#but i want to have the full fun with the rest as well

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps headcanons

The LADS boys -

The underwear edition

Details: 3000ish words.. What do they wear? What do they get you to wear? And most importantly… how do they gift it to you? Probably fem reader, but let’s be honest, it’s strictly just a gift. They want to see you in it. Full stop. Some adult fluff, some sexual tension and implied notinoti stuff. So 18+ I guess? And umh… yea I definitely went overboard. SORRY! But I had so much fun, I couldn’t stop myself.

❤️ Sylus

What Sylus wears:

Sylus is all sharp lines, dark elegance, and control. Underneath that crisp red-streaked suit? He’s wearing tailored, jet-black silk boxer-briefs. Luxurious. Breathable. Tactical. They’re tight enough to keep everything in place during any kind of… movement, but soft enough to feel like nothing’s there—no small feat, considering what they’re working with. No logos. Just that sleek minimalism only a man would choose if he knew exactly how handsome he was, didn’t care what anyone else thought—and never once looked at a price tag.

Sylus’s gift to you:

Oh, he’s not just buying you lingerie—he’s curating a message.

It’s a two-piece set, hand-delivered in a black velvet box—while you’re at work. No return address. Just a black wax seal with a crow pressed into the lid. Then a folded note in sharp, elegant script.

If this ends up on the floor, you better not be the one who puts it there. Don’t disappoint me, kitten. —S.

And inside:

A high-leg, sheer silk and lace thong in a crimson so deep it’s almost black—just enough opacity to leave things to the imagination, but not too much.

The matching bralette: underwire-free, soft lace, with feather-like embroidery in crimson thread—subtle nods to his own red-streaked shirt and the crow brooch he gave you. It whispers danger and intimacy at once.

But here’s the kicker—he’s had both your initials and his embroidered inside, side by side in tiny, near-invisible thread. Only you would notice. That’s his way: power in the quietest touches, like branding you without ever lifting a finger.

Scene:

You don’t even have to look out the window to know he’s watching. Heat creeps up your neck as you snap the box shut, fingers fumbling slightly. You tuck it into your drawer fast—too fast—just before anyone walks by.

Your cheeks burn. Your pulse stutters.

Later you open the velvet box in your bedroom—its crow insignia gleaming faintly under the light. It smells of something expensive and sharp—amber, burnt cedar, and a lingering metallic note… gunpowder? When you look up, Sylus is already there, leaning against the doorframe like he’s been watching the whole time. His smirk is lazy, eyes glowing faintly red.

“I thought you could use something… less modest,” he says, voice like dark wine. “Consider it… encouragement.”

You brush your fingers over the crimson mesh, the featherlike embroidery. “And this is supposed to motivate me?” You glance up at him. “Sending me underwear while I’m at work?”

He tilts his head. “Everything I do motivates you. Why should this be any different?”

You narrow your eyes. “Want me to try it on?”

His grin widens. “No. I expect you to.”

You disappear into the other room—and when you return, the change is undeniable. The set clings like a second skin: barely-there lace, delicate and daring in all the ways he clearly planned. Sylus is leaned back with his palms pressed into the mattress behind him, utterly at ease—blazer still draped over his shoulders, one brow cocked as his gaze trails down every inch of you.

You turn slowly, fingers trailing along the silk at your hip, then glance back at him with the faintest smirk. An unspoken well? hangs in the air—daring him to speak, to react, to move.

“Look at you. The gift, wrapped and worn—for the one who gifted it.” A slow smile curves his lips. “You’re lucky I let you wear it at all, kitten.”

Sylus doesn’t move—just stays there on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his palms, one ankle resting casually over his knee. But his gaze trails down your body like a hand.

“But don’t confuse indulgence for permission,” he adds, voice velvet-dark. “I unwrap what’s mine when I decide.”

You raise a brow.

Then he stands—slowly—and stops in front of you, fingers brushing the embroidery near your hip. His touch is light, almost teasing, but his voice has gone rough. “So now I get to peel this off… piece by piece… and watch your ambitions unravel.”

His fingers slide just under the strap at your shoulder, just enough to threaten movement. “I want to see how long you can hold eye contact while I take my time with you.”

He leans in close, gaze never wavering, and drags the tip of his tongue slowly along your bottom lip.

“So don’t blink, kitten.” He murmurs, voice a low drawl. “I want to watch every second tonight.”

——————————————————————————

💜 Rafayel

What Rafayel wears:

Rafayel isn’t really one for undergarments—too restrictive, too boring. He prefers fabric that flows, not hides. On regular days—when he’s in his paint-splattered studio with a half-buttoned shirt and flushed cheeks—he wears linen boxer-briefs, soft and pale pastels. But not just any linen—this is the kind handwoven by some obscure artisan, the kind that costs more per pair than most people’s monthly utilities. They cling loosely, comfortably, with a low waistband that dips dangerously on his hips when he stretches or leans too far over a canvas.

Rafayel’s gift to you:

You don’t even know it’s for you at first. He doesn’t say it.

It’s wrapped in a long strip of sheer silk, painted by hand. The gift is neatly tucked at the base of his easel, a soft rosy color catching in the early light, with painted waves in a beautiful baby blue flowing gently across the fabric. The fabric inside feels more delicate than air:

The bottom is a high-slit silk wrap, sea-blue and iridescent, that ties at the hip with a golden clasp shaped like a wave crest. The slit goes high—deliberately high.

The top is a lace halter bralette, stitched with tiny scales in shimmering threads—blues, pinks, and deep ocean violets. When you move, the color changes like it’s underwater.

And at the center of the chest? A small pearl—real, imperfect, kissed by the sea.

There’s a faint scent of paint, sea salt and saffron on the silk. You know he touched every part of it.

Scene:

You step into the studio—sunlight filtering through gauzy curtains, the scent of paint and salt lingering in the air. Raf’s crouched in front of a half-finished canvas, brush dangling loosely from one stained hand, shirt half-off one shoulder, eyes pink-blue and distracted until he notices you.

Then he blushes. Bright. Immediate. Cheeks, ears—flushed like a sunrise.

“There’s something for you,” he mumbles, looking away as if the thought of you seeing it—wearing it—is almost too much to bear. He nods toward the silk bundle. “I… made it. Thought you’d look… divine in it.”

You crouch beside it, fingers trailing along the silk wrapping, savoring the softness before carefully unfolding it. The fabric slips open, revealing the undergarments inside—shimmering, sea-glass delicate. You glance back at him then, eyes teasing.

“Should I put it on?”

Rafayel swallows hard, brush frozen in mid-air. “Yesss. I mean, if… you want to.” His voice cracks just slightly, the tip of his ear glowing like it might catch fire.

You disappear into the adjoining room—there’s a screen for changing, of course—but you leave it just slightly ajar. When you come back out, the set clings to you like seafoam. Rafayel stares—his brush forgotten, his lips parted. For a second, the artist is speechless.

Then, finally, he says softly, reverently:

“I’m never painting anything else again.”

You’re not sure if he means for the next hour, or the rest of his life.

With a small twirl, you step closer to him. The silk shifts with every movement—light, barely there, suggestive in ways that feel like poetry and sin all at once. Rafayel’s gaze follows the curve of your hips, the embroidery over your chest, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard.

His paint-stained fingers twitch at his sides. “Turn around again,” he says, quieter this time. “…Please?”

You do. Slowly. The moment stretches taut between you.

When you face him again, he’s closer. Too close. His hand lifts, hovers just above your waist, not quite touching. “I wanted it to feel like water,” he murmurs, voice rougher now, lower. “But it clings like heat. Like you’re melting into it.”

He finally touches you—fingertips tracing a line along the embroidery near your ribs. His breath stutters. “I don’t know if I want to paint you or pull this off with my teeth.”

You arch a brow. “That’s quite the choice.”

Rafayel leans in, lips brushing your shoulder, his voice a husky rasp against your skin. “Why not both?”

His hips press into you, letting you feel the full weight of his desire—hard, aching, and entirely focused on you. One hand traces the edge of your halter, fingertips ghosting along the lace before he gives it a curious little poke, like he’s testing his own creation. His lips hover just above yours, breath warm, eyes soft and burning all at once.

Then, just above a whisper, he adds—“Either way… I’m going to ruin you beautifully, cutie.”

——————————————————————————

🧡 Caleb

What Caleb wears:

In casual moments—when it’s just him and you in the kitchen, sleeves pushed up, cooking for you—he wears comfortable cotton boxer briefs. Black, sleek, nothing flashy. He’s practical like that. But they hug him just right, sitting low on his hips, making it really hard to focus on the food. And the worst part? He knows. You’ll glance, just once, and he’ll smirk—subtly flexing one ass cheek like it’s a reflex. Just to mess with you. Just to watch you squirm.

Caleb’s gift to you:

It comes in a sleek, dark orange box. You find it on your doorstep after a long day. Tucked on top, folded with military precision, is a tiny origami fighter jet—his old model, of course. Unfolding it reveals a single line, scribbled in his handwriting:

Try it on, or I’ll just imagine it. Either way, I win.—C.

