#i mean the only positive of this was like

[kianamaiart]

Hey hey! You’ve probably been asked this a lot but what made you want to start creating I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl?

Also I drew Akia in my style!

Hope you’re having a great day btw ! :0)

First of all this is so rad!!! I loooove how you drew her

And what made me want to make I Don't Want to be a Magical Girl... It was a lot of things! (im assuming you mean the pilot in general)

The idea started off as a stupid doodle/character design practice. It wasn't gonna be anything more than that. I just felt like drawing a cute character with a gun really hahaha.

It's not a particularly original premise and I didn't plan to do anything more with her (as I do with most of my ocs/designs). But I actually did really like this one and couldn't help but think of little ideas and scenarios with her. Things started ramping up in my brain more when I realized I could attach a personal story and personal experiences to it to make it feel less cliche. That's when I started designing the other characters and coming up with bios and stuff

And then that was gonna be it again. I'd maybe do a comic here and there but there was a combination of things that happened that led to me jumping in and making a pilot.

First of all, I had a two month hiatus coming up so I had so much time. I also decided to step down from my directors position to be a board artist again in the coming season. So I really wanted to get some storyboarding practice in and what better way to do that than with this character I ended up really liking? I also don't have a portfolio and I'd been wanting to make something that's very me rather than my work from an existing show.

I'd offhandedly mentioned to my editor at disney that I wanted to do a board for these characters and she told me she'd help me make an animatic if it ever came to that. I couldn't pass up that opportunity! Now, since it was gonna be an animatic and I didn't want it to just be my scratch, I reached out to a bunch of VA friends to see if they'd be interested and they were!

Then other than having that support, just seeing my friends work on their own personal projects has been really inspiring and made me want to also do my own thing! Me and my friend group had just made a whole video game for our friend as a bday present which was so creatively fulfilling and made me realize like "oh my god we're artists we can literally just make stuff".

In the past I'd been so afraid to share my original work and for similar fears I've never wanted to showrun despite having the opportunity to pitch. While it's flattering to be wanted there was this pressure that felt like "oh you HAVE to make something, you're wasting your talent otherwise." (lol this is ironically the thesis of idwtbamg). And as a qpoc, i'd felt this extra layer of pressure to have to make something perfect on all fronts because if i fail in any capacity, i'm failing my community. it'd just be another another reason for people to say "ah queer media and work centering poc just can't succeed." then on the other end, i can only do and write what i know and feared that other people in my community wouldn't resonate with it or would feel like it's inaccurate to their own experiences.

but that's an exhausting way to feel and i've finally decided for myself that i'm just gonna tell stories that are authentic to me and it will reach whoever it needs to reach~ this realization was kind of the final step i needed to push myself to go all in. and now we're here!

[riddlesrose]

kissin him stupid

w/ the housewardens

in which you were recently gifted a tube of lipstick from grim, you're unsure of where he got it or why he decided it's yours now but it's given you a fantastic idea.

(he probably stole it from vil somehow and wants to place the blame on you..)

note; malleus' is the shortest but the most full of love i swear to goooood but the post itself is quite long

if riddle could form a proper sentence right now, he might scold you for slacking off, or breaking rule six hundred and seventeen, or he may just ask you to do it again. if colours could speak, his face would scream in comparison to the red accents in the housewarden’s room, uniform and matching hair. 

you attempt to keep a sober expression but he seriously cannot be so flustered by a single kiss? the red lip stain on his cheek is bright against the flush of his cheeks, as he sputters vowels and consonants, attempting to speak, to protest, to ask you what in the queen’s name are you doing.

you invited riddle over to the ramshackle dorm under the guise of needing help with studying, but you had this motive the entire time. riddle could feel your rebel to his help and directions if he ignored the obvious fact you hadn’t even cracked the spine of your book yet (to be fair it was only assigned today, and it was a new book), and the devious smile you attempted to hide until now. 

riddle took a breath, finally feeling sensible enough, “what… was that.” 

“affection, riddle. this isn’t new.” you shot, tone dripping in sarcasm. 

“yes, my rose, i know that. i mean,” he grabs hold of your uniform tie, drawing you closer, “what’s with the lipstick?” your head probably could have exploded, where did this riddle come from and how can he be drawn out more often?

you press a swift kiss to riddle’s other cheek, thanks to the proximity. “i have no explanation,” you press another kiss onto his forehead, “i simply was gifted it,” a kiss to his temple, “this morning.” the grip riddle has on your tie loosens completely as it falls back onto your chest, slightly wrinkled from the force. 

“i just had this ironed!” you frown. 

“i-i’ll get it done again.” riddle stands, brushing invisible dust off his jacket, though nothing could distract from the shade of pink that covers his face. 

“you’ll iron my tie for me? how kind.” you wrap an arm around riddle’s waist, pulling him close. he drops his forehead against your chest with a thud, inaudibly mumbling to himself. 

you wrap your other arm around him as he takes your face between his hands, slightly squishing into your cheeks he drags your face to his height, kissing you feverishly. 

“where did this riddle come from? i like him.” 

“i just felt… bold i suppose.” riddle’s red tinted lips smile against yours.

“do it again!”

leona stirs underneath you. you’re sat, straddling either side of his hips, weight pressed on his defined torso. leona doesn’t know it but you’ve practically trapped him where he sleeps. where he’s asleep currently, that is. in your dorm. 

on your couch.

using your pillows, taking in the setting sun like a true feline, though you would never dare utter the word feline anywhere near him lest you face the wrath of a moody boyfriend. 

you silently laugh to yourself, leaning down and pressing your lips on the prince’s temple.

leona stirs again at that, attempting to roll over – he cracks an eye when you gasp. slowly, coming to his senses, he furrows his brows at your positioning. you weren’t there when he fell asleep, when did you do that, and why are you sitting on him with half of a sinister smile across your lips…

and when did your lips turn red? he brings a hand up to rub his face, trying to shake the sleep out of his fogged mind, but you catch his hand before it makes contant. 

“don’t, it’ll mess up all my hard work,” you say with a half hint of embarrassment. (just a hint; only because you were caught before you could slip away undiscovered.)

leona’s confusion increases, as he detaches your hand from his wrist. he takes his freed hand up to your lips and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, smudging it further across the line of your lip.

he inspects his red finger, “is this… lipstick?” you purse your lips in an attempt to stifle the laugh that bubbles in your chest. he looks ridiculous; eyes half lidded, nose crunched in focus and red marks painting his face.

your tinted lips curl upwards slightly into a smug grin, “maybe?” if leona knows one thing, it’s smug grins. he matches yours and wipes his thumb on your cheek, smearing the lipstick off his thumb and onto your skin. 

you playfully swat his hand away and lean down to continue painting your masterpiece, placing another kiss on his skin – onto the spot between his eyebrows. leona’s hand find your hip, giving a teasing pinch to the side. 

leona may be a prince used to some pampering, but this is some treatment he could get used to. 

azul has a finger in every pie, as riddle likes to say. you’re very much aware of that as your boyfriend likes to talk your ear off about his investments, new opportunities and the lounge. you’re so very proud of all of his hard work but sometimes he gets off on a tangent that doesn’t stop until you make him. usually with a kiss. it flusters him just enough that he forgets what he was going on about and it works every time. 

this time, however, was a bit different. azul didn’t take notice of the hue change of your lips as you leaned in and shut him up. drawing back, you snicker at his pursed lips and flushed cheeks, and the red lipstick smeared around his lips.

azul peeked in your direction, curious. you usually find it funny when he’s flustered like this but you were laughing a little too much. he noticed the messy red lipstick and furrowed his brows, wiping a finger across his lips. 

you suppressed a smile as you watched him curiously examine his stained finger, “it’s lipstick.” he concludes. 

“well… obviously? i thought that would have been pretty clear,” you grab his hand, wiping the red off of his finger. 

before azul can retort you lean in to kiss him again; anywhere you can get your lips on before he shells himself away, utterly embarrassed. a kiss to his cheek, jaw, forehead, nose, other cheek, forehead again, has him sputtering, almost begging to be released. 

azul places his free hand on your shoulder, trying to push you away while laughing between breaths. when you do back up, leaning back on your hand, he almost looks sad. (as if he wasn’t actively trying to get you off!) 

“so, mister ashengrotto? feeling loved and appreciated yet?” you give him a toothy grin, watching as his face contorts from flustered to even-more-flustered. (if that’s possible.)

“well yes! i dare say i’m feeling very valued and cherished as well.” despite his rosy features, his voice is unwavering, full of conviction. 

his confident, put-together outer layer completely melts away when you’re alone with him, but this has him absolutely on fire, a feeling no number could replace. numbers can’t give affection, you give it tenfold in their stead. 

kalim’s permanent grin widens when you claim you’ve got a gift for him. he expectantly holds out his hands, making you shake your head. 

“it’s more of an eyes closed kind of gift,” you start, kalim instantly squeezes his eyes shut. he puts so much trust in you that you worry jamil has eyes everywhere. everywhere. but you brush the jesting idea away, believing that you wouldn’t even be allowed on scarabia grounds if jamil didn’t trust you with the housewarden. 

you turn to a nearby mirror, passing the tube of red lipstick over your lips. the smooth makeup applies nice and neatly. (doesn’t matter because you know it won’t be neat for long.)

you step back over to where kalim’s sitting on the edge of his bed, standing between his knees. he’s waiting not-so patiently, he looks like he’s almost vibrating, is he really that excited? you suppress a smile as you gently grab onto his jaw, tilting his head to the side as you press your lips to his cheek. his laughter immediately fills the room, making you press more kisses over his face. one to his forehead, one on the nose, another on the other cheek, his temples, and anywhere you can get before he’s laughing too much, pushing you away.

“it tickles,” he heaves a breath, “stop!” a wider smile grows on his face after seeing yours, the red lipstick you applied had smudged around your lips, looking not-so neat. his face isn’t much better, tan skin littered in red kisses.

while you’re mentally retaining the image of kalim covered in red lip marks, you notice him looking more intently at you. you raise a brow, curiously.

“my turn, give it here!” he reaches a hand out, expecting the tube of lipstick?

you look at him bewildered, “what?” 

“my turn!” he repeats. he seems real set on returning the ‘gift’ it seems. kalim’s all smiles as you hand him the black tube. he exposes the stick and passes it over his own lips, tossing it aside and pulling you down to his seated height. he flattens his lips across the expanse of your face, getting at any skin he can just like you did to him. 

when he deems he’s finished, you’re dazed and equally covered in red lipstick stains, smiles wide across your faces. matching stained faces for matching blitheringly infatuated idiots.

vil leans on the back of his vanity chair; his face littered in different coloured lip marks. the reason? he claims he wants to see which ones compliment him the most. 

you know he already knows exactly which shades of each brand line do exactly that. (thanks, rook.) vil doesn’t know that you know he’s already figured this out. 

you wipe the makeup remover-soaked cotton pad across your lips, ridding it of the pink. “what would all of your fans think if they knew you were being covered completely in rainbow kisses?” you wipe the moisture from your lips as vil reaches around you to grab another tube, but you stop him. 

“i’m sure they would lose their minds,” you reach into your pocket, revealing a miscellaneous tube of lipstick, it matches none of the previously discarded lipsticks, nor does it have a brand logo on it. “where did you find this?” vil takes the lipstick in his hand, nimbly examining the exterior. he removes the top to reveal a rich, velvety red colour. his eyes widen just slightly. 

“it’s a secret,” you wink and take the lipstick from him and apply it, smiling as you replace its cap and let it fall from your hand, onto a messy vanity behind you. 

vil wraps an arm around your neck, drawing you closer to his seated level, “well, share your secret with me, if you would be so kind.” you swiftly close the gap between yourself and the housewarden, administering a healthy dose of red onto his lips and the surrounding skin. 

he parts first, his cheeks dawn a hint of pink that’s hidden behind the various stains on his otherwise perfect skin. he truly is the most beautiful person ever. makeup or not, hair tied back or loose, vil is sincerely as pretty as the morning's first light, a flower; freshly bloomed, and a fresh set of nails. 

“you’re staring. not that i mind,” you snap out of your hazy daydream about your gorgeous boyfriend and back into reality. 

