#HOPE THESE ARE AT LEAST GOOD/FUN TO LOOK AT

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

Omg thanks, friend!! I love me some jealousy/flirting myself, can't help it. It steams me up. ❤️‍🔥

Oh yeah! I thought doing both sides would be a fun exploration, thanks to the prompt.~

Oh my goodness this line in the Dean section, just made me giggle and kick my feet.

Ooh if you liked that line, you might like this headcanon (Dean's section). It was like, maybe the first or second HC I wrote in this style. lol

I've never seen Big Sky, but to me it seemed fitting that Beau's was a mom from the PTA who doesn't know the meaning of the word BOUNDARIES 😂. But oh my word not the brushing away the cookie bits with her hand. NO! I wouldn't let that slide 😤

The sheer AUDACITY, amirite? 🤣🤣 My mouth would be hanging open like--

This part in the Soldier Boy/ Ben section made me smile, because I do believe that Ben would go way too hard on someone who looked at the reader or touched them, but it really is because he genuinely cares. Also it made me cackle when you wrote "Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life" because OH yeah. These men trying to shoot their shot while the reader is trying her upmost not to have them get shot by her super hot boyfriend.

Ahaha that was my thought process for sure! He wouldn't act that way if he didn't care, let's be honest. And LOL yup, you'd have to cut men to the quick in order to save everyone a lot of grief. 😅😅 Bruise an ego, save a life. (or at least an arm)~

And the mention of the "unfamiliar twinge of guilt" really hits home with Ben, because yes he does flirt a little, but he's learning what it means to be in an exclusive relationship with someone. That being said, I would still lose my mind over the flirty winks, the physical contact, and pet names with other women 😅.

Oooh yes, I feel like that's something we've both explored in writing SB/Ben. For me it's been mostly in the BMD-verse, where Ben has had to content with the unfamiliar feeling of remorse. LOL though those flirty winks would certainly cost him in the BMD-verse. I don't think BMD Ben would be doing that with the reader next to him. 🤣🤣

Russell's version was also wonderful, because he is more laid back, but I could definitely see him breaking someone's nose for saying the wrong thing to his girl.

Oh thank you!! I had fun with Russell in this one. My instinct with him is that he doesn't let a lot of things show on his face that he's fazed, even if he's got a volcano about to erupt under the surface. 😏

Oh goodness I'm melting. This was so CUTE! 🥰

Aw yay!! Honestly I was thinking of the Every Second Counts-verse for that line. 🥰🥰

All of these were so accurate and well written my friend! I can't wait to read your new headcanon about Body Insecurity as well 😊

Ooh you make me blush, my friend. 🥰 I try my best to keep them as in character as possible. I hope you enjoy that HC as well!! It's pretty self-indulgent for me despite it being a request. 😝💞💞

Headcanon: Flirting (And Jealousy)

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Russell Shaw x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @lacilou. And surprise! For the first time, I'm trying out adding Russell Shaw to the lineup because I thought he'd be an interesting addition for this prompt. 💜

Prompt: How would Dean, Ben & Beau react to either other men flirting with us or them obliviously/cluelessly letting other women flirt with them? And how we would react to them -- like how they'd make it up to us, their excuses, etc.

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw would react to someone flirting with you. (And others flirting with them.)

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, oblivious flirting, unwanted advances, jealousy, some toxic masculinity (you know Ben 🙄), but ultimately lots of fluff, and some spice too.~

Dean Winchester

Dean isn't one to get jealous...at first.

He knows you're hot as hell. He pretty much expects guys to try and shoot their shot.

Plus, he's secure enough in his relationship with you to know you wouldn't consciously entertain someone who's flirting with you.

He also knows you're strong enough to take care of yourself, even with a persistent asshole.

However.

The second a man gets into your face or tries to put his hands on you, Dean's stepping in -- either to twist the man's arm nearly out of its socket, or deliver a swift punch between the eyes, or his personal favorite, grabbing the back of the guy's neck and slamming his face onto the counter.

Dean finds the sound of bone breaking against varnished wood, followed closely by the heavy tripping thud of a body to the floor, deeply satisfying.

You heave a sigh. Not because you're all that annoyed at Dean, but because you tried to warn the guy.

Now, Dean knows he used to be...well, a "ladies man," putting it mildly. He's improvised more panty-dropping one-liners than a Magic Mike stripper. His success rate is 9-and-10 (because there's always room for improvement).

He directs all that flirtatious, playful, sexual energy on you. He's fallen for you, committed to you, and once he makes a decision with his heart, Dean Winchester doesn't have an unfaithful bone in his body.

However.

He can't altogether stop women from flirting with him. Like at one of the many diners you, Sam, and Dean stop to eat at after a hunt.

"Let me know if you need anything else, okay?" the waitress says. She brushes her hand up his arm and squeezes his shoulder, giving Dean a too-bright smile that leaves nothing to the imagination (at least to you).

He smiles back at her. "Thanks, sweetheart."

It's like a reflex. He thinks he's being polite. He doesn't even follow the path of her hip-swaying walk with his eyes -- like he certainly would've before he met you.

You still stare at Dean incredulously. When the woman walks away, he smiles at you as if nothing happened. Sam wisely keeps to himself and sips his beer, hiding a smirk.

Dean notices the way your lips are pursed, bitchface activated. "What?" he asks.

You cross your arms. "Really?"

He frowns. "What's the matter?"

"Really. You need me to tell you not to let that woman eye-fucking you to put her hands all over you?" You shake your head. More dryly you add, "Right in front of me, too. I gotta give it to her, she's got brass balls."

Dean is bewildered, but then he replays the moment in his head and realizes that you're right. He kinda fucked up.

He sees the way you're getting all testy, and he has to chuckle.

"Okay. I'm sorry, sweetheart. My bad."

He reaches for your hand and manages to uncross your arms. You're stubborn in your irritation, but Dean is the king of persuasion, giving you teasing, flirty bedroom eyes and waggling brows as he pulls you towards him.

If you're still reluctant to soften, he adds, "Come on, don't be a sourpuss. Come 'ere."

Eventually he breaks you, making you laugh and hit his arm with no real force behind it.

Even Sam shakes his head, seeing how his brother manages to pacify you by sliding his arm around your shoulders across the booth. Dean leans in and kisses along your neck. He inhales your scent and hums in pleasure.

Sam clears his throat. He has to awkwardly look away.

"Gonna forgive me?" Dean asks, his lips moving against your skin. "Though I gotta admit, I kinda like it when you're jealous. All growly and fiesty. Got myself a little tiger."

You roll your eyes, but your lips tug at a smile. Your face warms in a blush, especially as his hand wanders under your jacket and teasingly up your side.

You slip your fingers into his hair, making sure to give a sharp little tug on it for good measure. He just laughs.

Oh, you'll forgive him, but maybe you'll make him do a little more penance when you all get back home.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a jealous man from the onset when a man flirts with you.

His lips purse, his jaw clicks, and he keeps a firm eye on the situation. He doesn't like it.

But to his credit, he tries not to act on it right away, letting you handle it the way you want to.

However, like Dean, the moment someone gets into your personal space or tries to touch you, he's pulling out some Sheriff moves.

If the man grabs at you, Beau's got his arm twisted behind his back so fast, he can almost feel ligaments popping. Beau gives a calm, but firm warning before sending the guy on his way. (He'd like to do more, but the department frowns on excessive violence.)

Maybe part of you gets annoyed at the show of jealousy, but a larger part of you can't help but be turned on when he protects you. You know it's not because he thinks you need protecting, but because he wants to.

"Can't help it, darlin'," he's said. "It's just how I was raised."

But you're the one that bristles when Danielle, a PTA mom at Emily's school, flirts with him. She laughs at his corny jokes with her white teeth and her perfectly layered and coiffed blonde hair.

She even gives him an extra cookie from her offering at the school's bake sale. (She knows what most of this town knows -- that the way to the Sheriff's heart is all too often through his stomach.)

Beau just nods along, smiling polite with that charming grin of his, totally oblivious while he eats. The last straw for you is when she wipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Your mouth falls open in shock. "Are you shitting me?"

You accidentally say it out loud, earning not only your boyfriend's surprised look, but Danielle's guilty one as well. (And some of the kids.)

Blushing in embarrassment, you pivot on your heel and start packing up your supplies for the bake sale.

That's when Beau realizes that he fucked up.

He politely excuses himself from Danielle and goes to help you (wiping the crumbs off his face and licking chocolate off his thumb). He can tell you're feeling more than a little icy towards him, but he tries to make up for it by doing all the heavy lifting, bringing back things to the car, and helping you with the bags before he calls Emily over.

It's a long car ride home, awkward and tense. Emily can tell something's off between you and her dad, but when she asks about it, you claim nothing's wrong.

Beau knows better.

He waits until the three of you get home to the apartment you share with him, and after putting the bake sale stuff away, he follows you into the bedroom.

"Sweetheart--"

"What the hell was that, Beau?" You come in hot with it, and Beau is quick to try and ease your tension with an apology.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Couldn't you see that she was eyeing you like a honey-glazed ham?"

Beau's lips twitch at a grin, but you're not amused. You cross your arms and give him a warning look. That's when he wises up.

"Okay, you're right. I'm sorry." He chances taking a few slow steps towards you, raising his brows and keeping his hands up in surrender.

You eye him narrowly, but you let him get close enough to slip his arms around you. He gathers you against his chest and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek.

"I mean it. Won't happen again," he promises. His hands mold to the curve of your waist and squeeze gently. His lips move, burning a sweet path along your jawline, your chin, over the apple of your cheeks, and finally your lips. You breathe into it, and you can't help but cling to the front of his buttoned-down shirt.

"Do me a favor," you say quietly between kisses. "Don't eat Danielle's cookies."

Beau smiles against your lips. "Don't you worry, darlin'. From now on, I'll tell her that I've got some good cookie at home."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Oh, Ben doesn't fuck around.

...Well, in the sense that he can't tolerate another man even looking at you flirtatiously, or otherwise with any kind of intent.

Depending on the severity, at best, it'll have Ben shooting the man a stony look of warning.

At worst, it ruins the day -- namely with the sound of bone snapping and a man's sobbing howl of pain.

You try to get him to tone it down ("For God's sake, Ben. It's fine. Just relax."), but this is one thing he well and truly doesn't budge on.

Ben is possessive. Because you're his. His to touch, and his to protect.

In his mind, it's fucking simple.

Whenever you get irritated with this brutish, knuckle-dragging, caveman mentality, you try to remember why he does it.

It's indicative of how much he actually cares about you.

Because if he didn't, he wouldn't really give a shit if other men were flirting with you. (He'd just find another woman to try and charm back to his apartment.)

So you've learned how to try and finesse these situations so that Ben doesn't notice.

You've also stopped letting down men easy, proverbially cutting off their dick and balls with your words.

Because it's quite literally to save their dumbass life.

But when other women flirt with Ben, he takes it all with indulgent smiles, throwing in a wink and a sweetheart every now and then.

He doesn't blame them for flirting with him, checking him out. He's Soldier Boy, after all, and in his mind, it's not his fault they can't help themselves around him.

However, a smile and a wink is all that he allows himself.

If he truly cares about you (and though he doesn't often express it in words, he does), then the unfamiliar twinge of guilt stops him whenever he almost accepts a woman's alluring invitation--spoken or unspoken.

His mouth might spew arrogance and gilded lies, but his actions too often betray what he really feels.

And what he really feels can't be any more clear than when he goes after you, instead of indulging the woman who basically undressed him with her eyes, whispered sultry, sexy offerings in his ear, and invited him to go home with her.

Seeing you take off out the double doors of the club, Ben rolls his eyes. He brushes the woman off without a backwards glance, and follows you out into the night air. He grabs your hand before you can get far in your heels.

"What the hell's the matter now?" he asks dryly.

You turn on him with an incredulous look.

"That woman was practically sucking your neck, Ben!"

"All right, don't fucking overreact. You're getting hysterical," he says, before guiding you back into his arms.

"I'm not fucking hysterical, you ass!" You push against his chest, but he doesn't budge, nor does he let you go. This isn't a good area, and he doesn't want you out in these streets at this time of night without him at your side.

"Ben," you say sharply. You look up at him in irritation, but he just smirks and strokes your side with his thumb.