And when you open it:

A high-cut, gravity-defying black lace bodysuit. It’s sheer in all the right places, sculpted with subtle violet shimmer threading through the seams. Where the light hits it, it reflects a dull glow—almost like a nebula.

A thin, matching choker with a clasp shaped like an apple.

And one last piece: a purple silk sash. A tie. A leash. A promise of discipline wrapped in devotion, of control you never had to ask for, of just how far he’ll go to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

Yet the fabric carries just the barest trace of his cologne and… mouthwash(?)

Scene:

You confront him, of course—he left it there on purpose, knowing curiosity would get the better of you. You don’t even try to play it cool. You find him hours later, still at work on The Fleet, posture perfect, all crisp uniform and that infuriating calm. An adjutant’s just finishing a report when you step into the room. Your eyes lock on him like a missile. Caleb doesn’t flinch—doesn’t even turn. Just gives you a quiet, knowing look over his shoulder like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“What’s the meaning of this?” you ask, holding the box like evidence, like a challenge.

His gaze drags over you from across the room, slow and deliberate. He uncrosses his arms, brushes a speck of dust from his uniform—measured, precise. Like you’ve interrupted something important, but he’s willing to indulge you.

That Colonel Caleb chill lingers in his eyes… but there’s a glint now. And the faintest curve to his lips.

“You found it,” he says, stepping closer until your breath catches. “Great. I had it made. Custom stitching. Seamless where it matters.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you just decided—?”

“I don’t ‘decide,’” he cuts in smoothly. “But if you really are mine…” his voice drops, dangerously low, “…then I want to be the only one who sees you in this.”

His gloved fingers brush your cheek, then trail down to your collarbone. The heat between you crackles like static in space.

Behind you, the adjutant clears their throat—once. A warning. A presence. Caleb doesn’t even glance their way.

“That’ll be all,” he says, voice low and firm, the kind that doesn’t invite questions. The door hisses shut behind you a moment later.

Then it’s just you. Him. And that charged space between.

“Put it on for me, Pip-squeak.”

It’s not a request. But it’s not entirely a command, either. He’s looking at you like you could refuse—but he knows you won’t.

Caleb shrugs off his coat with practiced ease, draping it over the back of the chair before pulling off his gloves, one finger at a time. He sinks into the seat in a single, fluid motion—then reaches up to loosen his tie, just enough to breathe. His legs spread, posture easy, but there’s nothing casual about the way he watches you.

You turn your back to him as you undress, the room quiet except for the subtle shift of fabric. The black bodysuit slides on smoothly, the silk sash tied loosely at your waist. The lace hugs your curves perfectly.

Caleb leans forward, forearms on knees, purple eyes trailing down your form like a scan. Slowly. Thoroughly.

“Turn around.”

You do, slowly, and when you face him, he’s already rising. He closes the distance in measured strides, hands sliding to your waist, voice low and tight.

He leans in. “You know,” he murmurs against your neck, “I wish I could deploy you in this. No one would dare touch you.”

You smirk. “Jealous, Colonel?”

“Obsessed,” he corrects, voice like a velvet threat. “And completely serious.”

You feel his lips graze your shoulder—soft, then firm. And then—his teeth sink in, just enough to make you gasp. Not to hurt. Just to remind you: you’re his.

“Do you know what I thought about every night when I designed this?”

You breathe out. “What?”

His fingers curl into the sash at your hip. “How fast I could undo it.”

Then he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you back against the console with stars spinning behind you—his mouth already trailing down your neck as the fabric slips from your skin. But you don’t see stars—you feel them crash.

Then, without missing a beat, the corners of his mouth curve—just slightly, just enough. “I’m betting it’ll take me ten seconds to undress you… if I take my time.”

——————————————————————————

🩵 Zayne

What Zayne wears:

Zayne is nothing if not understated excellence. Beneath his pristine three-piece suits? Charcoal-gray modal boxer briefs. Soft, breathable, structured—he’d never wear anything flashy or inconvenient. But they fit like they were measured for him, contoured to sit low on his hips beneath that crisp dress shirt. And if you ever catch him with the shirt unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, forearms scarred and strong? The contrast of clean fabric and rough skin does things to you.

Zayne’s gift to you:

He doesn’t take you shopping. He doesn’t even mention he’s getting you something. It just… appears, neatly folded in a soft satin box inside your closet. Next to it, a small handwritten note in steady script:

The fabric’s hypoallergenic. I know how your skin reacts to lace. I hope the fit is precise—I took the liberty of measuring while you were asleep. —Zayne.

And on the inside:

A silk slip dress, cut short and minimal, in deep forest green with thin black straps that crisscross at the back. The inside is lined with cotton—soft, breathable. So Zayne.

A matching bra and panty set—subtle scalloped trim, no underwire, no push-up. Just comfort and beauty in quiet balance. He knows how to make you feel exquisite without shouting it.

And tucked in one of the folds? A thin bracelet. Jade.

Scene:

He doesn’t even bring it up at first. You only find it after he leaves for a night shift.

The next evening, you bring it up with a wry smile. “So… were you going to mention the intimate gift hiding in my closet, or were you just hoping I’d trip over it?”

Zayne blinks once behind his glasses, setting down his mug of cocoa.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he says simply. “But I also didn’t want anyone else buying you something that didn’t… suit you.” His gaze drops, lingering on your wrist where you’ve already put on the jade bracelet. “So I took care of it.”

You arch a brow. “Do you want to see it on me?”

His eyes flick up, expression unreadable—but there’s a faint flush climbing up his throat. “That depends.”

“On?”

“If you want me to take it off you too.”

And there it is. The Zayne smirk—so faint, you almost miss it. Almost.

You step into the bedroom after a hot shower, damp hair over your shoulders, body wrapped in the green silk slip. It molds to you, effortless and cool. The straps kiss your shoulder blades, the hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

Zayne is seated at the edge of the bed, shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled to the elbows—relaxed in theory, but his eyes are anything but. Behind the silver glint of his glasses, hazel green irises rake over you slowly. Intently. Like you’re a case study he’s about to personally explore.

“You wore it,” he says, voice steady, but lower now. Tight.

“I did,” you reply, stepping closer, letting the silk sway just enough to tempt. “Are you going to examine it?”

He doesn’t answer—not with words. He pulls off his glasses and sets them aside with exacting precision, then leans forward and tugs you between his knees. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, fingers splaying over silk and skin.

“I’m not your physician right now,” he exhales, his mouth brushing your sternum, “but I still know how to handle delicate things.”

You inhale sharply, and he shifts the slip aside—just a little—enough to make your heart race.

His lips brush the inside of your wrist—soft at first, then slower. He drags his mouth down to the base of your palm, then lets his tongue trace the curve of your finger, you like you’re his favorite candy—something rare, rich, and entirely his.

“…You realize,” he says against your skin, “you’re never wearing this for anyone else.”

You breathe out, quiet, shivering. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Good.”

And the way he says that one word, low and clinical and full of heat? It feels like you’re about to be unraveled—one practiced touch at a time.

“I’ve studied anatomy,” he murmurs, gaze unwavering, “but I’ve never wanted to memorize someone like this.”

You tilt your head, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “So what now, doctor Zayne? Want me to act like your study sample?”

His eyes flick down your body, then back up—calm, absolutely smoldering. “Mm. Slow breaths for me, please,” he says softly. “I want to feel every shift under my hands.”

——————————————————————————

🩷 Xavier

What Xavier wears:

For all his ethereal calm and delicate looks, Xavier’s body is not soft. He’s lithe, compact, and stronger than he looks—and his undergarments reflect that contradiction. Sleek. Supportive. Understated. He wears fitted low-rise boxer briefs in pale gray or lavender. Soft, seamless, breathable—so easy to move in you almost forget they’re there. And while size has never been the point, there’s no denying the quiet truth: he’s big. The waistband is low enough that when his sweater rides up while he’s napping on the couch? You catch the edge, just barely. (And no, he’s not unaware. He’s just pretending he is.)

Xavier’s gift to you:

You don’t even realize it’s a gift at first.

You find a small folded bundle on your pillow—no tag, no note, but it smells faintly of that tangy-sweet, citrusy energy drink he drinks… laced with the subtle warmth of vanilla that always seems to linger on his skin. The fabric is impossibly soft. Dreamlike.

A silk cami set, sleeveless, light violet with silvery sheen. The camisole is loose, with barely-there straps and delicate lace at the hem. It looks like starlight.

The shorts are sheer, fluttery, with a ribbon drawstring. If you move too quickly, they shift… dangerously.

There’s a tiny embroidered constellation stitched near the hem.

You realize later that the embroidery thread is pale gold. Subtle. Like he wants you to wear the stars for him.

Scene:

You ask him about it later, holding the fabric between your fingers—right after sharing a burnt pizza he insisted he had under control (he did not).

