#anyway. let’s all pretend to be normal about this

[neeeooon]

shut me up ;

21 | best friends, baby!

ft. fem!reader & bachira, shidou, rin, sae, isagi, chigiri, nagi, kunigami, kaiser

cw. cussing, threats? of violence (boys being boys), y/n’s hand is shown (only focus on the nails; picture her however you want!)

“what are you all doing here?” you asked through your giant smile as a crowd of young men filtered into the restaurant where you worked. bachira and shidou eyed the menu with hungry eyes before eventually setting their sights on you. “free food?”

you let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. “discounted food.”

you don’t usually work nights, so you weren’t sure what to expect throughout your shift, but the five men definitely made you feel a lot lighter. they found their own seats, and you handed over some extra menus and napkins.

“kaiser got held up,” rin informed, though you never asked. “said you were working tonight.”

figures. he’d probably use your unusual shift as an excuse to bring someone over and be louder than usual. you chatted with them until they decided what to eat and then disappeared to relay their orders to the cook. when you returned, the restaurant was relatively empty and all remaining guests had been served, so you slipped into the available seat beside bachira and tugged the bag of guitar picks from your pocket.

“here! i ended up painting them all so you guys could pick and choose which ones you want…” you dumped the contents onto the table and spread them out for all five boys to see. “i already pulled the ones i made for chigiri, so these are all for you!”

bachira leaned into you, tossing his arm around your shoulders as shidou pretended to weep into one hand while reaching across the table and grabbing your hand with the other. “you’re so sweet to us, y/n!”

your cheeks warmed up slightly at the compliment. “it’s the least i could do. you’re the ones who have been sweet and accepting!”

“cause we’re best friends, baby!” bachira cheered as he snatched the dolphin pick up before anyone had the chance. his yellow eyes sparkled when they turned to you. “you really were listening to my dolphin rant?” you nodded and recounted some facts you learned from him as bachira smushed his cheek against the top of your head. “we are keeping you forever.”

you left to grab their orders and told your coworker you were going on break after dropping it off. he waved you off, saying the place was closing soon anyway.

“did you all pick one?” you asked when you realized the pile of guitar picks was gone. sae held one up and balanced his cheek on a closed fist. “those three are hoarding them.”

“don’t lie! we let you take, like, two. and rin doesn’t need a pick, anyway!”

“that one had a skull, though…”

you smiled as the boys argued, but it dropped when another one of your coworkers leaned on the back of your chair and laughed. “i didn’t realize you had a little baby sibling, y/n! i think my sister stopped drawing pictures like that when she.. was…” he trailed off, and when you lifted your head, you noticed all five men staring straight at him.

their faces were meticulously blank; you could feel the tension radiating off their shoulders. shidou shifted like he was about to stand, and your coworker was suddenly on the other side of the store, admiring a fake plant. you blinked, and they returned to normal.

“i’m gonna hang it on a chain and never take it off,” shidou promised while showing the pick off to sae (for the third time).

bachira sighed at his dolphin. “i won’t lose it, but if i do, will you paint me one just like this?” you nodded. no words had come out of your mouth since the encounter with your coworker, and you could tell they were trying to help you get comfortable again.

“y/n! what if you paint our nails next?”

“oh, yeah!” isagi added. “kaiser and rin used to get theirs done all the time. not detailed like your picks, but the fans loved it.”

shidou reached forward and hugged your hands. “would you do that? i’ll paint yours in return—i won’t mess up!”

you smiled, slow and soft. “that sounds like fun!”

masterlist // previous (ch 20) // next (ch 22)

notes -> sooooooo thoughts on what’ll happen next? might be introducing a new character 😅🤭

tags -> @x3nafix @n0tbelle @nensi @ohagiyo @tired-child00 @melinana @chaoslibra @kaidostwin @bubybubsters @miss-aesthetic-13 @ihsoti @arwawawa2 @lonigiri @realrintaro @mivqko @sorasushik1 @pookalicious-hq @higuchislut @tofumiarchives @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @rainychi2 @ch4rstxr @sapph1r3x @sagging-saging @5-laska @tuna-toes @seinuis @sindulgent666 @evilari111 @newinhalerpls @kisses2kanao @sugacor3 @meizumi @90s-belladonna @meowstertruck420 @kyutiipie @ranzess @cookiesandcreammy @nevvynev @stwberri @mikeymyfav @dontmindtheevie @kaikaidenkai @mizukiblogs @ravenbc @yvanllie @cyberasterrr @lily-isalittlegirl @yourlocaleffy @hanamatopoeia

© neeeooon, 2025

[kxsagi]

Hi!! Can I request some headcanons for the Bllk boys (mostly for Rin, Sae, Kaiser, Yukimiya, & Reo, but you can add whoever else hehe) about like their first kiss or first date with reader? (If you haven’t written about it already lol, I’m fairly new to your blog🥹) Like are they giddy about it? Did the date it go well? Were they awkward about kissing reader? Are they dying to see reader again? Yk what I mean???🤭 You can tweak this however you like!

Ty!🤍

"𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠"

a/n: i wrote this and was blushing myself help 😭

also i love the song sure thing and miguel he's such a good artist

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, yukimiya kenyu, mikage reo, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

rin is so serious about this first date it’s almost embarrassing. like he’s literally planning his outfit a week in advance and checking the restaurant reviews like he’s prepping for war. 

when you show up looking breathtaking, rin internally glitches. he forgot humans could be that pretty. the most you get out of him at first is a stiff, "you look fine." (it was supposed to be a compliment.) 

the date itself is awkward for like, the first 20 minutes because rin is trying SO hard to be normal. you make a dumb joke, and he stares at you like he’s loading. but then, you laugh at yourself and he kinda… softens. 

by the middle of the dinner he’s leaned forward, muttering dry, sarcastic comments under his breath, and he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. 

first kiss? rin walks you home and just STANDS there at your door, rigid. he wants to kiss you, but he’s overthinking it so hard he looks physically pained. 

you end up being the one to kiss him, and this boy literally freezes for a second like his brain blue-screened. then he kisses you back so earnestly it’s insane. his hand cradles the back of your head so gently you almost cry. 

after you go inside, he literally stands outside your door like an NPC, staring at the ground, replaying the kiss in his mind like a broken record. rin.exe has stopped working. 

dying to see you again but would rather perish than text first (he caves after 2 hours). 

itoshi sae

first of all, you’re lucky sae even agreed to a “date.” he’s allergic to the word. the second you called it that he gave you a look like you just asked him to help move a dead body. 