“yeah, sorry. you’re just really fucking pretty.” you lean down and tenderly kiss his forehead as he internally squeals like one of his fan-girls. he really hit the jackpot with you as his (second) biggest fan.

idia looks up at you with wide yellow eyes, but they have a sort of gloss over them that makes you believe he would not want you to get up and leave his dorm right now. you grin at his feeble attempt of a silent, inconclusive plea. an ask to what, you’re unsure because his face (minus the eyes) and hands grabbing at you tell you he’s very much enjoying you straddling his hips right now.

you reach into your pocket, revealing your master plan. a tube of lipstick, you swipe it over your lips once, then twice before replacing the cap and tossing it down, letting it hit the plush bedsheet you’re atop. 

the translucent tips of his hair start to turn pink as you lean down towards his face. a trembling hand comes up to your shoulder, not pushing you away but seemingly grounding the housewarden underneath you. “how cute,” you smile against his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his left cheek, then the right. one more on his forehead for good measure. maybe one more. okay, one last one couldn’t hurt.

you sit upright and drag a hand down idia’s chest, over the sweater you know is probably two sizes to large for him, (but that’s how he likes them you suppose and it just makes for a more comfortable sweater when you steal ‘em) while admiring the definitely not smudge-proof lipstick marks on idia’s face, giggling as you compare the red smears to his blue features. you wonder if-

the rapid rise and fall of idia’s chest catches your attention, it almost sounds like he’s hyperventilating, but when you look up to his face it’s surrounded by fiery pink hair and a flush across his cheeks, spanning down his neck, you realize he’s fine. probably a little more than fine. 

“well, that’s some false advertising,” you smile, wiping at the edges of your lips lightly with a finger. idia snaps out of his stupor, hastily agreeing with a stuttered breath. his hands find your hips, giving you a small squeeze. you lean down and press a proper kiss to his lips, you lift away just as quick as you bent down, pushing idia back down as he chases you up, hoping for more. a pitiful whine escapes him as his hair burns brighter. 

the red lipstick mixes with his natural blue lips gives him a sort of purple that would put the octavinelle’s house colour to shame. though, he almost looks forlorn. the usual solemn and gloomy housewarden; reduced to a blushing mess after a few kisses. 

hilarious, isn’t it?

malleus’s eyes flutter shut, a pleased sigh escapes his lips. his hands, hidden by your sweater, trace messy patterns on your back as his nails scratch lightly. he’s unsure of how he got himself into this humanoid predicament but he’s not complaining. 

you’re sat in his lap, placing kisses all over his face, leaving red lip marks behind. 

“you look like you’re enjoying this more than i am, malleus.” you bring a hand up to rake it through his bangs, pushing them behind his horns and revealing the shiny scales hidden beneath. 

the housewarden cracks a sharp emerald eye, examining your features. the slope of your nose, the curve of your stained lips, your eyelashes, cheeks. your eyes. oh how he loves your eyes, the way they look up to him with adoration, not fear or indifference like other humans do. 

you cup his cheek, “malleus?” 

he blinks once, twice. the gloss over his eyes breaks, refocusing on you. “i apologize, i was lost in thought.” 

“i could tell,” you trace your finger to the tip of his ear, then drop your hand back into your lap. “what were you thinking of? me?” 

“yes.” 

“woah, okay. blunt!” heat rises to your face. 

a hand leaves your back, trailing around your side and up to tuck a piece of hair away from your eyes. “was i not suppose to tell the truth?” 

“no, malleus, you should have said you were thinking of pancakes.” 

“but i wasn’t? i was thinking of-” you cut him off, placing a kiss on his lips. 

“now, let me resume my art.”

malleus is more than happy to sit as still as the gargoyle statues he studies while you press kisses all over his face. he is, truly is.

this was so self indulgent i ain’t even sorry (is my favouritism showing??)

masterlist

[dnsknr]

Adding unspooled thread below the cut for accessibility and also because fuck the bird site

"One of the cruelest things about Autistic/ADHD masking is that you learn to treat positive emotions as a warning sign that you're about to do something "wrong" and that it is therefore "safest for everyone" if you maintain a constant, low-key negative internal emotional state.

To feel joy, you have to be in yourself and in the moment. You're not worried about how you appear to others. You can't be both hypercritical of your existence while also reveling in it.

Joy means that the mechanism for monitoring/policing yourself for the comfort of others no longer takes priority. And when being yourself is so often a "wrong" way to be, being yourself without surveilling/"mitigating" yourself can feel perilous.

In fact, we've often been told it *is* perilous -- to others. We're told that we're "rude", "weird", "extra", "unthinking", "impulsive", "over-the-top", "self-absorbed", "oblivious", "annoying", etc.

We don't hear those messages when we're already over-analyzing our behaviours from the point of view of everyone else and adapting them accordingly.

We hear those messages when the connection with that normativity-focused inner critic drops and family, bosses, educators, colleagues, etc. step in to play that role. That might come from a meltdown or shut down, but it also happens in moments of true unselfconscious joy.

So joy feels dangerous. Joy becomes associated with alienating others, and eventually we come to feel alienated from joy itself.

I realized today that whenever I feel truly immersed in positive emotions (heck, even plain uncomplicated contentment), I am immediately fearful of who or what I must be irritating, neglecting, overstepping, steamrolling, etc.

I have received the message that my joy comes at a cost to everyone else. My happiness is something I do to others. So I have learned to always keep my emotional barometer just slightly inside of the depressed range.

I can have a little mirth, as a treat. 🫤

CW: suicide/self harm This is deadly. There is nothing surprising at all about the suicide and self-harm statistics of ADHD and Autistic folks once you understand that we are conditioned in this way. Training people to be depressed is deadly.

Sometimes I say that I am happiest when I am by myself, but I wonder if maybe I am just only actually *allowed to feel* happy -- like truly happy without that lingering soupçon of impending indecorum and fuckuppery -- when I am by myself.

(Well not completely by myself. Usually also with my cats. Because they're always game for a little indecorum and fuckuppery.)

Oof I'm sorry this is all resonating with folks.

This feeling exactly: [broken link] https://t.co/ZVanrQSxWJ

Another reason why I find myself trying to "manage my emotional expectations" is bc of the whiplash you get from being kneecapped when only moments before you were truly, neurodivergently happy. It's a hard fucking landing.

It's like the physical feeling of getting the wind knocked out of you but on an existential level. 0/10 would not recommend

This thread was brought to you by one of those "find words for your feelings" charts and the jarring realization that I view every emotion listed under "happy" with suspicion and try to limit how much of it I experience. 🫠"

Original post was made unrebloggable so I'm reposting the link. Click through for the whole thread.

[windixie]

˗ˏˋ hey emo boy !´ˎ˗ emo!choso x reader

summary : what's so good about hot topic? I mean it's trending, it's legit in the name, but your style... is the opposite of that, so why visit all the time? it doesn't have to do with the emo boy that works there right?

warnings : filthy drabble full of smut, smut, smut, and maybe uh smut? p in v, creampie, breeding kink (sorry!), choso is a whimpering mess :( fingering, m!receiving, f!receiving. lmk if I missed any!

taglist : @elylyyy @mjsjshhd @officialholyagua @chiunpy @hi-hello-heyo @etsuniiru

if you wish to be added or removed from tag list pls comment <3

emo! choso who just scored a well paying job at a hot topic store in the mall near his college. hes thankful for the job because he is supporting all of his younger siblings and besides, he loves the store himself. but he starts to love it even more when you, the pretty girl, walks in for the third time this week.

emo! choso who asks if you need any help finding something only to get denied by you because you’re so shy and scared of the big muscular man who’s got a shit ton of piercings. you love them all and you especially love his tongue piercing. you wonder how it feels against your needy cunt as you tug at his hair. you can’t help but moan out his name when your needy fingers play with your soaking pussy after finding out his name.

emo! choso quickly develops a small crush on you after you both get more used to each other especially because of your daily visits.

emo! choso who feels guilty from checking you out all the time. it’s not his fault your pretty skirt barely covers that big ass of yours and it’s not his fault he can see your pretty Victoria’s Secret panties you bought from across his store.

emo! choso who is so excited when you invited him over to your house after you both bonded over your favorite book series.

emo! choso who soon finds himself fucking you sweetly and sloppy. “fuck.. fuck.. good fucking girl! baby fuck not gonna last long..!” he kept whining in your ear as he pounded his big fucking cock in you. you were seeing white as you came for the umpteenth time as you clutched onto your wet bedsheets.

emo! choso stills wants more out of you even after eating you out which was embarrassing for you because you squirted so much and all over his face but he didn’t care! he swallowed all of it as if he was dehydrated. “baby please let me cum in you! put a baby in ya yeah? gonna be a good mommy! such a good mommy!” he babbled as his strokes became even sloppier.

your headboard kept slamming hardly against your wall you didn’t even care if you got a noise complaint the next day. how could you care when you were literally getting filled up but the boy you’ve been gushing over for weeks!

emo! choso who actually whimpers! a lot! and hes not afraid to be vocal cuz he knows you love it. “mmf yeah take my cock baby.. no no.. s’ not big! it’ll fit just like every time! yeah such a good baby! oh shit.. ngh oh you’re tight!” he whimpered as big fat tears left your eyes.

emo! choso who has a thing for blood. yeah. period sex. mhm. he loves it so much he’s filthy but he read somewhere that cumming helps the cramps so what else can he do but help his pretty baby?

emo! choso definitely fucks you whenever you wear his band t-shirts. he gets such a painful boner and you always help him by putting it in your mouth. even tho you have a bad gagging reflex

emo! choso loves you so much he’s so happy to see that positive pregnancy test and he immediately starts thinking of names.

[vntglace]

eddie munson x fem!reader ₊˚⊹♡ shy!reader, smut, rough sex, a lil degrading | based on this request.

dating eddie munson has been so fulfilling.

he's funny, he's sweet. he tries to pay for everything, even when he can't really afford to. he lets you steal his sweaters, shows you sick music, and calls you cheesy, ridiculous nicknames.

and, of course, he's really good in bed. he's apparently only been with one other girl before, and although the thought makes a jealous pit form in your belly, she clearly taught him well.

he's on top of you now, your legs wrapped around his waist as he kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

suddenly, he looks up at you. "is there anything that you wanna try? like, something i don't do that you want me to?" he asks.

the question takes you off guard, your cheeks heating up. "um...no?" you say, unconvincingly.

eddie grins. "oh, c'mon. you're telling me you don't have any fantasies for me to fulfill? what do you think about when you touch yourself?"

despite the mischievous expression on his face, you can tell he means what he's asking. he wants to pleasure you, and you're grateful, but you can barely look him in the face with how embarrassed his line of questioning is making you.

"eddie!" you say. "i don't...well, i'm not..."

"oh, don't tell me you don't touch yourself. everyone does," he says. "even good girls like you."

your face burns. "sometimes, yeah, but...i don't know, it's all...abstract thoughts. i don't have anything specific that i know i like."

eddie had been your first, so you don't have enough experience to tell him what you're into.

"well, tell me something you think you'd like, and we can try it. y'know if you're not feeling it, we can just stop."

his reassurance makes you feel safer, a little more comfortable. you play with his hair as you talk, trying to keep yourself distracted from your shyness. "i mean...i think i'd like being on top? and...maybe if you were a little bit...rougher with me? like, not hurting me, but like...just faster? harder? and maybe a little...mean."

you groan, putting your hands over your face. "i don't even know what i'm saying."

eddie takes your wrists gently. "hey, hey," he coos. "no need to be so shy, pretty girl. we can try that for sure. can i try something right now?"

you nodded, still struggling to meet his eye.

his grip on your wrists gets tighter, and he pushes your hands over your head, effectively pinning them against his pillows. "like that? you want me to be rough with you, huh?"

you whimper, nodding again, already feeling your pussy grow wetter at the lower, more dominant tone of his voice and the grip he had on your wrists.

"tell me you want it. use your words, princess."

"please be rough with me," you say, breathless.

he grins wickedly. "with pleasure."

he's practically feral as he kisses you hard, nipping at your bottom lip, then moves to suck a hickey into your collarbone. "thought a good girl like you wouldn't be into something like this. thought you'd want to be treated like a princess. instead you wanna be treated like a slut, hm?"

you moan. "yes," you reply to his rhetorical question, too dumb with desire to feel ashamed any longer. eddie has unlocked something primal within you, getting you to open up about your fantasies.

"wanna get on top, baby?" he asks. "see if riding me is as hot as it is in your dreams?"

"please," you say, all but begging.

he rolls onto his back, rolls a condom on, and then beckons for you to come and straddle his hips. he slips his cock inside you, and you whine at the stretch of him filling your hole. he fucks up into you, hard and fast, just like you'd asked for.

the position is a little more uncomfortable than you'd imagined, but there's something pleasurable about the ache in your thighs as you keep them spread for him, about how exposed you feel as his eyes go from your face to your breasts, bouncing with each of his thrusts.

you feel the urge to cover yourself, but it's like eddie can sense it, and he reaches out to grab your hands, holding them at his chest to keep you steady, as well as keep your body on display for him.

"you look so fucking hot, bouncing on my cock like a slut," he says, voice breathless with pleasure. "gonna come if you keep lookin' at me with those innocent eyes."

"cum for me," you say, surprised by the vulgar words coming from your mouth. "fuck me until you cum inside me."

you know he's wearing a condom: there's nothing too taboo about letting him do so, but it makes you feel sexy, dangerous to tell him to do so anyway.

it doesn't take long for eddie to do just that.

dating eddie munson just got so much more fulfilling, you realize with a smile.