“Did you leave this on my bed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just watches you with that quiet intensity, like he’s still trying to figure out how you got past his walls with nothing but laughter and melted cheese. He tilts his head slightly.

“I thought you might sleep better with it on,” he says softly. “Or off.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that a suggestion?”

“No,” he replies, gaze dragging slowly down your figure. “It’s a preference.”

He steps closer, fingers brushing yours as he takes the fabric back from your hand—just long enough to skim his knuckles over your palm before he returns it. His voice drops a note lower.

“Will you wear it tonight?”

You swallow, pulse jumping.

“I might.”

He smiles—barely. But it’s real. “I’ll be upstairs if you need help taking it off.”

Later, when the lights are low and the house is quiet, your phone buzzes.

XAVIER: Did you end up trying it on?

You hesitate, then type:

YOU: Maybe.

There’s a long pause. Then:

XAVIER: Then I hope you’re not expecting sleep.

You stare at the screen, heart skipping.

YOU: Good night, Xav.

Another pause.

XAVIER: Good night… Don’t lock your door.

You wake to find Xavier standing in your doorway—messy silvery-blond hair, expression unreadable, sleep still tugging at his lashes. You’re wearing the silk cami set, curled under your blanket. He blinks once, slowly, as if committing the image to memory.

“…Door was unlocked,” he murmurs. “You sleep too lightly.”

“I sleep just fine,” you say, voice husky, watching his eyes flick down the curve of your thigh where the blanket’s slipped. “So why are you here?”

He walks in, slow and barefoot. “I was thinking about you.”

“And?”

His fingers brush the ribbon of your waistband, tugging lightly—just once, enough to let the silk shift against your skin. “And I wanted to see if you look better in… or out of it.”

You lift an eyebrow. “You’ve been staring long enough to know.”

His eyes drag up your body with excruciating calm, but there’s something darker flickering beneath the stillness. He leans down, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then just beneath your jaw—lingering there.

“I’m thorough. Still deciding,” he murmurs, breath warm and slow, thick with something you feel more than hear.

He undresses with quiet efficiency, unbuttoning his pajama shirt, folding it once before setting it aside, then slipping out of the pants with the same composed ease—until he’s left in nothing but his underwear.

Then he slides under the covers, pulls you into his chest, and whispers against your ear,

“You can keep yours on—for now.”

But his hand is already resting low on your waist, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your top, like he’s giving himself permission to explore later—inch by inch, breath by breath.

Then, without a word, he takes your hand and guides it along the plane of his chest, down the firm line of his stomach—slow, careful, like he wants you to feel how hard it is for him to stay gentle.

And just when your fingertips brush the edge of his waistband—he leans in, voice low and rough with need.

“This is me… trying to be good for you.”

Your fingertips slip just beneath the waistband, barely testing the edge of skin. His breath catches, and for a moment he doesn’t move. Then his hand wraps gently around your wrist—not to stop you, just to feel you there.

His voice drops. “But if you keep doing that… I won’t be good much longer.”

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: YE. I’m sorry. Nobody asked for this. I spent my Saturday night writing 3k words of underwear headcanon and then gave it the gentlest proofread over my Sunday morning coffee like that somehow made it respectable. Totally normal, balanced behavior. I’m thriving. Unhinged, yes—but thriving. Should I be finishing the Bear AU pilot? Absolutely. Am I derailed by one intrusive thought? Also yes. But! I will finish the pilot this week. Prrroooomise. I should touch grass… but let’s be real, that’s what triggered this spiral in the first place. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[hemi-demi]

Not my usual post but something I've been thinking about lately.

I think a part of what bothers me the most about the AI generated images/writing/etc debate is folks claiming that they need it because of a lack of talent and skill. Even going so far as to call it an accessibility device.

Which, as a disabled person, boils my blood. Because I think where this comes from is not in the same way as like a curb-cut levels things out for everyone. It's based on impossible standards in literally every piece of media we consume, and I think that's something we can change, rather than forcing people to use a bland device to meet the rest of the world at their level.

Folks are telling themselves they need AI images because becoming an artist takes time, and money, and effort. Some disabled folks don't have the dexterity to hold a pen, or can't sit upright at a computer for hours (me), or can't process visual information in the same way as others. Those are all true statements.

Same with writing. Dyslexia and other learning disorders can make writing intimidating. People receive harsh judgement for things like having poor sentence structure or spelling, even if you as a reader still know exactly what they mean.

The solution to these issues is not "pay an AI company to steal from other creators so everything washes into the same, boring grey blob of creativity". It's make bad art.

I want to see people's art where they don't have a full grasp of anatomy, but try their best anyway. I want to see stories where someone might struggle with visualizing a scene, but they do their best to convey the meaning in whatever way they can. I want to see more people comfortable with posting less than perfect work, and being proud of it because they made it. Or not even feel the need to post at all, because at the end of the day, the little numbers on your screen will never be the most satisfying part of creating. (Telling myself this as well, tbh. It's hard, I get that.)

If everyone is equally good at creating work, then there's never any variety. You can learn just as much, if not more so, from bad art than good. You can find beauty in it, unique ideas or habits that others have dropped because they were told it wasn't proper. You can see pure creative expression, without being chained to traditional conventions taught in school that beat all the fun out of you to make your work marketable.

We're taught in school that other artists are our competition, so of course people are turning to these tools to try and get a leg up. They never learned what a collaborative art or writing community can look like, and how that actually helps you grow as an artist more than AI or self isolation ever could.

If someone is drawing their entire lives, and never gets any more skilled at it for one reason or another, there's nothing wrong with that. That art is just as valid, and just as beautiful.

I understand that people feel this pressure to stand out in a sea of artists who worked their asses off to get where they are, but turning all art and writing into this regurgitation of what has worked before will never bring new ideas into the world in the same way a bored kid with a pencil and notebook paper can. It just won't.

[holylulusworld]

Play your cards (Prologue)

Summary: You played your cards well…so far…

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: mafia au, grumpy/cocky reader, banter, mentions of gambling/counting cards

A/N: This is the twin-series to Roll the dice.

Play your cards masterlist

You played your cards well. No one is suspecting you. Tonight, you made a good amount of money. Not as much as you’ll need to fulfill your dreams, but you cannot risk getting caught.

Casinos will try anything to stop people from counting cards and winning. You know they’ll break more than your hands if you steal from them.

It’s not illegal to count cards if you’re not using any external devices. However, casinos and their owners do not like it when people have an advantage over the house.

That’s why you never go to the same casino more than two times.

Most of the people counting cards get greedy; you don’t. Knowing your limit and how to not draw attention to you is essential. Especially if you want to make money and stay alive in this broken town full of shady people.

Your goal is to make a certain amount of money per night. Never the same amount. In and out within two or three hours. You take your time and never get impatient.

It’s your game, and you play it well. You even lose half of the time you’re playing. Only small amounts, but enough to not make anyone suspicious.

You’re good at your game. The best.

“Another one,” you say, and smile sweetly at the hostess. You’re two thousand dollars away from your goal, but you will lose this round.

Two hundred bucks won’t hurt if the money secures your image of a lonely, heartbroken girl seeking shelter in gambling and drinks.

People at the table awed loudly as you lost this round. You hide a smirk because you are playing your role well.

While you sip on your drink, your tongue playing with the straw, a pair of blue eyes is following your every move.

Unbeknownst to you, your game didn’t go unnoticed tonight.

He had other plans tonight. Plans someone crossed. James Buchanan Barnes wanted to have fun and enjoy a party.

He didn’t expect to find his date going at it with some other guy. Bucky doesn’t care about that woman getting some from another guy. He simply won’t allow anyone to cross his plans.

The waitresses hurriedly walk past Bucky. His brooding, intense expression tells them to not ask questions.

He leans against a wall, keeping an eye on you. Just like he did over the last hours. His dark hair is slicked back, and he's wearing a perfectly fitting, tailored suit with a bowtie.  

You giggle at something one of the other players at your table said. It wasn’t funny at all, but it allowed you to quickly look around the room.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours for a split second, and you know he knows.

You turn your head toward the player at your table, acting all girly as you ask for another card. Bust. Five hundred bucks are lost, but you cannot win again.

Tonight, you won’t make the money you wanted to add to the pile you’re hiding.

“The bank wins,” the hostess declares, and you fake a sigh.

“What a pity,” you say before downing the rest of your drink. “I guess I’ll try with the slot machines now.” You get up without a hurry.

Bucky watches you make a show of ordering another drink at the bar close to his position. He didn’t move or even blink since you left the table.

“Thank you,” you slur, and wink at the bartender. “If I weren’t heartbroken, I’d take you home.”

“You know,” the bartender replies, “the only way to get over a guy is to get under another.”

You sneer at his words and throw the drink in his face. Crap. Bucky pushes off the wall to walk right up to you. He stands next to you, glancing at your empty glass.