Yes, (in his mind) you're being a little difficult, but he thinks your jealousy is amusing, adorable, and kind of hot all at the same time.

Ben doesn't bother with saying anything more to convince you. He just slips a hand behind your neck and kisses you soundly.

He invades your mouth with his tongue and devours you, reminding you that you're the one he wants.

He waylays you with his strong hands framing your body against his, and with his sinful mouth, until you finally melt into his embrace.

He's chosen you countless time before, and he knows he'll keep choosing you, for as long as this lasts.

Russell Shaw

Russell always clocks the "situation" right away when a man starts to flirt with you.

He's not one to make a scene of it at first, depending on the time and place.

But he is quick to sidle up to your side, pointedly slip a hand along your waist, and greet you with a deceptive smile.

"Hey, sweetheart. Let's grab that table over there. 'S more comfortable than the bar."

He glances up at the man, sharpness hidden well behind his green eyes. Whether the guy picks up on it or not, Russell is making a mugshot in his mind -- and he never forgets a face.

You eye him knowingly, but you let him guide you away. He's kind of cute when he's jealous, and it doesn't take much to spark that well of protectiveness that lies in wait just under his skin.

Russell isn't easily fazed by most things, but one sure way to provoke his temper (and those rougher, darker shades of him that he tries his best not to show you) is for a man to push his luck with you.

It really wouldn't take much effort at all for the former soldier to have a man clutching his bloody, shattered nose, let alone to dump his broken body in front of the closest hospital. But somehow, Russell manages to curb those darker urges. (Again, don't tempt him.)

But when another woman flirts with him, you're the one who starts to have steam coming out of your ears.

Russell doesn't miss much. He recognizes the sultry inflection in the woman's words. He catches the subtle, sensuous gleam in her eyes when she rakes him up and down with them.

He also notes the moment you look over and realize what's happening.

Regardless if you're looking or not, he tries his best to stay distant, but polite, even as a warning twinge of "aww shit" runs up his spine.

He tries to play things off with an amiable smile and being purposefully oblivious.

Until the woman gets bold, slipping her hand over Russell's and up his arm a bit, before she withdraws, tilting her head with a sweet-as-pie smile.

Cue Russ's awkward laugh/clearing of the throat. Before he has time to fully pull away and just come out with the, Sorry, I actually have a girlfriend -- you return to his side and pointedly grab his hand.

"Come on, honey, we'll be late," you say, giving him a tense smile.

The aww shit feeling is back, but Russell just nods and falls into step with you.

When you two have enough privacy to hash it out, you let him have it.

"What the hell was that?!"

Russell can't help but chuckle. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I tried to keep it classy, but that woman was persistent. Not that I blame her--"

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes (not that you really blame her either). Then you stare at your man in annoyance, crossing your arms. "I didn't see you trying all that hard to fend her off, huh, Romeo? If another man had touched me like that, you would've broken his fingers off, like a fucking caveman."

Russell's brows raise at the dig, but the way you're getting all testy is kind of cute (and also kinda hot).

"All right. You got me there," he says. He slips his arms around your waist and tries to soften you with a charming grin. "Come on, sweetheart. You know I'm not going anywhere."

"Do I?" you blurt out, before you have a chance to reign it back in.

Russell's contract jobs take him all over the country -- all over the world. Yes, he's on his way out, he claims. He wants to settle down with you, or so he says.

But you have no idea of knowing what he does when he's not with you.

All those days out on the road, crashing in skeevy motels, winding down at dive bars -- has he ever been tempted to "sample" the local fare? Has he ever...

Russell's amusement fades, sobering into a frown and a furrowing of his brows. He hums in disapproval. He doesn't like what he's seeing in your eyes: doubt, most of all.

"Hey," he says. It's a serious tone you don't often hear in his voice. He curls a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to meet his.

"I'm gonna need you to listen to me, and listen good," he says. You frown at that, but he brushes his thumb across your cheek, a small, but tender caress. "You and me, we've got something good. I know what that means. So you can believe me when I say, I'm in this. I'm right here, even when I'm not here."

And he smiles at you. "That make sense?"

Slowly, you start to smile too. "Not really," you laugh.

But it does. You know what he's trying to say, and...you believe him. Your fingers curl in the front of his shirt.

Tentatively, you lean up and press your lips to his; just a sweet, slow meeting.

Russell cups your cheek and leans in for a deeper taste, a deeper conviction of every word he just said.

I love you, is what it really means, even if he's not able to say that just yet.

AN: 😮‍💨 Well, there we go! lol I love me a protective man. 💜 Hope you enjoy this set of headcanons!

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[bobananami]

VELVET ESCAPADES

SUKUNA RYOMEN

synopsis—a night out with your fiancé ends with you ruining his fun, then to him ruining you

tags—CEO au Sukuna. talks of marriage. brat reader. remote controlled vibrators. hidden exhibition. bondage (suspension). edging. orgasm denial. hints towards his abilities. fingering. pnv.

You weren't a coward. At least that's what you told yourself as you rushed down a hallway filled with grandiose windows and pristine carpeted floors. All part of the manor that hosted the gracious ball you and your beloved fiance were attending.

Said fiance was mingling around the dance floor, conversing with men of his caliber—or at least as close as they could get to his. All fancied up in suits and ties, they preened their wealth in hopes of showing off their status to both their women or in hopes of finding one—or multiple—to spend the night with.

Not that it mattered to you or your husband to be. Both of you were dressed immaculately, putting every wannabe rich boy and doe-eyed ladies to shame the second you walked in and beheld your shimmering dress and sharp, tailored suit.

Little did they know that under your fancy embroidered fabrics, Sukuna Ryomen was playing a game with you. A game that started with a little object in his right pocket that he constantly fidgeted with and ended with its second half buried up into your slick core.

You thought it would be fun in the car when he had proposed the idea. To see how well you could keep your composure when he held your pleasure and sanity in his hand, and in the end—if you did good—he'd reward you.

You should've known better. You should've fucking known better.

It took you half an hour to realize exactly how this game benefitted him and not you, for he denied you your pleasure every single time you were inches away from reaching it. You didn't know how he kept tabs on exactly how close you were, but you had little doubt it was related to his unusual keen eyes and ears, able to hear every stuttered breath and every skipped heartbeat.

The first time he’d done so, you casted him a wicked glare, eyes sharp enough to cut through the very walls of this building. He only met it with a smooth incline of his chin, his lips twitched into a smile so subtle, you wouldn't have caught it if you weren't on the receiving end.

The second time had you tapping your foot against the marble floor, your grip on the champagne glass tight enough to nearly shatter it. You didn't look at him this time, but just a second later, you felt a palm—his palm—on your shoulder and his breath against the end of your jaw. A single word was whispered from his lips as they caressed the shell of your ear.

"Behave."

Your shoulders trembled as you resisted the urge to snap your teeth at his chuckling figure.

The third time had you storming off into the hallways, muttering something about needing to use the restroom towards the frilly young lady that prattled off about some subject you never really listened to.

You couldn't catch a break.

Even in the wide expanse of windowed walls and red carpeted floors, you couldn't cool yourself from the heat that radiated in your core. The lack of sleeves and cool, ventilated air did nothing but show how tense you were. How two beads of sweat made their way from your forehead down to your jaw.

The bathroom wasn't much better, but it did offer you the privacy you wished you had.

Bzzz.

Your grip tightened on the white counters, your eyes screwed shut as you held in the little moan that threatened to escape.

You let your head fall back, the buzzing growing more intense and louder in the echoing chamber of the bathroom. Your chest heaved with every pant and your thighs pressed together as if they could ward off the sensation you begged to receive. The waters of pleasure grew into a wave, higher and higher as it reached the undisturbed shore that begged to be coated in oceanic salt.

Maybe he couldn't hear you. You're halfway across the damn house, behind the closed door of a bathroom. Maybe now you could—

But before you could finish the thought, the waters froze, then were pulled back by an unknown force.

You held in a howl of frustration, tears pricking your lashes that you held in for fear of ruining your makeup. You opted for stomping furiously on the ground.

How dare he? How dare he take your orgasm from you again?

Riiiiing.

You buried your hand in your purse, pulling out your phone. Your scowl only deepened the second you saw what contact dared to interrupt your internal tirade.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum, princess?"

You didn't hesitate. "Fuck. You."

Three tuts were heard over the line, then his deep, smug voice. "Don't be like that, baby. You know better than to use that language on me."

"I mean it, Sukuna. Fucking—I hate you." The vibe in you suddenly went to its max, and you yelped in surprise, your shaky grip nearly causing you to drop your phone.

"What did I just say?" The static didn't really distort his words. Somehow, it only made them more menacing. Made you more inclined to obey his commands.

But the past hour and a half of teasing and toying with you as if you were nothing but a little rabbit to be played with during its hunt had your pupils narrowing and ragged breaths sourcing from anger, rather than desperation.

Fuck obedience.

You held the bottom of your phone to your mouth, making sure he heard every breath and syllable you spat from your venomous tongue.

"Fuck. You."

You hung up the phone shortly after. He wanted to play with you? You could play his game right back.

His contact appeared shortly on the screen again and you declined the call, instead going into his information and blocking him effective immediately.

You shut off your phone right after, getting rid of any location tracking he might've had with the device.

The glittering cloths of your dress wrinkled as you hiked up your skirt. The single stall bathroom was filled with hitched moans and whines as you pushed aside your laced panties, gliding two fingers deep into your pulsing cunt. All just to grab onto the silicone string of that damned vibrator and yank it out.

"We'll see how you fucking like this." You hissed angrily, tossing it into your purse with contempt.

So full of vitriol and spite, the satisfaction gained from shutting him out and ending his fun was enough for you to forgo getting yourself off in the pristine restroom and causing wonder for why you'd been gone for so long.

Little did you know that would be the biggest mistake of your night.

You flipped your hair back, testing your smile in the spotless mirror. Stunning. That's what you'd thought when you finally finished your makeup hours earlier. That's what your fiance had murmured the second he saw your finished look by the door to your home.

But now? Your smile widened to show your teeth, your canines as dull as a human could be, yet seeming as sharp as a panther when you beheld the molten lava in your eyes.

You avoided Sukuna the whole night afterwards, relishing in his darkened gaze when he realized what you had done.

You tossed him a look when he tried edging you again in plain sight and threw him a little wink before you took a sip of your champagne.

Dangling the glittery purse in your palm, you spun on your heel and went back to the bar to order a glass of refreshment.

He was beyond pissed, you could tell. You felt his eyes boring holes in your head as you turned your back towards him and you knew that if you were in the privacy of your own home, you'd be pinned to the ground with his clothed cocks pressing into your ass as he growled threats and promises into your ear.

Which was why the snake of delight slithered up your spine. He was in no position to do what he wanted right now. Not when so many people were watching.

Your thighs clenched at the idea of you finally having the higher ground.

Maybe now he'll know better than to cross you again.

You were so, so wrong.

A minute later you felt a grip by your elbow. You looked up to see the stormy eyes of Sukuna Ryomen, burning with ire.

You barely put the glass down before you were being dragged to the front door. As politely as he could display in this public setting. He stopped to talk to the host, but before you could get the idea to run, his grip turned impossibly tight.

Your eyes widened, and you looked up to your lover to see his jaw clench, even as he smiled and laughed with the blue eyed, white haired man before him.

You could barely bid your farewells before you were borderline tossed into your car.

The car was dark, the only light within from the radio by the front driver and the golden lights from the house outside.

Your pupils narrowed, and you snarled his way. "Why the fuck did you just—"

You felt two fingers press against your forehead and the last thing you saw was the steel cold face of Sukuna Ryomen and two very vivid scarlet eyes.

You awoke with a throbbing headache—the familiar aftereffects of the fainting spell. It wore off by the second, all the while you blinked away your blurry vision, trying to discern your surroundings.

Your neck ached and the muscles strained from the tension of your head hanging down. The reason why hit you soon after—your hands were suspended in the air. Red silk wrapped snugly around your wrists kept your arms pin straight above your head, its other end reaching the hook in the ceiling.

You tried shifting your legs, only to realize the same ropes were there too, tied artistically around your lower thighs to keep them spread apart.

Displayed like art for its intended audience.

