#dat face doe

[todoroki-waifu]

[sarneo]

The best frame in the entire episode

[treebloop]

it's productive, it's revolutionary... it is purity and innocence clashing with grotesque history and culture. i am sorry

[meowww-ffxiv]

on Meowdred and his gender/sexuality because I saw a WoLQotD on Twitter and it's interesting:

Meowdred had the fortune of growing up around a lot of trans/nb people or those who eventually discovered themselves to be trans/nb or otherwise non-conforming to even the loose societal expectations of Dirt Poor Bastards Living in Port City. So he got to ask the question of whether he felt the same early, and got the answer early that he was comfortable with the way his gender identity matched with his physical body.

The whole being aro/ace was more nebulous because there was no point of reference for Mordred to even think about the concept. He just knew that he didn't feel the kind of craving others seemed to have of sex, or even the loneliness that drove some friends to have 3 lovers in the span of 2 weeks. Yeah, he's kissed a guy...and a girl...and a non-binary person. It was nice, and a bit awkward, and Mordred decided to take the fact that he felt no urge to pursue a follow-up at face value.

Nowadays he's like... "I'll try and meet you in the middle of our attraction if it is mutual and if I care about you, whatever it is, but there will be no point in our relationship -- of whatever nature it is -- where I cease to be myself."

It had been both a point of appreciation and consternation with others in his previous, and current, relationships. Mordred would be incredibly upfront about his limits and hard lines, and didn't tolerate attempts at coercion or manipulation to get those hard lines to change.

But those were sweeping, hard lines drawn in the earth. For the little things, a hundred thousand compromises and small negotiations of space and however many moments of inconvenience and discomfort Mordred needed to go through, to make his friends happy? Yeah, he'd do them. The favors, the hours trekking through the rain to get them something they like, the conversations he didn't really enjoy but knew Alphinaud did.

For all that Mordred didn't experience sexual or romantic attraction, he's very clear-minded when it comes to knowing how relationships work for him, and how he can make his side of a connection work for others. Relationships, after all, aren't inherently transactional. Nor are they about feeling comfort in each individual moment. Rather they're a balance of intuition, attention, and care; if the small things inconveniences and disagreements suffered are towards a net-positive, then he would suffer them all, and be glad that there was someone he loved enough to make all this worthwhile.

But this was wisdom Mordred could never put into words. He wasn't very good with words. He could only live it, and sincerely hope that his friends understood the value he placed in those friendships, and the reason why he would keep choosing them.

[tinythebunni]

Rafe Cameron

🫧🍭🐬

Rafe is literally da definition of pussy whipped. this man cannot live without spending atleast 2 hours between ur thighs each day. he comes home from the golf club basically feigning for your taste. he gives a kiss to your clit before he starts licking u in the most sinful ways.

i feel like Rafe would 100% keep a photo of your pretty cunt leaking w his cum in his wallet. he looks at it each time he swipes his card or goes to show his ID for a drink. and if u prefer season one Rafe, then it’s right next 2 his bags of coke!

Rafe luvs it when u surprise him with pictures of u while he’s at work! this man enjoys seeing u naked and seeing ur pretty face! he gets just as hard from nudes as he does when u send him pictures of u next 2 ur crusty lil dog he can’t stand (he’d never tell you dat tho!)

he loves it when he comes home and you basically pounce on him. you’re waiting on da couch 4 him when he comes home and he can tell how worked up you are! he so did dis on purpose, sending you a mirror picture of his hands holding a box in one hand and his phone in the other. you hug him with all your strength and start leaving kisses on his neck and chest! you don’t care about dat sweat he has, u like his musk anyways.

he gets hard from the look in your eyes when u gaze up at him. you tell him how badly you need him! you drag his hand to between your thighs and slide it past your underwear. his knees almost give out form how you whimper when u feel his fingers inside you. he kisses you with all his strength and taps the back of your thigh, hinting for you to jump. he carries you all da way 2 his room and takes care of u all night. making sure his sweetest girl is feeling better and well fucked <3

[backspacingmyself]

08/02/2024, 19:05pm

It seems all I ever get.....is being used

[urdreamydoodles]

X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You smacks their ass as they walk past (Part.1)

Each X-Man reacts with a mix of surprise and playful teasing when you smacks their ass as they walk past, leading to affectionate and mischievous moments.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Pietro Maximoff & Jean Grey

Logan (Wolverine):

You’re in the kitchen, mindlessly going about your business, while Logan’s at the counter slicing through a loaf of bread. He’s focused, as usual, with that familiar scowl on his face that never quite leaves. The kitchen is quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the faint sounds of his knife slicing through the bread. You can’t help yourself—you watch him for a moment, admiring the way his muscles move under his tight shirt, the raw strength in every little motion. He looks so serious, so in his own world.

As you pass behind him, you smirk to yourself. It’s too tempting. Without thinking twice, you let your hand drift out, and with a sharp flick of your wrist, you smack his ass, enjoying the solid *thwack* that follows. You don’t stop, just continue walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smile curling on your lips.

Logan freezes mid-slice. For a beat, he doesn’t say a word. Then you hear the low rumble of a growl deep in his chest. “Really, darlin’?” His voice is thick, a little rough around the edges, and you can hear the amusement creeping in. He turns his head, one eyebrow raised, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You glance back at him, feigning innocence, but you can see the way his eyes darken just a bit. He drops the knife, turning slowly, taking a step toward you. His movements are deliberate, almost predatory. “You think you can just walk by like that and not face the consequences?” His voice is a low, gravelly whisper, sending shivers down your spine.

Before you can respond, Logan’s hand is on your waist, pulling you back against him. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your ear as he murmurs, “If you’re gonna start somethin’, sweetheart, you better be ready to finish it.” There’s a playful challenge in his voice, a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not about to let you off the hook that easily.

Remy LeBeau (Gambit):

Remy is leaning against the couch, casually flipping through a deck of cards, as he often does when he’s bored. The two of you have been lounging around the living room all afternoon, and there’s an easy, comfortable silence between you. He’s dressed in that effortless way he always is—dark jeans that hug him in all the right places and a shirt that’s just tight enough to show off his lean muscles. He catches you looking at him, flashing you that mischievous smile, the one that makes your heart skip a beat.

You roll your eyes at him, but you’re already plotting something in your head. You stroll past him, heading toward the kitchen, but as you do, you let your hand dip down and smack his ass, hard enough to make him jump a little. You don’t stop, just keep walking like nothing happened, a satisfied smirk on your face.

“Mon dieu, cherie,” Remy’s voice comes out in a playful drawl, full of that Southern charm he’s famous for. He’s immediately on his feet, tossing the cards onto the couch and following you into the kitchen. “You really gonna hit an innocent man like dat and walk away?” You glance over your shoulder, and he’s grinning, his red-on-black eyes glowing with amusement.

Before you can get far, he’s behind you, his hands sliding around your waist, pulling you back against him. “Y’know, cher, dat’s gonna cost you somethin’,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear. There’s a heat to his words, and you can feel the playful threat behind them. “You know what happens when you mess with de Ragin’ Cajun, right?”

He spins you around, pressing you up against the counter with that wicked grin still plastered on his face. His hands slide down your sides, landing right where you’d smacked him. “Might have t’ return de favor,” he purrs, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to your lips. “You know Remy always collects his dues, mon amour.”

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler):

You’re in the middle of tidying up the bedroom when you spot Kurt near the door, his back to you as he’s sorting through some papers. He’s muttering to himself in that soft, lilting German accent that you love so much, completely unaware of your eyes on him. His tail sways lazily behind him as he concentrates, and you can’t help but grin to yourself, an idea forming in your head.

You move silently, making your way over to him, and just as you pass by, you raise your hand and give his firm ass a playful smack. The sound is sharp in the quiet room, and you immediately keep walking, acting as if nothing had happened. But the reaction is instantaneous.

Kurt yelps in surprise, his tail flicking up and curling in the air as he turns to face you, a mix of shock and amusement on his face. “Liebling!” he exclaims, his yellow eyes wide with playful disbelief. “Did you just…?” His voice trails off as he stares at you, his mouth hanging open in mock offense.

You glance over your shoulder at him, feigning innocence. “What? I didn’t do anything,” you say with a smirk, knowing full well he doesn’t believe a word of it.

Before you can blink, there’s a familiar "bamf", and in an instant, Kurt’s teleported right in front of you, his arms wrapping around your waist as his tail curls mischievously around your leg. “Oh, so you think you can get away with that, meine Liebe?” he teases, his voice low and filled with amusement. “You know I won’t let that slide.”

His lips brush against your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he continues, “Perhaps you need a reminder of what happens when you provoke a demon.” The way he says it is both playful and sultry, sending a thrill down your spine. His tail tightens its grip on your leg, holding you in place as his hands move to your hips.

Kurt’s mischievous smile is contagious, and you can’t help but laugh as he presses a light kiss to your lips. “Next time, I might just have to teleport you somewhere… private,” he adds with a wink, his tail flicking playfully as he pulls you closer, the two of you lost in your little game.

Scott Summers (Cyclops):

You’re sitting at the dining room table, flipping through some documents when Scott walks by with his usual purposeful stride. His posture is perfect, as always, and that stern expression he wears doesn’t falter. He’s got a natural air of authority, but you’ve seen the softer side of him that few others get to witness. As he walks past you, that teasing side of you sparks to life, and without warning, you reach out and give his ass a firm smack.

The sound echoes in the quiet room, and Scott stops dead in his tracks. For a moment, you think maybe you’ve startled him too much, but then he turns slowly, adjusting his visor in that way he does when he’s trying to keep control. “Really?” he asks, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement. “You’re feeling bold today, huh?”

You grin, leaning back in your chair as if daring him to react. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you tease, enjoying the way his jaw clenches ever so slightly.

Scott doesn’t let himself smile, but you can see the ghost of one tugging at his lips. He strides back toward you, placing his hands on either side of your chair, leaning down until his face is mere inches from yours. His eyes are hidden behind that visor, but you know that intense gaze is focused solely on you. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and authoritative, “I could make this a teaching moment if you keep testing me.”

There’s a flicker of challenge in his tone, and you can’t help but shiver at the way he’s so controlled yet playful all at once. “Maybe I want to be taught a lesson,” you reply cheekily, smirking up at him.

Scott’s lips quirk into a small smile at that, and he leans in even closer, his breath brushing your skin. “Don’t start something you’re not ready to finish,” he warns softly, his tone filled with promise. You know Scott is all about discipline and control, but with you, there’s always an undercurrent of heat simmering just beneath the surface. And right now, you’re enjoying pushing all his buttons.