“She gets a free refill,” he says, eyes trained on your face. Bucky smirks. He can see right through your façade. Not because your game isn’t well played, but he’s simply better at it. Years of watching people count cards to make more money than they deserve.

“I think I should go,” you slur and wobble a little to make it believable. “Thank you, sir.”

“Sir?” Bucky laughs. “Doll, you have to try harder to trick me. So, how much money did you steal from my friend?”

[acknowledge-reigns]

FAFO (fuck around and find out) | Zilla Fatu x Black! Reader (ft Trick Williams) | SMUT! 18+

(Not my gif)

Requested by: @wrestlingpookes

Description: Reader seeks attention elsewhere when feeling neglected by Zilla. The Main One reminds her who she belongs to.

Warnings: Teasing, flirting, Daddy Kink, honorifics, bratty sub, brat taming, mild manhandling, semi-toxic? Lmao, semi public play, degradation, dirty talk, masturbation, spanking, punishment, rough sex, hair pulling, creampie.

18+!! MDNI!!

My masterlist can be found here.

The RAW afterparty was in full swing, with loud music, drinks, and people dancing. Zilla Fatu was sitting on a couch, surrounded by other wrestlers, but he wasn't paying much attention to his girlfriend who was standing nearby.

She had dressed up for the occasion, wearing a tight black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places. She had tried to get his attention all night, but he seemed more interested in talking to his friends than spending time with her.

As the night went on, a tall, muscular guy approached her. He was one of the other wrestlers, someone she didn't know well personally but she'd seem him on NXT. Trick Williams.

She smiled politely, noticing that Zilla was still ignoring her.

The guy took a step closer, his eyes roaming over her body. "I don't think I've seen you around before. What's your name?"

"I'm Y/N, and I'm Zilla's girlfriend," she said, gesturing towards Zilla who was still chatting away with his friends.

Trick chuckled, not seeming deterred in all honesty by the fact that she was taken. He was more than a little tipsy. "Ah, I see. Well, it's nice to meet you, pretty girl. Zilla is one lucky man."

Y/N laughed, enjoying the attention. She knew she shouldn't be flirting with another guy, especially in front of Zilla, but she couldn't help it. She was feeling a bit neglected and this guy was making her feel wanted. Besides, what's the harm in making Zilla jealous?

Trick took another step closer, his hand brushing against hers. "I have to say, you look absolutely stunning tonight. That dress is driving me crazy."

He was clearly not subtle, his eyes roaming over her body once again.

Zilla finally noticed the interaction between Y/N and Trick. He stood up from the couch, a scowl on his face as he made his way over to them.

"Aye, Uce, The fuck you think you doin'?" Zilla asks, the anger making his Houston accent more pronounced as he grabbed his girlfriends wrist, his gold grillz on display as he gritted his teeth and glared daggers at the man across from her.

"Oh, I was getting ready to have a couple of drinks with Trick Daddy here. What's it look like?" Y/N smirked yanking her arm away from Zilla and resting her hand on Trick's bicep, her already bratty nature amplified by the alcohol in her system.

Zilla's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't believe that she was being so bold in front of him. "Baby girl, don't start with me right now," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

Trick chuckled, enjoying the tension between them. "Looks like your girl wants to have some fun tonight, Zilla."

Zilla clenched his fists, his jealousy reaching a boiling point. "She's my girl, and she's going to remember that," he growled, grabbing Y/N's arm again and pulling her away from Trick.

He led her to a secluded corner of the room, away from prying eyes. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his grip on her arm tightening.

Y/N shrugged, a defiant look on her face. "I'm just having a little fun. Thought you were too busy ignoring me to care."

She was being a bit bratty, really getting under Zilla's skin.

Zilla's eyes darkened with anger. "You're mine," he said through gritted teeth. "You don't get to flirt with other guys and disrespect me like that."

He pushed her against the wall, his body trapping her between it and himself. "You belong to me, and only me. Don't forget it."

Y/N's heart raced as Zilla pressed her against the wall. She knew she had gone too far, but the thrill of pushing his buttons was too much to resist.

"Or what?" she challenged, her voice laced with sass. "What are you going to do about it?"

Zilla's eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint in them. "You wanna find out?" he asked, his voice low and menacing.

He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "I'ma remind you who's in charge. Right here, right now."

Y/N shivered at his words, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through her veins. She knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn't help it.

"Go ahead," she whispered, her eyes locked on his. "I dare you."

Zilla smirked, clearly enjoying the fact that she was challenging him. He leaned in even closer, his body pressing against hers.

"You asked for it," he growled, before capturing her lips in a bruising kiss.

Y/N moaned into the kiss, her hands gripping his shoulders as he took control. His tongue pushed into her mouth, claiming her as his own.

Zilla's hands roamed over her body, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to him. He bit down on her bottom lip, tugging it gently before pulling away.

"Get yo' purse and shit. We going home." He says.

Y/N nodded, still a bit breathless from the kiss. She quickly grabbed her purse and followed Zilla out of the party, the tension between them palpable.

The ride home was silent, but the air was thick with anticipation. Y/N could feel Zilla's eyes on her the entire time, his gaze burning into her skin. "Spread ya legs" he instructs her.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his command, but she obeyed, parting her legs as he instructed.

Zilla's hand found its way to her thigh, his fingers tracing circles on her skin. "That's it, baby girl," he murmured, "Play with that slutty little pussy for me. Get it ready. Cause I'm bout to make you scream when we get to the house."

Y/N let out a soft gasp as his fingers moved higher, brushing against the fabric of her panties. She knew that he could feel how wet she was, how much she was enjoying this.

She began to rub herself through the fabric, her eyes fluttering closed as she imagined what was to come when they got home. "Zilla..." she moaned, her voice barely above a whisper.

Zilla's grip on the steering wheel tightened as he listened to her moans. "You're so damn wet already, and we're not even home yet, needy slut." he growled. "I can't wait to punish you for being such a little brat tonight."

Y/N continued to touch herself, her body aching for more. She knew that she was in for it when they got home, but she couldn't help but feel excited at the thought of Zilla taking control and making her his again.

The car finally pulled up to their house, and Zilla parked quickly before turning to her. "Get out," he commanded, his voice firm.

Y/N scrambled out of the car, her legs shaky from the anticipation. Zilla followed her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the house.

He unlocked the door and pushed her inside, slamming it shut behind them, "Bend over the couch. NOW."

Y/N did as she was told, bending over and presenting her ass to him. She could feel the cool leather of the couch against her skin, and she shivered in anticipation.

Zilla stood behind her, his hands running over her curves. He took in the sight of her, admiring the way her dress clung to her body. He pushed the fabric up, revealing her ass and the lacy red panties she was wearing.

"You were wearing these all night?" he asked, his fingers tracing the edge of the panties. "You were hoping to get someone's attention, weren't you? These for me or Trick hm?"

Y/N bit her lip, knowing that there was no way to deny it. "For you," she whispered, her voice shaking slightly as he ripped the panties off.

Zilla chuckled darkly. "Good girl," he said, before delivering a sharp slap to her ass.

Y/N gasped at the sting of the slap, her body jolting forward. "Count," Zilla ordered, his hand rubbing over her stinging backside.

"One," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Another slap landed on the other cheek, making her moan in pain and pleasure. "Two..."

Zilla continued to spank her, each hit harder than the last. He loved seeing her ass jiggle under his hand, loved hearing her moan and count out loud.

"Five..." she whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Zilla unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock, already hard and ready to take her. To remind her who she belongs to.

He leaned over her, his chest pressed against her back as he positioned himself at her entrance. "You're mine, always mine," he growled in her ear.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to arch her back even more. He began to push into her, slowly at first.

Y/N cried out as he filled her, the stretch almost too much to handle. She gripped the couch cushions tightly.

Zilla didn't give her any time to adjust, immediately setting a brutal pace. He pounded into her hard and fast, his hips slamming against her with each thrust.

Y/N's moans turned into screams as he fucked her, the sound echoing through the house. She was completely at his mercy, her body bouncing with each thrust.

Zilla's grip on her hair tightened as he continued to use her roughly. "Who's pussy is this?" he growled, his breath hot against her neck.

"Yours, Daddy!" she cried out, her voice breaking. "It's yours, Zilla! Only yours!"

He smirked at her response, pleased with her submission. "That's right," he said, "And don't you forget it. You belong to me, and only me."

Zilla's thrusts became even more erratic as he neared his climax. He released her hair and grabbed her hips instead, pulling her back against him as he drove deeper into her.

"I'm gon' fill you up," he groaned. "Make sure you're full of my cum."

Y/N's mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, her body completely overwhelmed. She could feel her own orgasm building, the coil in her stomach tightening with each thrust.

Zilla could feel her clenching around him, and he knew she was close. "Cum for me, princess," he demanded. "Lemme feel you come on my cock."

Y/N screamed as she came, her body shaking uncontrollably. Zilla continued to fuck her through her orgasm, prolonging it as long as possible.