[princechairmanmeow]

They have always made propaganda through the ignorance of the people, so I want to say something that might make you understand why it's bad. The "roman salute" was never the fascist salute. The concept of roman salute as we know it today has been distorted not only by nazis/fascist, but also by art itself. Painters that lived a long time after the fall of the Empire tried to dramatize the scenes as much as possible:

But the actual roman salute was something that was usually done just by the Emperor, to sort of "bless" the people of Rome, and the positioning of the arm was way softer, like the Pope's blessing.

So, what I'm trying to say is: what Musk did was not trying to "throw his heart to the crowd", whatever the fuck that means. He's doing the nazi salute, and it's bad. Thriving in the ignorance of the people, who might think that this was something good or honorable is disgusting and deplorable.

what do you mean elon musk did a nazi salute on live tv at the united states presidential inauguration twice and is now erasing the evidence off the internet by replacing the footage with the crowd cheering instead?

would be a shame if people reblogged this, wouldn’t it?

[bombuni]

enticement

summary. wooyoung comes across something he really shouldn’t have. genre/pairing. bf!jongho x fem!reader, soft smut warnings. 18+ smut mdni, pervy wooyoung, recorded sex (consensual obv), breeding kink, mean dom jongho, pussy slapping, humiliation kink, a small amount of size kink bom note. when ur in a sluts for jongho competition and u see user bombuni there so u know ur cooked

He was just looking for a picture.

Jongho hands Wooyoung his phone and gives him permission to look through his camera roll, not thinking anything of his request as he remembers all the photos he took of Wooyoung on their outing that day.

Jongho leaves the room to use the bathroom or something. Wooyoung doesn’t listen to his words when he swipes and sees you stark naked. Lying on a bed. Jongho’s bed. The freeze frame alone is enough to start a familiar heat in his gut.

He shouldn’t press play. Wooyoung knows it’s wrong.

But the big grey button smack in the middle of the screen is just so, so enticing. His thumb is hovering over it, simply itching to touch the screen.

…

The first thing he hears is a mumbled “Stay still.”

The camera fumbles in someone’s hands as they attempt to fix its position. Jongho seems to be a visionary as he gets it in the perfect angle to capture you with your ass in the air, already fucked out expression clear with your hazy eyes and half-open mouth gasping for air. Wooyoung can see your chest rising and falling with your deep breaths. You look cute as you lay with your head on the pillow.

Your voice is quiet when you speak, timid but unafraid, “I am still.”

Jongho tsk’s behind the camera, “I’ll shut this camera off, sweetheart.”

He finally walks into frame and Wooyoung sees you give a full-body shiver when Jongho runs a hand down your back, a familiar smirk growing on his face when a whine slips out of you. He squeezes your hips as he settles behind you, and you’re just so obedient and patient it makes Wooyoung’s mouth water.

Jongho turns towards the camera, thick black glasses slipping down his nose as he looks down to watch the way you spread your pussy for the camera. His big hands stretch you and give a perfect view for the camera, your glistening pussy on display. It’s obvious he’s been playing with you for a while, body jumping and jittering when Jongho slips teasing fingers across your folds. It spreads your wetness even more, shining in the dim light of the room. Jongho hisses as more slick pours out of you.

You’re malleable under Jongho’s hands, letting him push and pull you any way he desires for the camera. You only let out soft whines as he toys with you. He’s obviously trained you well.

You let out a particularly loud whine as he slips a digit into you. Jongho’s voice is the softest Wooyoung’s ever heard it be, “If you want something, you have to ask for it.”

“I-I did already, Jjongie…”

You sound pathetically desperate and it’s obvious Jongho finds it just as cute as Wooyoung does, “You did good asking me to record. But I gotta teach you manners, don’t I?”

The camera captures your pursed lips and the embarrassed blush on your face so perfectly. You open and close your mouth a couple times before finally deciding to speak your desires out loud.

“Want you to fuck me full, Jongho…”

Your words are fumbled and quick as your eyes dart towards the camera before you shove your face into the pillow below you. Jongho lets out a demeaning giggle above you, leaning over you and coming close to your face. He whispers something inaudible into your ear and for a second Wooyoung thinks with his mind and not his dick. He feels perverted, like he’s intruding. Which he is.

But the feeling is drowned out when he hears a smack and a moan. Jongho slaps your pussy gently, collecting your juices between his fingers and letting the lewd sounds grow within the room. Jongho’s eyes are solely focused on your hidden face as he taps against your clit. He uses his other hand to stop your legs from closing, forcing you to take what he gives you. There’s no remorse on his face as your tiny voice begs him to stop teasing and fuck you already. Only an evil smirk that grows the wetter you get.

“Come on, ask me in the proper way, sweetheart. Do you know how to use your mouth other than to suck me off?”

Your voice comes out breathy and shaky, “P-please, can you fuck me full of your cum, Jongho?”

Wooyoung’s cock strains against his shorts.

“Was that so hard?”

Jongho shifts your body so your pussy is the only thing in view of the camera. Your thighs shake in anticipation as Jongho’s cock comes into frame. It’s an angry red, and there’s the slightest tremble in the way his hands wrap around your hips and his legs settle over yours. He’s always been good at hiding how eager he is.

Jongho’s cock lines up with your leaking entrance and he has to hold you still when your body jolts, “I said be still. I’ll fuck you, baby.”

Wooyoung can’t see but you obviously nod in agreement because Jongho sees it fit to finally shove himself slowly inside you. It’s obvious you’re trying your damndest to be patient for him, legs shaking as you fight the urge to just fuck yourself against him. Inch by inch, your moans mix together and create a harmony Wooyoung’s not meant to hear.

And yet, he keeps watching.

Jongho finally bottoms out inside you. Your heavy breaths and timid whines are pleads for Jongho to keep going, but Jongho only laughs at you. He teases you by shoving himself deeper, pulling his hips flush to your ass. Wooyoung can see every detail with this angle; your pulsing hole, his thick cock stretching you out, and the way he leans over your head to keep whispering sweet insults that make you moan aloud.

When he feels you’re finally stretched out enough, Jongho drags his cock out until only his tip remains inside you, “I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you’re leaking of me. I don’t wanna hear any complaints. Got it?”

His voice is gruff and domineering and it obviously sends chills throughout your body as a desperate, rushed yes makes its way out of you.

Jongho doesn’t hold back. Your tiny body is obviously only following the flow of Jongho’s, taking all that he gives you with no complaint. Just like you agreed to. Your moans are loud and harmonic as he fucks you, mixing with the loud sound of his balls slapping against your skin. He’s fucking you raw and desperate, eagerly melding his body with yours and continuously snapping his hips against you.

He’s holding you in place by your hips. His strong hold is really nothing you can fight against as he keeps fucking you roughly. Jongho is using all his power to shove you through the mattress, no restraint in the way his cock rams into you.

Jongho’s voice is shaky through his thrusts, “Tell me how you feel, baby. Tell the camera how good I’m fucking you.”

“‘S so big, Jjongie, I c-can’t-Too good-!”

You’re interrupted by your own pleasure as Jongho lets his seed flow inside you. Wooyoung can’t help but whine at the lewd sight of Jongho’s cock pumping you full, twitching as he keeps filling you with his load until it has no more room inside. He keeps thrusting as it drips out of you and down your thighs, imprinting himself on you forever. His hips seem to grow more eager the more cum pours into you, stuffing it into you like he really wants to see you plump and full.

Jongho’s chest rises and falls as he lets the last drops of himself into you, slowing his hips down to a stop and kissing the crown of your head when you finally lay limp and spent. You whine pathetically when he attempts to pull out, your soft voice asking him to stay.

Jongho doesn’t command you anymore. There’s a lack of spirited words now, his gentleness taking over as he whispers quietly and tenderly moves you to lay completely flat on the bed while staying inside of you. Wooyoung catches the tiniest sound of ‘you did good, baby’ and ‘pretty girl’ through the speaker and he suddenly feels much, much more perverted.

He feels this is really something he shouldn’t be seeing. The quiet intimacy in the way Jongho massages you and makes you giggle makes him blush harder than watching him slap your pussy. The last thing he hears is your loud laugh when Jongho says ‘Let’s get you off birth control.’

He shuts Jongho’s phone off with a click when the bathroom door opens.

“Found it?”

Wooyoung nods so quickly his head almost falls off, “Yep. I found it. Yep.”

Wooyoung waddles towards his room, stretching his shirt over his shorts and promising himself to never go snooping again.

[wriokitty]

hidden corners — ft. wriothesley

before you read: female reader ; mature content 18+ ; established relationship ; public sex (except it’s not really sex and you don’t get caught) ; dry humping ; wriothesley cums in his pants <3 ; not proof read

The fortress is a big place. Walking to Wriothesley’s office means you get your step count up—but it also means it takes a good few minutes to get there at all.

You’re patient enough to wait. He, on the other hand, sometimes is not.

“Wrio?” Your head tilts to the side. You’re more than a little surprised to see his serious face as he quickly approaches you while you walk towards his office. You grin, teasing glint in your eyes as you hum, “what? You couldn’t wait to see me—oh!”

He’s dragging you by the hand, pulling you along as he turns corners and walks in the very opposite direction of his office with you following in tow (against your will).

“Where are we going?” You ask, blinking. “Your office isn’t this way.”

“There’s an emergency,” he says quickly. Too quickly. You take a good look at him for a moment before you realize something’s off—his coat. It’s not draped over his back like it usually is, instead worn properly over his upper half and buttoned up completely.

Your eyes narrow in confusion. “You’re wearing your coat?”

“Got cold.”

“But the heating has been on for—”

“Heat’s not working in my office.”

“Why don’t you—”

He lets out a shuddering breath, shaky and almost impatient enough that you simply shut your mouth before stressing him out further. He seems to appreciate it, too, because he doesn’t make anymore extra comments—just makes one last turn, pressing you against a hidden corner behind a wall of pipes and caging you with your back against a cold, hard surface.

“Couldn’t wait,” he breathes. “You were taking too long so I met you halfway”

“What do you mean? Wait for wha—” The buttons of his coat come undone quickly enough that you cut yourself off in shock, watching as he flings off the thick, furry material and lets it drop to the floor. “Wriothesley! The floor is dirty and you drape that thing over me all the time, are you insane—oh.”

Oh.

Your eyes land on the clear reason why he’s been so tensely impatient: a heavy, thick bulge in his pants that’s been covered up until now by the mid-length coat that draped over his torso. He lets out a shaky breath, stepping closer as he presses his face deep into your neck and breathes in your scent.

It seems to only make things worse because he lets out a strangled groan and says hoarsely, “I’ll fucking wash it. Now’s not the time.”

“Wriothesley, we’re in the middle of the—”

It seems today is very keen on forcing all of your sentences to cut off halfway because once again, you can’t finish what you want to say. Not before he grunts and presses his heavy, throbbing erection against your clothed cunt and murmurs, “no, we’re in a hidden corner.”

“We’re right by pipes! Have you never heard the way they carry sound?”

“These don’t lead anywhere important.”

“This is absurd,” you say sternly. He rolls his hips stubbornly, grinding the thick girth of his cock against your heat, separated by fabric but brought together by friction.

“Need you, sweetheart,” he moans lowly, “need you so bad I’m tired of waiting. Please.”

You’re nothing if not a doting girlfriend. A very pliant one, at that—so soft and willing to give into Wriothesley and his whims even when they might land you in compromising positions. (How could you say no when he’s pressed up against you like that, though? How could your mind and body respond with anything except yes when he all but molds his body onto yours and drags himself desperately against your own core? Self control was never an easy task in the first place.)

“A little decorum once in a while would be nice, you know,” you huff—still, your arms go right around his neck like they always do, letting his chest firmly press against yours.

He chuckles, low vibrations that you can feel tickle your ribcage as his nose digs into the skin along the crook of your neck. “I told you,” he murmurs, lips tugging into a crooked, wolfish grin, “we’re hidden. And I’m the duke. I know what goes on in this here fortress—no one will find us.”

Smug is one way to describe him—needy is probably better. Far better. Because the way his hips roll to drag his thick, heavy cock along your cunt is far too impatient to be considered anything else but pure need.

You shudder, head leaning back against the wall as a soft, breathy moan spills from your lips at the way his bulge drags along your clit, the pressure from his cock and the friction of your clothes building a steady ache along your core. You can feel the heat of his confined length, the way it twitches in his pants, the way it leaks with pre cum and dampens his fabric enough to match the wet fabric that clothes your cunt.

“Wr-wrio…” you breathe, voice tapering off into a soft, high pitched whine as he roughly glides against your clit particularly harshly. Your hands search for the familiar fur draped on his shoulders to grip onto—only it’s not there.

It’s on the floor along with the rest of his jacket.