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto):

You’ve just finished straightening up a few things around the living room when you notice Erik standing by the window, his arms crossed and his expression distant. He’s always deep in thought, his mind constantly working through plans, strategies, and the weight of his responsibilities. But in moments like these, you love pulling him out of that serious headspace, even if just for a second.

As you walk past him, you let your hand trail along his lower back before delivering a quick, playful smack to his ass. You know it’ll catch him off guard, and sure enough, Erik’s head turns sharply toward you, a mixture of surprise and amusement flashing in his steely gaze. “Liebling,” he says slowly, his deep voice laced with a dark chuckle, “I hope you realize what you’ve just done.”

You meet his gaze with a mischievous smile, shrugging casually. “What? Can’t a person have a little fun?”

Erik narrows his eyes, though you can see the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He steps toward you, his movements smooth and deliberate, until he’s standing directly in front of you, his towering presence almost intimidating. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” he warns, his voice low and dripping with intent.

His fingers reach out, brushing against your arm with a feather-light touch before sliding to your waist. “You should know better than to provoke me,” he continues, his tone growing softer, more menacing in a way that sends a thrill down your spine. There’s always something about Erik’s raw power that makes moments like these feel electric, like you’re on the verge of something intense.

You raise an eyebrow at him, refusing to back down. “Maybe I like living dangerously.”

Erik’s smirk widens, and without warning, he pulls you closer, his hand firm on your waist. “Careful, Liebling,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Next time, I might not be so gentle.” His eyes gleam with the promise of something more, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that with Erik, every moment is charged with tension and passion.

Warren Worthington III (Angel):

Warren is pacing around the room, his wings fluttering slightly as he moves. He always gets restless like this, especially after long missions, and you can see the tension in his shoulders. His wings, magnificent as ever, brush against the walls with each step, and you can’t help but admire the effortless grace he carries with him.

You decide to lighten the mood, and as you walk by, you reach out and give his ass a playful smack. It’s quick, unexpected, and you’re already a few steps ahead by the time Warren stops and turns to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really, Y/N?” he says, a soft laugh escaping his lips. There’s a twinkle in his blue eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting into that charming smile you know so well.

“What?” you reply innocently, glancing over your shoulder at him. “Just wanted to see if you’d notice.”

Warren chuckles, shaking his head as he folds his wings neatly behind him and strides over to you. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, his voice smooth and playful, like silk brushing against your skin. He steps closer, his hand slipping around your waist, pulling you back toward him. “You’re lucky I find it cute when you get cheeky.”

You grin up at him, but before you can say anything, Warren’s lips are by your ear, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “But you should know… you’ve got my full attention now.” There’s a teasing edge to his words, and you can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his wings subtly enclosing around you, as if shielding the two of you from the world.

His fingers glide down your back, lingering just above where your hand had landed on him. “You know,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck, “if you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask.” His lips brush the shell of your ear, and you can feel the playful energy between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. Warren always knows how to turn a simple moment into something unforgettable, and as his wings wrap around you, you know you’re in for more than just playful teasing tonight.

Bobby Drake (Iceman):

You’re standing by the counter, organizing some groceries while Bobby flips through a magazine at the kitchen table. His legs are kicked up, as casual as ever, when you pass by. Feeling playful, you give his ass a swift smack as you move past him. The sound echoes in the small space, and it’s enough to catch his attention immediately.

Bobby jerks, almost spilling his drink in surprise, before whipping around to face you, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed from both the slap and embarrassment. “Woah! Y/N, what was that for?” he asks, though there’s no hiding the grin pulling at his lips.

You shrug, flashing him an innocent look. “Just making sure you’re awake.”

He laughs, shaking his head as he stands up, crossing the room to stand next to you. “Oh, I’m awake now, alright,” he teases, sliding his arms around your waist, his touch cool against your skin. “I didn’t know you had it in you to get so… bold.”

His playful tone matches the mischievous glint in his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh along with him. “What? You can’t handle a little fun?” you challenge, enjoying the light banter between you two.

Bobby leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he murmurs, “I can handle anything you throw at me, but don’t think I’ll let you get away with that.” His voice is laced with a teasing edge, and you feel a cool breeze sweep through the room, a subtle reminder of the icy powers he wields. You know he’s up to something, but before you can react, he presses a quick kiss to your neck and steps back with a wink. “You’re gonna pay for that, you know.”

Alex Summers (Havok):

Alex is sprawled out on the couch, looking through some reports when you walk by. His feet are up, and there’s a focused look on his face, the kind he always wears when he’s trying to deal with the endless responsibilities of being an X-Man. You take the opportunity as you pass, leaning over to give his ass a firm smack, catching him completely off guard.

Alex sits up instantly, his eyes narrowing playfully as he turns to you. “Did you just…?” he starts, not quite believing what just happened. He’s still processing it, a mix of amusement and shock spreading across his face.

You grin, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow. “What? Just thought I’d remind you who’s boss around here,” you tease, knowing it’ll get a rise out of him.

Alex chuckles, shaking his head as he stands up, his presence commanding yet relaxed. “Oh, is that right?” he asks, his voice low, a hint of mischief lacing his words. He walks toward you, closing the space between you quickly. “Well, I think you’re about to find out that I don’t take orders so easily.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, his energy always simmering just beneath the surface. “You like playing with fire, huh?” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Careful, Y/N… you might just get burned.”

The tension between you sizzles, and there’s a playful challenge in his eyes as he leans in closer. Alex has always had that perfect balance of power and charm, and moments like this remind you just how intoxicating he can be.

Pietro Maximoff (Quicksilver):

Pietro is a blur of motion, zipping around the room as he organizes everything at lightning speed. You’ve gotten used to his constant fast-paced movements, but that doesn’t stop you from messing with him whenever you get the chance. As he darts past you, you reach out, timing it perfectly to give his ass a swift smack.

In a flash, Pietro skids to a halt, spinning around to face you, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and excitement. “Did you just smack me?” he asks, his voice incredulous but laced with laughter. “I didn’t even see that coming!”

You grin, leaning against the counter as you shrug casually. “Maybe you’re losing your touch, Speedy.”

Pietro narrows his eyes playfully, zipping right in front of you in the blink of an eye. He’s so close, you can feel the rush of air from his speed. “Losing my touch? Oh, you’re in for it now,” he teases, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that always makes your heart race.

Before you can respond, he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re lucky I find this little game of yours amusing,” he murmurs, his voice a low purr. “But don’t think for a second I won’t get you back. Faster than you can blink.”

Pietro’s hand slides down your side, and you can feel the energy buzzing off him, the tension between you electric. His eyes gleam with mischief as he tilts his head slightly. “Next time you try that, you better be ready to run,” he warns, but there’s no real danger in his tone—only the promise of more playful banter to come.

Jean Grey:

Jean is standing at the stove, her mind likely a million miles away as she stirs something in the pot. You’ve always loved watching her in these quiet moments, the way her hair seems to glow in the soft light, her expression so calm and serene. As you walk by, you decide to playfully break the stillness and give her a quick, teasing smack on the ass.

Jean gasps in surprise, her stirring hand freezing mid-motion as she looks over her shoulder at you, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. “Y/N!” she exclaims, her voice half-laughing, half-scolding. You can see the blush rising on her cheeks, and it only makes your grin widen.

“What?” you reply innocently, trying your best to look like you didn’t just commit the playful act. “I couldn’t resist.”

Jean sets the spoon down and turns fully toward you, hands on her hips, but there’s a sparkle in her eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?” she says, though the smile tugging at her lips betrays any attempt at a stern tone.

Before you can respond, you feel a subtle tug in your mind—Jean’s way of playfully reminding you she’s always got the upper hand when it comes to your little games. She steps closer, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm. “You know I could have you pinned with a single thought,” she teases, her voice soft yet teasing. “But I think I’ll let you off the hook this time… unless you want me to show you what happens when you mess with a telepath.”

You raise an eyebrow, feeling the warmth of her body as she presses closer, her lips ghosting over your ear. “Think you’re fast enough to get away next time?” she whispers, her breath hot against your skin, leaving you anticipating her next move.

[burts-baked-bees]

One of a Kind

D&WGambit! x X-Men97!Fem! Reader

Warnings: Slight Angst, X-Men 97' Spoilers, Pining, happy ending, two idiots, hurt/comfort, mention of character death

WC: 1686

“Have you been watching the news?” Scotts voice came as Y/n entered the mansion. The mutant looked up at the team leader with a look of confusion as she placed her bag down on the counter. 

“No? Why?” Her brow furrowed as Scott swallowed hard. He moved quietly to the small TV on the kitchen counter and flipped it on; Y/n watched in horror as images of the aftermath of a full scale attack on Genosha flashed on the screen. She felt a chill run through her body as flames danced in her vision and ashes coated what was once a proud and new country. She gripped the counter as Scott watched the unfolding news with her. 

“We have people there.” Y/n croaked as she kept her gaze locked on the screen. “Scott. Rogue, Kurt and Magneto are there.” Her eyes moved to her leader as his emotionless sunglasses reflected her distressed expression back at her. “Scott.” She said sternly. “Remy is there.”

Scotts brows furrowed as he opened and closed his mouth, like he was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words. Y/n Felt her stomach drop as the horrors of the news broadcast played in her ears. 

“Are they okay?” She asked, her voice breaking as she gripped the side of the counter. The same counter that Remy taught her to make jambalaya at. The same counter she had sat on and shared a late night bowl of cereal with him just a few nights before. “Scott.” She practically snarled. He took a step forward, his arm reaching out, almost like he was looking for comfort as well, like he was trying to tell her he had lost something too. 

Lost something.

“Scott. Is Remy okay?” 

…

 “Eva’ since you wandered up in ‘ere, you been lookin’ at ole’Gambit like you seen a ghost sha.” 

Y/n was ripped from her thoughts as she glanced at the man next to her. She was suddenly reminded she was in the Void and not the kitchen of the Xavier Mansion grieving loss all over again. 

“What?” She asked horsley as she looked up at the tall man on her left. He gave her a small smile. 

“Sha, you been up in ‘ere a few weeks now, yeah? When you gon tell Gambit why you lookin at him like dat? Hmm?” The Cajun sat down across from her his gaze intense as he perched his elbows on his knees. Y/n couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, she kept her gaze on the floor, on his boots. His voice felt like a million knives in her chest as she fiddled with the frayed ends of her shirt sleeves. It wasn’t him; not her version of him anyways. He sounded like Remy, moved like Remy, laughed like Remy… His eyes were different though, clear green instead of a red iris surrounded by black.His hair was slightly different too, not red but a natural brown. He gave her a pointed look, as if to say he wasn’t leaving till she answered him. Y/n sighed. 