Finally, he reached his own peak, burying himself deep inside her as he came with a guttural moan. He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

They lay there for a few minutes, Zilla's body pinning her down. He slowly pulled out of her, watching as his cum dripped down her thighs.

"Mine," he whispered, tracing his fingers over her skin. "You're all mine."

Y/N was too exhausted to respond, her body limp and sore. She could feel Zilla's cum leaking out of her, and she knew that she would be feeling the aftermath for days.

Zilla scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. He climbed in beside her, pulling her close to his chest.

He ran his fingers through her hair, a possessive glint in his eyes. "You did so well, princess," he murmured. "You took your punishment so well."

Y/N snuggled into him, feeling safe and protected in his arms. She knew that she had pushed him to his limit tonight, but it was worth it. She loved being his. In every way.

Zilla held her tight, his grip possessive. "I love you, baby," he whispered. "But don't ever do no shit like that again. If you want my attention just say it, princess."

Y/N nodded weakly, "I love you too, Zilla," she whispered back, her voice hoarse from screaming. "I'm sorry Just wanted you, daddy.."

Zilla kissed the top of her head, his anger dissipating. "I forgive you, baby," he said. "Just remember who you belong to."

He pulled the covers over them and settled in for the night, holding her close as they both drifted off to sleep.

[letsgetrowdy43]

most wanted man (Rowan’s Version)—

Quinn Hughes x Lacey Porter

Warnings: No cw that I can think of, if there's any you think I should include, please lmk!!

Notes: a little blurb loosely based on Lucy Dacus new song “most wanted man” which I knew I needed to make the second the song was released two days ago :)))

Quinn's eyes caught Lacey’s from across the dinner table, a small smile on his face before he returned to his conversation with her nephew.

His gaze was so loving and lovesick in an endearing way before his attention fell back to the eight-year-old asking a million questions about hockey. Questions the man would answer with sincerity and so much excitement as they chatted about maybe getting the little boy and his sister to a game with their aunt.

It was a heart-warming scene, one that she felt so lucky to be able to witness and hold so close to her heart.

Dinner was concluded with a homemade cherry cheesecake made by Grandma Porter, which everyone was forced to have a slice of> The second the first person announced their fullness, Quinn was up on his feet and whisked all of the dishes away to take care of them while he urged his in-laws to relax.

Accompanied by Lacey, the two found themselves bumping shoulders with their hands in the warm soapy water.

He pressed gentle kisses to her shoulder or the side of her face every once in a while before she turned away to start wiping down and putting away the drying plates.

“You having fun?” She asked as her hands gently ran up his arm before taking a freshly cleaned glass from his hands to put away He hummed, concentrating on the dishes before looking up, “I am. I love how close your family is.” “They're your family too babe,” she watched as his cheeks reddened slightly before her hands moved to brush out his hair.

She loved their little life, the ease that came with loving Quinn and all his quirks. Like the way he shied away when she talked about how loved he was or the way he wanted to gain the 'cool uncle' title with her neices and nephews.

He was so attentive, and he loved not only her but her family with his whole heart.

"I promised Jackson and Ella could come to a game," he said, moving his attention from himself to the kids as she grinned at how his eyes lit up at the mention of the two little ones. "I told them you'd take them." "You realize you don't have to give them things to get on their good sides?" "I know, but it sure does help," he gently nudged her before he leaned down to press another kiss to her lips to stop her from any rebuttal.

"Well if it helps I'll gladly take them, and we can finally get those jerseys you bought them in use," she pulled away as he laughed before a loud cough forced their quiet moment into the background as Lacey's older sister walked in holding a stack of coffee cups from the post desert pallette cleanser.

"Less making out, more washing," she joked as she placed the stack next to the sink. Lacey's eyes nearly rolled out of her head as she tried to shoo her sister out of the kitchen, "we weren't making out, we were talking about taking your children to a game so you and Bryan could get a night to yourselves," she looked over to Quinn who was nodding along and smiling with a look of innocence spread across his face.

The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at her little sister, "Im not buying it, but I would love to take you up on the offer," she said with a final grin and headed back out to the living room to join the rest of the family.

Lacey turned back to Quinn, his face a tint of red spread across his cheek that signified he was a little embarrassed of being caught. She moved to press a kiss to his lips, but he swerved skillfully as his hands found themselves back in the water to finish up.

"I can't believe you just moved away from my kiss," she faked offence as her arms crossed over her chest. Quinn shook his head gently, "can't have them thinking I'm slacking on my chores," he mused. "Their dishes can wait," he shook his head and continued the dishes, playfully ignoring her until she cupped his chin in her hand a pressed a plethora of sloppy kisses to his cheek.

The sound of his laughter was like music to her ears as she placed one last one to his chapped lips.

Loving Quinn was all-consuming but never overwhelming. If she had the time, she could write a book about him and the way he loved, never taking for granted a moment they shared.

She watched the gentle concentration on his face as he drained the sink and took the towel from her hands so he could finish her job, she smiled.

And it was moments that somehow fate, chance, or even God pulled them together, intertwining their paths and leading them to one another that allowed them to truly relish in the feeling of the truest form of love.

"I don't know if I tell you enough that I love you," she whispered as he smiled at the confession. "You don't have to say it, I feel it," he admitted softly while putting the cutlery back in the drawer.

He had such a way with words, so thoughtful, but also so effortless. He knew exactly what to say without having to think about it.

"Thank you for being so you," she watched as he stopped moving and turned to her with a little smile, placing the towel down to hold her. His calloused hands wrapped around her and landed on her back, thumbs running across the silky fabric of her dress. "Thank you for allowing me to love you and letting me into your family."

Tears nearly formed in her eyes as she pulled him in for a hug, her lips finding his shoulder as she just held him for a second.

They stood their for a few more seconds in the quiet bubble of love before quietly finishing the task at hand and joining the family in the den who were cheering along Ella who had insisted on doing her ballet roiutinue for the adults.

Life with Quinn and Lacey was so mundane, but it was so pure.

Made up of moments in the quiet of kitchens as they do dishes, hiding in bathrooms at college parties, or even in the quiet of arena parking lots, it was never about the place, their love peeked through in all settings.

And for as long as she could Lacey would hold on to Quinn because when you have the most loving man, you keep him as close to your heart as possible.

-

-

-

[yellowhoothoot]

2025 book bingo, courtesy of @batmanisagatewaydrug! decided i will keep track of what i read that can fit on here, and maybe use this for inspiration when i go to the library if i don't have specific ideas for what to check out.

so far:

fantasy: monstrous regiment by terry pratchett i'd never actually read any discworld before and this one got recommended to me. i wrote a short story with a similar premise one time so i figured i should give it a shot. it was fun! pretty easy read, i read it basically in one afternoon sitting in my hammock down by the river.

science fiction: dawn by octavia butler this category was never going to be hard for me. a lot of what i read these days is sci-fi, ever since i racked up a huge list of mostly-sf recommendations from a professor. octavia butler is one of my best friends' favorite author and previously i'd only read parable of the sower by her. i wasn't sure if i liked this when i finished it but i wanted to read the rest of the series to figure it out.

sequel: adulthood rites by octavia butler i liked this a little better than dawn but still wasn't sure if i liked it or not. i went through it quickly, though. when i read parable of the sower it was for an environmental literature class, and this series has a lot of the same environmental lit elements.

20th century speculative fiction: imago by octavia butler the last of the lilith's brood series. this one, i definitely liked; it's my favorite of the series. having finished the whole trilogy i think i do like it overall, and i'm leaning more towards "yes i did like this" for each of the previous books, but i think i like them better with the context of the full series. i think the different perspectives in each of the three books really helps to round out the story and give a deeper understanding of what people in general are like in the world of lilith's brood, rather than only understanding what each individual narrator is like. it's a series i've really enjoyed thinking about and working through my feelings and opinions on, even a couple weeks after i finished reading them.

animal on the cover: the world as we knew it: dispatches from a changing climate, edited by amy brady and tajja isen this could fit a few boxes so i might move it later. it's a collection of essays about climate change. it's kind of depressing, a lot of them are a little bit more doom-y than i typically like in environmental writing. i think some of that is useful in environmental and climate communication to emphasize the issues people are talking about, but i find it less effective when people act like nothing can be done. i like a balance, is what i'm saying. these essays are mainly personal accounts of experiences and parts of nature that the authors have experienced changing, though. a lot of the doom isn't just vague "we're destroying things, can't do anything about it" and is focused in on those feelings of loss or uncertainty. even though they are often sad and depressing accounts, they mostly don't fall into that "nothing can be done" area that i don't like. i think it's a well curated collection which is what i like in a collection of short stories or essays.

read & make a recipe: slow roasted soy glazed salmon from salt fat acid heat by samin nosrat i got this cookbook as a graduation gift last year and i love it! i don't make a lot of recipes from it but the main part of the book that talks about how to use the different elements of cooking is really interesting and helpful. the recipes i have made from the cookbook part have been really good though. earlier this year i made the slow roasted salmon with a lemon garlic seasoning for my roommate's birthday, and it was super good and is now my go-to way to cook salmon. we had some extra salmon and i was making fried rice so i tried one of the variations, which was a soy glaze, to make the salmon to add to the fried rice. very tasty. definitely recommend.