He chuckles roughly, voice low and gruff and a tiny bit labored from the air that doesn’t seem to be in his lungs. His hands reach for your wrists, grabbing them gently before guiding them up to his hair, letting them tangle into the strands as he mumbles lowly, “go ahead and pull, sweetheart. I can take it, yeah?”

Large, scarred hands find your waist, fingers digging into plush skin as he pulls your hips forward, rubbing you along his length while he lets out a raw, throaty groan.

“Fuck,” he hisses, “f-fuck, I just couldn’t wait. Couldn’t…couldn’t wait—you understand, right sweetheart? D-don’t be mad.”

He’s babbling. Voice wavering and sweat clinging to his forehead as he hides into the juncture between your neck and shoulder, where he can breathe in the scent of your perfume and feel his cock swell impossibly harder at the sweetness of your perfume. It’s driving him mad. Borderline throwing him into insanity’s clutches from just the sensation of grinding against you.

It’s nothing like being buried to the hilt inside of you. The wet, warm, tight walls that welcome him in every time, the gummy, soft feel of you wrapping around him and constructing with every thrust. He’d like to spill into you, fuck load after load after load until his mess leaks down your thighs and coats your skin with one more layer of proof that your his.

But he’s not particularly patient enough for that. Not willing to wait until he knows you’re stretched out and dripping enough with slick to take the thick girth of him splitting you open—so instead, he takes this. The feeling of you taking over his senses. The feeling of your heat seeping into his body. The smell of your perfume and sweat invading his nose. The rough, unforgiving sting of your fingers tugging at his hair.

He’s pathetically wrapped around your finger tightly enough that even when he craves for more, anything you give is still enough. Maybe he’s not feeling you, but the feeling of you near him is enough to still satisfy that raging, unforgiving ache that settles between his thighs and goes nowhere. Nowhere.

He’s tried—for long enough before your arrival, he’s tried to ignore the way he grows in his pants. Tightening and straining against crisp fabric that’s not meant to stretch and accommodate his cruel problem. It makes his hands tremble as he signs documents. Makes his mind and thoughts race to memories of you—memories on your face, your voice, your ecstasy.

And he can’t wait.

So he finds you half way along the path to his office, dragging you to a hidden corner where the pipes cover your bodies and the walls muffle your sounds.

Wriothesley is the duke. The fortress is his playground. Whatever he says goes—and if he restricts access to the back east wing before he leaves his office…well, he’s confident no one will come. Not because he doesn’t want anyone to catch him seeking relief in the arms of the only person he can call home, but because anyone seeing, hearing, witnessing the way you break from him alone is sinful.

This meant for him. For his eyes. For his ears. For his cock. You’re meant for him.

“I’m close, baby,” he rasps, “fuck, what’re you doing to me? I’m gonna cum right here in my fucking pants. Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” you gasp, tugging his hair to pull him away from your neck and press your foreheads together.

He chuckles, breathy pants fanning along your mouth as his lips hover yours while he murmurs, “yeah? That’s what you want?”

“Yes, Wriothesley,” you whimper, “want you to cum and make me cum, too.”

“I think I can do that, sweetheart. Think I can make that happen right now, if that’s what you need.”

And he doesn’t lie. Because his hips give one, two, three rough thrusts against you, rubbing the hard bulge in his pants along your dripping cunt and swollen clit before he stills for a moment and shudders.

Instinctively, your lips both find each other, swallowing shallow gasps and low moans as you both break at the same time. His cock jerks in between his legs, twitching with rope after rope of thick, sticky cum that soils his boxers and leaks through his trousers.

You don’t fare much better. It feels like you’re soaked—your walls gushing around nothing and dripping your slick essence until it leaves a wet patch on your own panties, dampening through them and leaving you to feel the wetness it leaves.

“More, Wrio,” you cry between kisses, rolling your hips in time with his as you ride out the last waves of your pleasure. A string of saliva connects your lips to his as you pull away to speak.

But he chases after you, closing the gap once more before moaning one last deep sound into your mouth as he slumps against you, pecking your lips once and mumbling, “can’t. We’re in the middle of the fortress, remember?”

It’s smug. So cocky for someone who just took you without even properly taking you right here in a dark, cold corner with pipes surrounding you.

You glare at him, watching as he throws you that easy, confident grin before grumbling, “then lead the way to your office, your grace.”

“With my utmost pleasure, my lady,” he laughs, slowly peeling himself off of you, “who knew you could be so impatient?”

You quirk an unamused eyebrow before glancing down at the wet, messy dark spot along his crotch. He follows your gaze, flushing while you point to the coat on the floor and huff, “put that on before someone sees the absolutely sorry state your pants are in, you smug bastard.”

You fix your clothes, smoothing out your appearance before walking out of the dark corner and heading for his office—and he follows soon after as he buttons his coat, trailing after you like an excited, energetically impatient puppy.

I don’t want to talk about what inspired this . Everyone don’t talk to me for one million years thanks 👍

[bimbosicko]

GET HIM BACK !

when sam accidentally sees dean in bed with two girls, you decide to give him the idea of getting revenge and get him back ۶ৎ

pairings ! sam winchester x fem! reader

warnings ! english isn't my first language, creampie! wrap it before you tap it guys, season three sam winchester, sam is an awkward dork, reader is a BIGGER awkward dork, it starts as a joke and ends with sex... lmao. this is fluff!! with sex!! porn with 2k of plot 😭, let's have a shot whenever i mention cheeks or the word fuck and let's get BUSTED.

author's note ! he's so cute i love him sm (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) remember!! my asks are open and everything you need to know ab myself is in the pinned post in my blog, ily<33

word count ! 5,1 k of words wtf is wrong with me!!

"I am traumatized."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, a chuckle escaping your lips before you could stop it. "Sam, you're not traumatized..." you said, your voice tinged with amusement, the edges of a smile playing on your lips.

"I've seen Kama Sutra positions that were easier than whatever was going on in that room," he added, your laughter echoed in the room, and for a moment, you felt the familiar ease you always had with Sam.

"God, you're hilarious," you said, shaking your head. "Don't ever change."

"I think that experience changed me," he muttered, sounding truly displeased.

"Come on," you shrugged. "He deserves to have a little fun every now and then. I mean... he doesn't have much time left." The lightness in your voice faltered as the words left your mouth, and you regretted them the moment you saw the way Sam's face darkened.

"Hey," he said sharply, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "Don't say that. We'll find a way."

You nodded, though the uncertainty in your expression must have betrayed you. "If you say so, Sammy..." The nickname slipped off your tongue as naturally as breathing, like it belonged there. At this point, the bond between you two felt as unshakable as the tides meeting the shore. He noticed, of course, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite place but felt deep in your chest.

Sam rolled his eyes then, trying to shake off the weight of the moment. "You’re lucky you were asleep during all that. If not, I would’ve sent you to the room," he grumbled with a mock huff.

Your nose wrinkled at his suggestion, heat rising to your cheeks. "Well..." you trailed off, looking anywhere but at him.

His brows furrowed, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean by well?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

You covered your face with both hands, already regretting opening your mouth. "I didn’t want to see that!" you squeaked, your voice muffled by your palms. Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of his gaze on you.

Sam leaned closer, the proximity making your pulse race. "Wait, wait, wait..." he said, his tone lighter now but with a hint of teasing curiosity. "Are you saying you pretended to be asleep?"

Your eyes widened as you peeked through your fingers, only to find his smirk growing. "Sam!" you whined, your embarrassment mounting.

He tilted his head, grinning now, a mischievous glint in his eyes that made your stomach flip. "So, you did. Wow, I thought you were fearless, but apparently, even you have limits."

"Oh, shut up," you muttered, crossing your arms defensively. But the way he laughed—a deep, genuine laugh—made your heart skip. You tried not to smile, but the corners of your lips betrayed you.

For a moment, the air between you two shifted. The teasing banter faded into a comfortable silence, but the unspoken tension lingered, thick and electric. His gaze softened, lingering on you just a second too long, and you felt the world narrow to just the two of you. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

"You're something else, you know that?" he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

You cleared your throat, trying to break the fairytale-like spell that seemed to envelop the two of you. Sam was so close that you could feel his warmth, and staying indifferent to it felt like an almost impossible task.

"So... when is Dean coming back from the hospital?" you whispered, locking your gaze on Sam’s eyes.

"In an hour, I think." His voice was calm, but there was something in his tone that echoed in the silence that followed.

You nodded but said nothing more. A heavy silence settled between you, not exactly uncomfortable, but not easy to ignore either. The tension was palpable, as if every breath you took fed a fire that neither of you dared acknowledge.

"You should get back at Dean," you blurted out suddenly, trying to dispel the pressure that seemed to hang in the air. You pretended to be distracted, playing with your nails, but you were fully aware of Sam's every move from the corner of your eye.

"What?" His eyebrow arched, but there was something more behind his reaction, something you couldn’t quite decipher.

"You know... like, uh, Dean catching you doing that. It’d be funny," you murmured, feeling your shoulders tense as the words left your mouth.

"Do you think so?" he asked. His voice was calm, but there was something in it—something that made your heartbeat feel stronger, louder. "I wouldn’t want to involve some random girl in something like that..."

"Oh, right, totally. It could traumatize her," you replied with obvious irony, trying to mask your own discomfort. Your cheeks were burning, but you couldn’t stop yourself. "We could… do it. You and I… you know?"

The pause that followed was so thick that, for a second, you thought you’d said something completely out of line. Sam made a sound, like he had just let all the air leave his lungs at once.

"Us?" His voice sounded incredulous, but there was something deeper in it, something mingling with the surprise.

You coughed lightly, trying not to appear as affected as you felt. "Yeah, sure. We could pretend to do it, just to mess with him," you added quickly, your voice breaking slightly at the end.

"Oh," Sam said, and for a moment, you couldn’t tell what that "oh" meant. Was he surprised? Disappointed? But then he spoke again, and there was something different in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. "Oh, right, I mean…"

He trailed off, and you glanced up, only to find him looking at you with a mix of uncertainty and something you couldn’t quite name. His gaze dropped to your lips for just a second—so quick it was almost imperceptible—but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

"Do you want to? Really?" he asked finally, his voice lower, almost a whisper.

"Pretend," you corrected, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "Just to mess with Dean, nothing more."

"Right," he murmured, though there was something in his tone that didn’t quite match the lightness of the situation. A small smile tugged at his lips, but his eyes stayed fixed on yours, studying you like he was searching for something more in your proposal.

The silence returned, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged, as if the unsaid words between you filled the space with more intensity than any conversation ever could.

"It could be fun," he said finally, his voice rough, and there was something in his expression that made you wonder if he was really talking about the prank—or about something else entirely.

You laughed, though the sound came out more nervous than you intended. You were trying to hide how tense you were, but the knot in your stomach was impossible to ignore.

“Yeah, sure…” you muttered more to yourself, your voice barely audible. Sam’s gaze lingered on you, scanning your figure from head to toe, and that simple gesture made your legs feel like jelly.

“It has to look realistic,” he said suddenly, his tone slightly firmer, though his eyes held a mix of shyness and something deeper you couldn’t quite name.

“Oh God—right,” you responded almost without thinking, your words rushed as you fought to keep your composure. Your hands moved to the buttons of your shirt, and though your cheeks were burning, you began unbuttoning it slowly. “Uh… like this?”

Sam averted his eyes for a moment, clearing his throat softly, as if that could somehow break the growing tension in the air. But when he looked back at you, his face was as red as yours.

“Uh—yeah, I guess… looks realistic to me,” he said finally, his voice lower, almost as if he were talking to himself. His gaze lingered briefly on your collarbones, dipping for a split second before meeting your eyes again.

Your voice wavered, though you tried to inject it with a touch of false confidence to mask the storm swirling inside you. “It’s not fair that I’m the only one without a shirt,” you said, feigning a casual tone as you rolled your eyes.

For a moment, you thought Sam hadn’t heard you, but then you saw him swallow hard, clearly affected. “Right—you’re right,” he muttered, his voice a little deeper than usual as he reached for the hem of his shirt.

Time seemed to slow as he pulled it off, revealing the tanned skin of his torso. You didn’t want to look, but it was impossible not to. The definition of his shoulders, the movement of his muscles… it all felt like too much to handle.

Damn.

He held the shirt in his hands for a moment, as if unsure what to do with it, before letting it fall to the floor. “Is this more fair?” he asked, with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, as though he too was trying to ease the tension between you.

“I guess…” you murmured, though your voice barely came out. Your eyes met his, and the silence that followed was deafening. You could hear the sound of his breathing, slow and heavy, mixing with yours, and the space between you seemed to shrink with every passing second.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” he said finally, his tone attempting to be light, but the nervousness was unmistakable.

“You said it,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to shield yourself from him or from the way he made you feel.

He took a step toward you, not too close, but enough that you could feel his presence even stronger. “We can stop if you want,” he said softly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that left you breathless.