“it’s not a date. it’s just… hanging out.” (bro was sweating.) 

he shows up exactly on time, not a second early, not a second late, dressed way too casually for how hard he clearly thought about it. 

you’re a little nervous at first, but sae? sae is the human embodiment of 🧍‍♂️. he’s just standing there. hands in his pockets. blinking at you. 

you think maybe he’s bored, but every time you say something even a little funny, you catch him almost smiling before he kills it. he’s not fooling anybody. 

throughout dinner he’s casually devastating. when you tell him you were worried about picking a lame restaurant, he just tilts his head and says, “it’s fine. i’m not here for the food anyway.” 

he acts so casual, but he notices everything: your favorite dessert, the way you tap your fingers when you’re excited, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. 

first kiss? sae is horrible at pretending he’s not thinking about it. when he walks you home, there’s this tension in the air. he keeps glancing at you sideways and looking away like you’re an eclipse he’s not supposed to stare at. 

at your door, there’s this long pause. you open your mouth to say goodbye and he just… leans in. 

it’s abrupt, almost clumsy, but his hand finds your jaw so gently you almost melt. 

the kiss itself is surprisingly soft, slow, like he’s tasting the feeling before letting himself have it. 

when you pull away, a little dazed, sae just gives you this tiny, smug smirk and says, “finally.” like it was your fault for making him wait. 

he doesn't text you that night. he shows up the next morning at your door with coffee like, “you’re free, right?” (he missed you immediately but he'd rather die than admit it.) 

kaiser michael

kaiser treats the first date like it’s the olympics. he's showing up with a bouquet so big you can't see his face, wearing designer clothes, and winking at you like he’s already won. 

the whole night, he’s borderline unbearable, complimenting you every five seconds, making everything into a flirty joke, acting like the entire restaurant should be jealous he has you. 

but every time you laugh for real, he visibly short-circuits and has to glance away for a second like he’s trying to get his heart rate back under control. 

first kiss? you’re teasing him at the end of the night, like, “wow, and here i thought the famous michael kaiser would be a better date” and he fake gasps, clutches his heart, and dramatically says he needs a kiss to recover. 

you roll your eyes and kiss him just to shut him up and this man literally freezes mid-banter. 

his hand finds your waist automatically and when he kisses back it's so much softer than you expect, almost like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. 

after the date he literally spins around in the street like a disney princess when no one’s looking (zesty ahh). 

yukimiya kenyu

yukimiya is SO composed on the surface, like he’s all suave and gentlemanly and giving you that dazzling movie-star smile, but internally he’s PANICKING. 

he spent two hours googling “how to impress your crush without looking desperate” before the date. 

during dinner, he’s super attentive – asking questions about your day, your hobbies, your favorite color – but the second you compliment him back, he short-circuits like a middle schooler. 

first kiss? he’s walking you home, holding your hand, and trying to play it cool, but he keeps sneaking glances at your lips. 

finally, right at your doorstep, he blurts, "i really want to kiss you right now," and immediately turns red like he didn't mean to say that out loud. 

you kiss him and poor yukimiya is so overwhelmed he literally stumbles back a step. ("sorry, i'm just– you’re really beautiful.") 

texts you that night: “i had a really amazing time. would love to see you again. if you’re free. no pressure. sorry. okay goodnight.” (he proofread that text five times.) 

mikage reo

reo shows up to the date like he’s starring in a rom-com. we’re talking reservations at the coolest new place in town, wearing the perfect outfit, absolutely beaming when he sees you. 

he treats you like royalty the entire night. hand on your lower back, pulling out your chair, feeding you bites off his plate, the works. 

he is also very obviously smitten. like, he laughs way too hard at your jokes and says “you’re seriously the cutest person alive” like three times without even realizing it. 

first kiss? reo gets nervous toward the end of the night because he wants it to be perfect. he’s actually sweating a little, double checking that his breath doesn’t smell like garlic. 

he walks you home, holding your hand and swinging it between you like the golden retriever bf he is, and right as you’re about to say goodbye, he just blurts out, “can i kiss you?” 

you say yes, and reo kisses you so sweetly and so enthusiastically you both start laughing halfway through because he’s literally smiling against your lips. 

immediately texts you after: “when can i see you again 😭😭😭💜” and plans like five more dates in his head before you even reply. 

isagi yoichi

isagi is both excited and absolutely terrified about the first date. this man is doing push-ups in his room beforehand to "get rid of the nerves" (it doesn't help.) 

he tries SO hard to seem casual but ends up being adorably dorky. like he almost pulls your chair out too far and you almost fall over (he apologizes for the next ten minutes). 

but he’s also SO easy to talk to. by the middle of the date, you’re laughing non-stop and realizing that being with isagi just feels right. 

first kiss? he walks you home and he’s so obviously trying to build up the courage to kiss you that it’s painful. like he keeps fidgeting, glancing at your lips, then looking away like he’s committed a crime. 

you finally have to gently nudge him, and he stammers out, "can i– is it okay if–" before you just kiss him first. 

isagi literally freezes with his hands half-raised, then kisses you back so shyly and sweetly you feel like you’re floating. 

after you go inside, he literally punches the air in victory and almost wakes up the whole neighborhood. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[torueater]

ROOMIE BENEFITS UNLOCKED ᝰ.ᐟ

a/n: i've had this in my drafts too long, it's now or never

Satoru knows you hear him when he cums. You know he does.

Brazen white haired bastard, those are the only words you can think of to describe him, though not as eloquent as it can be put.

You’d been as good about it as you can be, it’s not as though he did it day in day out, just occasionally during the week – you’d have your headphones in, volume low. pretending you don’t already have the sound of his moans memorized like a song, like you can’t hear him getting himself off. lips bitten, hand down your shorts to ease to growing ache of pleasure in your abdomen – shit, maybe you’re just as bad as satoru, just not as loud.

He’s always ridiculously shameless about it too  – deep groans, low breathless curses, the wet drag of his fist. Little praises like someone else’s there. It’s like he wanted you to hear him.

Which you do. Every single time without fail.

Once is mistake, twice is a coincidence. But more than 3 times? Pattern, sheer pattern. He has to know, if the knowing glint in his eye when morning came meant anything. His chirpy little ‘sleep well, roomie?’ that has the tips of your ears heating because no, obviously not. Grade a asshole. It’s already a struggle to fight the building attraction but now you know exactly how he sounds when he finishes, how whiny he gets.

Besides that, he wasn’t too bad, you’d gotten lucky in the roommate lottery, you suppose. Isn’t a bad friend either. At least he handles his shit with the door closed, right?

Tonight’s different though. You’d stepped out for a quarter of an hour at best to run to the convenience store -- he’d offered up his card to restock the snacks you like in the communal cupboard. you’d given him a time frame so there’s 0 good reason why his door is cracked when you get back in, fucking up into his fist with gentle strokes, no urgency at all.

"Fuck…just like that.”

Oh?