[isagiss]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀 | s. geto

01; awkward silence

"oh come on."

here you were being dragged by your feet out of your dark (and rather comfortable) room by your fine, short haired roommate, shook ieiri. you could only emit a soft groan as you barely struggled to escape from the surprisingly tight grip she had on your ankles. 

"shokooo! you're interrupting my shooowwww."

your whines seem to only elevate her anger because she quite literally flung you on the floor as love island reverberated off the corridor's walls.

"girl, you are so lucky I like living with you because I would've left so fucking long ago," her voice lowered to a mutter as she continued. "satoru, suguru, and uta are coming over later so," she eyed your current attire, a tired, worn out hoodie adorned with very noticeable ketchup, mustard, and butter stains on them, sweatpants that have most definitely seen better days, and a singular sock on your foot. "please tidy yourself up."

"yes, ma." in an instant you were on your feet and headed for the bathroom, not wanting to piss shoko off any more than you already had.

"good girl." you could hear her stupid smirk even as her back was turned. 

꩜

after finally tidying yourself up, shoko mentioned that she was heading out for a bit to get snacks. she also said something about keys and uta and the door.... you weren't really listening as you were too busy catching up on all LI episodes you missed. 

by the time you were done, hues of orange were peeking through your curtain. which usually meant it was time for bed but you supposed you'd stay awake for your friends' friends, or your friend herself , whichever came first. 

a yawn threatened to escape your lips, so you decided to do something to occupy yourself. "some water should do!" your steps turned to skips as you eagerly fluttered toward the kitchen. 

while filling up the glass with water, you lost yourself in thought. once full, you raised the cup to your lips, ready to relieve your throat of the partial dryness your were feeling.

chug, chug, choke―

a loud bang at the door almost landed you in the hospital.

"fuck." you spat out, coughing all the way to the front door. 

"are your knuckles made of fucking steel? why are you pounding on the door so damn ha-" you cut your sentence short as you actually took a moment to check who exactly was pounding on the door.

suguru geto.

you'd seen the guy around, mostly at your dorm. but around your university's campus as well. he was usually accompanying gojo satoru, your school's friendly neighbourhood athlete. "wonderboy" is his official name.

today his hair was messier than usual, but like it was intentionally messy. his usually tied up hair was allowed free today, resting nicely on his very broad shoulders. if you looked really closely, you could see how split his ends were. 

"his hairdresser needs to get fired."  you were chuckling to yourself. while someone was at the door. you were making fun of them while they were no more than 10 feet away from you. you were cracking jokes while they were ready to be let in.

ahem.

"oh shit- um," your face contorted into some sort of half smile half grimace, that made geto slightly uncomfortable. "come in!"

after what felt like hours, you finally stepped aside, allowing the gentleman inside. you could almost hear him mutter 'finally' as he entered the living room.

"where's sho at?" at this point, his face was buried in his phone, no longer wanting nor needing to maintain eye contact with you.

"oh she stepped out for a moment. she'll be back soon."

"hm."

and just like that, the room fell into awkward tension. tension so thick you could pick it up and mold it, shape it into something as ugly and uncomfortable as this current situation was. all you wanted was for the earth to open up and swallow you whole.

it's not that you had anything personal with the guy. it's just that you both never had the opportunity to connect. yes, he was here often but that was usually to see shoko. and since you were either always boxed up in your room or simply not home, you never really got the time to really meet him, the same going for utahime and gojo as well. they were really just legends to you; heard of but never seen.

maybe you could break some of this tension, though. and so, to your future disdain, you opened your mouth and spoke. 

"so how are your classes going?" 

...

geto paused, looked from his phone towards you, and laughed. not an impolite, boisterous laugh, but one that still made you feel embarrassed.

"what's it to you, l/n?" his tone wasn't cold but still standoffish, as though that information was classified to the public. aka, anyone like you.

oh how you wished you had lost your voice that morning, or sewn your lips shut, or chopped your tongue off or-

knock, knock!

finally! you might as well have flown to the door the way you flung yourself up from the couch. you didn't care who was at the door. you actually would have been slightly grateful if it was a sniper or a bomb. alas, it was only gojo. 

your smile wavered a bit, but you were still cordial with him.

the conversation with him went a bit better than the one with his counterpart given that he was the more easygoing of the two. 

after a bit more small talk, you received a text from shoko confirming that she was, in fact, not on a flight to Jamaica and was on her way back. you took your leave, handing the white haired male the house keys to open for shoko or utahime respectively.

and with that, you  headed back into the comfort of your room, very much done with today and the circumstances it came with.

masterlist ; previous ; next

afterthoughts;

wattpad saw this first but the crowd is NOT THERE!! ugh. so I've decided to release it here too. idk y'all I just really like geto these days like 🤤 he's too fine. ok bye

[marvelhead17]

─── Heat of the Moment (Dean Winchester x Female Reader)───

The boys had left you alone in the bunker, insisting that it was only a two person job, you reluctantly decided that they would be alright without the extra hand.

In the time that they had been gone so far you had managed to dust the library (with lots of regrettable coughing and sneezing to follow), sorted all the laundry and cleaned all the dishes from the weeks’ worth that had been left by the sink.

You were quite annoyed that you had nothing to do, and even more so with nobody to talk to, as even Castiel was away doing angel business.

An idea suddenly hit you and you began to rummage through your bag, you lifted your fist with triumph and then unravelled the earphones. It had been some time since you had listened to your own music, on the road Dean was the one who called the shots, so Sam and you had to endure several repeats on the longer drives.

You plugged them into your MP3 player and began to lose yourself in the words and melodies, your foot tapped and your head began swinging side to side as the energy flowed through you, the world outside was completely blocked from your mind now.

Taking a full grasp on the fact that nobody was around to hear you, you began to sing along to some of the songs. Within moments your shoes were on the floor along with your jacket and you started to move out of the boundaries of your room into the rest of the bunker.

Your socks were slightly slippery on the wooden floor but it only added to the fun, you began mimicking the strumming of the guitar, you envisioned a huge concert cheering and applauding you for how talented and amazing you were.

The words spilled out of your mouth into your invisible microphone, “Heat of the moment!” you turned to strike the final pose to your adoring audience and froze in the spot. Sam and Dean stood by the walkway looking very amused at you. You faltered a bit and removed your earphones quickly, unable to say anything to them.

“Practising your audition for The Voice (Y/N)?” Sam asked, “Don’t let us interrupt.” He chuckled and walked out of the room.

Dean’s eyes were fixated on yours, you felt your face heating up but for some reason your eyes refused to move away. His mouth gave a small smirk.

“So Asia huh?” he asked. You only nodded and rubbed your arm sheepishly. He turned to go to his bedroom and looked over his shoulder, “You sounded great (Y/N).” with a wink and left.

* * *

Later that evening you were sitting in your bedroom with the door closed, quietly singing along to your music, despite the awkward encounter earlier there was no mention of it at dinner, only talk about the hunt and where they should all go to for the next trip.

You hadn’t heard the click of your door opening, nor had you seen Dean entering it quietly. He watched as you sang happily along to an instrumental song, slowly he snuck over to you and lowered himself onto the bed, feeling the bed move slightly you opened your eyes and jumped.

“Dean!” you yelled and hit him hard on the shoulder, well as hard as you could, you were a bit shaken from his sudden appearance. “Sorry!” he put his hands up, “I didn’t mean to scare you- I” “Well you did asshat, what the hell are you doing in here?” you huffed. “I was about to grab a beer when I heard you singing again,” he rubbed the back of his head, “You have a beautiful voice, like an angel, I-I couldn’t resist.”

Your cheeks felt hot and Dean smiled sheepishly. Your eyes fluttered to his eyes, the dim light in the room made them look exceptionally welcoming, your gaze met his lips. They looked soft and kissable, very kissable.

A rough hand touched your cheek and you felt a warm soft feeling press firmly against your lips, you realised he was kissing you and you closed your eyes to take in the moment, your hand rested on his chest and lightly tugged at his shirt to hold him in place.

His lips moved slowly against yours and your heart beat heavily in your chest, you wanted this moment to last forever, unfortunately humans needed oxygen and you both parted from each other steadily.

“I guess you could say that was the ‘heat of the moment’,” he chuckled at his own bad joke. You gently shoved him with a playful laugh before kissing his lips tenderly, “You’re terrible Dean Winchester.” You smiled and held his chiselled cheek lovingly. He smiled which made crinkles form by his eyes that were looking so lovingly at you, “I’m also falling terribly in love with you,” he said softly, in hopes that you didn’t actually hear him.

He watched as your eyes sparkled and the words, “I’m in love with you too.” Left your lips and made his heart flutter uncontrollably. His lips pressed against yours once again and you both smiled.