“No,” you said quickly—too quickly. You wanted to take it back, to say something else, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you tried to smile, though it barely counted as one. “I want to keep going.” Your tone sounded far more serious for something that was supposed to be just a joke. Sam seemed to notice, his eyes glinting under the motel’s dim yellow light.

The space between you remained charged, as if both of you were waiting for something neither dared to say out loud.

“God, this feels like the start of a bad porn,” you said abruptly, making Sam laugh.

He nodded, biting his lip as if to hold back a smile. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, moving cautiously, as though afraid you’d bolt at any moment. The way his figure loomed over you was almost intimidating, but in the part of you that wasn’t scared, it made you feel warm.

“Let’s get to the bed, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and syrupy.

“Bed?” you repeated, your voice trembling slightly.

“It has to be realistic.”

Realistic, of course. How could you forget?

“Yeah sure, let's go to bed.”

Sam lifted you with ease, as if you weighed far less than you actually did, yet he dropped you onto the bed with just a bit more force than necessary, making you let out a startled yelp.

“Ouch! That hurt,” you said through laughter, trying to sound offended, though the tone of your voice betrayed you.

Sam leaned over you, his arms on either side of your face, creating a bubble that seemed to isolate you both from the rest of the world.

“Sorry—” he murmured, though there was a smile tugging at his lips that he couldn’t quite hide.

You shook your head quickly, fighting to keep a straight face. “It’s not funny! Don’t laugh,” you scolded him, but the sparkle in your eyes and the smile curling your lips completely undermined your words. You could feel the warmth of his arms so close to you, and the air between you seemed heavier, thicker.

Your laughter began to fade, giving way to a silence that wasn’t awkward but felt almost… comforting. You sighed, trying to catch your breath, but that was the moment you realized just how close his face was to yours. So close that you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your skin.

“Sammy…” you murmured, his name escaping your lips almost like a whisper. Your voice sounded breathless, as though the air itself was refusing to fill your lungs.

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and full of an intensity that rooted you in place beneath his gaze. “I really want to kiss you right now,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending your heartbeat into an uncontrollable rhythm.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but you didn’t say a word. Instead, your hand moved hesitantly, brushing against the warm skin of his neck before resting at the back, applying just enough pressure to pull him even closer. Your breaths were shallow, your lips slightly parted. With a small nod, you finally whispered:

“It’s okay… I want to kiss you too.”

The words were like a spark igniting a flame, and before you could say anything else, his lips crashed into yours. The kiss wasn’t gentle or hesitant; it was fierce, as though all the tension that had built up between you had finally found its release.

The force of his kiss made your head sink into the pillow, and your hands instinctively moved to grip his shoulders, searching for something solid to hold onto as the intensity of the moment threatened to overwhelm you. You could feel the weight of him, his warmth, and suddenly it was like the entire world had faded away, leaving only Sam, the pounding of your heart, and the sensation of his lips against yours.

The kiss deepened, his hands framing your face as though afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t keep you close. The heat between you was almost unbearable, and though you couldn’t see your own face, you were certain your cheeks were as red as his.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, your faces still so close that there was barely any space between you. Sam didn’t speak at first, just gazed at you with an intensity that made it hard to breathe, his eyes searching yours as if he needed confirmation that this was real.

You were the first to break the silence, though your voice came out shaky. “That… that was…”

“Incredible,” he finished for you, a small smile playing on his lips—both confident and a little uncertain at the same time. “But, uh… I don’t think Dean’s gonna buy this as just a joke.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, your laughter filling the room as Sam watched you with that soft expression that made your chest tighten all over again.

“Maybe it wasn’t just to mess with Dean,” you murmured, your voice quiet but firm, your eyes never leaving his.

His eyes narrowed slightly, a small smirk forming as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Maybe not,” he replied, his voice low and warm, before leaning in again, this time kissing you with a tenderness that completely unraveled you.

Your body moved before your mind, climbing into Sam's lap like your life depended on it.

He hummed softly, “You're sure you want to do this?”

Your eyes rolled as if the question had been out of place, but your expression broke with a tender smile.

“I am, Sammy, more than anything.”

He nodded softly, pulling you closer to his body and leaving wet kisses on your neck, giving a small bite that made you let out a muffled moan.

Their bodies were so close that there wasn’t even room for oxygen to pass between them. The way Sam moved was rough, deliberate, like a man with a singular goal in mind, his movements precise and calculated.

“Let me help you with this, yeah?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that sent shivers down your spine. His hands moved toward your jeans, his fingers brushing against your skin in a way that felt both electrifying and agonizingly slow.

His touch was so careful as he unbuttoned your jeans, like he was handling something sacred. It was a contradiction to the intensity in his gaze—a gaze so sharp it pinned you in place, leaving you no room to breathe, no room to think.

You knew those eyes. They were the same eyes he used when he was tracking a monster, honing in on his prey with unwavering focus. Without realizing it, you had become his target—a prey about to be devoured.

As he slid your jeans down, his movements were slow, deliberate, almost torturous. His lips followed the path his hands carved, planting soft, burning kisses along every inch of newly exposed skin. Each kiss was a promise, a tease, leading down to what felt like the edge of the world.

Your breathing was uneven, shallow, almost panicked, but not from fear—no, this was something else entirely. Your chest rose and fell erratically, anticipation building with every inch his lips traveled.

“I really want to take my time with you,” he said, his words breaking the silence. Each syllable was punctuated by a kiss against your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. “But—” he kissed you again, his lips lingering. “I don’t know if I can hold back.” Another kiss, softer, yet it somehow left you trembling.

Oh, fuck.

A quiet whimper escaped your lips, betraying just how undone you were. Your hands gripped the sheets beneath you as you tilted your head back, giving him more access to the curve of your waist, the line of your hip, anywhere he wanted to be.

“It’s fine,” you managed to say, though your voice came out in a shaky whisper. “You can… God, you can do whatever you want to me.”

He froze for a second, his lips hovering just above your skin. “Are you sure?” His voice was quieter now, like he needed to hear you say it, really say it.

You let out an exasperated breath, barely managing to lift your head to glare at him, though the fire in your gaze was softened by the flush on your cheeks. “If you keep asking stupid questions, I swear I’ll punch you. Right in that ridiculously handsome face of yours.”

A laugh bubbled out of him, deep and genuine, the sound vibrating against your skin. His lips curled into a smirk as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your stomach. “Got it,” he said simply, his voice tinged with amusement.

And then his lips returned to your skin, softer now but no less deliberate. His hands slid up your thighs, his fingers tracing patterns that made your entire body hum. The tension in the room was thick, almost unbearable, as if the air itself had been charged with electricity.

You felt like you were on the edge of a cliff, your heart pounding, your breaths coming in short gasps, but the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered, like he couldn’t believe you were real—made you feel safe, even as you were unraveling beneath him.

The space between you seemed to shrink even further, his weight pressing into you just enough to ground you in the moment. And though the anticipation was overwhelming, there was a strange calm in knowing that whatever came next, it would be with him.

His long fingers moved the fabric of your panties to the side;

“Look at her…” he murmured, totally infatuated with the way your wet and gaping pussy called for him.

“Did you just—?” you started protesting. But you were quickly silenced when Sam inserted a finger inside you.

“God, she's sucking me so good” you whined. “She's a really good girl, just like you. Think I can put one more?” he asked you, without breaking eye contact.

“I dunno– yes?”

“Mhm.” he mumbled, “That's not an answer you know?” His voice was laced with a playful tone that made you a little angry, how was it possible that you were with your legs open and so needy and he was taking all the time in the world, it drove you crazy in the best way possible.

“Come on, Sammy.” you whined softly, starting to get desperate.

“I need to get you nice and wet baby, I'm sorry.”

“No, you're not.”

“No, I'm not.” he nodded, agreeing with you. The way he's spreading your wet pussy with his fingers, moving them back and forth, opening you up for him, is making you go crazy. If this was the foreplay, you couldn't even imagine the real play.

The weight on your chest never went away, and it only deepened when you felt Sam's hot tongue licking a line up and down your core.

“Oh– fuckin’” you moaned, covering your mouth with your knuckles, biting down on them.

Sam hummed, pleased with your reactions. His tongue went deeper, exploring your soft walls, your taste was making him see stars. He could live his whole life with his tongue deep inside you and die happily ever after. You were so sweet, fuck demon blood and fuck alcohol. Your fluids were his new drug.

You pushed your hips deeper into his mouth, moaning like you were on heat.

“Fuck, just like that Sammy– There! Fucking there!” His other hand gripped your hips and held you taut to his face as he ate you brutally, his lips working like a man who has been starving for months and finally tasted something worth dying for. As he extended his mouth wide to trace his tongue from your hole up to the soft bundle of pleasure, he dragged your clit into his mouth, scraped it with his teeth, and then released it with a light slapping sound.

“God, Sammy, please. I'm so close.” You left out a cry, arching your back into the pleasure as he continued his current rhythm, pulling wave after wave of pleasure from your hot, flushed body. Your hands moved to his hair, fisting it and raising his body until you were face to face.

Your fingers traveled to his pants, where you began to lower his zipper and slowly his underwear.

“I wanna ride you, can I?” you asked, sincerely. Waiting for an honest response as if you had asked something totally normal and not the most perverted words Sam ever heard you utter.

He groaned, as an answer.

“Of course you can, God.”

With a shaky hand, you line him at your entrance and reach down to gently grab him. He puts his hand on the small of your back and rubs calming circles there to reassure you.

“You got this. Slow.” You nodded, following his instructions, sinking an inch or two onto him while your brow furrows in concentration.

As you take more of Sam, his breathing turns ragged, hitching in his throat like he’s barely holding himself together. You push yourself further, testing your limits, and in one reckless move, you take the rest of him all at once. His reaction is immediate—a sharp, breathy squeak escapes his lips, completely unbidden. His fingers dig into your hips, grounding himself, his nails almost biting into your skin as if trying to steady the rush of sensation overtaking him.

“I said slow…” His voice is strained, low, barely a whisper, but the way he looks at you with that indignant, wide-eyed expression—one you know all too well—only makes you want to push him further, to see just how much more he can take.

“‘ed help,” you whimper in a low, broken voice, the sound more desperate than you intended.

His brows furrow as he stares at you, his lips parting slightly. “What?” he breathes, his voice teetering on the edge of control.

“I need help, Sammy.”

Those words seem to shatter something in him. The way he looks at you, it’s almost reverent, like you’re something divine in his lap. His hands tighten on your thighs, his grip so firm you’re sure there will be bruises tomorrow—not that you mind. It feels like a mark, a claim, like he’s trying to ground himself in the reality of you.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, and starts moving you. At first, his motions are precise, almost mechanical, lifting you up and down in a steady rhythm. But the control doesn’t last long. Within moments, his restraint begins to crack, his hands gripping harder, his breaths coming faster. His movements become rougher, more desperate, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach.

Before you can even process what’s happening, his arms wrap around your back in one swift, possessive motion, and you find yourself beneath him. His weight presses into you, the warmth of his body enveloping yours. His hips move without rhythm now, erratic, frantic, driven entirely by need. Every thrust feels like it’s meant to claim, to mark, to leave no part of you untouched.

The sounds spilling from him are pure desperation—low, guttural moans mixed with soft curses under his breath. You can feel how much he’s holding back, how he’s trying so hard not to lose himself entirely, but his resolve is slipping with every passing second, mentalizing all the laws of the penal code that he remembered to get a grip of himself.

“Sammy—” your voice trembles, breaking as the tension in your body coils tighter.

“I’m about to—”

He nods quickly, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “Me too,” he manages to say between ragged gasps, his words broken, his voice a strained whisper. “Where do you…?”

Each syllable is punctuated by a thrust, his control unraveling with every word.

“Inside,” you moan, your voice barely audible over the sound of skin meeting skin. “I want it inside.”

The words hit him like a freight train. His movements falter for a fraction of a second, his entire body tensing as if the weight of your request has shattered the last bit of restraint he was clinging to.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, his voice a low growl, his control slipping completely.

His hips snap forward one last time, and he’s gone. He buries himself as deeply as he can, his entire body trembling as he lets go, his moans mixing with yours.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The room is filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the air between you thick with the remnants of everything that just happened. Sam’s forehead stays pressed against yours, his lips brushing against your skin as he tries to catch his breath.

You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body still trembling slightly as he holds you close, as if letting go would mean losing the connection you just shared. He doesn’t say anything right away—neither of you do. There’s no need for words in this moment, no need to break the fragile, intimate silence that has settled over you both.

But when he finally speaks, his voice is soft, almost hesitant. “Are you okay?”

You smile, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along his back. “Yeah,” you whisper, and it’s the truth.

Sam exhales, a sound somewhere between relief and disbelief, and leans down to press a tender kiss to your lips.

The sweet moment is abruptly shattered by the unmistakable jingle of keys at the door. Your eyes widen in panic, and your hand instinctively flies up to cover your mouth, muffling a surprised gasp.