 “Don’t know what you mean…” She spoke softly rubbing her face; Gambit chuckled. 

“You don know? Or you jus’ don wanna’ say, sha?” He sat back slightly, fidgeting with his deck of cards like he always did. Shuffling in an endless loop just to keep his hands busy. She watched his hands intently, bile rising in her throat as she watched the dance of the cards, feeling that same emptiness she had when Kurt gave his homily at the funeral…. 

“Been tree’ weeks since you popped into da void, been known you was an X-Men from da way you fight. We had a lot of X-Men up in ere’, but not like you.” He sighed, hands still moving and shuffling, but his eyes never left her face. Y/n sighed again, swallowing down the lump in her throat. 

 “So? Why do you care?” She asked, finally looking up to meet his gaze. He gave her a small smile, almost proud of her for finally looking at him head on. She felt sick again. 

“Gambit cares. He always does, sha. ‘Specially when one of his own kind gets dumped in dis hellscape.” His words were soft, like he was speaking to a cornered animal. Her Remy never talked to her like that. He was always obnoxious and snarky, pushing her buttons and trying to get a rise out of her. She scowled before leaning back. 

 “I've got my own reasons to be apprehensive. Everything here, everyone, it's all very new… Very… real…” Her eyes drifted away again as Gambit nodded in an understanding way. 

  “No one here knew da Gambit when dey first seen him. But you? Toi mon amie, you took one look at da Gambit et, mon dieu thought you was gonna combust on da spot. You looked at me like you known me. But da thing is, sha. Gambit don’t know you.” 

Her eyes glossed over at that statement; he didn’t know her. He was intrigued by her, but he didn’t know her. She scoffed,

 “Guess I don't exist outside of my timeline. Everyone seems to have variants except me.” She spoke with a shake of her head. She had seen countless Deadpool’s in the void since she got here, a few other versions of her teammates and even some Avengers, but she had never seen another Y/n. She was the only one, and now she had been put here. 

The last thing she remembered was Charles and Magnus asking her and her teammates to pick a side. The answer was clear for most of them, Rogue went with Magneto and so did Sunspot. The rest stayed loyal to a cause that didn’t seem to have a point anymore. She had fled the choice, unsure how she was supposed to pick a side when the only person she had fought for was dead. Humans had killed him. And she hadn’t even been there to tell him she loved him… to tell her best friend that after all this time, she had loved him more than she had ever loved anyone in her life. 

That’s when the TVA showed up, spouting something about how she was a danger to her timeline and needed to be removed to ensure the survival of the true X-Men. She had been thrown in, against her will, to a hellish landscape that was fitting of a reject like herself. She had fought tooth and nail against bandits in the wastelands before she came across a face that she hadn’t expected to ever see again. 

“I lost you ‘dere, sha. Where you gon off too now?” Gambit’s voice cut through her memories like Logan’s claws as she snapped her eyes back up to him. He gave her a warm smile before shuffling his deck again. She watched his hands again and he chuckled. “People are like cards, sha. Different suits, but all made of da same material. I like to tink’ of myself as a jack of all trades-” He flipped the jacks of the deck out to face her before shuffling them back in. “You doe? You give da Gambit a very specific type’o vibe.” 

Y/n watched as he shuffled a bit more before the queen of hearts flipped from the deck. Her blood ran cold. That wasn’t her card. That was Rogues. It had always been Rogues. Never her. Gambit's smug smile fell as she stood up abruptly, her eyes flashing with a twinge of panic. He stood up with her hands out in a show of surrender as he chuckled airly.

    “Gambit done take things too far. I apologize, meant no ‘arm in it. Je suis désolé mon amie.” 

She shook her head before reaching forward and taking the deck from his hand. He protested but watched her as she pulled the Joker card from the deck and pressed it back in his hand, atop the Queen of Hearts. 

 “This card. You always said this was me.” She pressed the glossy paper to his palm, staring at the jester printed in black and white. “You would pull this card and laugh at the resemblance, saying I was a damn couyon.” She frowned as tears pricked her eyes. “That Queen was reserved for far better than me. Never for me. Don’t you dare.” Her voice sounded labored as she locked eyes with him; his green eyes flashed with sympathy and hurt as he slowly closed his hand around hers. She didn’t pull away, instead she felt her breath hitch as a wave of burning hot emotions flooded her chest and mind. 

“Comment une personne si belle peut-elle être si triste?” He spoke softly. “You did know me den? Where you come from?” 

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat before nodding. 

 “I did. But I lost you.” She choked out. 

He squeezed her hand softly. 

“And me and you? Was we…?” He asked softly, eyes searching hers. “Dis Gambit only ever known da Void. Pretty sure I was born here, neva known another way.” 

  “He was my best friend. My whole world.” She choked out with a sad smile. “But I was his couyon, never his queen.” She laughed, remembering the way he used to throw that word around with a charming smile running away from her playful wrath everytime. This Gambit gave her a sad smile.

  “He must have been blind ta not see da gift he had.” He spoke softly. Y/n shook her head. 

 “If you knew Rogue, you wouldn't say that. A Queen of hearts through and through. I could never blame him for picking her.” With that she dropped his hand, the lingering warmth fading from her skin. 

“Dis Gambit wants to know you more, sha. Dis Gambit don't wanna’ leave you lone.” His words were followed by him placing a card in her palm.

Y/n smiled softly before looking at the card he had handed her. “You aint no couyon-” He chuckled. 

Ace of Hearts.

“You one of a kind.”  

[rogueddie]

A gay bar is the last place Steve ever thought he'd be, yet here he sits.

He keeps looking over to Robin- not too much, just enough to keep an eye on her. Make sure she's still having fun. Although, he's sure he doesn't need to be worrying.

The girl who'd caught Robins eye is small, feminine. She looks like a sweetheart and she keeps getting Robin flustered. They're cute together, clearly into eachother, and Steve couldn't be happier.

Even sat alone, feeling completely out of place and a little uncomfortable, seeing Robin able to flirt with someone so openly is… he just feels relieved.

He should have thought to bring her here sooner.

"Hey there." The man smiles when Steve flinches. It's a soft smile, kind. "You wanna dance?"

"Oh, uh, I don't- I mean, uh-"

"Woah, don't panic. It's just a dance, right? You look uncomfortable is all and seeing you sat alone with your big fucking puppy dog eyes is just sad." He gently nudges Steves chin up when he tries to look down, feeling awkward. His finger lingers a little, brushing along his jaw. "You don't wanna have a fun night out? I won't be offended if you say no."

And, ok, Steve's a little tipsy. He's sure he'd never agree if he were sober- it wouldn't have felt fair. The guy is clearly attracted to him, not even trying to hide the way he's eyeing him.

But Steve's buzz is more annoying than pleasant and dancing does sound fun. So he agrees, accepts the hand offered and lets the guy pull him into the crowd.

The guy keeps his distance. Anytime the crowd jolts Steve toward him, he steps back the same amount, keeping a solid foot between them. But he's grinning, yelling jokes over the music, unabashedly dancing like an idiot.

It's great, it's fun. Steve can't stop grinning, stomach starting to ache with how much he's been laughing.

Eventually, a slower song comes on, stronger sexual undertones. The guy (Eddie, he'd leant in to tell Steve when asked, explaining that he knew Steve because they used to be in the same year as in Hawkins) shrugs, pulling an exaggerated face that screams 'what-can-you-do'. He's turning away.

But Steve grabs his wrist, Eddie looking back with raised eyebrows.

"This alright then, pretty boy?" He asks after stepping in close. His hands rest low on his hips.

Steve nods, flushing. He automatically puts his hands on his shoulders, letting Eddie lead him through a weirdly intimate sort of slow dance. And Steve is suprised to find himself… into it? He's not sure.

He feels less tipsy, so he can't blame the easy blushes or the way his stomach flips on the alcohol. There's no excuse for how he's started looking at Eddie either, paying a little too much attention to the way he moves, how his hands feel when they slowly start to wonder.

He gently brushes Eddies hair out the way without thinking, tucking it behind his ear so he can see the tattoo on his neck. Eddie tilts his head slightly, baring his neck a little more. When he glances up, Eddie is watching him, curiously.

"Hate to sound pressumptious," he drawls, taking a small step forward so their chests are pressed together, "but it feels like you're making moves on me, big boy."

"What if I am? What happens then?"

"Maybe I'd ask if you're sober enough to drive or if we need to call a cab." He leans back a little when Steve moves to kiss him. He hums, smirking. "Or maybe I'd ask for your number. I'm a classy lady, Harrington; what if I don't put out on the first date?"

"I've never said no to a challange."

Eddie barks out a laugh, loud enough to startle some of the people swaying beside them. "As if."

"What? You're like... pretty."

"Pretty," he repeats, rolling his eyes. "People know I'm a fag, Steve. Even being seen with me like we're 'just friends' would fucking ruin you."

"Your point?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Wanna put money on that?"

Eddie eyes him for a second, his derision melting into curiosity. "You want to make a bet on whether you'll date me or not?"

"Why not? One of us wins money in a bet, we both score a date, and-"

"I thought you were straight."

"Yeah, me too. But I don't think straight guys think about you like I am, right now."

Eddie steps back, considering. It's a long, tense, moment before he finally sticks his hand out. Steve quickly shakes his hand, grinning.

"You've got yourself a deal."

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

OMG no way are you going to write an AU of Daemon's visions at Harrenhal??? I know its AAAAAGES away from where you are in the current story but desperate hos wanna kno ;)

Ask, and ye shall receive!

until i bleed myself dry

Note: This is technically using the characters/characterisation I have established in my terms of endearment series, but really you only need to know that the Reader is Rhaenyra's younger sister and that, instead of marrying Laena, he spent a decade ho-ing it up in Pentos before coming home and getting dazzled by his niece before deciding to wife dat gurl.

WARNING: Please note this is dark, dark stuff. Discretion is advised. Please use your judgement wisely before engaging.

Triggers: graphic depictions of violence, violence against children, character d*ath, MAJOR hallucinations, sexual scenes including visibly underaged character/s.

There is something fucking wrong with this place.

Daemon feels like a skittish child as he withdraws to his chambers, covers drawn up to his neck like the fabric will keep away the very worst of midnight evils. He does not know if the steady drip, drip, drip he hears is in his head or if the stone ceiling is cracked enough to let through the rain. Knowing Harrenhal, he would hardly be surprised by the latter. Still, the noise only serves to speed the racing of his thoughts, turning them fearful as he has not felt since the weakness of his youth.

In this moment, he curses his own doings. If he had stayed his hand—if he had held his tongue—the boy would not be dead, and mayhaps you would not be so wroth with him. He would not be alone in this shithole of a keep a world away, chilled to the bone and miserable as he thinks of you warm and safe in your bed with the children. Without him.