* * *

→ Read on Ao3

→ My Official Masterlist

[skeletonh0e]

ahhhh hellooo, I adore your headcannons🥹. if I cann, may I request for classic and fell sans headcannons (or the usual sanses that you write) with a reader who's bubbly? like she's very happy go lucky. she gets very flustered when the boys flirt, but very oblivious when others do it. so it will just be like reader is talking to the flirty person and sans is just like "hey y'know I've got a bone to pick with someone today" the reader being "eh whyy what's wrong :(?" "oh nothing you need to know <3"

SORRY THIS IS LONG IDK HOW TO WRITE REQUESTS. LOVE YOU THO.

Thank you so much! This one sounds fun! And decided to stick with just Classic and Red for rn, but I can always do the others in the future

Bubbly Reader! (Ft. Classic & Fell)

Classic Sans:

Well aren't you cute?

Listen, Sans is not immune to sunshine girl charm

Given he struggles with his own depression I think he genuinely admires anyone that can actually stay positive especially in very trying times

There's some teasing here or there, but he does genuinely appreciate someone being able to brighten up his day in any shape or form

Sometimes he'll just be staring at you while you yap on about something, seemingly just lost in your endless good vibes

A part of him kinda wonders why you chose to be with him, given he's not exactly the most optimistic or energetic guy. But he's always grateful for it as you do inspire him to try more

Which trust me, is saying something

Also gets a kick outta you being easily flustered

He's not the type to exploit too much, but loves seeing you turn into a bright tomato whenever he pulls a dumb pick up line

Classic: You gotta space ship?

Y/N: .....why are you asking that-?

Classic: I need to make a trip to ur anus >:3c

Cue him chuckling while you bury your hands in your face

The obliviousness actually triggers his more naturally protective side though, especially since he's a little impressed at how you just....don't pick up that you're being hit on. The type to kinda just watch as someone attempts to make advances on you while you don't......get it.

It's cute in a way but also now he feels a need to keep (even more of) an eye on you.

Always intervenes before things can go too far though, rest assured. Depending on how the encounter goes he'll either cheekily chastise you or give a firm but loving warning to not let your guard down

Especially when he's not there

Underfell Sans:

Literally just

Red: Someone will die

Y/N: Of fun! :D

Don't know how you ended up dating possibly one of the grouchiest if not THE grouchiest guy alive, yet here he is. Somehow both annoyed and endeared by you and your antics

On one hand he is kind of fascinated, this man has been through it and wasn't brought up in a nice place, he doesn't get that much joy out of anything anymore. Then you're here being a piece of sunshine like it's easy

On the other hand he thinks this makes you an easy target to be manipulated or tricked so-

Again both annoyed by it as it triggers protective instincts, which unlike Classic ARE already pretty strong to begin with and endeared by it cause here you are being all sweet on him

I'll say he definitely enjoys how easy it is to fluster you and he takes full advantage of that

His favorite past time is seeing all the ways he can turn you into a blushing stuttering mess

If you didn't want to get bullied then you shouldn't have gotten with him, alright?

Only he's allowed to do this though

Anyone else gets the guard dog treatment (it's his name sake after all)

Tells anyone who tries to back off in a not so friendly manner and he's never been above escalating things to a fight

Thankfully you normally stop him before it gets that far

Which he's far less tactful in calling you a dumbass for not noticing that others are very clearly hitting on you, which he means well but still

Rude >:T

[generalluxun]

I hope you know that I don't take issue with you criticizing Miraculous on principal and that I've long learned that one fan's treasure is another fan's trash. Nobody need to like something completely and if asked, I'll probably rattle off on my own list of things I felt Miraculous could have handled better.

I guess... part of it comes from how there's a lot of negativity around Miraculous and, while they are entitled to express that, there's not enough for my side of "I love it overall, wart and all." Part of this is likely YouTube and Reddit promoting what happens to get the most clicks.

Hell, Tumblr reccommended that post to me when I was editing a Miraculous post for correcting. You know, in that corner where nine posts they think you'll like show up? I just have horrible practice when it comes to walking away because it eats at me that I'm letting somebody go uncontested in this age of poor media literacy (again, not trying to accuse you of anything).

What I'm trying to say is... I had you all wrong. I might not get your "potential" standpoint because Miraculous hasn't missed its potential for me but I'm not you. And I shouldn't have to be.

I... hope this rambling is coherent enough. I really don't want to offend anybody.

EDIT:Just added the readmore because the post was so long. Hey, Thanks for reaching out. That takes a lot. I appreciate it. In the spirit of sharing I'll run by exactly where the show 'missed the mark' for me. The first is just a 'potential' argument, and the others are sort of a chain of similar-and-escalating choices that... I don't know. They're not good. They hint at something just.. wrong I guess? In the writing room. I don't understand the choices, and I hope they're corrected. They *matter* in my opinion.

The first one (the potential argument) comes at the end of S2/Beginning of S3. The OG5 heroes they had there were SUCH a good setup. Nino, Alya, Marinette, Adrien, and Chloe.

Nino&Alya=Established couple who know each other's IDs

Adrien and Marinette=the promised couple, don't know each other's IDs.

Adrien&Chloe Childhood friends

Marinette&Chloe rivals (light bulling as of S2 but really nothing like the S5 retcon would have us believe at this point)

Chloe->Ladybug fangirl

Everyone knows Choe's ID, she doesn't know Anyone's ID

Alya-> Thinks for herself, yet very loyal.

There's just so many angles and storylines in JUST those 5. You could have never once touched the secondary heroes and you could have feasted on that. I'd say Kagami and Luka just because of how important they are on the civilian side could have been part timers, but yeah. The rest? I don't hate the class, they're fun! But you're stretched so thin trying to cover so many heroes that you don't get to really dig and explore. I've seen the other heroes called 'Marinette's pokemon' and it's kind of true, sadly. S4 was a parade of one hit wonders, they even had to stuff 4 into the final one! You could have tackled all the powers with fusions and let the other civilians be cool civilians. It'd make the 'Resistance' in S5 all the more interesting.

That's not to say there's nothing good about how it was done or it's the worst ever for not sticking with the sentai format. It's just a choice that's indicative of the surface level skimming. And it's got us in S6 with a 16(?)v1 scenario which is.... really low stakes as far as these things go. Yes they can course correct it somehow, but they *already* had to do that in S5. so having to do it again... you see how it was a setup for problems.

That honestly would have been all well and fine if the show hadn't gone as it did down another path. This is a 'Please read to the end' because there are a lot of takes on this and I'd rather not be lumped in with some of them.

It started with how Chloé was handled, is bad *for the audience of children watching the show*, and I have a very real problem with that.

Chloé is an abused child. Full stop. There is no arguing this. Neglect, verbal and emotional abuse. Not just from Audrey. It's on screen. People with actual degrees in the fandom have chimed in on this.

They didn't *have* to make her an abused child. I'm not sure they *intended* to do it. t is what they put up on the screen for eyes to see though.

Once you put an abused child on screen. It is my belief that you have an obligation as someone writing children's programing for children to see, to be sure that child's abuse is A)recognized in-universe and B)shown to get help.

This doesn't mean Chloé needed to be a hero, or even liked by her peers. She's just a classic example of a child who responds with anger instead of sadness. She's a 'bad victim' and bad victim kids are often overlooked because they DO tend to bully their peers(they can't fight back against adults so they pick on those they can) The message *needs* to be 'You too can get help' for any in the audience who identify with her, not 'You're just bad, oh well.'

The sow had Marinette push Chloe to act more like Audrey (Queen Wasp ending) which- is actually a perfectly reasonable mistake for Marinette who grew up in a loving household! But it was never revisited, it's basically ignored. yet, pushing a child back int the abuser's care, showing her that she might gain affection by emulating her mother *even harder*? ooof.

Strip away liking or hating Chloe when you think about this, and liking or hating Marinette. Just think about this in broad 'That's a child' terms.

The S3 fall- not terrible honestly! The finale even seems like it gets it. Master Fu's voiceover says 'Some lose hope' when they're showing Chloé. *lose hope* that's not someone gleefully embracing evil, that's a tragic oversight. The show actively built up that Gabriel and Nathalie -along with Lila- deliberately targeted and isolated Chloé. That's horrific, and you can have a payoff from that!

But- there was nothing. The kid manipulated by the two grown adult villains is just 'a villain' from then on. No consideration, no hints, just evil and evil, framed as the worst, we even added a whole 'Was here all along honest' character and retconned some very specific things to make her more eviler! It goes on right up to the point where her own father throws her to the abusive woman that *he a grown man* is divorcing. Let that sink in. He won't stay with Audrey because he knows how she is, but he's quite willing to throw his daughter away to her rather than take responsibility for the child he raised(badly) and try to fix it.

Which leads into the not-Chloe parts of things that as I said go kind of hand in hand. S5 went on a binge of very sudden and questionable 'redemptions' Every crappy dad out there got one. (plus two honorable mentions)

Jagged? He at least was *only* a deadbeat who left his kids alone despite living in the same city for 15 years... and he's the best of them!