Cold air wrapped around you like a glove, shifting your notice to your dress, or lack thereof. Where glittered fabric and shimmering satin had coated you before now laid nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Your eyes widened—

"You wake, finally."

Sukuna Ryomen sat lazily on the armchair across from you. His ankle was cross over his knee, his chin resting on his fist. He was still dressed in his nightly clothes sans his jacket. Drool pooled at the bottom of your mouth when you beheld the way his shirt stretched against his chest.

There was something in his other hand though. You noticed his thumb rolling against the edge of a small object. That should’ve raised the alarm in your head.

"What is the meaning of this?" Your words were slow. Careful. You weren't ignorant to the gleam in his eyes. In the dark room, lit only by the golden lamps beside your bed, Sukuna's ruby irises seemed to glow with lustful malice.

"You should know, little rabbit." Your fiance drawled, his tone lazy, yet you noticed the subtle edge with every syllable that dripped from his tongue. "You ruined my fun tonight."

You bristled in your spot, trying to ignore the flush that crept up your cheeks from his gaze raking over your nude figure. There was a hunger within them that made you wonder if he was planning how, exactly, he was going to devour you.

He leaned forward, flashing the tiny black object in his hand.

A remote of some sort.

"So I will be ruining you."

The small click reverberated throughout the room.

Not even a second later, you felt a small buzz inside your cunt. You jerked against the sudden feeling, now taking note of the small vibe nestled deep inside your walls.

Your surprised expression met the cunning of his and his smile grew at the realization blooming in your eyes at what he had planned tonight.

Another click and your gasp followed, your lips forming his name in a plea he'd be sure to ignore.

"Sukuna please—"

"Zip it." His sharp tone had your mouth clamping up. But he didn't ignore the way your pupils narrowed at his snippy tone. "You ran from me tonight. Blocked me. Took out the toy."

Bzz.

"Now you have no choice but to face your punishment, when tonight could've ended with satisfaction."

Click.

Bzzz.

"You fucking deserved—"

You didn't even blink before he was in front of you, your hair whipping with the effects of his lightning speed.

His hand gripped your jaw roughly, lifting your face to meet his.

"You'll take what I give you until you're a begging, writhing mess. Then I'll think about giving you what you want. But for now..."

You blink, and he's back in his seat, in the same exact position that you wondered if you had imagined him getting up in the first place.

His smile grew, baring his fangs of the wolf he never truly tried to hide.

"We have fun."

You were delirious, wound up infinitely from the pain and pleasure mixed into an intoxicating potion of ecstasy.

Sukuna kept you bound there for an hour. Two hours. Watching. Waiting.

His keen eyes observed every twitch and jerk as he kept that vibrator buried deep within your pulsing cunt and edged you until you were begging for him to grant you release.

You were hissing, spitting and groaning out insults like a feral kitten to the man that sat before you with a smirk carved into his beautiful face. His eyes held all the emotions you needed to see, glimmering with amusement and pity, as if you were nothing than a bunny caught in its hunters snare, to be eaten and savored. You were the one who bounced into his trap after all, you only had yourself to blame.

He could see the gradual shift in effects your little game was having on you. The denial to anger. The writhe and shift of your body as that vibrator nestled deep in your cunt was winding that worn rope tighter and tighter within you.

Your wrists must've been rubbed raw by now with how much you were twisting them in the silk knot that held them high above your head, the ones at your knees keeping your thighs spread perfectly so he could watch just how your heated core reacted to being denied its pleasure over and over and over again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck you, Sukuna. Fuck. You." You spat, your words nothing but null venom. "Fucking h-hate you." Your voice hitched, words tumbling into a low whine that mixed with the crescendoing buzz of your toy. Your knees jerked, eyes squeezing shut as you got lost in the pleasure your torturer was granting you.

Sukuna merely quirked a single brow, leaning an elbow on his leg as he bent forward. "Do you now, doll?" The low baritone of his voice had you keening, your head shaking in a white lie.

"I do. F-fuck. I swear—hah—I swear I do!" You winced as your nails bit into the skin of your palm, your fists as tense as the muscles of your thighs. Sukuna's keen eyes watched as the crimson of your blood stain the red silk at your wrists, and his tongue swiped over his lips at the idea of taking your hand in his grasp and...

"Hm... okay then." The remote in his hand clicked, eventually reaching a stage with no change as he wound up the intensity to its max, and he relished in every jerk and twitch of your body as it tried desperately to chase that high he'd been artistically keeping from you.

Predatory eyes glimmered with entertainment as you panted, your voice reaching a high pitch as you moaned for him. As you whined and cried and sobbed. For someone who claimed to feel nothing but hatred for her fiance, you sure had a tendency to keep the syllables of his name flowing on your tongue.

That incessant buzzing hadn't stopped once in the past many minutes, pulling that fragile string tighter, tighter, and fucking tighter.

You'd survived the past two and a half hours of denial, relying on that armor of swears and insults. But it could only handle so much. You could only handle so much.

You realized now that you were laid bare, and the wolf in front of you was drooling at the maw as he took in your naked torso. At the exposed belly of the little rabbit he desired to ravish.

For a second, you froze, taking in your wicked fiancée. The way his irises seemed to glow red, his very presence emanating the sadistic glee at your struggle…

The whites of your eyes showed as you beheld your ravenous predator before you, and then you thrashed. Finally, finally that prey subconscious kicked in. Testing the integrity of the red silk that held you spread wide open for your dashing, torturing hunter, you tried curling in on yourself. Elbows flaring and thighs begging to close to hide your displayed abdomen and chest if only to protect yourself from the beast in front of you.

All the while Sukuna Ryomen's smile grew, showing his fangs and canines as you broke. Shattered.

Into a million pieces he would eagerly clean with his tongue.

"Fuck—Sukuna, please. Please!" Your arms tugged at the rope again, shoulders and triceps sore from the constant state of tension it remained in as tears streaked down the familiar path your cheeks, wetting the dried trail that had been there since the moment you woke up on this bed.

"Oh?" He was everything but shocked, but his chuckle grated against your ears and you sobbed once more, your throat bobbing with the pathetic sounds that followed. "So she finally begs."

You were so close. So damn close to ecstasy that you didn't bristle at his mockery, instead now focusing on switching methods and pleading for mercy.

"I want-" A hiccup, then the shake of your head to move the curl of hair that found its way to your face. "I w-wanna cum. Please, 'Kuna. P-Please!"

His sharp eyes gnawed at you—at the once thick metaphorical rope now grains away from snapping entirely and bringing your unsteady waters to peace.

You welcomed it—craved it. You wanted it gone, that growing itch deep within your core that you were so close to getting rid of. You wanted it gone.

"Beg me more." Each syllable was drawn out, his eloquence leaving no room for misunderstanding as you opened your tear laden eyes and set them upon his grinning expression. Cocky mother fucker.

But you couldn’t argue. It was futile. It always had been. From the second he started this game.

Your body bowed once more as you gave in entirely—a physical representation of how you finally became submissive to your master.

"Please. Please, my love. I'm begging. I—I'll do anything. Anything! If I could j-just—“

“J-just—“ His mocking tone sliced through your pleas. One second he was sitting in that damn chair, and the next he was in front of you. His head tilted, the true essence of the reigning predator he was in that very movement.

His calloused hand grabbed at your jaw, his tight, rough grip keeping your gaze directed up towards him.

"Come now, bambi... you can do better than that." You whimpered when he jerked your face forward. When he bent down until your lips were a mere breath away. "Beg."

You didn't know how to beg more than you already had. You only let out a series of sobs and unintelligible slurred words as he took off that vibrator again, yanking you down to earth.

"Hm." Sukuna watched you with amused scrutiny as you tried finding your way back to shore after being dunked under the ocean surface once again. He couldn't help but let his hand wander, his finger trailing oh so delicately down your neck, from your jaw to the clavicle that jutted out. Round and round your breast until he was cupping it. You could only twitch and whine and moan when he squeezed, his thumb and forefinger pinching against your peaked nipple.

"I shouldn't be giving you anything tonight after the stunt you pulled today." He guided his hand lower and lower, down your curves and your heaving abdomen. "But I can't help that you looked so fucking delectable at that gala tonight. I wanted to drag you to a bathroom and rip your dress to shreds." Your thigh tensed when his palm skimmed up and down the expanse of your skin. Over the ridges of looped silk that dimpled your fat under their tension.

You couldn't help but whimper when he cupped your mound. Neither could you help your embarrassed flush when he pointed out how he barely even touched you and yet his entire palm was covered in your slick and arousal.

Fucking filthy, he said.

All because of you, you couldn't help but respond.

The man who was not a man only hummed in response. His fingers slid between your folds, middle finger catching against your clit before he gave it a swift flick.

"Ngh—"

"Quiet, pet." He gave a light smack, and you jerked against his hold. Against the hold of that damn red silk.

He smacked you again, only to soothe the ache by pressing two, thick digits against your pulsating hole.

"You do not cum until I say so." It wasn't a request. He didn't care if you nodded in submission. Obedience was expected.

Your walls stretched deliciously as he sunk in his middle and ring finger, and you let out a long moan, high pitched and barely audible from hours of use.

Sukuna tched, moving the hand on your jaw to shove the same exact fingers down your throat. "I said be quiet."

You held in your gag at how deep they went. As well as your moan at how deep his other fingers went.

His thrusts were slow. The horrible, terrible man before you making you feel every grind and scissor and push of his two fingers.

Three digits each.

Six in total.

All making your head feel woozy and clouded as if you had taken a sedative.

"Stay with me, little doe."

He picked up the pace, and your lashes fluttered shut. Two tears rolled down your cheeks, released from your lash line the second your lids closed.

Please, please, please let me cum.

How pathetic did you have to be to beg him in your mind if you weren't allowed to do it verbally.

Your fiance seemed to read your thoughts, and a smug smile grew on his face. His fingers fucked into you faster, his palm now grinding against your clit with every shove of his hand into your sweet, begging cunt.

You were close. Oh so fucking close that you couldn't hide your whines anymore. Your internalized begging became verbal once more, even if they were muffled against his fingers pressed down on your tongue.

You opened your eyes to meet his once again, every request and apology written in them like the stars in the night sky.

Close, close. You were so close. Please, please, please, ple—

"Come."

Just like that, you fell limp, the ropes and his grip on your face being the only things holding you up as your vision turned white and your body gave into its carnal desire.

You felt lightning skitter up your spine and along every single bone in your body as you finally caved, orgasming on his relentless fingers.

The still bedroom air was filled with lewd claps of his hand continuing to finger fuck your tight cunt and the stuttered gasps and moans of relief and pleasure and ecstasy.

Finally. Finally.

His hand slowed, and you felt him pulling something out of your walls as he withdrew his hand from your throat.

A strong, albeit wet, palm cupped your cheek, and you stayed leaning against it with your eyes closed, catching your breath.

He let you, waiting as long as you needed to find your bearings before your lashes fluttered open, a tired—yet satisfied—emotion rolling beneath your rich irises.

Sukuna met yours with a cocky—and proud—look of his own. There was a tense moment of silence, before—

"Truly a shame I couldn't properly rip your dress off you tonight."

Your breathy chuckles told him all he needed to know. He'd have another chance, and you'd let him have his fun soon.

Very soon.

dividers from @/cafekitsune

[revelboo]

Who is your favorite Cybertronian to write for? If you don't mind me asking!

To write for? I think I’m having the most fun writing the Scavengers right now. I like dysfunctional group dynamics, but the Trine’s probably my second favorite group. For a single Cybertronian? Probably Wasp 😆

I’m so sorry for this- but I have weird ideas early in the morning and couldn’t help but think there’d be a reality out there where the war ended before it reached Earth. That maybe Earth gets discovered by Swindle and a few other opportunists. And he’d just be scooping up humans by the handfuls to sell as ‘pets/toys.’

18+

No Strings

Rainmakers x Reader

• “Nova’s just under a lot of stress lately and I’d heard that you-” Words faltering as Acid Storm follows Swindle into the back of the ship and his optics slide up to the video screens playing above the rows of cages. Wings flicking slightly at the sounds, the whimpers and moans. “Ah.” What was he saying? When he’d heard about Swindle’s operation, he’d laughed at first. Because it had sounded like a bad joke. But then he’d kept thinking about it. Gotten curious.