When he finally falls asleep, he dreams.

He knows it is a dream, for he can hear your humming. Soft, sweet, the kind of tune you sing to Daeryx after one of his tantrums. His head lifts from the pillow and he finds himself back in your shared rooms on Dragonstone, eyes finding you in the chair by the hearth. Your hair, unbound, shines like molten amber in the firelight, swaying softly as you tend to business that is concealed from his gaze. Enthralled, he rises, making his way to you.

Drip, drip, drip.

He pauses. That sound… it doesn’t belong here. He calls your name. You ignore him. He moves closer, tentative.

“Come look,” you murmur suddenly, startling him. “Come, kepus.”

His feet move unbidden, out of his control.

Bile pools at the back of his throat, gut curdling at the sight of the boy—the boy—cradled in your lap. You and he are wet with blood, and it drip, drip, drips to the floor, echoing eerily. His eyes are open, face petrified, and Daemon realises that the dark at his neck is not in fact a shadow but a gaping wound, made jagged by the weapon used.

You look up at him, skin shining with sweat and expression exultant. “Look at him, kepus. Look at what you made.”

Memory flashes—he brings his son back down to rest beside his daughter on your lap, two moonshine miracles side by side. “Look at them, kepus,” you whisper, spellbound. “Look at what we made”—and his lungs constrict. You make to lift the child up, but the movement jostles his head off its perch, and it rolls to the ground to stop by his feet. He cannot move. He is frozen, horrified.

You smile, tucking the headless corpse under your chin. Gore pulses against your throat as your chin settles to the yawning maw of the child’s open neck. You rock in your seat, a faint squelch each time your shifting weight disturbs the sodden cushion beneath you.

“I love him,” you whisper, lips pressing to where flesh meets innards. Your mouth comes away red. “I love him so much.”

Daemon awakens with a yell. He swallows once, twice, and then—

He leans over the side of the bed, retching violently. When it is over, he curls up on his side, shaking, staring at his hands. They are wet with blood.

It does not take long for terror to settle in his bones like a longtime companion. It follows him each day, in every waking moment, manifesting in strange visions that he knows—he knows—must be untrue, cannot possibly be real, and yet… And yet. There is a sort of verity in them.

Dark Sister feels like a leaden weight at his hip as he stalks the keep, a reminder of his earlier encounter with Rhaenyra. Only she was not the Rhaenyra he knows, and instead a strange sort of blend of child-queen, the face of the girl peering out accusingly from under her father’s too-large crown, exclaiming all manner of hurt as she stepped from the Iron Throne upon which she perched.

“You put me on that throne. And you love me, and you hate me for it. You created me, Daemon. Yet you are now set on destroying me. All because your brother loved me more than he did you.”

And, without warning, he had taken his blade up in arms and struck off her head, a puppet on strings pulled by another. As her body fell, it morphed into the boy again. Jaehaerys. The child he had murdered. He heard your humming even while Simon Strong’s voice filtered through his unconscious mind, alerting him of the raven that just arrived.

The healer woman’s concoctions have helped little. He still wakes to strange noises, still finds himself stalking after his monstrous one-eyed nephew down the halls, only to find that it is himself he is pursuing. He hears the words you yelled at him in that last great quarrel— “get away, leave before you turn on us and murder us like you murdered that boy”—interspersed with the sound of your screams, and perhaps they are the screams you let out when birthing his children, or perhaps they are screams of a different kind, a version of himself making good on the implication of your words, steel in hand and pursuing his love, his life, his blood—

These figments blur with reality to the point that he becomes unsure of what is before him and what exists only in his head to haunt him. He comes to dread the resting hours, only to find their horrors bleeding into daylight. Whatever strange power has come to roost in his mind serves only to bring him torment.

Perhaps this is why he is not immediately suspicious when he comes face-to-face with you once more.

You stand by the window, the dim light filtering weakly over your bare form. Your back is to him, curls spilling to brush the tops of your buttocks. Their gentle sway—the barest kiss to your skin—is tantalising, and his mouth dries even as he watches your neck crane, sly smile tossed back over your shoulder at him.

“Daemon,” you beckon. Like a cuntstruck fool, he is helpless to resist the call.

His hands settle to the familiar divots of your waist, up and up and up to cup the fullness of your tits. You lean into him, a quiet huff of pleasure escaping as his fingers squeeze and his lips fall unbidden to the slope of your jaw. He inhales deeply, stirred even now by the simplicity of your scent, a throbbing line straight to his groin. You turn in his hold, nose nuzzling against his chin.

“You were right,” you say, eyes shining. “You were always right.”

He is under some enchantment, surely, for he is incapable of coherent speech. All he can do is feel the satisfaction heat his veins, allow it to tug at the corner of his mouth. I knew it, he thinks. I knew her will would bend eventually.

You speak still, even as he backs you toward the bed. “Papa was weak. Rhaenyra is weak. Only you are the true blood of the dragon.”

You shift backward onto the mattress, legs parting invitingly. The split of you opens, revealing flushed folds and the teasing glimmer of want, shining slick for his hungered gaze.

“Fearless”—your hand trails down your belly, fingers tracing around your pearl—“brave”—you venture lower, pressing teasingly at your cunt, your lip caught between your teeth—“strong.”

Daemon drops to his knees before you, tongue licking through the spill and catching on your finger. He bullies it out of the way, arms locking around your thighs as he gluts himself on the sweet tang of you, senses clouding and narrowing to a singular point of existence. You grip his hair, the arches of your feet digging against his back.

“It is not my place to question you,” you breathe, twisting and writhing with his ministrations. He watches your face, enraptured by the toss of your head and the shape of your lips as they form moan after moan. Your release is quick, a final sobbing yelp followed by a flood of slick warmth. When your eyes reopen, they are blazing with reverence. Reverence for him. Your knees flex up, your lower half folded almost to your chest. Your cunt contracts, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly. “I live to serve you, my king.”

His head feels heavy as he rises just barely to crawl over you. He frowns. When he lifts his hand to extricate yours from his hair, he finds not flesh, but cool metal. A crown.

“My king,” you coo below him.

Your surroundings are changed. It is not the meagre offerings of Harrenhal that frame you now, but the sumptuous trimmings of the king’s chambers in the Red Keep, only brighter, more lavish than they ever have been. Jewels sparkle at your throat, in your hair, at your wrists. The sheets are molten gold against your silver-pale, and you wind your hips up at him provocatively, catching his cockhead against your opening.

“You belong on the throne, husband,” you say, fist closing around his shaft and pumping once, twice. You lead him back to the core of you, nudging him just inside. “Uncle. My love. And I belong at your side—at your feet—under your body.”

“My queen,” he gasps, driving forward with a grunt, and oh, he has missed you, missed this, missed the clutch of your walls like a mother’s embrace and the sound of your breathy cries as he plunges deep. Plunges home.

“My king,” you call out, rising into him with unrestrained abandon, precious gems clinking frantically with each fevered hitch of his hips against yours. “My lord. My master. I was made for you.”

“Yes…”

“Chain me to this bed, my king.” Your spine arches toward him, hands grabbing for his own and leading them above your head. He takes this for the encouragement it is, pinning your wrists to the pillow and rutting harder. You shout, elbows flexing to no avail. “Give to me my purpose. Give me your heirs.”

He is helpless to stop the noises escaping his mouth, feral and uninhibited, fucking with near painful intent. You take it all, curving yourself deeper, holding yourself more open so that he may lay claim to his conquest. As only a king can.

“And when I have birthed one,” you say, though now it is more a prolonged keening sound, “give me another. Never stop. Oh! Make me—make me take it—”

He does not know if he is imagining it or if it is happening before his eyes, but he can see it: ruling the Seven Kingdoms, sitting the Iron Throne the way his brother never could, striding down the halls of the keep as the commons bow and scrape to their sovereign, bursting into his chambers after small council to find his queen, to find you where you always are, naked in his bed and belly round and leaking milky white between your thighs, for it is his kingly law that the only part you play here is this, waiting for him to find you and fuck you and fill you and keep you, his little niecewifequeenpet—

He snarls, pulsing and burning. You squeal as he pushes past onslaught and straight to violence, bodies colliding so forcefully that his bones ache and his brain feels like jelly wobbling in his skull. What leaves his mouth can only be bestial in nature now. “I’ll make you—”

“Yes, make me take it until I cannot. Until my cunt is ruined by you.” He feels his end rushing up with every word you wail, his joints locking and grinding and gut roiling with the anticipation of it. “Until my womb is destroyed. Until I bleed myself dry, my king. Only for you.”

“Wha—”

The horror of it escapes him, for it is too late: the release crashes on him like a tidal wave, shoving him below its surface and imprisoning him in its current. He makes a noise like a wounded boar, chasing through the high despite the alarm in his mind, so at odds with the soaring rhythm in his loins.

You laugh, tilting welcomingly to receive him. “Make me bleed, my king. Make me bleed like my mother.”

It is enough to chill the heat in his blood to ice, destroying any semblance of enjoyment. But he cannot stop the unsteady eking out of what remains of his peak. He tries, but he cannot stop.

“No,” he says, a contradiction to the enthusiasm of his flesh prison. “No, no, I cannot. No—”

“What do you mean?” you ask, a strange quality to it. A duality. It crystallises into something comprehensible with every word that comes from your lips. All at once, it is not your voice he hears, but something much higher, younger, blending and overlapping with the cadence he recognises. “You already have.”

He looks down as he makes his final groaning thrusts, only to feel his stomach drop through the floor. Your thighs are soaked in blood, his cock sluicing a path through it all the while. All that flesh covered in red, and he glances up, only to see that you are gone, you are replaced by someone so small, so frightfully small, and he realises you are not replaced, it is you, but it is a you he has not seen for well over ten years, eyes wide and frightened and gleaming like game stuck through by an arrow and taking its final breath.

Daemon rears back, but it is too late. You begin to cry. A dark patch spreads out from underneath your broken body, from where he had torn your fragile opening apart. What have I done? he thinks.

“It hurts, kepus,” you say. “It hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, fixed to stillness by revulsion. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

“But you did,” you insist, childish pout despite your obvious agony.

Your hands reach out, and he leans away, too horrified to touch you—and he doesn’t know if it is you or he that he is more afraid of in this moment—but you are not searching through the air for him, no. Instead, a bundled weight is settled in them, and you bring it into the crook of your arms, gripping it as though it is the most precious of objects. You smooth the fabric from the top of it to reveal a tiny head of silver hair. The babe gurgles and roots at your flat chest, absurd and awful.