Felix!-No he's not a dad, but we had such a very weird 180 on him. He shows up, is cruel to Adrien, tries to force himself on Ladybug, and is shown to be an all around heel. Gabriel Agreste(the episode) continues this, and then in Strike Back he passes ALL the miraculous and Adrien's amok to Gabriel without a care in the world. 2/4 of a seaon later he tries to wipe out humanity. As an excuse we get hints about his dad. Then right before the end we find out his backstory is basically Adrien's backstory with enough changed that they hope the teacher won't notice. One kidnapping later, he's one of the good guys now! He's just a little guy! Poof! Kagami, the girl who THRIVES on honesty, just kinda is like 'nah, everything is cool, and spills LB's secret to him.' It's s weird. This coming from someone who clocked Felgami from the moment they had the side-eye in Gabriel Agreste. I figured a well executed enemies/rivals to lovers though, not.... whatever this mess is. The only saving grace of canon Felgami is that there is no excuse against Lukloé now. Felgami is literally 'She'll fix him.' 🤣 (note: Even though they basically had Felix's abuse-photocopy-backstory off screen, I would still want him to get *help* for it too. all abused kids need to bee shown getting help. Kids need to see there is help to be had. Help doesn't generally look like 'Free girlfriend and Miraculous' though.)

Nathalié-This is probably the least-problematic after Jagged, but we do still have the fact that Nathalie already murdered one Senti-being wiht free will, and arranged for Fei to be an orphan again. (She knew exactly who Cash was when she hired him). We needed a bit more than a last second gasp to sell this one. On her own I don't think this would stand out as much, but it's just one more in a line of 'Redeem everyone but that one blonde girl' choices.

André! The guy who raised Chloé. The one who *showed her how to cheat, steal, and abuse power* Twice in the series she even explicitly states she learned what she does watching him. We've seen this guy, a grown man, bully and abuse his power, engage in corruption, and it's stated this is how he's been his whole career. But oh no, he's actually just a sad little guy who wanted to make movies. It's all his *daughter's* fault! she's so heartless. She sprang from Audrey and started controlling the happless *grown man* before she could even walk.... or something.

And then after André's supposed redemption, we have him run from all responsibility as a father, and steal Zoé apparently? (S4 indicates Mr. Lee is alive and involved in Zoé's life. I'm pretty sure that Andre did something wildly illegal there. 🤣)

And then Gabe! What a kick in the teeth there eh? Now this one does take some outside-of-show information, but not Twitter. The writers did an actual commentary on the finalé explaining their intent. That was a redemption for Gabriel. The light is him ascending into heaven with Emilie, That was supposed to be Ladybug 'winning'. They legitimately believed the 'All the times I tried to be a good father' was warranted. I think they *thought* they were writing Movie!Gabe, and just missed the mark so hard.

That ties back into Adrien's abuse, which was also pretty obvious all throughout the show. More people care, because Adrien is a 'good victim' (sad and meek) so they take pity. Yet- The writing team doesn't seem to really *see* it as abuse. Gabriel just *really* loved his family and was *misguided*. And... yeah....

With all that having happened. This whole 'Marinette keeping the truth from Adrien' plotline just feels so icky. The boy has had no agency. He's got literally control rings. He's been lied to his whole life. Now his girlfriend, Ladybug, Marinette, the show's actual protagonist is lying to him.

There's so little hope they'll handle it well, considering *waves to the previous paragraphs*. Revelator and Alya's anger is the tiniest glimmer of hope that *maybe* with the end of the contract at the end of S5, there's a different set of priorities. It's just worrying, and why every time this specific thing comes up, I have concerns.

The writing room has shown they're shockingly insensitive to the topics they toy with. They can do lighter-side stuff just fine! But when it hits something heavy... oof.

Child abuse is a Very Big Deal for me. I'm a survivor myself. My own went under the radar, which is why *recognizing it in all it's forms* is extremely important to me.

Again-ML never had to do anything with this, but they *chose* to put it in, and once it's in, feel they had an obligation to handle it well. That's an obligation I don't feel like they've met. It's also not something that will improve if those who do see it just go silent and ignore it.

Silence and ignoring is exactly how abuse thrives.

If you're interested I could go into more detail on some of the specific examples of on-screen abuse elements that are present. I knw I left stuff out. In some cases it's so strange because you *think* they must be aware, but if they are then how could they just leave it unaddressed?

I'd love to get answers, but that's not an option.

Well, I bet this answer was more than you bargained for! Maybe it'll provide some clarity as to where the harshness comes in. To be clear, I really want Miraculous to be *better*, not to die. want it to address the abuse it's already displayed in a reasonable way. Once that's done, the hackles will go way back down.

If I lose any and all hope it ever will be addressed, then I'll probably walk away and just warn other parents off the show.

[izzymalec]

hey besties!! i've finally caved and starting today (saturday, 15. july) i'll slowly but surely (more surely than slowly) post things from other media as well 💔

everything will be tagged w the media name + the #not sh (that geniuely nobody has blacklisted but it's for me), if there are any triggers etc pls let me know so i can tag accordingly!!

this also means that my sideblog @deemacs will no longer be active bc anything that would've gone on here will now be on main

also this itty bitty change will be accompanied by tiny little changes in my (v faithful) icon and header (these aren't actually related, it's just good timing honestly)

thank u for reading and happy tumbling!!! 🩷🩷🩷

[prismaticsaltedink]

Scoria and Sakura are best friends! It's so cute when I see the things they do together, and it makes me so beyond happy that they both came to live with me so that they could share their lives with each other. They absolutely insist on it, and does so much good for the other.

I can't imagine how else they could have found happiness if things hadn't worked out exactly as they did. Scoria has basically been Sakura's "emotional support snake" while she worked through things from her past I'll never fully know that caused her a lot of issues with panic and fear. Sakura knows this too, and looks out for her sister, the only one she truly trusts and feels completely safe with.

The moment they wake up they both want each other to snuggle and play with. Scoria loves to be affectionate with both me and her sister who seems to have not had this earlier in her life- but Scoria is showing her how nice it is not only directly but demonstrating with me and Sakura also trying, copying what she has seen her sister do.

Sometimes when one goes to check on the other they'll join in on... I'm not even sure what they were doing. But they had a good time while taking a mandated union break from digging tunnels for the isopods.

So happy I get to share in the adventures of these two best friends! It makes me so happy to see them living their best lives together, and being beyond content snuggled together with their found family.

[stardestroyer81]

For the first time in a good few years, I'm pleased to announce that I am designing a brand new line of robot master OCs for a faux Mega Man project like Mega Man Ultimate— and while I'm still a little ways in revealing the bigger details, I really wanted to post art I drew of my latest fanon robot master... the effervescent Dazzle Woman! 💛🧡✨

[sysig]

Very important to implement a goof-off break (Patreon)

[whysamwhy123]

Still unwell and I'm going to babble incoherently under the cut about my blorbo DG again because it's my blog and I'll do dumb shit if I want and I'm sick right now so I can't be held responsible for anything, those are the rules OKAY

DG absolutely tried to pick up girls while dressed as Waluigi. I am fascinated by how this man's mind works. He is the fuckboyest fuckboy who ever fuckboyed and I just find that so compelling? I'm wanting more and more to write some weird character study of him for a fic. Like, a multi-chapter fic that's just him Doing Stuff and being weird about it and angsting over the state of his life, just full on psychoanalysis. But, like, nobody would give a shit? Because there wouldn't even be a pairing, it would probably just be Daniel's internal monologue as he goes about his life, facing setback after setback, challenge after challenge, loss after loss and then trying to distract himself/numb the pain by going out with his boys, partying, dancing up a storm (because he just wants to DANCE GODDAMNIT) and trying to get laid. Literally, I'm imagining every fucking chapter would ultimately be about which girl he's trying to take home this week and what stupid fuckboy way he goes about it. Maybe sometimes he succeeds, or maybe he fails yet again and goes back to his hotel room feeling profoundly alone and then jerks off in the shower while crying. But regardless of whether he scores or not, it'll never fix the emptiness he feels inside. It will never quiet the doubts. It'll never stop him regretting his past choices. It won't make the people around him - his chosen family, his friends - understand him or stop them from rejecting outright. He looks at his life, all the missed opportunities and wonders if he'll ever get the chance to be the man he's always wanted to be. The man he felt destined to become. But now that man feels more and more like a pipe dream, like a vague, fading dream that perhaps never was. He doesn't know what to do with that information. He doesn't know who he is when he's not trying to be that man. It's soul-crushing and terrifying and it just makes him feel even worse about himself.

But for now, all he can do is dance.

[raksh-writes]

Twf your body forces you to take a break by making you feel sick and giving you migraine symptoms, like-- thanks, I get it, but could you lay off on the stress if Im to have any Actual rest? Please and thank you :')