• “Nothing better for stress than a good frag,” Swindle says, grinning and gesturing to the row of cages. “And fragging is pretty much all these things do. Why they’re separated. They may take some breaking in and training, but I’ve got all the supplies you’ll need.” Turning to watch the Seeker bend to look into a cage, frowning when the human scoots to the far side. “They’re a bit skittish at first.” Why he’d paid Shockwave to synthesize him doses of what Swindle had affectionately dubbed Playtime. A little chemical pheromone, that when added to their water guaranteed not only cooperation, but enthusiasm. And a continued source of shanix after the initial sale as his buyers returned for more.

• “They look kind of like squishy, little Cybertronians,” Acid Storm mutters as he taps the front of a cage to send the little creature inside scurrying to the back, chattering at him. Is it speaking? “Are they sentient?” Drifting to the next cage, his wings flick. Keeps getting distracted by the vids.

• “Of course not. Smart enough to train, though.” Folding his arms behind his back, Swindle watches the Seeker wander around the room to inspect the pets. “That said, all sales are final and no sampling the merchandise.”

• Stopping at a cage with a pet curled into a back corner, he taps the door. Frightened eyes lift to stare at him, but you’re not leaking like some of the pets at least or screaming. Seem docile enough as you turn your little face away, hair brushing your shoulder. Submissive might be fun. “Can I see this one?”

• They’re back. When the monstrous robots show up, someone gets taken away. And they’d stopped in front of your cage. When you’d woken up confused and frightened here, you’d tried to talk to the guy in the cage beside yours only to realize you couldn’t understand each other. Hadn’t been able to yell loud enough over the damn porn looping on the screens to be heard by anyone who spoke your language either. And the robot acting as caretaker either can’t understand you or doesn’t care. When the familiar one opens your cage door, you make a doomed attempt to avoid that big hand and cry out when you get pinned to the side of the cage and grabbed anyway. As they talk about you in their growling, alien gibberish, you try to wriggle free before realizing how high up you are. Don’t know what they want with you, but given the porn? You’re have a pretty good idea and you sincerely hope you’re wrong. Because there’s no way you’re meant for that with these giants.

• Venting softly as Swindle lifts you free and places you in his hands, Acid Storm can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his servos as he strokes soft skin. And you go still and docile in his grip, breathing rapidly. Afraid or cold? You’re shivering against him. Running a servo up your frame to tip your chin his way, you grab on with both tiny hands. Head lifting from those pretty eyes when Swindle brings over a little harness and carefully puts in on you, attaching a length of leash. “That’s too short,” he says and Swindle just grins.

• “Not when you’re mass displaced. Trust me, you’ll want it for training them to take a spike.” Filling a crate with food, water, and blankets, he holds up the bottle of Playtime. “Before you try to frag them, dose them. Just make sure not to exceed the recommended dosage.” Otherwise their little hearts can stop, but he keeps that to himself, seeing the Seeker already frowning. “They can be a bit skittish the first time. You’ll want this.”

• Frowning as Swindle adds the tiny bottle to your supplies, he runs a servo over you and glances up at the screens. “How much for the pet?”

Next

[self-loving-vampire]

I generally respect the people who create things and put them on itch but I don't think the generic recommendation to look over there to find X or Y works for me because what is there is often hyper-specific to the local culture and style and that may not necessarily match your own aesthetic sensibilities.

A lot of the people on there are making games that appeal to them, which is super respectable and good but if you're not extremely similar to them it just has very little appeal as a player.

For example:

You get stuff like this, which at least to me sounds less like "this would be a fun game to play with my friends" and more like "oh, the writer just went through this and is now making a game to cope or something.", which is fine and I hope they enjoyed making it but it's not super inspiring if you're looking for something new to play, you know?

Big respect to the 280-page fishing anime TTRPG, though. That one strikes me as super passionate at least on a first impression.

[kira-loves0905]

"Zayne, eat your carrots."

it was like nagging a petulant child. here you are with your hands on your hips, sternly glancing at the man in front of you who sat composed. his stature relaxed if it wasn't for the subtle tense of his muscles, how his eyes, despite trying to be calm— were lowkey glaring daggers at you.

"there are other source of nutrients that are considerably higher in beta-carotene-"

"those vegetables are currently out of stock. it was just convenient that this good old orange crunch is available," you replied, trying to hold back a laugh at his diverse expressions.

well, truth be told. you can find the other ingredients elsewhere, but this was what came in a clutch. aaaaaaand of course, you wouldn't miss this oppurtunity to make fun of him.

he sighs, as if HE is the one who is scolding you.

"my condition is not that serious, dear." Zayne says calmly.

"it's not my fault that you've overworked badly your eyes have been strained," you shook your head. grabbing a spoonful of the vegetable. "I wouldn't have known that if it wasn't for the nurse. were you even planning on telling me?"

Zayne softens up at your reply. muttering an apology as he drags you into his lap, "subtly" placing the spoon in your hands back at the plate. hoping that his looks would distract you from noticing his advances. no matter how ridiculous he looked like right now.

"I'm sorry, I should've informed you first."

"I know," you smiled, a bit too cheerful for his liking. smoothly grabbing back the utensil. "now say ah,"

"......hmph."

you could've almost missed it. a soft sound of puff, followed by a growing blush from his neck to ears. avoiding your gaze as he pretended he hadn't done that.

"fine, since you so insist." he deflects. taking a begrudging bite of the food.

"there there," you chuckled. patting his hair teasingly.

"we're buying other vegetables besides.... that thing after this," he grumbles, ".....and sweets."

"along with lattes." you smiled. glad he was at least (cutely) cooperating.

"now say ah-"

"I know how to eat my food, thank you."

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Don’t cancel me for this, y’all, but I’ve seen a lot of politically charged posts about RDR (as I should; games about outlaws and the corruption of big and small government are and always will be inherently political), but one thing has really bothered and stuck out to me the most, especially in male-dominated spaces in the fandom. The idea that the Arthur Morgan in this day and age would be a raging MAGA conservative—I’ve gotten so, so many posts about it on my TikTok today, and this is finally me snapping. Here are a few arguments I’ve heard for this. “When he hears that the Democrats want to take his guns, he’d say hell no to that.” “He’s from 1899; you really think he would vote for a Black woman?” And my personal favorite: “Arthur says in-game he doesn’t engage in politics.” I’m not going to go through each of these and explain, in detail with evidence from the games themselves, why I think these are the dumbest takes I’ve ever heard in my life. In a space I hope is more open to this discussion, I hope you’ll join me.

1.) The gun control issue. I know, I know, this one seems pretty obvious; I mean, he’s a red-blooded American man and cowboy. How could anyone possibly think for a second he’d be for the party of gun control?? While this is true, you know what’s also true? The fact that he lost a child to gun violence. Now, of course we don't know exactly how Isaac and Eliza were killed, but judging from the time and efficiency, we can assume they were shot. Now let’s get away from assumptions. Arthur mourned the loss of his son, felt the agonizing, intense pain of losing a child, and said that it changed him forever, hardened his heart. Do we really for a second think that Arthur would listen to the story of Sandy Hook, Parkland, Uvalde, and countless others and say, “No, guns are more important.”? Absolutely fucking not. Not only has Arthur felt that loss, that pain, but he is deeply empathetic; hearing the testimonials of children in these buildings, families that lost their babies, would be more than enough for him to understand and push for common sense gun laws. The erasure of Arthur Morgan's trauma of losing his son and the erasure of his empathy for children and families is rampant in political spaces of the fandom; to simply assume that because Arthur is an outlaw, in modern times he would be this “don’t tread on me.” “Cares more about guns than kids” kind of guy is asinine to me. Even if he hadn’t felt that loss and that pain, there are multiple times in the game where he is given a deeper understanding of things he has never experienced; he becomes angry at that pain inflicted, takes the mission with Charles and the Bison, and hears about the vaccines being diverted from the reservations, and the Black doctor (I think he’s a doctor) you meet in Rhodes. Once he heard these stories, these testimonials, or saw the pain, the hardship, he was quick to step in and do something to make a change. He would not value weapons over the lives of people, as we can see from the game.

2.) This one is always fun to see because it assumes that Arthur is inherently racist. Now, I’m going to state one of my least favorite but still valid arguments: he has minority friends. This is very true; look at Charles, Lenny, Javier, and Tilly. Here is why it’s one of my least favorite arguments: you can have minority friends and still be racist, sexist, homophobic… Having friends doesn’t make you antiracist, so what makes Arthur antiracist? One camp interaction stands out to me the most in regards to this, the one with Tilly when they first move south. Tilly comes to Arthur in specific to talk about how nervous she is being so far south; she understands that the south is a dangerous place for dark-skinned people, especially the location they’re in. Arthur, while he tries to soothe her, pointlessly at first, claiming that it's a good place to run from the law, also understands this, almost immediately changing his tone and telling Tilly not once but twice that e personally will keep her safe, that she has his word that he personally will keep her safe; a man that has hate in his heart for POC would not do that, ever. Another interaction is one with Lenny, where Lenny points out that Arthur wouldn’t notice the difference in the more southern states because the worst they’ll do to him publicly is say that he is friends with POC (less soft than that, watch the clips of it on YouTube if you want the full dialogue), whereas for Lenny the worst that can happen to him publicly is a lynching (which he states all the way back in chapter one where he almost was lynched). Arthur is not ignorant of racism; he knows that it exists—I hate the whole “Arthur doesn’t know about racism.” Because he does, and saying he doesn’t is an insult to his intelligence and awareness of the world around him. He knows racism exists; he personally just cannot fathom it; he cannot picture himself perpetuating racism (again, see the scene in Rhodes with the Black man), which is where I think that confusion that people say he doesn’t understand it comes from—he isn’t confused by racism; he’s confused why that man assumes he’s racist, because in his head he simply can’t fathom being bigoted.

This one has two parts, so bear with me. This also assumes that Arthur is sexist; the argument I see for this is the one-off comment he makes to the working girl at the saloon, "I didn't know I was talkin' to a lady." Was this an ok statement? No. Does it make him a raging sexist? Also no. Let's look at his relationship with Sadie; he does not underestimate her because she's a woman; he trusts in her and her abilities with unwavering confidence, so much so that he entrusts the safety of John, Abigail, and Jack to her. Now let's look at the camp interactions, one of which Arthur states that he sees no difference between men and women (bi king) and that most are bad, but some are worth loving. A man who is a raging sexist would never say something like this; he would never equate men and women, but Arthur does see them as equals. I see a lot of people point out that Arthur is far more protective of the camp girls than most, but this isn't because he sees them as less than him; he just understands that a lot of them lack the ability to fully protect themselves (Love you, Tilly and Mary-Beth). He isn't quite as protective of the women that he knows with confdence can and will protect themselves with confidence, but even then he will stick up for them if needed. Arthur Morgan is a protector of women, which is so incredibly important today and back then.

3.) Here’s my favorite. Arthur doesn’t engage in politics. Looking at this in terms of the game, he absolutely does engage in politics; he has opinions on rights and the government; that is, in fact, political—he doesn’t vote, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make political statements or isn’t even unintentionally political. Now let’s look at this in the frame of today. Being non-political in 1899 and being non-political in 2025 are two wildly different things; politics has changed drastically in the last almost decade where thngs have circled back around to be voting for or against human rights, and from my evidence above, Arthur would be voting for those rights. In modern times it is almost impossible to be nonpolitical; I dare say it's impossible. Everything now has politics attached to it; that argument is their gotcha moment because they don't understand that, which is why they make the argument in the first place.

So, why does this matter? Arthur is a pixel outlaw in a fictional setting of 1899 America. I guess in the grand scheme of life it really doesn’t, but in fandom culture it absolutely does. Many people, including myself, come to fandom spaces to escape, to cope with things from their past or events of the day, to chat about characters, and to share theories and art, and so on. Imagine someone who lost a child, sibling, or friend to gun violence logging on for their daily dose of distraction only to see someone making points as to why a character who is comforting to so many people wouldn’t care about the death of their lost loved one, just guns. A POC or member of the LGBTQ community doing the same and seeing arguments as to why Arthur is homophobic or racist. Seeing something like that is in fact harmful; taking things and stretching them to fit your narrative despite the actual source material pointing in the opposite direction requires erasure and explaining your own personal biases publicly. Someone stating that Arthur is a racist is just them stating that they themselves are a racist or that they themselves care more about guns than lives—as we’ve seen, the public stating of controversial things or overall morally reprehensible ideals when gone unchecked spirals and spreads, and soon we have a space of people who will openly state bigoted things and push the people in the fandom here for reasons of a shared enjoyment for whatever reason or the people who use things to cope or as a distraction out of the space, effectively ruining it and potentially the outlook on the content of the game. Fandom spaces shouldn’t tolerate bigotry, and lots of Red Dead fans have been expressing bigotry lately, and these people have started to go completely unchecked. It bothers me; it always will, even if it is just a silly cowboy game.