“This is what you wanted,” you say, eyes filled with betrayal. “Am I going to die now, kepus?”

Your Grace…

He shakes his head, but he is no fool. You are too little to withstand the sheer volume of blood you have lost if the bedding is anything to go by. He feels it stain his legs. He feels it drying on his cock.

“Your Grace?”

“I will, though. I’m too young. You’ve killed me.” The babe begins to suckle, and you cry harder. Your body isn’t built for this task, not yet, not like this. He wants to protest, to tell you that this is not his work, cannot be, for he has and would never do something so foul, so wholly inhuman, that the you he has gotten with child has only ever been a woman grown, but it is like you know his thoughts for you scoff and say, “You’re lying to yourself. I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He stares down at you, immobile, unable to even think. The metallic scent of your life leaving you fills the air, floods his nostrils with stinging heat.

“… Your Grace?”

Daemon jolts, blinking. Ser Simon Strong looks back at him. “Is the duck not to your liking, Your Grace?”

All at once, you are gone. The king’s chambers are gone. He is not even within his dank chambers at Harrenhal. Instead, he sits at the table in what passes for the dining hall here, a plate full of food steaming before him. The smell makes him ill.

“There’s also goose, if you’d prefer…”

He swallows, trying to ground himself in the present. Voices waft all around him, but he finds it difficult to pay attention.

“I’m not hungry,” he says shortly. It sounds stronger than he feels.

A pause, and then—

Simon clears his throat, turning to his companions. “I was saying, given the rather dire news…”

Daemon tries to concentrate. He does. He knows the others are speaking of matters of utmost importance. Of  Rook’s Rest, of his nephew, of the war. But his mind can only turn over his encounter—his vision? His nightmare? Or is it merely truth finally unveiled to unworthy eyes?—with you, the last of your words haunting him near to madness.

“I was always too young. You just refused to see it.”

He has grown restless here, revolving between the frustration of securing an army from those who see naught in him but the very worst and the torment of these terrible visions that seek him out at their pleasure, heedless of his duty or desire. Tedium or terror—when he is entrenched in one, he wishes for the other, and there is always a sick sort of irony in the granting of said wishes. In truth, he is able enough to tolerate the resistance of these riverlanders, insulting as it is. The phantasms that pursue him have almost become too much to bear.

What is worse? The accusations from the mouth of a juvenile Rhaenyra, full of admonishments for the way he’d so thoroughly undermined her claim before she ever got the right to exercise it? The condemnations from Viserys, a retracing of steps trod so long ago, brought to life once more and forcing Daemon to relive the very worst of his brother? The boy’s laughter darting through the stone halls, an ominous prelude to the sickening sound of steel sawing through skin and the rolling of his head, landing always at the feet of the one responsible for his fate?

They are all bad enough as they are, but for the simple fact that they do not surprise him. Monster, they call him, and he wears the name well. In most all aspects, he is a monster. But never has he thought himself monstrous to you.

He has come to despise the sight of you here, sometimes docile and worshipful, sometimes angered and raving. Sometimes you appear as a siren come to lure him to iniquity, and like a fool he always falls into the trap. Other times, you are battered, caged, a shell of yourself. No matter how it begins, the end is always the same: bloodied, beaten, fading from the world, and it is always his hands he finds the cause of it in. A new reminder every time of all the ways he has thought of taking you, owning you, keeping you. Always, he thinks to save you—to protect you. Always, he destroys you.

Just as he thinks himself finally driven to the edge of all reason, the Rivers woman beckons him to the godswood.

“When you came here,” she says, “you were a closed fist. You wished to bend the world to your will. But you’ve discovered, I think, that… this world will not be governed. There are omens here for those who seek them.”

She pauses. The air seems to whisper, to creak in the dark. Daemon suppresses the urge to shiver. Her eyes move to him, an odd little quirk to her mouth. Amusement, he thinks. Or pity.

“You do not scoff?” she asks.

How can he, after all he has seen here? He has been brought to the very edge of sanity by these omens. What irony, it is, after the great complaints he has made of superstition in past weeks (and months, and years).

“I’m no longer inclined to,” is his short reply.

She laughs. “I’m pleased to hear it.”

She stops before the heart tree and turns to him, expression solemn.

“Do you wish, then, to learn what is given to you?” The answer must lie in his face, for he cannot do anything but stare, silent, tense. “All your life, you have sought to command your own fate”—she takes his hand—“but today, you are ready.”

Gentle pressure at his wrist, and something in him knows to move past her, to take those final few steps so that he is close enough to make out the details of the face carved into the wood. His arm raises by itself, acting on its own power, or perhaps some higher power, his fingers brushing bark and the hot pulse of… blood? But he has no time to truly question it for—

He is flying—

No—

He is a raven, staring at the face of a pale-haired man with a wine-dark stain on his face and he flies into the forest, towards an army, only there is something wrong with the soldiers, they are blue and their eyes glow ice-cold and their breath is frosted with death and their bodies carry the look of corpses stood upright once more—

And then the dragons are dead, all of them, the ground wet not with water but with blood and he walks through it, falls straight into the ground and he is drowning, steel plate armour dragging him down into the depths and he looks up at the sky—

A red comet bursts through the air, hot like fire, and he sees eggs embroiled in flame, a girl sat in ash cradling the bodies of three newly-hatched dragons, a whisper of a memory on the air, “we are the only ones able to bring the fire to life… It is the secret”—

And he is before the Iron Throne, suddenly silent.

Rhaenyra stands before the seat. Viserys’s crown is in his hands. She moves toward him, down the stairs of the throne. He hears her speak.

“From my blood…”

But she does not finish. A roaring conflagration engulfs her and she screams, twisting and warping before him, burning, only not, because you step from the flames, unburnt, voice mingling with that of your sister’s, a haunting echo.

“… come the Prince Who Was Promised…”

You are before him, taking the crown from his grasp and retracing the steps your sister took, and then you are stepping over a charred body, Rhaenyra, oh gods, and ascending the steps. You sit. You lift the crown. You place it on your head.

“… and his shall be the song of ice and fire.”

He is on his knees now, right on that final step at your feet. He feels the warmth of you as you bend forward, your palm caressing his jaw. You look otherworldly in the shadow, backlit silver and gold and wearing a king’s accoutrements far better than any of your predecessors.

“You know what must happen now, Uncle,” you say gently, kindly. “You know what you must do.”

He bows his head to kiss your ring—the seal of the king—no, the queen—and then wind is whistling in his ears, chilling him to the bone and spraying his hair about wildly, so much so that he can barely hear the words yelled at him by the boy sitting astride Vhagar.

“You have lived too long, nuncle.”

—and he wrenches away, panting, body collapsing before the heart tree like a puppet with its strings cut. The world comes back to him in fragments: the scent of dirt and woodlands, the sharp sting of cold, the ache in his muscles that has since settled like sludge at the bottom of a river, ever-present and persisting. Finally, finally, he withdraws with hands washed clean, free of his many sins.

At last, he has come to the crux of it. At last, he understands.

He sits at the base of the tree, stunned and overcome, as faint words slither on the breeze, a final knell from the liminal space of prophecy. Your name. A cheer.

“Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

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[bopero]

sunspots

summary - a collection of hamzah’s lack of self control when it comes to you. warnings - swearing, reader is a kpop stan lol note - hai :3 i have been so obsessed with hamzah lately i had to get it out of my system. this is a side blog as im too embarrassed to post on my main fic blog. enjoy and send ideas!

polycule reveal - out of character #100

The podcast starts like any other. Hamzah and Martin sit in the middle of the couch, with Mandy and you on either side of them. It’s the first episode that has you featured in it, and Hamzah is quick to settle any nerves you have with a soft smile and a squeeze of your shoulder. “So, yeah guys. There’s another member in our polycule now, this is Hamzah’s contribution.” Martin points towards you. Hamzah shakes his head, “Alright, bro…”. “Does that mean I get a share of the YouTube channel? Mandy, have they ever given you money?” Mandy clicks her tongue and continues in her deadpan voice, “Um, no. Basically they keep me in their dungeon until they need more views. I’d run away if I were you, honestly.” You pretend to look nervously between Hamzah and Martin, “Honestly I didn’t wanna say it but the basement Hamzah keeps me in is super gross.” “I don’t like this bit. Viewers, please be advised I do not keep my girlfriend in a basement for views. I don’t know about Martin, though.” “Dang it, first episode and they’re already making us look like idiots, Mandy. We need to try harder.”

becoming bts - out of character #104

The episode is you, Hamzah, and Martin. Hamzah is sat obviously much closer to you (which the comments are quick to mention, laughing at the lack of personal space he gives you.) “Yeah, a lot of the Slushies have been asking me if I’m a kpop stan. My ult bias-” Hamzah throws his hands into the air dramatically as he sees you pull a small photocard out of your wallet. A familiar face makes him groan loudly, “Oh, don’t even get me started on this fool! I am sick and tired of seeing him everywhere!” You proudly show off the photocard to the camera despite Hamzah’s childish complaints. Martin leans over to take a look at the photo in your hands, “Bro, what’s the big deal? Is this like challenging your alphaness?” You laugh loudly and Hamzah smiles, betraying the annoyed facade he’s putting on, “No! He just haunts me. She knows when his birthday is and shit and what he ate for breakfast that day, like bro,” he turns to you, pointing at you accusingly, “You don’t ask what I eat for breakfast.” Martin grabs his shoulder, as if to calm him down, “Bro. You know what this means. You have to defend your woman.” Hamzah turns to Martin and before you can question them, they begin singing together and waving their arms in the air, “Shoot dat boy in da head, shoot dat boy in da head!” The episode ends with you deadpanning at the camera as they chant beside you.

don’t play this game at 3 am (not clickbait!!!)