You halt midstep, frozen -- card in your hand and heartbeat in your throat.

The sight is much more than you’d expected. He’s so fucking pretty -- sweats low and bunched on his thighs, chest bared for the world to see. lashes settled against the paleness of his cheek, snowy strands mussed with a few sticking to his forehead. trimmed hairs that do match the drapes framing a pretty, lengthy—

You know what? Maybe you’d just wait till he finished. Retreat and resign to your room for a little, keeping the card with you. You didn’t need to be here, you shouldn’t even be looking. He’s jerking off and you’re just stood there – gosh, you feel like a perv.

“You just gonna stand there?”

It’s a little lazy sounding, a syrupy drag tinged with amusement. like this is some normal conversation. The card slackens in your hold as your breathing ceases momentarily, mouth parting to get out an excuse, a ramble of apologies.

“Y’re—oh fuck,” and he doesn’t even stop, eyes closed, head tipped to the ceiling now. as he squeezes at the head of his cock to ebb his pleasure. pearly cream smears near the pretty bulb with a light stroke, thumb stroking over a vein at the side. “fine. You’re fineee. come in, ’m not too busy.”

You do, you don’t know why you do. maybe it’s your body working quicker than your mind, one saying yes, other saying no type thing. He grins like he’d known you’d do just that, floorboards giving you away.

You try not to look, you really do but it’s right there. rigid girth held in a light grip, flushed head all soft and rosy. Glistening with what looks like either lube or spit (maybe both), heavy looking in his hand. “g’nna cum to it anyway,” he murmurs, “might as well get you in here to let you see the real thing.” Your eyes follow another pearlescent dribble from his head, eyes growing glossy, willing the dampness pooling between your thighs away. His words register late and you’re all hot in the face as you glance up at him, stumbling over words about needing to give him his card. “huh? I don’t…satoru, it’s not like that at all.”

And he laughs, all deep and rich, not helping the incessant throbbing between your thighs.

“You just happen to touch yourself exactly when i’m getting myself off? the walls are thin, pretty. I don’t think the pillows muffle the vibrations too well.” you wonder if there’s a quick way to dig a hole to just jump into. maybe if you fake a fainting spell he’d drop it? shitty fucking amazon vibrator – those reviews had clearly been a lie.

Satoru’s eyes open, all slow and heavy like he’s already drunk on the pleasure. Fuck, he loves this. loves the look on your face – all stunned, no words to say to explain yourself. “you’re not comin’?” And god he says it so breathily, you can’t help the instinctual press of your thighs, the bob of your throat with a harsh swallow.

“Aw, a little watching got you all wet?” He’d noticed. of course he had. “why don’t we help each other, hm? how about you take your panties off, pretty. let me see how wet I got you.”

It gives you a pause, panties uncomfortably damp, hot with..embarrassment? arousal? maybe the latter more than the former. "Bossy." Your hands are shaky as they skim the edges of your shorts, hooking under the smooth cottony band of your panties.

You don’t know why you’re just following his directives, walking out and pretending this didn’t happen would be just as easy as walking in had been.

But you don’t – you’ve been wanting to fuck him or at least touch him for ages, lying to yourself wouldn’t do anyone favors.

The plain pale gray, turned smoky and the center falls to the floor in a heap with your shorts, pressing the card onto the closest surface with a gentle movement. His gaze drops and he groans at the clear glisten between your thighs, thumb swiping over his tip, hips twitching slightly as he slows his strokes.

“C’mere,” he says again, softer this time.

You take a step, then a few more till you’re at the edge of the bed. his legs spread a little wider, chin angled down in a simple gesture. His strokes get slower, lazier. Teasing now, dragging out every wet sound, every twist of his wrist that has pearly dribbles spilling over his skin. You sink down to your knees so you’re settled between his thighs, fingers clenching and unclenching on the hardwood.

“There you are.” he croons, bringing his free hand back from gripping the sheets to brush stray hairs out your face, tipping your chin up.

“Say ahh, roomie.”

extra a/n: dropping and running. the rest of this was just sex and banter, still in my docs 🏃🏽‍♂️

[badassbutterfly1987]

(ID: Pic 1: "It's okay, I can peel back the layers of you until I find the soft and gentle core of you you've had to work so hard to hide"? No. No, it's okay, I know you're hollow; I'm here anyway. You don't have to pretend it isn't masks the whole way down. Whatever face you want to wear, I still love you. I don't need you to be good or unflinching or the antonym of violence. If I did, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't ask that of you. I have nothing against a character who is layers of scar tissue and callous protecting a small little sliver of their before self, who just wants to be safe to let that sliver grow and heal. However, when the only thing under all the scarring is more scarring. When there's nothing of the before self left at all. When there was a precipice, and they tumbled over it, and even if they got back up they'll never heal right. And then to have someone still say 'I care for you.' You are broken and I can't fix you and I'm here anyway. So what if you're a ghost of yourself? You can haunt me." Pic 2: "I don't know man, I just wish that we could [suddenly realising I'm coming dangerously close to expressing a real and earnest thought instead of filtering everything through several layers of intangible running bits] blow up the entire world. Or something."

Pic 3: "Big fan of characters with abandonment + attachment issues so profound that they leave claw marks in everything they touch but would sooner gnaw off their own leg than admit they just want someone to stay for once. In a totally normal well adjusted and not at all projecting way of course." Pic 4: "When you have wanted to be wanted all your life, and then somebody wants you, it feels like cheating. It feels like eating something you're not supposed to eat, and you eat it too quickly, always afraid of your lover walking in and seeing it smeared all over your face, red, the damning evidence of your hunger to be wanted, and nobody wants to love someone too desperate to be loved, so you do your best not to be desperate, you walk in the harsh January sun with your hands freezing in your pockets and try to look like someone who doesn't want anything too much. Here's the thing, you want everything so much that you're like a ravine in the shape of a woman, taking in anything that seems like it could be love." Pic 5: "Someone: I love you." "My damaged ass: the love you speak of is conditional, you are only in love with what I present or project to be and again it's sifted through another layer of your perspective, you love what you think I am, and when I stop being that, you'll stop loving me." Pic 6: "My urge to massively and publically self destruct so someone finally proves they care about my well-being is at war with my common sense and terror of being seen as a burden and abandoned."