“Sammy—” you squeaked, your voice trembling with worry as the reality of the situation crashed down on you.

Sam’s response was to nod—calmly, almost too calmly. His body froze like a statue, as if you both were suddenly prey caught in the crosshairs of a wild, feral T-Rex. His eyes darted to the door, his lips pressed into a tight line, and you swore he even stopped breathing.

The doorknob turned with a slow, deliberate click, and the sound felt louder than it had any right to be in the otherwise silent room.

The door swung open.

“Hey, guess what? Your theory was actually—”

Dean stopped mid-sentence, his words halting like the Impala's doors slamming shut. He stood there in the doorway, blinking at the scene in front of him like his brain was buffering the information. His eyes flicked from Sam to you and then back again, taking in your flushed faces, disheveled hair, and the unmistakable tension lingering in the air.

“Oh, god dammit,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. Then, louder: “Fucking finally.”

You froze, your face heating to what had to be an inhuman degree, while Sam just groaned loudly, dropping his forehead onto your shoulder like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Dean,” Sam started, his voice strained and muffled against your skin, “this… isn’t—”

Dean raised a hand to cut him off, a mix of exasperation and amusement written all over his face. “Don’t. Don’t even try, Sammy. I don’t need the details. I don’t want the details. Hell, I’m already regretting walking in here.”

You opened your mouth to say something, anything to salvage whatever scraps of dignity you had left, but all that came out was a small, embarrassed squeak.

Dean pointed at both of you, squinting like he was trying to physically burn the image of you two into his memory out of sheer spite. “You know what? I should’ve known. I’ve been calling this for years. YEARS, Sam.”

Sam finally lifted his head, glaring at his brother. “You haven’t been calling anything.”

Dean smirked, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Oh, really? So me betting Jo twenty bucks that you two would eventually ‘work out all that unresolved tension’ doesn’t count?”

“Dean!” Sam barked, his ears turning bright red as he scrambled to sit up straighter.

“Twenty bucks,” Dean repeated with a laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “And let me tell you, that girl is gonna be real smug about being right.”

You groaned, covering your face with both hands. “Oh my God, just kill me now.”

Dean’s grin widened. “Nah, don’t worry. You two lovebirds keep doing… whatever this is. I’ll just… go burn my eyes out now.” He turned to leave but paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Sam?”

“What?” Sam snapped, clearly at the end of his patience.

Dean winked. “You owe me clean sheets.”

The door closed behind him, and you stared at it in silence, your brain desperately trying to reboot. After a moment, you turned to Sam, your voice flat. “Clean sheets?”

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, even through your embarrassment. “Nope. Welcome to the rest of your life, Sammy.”

[aspenmissing]

OMG. Arcane with an S/O with a cat that disapproves of them. Bring the chaos! 🤣

ʜɪꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

8520 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ɪ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴇᴅ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ! ᴀɴᴅ Qᴜɪᴛᴇ ᴀ ꜰᴜɴɴʏ ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴘᴛ. ᴄʜᴀᴏꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴀꜱꜱᴜʀᴇᴅ ʙʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀɴᴏɴ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

It was a typical evening in Y/N’s home, the crackling fire casting warm, flickering shadows across the stone walls. The room smelled of freshly baked bread and the earthy aroma of herbs, mixing perfectly with the subtle hum of Piltover in the distance. Jayce had come over to spend time with Y/N, but as always, there was one little problem—her cat.

From the moment Jayce stepped through the door, the feline was already positioned in its usual spot, high up on the bookshelf, perched like some regal observer. Its yellow eyes narrowed in disdain, watching Jayce’s every move with an air of quiet judgment. Jayce paused, frowning as he looked up at the cat, who refused to look away, her gaze sharp and unwavering.

“Your cat doesn’t like me,” Jayce muttered, sighing in resignation as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Y/N looked over at her cat with a smirk, then back to Jayce, her eyes dancing with amusement. “It’s not that,” she replied, casually pouring herself a drink. “She’s just… picky.”

“Picky? She’s staring at me like I’m some kind of intruder. What do you mean by picky?” Jayce said, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s observing,” Y/N said with a mischievous smile. “You’ve got to earn her trust.”

Jayce scoffed. “Observing? She’s watching me like she’s about to strike.”

The cat flicked its tail lazily, clearly unbothered by the conversation. Its gaze didn’t waver, even for a second, and it seemed to silently question Jayce’s very existence. Y/N chuckled at the scene. “She’s very thorough.”

=

Later that night, as Jayce was settling in to stay over at Y/N’s house, the cat’s territorial behaviour continued. Jayce changed into his nightwear, and when he came out of the bathroom, the cat was already there, on the bed, like it had been waiting for this moment. There was no hesitation in its movements, no tentative pawing at the sheets. The cat just hopped up, claimed the spot next to Y/N, and sprawled across the bed in a show of dominance, staring at Jayce with those penetrating eyes.

Jayce climbed into bed beside Y/N, pulling the covers over himself. “She’s really not even trying to hide it now, is she?” he grumbled, eyeing the cat, who was already lying with her back to him, her tail flicking slowly, almost as if she were waiting for him to make a mistake.

Y/N laughed softly, propping herself up on an elbow and glancing at the cat, whose posture was practically regal. “You’re not wrong. She’s just… warming up to you.”

“Warming up?” Jayce gave a dramatic sigh, rolling onto his side. “She’s staring at me like I’m about to make a run for it. I’m pretty sure she’s planning my demise while I sleep.”

Y/N laughed, brushing the cat’s fur as it lay between them, her fingers scratching behind its ears. The cat’s half-lidded eyes closed for a moment, seemingly content, but it still didn’t soften its gaze towards Jayce. It was clear who ruled this bed.

As soon as Jayce shifted in bed, the feline’s eyes snapped open, tail flicking again with a precision that made Jayce feel like he was under some kind of scrutiny he couldn’t escape. He tried to adjust the blanket, only for the cat’s gaze to follow his every movement like a hawk stalking its prey.

A few moments later, Jayce attempted to hold Y/N’s hand as they both lay in bed, hoping for some quiet intimacy. But before he could even settle into the gesture, the cat immediately rose up, stretched lazily, and positioned itself directly between their hands, its cold eyes now fixed on Jayce, daring him to try.

“Really?” Jayce muttered under his breath, looking down at the cat, which now had both of its paws tucked neatly under its chest, as if to say Not on my watch.

Y/N just laughed at the absurdity of it all, brushing her hand through the cat’s fur with a fond smile. “She’s very protective,” Y/N said, as the cat mewed softly but didn’t move an inch. “Just accept that she’s not going to give you easy access to me.”

Jayce, feeling utterly defeated, leaned back against the pillow, giving the cat one last, dramatic look. “She’s like a little bouncer at the door to my heart. I’m never going to get past this.”

“She’s just making sure you’re good enough,” Y/N teased. “It’s her way of saying she cares.”

Jayce rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “One day, I’ll win her over. You’ll see. It might take a while, but I’ll get there.”

Y/N smiled softly, a mix of amusement and affection in her eyes. “I’m sure you will. But don’t be surprised if it takes longer than you expect. She’s a tough nut to crack.”

As the night stretched on, the cat remained unyielding in its position between them, still glaring at Jayce whenever he shifted too much. Eventually, the rhythmic flicking of its tail as it lay against Y/N’s side began to lull Jayce to sleep, but not before he muttered quietly to himself:

“Just you wait, kitty. I’ll win you over yet.”

The cat, of course, didn’t respond, too busy with its important task of watching over the bed like a sentry. Its tail flicked one more time before it settled, and its eyes closed slowly, as if to say This is my domain, and you’re lucky to be here.

And as Y/N drifted off to sleep, she couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of it all. It might take some time, but maybe, just maybe, Jayce and her cat would learn to get along.

VIKTOR

Viktor stood in the lab, his cane lightly tapping the floor as he adjusted a delicate hextech device. The quiet hum of the machinery was a welcome sound, until the soft padding of paws interrupted his concentration. Viktor glanced up, his expression softening, as Y/N’s cat—an irritable grey tabby with eyes like molten gold—sauntered into the room with a slow, deliberate pace. There was no mistaking the cat's intentions: she was here to remind Viktor who truly ran the show.

"Ah, there you are," Viktor said, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. "Y/N mentioned you'd be visiting. Always a pleasure."

The tabby paused in the doorway and shot him the kind of flat, unblinking stare that could only be described as judgement in its purest form. Viktor straightened, feeling the weight of her gaze.

"Careful, Viktor," Y/N’s voice echoed from the hallway, casual but with a hint of mischief. "She’s very well trained. Just, uh... don’t leave her alone with anything valuable."

Viktor, ever the optimist, had dismissed the warning. How much trouble could a small cat cause in a lab filled with state-of-the-art hextech devices? he’d thought. And so, he continued to fiddle with his equipment, not realising the cat had already taken full note of his every move.

As Viktor turned back to the device, he felt a soft thud as the tabby made her move. She ambled up to a shelf nearby, giving Viktor a glance that was equal parts calculating and smug. With a flick of her paw, she nudged a device—an intricate piece of work that Viktor had spent hours perfecting—towards the edge of the table.

"Wait!" Viktor yelped, reaching out just a moment too late. The device wobbled, and then with a slow, inevitable fate, it fell to the floor, shattering into pieces with a sharp crack.

The cat didn’t even flinch. She just stared at Viktor, her tail flicking slowly, as if daring him to do something about it. Viktor was momentarily stunned. He bent down, muttering under his breath, "You little menace," as he picked up the shards. "You’ve got more destructive power than an army of chem-barons."

From the hallway, Y/N’s voice called out, oblivious to the carnage unfolding in the lab. "Viktor, I’m just grabbing a snack. Be nice to my cat!"

The moment the door clicked shut, the tabby saw it as her cue. Viktor was still distracted, kneeling to gather the broken pieces, when the cat, as if on a mission, darted between his legs. Viktor’s cane was caught between his feet as he staggered, barely managing to keep himself upright.

"Not now!" Viktor groaned, but the tabby was relentless. She weaved between his feet like a small, furry shadow, causing him to stumble back and knock over another stack of components. His cane slipped, and he grabbed the desk to steady himself, but—

The cat was already on the counter, her eyes gleaming with mischief. With a quick flick of her paw, she sent a mug—his favourite mug, a gift from Y/N—tumbling off the edge of the table. It fell in slow motion, and Viktor could do nothing but watch in horror as it shattered into pieces on the ground.

"Really?!" Viktor exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. The tabby just gave him another one of those looks—that infuriating, knowing stare that seemed to say, Your problem now, not mine.

Just as Viktor was about to give the cat a stern lecture, Y/N returned, her voice light and cheerful. "Everything okay in here?"

The tabby immediately leapt into her lap, curling up as though she hadn’t just spent the last few minutes turning Viktor’s workspace into a disaster zone. Y/N looked down at the mess, her brow furrowing playfully.

"Uh-oh, what happened in here?" she asked, though her tone made it clear she already knew the answer.

Viktor, standing there with his cane in one hand and a pile of broken equipment in the other, sighed dramatically. "Your cat, Y/N. She’s... she's a menace."

Y/N smiled sweetly, unbothered. "She’s a very well-trained cat," she said, a sparkle in her eye. "She’s just, you know, testing your patience."

Viktor’s face twisted in frustration. “I don’t know if I’m more frustrated with her, or the fact that she’s winning.” He shot the cat a look of pure betrayal. She stared back with the air of someone who had just won the game—and she knew it.

"Well," Viktor muttered dryly, rubbing his forehead, "I’d rather be facing down a dozen chem-barons with hextech cannons than trying to deal with this little terror again."

Y/N chuckled, clearly enjoying his discomfort. She leaned against him, her arm wrapping around his shoulders as she spoke in a teasing tone. “She’s just... warming up to you. You’ll see.”

Viktor, who had been pacing the lab in frustration, paused and cast a sideways glance at the cat. “Warming up to me? She’s out for blood, not friendship!” He glanced down at his cane, his expression a mix of defeat and determination. "I might need another cane, but this time... to defend myself from her."

Y/N laughed, her head resting on his shoulder as she looked at her cat, who was now grooming herself innocently. “She does have a way of, um, marking her territory.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow as the cat, as if on cue, stretched out and knocked over a stack of papers from the workbench. The papers fluttered to the ground in an elegant cascade, landing in a mess on Viktor’s carefully organised floor.

“Are you serious right now?” Viktor’s voice cracked with a mix of amusement and sheer frustration. “Is she trying to bankrupt me with these paper cuts? Is this her master plan?”

“I told you,” Y/N teased, “she’s very well trained. Just not in the way you expected.” She winked at Viktor, clearly enjoying the show.

Viktor let out a deep, exasperated sigh. “She’s a natural-born saboteur. I’m starting to think I need to install a forcefield around my workbench just to survive her visits.”

Y/N smirked, kissing him on the cheek. “Maybe she’s just trying to get your attention.”