[prettylynnpup]

For the first time tonight, you were at this party alone. You'd only come because your roommate practically begged you to, and now she's nowhere in sight. "Lame asshole..." you grumbled to yourself, knowing you didn't mean the words. You'd always had a soft spot for her, after all.

Party guests were intermingled, voices and conversations you could only slightly follow rang about as the smell of alcohol coated the air. You hoped that your roommate would eventually find her way back to you, but it didn't seem like you'd be so lucky this evening, so you took it upon yourself to do a bit of exploration. If you were tipsy, maybe meeting new people wouldn't be quite so bad, right?

As you approach the cooler, you notice someone. It's a bit taller, dressed in all black. Its black hair shines an almost bluish color in the light, and teases its mid-back like waves meeting the ocean. Its clothes are laced with different chains and embroidered with a few fun patches. You walk closer - it's right above the cooler, after all, and you wanted a drink. It notices you staring, and clears its throat a bit.

"Hey, pup, eyes up here." *click* It snapped its fingers... At least you think it did? It was a click of some sort, and your eyes meet its. You feel like you can't look away, your eyes are locked to its. And, you think you enjoy it?

"Hey, uh, wh-why'd you call me 'pup'?" You manage to stammer out in response, eyes still locked to its. Your breath steadies itself again, and you feel really strangely relaxed. "Why do you think, puppy? Hey, mutt, *click* sit."

You fall to the floor, knees and paws hands also finding their way to the floor. You're stuck in this position, sitting strangely similar to a dog. "Oh, what a good puppy that is!~" The woman in black pipes up again, and your brain feels foggier than before. You're trying so hard to keep thinking, and mistress the woman in black knows it.

"Look at you, little mutt, trying so hard to use that brain of yours!" Foggier it goes. Harder to think it gets. How long have you been on the floor? People are starting to gather around you, and they're talking about you. Saying, something? You can't quite make out any of the words, your mistress being the only thing you can hear.

You look around yourself, and you notice your roommate in the crowd. She winks at your mistress, and then walks up to you and puts a strange necklace on you. Then, you feel the necklace tug you forward, towards your mistresses.

"Alright Lynn, you wanna go use our new toy?" Your roommate mistress asks your other mistress, and you feel them drag you out of the party, still on all fours. As you were meant to be.

(Support me on Ko-fi?)

[manicpixiedreamedwins]

I’ve tried to word and reword this post at least a dozen times. I’m not sure I’ll ever quite capture what Charles means to me in one attempt, but here goes:

That scene on the side of the agency where Charles is asking Edwin what would happen if death caught them was probably the moment I decided I loved him- same hat, I thought. I have racing thoughts and fears of being separated from my loved ones too. 

Same hat.

I didn’t realize what an understatement that was. 

We made it to the Devlin house episode. As Charles talked about his favorite tape being destroyed and struggled through reading the Devlin daughter’s journal, I realized his home life wasn’t as idyllic as he’d wanted us to think. He’d been walking on eggshells- I could relate to that. Sometimes I wonder if he was afraid to tell Edwin because he thought he would love him less. (Sometimes I worry in the back of my mind if I tell anyone, things I did years ago to survive would make them love me less).

My heart went out to him.

Right after that, he must have wondered if he was losing Edwin to Monty. A tiny, tiny piece of me that grew up as no-one’s-best-friend, just-the-afterthought, understood him. I wondered if it would be worse to lose a best friend, actually, than to never have one. I am okay now. But there’s a part of you that is forever worried that you did something wrong.

And next episode his fears are heightened. We see why- he’s never thought he was enough. His home life was brutal. He had friends, but they are what killed him. Nothing he ever did was “enough”, and now he’s sure he’s losing his best friend even though he did everything he could to protect him. 

There’s something about having an abusive parent that makes it hard to scrub the feeling of “never enough” off of you. It’s no one’s fault but theirs, but all I wanted to do was hold him after that. I see why Edwin tried to reach out. 

Charles has never thought he was enough, no matter how many friends or trophies he had. Of course he went into episode five thinking he was a bad person, even though he isn’t (and I’m so glad Edwin told him, with words, he was not a bad person).

Of course he ended episode six worrying he was about to lose his best friend to a boy that just tried to kill them in the woods— or a shape shifter who trapped them in a town across the sea. 

He does lose Edwin- but not to a boy. To Hell.

So Charles braves letting the night nurse look in his mind again. This moment stood out to me as a viewer- we already saw he died because he prevented a hate crime. He tells Edwin he stepped in and stopped the attack because he’s half Indian (I could go on about how much him being biracial meant to me, but I won’t here). He says he is not that different than the boy being beaten. People are right that Edwin has a strong sense of justice- but so too does Charles. Perhaps that’s why they got on so well right away.

So he rescues Edwin from Hell after persuading The Night Nurse. And as he’s rescuing Edwin from Hell, Edwin finally, finally gets to tell Charles what he wanted to say earlier. 

Sometimes people erroneously think Edwin came out to Charles here. That wasn’t quite what happened- the larger arc people often erase in this story is that Edwin Payne confessed that he loved Charles Rowland. How couldn’t you love Charles Rowland, after all of that? 

And Charles meet him as much as he could. He does love Edwin- he just needs time to figure the rest out. But they have literally forever. And honestly, they seemed like they were off to a pretty good start once they weren’t running from a giant spider made of babydoll heads. 

So, Charles, thank you for making me feel seen. Your smile is pretty convincing. I hope you have fun growing the agency with Edwin, and I hope the afterlife is kind while you figure things out together.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Alright, I need to gush about Dandadan for a hot minute…

So this squiggle meister has hopped onto the Dandadan hype train. Ever since its anime adaptation release last year, I’ve been riding the high of my newest anime craze.

Not only am I all caught up on the anime (eagerly awaiting season 2 coming out this year) but I’ve also taken to following the manga; which I’m all caught up on too.

Speaking of which, the newest chapter of Dandadan dropped today - Chapter 181- and I’ve got some things to say about:

Firstly, the return of Unji Zuma. It’s nice to see that the Danmanru Arc wasn’t the last time we’ve seen our Umbrella King.

Zuma’s a cool character. I basically see him as a male Momo since the two share the same stubborn, headstrong yet surprisingly compassionate and loyal personality traits that make them really fun characters to watch further develop. In this squiggle meister’s eyes, Zuma is as much as cool older brother character to Momo as Jiji is.

However, judging by Zuma’s new look in the upcoming arc, I have a sinking feeling the manga is setting us up again for yet another wrench in the ongoing development of the Okarun and Momo love story.

I already made this point over over Twitter but ---

It CANNOT be a coincidence that Zuma, who was described as “Momo’s ideal type” cause he bares a resemblance to her celebrity crush Ken Takakura, now with his hair grown out and sporting a pair of glasses looks like a punk tough guy version of Okarun.

That can't be a coincidence, no? Like I said, I think the manga is setting us up yet again for another fake red herring love triangle and misunderstanding to further push the Momokarun ship into official couple status.

After all, we’re already half way there with Okarun’s recent confession.

Not to mention that last time, during the Space Globalist Arc, after the whole misunderstanding with Vamola, the first time Okarun actually admits to being in love with Momo is while “rejecting” Vamola.

I feel like Zuma is being set up to be Momo’s Vamola, y’know what I mean? I don’t know if Zuma is going to be confirmed to secretly like Momo.

I mean I hope not cause like I said, they have way more sibling energy to me than that of Momo and Jiji and Jiji is literally her childhood best friend and first crush).

But I do hope that Zuma’s presence will provide the catalyst to Momo professing her love for Okarun.

I mean, Zuma did over hear Momo whispering “tell me you love me” in her sleep and he gave her a look.

Surely, that’s got to come back sometime later just as how Momo’s “Lova Ya” note to Okarun came back, right?

While I doubt this will mean that Zuma will develop a romantic interest in Momo, if so is the case then I hope it will lead into Momo turning him down cause she will FINALLY admit that she’s already in love with Okarun.

THIS HAS TO BE WHY ZUMA IS BACK!

Outside of him bringing in a new arc, Zuma is here to be the FINAL PUSH for Momo to admit she loves Okarun. He has to be!

Zuma is literally the embodiment of everything Momo wants in a potential boyfriend. He looks like Ken Takakura. Underneath his tough exterior, he is genuinely courageous and has a benevolent spirit that drives him to go above and beyond for others in his care. Zuma is such a “good guy” that he got a whole school gang of delinquents to rally behind him. He is such a “good guy” that he’s even willing to help the poor Daiki kid with his curse.

I mean Zuma is just a really cool character.

And him being around again rocking dem big glasses and fluffy hair like Okarun is definitely gonna be confusing for Momo. At least that’s what I think.

Either way, I stand by what I said.

I think we’re entering the home stretch to Momo x Okarun being official.

I don’t know how many more arcs and chapters again it will take to get us there but we are getting there.

Zuma is the key.

If he isn’t gonna be yet another lying ass fake "potential love interest" like Aira, Jiji and Vamola all were then at least let him be a “real bro” to Momo.

I know he kinda blind right now but please let Zuma have the emotional wisdom to see through Momo’s BS of stalling her confession to Okarun and give her a firm kick in the ass with dem big Geta sandals he’s got on to get her to FINALLY return her feelings.

Bruh, we are almost to 200 chapters.

We need to see Momokarun canon before Luffy finds the One Piece. While we’re still young and our shipping hearts are still beating.

- LMS (2025)

[fandom-lover2]

Hope To Stay A While, Just Till The Rain Stops

Chapter Four - Pajama Parties Are More Fun When You're Invited

Word Count - 1865

-image not mine-

Chapter Three - This Is Why We Don't Have Knives At The Table

My eyes snapped open, my body jolting as something let off a loud bang.

What the hell was happening?

Then, it sounded like thunder, or something some form of stomping at least. And voices, angry voices. Loud, angry voices.

I rolled over, squinting at my digital clock on my desk.

2.05 am glared back at me in red.

I rolled over again, trying to get comfortable on my preferred side of sleeping.

Thunder again, and the voices were louder this time. Why was I cursed to live in a house of only men?

Screw this shit. I had an exam tomorrow.

Yanking my sheet off myself, I slipped out of bed and stormed to my bedroom door, yanking it open and marching towards the voices.

After Bruce had, without my consent, enrolled me into Gotham Academy, the pressure was on. Even under the guise of a visiting relative of Alfred’s, because I refused to be involved in the Gotham elite society, the expectation to achieve perfect grades and be involved in rich people sports was one I had to shoulder.

Etiquette Monday and Thursday, tennis on Tuesday, horse riding on Wednesday and Friday, archery Saturday. And I still needed to study, do homework and assignments, and attend parties to keep up appearances.

I was running on fumes and about 5 seconds away from running back to Central City. Now, I had to deal with this?!

Oh no. No no no no. I was getting another 4 hours of sleep, if I had to kill whoever the hell was screaming to get it.

The voices were getting louder and louder as I headed to the main floor, the kitchen specifically.

An odd place for a domestic screaming match but hey, this family was fucking weird.

I’m 80% sure Tim died last week, his combination of Red Bull and black coffee that he chugged in 30 seconds flat no doubt doing some damage.

Not to mention Damian, who was literally a little psychopath. I walked in on him waving around a sword last week. And not a fencing sword, a real ass Japanese sword.

Jason was never around, other than to sneak into the library or have screaming matches with Bruce when he was caught. He always looked like he was in deep physical pain, and avoided me like I had some disease. He would literally walk out of a room if I entered it.

And Dick, dude was just a mess. He was crying about an elephant the other day, and last month did a whole circus trapeze routine in the living room, using the chandelier.

And Bruce doesn’t even blink at any of it! He and Alfred act like this is normal!