Martin and Hamzah had listened to their viewers, your first feature on the channel being in a Resident Evil gameplay. The comments are filled with ‘i slushed everywhere when i saw yn in the thumbnail’ and ‘hamzah holding onto yn everytime there’s a jumpscare boyy aren’t u supposed to b da man?’ You sit between the two men who both inadvertently curl into you as the creepy aura permeates outside the game as well. Martin dramatically holds onto his head as you shoot bullets into the grossly looking zombies on the screen, “Oh, god they’re gonna eat us out! Quick, grab more ammo!” “Ok, I don’t think they’re gonna do all that-” They both jump as a loud, sharp groan comes from the speaker. Hamzah in particular lets out his signature high-pitched scream. Martin seems to break character and laughs aloud as Hamzah shakes his head in embarrassment, turning away from the camera so it won’t catch the bright blush on his cheeks when you coo at him. “Aww, did you pee yourself?” Martin tries to speak through laughter, “I think you did, dude there’s a wet spot-” Hamzah quickly denies it, “Ok, stop lying to all the slushies, bro, I did not pee myself. I’m sick of this, turn off this trash ass game-” “It’s ok, babe. I’ll protect you, I’m your Leon.” Martin waves a blushing Hamzah over, “Yeah, come on you big baby. It’s not even that scary-wait don’t go in there-“

vacation

Hamzah had convinced you to create your own channel, due to the growing comments begging him to convince you to do so. You hadn’t expected much, but it’d at least be a nice way to share sweet memories between the two of you. The vlog starts with you sat in front of your vanity, as you complete your routine. You talk animatedly about the vacation you’re on with your boyfriend, mentioning the beautiful sights you’ve seen and the delicious food you’ve had so far. You don’t notice but Hamzah walks into the room, quietly sneaking into view when he notices you’re filming. He’s too sweet to scare you on purpose, so he only places the bag of food in front of you and waves towards the camera, “Hiii, it’s me, Hamzah. Remember me?” You push him out of frame, “Ew, get your big head out of here!” The bottom half of his body remains in frame as you look up at him from the seat, “What?! This is how youtubers act behind the camera guys, leave hate comments below, please.” He leans down to be to your level, staring longingly as you get ready. He imagines this is how it feels to watch art being made. You don’t notice his blatant staring, “Tell them how nice it is here.” He’s pulled out of his thoughts with your voice, “Yeah, it’s pretty sweet. Think we’ll bring our kids here cause kids like beaches. Right?” You both seem to forget the camera is even there as you turn to him, “We should take them to Legoland.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, “Really? That’s the best you got?” You give him a side eye that makes him laugh harder, “Ok, get out, this is my video.” Hamzah only waves at the camera before giving you a gentle kiss on top of your head and leaving. It’s barely in frame, but it’s enough to show the burning warmth he holds for you.

[onlinedolly]

SAVIOR COMPLEX 2

au where leon has a pretty little captive he thinks he’s saved

cw: manipulative leon, drug use, p in mouth, slight degradation, mentions of cum, obsessive leon, i think dats it folks

an: not proof read guys don’t kill me…..also this is dark/dd:dne content if you don’t like any of the tags above mentioned please do not partake in my content. as always MDNI!

Leon in his mind, was a perfect, downright good man. He was the star of his force, helped countless people a day, and saved you. Leon had swooped down and rescued you as if you were a baby bird with a clipped wing (at least that’s how he looked at it). And since then, the past four months in his home, Leon had never been so far on cloud nine.

People at work noticed, pushing into him and laughing asking if he had a woman at home that finally got that chip off his shoulder. And Leon would laugh and retort that he had ‘something like that.’

You were the definition of perfect, doe eyed and sweet waiting for him the waltz through the door like he always did and wrap you up in a big hug. It’d been a little over a few weeks since he let you free roam the home, trusting you since the outbursts had died down due to the pills he had you on.

When Leon got home that evening you were waiting by the door per usual as you heard the multiple locks turn. He came through the door smiling when he saw your tinier frame.

“Today was rough baby, come give me a hug, hm?” He spoke, holding his arms out as you wrapped yourself around him.

“Bet it was,” You spoke back, pliant and kind as ever, “I made dinner.” Leon could smell it then, the waft of spices flowing into the entry way.

“What a good, sweet, thing.” He smiled at you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Dinner went like it usually did, with Leon filling your head with all of the gruesome details of the day. “Bet you’re glad you’re here, yeah?” He always asked after he was finished which caused you to nod your head eagerly.

You were a kind thing, he knows he says that a lot, but it’s true. Always had dinner on the table, listened to him so eagerly as he talked and winched when he told you about the death he witnessed at work. And maybe, okay, Leon stretched the truth a bit. A majority of his day was actually filled with paper work and a minor domestic case that came down to a misunderstanding, but you didn’t need to know that.

After dinner, like always, like a good girl, you open your mouth wide as Leon places the pills onto your tongue, shoving his fingers into the back of your throat slightly making you gag. You swallow them dry before looking up at him with a hazy love filled look. He grabs your face between his big hand, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your glossy lips.

“Why don’t we watch a movie, yeah? You pick tonight.” He spoke when he pulled away, running his fingers through your hair.

Like a good girl you nod eagerly pulling him upstairs into his bedroom (where you always ‘watched movies’), Leon laughing and following along.

Once up to his room you put a movie on, one Leon didn’t particularly care about, as you climb into the bed next to him, curling up. He smiles, places his hand around your hip and he pretends to listen to whatever nonsense was playing on the screen. His big hand made circles into your hip causing you to mewl under his touch.

“Missed you so much today sweet girl,” He spoke, gripping your hip a little tighter as you let out a shiver at his touch.

“Missed you,” You spoke dismissively, too intrigued on the movie in front of you.

“Sounds like you didn’t miss me too bad,” Leon spoke, referring to the way you were more inclined to watch the movie then talk to the man who saved you.

You gasp, “I missed you terribly, you gotta believe me.” You spoke out, looking up at him with glossy eyes. So well trained, he thought to himself. He loved the way you shook like a dog at the slightest inclination that Leon seemed upset.

“Why don’t you show me how much you missed me?” He spoke, pulling you closer to him by your hip. You knew what that meant, what Leon wanted when he asked that question, and before Leon could repeat himself you had his belt buckle in your hand.

“What a dirty thing,” Leon degraded, leaning back in the bed as you fumbled around with his belt. After a few moments you moved on to his pants, letting him lift himself up as you worked them down his legs. His cock sprung out, hot and angry as you immediately took it into your hands.

“Shit, not that hard baby, tryin��� to kill your old man or somethin?” He speaks running his fingers through your hair and pulling. You ease up on your touch, stroking him slowly at first until he quips an eyebrow at you causing you to pick your pace up.

“God—“ He groans, pulling harder on your hair as you wince in pain, “Feels so fucking good, baby, put your mouth on it. Don’t leave me hangin’.” He speaks out, tapping your jaw as you open your mouth and place your glossy lips around his tip. “That’s more like it, baby. *Good.*” He groans out, running his hand down your neck and back and you begin bobbing yourself up and down on his cock.

You choke a bit, still a little inexperienced, as you attempt to take his full length. Leon was big and thick, making it hard to fully take him down your throat. Leon’s a moaning mess underneath you as you bob your head up and down on his cock, hollowing your cheeks out which earns a deep groan from him.

Leon, unlike his words was a rough man, groping your tits and pulling your hair as he begins to rock his hips into your mouth, laughing a bit as you gag around his cock.

“Sweet thing, can barely take it all, hm?” He pushes further into your mouth as he says it, pushing past the ring in the back of your throat making you sob. You feel like you’re going to throw up and pass out all at once, but oh so determined you still sucked him down greedily, massaging his balls in your small soft hands.

Leon had never felt so blessed to have a thing like you as he shoves your head down, his bush tickling your nose. He was going to cum soon, you could feel it in the way his hips stuttered, his pace into your mouth quickening and becoming sloppier.

When he cums he pushes your head all the way down and you feel the liquid spurt down your throat as you choke and cry out. You’re forced to swallow like always, as Leon smushes your face down against his pelvic bone.

“That’s it baby, take it all like a good girl,” He growls out.

Once done he yanks your head up by your hair roughly and you whine as he grabs your face with a big hand, “Betcha your so glad I took you in, hm? Where else you gunna get dick like me babydoll?”

Your voice is hoarse and comes out as barely a whisper as you speak out, “N-nowhere sir.” You whine out, falling into his body in exhaustion as he lets go of your head, wrapping his big arms around you.

“I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” He whispers as he places a kiss to the crown of your head.

“The bestest.” You whisper back, falling fast asleep into Leon’s arms.

Leon was a downright, honest-to-good man, a star in his force, and the man who picked you up and saved you.

[kayhi808]

Please feel free to ignore this if you have done this already but your recent post made my day that it’s got ideas HAHA. Thank you for sharing us this Bucky and his family!

Anw, what if it’s the reverse? Abby doesn’t really understand much of her mama and bucky’s dynamics but she knows, Bucky is her’s and mama’s. AND her mama is HER mama and bucky’s Doll. They belong with eachother. What would happen if there are scenarios where men or even young adults find her very attractive (she’s a milf like that) and/or talk abt her and flirt with her? Will she confront them like what she did with Megan’s mom? Or call help from Bucky? Or Both?

Thank you for this Ask! Abby doesn't like other men giving you attention either. In her brain, the 3 of you need to be together. No one is going to bust that up. Haha! Bucky may have to step in.😉

You and Abby are at a coffee shop waiting for Bucky. His meeting is running long and The Tower is just around the corner. You order yourself an iced tea and a juice for Abby. The young barista included a lemon cake when you picked up your order. "Oh, I didn't order this."

He winks at you and smiles, "It's on the house."

Blushing, you thank him and walk Abby to the benches outside. You catch Abby frowning at you. "What's wrong?"

"Who dat man?"

"A worker at the coffee shop "

"Why he winks at you like dis?" She blinks.

"I don't know, maybe because he was being sneaky and gave us a lemon cake."

With raised eyebrows "Did he steals it?"

Probably. "No, I'm sure he bought it for us. If you don't want it, I can eat it myself."

"No! I wants." Abby laughs and does a happy wiggle.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" You look up and a man is asking to sit on the the other side of the bench. You look around and you and notice most of the seats are taken. "Sure." You gather Abby closer to you.

He looks down at Abby, mouth sprinkled with crumbs. She just stares at him."That looks really good." Abby nods and wipes her mouth off on her arm. Looking back at you, "She's adorable."

"Thank you," you smile down at Abby.

"Like mother, like daughter." Abby frowns at that. "I'm Mike." He hold his hand out to you.

"Stranger danger, Mama!"

You bite your lip, holding back a smile. "You're right, baby."

Mike laughs, "Sorry. Smart girl. We can still talk and get to know each other so we aren't strangers."

"Bucky not liking that."

"Who's Bucky?"

"He's my Papa & he's big and strong and angry."

You laugh, "Baby! I'm sorry, I am seeing someone." To Abby, "Finish your cake."

Mike produces a business card, "If you change your mind."

"Mama not changing mind!" Abby mumbles around a mouthful of cake.

In the blink of an eye, the card is snatched out of Mike's hand. "Change her mind about what?"

Abby's face lights up with a smile, "Papa!" She launches herself off the bench before you can stop her. Bucky effortlessly snagging her mid air. The Winter Soldier glare never leaving poor Mike.

"He talk to Mama & she said she seeing someone so he try give her card. If she change her mind."