Pic 7: "Realizing that I'm not the kind of person that has people, I'm the person that people have. I'm not meant to be loved, I'm meant to love. I'm not meant to be supported, I'm meant to be supportive. I'm not meant to be anything more than the person who's there when other people need them. I'm the person who people only reach out to when they need someone and I'm convenient." Pic 8: "When I watch other people my age, I see that they have this kind of effortless way about them that I don't think I'll ever have. The way they talk to each other and the way they go out and pursue what interests them without having to think twice about it. The way they know how to conduct themselves, the way it all comes so naturally to them, like breathing or swimming or riding a bike. It's like they all have something ingrained in them that I just don't have, and it's so embarrassing and it's fucking killing me." Pic 9: "It secretly terrifies me that I have no solid personality or identity. I you asked me who I am I could only give you a name and age. My identity is fragmented and prone to shattering under pressure. I have no idea who I am, but I know each of my created personalities very well, it's like being 50 people all at once and nobody at all at the same time. I'm an empty body with a mind that's overflowing." Pic 10: "I've gotten good at leaning on metaphors. I've gotten good at living on someone else's page. I cut my teeth on second-hand sentiments. You can't trust a single thing I say." End ID.)

Making a web weave seemed fun. Here’s one about being “masks the whole way down” (@/notquiteaghost) or something along those lines

Song is Metaphor by the crane wives

[rongloa]

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞) — m. grayson drabble

𝐰𝐜. 630

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. doormat behaviour (not really you love him), fluff but it’s barely there, a tiny bit of angst but that’s because i can never be happy

𝐚/𝐧. i think if i knew mark, i would know. and i know it’s not acceptable to let someone walk over you and not tell them why you’re doing it, but he’s going (and been) through a lot. amen my children

You could never tell him that you know.

You act surprised when he runs off mid-conversation, mouth half-open like the girl who doesn’t understand why her newly dubbed boyfriend just vanished behind a fast food joint. You’ve practiced that look in the mirror, just in case. Ran yourself through how a girlfriend that didn’t know would react, even picked your friend’s minds. “How would you react if your boyfriend disappeared on a date?”

Their answers weren’t all that bad, mostly a mix of disgust and frustration— there was a random calm one that had you worried about how she was doing with her boyfriend.

But what would you say, really?

“Hey baby, I’ve known you’re Invincible for months now. I saw the blood on your shirt before you had time to change. I recognized your voice when you saved those people downtown. You leave handprint shaped bruises on my hips and back when you’re exhausted from superhero-ing.”

He’s not good at hiding things. Not from you anyways. Not when you know the way his voice cracks when he’s lying. Not when you’ve memorized the shape of every bruise he forgets to cover.

But still—you let him think he is. If not for your own sanity, then his.

Some days, you almost tell him. You think—this is the moment—when he crawls through your bedroom window because he’s too tired to go home. His hair is windswept, cheeks and nose a flushed red from the biting winter breeze, and because you quite literally watched him fight with his supersuit beside your flowerbed of lillies.

But then he says the thing that makes your heart soften into mush and your resolve to do the big reveal slips through your fingers like air. “I just needed to see you,” he mumbles it into the bare skin of your shoulder, teeth catching the smallest bit on your collarbone. Still trying to smile for you.

You wrap your arms around him like you’re trying to hold in all his jagged pieces. Kiss the side of his head, even though his hair’s sweaty. Feel the way he leans into you, like you’re gravity and he’s tired of orbiting alone. Drag your fingertips along the dips and bumps of his spine like you can stitch him back together.

“I’m right here,” you whisper. I always am.

You always are.

Sometimes, you think he knows. That he’s just waiting for you to say it. Like you’re both holding guns at your sides, fingers resting on triggers you’re too afraid to pull. It’s funny, in a way that makes you sick, how he can take punches from gods and aliens, bleed in space, crash through concrete walls—and yet he flinches at the thought of one human truth, one from a girl who bakes him cookies and kisses his bruises like they’ll fade faster if she means it hard enough.

You’ve seen what this life does to people. You’ve seen blood drip onto your doorstep and gotten calls at 2:00 a.m. that make your heart stop. And still—still—you stay. You pretend to be normal. You laugh when he makes dumb jokes, you hold his hand when his lip is split, and you say you’re okay when he forgets your birthday because he was off-planet. You stay because someone has to, because you don’t think anyone else would. You don’t do it out of pity, out of selfish love.

You are in love with a boy made of breaking points. A boy who holds the sky in his hands and still doesn’t know how to hold you without trembling.

And yet—you don’t break.

One night, he falls asleep with his head in your lap. He’s heavy. Warm. So real, it makes your ribs ache. Those long dark lashes are shadows against his bruised cheekbone, and he sighs in his sleep like he’s letting go of something he doesn’t even know he’s carrying. Like even being a Viltrumite isn’t enough to guarantee forever.

You run your fingers through his hair. Soft, gentle strokes, like turning the pages of a book you’ve read a hundred times but still love. A soft coo, a name that you roll over your tongue like the sweetest brown sugar, “Mark?”

He stirs, lashes fluttering even though his eyes can barely stay open. He hums, gravel-soft.

You nod, even though his eyes are already fluttering closed again. “I love you, baby.”

He smiles, and it’s so soft you feel it in your bones, feel it crack something hidden deep behind your sternum. Then he settles back into the plush of your thighs, trusting you with himself—his love, his secrets, even if he doesn’t know you already carry them all like a second heart.

You don’t need to tell him.

Not yet. Not for a long time yet.

Not when he already does these things that make you feel like you’re the only thing holding him down.

[dirtyvulture]

Knight Falls - Part 3

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Wolverine!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk (Blood, violence, torture)

Summary: Your perfect life with Natasha isn't meant to stay that way with the Red Room still looking for her.

Word count: 3030

AN: It’s been 84 years since the last update, but I truly thank everyone for their recent interest in this fic and for giving me the motivation to keep going!

Click here to refresh your memory with Part 2.

“Again? Are you sure?”

“Why not? It’s not like she has somewhere to be.”

Dr. Cornelius’s bald head leans into your peripherals. He’s wearing his signature mirrored glasses so you can see your reflection in them: the hair matted to your forehead, the sickly paleness of your skin, the dilation of fear in your pupils.

“You’re our most generous donor,” Dr. Cornelius says, patting your arm with a heavy hand. You try cringing away from his touch, but you’re bolted to the table at every joint. The things you would do to this man if you were free. “Besides, you have to pay for your upkeep somehow, right?”

You growl in response to his words. You don’t try speaking to them anymore. They’d never listen to you anyway. 

In the background, metal scrapes against metal and the clanging strikes a chord of fear in your chest. It’s not easy to move your head but you still try, until you see one of the surgeons back at your side with a scalpel shining in the bright overhead lights. 

“What haven’t we taken today?” Dr. Cornelius asks. 

The surgeon shrugs, his expression unreadable behind a mask. You wonder if he takes enjoyment in this, or he’s just following orders. There’s a lot of each around here. All spineless cowards to you.

“How about the liver?” Dr. Cornelius suggests, pushing down on your stomach. You squirm uncomfortably, but no matter what you do, you can’t escape him. Ever since these sick psychopaths got their hands on you, they weren’t going to let you go.