Well, I was over this family thinking they were a functional system. It ended today, with a good night’s sleep.

If I wasn’t so fueled by the rage, the volume at which Bruce and Jason were yelling would have probably stopped me from entering the kitchen, but I was seeing red and nearing sleep deprivation.

“Can you all shut the fuck up!” I rounded the corner into the kitchen and froze.

Alfred, my father, Jason and Dick stood in the kitchen, Alfred and my oldest brother looking like they were trying to break something up before it turned physical.

Now, either I was too tired, or something was very wrong with my vision, because my father was dressed as Batman.

I looked at them, they looked at me. Tim and Damian stuck their heads around the other doorway at the opposite end of the kitchen, both dressed up in vigilant attire I’d seen Red Robin and Robin wore. Dick and Jason were also dressed, Nightwing and Red Hood respectfully.

Suddenly, everything made so much more sense. Bruce’s constant state of looking exhausted despite only ever working and then going to bed before me. Damian’s limp from two weeks ago, Tim falling out of bed and spraining his wrist, the gash Dick got on his forehead despite having two days off from work.

They were running around at night playing heroes.

I stared at them, and they stared back at me, each looking like I’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Even Alfred seemed slightly alarmed, and the dude didn’t flinch at anything.

“I’m too tired for this shit. Go argue outside.” Spinning on my heels, I sped back to my bedroom and shut the door.

That whatever-the-hell-just-happened was tomorrow morning’s problem. Tonight, I was sleeping. Deeply, peacefully. Ignorantly.

Climbing back into bed, I pulled the cover over myself and closed my eyes. For someone who’s entire perception of their family just got flipped upside down, I managed to fall asleep pretty quickly.

When I awoke, it was to my alarm set on my phone.

For a while, I forgot what happened the previous night. I stumbled out of bed with a groan, stood somewhat straight in the shower, and managed to get my scratchy uniform on. And then, I opened my bedroom door and Damian was on the other side.

He eyed me up and down, arms crossed over his chest. “Father requests your presence at breakfast.”

“Well I’m not gonna miss it.” I mumbled back, shouldering past it.

It was as I tried to shove passed him and was met with an impressive amount of resistance for someone so small that I remembered what I’d seen last night. Who I had seen.

Oh my god, Bruce was Batman!

Mr Billionaire, life handed to him on a golden spoon, was the madman who dressed up in all black at night and ran around the city terrorizing Gotham’s criminals.

Why? What the hell even made him go down this path?

I turned around to look at my little brother.

The latest Robin, if the whispering around school was to be taken truthfully. So far considered the most violent of the masked crusader’s group.

Well, they got the violent part down.

But he was freaking 13 years old. Why the hell would Bruce let a 13 year old face armed murderers?

Shit, why the hell was Bruce letting a 13 year old stay up all night?

I thought he was just a distant parent, but this was straight up child endangerment.

Would I be arrested if it turned out I knew he was allowing Damian to do this? Would I be arrested for knowing he’d Batman and not handing him over?

Was what I saw even real?

Sleep deprivation could cause hallucinations.

Yeah, that’s all it was. A hallucination. This was all just some big misunderstanding. I was over tired, Bruce had dark pajamas, everyone had rainbow pajamas, Alfred was still just Alfred. All was good.

My summons for breakfast was just to wish me luck for my exam, or to tell me about an event that was coming up.

Nothing was wrong, my life was still normal-ish. Everything would be fine.

I made my way to the breakfast room, because yes this house was so big we had a room for eating breakfast and a room for dinner, and found Bruce seated at the head of the table.

He was reading a newspaper, Alfred seated beside him. To his left, Dick and Tim.

I was surprised to see that Jason was actually here. Had he stayed the night? Judging by the fact that he was not seated at the table but rather leaning against the wall and had his arms crossed, I guessed it wasn’t voluntary.

“Men.” I greeted, walking to take a seat next to Alfred, Damian following behind me and sitting next to Dick.

On my plate, a wonderful stack of vegan pancakes.

One of the few things Damian and I had in common, we were both vegan. Or, I tried to be as vegan as possible. At times, ice-cream and pizza were too strong to resist. You’d think it’d bring us closer together but nope, still got glared at for simply being alive.

My only sanctuary away from it was weeks at my mom’s, since they’d decided to have a one week, one week custody deal.

I hated weeks at Bruce’s for two reasons. One, Damian. Two, I had to wake up earlier cause it took forever to drive into the city from here. The apartment with Mom was so close to school I walked. At Bruce’s, I had to endure a 40 minute drive with Damian.

Bruce never took us, always having to leave either before or after. Sometimes Tim took us, or Dick. It was mostly Alfred, in the Rolls Royce.

Picking up my knife and fork, I prepared to dig in.

“Y/n,” Bruce tried to start, but I cut him off by pointing my knife at him. In hindsight, not the best idea considering who he was. My father or not, I didn’t doubt he’d kick my ass.

“Breakfast first.”

And I left no room for discussion as I cut into my pancakes and took a huge bite, and then another and another.

Everyone else followed my lead, silently beginning to eat their breakfast. Jason left his spot of brooding eventually and joined me, actually sitting beside me. This was the closest we’d ever been to one another.

I tried to not make too big a deal of that fact, keeping my eyes forward when they so desperately wanted to take in all his scars.

I guess now it made sense where they came from, but it didn’t make it right.

How young had he been when Bruce had let him loose on the streets? Had he even wanted to do it, or was he forced into this life?

Were any of them in it by choice?

I glanced over and Bruce and found him staring at me.

Yesterday, he’d look at me with a smile, and his eyes seemed warm. Now, there was no familiarity. There wasn’t even care.

Had these last 3 months all been fake? Did he love me at all? Was I here because he wanted me or because he wanted another sidekick?

“I won’t tell anyone.” I spoke, barely louder than a whisper.

Bruce didn’t say anything, didn’t blink. Just watched me, analyzed me. I almost jumped when he finally spoke.

“You have an exam to get to. We’ll discuss this tonight.”

And that seemed to be the magic words. Everyone stood up, all done with their breakfasts and ready to start the day.

I still had half my plate left and rushed to shovel it all in, charging to the garage when Alfred called that it was time to go.

I hopped in the back, beside Damian, and intended to get my textbook out for some last-minute studying before school, but the little shit spoke up.

“You tell anyone about us, make one tiny slip up or remark, and I will sever your voice box.”

For once, I actually understood the gravity behind the threat. It wasn’t just siblings bickering, it was a promise.

And given how Bruce had looked at me this morning, I doubted he’d do anything to stop it.

Nobody knew Batman’s identity. Nobody had ever figured it out.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

[adsagsona]

"You've told me more than once. I know, Cara. And I can be patient, I hope you have realised that too by now. But seeing me without a shirt is something you might just have to go through at some point." Ross was only lightly making fun, because in the mean time he did make a point of it to cover himself up so that Cara could at least look his way again. "You never stop complimenting me, do you?" he chuckled before he leaned over to press a kiss on her lips the moment the blanket was pulled down. "It's alright, love... no more blushing too much,too much blood going to your head." Ross murmured as he caressed over her cheek. "I'll be good and stay on my side, just try to sleep. You need rest."

“I’d rather slay monsters,” Cara mumbled against the blankets before quickly adding, “Which isn’t to say - you’re very handsome. I have never hidden the fact that I’m very aware of just how handsome and beautiful and wonderful you are, I just... I’ve never... And it’s not - I’m not religious, I - I’m old-fashioned, I grew up on stories where that was simply how things were, and that sort of dictated how I - and my point is that... It is not you or your lack of... anything. It’s me. I’m odd. I know that I’m odd, but I don’t foresee that changing anytime soon...” She trailed off, pressing her mouth against the blanket now, too, so that she’d stop rambling. At his question, she very, very slowly pulled the blanket down. And despite the fact that she was still blushing, she replied, “It’s okay. I’ve - I’ve seen you working the fields in a tank top, so I - It’s okay... It’s okay...”

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

The skeletons are playing among us how well do you they do

The impostors: Papyrus - Pumpkin - Willow - Torpedo

Undertale Sans - He's a crewmate. Sans is pretty aware Papyrus is an impostor, very early in the game. He just knows. So Sans makes an alliance with his brother and becomes the fifth impostor. He makes sure to prove to everyone on the first turn that he is completely safe, then he simply encourages random skeletons to follow him in random corners where Papyrus waits to ambush to kill them. Sadly, Sans gets killed a few turns later by Torpedo who apparently didn't get the memo he was helping lol. Or he just hated his guts.

Undertale Papyrus - He's an impostor, and pretty good at the game. He kills quite a lot of people with Sans' help, but he's quickly discovered after that because it's a bit suspicious that all of these people die in the same corner where he is every time. He tried.

Underswap Sans - He's a crewmate, and he saw Torpedo kill someone. The problem is that everyone is ignoring him, and eventually, Torpedo manages to convince everyone he's actually the impostor and Blue is eliminated. Blue is raging behind is screen and goes to pout in his bed.

Underswap Papyrus - Honey is a crewmate, and he just does his tasks. At least until Sans told him he thought he saw someone die and then Papyrus showed up out of nowhere and stabbed him in the back. That's fair. He didn't see that coming.

Underfell Sans - He's a crewmate, and he's pretty much camping in the camera rooms, watching people. That's how he found out that Papyrus was an impostor and called him out, efficiently eliminating him. Sadly, because he said he would stay in that room, he didn't see Torpedo enter the room behind him and he got eliminated.

Underfell Papyrus - He's the one who screamed it was obvious that Blue was an impostor. Except he wasn't, and after that, Torpedo said it's clear he was the impostor one and he got eliminated instead. Edge took a deep breath, grabbed his cat and went to lie in bed, telling himself to not go and fight Torpedo again and again, hoping his murdering instincts would calm down.

Horrortale Sans - He starts to play, then after the first meeting, he kinda fell asleep in front of the screen and went AFK. He got killed by Willow, then Willow tiptoed in the room to shut his computer off so he could sleep without all the screaming.

Horrortale Papyrus - He's an impostor, but a slow impostor. He stays with the same people for a couple of turns, and when they least expect it and lower their guard, he kills them. No one is suspecting him, and he's going to win the game this way. He's really good at this.

Horrorswap Sans - Nugget is one of Willow's victims. He died right after he saw Torpedo kill Copper right in front of him, and got confused when he immediately died a second later. He's shocked, angry and sour. He refuses to talk to Willow all evening after the game.

Horrorswap Papyrus - Pumpkin is an impostor. But... Uh... He didn't quite get how the game works, so he accidentally killed Moon in front of everyone after a missclick and got eliminated immediately after that. He's not too sure what happened, but it was fun he guesses?

Horrorfell Sans - It was clear Torpedo was after him for some reason, following him everywhere for some reason and creeping him out. Copper stayed with a bunch of people, mainly from the farm, because they're all friends right? Torpedo killed him, then he witnessed Willow kill Nugget. Copper never felt so betrayed in his life. What the hell.

Horrorfell Papyrus - He heard his brother scream Willow's name in the room next door and ran for the red button to call him out. He lost his way and somehow ended up in a dead corner. Papyrus showed up out of nowhere and killed him. Chief screamed a bunch of insults at the screen, then got offended when he heard Willow laugh in the living room. HOW DARE.

Horrorswapfell Sans - He tried to play with sound because he can't really look at the screen without his eyes. Unfortunately, he's way too slow. Torpedo plays a bit with him, teasing him mercilessly, and then ends his misery after a few minutes.

Horrorswapfell Papyrus - He witnessed Torpedo kill his brother and went to report him, so angry. No one listened to him, somehow, Torpedo managed to turn everyone against him instead and he got eliminated. Bear had to physically restrain him to not go attack Torpedo. He's so mad!

Swapfell Sans - Nox is the one who made Torpedo fall, for his greatest pleasure. He saw him kill someone and rushed to report him as Wine saw him flee the room. The two of them convinced everyone he was the one who killed everyone and they evicted him. All the dead ones are cheering so hard in the dead vocal.