"is that so," looking at the card, "Michael?" Bucky flicks the card back at Mike and he flinches.

"S...sorry. It was a mistake." He quickly gets up to leave.

Abby cackles at his retreating back.

"Was that really necessary?"

Bucky leans down to kiss you, "Evidently it was." Turning to Abby, "Did you just call me Papa?" The Winter Soldier glare is no where to be found, but in its place is a look of joy and wonder.

"Yous my Papa Bear. Growly and scary," squeezing his face between her palms, "but I no needs be scared cos you my Papa. You scared them nots me."

"That's right, my girl. You never have to fear me." Bucky hold her close and presses a kiss to her forehead.

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05 @ozwriterchick @crazyunsexycool @baw1066 @nommingonfood

[alexisomnias]

—  "THEY WERE ROOMMATES" . . .

⤷ you’re their roommate!

featuring the DORMLEADERS

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Your Roommate who nags you like a housewife, always telling you to clean up your room, to always keep on top with etiquette. Even ruling “no elbows on the table!”

Your Roommate who knows all your favourite foods and makes you breakfast in excuse that “you need to stay healthy.”

Your Roommate who always makes unknowingly makes two servings of meals, ensuring you don’t starve.

Your Roommate who unconsciously stays up later then usual to ensure you return home

Your Roommate who gets all jealous whenever you bring someone home, you should’ve asked him first! (and just not… have them come over..!)

Your Roommate who wants to be as close to you that your lives intertwine and his friends are yours and vice versa…

Your Roommate who all his friends think you two are something more then just roomies. but noooo thats not true… right?

Your Roommate who buys a bunch of plants to take care of, and which results into you both being plant parents

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

Your Roommate who leaves everything on the floor, for you to pick up. You can barely even walk through the living room without tripping!

Your Roommate who will indeed beat a bitch up and risk imprisonment (he can buy his way out) if someone insults you

Your Roommate who mixes your laundry often so at this point its shared clothing

Your Roommate who throws away money for you at a moments notice, and will pay your side of the rent if you’ve been struggling.

Your Roommate who’s apparently a star athlete and who invites you to all of his games as a front row seat. (he looks for your face in the crowds of thousands)

Your Roommate who teases you about your meal plans, but never complains about the food. In fact he himself has asked you to cook him food.

Your Roommate who sleeps in your bed with you because “your mattress is way better.”

Your Roommate who gets grumpy when you show up home late, he might just get impatient and show up to your work too.

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

Your Roommate who you moved in with purely just because of cheaper housing

Your Roommate who runs a restaurant and never fails to bring home your favourite after work

Your Roommate who has a collection of shiny things he sometimes shares and gifts to you

Your Roommate who you have to cuddle with because he’s always cold and you guys are late on paying bills

Your Roommate who pays your half of the rent just so you can take him on a dat— dinner out to repay him

Your Roommate who you share an umbrella with when it rains because you guys only have one collectively bought?

Your Roommate who you go grocery shopping with because your food is his food and you share the fridge

Your Roommate who gets jealous whenever you go out on dates with people.. (your not dating though)

KALIM AL ASIM

Your Roommate who has unending energy and literally wants to do everything with you

Your Roommate who never fails to invite you out when hes going to a party, or hanging out with his friends. Regardless if your an introvert or extrovert.

Your Roommate who is so fucking rich you even wonder why tf he’s sharing an apartment with a broke kid like you???

Your Roommate who pays your half of the rent because he wants you to be happy

Your Roommate who gets you so many gifts you don’t have enough room! and the gifts are kind of romantic too???

Your Roommate who’ll buy you anything if you even stare at something a bit too long

Your Roommate who never fails to wish you a good morning and good night.

Your Roommate who says I love you even if you don’t say it back (does he mean it in a platonic or romantic way???)

VIL SCHOENHEIT

Your Roommate who is LITERALLY FAMOUS???

Your Roommate who does your makeup and hair in the morning! Girls Night vibes.

Your Roommate who when out shopping will buy clothing for you that he thinks you’d look good in (he knows your sizes too!!)

Your Roommate who always holds the door open for you, regardless of where you are. Its only polite

Your Roommate who nags you about your skincare and buys expensive products and teaches you how to apply them

Your Roommate who you share towels with sometimes, and stealing blankets from each others rooms

Your Roommate who has an entire photo album made for you both, with a picture wall in his room.

Your Roommate who gives you a backstage seating to all of his movies, and meet and greets (although you technically don’t have to ‘meet’ him, he just wants more time with you… in a friendly way!)

IDIA SHROUD

Your Roommate who almost never leaves his room except for food 😭

Your Roommate who you play games with into the dusk of night, and you two end up sleeping on each other

Your Roommate who probably picks up stray cats (if your allergic thats fine, he hides them.. since they’re not allowed in the building)

Your Roommate who is a streamer, and you accidentally enter his streamer life by entering his room and asking what he wants for dinner. (his audience ships you both HARD)

Your Roommate who payed for your Wondercord nitro

Your Roommate who you caught writing roommate fanfiction of you both with the ‘roommates’ tag.

Your Roommate who you’ll see at 3am because you coincidentally decided you want both a meal at the same time (you end up eating together)

Your Roommate who will binge your favorite animes, movies, etc) just to have talk about them with you because he knows you love them.

MALLEUS DRACONIA

Your Roommate who’s adoptive father figure put you and Malleus under the “and they were roommates” audio on twsttok

Your Roommate who you spend holidays with, because they’re always more fun by each others side

Your Roommate who makes up silly excuses just to be with you, he wants to do things and learn things about ‘commoner’ (ouch) life with you

Your Roommate who stares at you when you do ANYTHING around the house with so much love its hard to consider it platonic

Your Roommate who calls you over simple problems just because he wants to talk to you (he’ll literally call because his “phone won’t turn on.” “malleus it is on.”)

Your Roommate who pretty much has his own space in your room because he’s in there so much.

Your Roommate who’ll accidentally stretch your clothes because he wants to wear them because they smell nice.

Your Roommate who’ll laugh at any joke you tell even if its the dumbest one ever. you said it so its endearing.

[gotta-winwin]

(🎞️) ... hit the road docu.<> for you to walk comfortably

masterlist | cyana's masterlist

word count: 1k TW: fluff? nothing too crazy - woozi's segments pretty mild compared to what's about to go down („• ֊ •„) italics are interview moments cut between other scenes a/n: welcome to the first instalment of htr!

Cyana couldn't help but glance at Woozi when they won the Album of the Year at Asia Artist Awards. She wanted to see that glow of a smile flood across their producer member's face, a smile she so rarely got to see. He was usually so stoic around her.

"We won." Jeonghan breathed into her ear, pulling her and Dino in for a hug. "We won."

She looked at Woozi, who had been tugged into a group hug with Seungcheol and the others. "We won." She mumbled, mostly to herself. She couldn't quite believe it.

"It was hard to imagine we had won." Woozi said to the camera. "I was looking for Cyana the whole time, trying to see her reaction. I never thought we'd succeed with her next to us." He shrugged, a little sheepish. "Guess I was wrong."

"Hi!" Cyana waved to the camera. "We're practicing for our Osaka concert right now." She moved to show the members with the staff in the background. "Apparently they did this all last tour as well, to keep in line with the local staff."

Woozi could be seen directing the bulk of it, naturally taking over as he knew most about their sound design.

"It sounds a bit lower," Woozi said into his mic. "can we adjust that?"

"It was amazing, to see Woozi oppa controlling the stage, even when we weren't performing." Cyana smiled as she recalled. "It made it even harder to hold a grudge."

Woozi approached Cyana as they sat in the green room, two hours before the concert. She was busy eating, her phone propped up as she watched Criminal Minds on low volume.

"Your mic pack's acting up." He informed her, sitting down opposite her. "They're fixing it but we don't know how long it'll take."

Cyana paused her show, looking up worried. "Is there a spare?"

"The staff are finding one now." Woozi let out a loud sigh. "It's a bit hectic today."

"I was kind of checking everything that day. It wasn't that I was a perfectionist. There was just a lot of changes. It was a different size stage, we had changed formations and cue sheets." Woozi recalled the day.

Cyana nodded after hearing the interviewer's comment. "I don't think our performance in Osaka would've gone as well if it hadn't been for his attention to detail."

LOCATION: UNIVERSE FACTORY

"I spend most of my time at the studio. It's like my second home." Woozi explained. "It's also where I see Cyana the most."

Cyana's sprawled on the studio couch, face facing the ceiling as she listened to the track Woozi was playing. "Pause it." Cyana sat upright, her face in thought. "Wait, go back a few bars."

"I liked working with Woozi oppa. We didn't really have much to say to each other outside of work, but working on music was something that could bring us together." Cyana let out a tiny laugh. "I guess being sleep deprived does bring people together."

Woozi rewinds the track, bringing it back to the chorus. "Here?" He asked, looking at Cyana for confirmation.

The girl nodded. "Yeah, play it again?"

The two grew silent as they concentrated on the beats. Cyana stood up suddenly frowning. "What is that sound in the very back? The dat-dat-dat-dun." She mimed drumbeats as she tried explaining what she was hearing.

"Cyana didn't know how to work the sound mixing board yet, she was learning as we worked but I could tell it frustrated her, having to explain her thoughts to me." Woozi couldn't help but smile. "It was endearing, I have to say."

"I know what you mean." Woozi nodded, following her train of thought. "I hear it too. Must've altered when we mixed those two beats together yesterday." He clicked a few keys on the board. "I'll find it."

"Bumzu sunbaenim told me Woozi oppa's always been like this, even as a trainee. A pure musical genius." Cyana shook her head in mild disbelief. "I came to learn that producing is literally his entire life. He doesn't even think of it as anything special."

Cyana let out a yawn, sitting back down on her spot at the corner of the couch, curling her legs up. "You should take a break, oppa. You've been staring at that screen for hours."

"I felt bad, that I couldn't hold my fair share of the work. Sometimes it felt like I was just directing him." Cyana admitted. "I thought: he must feel annoyed, having the maknae throw ideas into his area of expertise."

Woozi stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders back. "I'm fine, Cyana. We can keep going." Rolling his chair across the room, he opened the mini fridge and threw her a bottle of water before taking one for himself. "We'll forget tomorrow."

Cyana could only smile ruefully at his persistence, taking a small sip of water. "Only if you're sure."

"What else can I say?" Woozi shrugged. "The members all say I work too hard. That I should be sleeping more, going out more, living more. But I am living- when I'm making music."

Woozi cued up the track once again, sifting through it to find the error both he and Cyana could hear. Cyana watched from behind, feet tapping absentmindedly to the rhythm.