Viktor glanced at the cat, who was now curled up peacefully in Y/N’s lap, purring as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. “Well, she’s certainly succeeded... just not in the way she intended.”

Y/N chuckled, scratching her cat behind the ears. “Don’t worry, Vik. She’ll come around eventually.”

Viktor stared at the cat, now blissfully content. “If she does, it’ll be with a weaponized tail and a caffeine-induced panic attack.”

JAYVIK

The atmosphere in the living room was warm and inviting, the low crackle of the fireplace providing a comforting background hum. Viktor, ever the picture of calm, was settled into his favourite chair, his cane resting neatly by his side. He smiled as he watched Y/N laugh at something he’d said, her laugh light and melodic, a sound that always made him feel at home. Her eyes twinkled with amusement, and Viktor couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentment as he observed her in this peaceful moment.

Jayce, on the other hand, was bouncing off the walls—his usual bundle of energy. He paced the room, occasionally pausing to gesticulate wildly, lost in the latest idea or invention that was bubbling in his mind. His movements were rapid, almost frenetic, and the sound of his shoes tapping against the floor punctuated the otherwise quiet room. But even his ceaseless energy couldn’t escape the presence of Y/N’s cat, which had taken its rightful place in Viktor’s lap. The fluffy ball of disdain looked as though it were royalty and Viktor its devoted subject.

The cat lay sprawled across Viktor’s legs, its eyes half-lidded as it purred softly, completely unperturbed by the chaos around it. Viktor absentmindedly stroked its fur, a look of fondness on his face.

Jayce, however, had clearly had enough. He stopped in his tracks, a mischievous glint in his eye as he glanced at the cat. He cocked his head slightly, sizing it up like a challenge he couldn’t resist.

With a bright grin, Jayce placed his hands on his hips. "Hey there, little guy. How’s it going?"

The cat, looking entirely uninterested, flicked its tail slowly, almost in slow motion, its gaze narrowing ever so slightly at Jayce. Then, in an act of complete disinterest, it turned its back on him, curling up even more tightly on Viktor’s lap.

Y/N chuckled softly, shaking her head in amusement. "It’s not you, Jayce. Cats... they have very specific tastes."

Jayce, ever the optimist, puffed out his chest and gave a confident smile. "Specific? It’s just a cat. How bad can it be? I’ll win it over, you’ll see."

With that, Jayce dashed off to the kitchen, returning moments later with a small bowl of treats. He held it out, almost as though presenting an offering to a deity. "Look! I brought you some treats! Peace offering?"

The cat glanced briefly at the bowl, then lazily turned its head back toward the wall. Its gaze flickered over Jayce for a fraction of a second, as though considering whether he was worth even the smallest bit of attention. It wasn’t. With an exaggerated flick of its tail, the cat rolled over onto its back, completely ignoring him and settling deeper into Viktor’s lap as though to make a point.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued to pet the cat. "It seems I’m the preferred option, Jayce."

Y/N, her voice teasing, couldn’t resist a little jab. "Well, you do tend to attract the... more discerning crowd."

Jayce, momentarily deflated but not one to back down easily, threw his shoulders back and leaned forward, a new plan forming in his mind. "Alright, alright. How about this? What if I sing you a song? You like music, right?"

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a laugh as she watched Jayce prepare for his next attempt. Viktor, too, raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by Jayce’s unrelenting determination.

Without missing a beat, Jayce cleared his throat dramatically and began belting out a popular song. His voice was full of energy, but unfortunately, not much in the way of musicality. It was loud, off-key, and filled with all the fervor of a man who thought he was giving a world-class performance. The cat’s ears twitched slightly at the noise, and for a moment, it flicked its eyes toward Jayce. But that moment was brief. The cat yawned—a long, deliberate stretch of its jaw—and then, with an almost bored sigh, jumped off Viktor’s lap. It strutted confidently over to the back of the couch and curled up in a perfect little ball, completely indifferent to Jayce’s efforts.

Jayce stood there, the bowl of treats still in his hand, watching the cat move with an air of smug satisfaction that was almost palpable.

"Alright..." Jayce sighed, shoulders slumping. He placed the treats down on the table, defeated. "I get it. No singing. I’ll... just leave you to your royal highness."

Y/N couldn’t hold it in any longer. She burst into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she tried to stifle it. She patted Jayce’s arm comfortingly. "It’s like it has its own aesthetic, Jayce. And you just don’t fit that vibe."

Viktor, still petting the cat, chuckled softly. "Some things can’t be rushed. Cats are a... patient breed."

Jayce, though deflated, wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He crossed his arms, looking stubbornly at the cat. "I swear, I’m going to get that cat to like me one day."

Y/N, with a playful glint in her eyes, raised an eyebrow. "Maybe next time you’ll bring it a better peace offering—something it can actually respect."

Jayce groaned dramatically and flopped down onto the couch, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "This is an outrage! I’ve tried treats, I’ve tried songs, and the cat’s still... winning! How is this fair?"

Viktor, clearly enjoying Jayce’s frustration, smirked and pulled Y/N closer, kissing the top of her head. "It’s a battle you’ll have to accept, my friend."

The cat, completely satisfied with its victory, curled up even more comfortably on the back of the couch. It gave Jayce one last glance, a look that could only be described as smug, before it let out a contented purr. The war was won, and the cat was the undisputed ruler of Viktor’s lap.

=

Later that night, when it was time for bed, Y/N and Viktor were already snuggled up together, the soft rustling of sheets and the quiet warmth of their embrace filling the space. Viktor’s arm was protectively wrapped around Y/N, and he was already beginning to drift off to sleep, his head nestled comfortably on the pillow.

Jayce, still determined to join the cuddle pile, moved toward the bed. He had no idea that the real battle was just about to begin.

The cat, who had been lounging peacefully on the floor, noticed Jayce’s approach. In a move so quick it was almost comical, it jumped up onto the bed, trotting directly to Y/N’s side. With a huff, it nestled itself between Y/N and Viktor, as though staking its claim on the spot. It didn’t even look at Jayce, just settled down and purred contentedly.

Jayce froze at the edge of the bed, staring at the cat in disbelief. "Uh, excuse me? That’s my side!"

The cat didn’t even acknowledge him. It turned its head slowly, giving him the longest, most disdainful look it could muster. Then, with a flick of its tail, it curled itself even tighter into the blanket, as though to say, This is my domain now, human. You have no place here.

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, wrapping her arm around Viktor and pulling herself closer to him. Viktor looked down at the scene with an amused expression, clearly enjoying the absurdity of it all.

"Looks like you’re not getting in, Jayce," Y/N teased, her voice light with laughter.

Viktor, pulling Y/N closer and kissing the top of her head, smirked. "Seems like your efforts have been... entirely futile."

Jayce, deflated and thoroughly defeated, dramatically flopped down onto the floor beside the bed. He lay there with his arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling as if the world had conspired against him.

"I’ve tried everything," he sighed dramatically. "I can’t even get into my own bed with my partners anymore."

The cat let out another exaggerated purr, a sound that seemed to mock Jayce’s defeat, and then nestled even deeper into the blankets. It was clear: the cat had won, not just the battle, but the entire war.

Y/N, her voice full of teasing, raised an eyebrow. "Maybe next time you’ll bring it something it actually respects, Jayce. A proper peace offering."

Jayce rolled over onto his back with a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms in defeat. "I’ll never win this war... will I?"

Viktor laughed softly and pulled Y/N even closer into his embrace. "It’s a battle you’ll have to accept, Lásko"

=

After a beat, Y/N, realising that Jayce was still outside the warm bed, sighed and gently nudged the cat. She coaxed it with soft words, carefully shifting it from its position to lie between her and Viktor. The cat begrudgingly moved, its tail flicking once more, but ultimately it settled in the new spot, casting a final glance at Jayce as though to say, I’m not done with you yet.

With the cat now comfortably between them, Y/N patted the space beside her. "Alright, come on, Jayce. You can join us now."

Jayce hesitated, but the warmth of the bed and the prospect of snuggling beside Y/N was too tempting to resist. He climbed up into bed, pressing himself gently against her side. But just as he was settling in, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the cat’s eyes were still on him.

From between Y/N and Viktor, the cat's gaze bore into him, the faintest glint of mischief in its eyes. Jayce could feel its presence, the weight of its unblinking stare hovering over him like a challenge.

Y/N smiled softly, resting her head against Viktor’s chest. "You’re not alone, Jayce," she said, but her tone held a teasing edge as she looked over at the cat’s eyes watching from between them.

Jayce shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the cat’s silent judgment. "I swear, this is the last time I try to win this battle," he muttered, finally allowing himself to relax against Y/N.

Viktor chuckled, tightening his arm around Y/N. "I think that may be wise." He kissed the top of her head and smiled, knowing full well the cat had claimed its victory—for now.

The cat, nestled comfortably between Y/N and Viktor, let out a contented purr, as if it had declared its territorial rights and was now satisfied. Jayce, though defeated, could only roll his eyes at the absurdity of it all as the three of them finally settled in for the night. But no matter how comfortable he got, the feeling of the cat’s gaze never truly left him, its watchful eyes a constant reminder that the war was far from over.

VANDER

Y/N’s cat, an enormous, fluffy black-and-white feline with a perpetually unimpressed expression, had made himself at home at the Last Drop. Whether lounging atop the bar, curled up on a shelf of questionable cleanliness, or casually knocking over empty glasses with the flick of a paw, the cat ruled the pub like a grumpy monarch overseeing his dishevelled kingdom. And, much like any ruler, he had his list of favourites and those he deemed unworthy. Vander, unfortunately, fell into the latter category.

“Oh, come on,” Vander grumbled, watching as the cat hopped up onto the bar again, his sharp green eyes glaring at him with the kind of disdain that only a cat could muster. Vander gestured to the creature with exasperation. “What’s your problem, mate? I’ve been nothing but nice to you! I even feed you scraps!”

The cat, in response, blinked slowly, turned his back to Vander, and began grooming himself with deliberate indifference. The message was clear: Your efforts are pathetic, peasant.

Y/N, wiping down one of the tables nearby, chuckled as she caught the interaction. “I told you already, love. He’s not a fan of beer-soaked steak. Or you, apparently.” She shot Vander a cheeky grin before returning to her work.

Vander leaned against the bar with a heavy sigh, his broad arms crossed over his chest. “I think he’s got it out for me. He stares at me like he knows all my secrets. It’s unsettling.”

Y/N’s grin widened as she set her cleaning rag down. “Oh, he does. Cats are excellent judges of character. Aren’t you, darling?”

At the sound of Y/N’s voice, the cat’s ears perked up. He abandoned his grooming, leapt gracefully from the bar onto Y/N’s shoulder, and nuzzled against her cheek with a deep, rumbling purr. His tail swayed lazily, brushing against her neck.

“See?” Y/N said smugly, stroking the cat under his chin. “He loves me.”

“Of course, he loves you. Everyone loves you,” Vander muttered, his glower fixed on the cat. “But he’s downright cruel to me. How do you explain that?”

The cat chose that exact moment to leap from Y/N’s shoulder straight onto Vander’s broad chest, claws extending just enough to ensure a solid grip. Vander froze, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air as he stared down at the feline now clinging to him like some kind of fluffy barnacle.

“Uh… Y/N?” Vander said, his voice laced with equal parts confusion and panic.

Y/N covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “Oh, he’s just making himself comfortable, love. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you.”

“Not on purpose,” Vander muttered under his breath. The cat climbed up onto his shoulder with all the regal authority of a king ascending a throne, his tail flicking against Vander’s face as he settled into his new perch.

“You look good,” Y/N teased, biting her lip to keep from laughing outright. “Very dignified. Like a true king’s steward.”

“I hate this,” Vander muttered, standing stiff as a board, clearly terrified of offending his unwelcome passenger.

The cat, as if sensing Vander’s discomfort, gave a low, self-satisfied purr before leaping gracefully back onto the bar. Vander exhaled in relief, furiously brushing at his shirt to remove the tufts of black-and-white fur left behind.

The sound of giggling pulled their attention. Mylo, Powder, Vi, and Claggor were gathered at a nearby table, clearly enjoying the show. Powder’s face lit up as she clapped her hands together.

“He loves us!” she chirped, holding out her arms as the cat padded over. With the air of a benevolent ruler, the feline rubbed his head against Powder’s hand before flopping onto his back in her lap, purring so loudly it practically rattled the bottles behind the bar.

“Traitor,” Vander grumbled, watching as the cat basked in Powder’s affection, his paws kneading the air contentedly.

“He’s got taste,” Mylo said with a smirk. “Likes the kids. Doesn’t like grumpy old men.”

Vander raised an eyebrow, fixing Mylo with a pointed look. “Grumpy old men, eh? Maybe you’d like to clean up tonight, then?”

Mylo’s smirk vanished instantly. “I meant wise and distinguished men!” he said hurriedly, shooting an apologetic grin at Vander.