“Sure.” 

Before you even have a chance to register the surgeon’s response, his scalpel presses into your side until it breaks the skin. Blood rolls down to the metal slab you’re lying on. You can’t block out the pain as he saws through you, but you’ve learned to disassociate from it. If they were going to treat you like an object, you needed to pretend to be one to survive.

***********************************************************************

You come to slowly, your head pounding like someone took a sledgehammer repeatedly to your skull. Light worsens your headache so you squint while you get your bearings. You find yourself strapped tightly to a table, heavy blocks of metal encasing both of your hands. There’s even some kind of solid muzzle over your mouth, restricting your breathing. 

Your first thought doesn’t go to the countless times you’ve been in this position before, it goes to the one that landed you here: Taskmaster standing over you with a gun pointed between your eyes. Your forehead throbs at the memory, but since you actually remember what happened, your healing must be functioning as normal, despite the extreme sluggishness that weighs you down. You pull aggressively at your binds, but you’re cinched tight to the table.

Panic builds inside of you.

Screaming doesn’t do anything. Neither does begging them to stop. Which is why you don’t do it anymore. You lie there like a fish, your eyes glazed over and unseeing, even though you are completely aware of everything happening to you.

Your skin tearing open. The blood pouring out of you that they don’t even try to staunch. Being ripped apart and put together more times than you can count.

The muzzle makes it impossible for you to take a full breath and the anxiety overrides your control. You hyperventilate frantically, but it’s still not enough air and the ache in your lungs starts to build. It feels like you’re drowning in fear and panic and you completely forgot how to stay calm. 

You never thought you’d find yourself in this position again. You promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and try moving your whole body, but your legs down to your ankle are held in place by metal restraints. A band over your chest presses down like someone’s knee in your sternum. The fear of not being in control is crushing like a weight of its own and you fight harder, until the metal starts cutting into your wrists. But you won’t stop, afraid that you might never make it out if you do. 

“Y/N. Y/N!”

Your head whips around painfully against the restraint locked around your neck. Natasha is crouched a few feet away from you, blocked behind a wall of jail bars. You try to speak but your words are muffled by the muzzle. 

She squeezes her arm through the bar, straining to reach you. Her fingertips barely brush your forearm, but her touch is instantly calming. 

“It’s okay. I’m here,” she says, trying to be brave for the both of you, but you can smell her fear mingling with yours. There’s a cut with dried blood on her forehead, but she seems okay otherwise. At least the two of you were together. You focus on your breaths again, forcing yourself to take them slowly and as deeply as you can. Your heart rate falls and the panic begins to melt away.

Natasha has never seen you like this before. The crazed look in your eyes when you woke up, the desperation in which you tried to unsuccessfully free yourself. She knows it must be traumatizing and embarrassing for you to be in a position of helplessness. She wishes she could be closer to you, to hold you, to tell you that everything will be okay, but she’s stuck behind the bars in a cage and can barely reach you. 

“I love you,” she blurts out, in case she doesn’t get a chance to say the words again. “I love you so much and I’m going to get us out of here, I promise.” You cannot speak, but you look at her with pure adoration and trust. 

“I’m not sure where we are,” she says, filling the silence. “I woke up a few times before they brought us in here. But I think we’re on some kind of aircraft–”

At that moment, your surroundings jolt and Natasha falls back in her cell. You know you aren’t going anywhere with the table bolted to the floor, but the motion is jarring and worrying. Escape would be a lot more difficult if there was nowhere for you two to go.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Natasha whimpers, curling into a ball. You can’t stand to see her like this, even more frustrated because you can’t do anything to assure her. A growl rumbles in your throat as you tug pointlessly at your arms yet again. “It should be me on that table. You warned me going after the Red Room would be dangerous, but I didn’t think it’d end like this.”

You grunt in disagreement. You had no regrets going to that Russian home with her and you wanted her to know that.  

“If we get out of here,” she continues in a lower voice, “Maybe I should leave y–”

Before she can finish her sentence, the door swings open and three men walk in, Taskmaster among them. Instantly, the hairs on the back of your neck rise in warning. The shortest man struts over to Natasha’s cell, and the scent of fear that rolls off her is so strong it nearly chokes you.

“Natalia,” Dreykov greets as Natasha shrinks back to the corner of the cell. “Glad to see you back in the Red Room.” You growl to get his attention away from her. “Oh.” He slowly turns as if he completely missed you lying there. “Forgive me for not introducing myself.” 

He comes to your side. He smells like cologne, sweat, and a trace of fear. It makes you feel minutely better that even though you’re strapped to a slab of metal and rendered nearly immovable, he’s still scared of you. “You may address me as General Dreykov, and I think you’re already well-acquainted with Taskmaster.”

An insult is muffled by your muzzle. 

Dreykov chuckles. “We’ve been waiting a long time to get our hands on the both of you. You certainly didn’t make it easy.” He steps back as Taskmaster opens Natasha’s cell door and goes inside to grab her.

“Don’t touch me!” she screams. You yank at your restraints again; you’re not above skinning yourself if you have to. If the two of you are separated, there’s no telling what this man could do to her.

“You stay right here,” Dreykov says, as Taskmaster drags Natasha by. She tries reaching out for you again but Taskmaster pins her arms to her sides. “Dr. Morozov is happy to keep you company.” 

“Natasha!” you try to scream, but it’s unintelligible. 

“Y/N, I’ll come back for you, I’ll–” Taskmaster carries her out of the room, Dreykov following behind. The third man, thin and tall, dressed in surgeon’s attire, is left alone with you. While his physical presence isn’t very intimidating to you, the fact that he’s in a total position of power over you scares you the most.

“I heard you’re in possession of a substance we are very, very interested in,” Dr. Morozov says, his voice high and squeaky compared to Dreykov’s. “I told General Dreykov I had to come see you for myself.” He disappears from your vision but returns, pushing a rattling metal tray of instruments. Panic surges through you again, but you swallow the fear and try to stay calm.

“General Dreykov tasked me with removing this adamantium from your bones,” Dr. Morozov says, sounding giddy with excitement as he picks up a scalpel. “He isn’t sure if it’s even possible, and will most likely kill you in the process, but that’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things.” He brings the blade into your left forearm, cutting your skin from your wrist to your elbow. You snarl and struggle, but he presses the blade deeper and deeper until it clangs against metal. “Aha!”

You need an escape route now. You refuse to lay here and be picked to pieces by yet another crazed surgeon. Your breathing quickens again, but this time you’re totally in control. 

“General Dreykov said you had…hmm, what was the word he used?” Dr. Morozov goes on. But your arm is already healing, so he cuts it open again and uses a clamp to hold it open. Adrenaline rushes through your veins so strongly you don’t even feel the pain for a moment, and that’s exactly what you need. Dr. Morozov is so busy studying your left arm, he doesn’t notice you tugging on your right arm. 