The concert venue held an insane amount of people. Cyana could only stare out into the vast sea, smiling from the sidelines as Woozi started his Opening Ment.

"I'm a stickler for routine." Woozi said, elbows on his knees as he explained to the interviewer. "Cyana proved to me new things can be better than the old- and I'm grateful to her for that." He side eyes the staff. "She won't see this, right?" Looking back at the camera, he continued. "Anyways, I'm thankful for my members because they are the ones who love my music the most. Because of that, I feel no pressure in creating, only joy."

The cheers from the crowd washed over Woozi as he performed with his members.

'There is something so special about seeing people enjoy your group's music. And it is even more special knowing you created it."

a/n: wahhh first hit the road ep done! it was def a journey, trying to combine cyana into the episode and also keeping it woozi-centered. I tried following the format of the og youtube docu- lmk how it was! these instalments might be on the shorter side just cause the docus are pretty short themselves (｡•́��•̀｡)

[obeymestory]

I don't know if you do these, but could you make a scenario of the demon brothers taking care of MC while they're pregnant with their kid?

Of course!! I was kinda waiting for someone to ask me to do one of those things. <3

Warning!!: Slight mature mentions!! Hope you enjoy this though my dear lambs.

✒ Lucifer 🖋

Would be shocked at the first mention of you being pregnant, asking you to take a test to confirm the pregnancy if you hadn't already, then putting his hand on your belly and feeling a huge sense of admiration towards you for carrying his child, as well as a huge sense of responsibility.

Would do his best to make sure you're always comfortable.

Would help you downstairs even when you're just a few weeks along.

Would probably have you near his desk on something comfortable while he does his paperwork so he could be there immediately if your water were to break.

Would think your food cravings were strange but would fetch the food for you immediately.

Always pick things up for you, even if you just dropped something.

Probably be more stressed in the delivery room than you were because of him wanting everything to go smoothly, and because he's worried about you and your guys' baby. "What's taking the doctor so long?" (Referring to the doctor being late, you're the highest priority to him.)

Have Barbatos make you tea every night to help you relax, especially when you start having contractions.

Would rest his hand gently on your belly while you're napping near him, happy to be the father of a new soul.

Probably wouldn't have coitus with you until he knew it was alright, and even then he would make sure to be gentle, resting his hand on your belly while he pleased you, mainly only focusing on your satisfaction.

Be more focused on you to the point where Diavolo or his brothers would have to do some of his paperwork while he took care of you.

When the baby kicks he immediately rests his head gently on your belly, having a small smile on his face as he remembered that he helped make such a lovely being. "I can't wait to meet you."

💰 Mammon 💸

Would think that you were messing with him at first upon telling him about your pregnancy with his child.

Always wanting you not to be too active and to constantly be comfortable.

Would instantly fetch your cravings and not question them.

Would rest his hand on your belly and rub it every now and then when you both were spending quality time together, especially when watching movies.

Would talk to your belly like the baby was able to listen, mostly complaining about how the baby was making you feel during pregnancy. "Why ya' always gotta make yer' mommy throw up, huh? She's doing all this work for ya', so ya' better be a good kid when ya' come out."

Would freak out as soon as you said your water broke, rushing to get you the care and doctors you needed.

Would probably try stacking poker chips on your belly, considering it both quality time for you and your guys' baby.

Would worry about you during contractions, pouting the whole time and asking if he could do something to ease the pain.

If you were to suggest coitus to him, he would accept immediately, then process what you said and ask if it's okay to do while you're pregnant. He'd be rough or gentle for you as long as you and the baby were safe. "Yes! ...Wait- is dat' okay for us to do?"

Would constantly ask if you were okay, and if you weren't he'd comfort you to the best of his abilities.

When having hot and cold flashes he'd probably fan you with a wad of cash or wrap his arms around you to warm you up.

🪼 Leviathan 🍡

Would think that you're pranking him at first as you said that you were pregnant with his baby, then once you confirmed that it wasn't a prank he'd tear up and hug you happily. "Not funny Y/N... you shouldn't joke like that... w-wait... r-really? I'm gonna be a daddy? *sniffles happily*"

Would cuddle you constantly and hum anime intros as he rubbed your belly, picturing showing your guys' baby a bunch of anime as soon as they were born.

If you were to suggest coitus he would be extremely hesitant to agree, and he would only finger you or eat you out.

Would turn on your favorite anime while you were having mood swings.

Would not know what you meant when you said; "my water broke" and would gasp and instantly call out for his brothers to help you as he made you all comfortable. "Hmm..? Your water broke? What does that mean? O-oh... OH!! The baby's coming!! GUYS- THE BABY'S COMING!!!!-"

Would caress your belly as you had contractions, giving you a worried expression.

Would probably suggest names for the baby first, and the names would be based on anime characters you like, not what characters he liked, what characters YOU like.

Would let you play video games when you had more severe mood swings, like extreme anger.

If it came to it, he wouldn't be mad if you ended up accidentally throwing up in his tub-like bed, he'd clean it up and start putting a little trash bag near you so it wouldn't happen again.

Would buy you a whole new bed so you weren't uncomfortable laying in his tub-like bed.

Would gasp as he saw the baby kick, asking if that hurt you or made you uncomfortable.

📚 Satan 🐈‍⬛

Would blink as you told him you were pregnant with his child, he would promptly close his book and blush deeply, still taking a full minute to process what you just said then get up and pull you into a tight yet careful hug. "You have no idea how happy I am."

Would read a bunch of books on human pregnancy, wanting to know how to take care of you during the next nine months.

Would have a good idea on how parenting goes, but would still check out a bunch of books from the library about parenting just in case there was something he didn't know.

Would read you a bedtime story every night, keeping one of his hands on your belly as he read from his book.

If you were to suggest coitus he would agree, having learned that it's beneficial during childbirth, and wanting to satisfy your needs as much as possible, being gentle and sensual the entire time.

Would pick everything up that you were to drop, hold the door open for you, and help you down the stairs without hesitation.

Would suggest healthier foods if you were to ask him to go get certain things you were craving, but would abide by your wishes.

Would already be prepared for you to throw up, keeping a trashcan nearby you at all times.

Would make sure you're laying on your left side whenever you would take a nap or go to bed.

Would put both of his hands on your belly as the baby kicked, being extremely happy, especially if the baby would constantly move, knowing that it meant the baby was healthy. He did feel bad that you were uncomfortable every time the baby moved though.

Would have you in the royal medical room as you reached your last month of pregnancy, wanting to be entirely prepared, and remaining beside you no matter what, even if you were to say that you were fine and he could go do his usual things. "No. I'm not leaving you both whatsoever."

Since he was a straight A student he could just skip school to take care of you.

💄 Asmodeus 💅

Would gasp and widen his eyes, covering his mouth at the revelation of your pregnancy, squeaking happily and kissing you lovingly, immediately suggesting name planning. "Oh my goodness!! We need to start thinking of names!!~"

Would agree to coitus, but would be gentle, he'd also do it as many times as you wanted.

Would massage you every night, especially your breasts since he knew they were producing milk and were gonna be sore soon.

Would wash you in the bath and take care of all your self care needs.

Would hold your hair back carefully as you threw up.

Would shower you with compliments, especially when your belly starts growing in, knowing you might be insecure about yourself due to your body changing but saying that he loved you no matter what. "Oh hon. You're gorgeous... especially your skin. It's so radiant and youthful, I'm so jealous~"

Would whisper sweet nothings and comfort you as you cried or had mood swings.

Would design a HUGE baby shower for you both.

Would paint his and your nails to the color the gender was revealed to be.

Would record a video of the baby kicking, happy tears welling up in his eyes as he replayed the video over and over, asking for your permission to post it on Devilgram.

Would kiss all over your belly and murmur a soft "I love you~" to your belly every night before murmuring the same thing in your ear.

Would help you to the hospital gently and carefully, holding your hand all through labor and giving you little whispers of encouragement the entire time.

💪 Beelzebub 🍔

Would take a whole six minutes to process you telling him that he made you pregnant. "Wait-....Really? We're having a baby?"

Would carry you everywhere and anywhere, no questions asked. The bathroom, downstairs, the kitchen, the delivery room, etc!! (He'd even wake up to help you to the bathroom.)

Would not mind your food cravings, but he's making you eat a bunch of healthy stuff afterwards if your food craving wasn't healthy.

Would watch your belly with sparkles in his eyes as the baby kicked, putting both of his hands on your belly. (It's like that gaze he gives whenever he sees food.)

Would love to go out and buy baby stuff with you, especially baby clothes.

Would place a piece of his meal on your belly, calling it; "Feeding the baby."

If you were to ask to have coitus during your pregnancy, he'd put his hand on your belly and get worried about the baby, needing you to tell him it was good for the baby beforehand, and he'd do it rough or gentle for you, just as long as the baby was okay.

Would pick up everything for you, carrying everything you were attempting to carry, and holding the door open for you if you did convince him that you were okay to walk instead of being carried everywhere by him

Would let you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed during labor, staying beside you no matter what and giving you encouragement just after the doctors do.

Would probably give you hot or cold food when you were having hot or cold flashes. He'd give you cold food when you were hot, then hot food when you were cold.

Would immediately learn to start carrying a vomit bag around for you just in case, rubbing your back as you threw up.

Would get scared at first once your mood swings started happening, feeling guilty until you or one of his brothers reassured him that it was part of pregnancy.

🌌 Belphegor 💤

Would gasp as soon as you said you were pregnant, diving down and resting his head on your belly for a while, nuzzling against your skin and having a dorky lazy smile on his face, knowing you were carrying his baby.

Would definitely join you for naps, offering to massage your chest before he used them as pillows.

Would definitely use your belly as a pillow at one point, listening for movement with his ear pressed against your skin.

Would definitely help you make a nursery, "testing" the baby's bed to make sure the baby would be comfortable. "Hmm? Oh. I'm making sure the bed is okay for our baby. Would you like to join me?"

Will always make sure you're comfortable and laying on your left side when sleeping.

If you were to suggest coitus he would do it very gently, knowing that you were more sensitive now and treating you very delicately.

Would hum or sing soft lullabies to you and the baby to help you fall asleep.

Would probably become more clingy during this time, helping you everywhere and caressing your belly whenever he had the chance.

Wouldn't mind your mood swings, offering his body pillow to punch if you ever got angry to the point where you needed to blow off some steam.

During labor he'd ask Beel to help carry you as he comforted you all the way to the delivery room, caressing your hand as you squeezed his hand for dear life.

Would probably suggest some constellation related names. "Maybe Cygnus? For a boy. Or... Andromeda? For a girl?"

(Hope you enjoyed this!! My ask box is still open, so feel free to ask or send anything!!~)