Swapfell Papyrus - He died first, because of Papyrus. He was excited because Sans witnessed everything, but Sans didn't report the body and just followed Papyrus as they left. Rus gasped so loud. What the hell? That's against the rules! Say the man that never play by the rules in any game, never.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He doesn't care if Torpedo is an impostor or not, he just wants to eliminate him because he talks so loud and his mic is so bad that he has a headache just hearing him scream. He's so happy when Nox finally offers him an opportunity to throw him out of the game. Finally, he can relax and start looking for the real impostors.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - Another one that trusted Sans and got betrayed in the worst way possible. Coffee is way too nice for this game.

Outertale Sans - He's so confused. The game barely started and he just died in the crowd lol. Turns out Pumpkin missclicked and kinda killed him as soon as they all spawned. Then he got killed lol. He's not even mad.

Outertale Papyrus - He stays hidden in the lights room, hoping to catch one of the impostors. Well, he indeed caught Torpedo. Or more exactly Torpedo caught him as he was fleeing toward the meeting room screaming like he's getting murdered.

Dancetale Sans & Papyrus - They decided to stay together, not trusting anyone. Until they started to think the other was the Impostor and they split for two minutes. Rambo got killed by Willow, and Salsa by Torpedo not ten seconds later. Don't you know it's bad to split ways? That's how you die in horror movies!

Dancefell Sans - Rumba is not a big fan of the game so he kinda walked in the open until someone kills him. Satisfied, he shuts the game off and goes to play Minecraft lol.

Dancefell Papyrus - He's Papyrus' downfall. He noticed Papyrus dragging a bunch of people in the corner, and he was fast enough to report him before Papyrus managed to kill him. Tango won't stop saying he's the absolute best and showing off his skills. Torpedo got mad and made him shut up for good by killing him next round.

Farmtale Sans - He tried to play but his internet is so bad, all he hears is static noises during the meetings. Eventually, he gets angry, leaves the game and goes back to his fields. Stupid game, stupid technology, stupid people...

Farmtale Papyrus - Willow convinced him to vote against Fang in the very last round and Ben fell for it, making everyone lose. Everyone is screaming at him now and he gets quickly overwhelmed. He's a bit mad at Willow lol.

Mafiatale Sans - Torpedo targeted him first round. Demon is not even surprised honestly. The kid has to show who has the biggest, that's fine. He lets him have his fun. Also, as soon as he's dead, he goes to throw poop on his windows while he's distracting playing the game.

Mafiatale Papyrus - Creeper didn't want to play the game. No, he stayed behind his brother, absolutely still, staring at the screen intensely in complete silence. That's also one of the reasons Demon lost. He got pressured.

Mafiafell Sans - Fang managed to survive the entire game. After his brother died, Torpedo stormed in his room and told him that if the impostors lost the game, he would sleep outside. So Fang said nothing when Willow accused him of everything because he was a little scared, and then he got eliminated. Fine, happy?

Mafiafell Papyrus - Torpedo is the big villain of the game. He had so much fun torturing and teasing all of these little shits who think could outsmart him. Well. He still died in the end. And, uh, he was really not happy about that. He might have punched the screen so hard that his fist passed through actually.

Ink - He got Torpedoed quite quickly. He tried to scare him like he's used to, but turned out that Torpedo protected behind a screen doesn't fear Ink anymore and he killed him. That's fine. Ink waits for the game to end to send him in time out in space for a little hour to remind him who is in charge.

Error - His computer immediately overheated and broke when he touched it. It's not his fault, his magic doesn't like technology. At least he can enjoy the silence while Ink is busy.

Disbelief Papyrus - Sadly, Delta trusted Papyrus. He realized something was off, but when he tried to run away, Sans blocked the way and he died. Welp. That's life. Sometimes you just have to die by the hand of your adoptive brother... He's going to curl up in bed and pout.

Killer Sans - Killer got eliminated after he purposely accused random people, just because it's fun to see them get angry and everyone else screaming. Killer is the agent of chaos. Well, a short chaos as eventually everyone turned on him and threw him out of the game. But it was fun while it lasted.

Dustale Sans - He got killed by Papyrus. Oh, the irony... Wait, he hates the irony actually. He hates this game! And he's having an existential crisis now. Wasn't the game supposed to relieve his stress or something? He's even more stressed now!

[shycloudkitty]

How would leon feel about a partner who when they were younger, was HEAAVILLLY in the punk scene? Ans he maybe found old photos and videos of them 1. Looking cool as heck. 2 living a normal, fun young adult life? Would it make it chuckle? Or maybe feel a little blue because at when he was young he was being molded into a government pawn and being forced to do all these crazy training and missions

Also how would he feel about the punk park, that subculture is very anti-cop, and anti government/establishment

I have a scenario in mind. It's like you both are moving in together or cleaning your house, and Leon finds one of the boxes with albums of pictures from your younger years (like teenage or early 20s).

He takes one of the album out and starts flipping the pictures and for few moments he thought maybe you had a twin or something but later he realized it was you! He was seeing, his beautiful and amazing partner basically being a hardcore punk enthusiast when younger.

He would definitely be laughing his ass off when he looked at all the funky hairstyles, the clothes and all the ridiculous poses his partner was. A permanent grin plastered on his face as he looked at all the punk makeup you tried.

Soon, you would find him hunched over, eagerly studying every picture from that time, a fond smile present. You'd stare at him amused with how much interested he was. You'd try to tease him over it but he would just shrug and say that you looked really cute in those pics.

He also will definitely tease you a LOT for this phase you had too calling you "Double Agent" teasingly. Considering now you were a simple normal young adult now.

He will DEFINITELY be annoying af with his questions, asking all types of questions ranging from the type of band you used to listen to your parents reaction to all this.

But be patient with him as he is vicariously living through you and your memories of your past self. 🥺

He never really had a 'phase' because from a young age he wanted to become a cop so he was mostly focused on his studies and exercises. And when he finally became a cop, at 21, well he was forced to basically leave his old life behind and be a government pawn.

So, the poor guy never actually 'lived' his life.

Maybe he will feel a little blue at first, but he's fine when he starts to see the pictures, your stories. And then he feels he's right there with you in those memories. Later he's glad that at least one of you actually got to live their life.

I don't think he would necessarily have a negative opinion about punk being very anti-cop & anti-government. If anything a part of him would relate to it because of the conflicting emotions his own job gives him. He knows he's making a difference in innocent people's lives but at the same time the government is actually the mastermind behind the destruction people usually suffer from (and from what happened in racoon city).

So, he wouldn't explicitly agree with it but he will definitely understand from where people are coming from.

Oh and also be ready for a lots of teasing from this guy when he finds out about all this. Cause he's not going to let you forget this phase anytime soon.

Thanks a lot for requesting this! I hope this met your expectations. Have a good day y'all!

-Bella

[nvtstvrns]

Fratboy!Chris takes care of French!reader who is sick

Warnings: fluff

A/n: I didn’t know how to write this so I got a little bit of help from chat gpt to get the descriptions right .

It was almost time for the frat party, the one everyone had been buzzing about all week. The crisp evening air carried the faint sound of laughter and music from a block away as Chris stood outside your door, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. His phone felt heavy in his pocket; he’d checked it at least a dozen times throughout the day, hoping for a text from you. Nothing.

Chris knocked at the door gently hearing your voice faintly say “come in.” When Chris walked into your dorm you were laying on your bed, tissues were scattered around you, your cheeks and nose were rosy and your hair was sticking out every which way, showing that you’ve been tossing and turning all day.

“You don’t look so good,” Chris said, stepping further into the room, his voice soft but tinged with worry. He was dressed for the frat party, his baggy jeans hanging low and a crisp jersey that stood out in the dim light of your dorm. The sight made a pang of guilt settle in your chest. He had clearly been ready to head out for a night of fun, but now it looked like he’d be going alone—not that Chris couldn’t handle it. Still, the thought of him missing out because of you made your heart sink.

“I have a fever. I don’t want to get you sick,” you murmur, your voice raspy as you turn away, muffling a cough into your elbow. Every muscle in your body ached, a deep, relentless pain that made even the thought of sitting up unbearable. All you wanted was to bury yourself under the blankets and drift off into restless sleep. Forcing yourself to speak again, you add, “You can still go to the party.” Your words are soft but sincere, a faint attempt to ease the guilt you felt weighing down on you.

“Nah, kid,” Chris says softly, kneeling down beside your bed. His hand moves gently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face as his warm eyes meet yours. “I’m staying here,” he says firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“But you’ve been looking forward to this party for weeks!” you protest, your voice cracking slightly as you shift under the blankets. “I don’t want you staying here with me and missing out on your fun! Putain!” you curse in French, frustration and guilt bubbling up as you bury your face in the pillow.

“You know, I don’t really want to stay here and take care of you,” Chris says, his tone laced with feigned annoyance as he stands over you, arms crossed. “But I’m doing it ‘cause I know you’d want me to, yeah?”

He’s always been a little tough on you—his way of showing he cares without getting too mushy. Rolling his eyes dramatically, he motions for you to move over, waving his hands like he’s shooing a child. Reluctantly, you shift, making just enough room for him to sit beside you on the bed. The mattress sinks slightly under his weight, and even though his words are gruff, his presence feels grounding, a comfort you didn’t know you needed.

“Tell me what you need, ma. I’ll get it for you,” Chris says, his voice softer now as he drapes an arm around your shoulder, pulling you just a little closer. The warmth of his touch contrasts with the chill that’s been clinging to you all day.

“Tu aurais dû aller à la fête,” (you should have just gone to the party) you mutter grumpily under your breath, your tone laced with annoyance. You say it in French, knowing he won’t understand and hoping it’ll save you from a lecture or that sharp, unimpressed look he’s so good at.

Chris narrows his eyes slightly, catching your tone if not your words. “What was that?” he asks, suspicious but not quite ready to call you out. You shake your head, sinking deeper into the blankets. “Nothing,” you mumble, trying to hide your pout, but Chris doesn’t look convinced.

A low groan escapes your lips as your stomach churns violently, sending a fresh wave of nausea through you. “I forgot to tell you,” you manage to mutter, your voice strained as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. “I also have the flu.”

Before Chris can process your words, you’re already scrambling out of bed, clutching your stomach as you scurry toward the bathroom.

Chris bolts upright, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What? When the fuck were you gonna tell me that, kid?” he exclaims, following a few steps behind you, his voice a mix of alarm and irritation.

Chris doesn’t hesitate. He follows you into the bathroom, the concern etched on his face replacing any lingering frustration. As you kneel in front of the toilet, your body heaving with violent retches, he crouches beside you and gently gathers your hair, holding it back out of your face.

“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice steady despite the tension in his jaw. His free hand hovers near your back, unsure if you’d want the comfort of his touch but ready to steady you if needed.

The sound of your labored breaths and the occasional gag fills the small bathroom, but Chris doesn’t flinch. He stays right there, his presence solid and unwavering, even as you feel like you’re falling apart.

“Chris, I seriously don’t want to get you sick,” you murmur, your voice weak and raspy as you sit back on your knees next to the toilet. You glance up at him, the worry clear in your tired eyes.

Chris, still crouched beside you, shakes his head and gives you a lopsided grin. “Yeah, well, it’s a little late to worry about that now, don’t you think?” he says, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face with a gentleness that contrasts with his words.

You sigh, slumping slightly. “I mean it, Chris. I feel awful.”

“And you’ll feel better faster if you stop stressing about me,” he counters, his tone soft but firm. “I’m fine. You’re the one who looks like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

You shoot him a wounded look, your brows furrowing as you cross your arms over your chest. “Wow, thanks,” you mutter, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Chris lets out a soft chuckle, leaning back on his heels as he holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his grin fading slightly as he meets your gaze. “I just meant… you’re the one who needs the attention right now, not me.”

You huff, turning your head away, but the faintest smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Chris notices, of course, and nudges your shoulder gently. “C’mon, don’t give me that look. You know I’m here for you.”

Once you finally make it back to your bed, every muscle in your body aching, you collapse onto the mattress with a weary sigh. Chris pulls the blankets up over you, tucking them snugly around your shoulders as if to shield you from the outside world.

He steps back for a moment, his hands on his hips, and looks down at you with a determined expression. “I’m staying here tonight, and you’re not gonna argue with me. You got it, ma?”