You tense your bicep so hard it feels like it’s going to tear out of your skin. The restraints are too tight so they pinch into your skin as it bunches up at your wrist, but you keep pulling until it starts to cut through. With one last breath to ready yourself for the pain, you yank with all your strength and your skin peels off your hand.The loss of the top layer creates enough room to slip your hand through the restraint, the blood acting like a lubricant. 

“Claws!” Dr. Morozov says suddenly.

If you didn’t feel so sick you would’ve laughed at the irony as you swing your right arm up and release your claws into the center of his chest. Dr. Morozov is dead before he collapses onto the floor. You tear the muzzle off your face first, then use your claws to cut through the remaining restraints. By the time you’re free, the skin on your arm and hand has healed back. You stand up, overwhelmed with nausea and pain, but it passes after you steady yourself on the table.

You check if Dr. Morozov has a security badge of some kind and find one in his pocket, stealing it for your own use and leaving the room. You’ve been dressed in a white shirt and sweatpants, now stained with your blood. You’re not sure why you feel so sick, maybe you had been drugged or were still recovering from being shot point-blank in the head. Either way, you don’t have time to sit and recover. You need to find Natasha. 

Following Dreykov’s scent down the hall, you dodge around corners and climb a few flights of stairs. It’s a miracle you don’t run into anyone, but something tells you it had been specifically set up this way. You use Dr. Morozov’s badge to pass foot-thick security doors, cautious to stay on guard in case of an ambush. But you hardly have time to be concerned with your own well-being when Natasha is with Dreykov. 

The thought of that slimy, vile man putting his hands on your girlfriend makes your stomach knot into a pretzel. Natasha had told you stories of what he had done to her and made other Widows do. While you could no longer be surprised by the vileness of humanity, it broke your heart to hear about the horrible things Natasha had been subjected to. Finding the Red Room would be her way of getting closure from that, but it seemed like whatever plan she had had utterly fallen apart with the surprise of Taskmaster. You have to find her before anything worse can happen to her.

Dreykov’s cologne intensifies and you trace the scent to a large door cracked slightly ajar, where his and Natasha’s voices drift out of.

“Don’t tell me to stop!” Dreykov screams, and his genuine anger causes you to pause in alarm.

“If I don’t tell you when to stop, how will you know to shut up?” Natasha responds, then the unmistakable noise of flesh against bone. 

“Natasha!” you yell, going into motion once more. But before you can get through the door, a massive figure drops down from the ceiling and plants their feet against your chest, sending you flying back into a metal wall so hard it dents around your body. For a moment, you can’t even breathe and you’re certain your entire ribcage has collapsed. 

Each miniscule breath you manage is like swords shoved through your lungs and you truly feel the weight of the metal on your bones as you struggle to get up. You lose track of Taskmaster until he slams onto the back of your head. Your metal skull rebounds against the floor and despite its added protection, your brain was just as vulnerable as anyone’s. Professor Xavier had warned you numerous times how much more severe brain injuries could be for you because your brain was literally cocooned in a metal shell. 

You had never really believed him until now.

No thoughts pass through your mind as you teeth rattle like candy and your vision blurs like someone has taken an eraser to half of it. Taskmaster grabs you by the shoulders and hauls you back to your feet. You hate how he easily he throws you around. Very few people could make you feel like a ragdoll. The claws rip out from between your knuckles and you slash out wildly, but he drops you before you can land a fatal strike. You aren’t focused so much on actually hurting him as you are distracting him. You need to keep him at bay long enough for your brain to heal. 

But you have no awareness of your surroundings, out of your environment and in an already-weakened state. The floor trembles beneath Taskmaster’s weight as he closes in on you. You swing without being able to see and feel the pull of your claws as it strikes against something, but it isn’t enough. Taskmaster’s claws stab through your back and steal your breath. You fly through the air, this time colliding with the ceiling and punching right through, landing on the floor above. 

You’re so disoriented in the settling dust you don’t see Taskmaster emerge from the hole you came through, stabbing you in the leg to drag you back down. Rage overtakes the pain at the thought that this man has simply turned you into his plaything, so when you fall back through the hole, you give in to your animal instincts and attack him. 

You slash and punch and kick in an unpredictable pattern because you aren’t thinking anymore. Taskmaster falls into a defensive mode and you sense hesitation as he backs away from you. Gaining some ground back lulls you into a false sense of security, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that he wasn’t hesitating. He was studying you, picking up on your style and techniques instantly to use back against you. 

After a blow that scores three long gouges across his chest plate, he launches at you in a frenzy that rivals your own. You have no protection like he does, and his claws, although not made of adamantium, are still durable and sharp enough to take chunks out of you. Blood splatters the walls and you’re forced to play defensively again after he punctures your lung and cripples both your legs by slicing your hamstrings in half. You crawl away from him, refusing to beg for your life but too scared to fight him more. You’ve never fought anything like him. 

Taskmaster looms over you as you shrink down, wheezing, the last fire of a fight fading in your eyes. He grabs the scruff of your neck like he would to a dog, stabbing you in the chest until blood spurts out of your mouth.

Despite that you easily outweigh the average male, he easily drags you into Dreykov’s office and kicks the door open.

Natasha is standing over Dreykov at his desk, blood dripping from her crooked nose. You wish you had the energy to break free and punch Dreykov in the face, but you barely cling onto consciousness as Taskmaster drops you like a sack of bricks.

“Y/N!” Natasha shouts.

Taskmaster pulls out a gun and presses it into the back of your head as you struggle to get up. 

“Don’t,” Natasha begs. 

You grit your bloody teeth, wanting to tell her that a little lead wouldn’t kill you. 

“That is not for her,” Dreykov says, pointing at Taskmaster’s gun. “It’s for you.”

Before you can even blink, Taskmaster removes the gun from your head and aims it at Natasha.

BANG.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Sorry to leave yall on ANOTHER cliffhanger. But one more part to go :)

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[kittyyclysm]

ok i have a bone to pick with these clothes (no actual spoilers just mentions of small things that happened in the ep)

I don't think Adrien should have this marketable design this far back. Personally I've always thought the reason Adrien has to wear the same thing everyday is because it's a "marketable" design so Gabriel makes him wear it. It makes him recognizable and iconic, and... apparently these multicolored stripes are the most marketable design Gabriel could come up with. But let's just pretend this is the case (since I could be wrong). Writing-wise, I don't think he should have started marketing Adrien as a model since he popped out of the womb.

