn't take any legal steps. She's exposing how these pr firms will literally bury women the second they become inconvenient to the industry. Blake Lively is far from the first. But I am hoping this is a step towards making her one of the last.

[genderqueerdykes]

im just saying people don't get anywhere near as pissed off at me for saying that gays can be women, genderfluid, multigender or nonbinary as i do when saying lesbians can be men, genderfluid, multigender, or nonbinary. this isn't because lesbians literally can't be those things, this is because of rad fems and how many people are getting wrapped up into their rhetoric. this is because of lesbian separatism. this is because of "political lesbianism". it doesn't make it right. this is politically charged and has nothing to do with real lesbianism.

these beliefs aren't even being pushed by actual lesbians most of the time: most terfs and rad fems are not actually lesbians, but women who pathologically avoid men at all costs. most rad fems and terfs are NOT lesbians, but "political lesbians", where their stances on gender and sexuality have everything to do with regressive, restrictive politics and nothing to do with queer identity. they're just looking for a girl's club to join to bitch and whine about how much they hate men. this has nothing to do with lesbianism.

there's a reason i don't hear anywhere near as many people saying "female gays are invading the queer community and putting us in danger!!!" as i do people saying that lesbian men are an active threat to the lesbian community. this has nothing to do with the truth and everything to do with rad feminism, terfism and lesbian separatism. remember that the first targets of lesbian separatism were butches, cis trans or otherwise. this has nothing to do with preserving the lesbian community. it has nothing to do with doing what the lesbian community wants. never forget that the first people targeted by these individuals were butch, gnc, trans, and genderqueer lesbians.

this is just "women safe, men dangerous" at its finest. there's a reason why people are so much more angry and militant about lesbian men than there are people who are this destructive about female gays. yes people are shitty about female gays but the treatment toward male lesbians is so much more widespread and viewed as good and right. and it's not because that's what the lesbian community wants- it's because so many lesbians suck up to rad fems for approval. so many lesbians secretly think that rad fems and terfs are "right" and want their approval. so many lesbians suck up to those beliefs and espouse them because of how aggressive these people are, but just because they're firm in their beliefs doesn't make them right.

you don't have to behave this way about male and mascs lesbians, because none of this has anything to do with actual, real lesbianism.