His tone is firm but laced with care, leaving no room for debate. You open your mouth to protest, but the exhaustion weighs you down, and instead, you nod weakly, letting your eyes drift closed. Deep down, you’re grateful for his stubbornness, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

[sagesolsticewrites]

Interlude: The Bachelorette Party

John Brady x Juliet Thompson (OFC)

Juliet goes out with the Book Club Girlies to celebrate her last night of being Juliet Thompson

a/n: This minichap is just a fun little idea I ran with while I was picturing the night before Jules's wedding-- love, chaos, and joy aplenty. Along the way it turned into something much more self indulgent (largely prompted by @winniemaywebber suggesting that Olive somehow gets an orchestra to play Lover at Juliet's wedding 😂) (… keep your eyes peeled in the next chapter 🤭), but I hope you all enjoy, or at the very least find this glimpse into the more random corners of my mind entertaining.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: alcohol consumption, tipsiness/drunkenness, everyone's safe I promise!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Book Club Girlies: @winniemaywebber @blakelysco-pilot

Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

“To the bride-to-be!” One of her friends— Val, probably?— cheers, lifting her glass in a toast.

French 75, Jules notes through the thin fog of alcohol clouding her brain, definitely Val.

Toasts of “To the bride!” “To Jules!” chorus around her as her friends lift their own glasses, Juliet raising her own in cheerful thanks.

Joy bubbles up in her chest, too much for her to contain, and she lets out a bright, sunny laugh as another round is ordered for the girls.

“I’m getting married!” She squeals to the nearest person— Olive, who happily wraps an arm around her shoulders and squeezes.

“You’re getting married!” The Brit echoes, a grin lighting up her face.

The two (rather strong) lemon drops she’s already had are making it difficult for her to form proper sentences, so she settles for a giggle, twirling to watch the skirt of her pale yellow swing dress— the closest thing she has to an off-white at the moment— fan out around her.

Her fuzzy mind drifts back for a moment to the last time they were all together like this— just the girls, having a drink while the boys were off doing who-knows-what.

•••

“Olive,” Juliet asked, the alcohol buzzing warm in her veins loosening her tongue, “What’s the future like?”

“Oh,” the Brit blinked as she took a sip of her martini, “um. Well. Is there anything specific you want to know?”

Jules exchanged a glance with Vika, who just shrugged, wide-eyed. 70 years… she couldn’t fathom how much life could change in such a long stretch of time. Jean and Jo were no help either— they knew Olive was from a different time, but actually thinking about it…

“Well,” Olive said, when they came up with nothing, “When I told Val, I showed her some music. You wanna hear some?” She reached into her bag and pulled out the thin, flat rectangle she called a phone, which Jules still didn’t understand. No wires, no buttons… how in the world did it work? 

She’d said as much the first time Olive had shown them, to which she simply replied, “Magic.”

It did seem like magic when Olive pressed her finger to the flat surface and the screen lit up.

“Oh!” Olive grinned, hazel eyes flicking over to Jules, “I think you’ll like this one.”

The sound of a guitar filled the room as she pressed her finger to the phone again, and Juliet jumped.

“Goodness, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” she laughed sheepishly.

“It’s a good song, I promise,” Olive giggled, “Just listen.”

Juliet did, albeit a bit distractedly. The lyrics were nice, about dancing in a storm, being fearless, a first kiss, and she found her fingers tapping to the beat as the song ended.

“I knew you’d like it,” Olive beamed. “There’s another one by the same artist— her name’s Taylor Swift— that made me think of you if you want to listen?”

She couldn’t find it in her to say no, not when her friend looked so eager, and it was a good song…

She listened, still a bit distracted— truly, how was there music coming out of the tiny thing in Olive’s hand?— but she couldn’t help a tiny gasp as she heard the singer mention Romeo and Juliet.

Olive’s smile grew at her reaction, and only grew wider seeing Juliet become visibly invested in the song.

Memories flitted through her head of her and John in time with the song; so I sneak out to the garden to see you called up memories of doing just that when they’d first started dating, when they couldn’t bear to be apart for longer than a few hours; don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess, had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, recalling John’s many letters while he was overseas telling her just that, and then—

The music swelled.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring, the song continued, and Juliet could feel the tears threatening to spill over—

Marry me, Juliet.

And that did it. She burst into sobs and Olive scrambled to shut off the music, a stricken look on her face.

“Oh goodness, Jules,” Olive looked unspeakably worried, “I’m so sorry, I thought you’d like it, I didn’t mean to make you cry!”

”No, no,” Juliet sniffled, waving her off with a watery laugh, “I’m fine, I love it, it just… made me think about Johnny and I.”

When the worry remained etched on Olive’s face, she explained further. “In a good way, I promise. Can you… Does it keep going? I really do love it.”

At Olive’s not-quite-reassured look, she added for good measure, “It’s much better than Johnny’s harmonica for three hours straight.”

Juliet’s fiancé had picked up the harmonica as a hobby while he was waiting to hear back from the school about the teaching position. Once he had gotten it, it had become a way for him to dive back into music. 

And dive into it he had.

Olive giggled, by now more than familiar with Juliet’s lighthearted complaints about Brady’s new hobby. She pressed the screen again, and Juliet managed to keep her tears at bay as the end of the song played.

“Um… Taylor Swift, you said her name was?” Juliet asked, nodding towards the phone once the song ended.

At Olive’s confirmation, she asked, “Do you have any more of her songs?”

The eager grin that spread across Olive’s face gave Juliet the feeling she’d just unleashed something that maybe she shouldn’t have.

“Oh, do I ever.”

•••

Someone’s voice pulls her out of her reverie, another one of Taylor Swift’s songs starting up idly in the back of her mind— a sweet love song aptly titled Lover.

“Do you think you should slow down a bit, Jules?” Vika, ever the responsible one, pipes up from her place at the bar, a Coca-Cola in hand. 

“Absolutely not,” Jo grins as she sidles up between Val and Olive, pressing yet another lemon drop into Jules’s hand, “It’s a celebration, Vika!”

Juliet beams and downs it.

“I guess we know what her limit is now,” someone mutters next to Jules as she leans on their shoulder, looking down sadly at the emerald ring adorning her left hand.

“She was so happy earlier,” another voice says— British? Jules notes hazily— almost in amazement, “Did anyone know she was a clingy drunk?”

There’s a chorus of mumbled nos as Juliet takes a shaky breath.

“What do you mean—”

She pauses, lip trembling, and the group around her collectively holds its breath, letting out a sigh of relief when no tears appear.

“What do you mean I can’t see Johnny now?” she whines, thumb worrying over the sparkling emerald as she looks at each of her friends in turn, “I miss him.”

“You’ll see him tomorrow, sweetheart,” Jo says from beside her, “Remember, you’re getting married!” She attempts to inject cheer into her voice, pitching it higher on the last sentence.

Tomorrow? But that’s… that’s forever away.

“But I want to see Johnny now,” she insists pleadingly, her fuzzy brain focused solely on her fiancé.

“Honey—” Olive sighs, “Okay, hold on.” She gestures for the girls to huddle up, and after a brief whispered conversation, they turn back to the pouting bride-to-be.

“Come with us, sweetheart,” Jean says, guiding Juliet up to standing.

“We’re gonna take you to see Johnny,” Jo beams from her other side.

One very crowded cab ride later, the girls arrive at the bar the boys had claimed as their own.

“Wait here,” Val instructs, nodding to Vika— the one somewhat-sober person of their party— in thanks for staying with Jules while the rest of them venture into the bar.

“Brady!” Olive calls, interrupting the rowdiness of a dozen drunk men, one with a harmonica, and a dog.

A tipsy John Brady turns from where he’s laughing with Dougie and Ev, harmonica dangling from his fingertips.

“Ol?” Dougie says, “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” Val assures them, meeting Ev’s eyes with a gentle nod, “We just need to borrow Brady here for a minute.”

“But why—?”

“It’s a surprise, John!” Jo sighs exasperatedly, “Just come with us!”

With some convincing, they manage to get John outside, and his eyes widen at the sight of his girl.

He forces his eyes down to the pavement, even as a smile stretches across his face at the way his (evidently very tipsy) soon-to-be wife lit up at the sight of him.

“Jules,” he admonishes through his smile as he makes his way over to her, eyes trained firmly on the sidewalk, “I’m not supposed to see you, honey, it’s bad luck.”

Her fingers clumsily intertwine with his, and he can hear the smile in her voice as she says, slurring the tiniest bit, “So close your eyes, John Brady.”

He obeys with a soft laugh.

“What was so important that you had to—?”

He trails off as he feels her hand cup his cheek, thumb tracing clumsily over the corner of his mouth before her lips land on his in a kiss that tastes like alcohol and citrus and pure sunshine.

“Just missed you,” she murmurs as she pulls away, a telltale thickness in her voice as she continues, “I love you so much, Johnny.”

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he murmurs, eyes still obediently closed, “I think it’s time for you to get some rest, though.” 

He pauses, savoring this last quiet moment with her before the inevitable chaos and joy that the next day will bring.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jules.”

He steps back and turns away, still holding his fiancée’s hand as he opens his eyes to speak with the gaggle of girls surrounding them, “Can you all get her home safe?”

“We’ve got her,” Olive says, voice wobbly.

He notes with horror that the girls, all varying degrees of tipsy, each have tears in their eyes that surely match Jules’s.

Vika lays a reassuring hand on his arm, his shoulders relaxing as he notes the clarity in her gaze, “We’ve got her, John.”

John keeps his eyes dutifully away from his fiancée as her friends attempt to bundle her back into a cab, only looking up to watch as the lights fade down the street.

“Everything alright?”

He turns to see Benny standing in the doorway, face half-lit by the light from the bar, Meatball an ever-present shadow at his side.

“Everything’s great,” he assures his friend, and judging by Benny’s knowing look, something in his face must give away how much he means it.

“Jules… she wanted to come say goodnight before tomorrow.”

“Ah,” Benny nods, “Last time she says goodnight to you as a Thompson. That’s sweet.”

There’s a beat, and John moves to step past Benny when a hand lands on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“I really am happy for you, Brady.”

The teasing, tipsy twinkle in Benny’s eye has given way to pure sincerity, Benny no doubt remembering their time in the stalag; John waiting eagerly for each letter from Jules, becoming somehow even more determined to make it home with each cursive-filled page, the night he’d quietly admitted to Benny— because he’d had to tell someone— his plan to propose as soon as he could when he was home.

Benny had seen all of it, and now here he was at his bachelor party the night before his wedding.

“Thank you, Benny,” John says, nodding.

The solemn mood remains for a moment before John cracks a smile, bumping his shoulder into Benny’s as they step inside.

“It’ll be your turn soon enough.”

“Yeah, tell that to the girls lining up to go out with me,” Benny rolls his eyes.

“No really, DeMarco,” John laughs, “We should set you up with someone. What do you think of Vika?”

“I think that she’s a very good friend and that’s all I need right now,” Benny says, guiding the groom-to-be back towards the bar. 

“I also think,” he says, signaling for two whiskeys, “that you need another drink before this night is through.”

Brady grins.

“If you insist.”

[perrielouxo]

pez: it was so much fun, i swear. when i got off stage, i watched coldplay do their set and gosh, they're so good live. how come you don't sing more in movies? have you ever done a musical? i feel like you should make at least one of them - preferably a happy one. different but not less work, right? a whole week of learning the dialogue and then a live studio audience there to watch the whole thing. sounds so stressful to me. so, did you watch emma? if you say no, i'm going to judge you a little bit. i had a lovely christmas with my boy, he makes the holidays so much more fun. i don't suit black hair, i look pale and sickly, it's not a pretty sight. suppose i could go back to bubblegum pink, that could work for me. pez: i'd support axel no matter what he wants to do. i hope he has a regular job in the future, but if he wants to perform, i'll do what i can to help him along. pez: true. media makes everything worse. what's the strangest media lie you've ever heard about yourself?

paul: how was the jingle bell ball? give me the bts tea. i have a bit of a musical background so it makes for a nice little surprise when people realize that i can actually sing. i'm happy to have done it once but i wouldn't say no if they were to call again. it was a nice change up from a movie set, you know? might just have to sit down and watch emma tonight now that i've got some time off. how were your holidays with the little lad? hm, fair point. what about black hair? paul: axel has a bright future ahead of him. would you support him if he wanted to go into the singing industry? paul: not even a week. those media vultures would be on you so fast trying to destroy any good rep you had.