It would be SO much more interesting and make a lot more sense if Gabriel only started this whole marketability stunt when his ideologies about fashion changed and we could slowly see this design take over Adrien's wardrobe. This 6-year-old shirt could have been a picture of how Gabriel used to treat Adrien and how Adrien used to actually be able to express himself, and it would've gone so well with the Papa Corn thing to show that Gabriel used to be a decent dad.

In Representation in Felix's little theatre-kid play, he described Gabriel's clothes as "clothes so magnificent that they revealed the beauty of anyone who wore them" (12:57). In that case, we can assume he has a fashion ideology similar to Marinette's: fashion is meant to let people express themselves. But we see that that ideology has changed in Pretension, when Gabriel and Marinette talk over pancakes... Gabriel says, "Life is like fashion. You think you have a choice but all you have is the illusion of choice, and I decide what choices are given to you. [...] Fashion is a product, a marketing strategy, an industry that relies on an uninterrupted trend renewal that forces you to either throw away everything you have and buy more or, worse, be out of fashion" (6:41). That last bit is after Marinette describes fashion as understanding people and creating things that will help them express themselves, which, again, seems to be the old ideology Gabriel had.

That being said, Gabriel's old clothes for Adrien should have reflected that ideology rather than totally... contradicting it??? Forcing him into that marketable clothing would have reflected his current ideology of fashion. Now, what pushed him to that new idea? I think that's probably when he wanted to start making more money. Specifically, I think he would have locked in on designing fashion as "a product" when Emilie started to get sick and he was going on all those trips to find cures. It couldn't have been cheap and it would make sense he would lock in for that... and we also know he wasn't a fashion millionaire before since, again in Felix's little play, we find out that he was still poor when he and Emilie married. He could have started corrupting the idea of fashion before Emilie started getting sick, but really I don't think that would happen for no reason unless Emilie had that same ideology. That's completely up in the air, though I doubt the show would go for that complex take of "Adrien's mom actually wasn't that great either" with its Marinette Mary Sue problem and all... I'm not sure what her ideology on fashion would be though, or if she even has a solid view of it. Anyway, I really think Gabriel would have only picked up on that ideology to make bank to try and save Emilie, and I think Adrien would be one of the last things he'd turn into a product since he's an extension of Emilie.

So yeah!! I think the shirt should have been different. A hint of the past where Gabriel treated Adrien as more of a kid instead of a product and those old ideologies he used to have, since one of the huge points of his character is that he used to be some normal, assumedly reasonable guy, but he went off the deep-end. It also would've went well with the Papa Corn bit. And it would have shown how his life was better with Emilie, even if it was something as subtle as wardrobe choice. AND (last and) given that little timeline of him having to lock in on designs in a desperate attempt to save his wife!!!

And likeeee... how cute would a matching frog onesie be????

rant over!!!

i have a lot more thoughts i have to post on the earlier series and even the current series but i may go back through and rewatch to give those!!! but these thoughts stand on their own so i decided to write it down

obligatory thank you to my roomie @baldisfan for getting me into mlb and watching this ep together 💞💞💞and for letting me yap this idea to her as she lets me yap all my ideas tehe

anyway would love 2 hear ur guys' thoughts on this too!!!

[lanadelspray02]

HOLD ME ANYWAY: CHAPTER 2

paige x azzi

warning: none

Hey guys, I will post all the chapters from ao3 that I have written so far today on here, so be ready. I'm planning on creating a masterlist too. Let me know what y'all think :)

crossposted ao3 here

masterlist here

--------------------

The next morning, Paige stumbled into the gym rubbing sleep from her eyes, clutching a half-finished coffee like it was the last lifeline on earth. Saturday practices were always brutal, but today felt worse. Maybe because she’d stayed up replaying that stupid late-night shootaround in her head instead of sleeping like a normal person.

Across the court, Nika and KK were already stretching, shooting her matching evil grins.

“You look rough, Bueckers,” KK called.

Nika snickered. “Dreaming about someone?”

Paige flipped them both off lazily and dropped her coffee on the bench. “I was dreaming about dunking on you,” she said. “And yes, it was glorious.”

Nika opened her mouth to fire back — but Coach blew the whistle sharp and fast, calling everyone into warmups.

Paige jogged into the circle — and immediately spotted her.

Azzi stood across the court, sleeves shoved up her forearms, hair tucked back neatly. No smiles. No laughter. But somehow — she didn’t seem quite as closed off as yesterday.

Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was everything.

“Pair off!” Coach barked. “Get moving!”

The team scrambled to find partners. Paige hesitated for half a beat too long — and somehow, she and Azzi ended up facing each other.

Coincidence? Fate? Dumb luck? Paige wasn’t sure. She just knew her heart kicked a little too hard in her chest.

Azzi lifted her brows like well? Paige tossed her a ball with a grin.

“You dreaming about beating me all night?” she said, half-joking, half-praying she didn’t sound like an idiot.

Azzi caught the ball smoothly, spun it once in her hand, and replied without missing a beat, “Didn’t have to dream.”

The smirk that followed was tiny. Barely there. But it hit Paige like a brick to the solar plexus.

Around them, Nika and KK cracked up, overhearing.

Nika nudged Paige hard in the ribs as they split off into shooting drills. “Oooh, she’s roasting you already!”

Paige flashed a grin back, pretending she was totally fine. Inside, she was absolutely not fine. Not even a little bit.

Practice blurred by in a rush of layup lines, shooting drills, and defensive scrimmages. Azzi wasn’t dominating — she was still rusty — but her flashes of brilliance were unmistakable.

Paige caught herself watching too much. The way Azzi’s jumper barely spun. The quick footwork, sharper now than yesterday. The little crease between Azzi’s brows when she missed a shot, like she was personally offended by her own imperfection.

She had no business noticing those things. None.

Teammate bonding, she told herself. Completely normal. Definitely not dangerous.

----------------

By the time practice ended, Paige’s legs ached and her stomach growled so loud that even KK heard it and cackled.

“Emergency pancakes,” KK declared. “Stat.”

Coach gave them the afternoon off, and the team spilled toward the locker rooms, already arguing about where to eat.

------------

Paige, Nika, and KK crammed into a booth near the window, elbows bumping as they grabbed at menus.

Across the diner, Azzi sat tucked between Caroline and Ines, Amari perched nearby sipping orange juice.

It should have been easy to focus on her own table. It wasn’t.

Paige found herself glancing over without meaning to — noting how Azzi kept her head down, listening more than talking. Not shy, exactly. More... cautious.

At one point, Ines said something ridiculous about putting ketchup on pancakes, and Caroline made a horrified face. Azzi — soft, barely there — smiled.

It was tiny. Brief. Gone in a second. But Paige caught it — and her chest squeezed so sharply it startled her.

She took a giant gulp of water to hide it.

Nika watched her, eyebrows high. “You’re not slick,” she whispered under her breath, grinning.

Paige kicked her under the table, face burning. “Shut up.”

KK leaned in. “Wait, is Paige Bueckers smitten?” she sing-songed.

“You’re both dead to me,” Paige muttered, hiding behind her menu.

Across the diner, Azzi glanced up once — meeting Paige’s gaze. Brief. Cool. Like it didn’t mean anything.

But Paige felt it everywhere.

--------------

After breakfast, the team broke up — some grabbing rides, others heading toward the parking lots.

Paige found herself walking toward the side lot alone — until she heard soft footsteps falling into rhythm beside hers.

Azzi. Hands in the pockets of her sweatpants. Head down.

For a minute, neither of them spoke. The wind picked up, sharp and cold against their skin.

Paige jammed her hands into her sleeves, then — out of pure instinct — pulled off her hoodie and held it out.

“You’re freezing,” she said, trying to sound casual.

Azzi hesitated — then took it without a word, tugging it over her head in one smooth motion. It hung loose on her frame, sleeves too long, hood slipping forward.

Paige swallowed hard.

Not a big deal, she told herself. Normal. Normal.

“Warning,” she said after a beat. “I’m a terrible walking buddy. I talk way too much.”

Azzi kept walking, deadpan. “Good thing I don’t listen.”

Paige laughed, helpless.

God, she liked her. Way too much.

When they reached the parking lot, Azzi peeled off the hoodie and handed it back. No smile. No thank you. Just a small tilt of her head — almost a nod.

Paige took it, fingers brushing Azzi’s for the briefest second. She watched as Azzi disappeared across the lot, head down against the wind.

And even though she knew better — even though she told herself to stop — her heart tugged after her anyway.

-----------------

That night, Paige lay sprawled across her dorm bed, one hand dangling off the side, her phone resting on her stomach.

She wasn’t going to text her. She wasn’t.

Paige stared at the blank message field, chewing her lip.

Teammates. Friends. Normal.

Screw it.

She typed out: You owe me a rematch. I need to protect my honor.

She barely had time to put her phone down before it buzzed.

Azzi: You sure you want to lose twice in one day?

Paige grinned at the ceiling like an idiot.

Nika, from the next room over, yelled, “Whoever you’re giggling about, tell her to come and win my Uno game!”

Paige rolled her eyes. And texted back anyway:

I’ll take my chances.

She set her phone down carefully, like it was something fragile. Something new. And maybe it was.

[mylovesstuffs]

ANNOUNCEMENT !

Hi everyone, I have something really personal and important to share. Please take a moment to read all the way.

I'll be answering asks regarding this for the next 6 hours. No, I won’t be bribed. Yes, I know my inbox is about to explode. I accept my fate.

After much careful consideration and in light of recent developments, I’ve made a big decision regarding this blog @mylovesstuffs and my writing. This space has meant the world to me: it has been my creative outlet, my safe haven, and most importantly, a way for me to connect with some of the most supportive and kind-hearted people out there (yes, that’s you).

That being said,, I've decided to focus on other creative projects that require more of my attention.. A while ago, PLEDIS Entertainment reached out to me regarding some of my writing, and after multiple rounds of interviews and discussions, they’ve offered me a freelance opportunity to be part of their internal creative team. Yes, the same PLEDIS that manages SEVENTEEN.

I’ll be joining their behind-the-scenes content team, helping with narrative building, concepts, and other confidential projects related to SEVENTEEN and their future releases. It’s honestly a dream come true, something I never thought would happen when I first started writing here. But it also comes with its own challenges. Unfortunately, due to legal contracts [NDA, etc.] and company policies, I won’t be able to continue running this blog as a fanfic and reaction writer. I’ve been advised to step back from writing unofficial content about SEVENTEEN while working with the company.

I’ll be logging out from the blog to dedicate my energy to new projects that require my full attention. It’s a strange feeling, but I’m confident this is the right move for both my growth, my mental health and career. This isn’t a goodbye forever, but it does mean this blog will be on indefinite hiatus.

I am deeply grateful to every single person who read my works, shared kind words, and stuck with me through my ups and downs with this godforsaken app, but this platform helped me hone my skills and gave me the courage to even dream of this moment.

And yes, I know the timing might seem off, but this is genuinely happening. It’s something I’ve thought long and hard about, and I’m excited [and a little nervous] to share this with you all. But yes, this is really happening.

Thank you for being my community, my little corner of the internet where I felt free to create.

I love you all. Thank you for everything.

— Celeste <3

P.S. Before I log out, I’ll still be posting mingyu's bd oneshot and the collab fic I participated in! Those two will be the only exception—before and after that, there won’t be any other fics from me. Just wanted to make that clear so no one’s confused later.

⌦ 🎢 © mylovesstuffs | est. 2025. thank you for being part of this journey—your support has meant the world. until we meet again, stay cozy and keep dreaming ! ◜ᴗ◝

[hansoeii]

I'm very much not normal about loki and mobius right now

[rosicheeks]

Aftercare is necessary

Everyone say it with me -

Aftercare is necessary

I can’t hear you -

AFTERCARE IS NECESSARY

[unproduciblesmackdown]

omgg lol [guy who won't stop going "more like scapeGOATED" voice] now hold! on!! lmao [same guy just saw encanto voice] Hold on!!!

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

i could draw anything but i decided to draw this. carlo and rocco in 1932 aka my headache

[p2iimon]

drawing more furry fnaf art. yknow just to keep you posted. i love posting in the tags sorry these ones got away from me

[itsbrucey]

Also idk what au I'm even crafting at this point but they own where the Dads are monsters. And Henry is a Harpy. I have a Harpy hierarchy/species guide I was making for my own use/OCS that helps categorize harpies based on like.....their heritage??

It's 3 tiers and it's Matriarch Harpies, Mother's Blood Harpies, and Mother's Tears Harpies. They're all based on certain depictions of harpies in media/myths, with Matriarch being the least human and Tears being the most human.

My OC Vali is a Matriarch harpy, and they're based on ancient green myths/"classic" harpies which tend to just be large bird months with a human's face and head. Mother's Blood Harpies are more human but still pretty large and birdlike, having human torsos and heads but still majorly Bird. Mother's Tears Harpies are like the modern day Harpy, with wings for arms and feathers/bird feet, but human torsos, legs, and heads, and they tend to be the smallest/most human sized.

Maybe I'll make a diagram someday but it's IRRELEVANT bc it's just A CONCEPT I MADE FOR OC NONSENSE. the point is I'm using is for Henry as a Harpy and I think he'd be a Blood or Tears Harpy because it mimicks his elf heritage. I think he'd be a Tears Harpy while Bearry would be Blood Harpy for the sake of it?

[rawliverandgoronspice]

.