Y/N burst into laughter, shaking her head as she leaned against the bar. “Oh, leave them be, love. He’s just protecting his territory. That’s all.”

Vander’s brows furrowed. “His territory?”

The cat gave a low, self-satisfied mrrrow from Powder’s lap, his eyes half-lidded with smug contentment. It was as though he was saying, Yes, my territory.

“Yes, his territory,” Y/N said, planting a quick kiss on Vander’s cheek. “Face it, darling. You’re sharing this place with a cat who thinks he’s king.”

Vander groaned, resting his head in his hands. “One day, that cat’s going to knock a pint onto my head, and I’ll still be the villain in his eyes.”

“Probably,” Y/N said cheerfully, stroking the cat as she joined Powder and the others.

The cat flicked his tail again, looking far too pleased with himself, while the kids dissolved into laughter. In that moment, Vander could almost swear the cat was smirking at him.

=

Hours later, the Last Drop was finally closed for the night. Y/N ushered the kids upstairs to the living quarters, where they shared a cosy room packed with mismatched blankets, pillows, and the faint scent of childhood mischief. Vander followed behind, checking the locks on the doors and extinguishing the last of the pub’s lights.

Once upstairs, Vander paused at the doorway of the kids’ room. Powder was already curled up in bed, her arms wrapped around a patchwork stuffed toy. At her side, nestled against her with the same protective aura as an old guard dog, was the cat. His fluffy black-and-white form rose and fell with each slow, purring breath.

Vander’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Guess he’s not all bad,” he muttered under his breath, quietly closing the door behind him.

He made his way down the hall to his own room, where Y/N was already tucked into bed. The room was dimly lit by the faint glow of a lantern, casting soft shadows on the walls. Vander sighed, ready to collapse into bed after the long day.

But as he stepped inside, he froze.

There, at the foot of the bed, sat the cat. His green eyes glinted in the low light, fixed on Vander with an unyielding glare. His tail flicked once, the motion slow and deliberate, as if to say, This is my space now.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Vander muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “What is it with you?”

Y/N stirred, opening one eye to look at him. “What’s wrong?” she murmured sleepily.

“The cat,” Vander said, gesturing towards the feline monarch sitting smugly on the bed. “He’s doing it again.”

Y/N sat up slightly, squinting at the cat. She let out a soft laugh. “He’s just keeping your spot warm, love. Isn’t that right?”

The cat gave a low, disdainful mrrow, his gaze never leaving Vander.

Vander sighed, muttering something unintelligible as he crossed the room. He gently picked up the cat, who protested with a half-hearted hiss, and set him on the nearby chair.

The cat leapt back onto the bed almost immediately, curling up at Y/N’s side this time, his eyes still trained on Vander as if daring him to try again.

“You win,” Vander grumbled, climbing into bed on the opposite side. “But one day, cat, one day I’ll have my revenge.”

The cat closed his eyes, purring triumphantly as Y/N giggled, pulling Vander close. “Face it, love. He’s got you wrapped around his paw.”

“Just don’t let him tell the kids,” Vander mumbled, already drifting off to sleep, the faint sound of purring filling the room.

SILCO

The Last Drop was unusually quiet tonight, save for the rhythmic sound of Y/N humming softly as she stitched up a tear in one of Silco’s finely tailored coats. A dim, flickering light from a nearby lamp cast long shadows across the room. Silco sat across from her in his usual chair, steepling his fingers, his brow furrowed in thought. It was the kind of look that sent shivers down the spines of his enemies, the look of a man plotting something undeniably dangerous.

But tonight, Silco had been thrown off his game.

Across the room, perched on the windowsill like some judgemental gargoyle, sat the true ruler of the space. A creature whose presence demanded reverence and fear in equal measure.

The cat.

He was a sleek, black devil with sharp golden eyes that seemed to burn like molten coins, his tail flicking lazily behind him. He sat tall and poised, as if daring anyone to challenge his authority.

And Silco, a man who could stare down the likes of Piltover's enforcers without breaking a sweat, was glaring at the cat like it was his mortal enemy.

“What?” Silco finally muttered, his gravelly voice cutting through the silence.

The cat didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He simply continued his unyielding stare.

“What’s going on now?” Y/N asked without looking up. She didn’t need to. This was far from the first time Silco and the cat had gone head-to-head.

“Your… creature,” Silco drawled, his voice dripping with venom, “has been staring at me for thirty minutes straight. I suspect it’s plotting my assassination.”

Y/N chuckled, pulling the thread taut. “He’s just trying to figure you out. Cats are perceptive like that.”

“Oh, he’s not trying to ‘figure me out.’” Silco leaned forward slightly, his single good eye narrowing into a deadly slit. “He’s judging me. Mocking me.”

The cat blinked once, slowly, as if to say, Yes. Yes, I am.

Y/N smirked, finally glancing up. “Why don’t you try being nice to him? Maybe then he’ll warm up to you.”

“I am nice,” Silco said sharply.

“You stabbed someone last week because they sneezed too close to you,” she pointed out casually, returning to her work.

“That was entirely different. They sneezed on me.” Silco sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming impatiently against the armrest.

The cat yawned widely, showing off his small, sharp teeth, before stretching languidly across the windowsill. His movements were deliberately slow, almost theatrical, like he was putting on a show.

Silco’s eye twitched. “Do not test me,” he warned in a low voice.

The cat let out a soft, almost dismissive meow.

“Oh, for the love of—” Silco stood abruptly, his patience fraying. “Listen here, you mangy little—”

The cat, undeterred by the rising tension, leapt gracefully from the windowsill onto Silco’s desk. His paws landed squarely on a stack of meticulously organised documents. The silence that followed was deafening.

The two locked eyes once more, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. Slowly, deliberately, the cat raised one paw and batted a pen onto the floor.

Y/N looked up just in time to catch the moment. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing. “I think he likes you,” she teased, her voice full of amusement.

“Oh, he adores me,” Silco replied flatly, his good eye narrowing even further.

The cat began to knead his paws into the documents, his claws catching on the delicate paper. Then, with a dramatic flick of his tail, he knocked over an inkwell. The dark liquid spilled across the desk in a slow, spreading pool, ruining the papers beneath it.

Silco froze. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, and for a moment, Y/N genuinely thought he might throw the cat out of the nearest window.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, his voice a dangerous whisper, “your demon has just destroyed hours of work.”

Y/N shrugged, fighting back a grin. “Maybe he’s trying to tell you to relax. You work too much.”

Silco pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about “accursed creatures” and “Zaun not being big enough for the both of us.”

The cat, clearly unbothered by the destruction he’d caused, circled a few times before plopping down onto the ruined papers. He curled into a tight ball and let out a loud, triumphant purr.

Silco glared at the smug little beast, his jaw clenched so tightly that Y/N could hear his teeth grinding.

“It’s sleeping. On my work,” Silco noted, his voice heavy with disbelief.

“It must trust you,” Y/N said sweetly, walking over to the desk. She scratched the cat behind the ears, earning another loud purr.

“Oh, it trusts me, does it?” Silco muttered bitterly, sitting back down with a sharp exhale. He leaned on the desk, his good eye never leaving the cat.

The cat opened one eye to look at him, stretched lazily, and let out a soft chirp, as if to say, No, you’re lucky I tolerate you.

Y/N finally broke into laughter, her shoulders shaking as she leaned against the desk for support. “You two are more alike than you realise,” she teased.

Silco turned his glare on her. “Do not compare me to that insolent furball.”

But deep down, Y/N knew the truth. Despite his protests, Silco secretly respected the cat’s audacity. And while neither of them would ever admit it, their nightly staring contests had become an unspoken tradition—a battle of wills between a crime lord and a feline who couldn’t care less.

As always, the cat remained undefeated.

=

Down in the dimly lit bar, the hum of chatter and the clinking of glasses filled the air. In their small, sectioned-off table tucked into the shadows of The Last Drop, Silco sat with his usual commanding presence. The cat sat perched beside him, lounging on the edge of the bench as though he owned the place.

Y/N had stepped away to speak to someone who had approached her at the bar, leaving the unlikely duo momentarily alone.

Silco swirled his glass of whisky absently, his sharp eye tracking her movement across the room. The cat, lounging in his usual air of superiority, watched her as well, his golden eyes narrowing like twin daggers.

At first, Silco ignored the cat’s line of sight, assuming it was just being its usual nosy self. But when he glanced back towards Y/N, he noticed the stranger leaning in a little too close. Silco’s fingers tightened around his glass.

The cat’s tail lashed.

The stranger laughed at something Y/N said, gesturing a little too animatedly. They leaned closer, their voice dropping as if to murmur something just for her ears.

Silco’s jaw clenched. His good eye narrowed. He shifted forward slightly in his seat, his whole body radiating displeasure.

The cat, mirroring him almost perfectly, sat upright, tail flicking furiously against the bench.

Silco’s glare shifted to the cat for a brief moment, as if questioning why it was suddenly invested in this situation. But then their gazes returned to the stranger in unison, a synchronised act of unrelenting disdain.

The cat let out a low, almost guttural growl—a sound Silco didn’t even know cats were capable of making.

“Hm,” Silco murmured, setting his glass down slowly. “You don’t like them either, do you?”

The cat, as if understanding him perfectly, flicked its ears back and let out an indignant chirp.

Silco’s lips twitched into something resembling a smirk. For the first time since the feline had infiltrated his life, he felt a spark of camaraderie. “At least you have some taste.”

They continued their silent scrutiny, their mutual disapproval practically radiating across the room. The stranger reached out and placed a hand on Y/N’s arm, their tone overly familiar.

Silco’s smirk vanished. His fingers tapped against the tabletop with deliberate menace. Beside him, the cat let out a sharp, accusatory meow, its tail slamming against the bench like a judge’s gavel.

Y/N, oblivious to the brewing storm, laughed at something the stranger said, but when she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of Silco and the cat glaring daggers at the poor soul in front of her, she faltered.

“What in the world…” she muttered to herself, her brows knitting together in confusion.

The stranger, noticing her distraction, turned to follow her gaze. The moment they locked eyes with Silco’s icy glare and the cat’s piercing stare, their confidence visibly wavered.

Silco leaned back in his seat, his head tilting ever so slightly, his expression calm but deadly. The cat mirrored him perfectly, its golden eyes narrowing further as it let out a low, almost mocking meow.

The stranger cleared their throat awkwardly, stepping back slightly. “Uh… well, I’ll let you get back to your… uh, friends.” They gestured vaguely towards the table before hastily retreating into the crowd.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she made her way back to the table. “Alright, what was that about?”

Silco sipped his whisky, feigning innocence. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

The cat, equally smug, hopped down from the bench and onto Y/N’s lap as she sat down, purring loudly as if it had just saved her life.

Y/N looked between the two of them suspiciously. “You two were glaring at them, weren’t you?”

Silco didn’t respond, but the slight upturn of his lips betrayed him. The cat, on the other hand, let out a proud little chirp before curling up contentedly.

Y/N sighed, shaking her head. “You’re both impossible.”

Silco glanced at the cat, who met his gaze briefly before settling back down with a haughty flick of its tail.

“Perhaps,” Silco murmured, raising his glass in a mock toast towards the cat, “but at least we understand each other now.”

The cat let out a single, approving meow, and for the first time, the two shared a moment of mutual respect. It seemed there was one thing they could agree on: no one got too close to Y/N without their say-so.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N sat at the table, casually sipping from her cup of tea, watching the chaotic scene unfold before her. Her cat, a small, fluffy creature with a deep-seated sense of superiority, sat like a statue in Jinx’s arms. His eyes were wide and filled with disdain, and his tail twitched with enough irritation to create a small breeze. He wasn’t a fan of cuddles, least of all forced ones.

Jinx, oblivious to the cat’s obvious displeasure, leaned in even closer, her wild hair tangling around the poor feline’s face. "Come on, kitty," she cooed, her voice unreasonably chipper for someone being so intensely rejected. "We’re gonna be best pals, just you wait!"

The cat blinked slowly, his gaze flat and unamused. If he could roll his eyes, he would have done so a dozen times by now. His tail flicked lazily, but there was an underlying venom in the slow motion. Y/N could almost hear his thoughts: Please. Someone help me.

"Jinx," Y/N said between sips, her lips curving into a smile she couldn’t hide. "I think he’s made it pretty clear that he’s not your biggest fan."

"Nah," Jinx shot back, completely unfazed by the cat's barely concealed hatred. She tightened her grip around his little body, causing the cat to go rigid. "He’s just playing hard to get! Deep down, he loves me. He just doesn’t know it yet."

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh. "You really think so, huh? He's about as fond of you as a rat in a trap."

"Not true!" Jinx insisted, her eyes glinting mischievously. She proceeded to squish the cat’s face into her chest, practically suffocating him with affection. "He’s just shy. I’ll teach him the power of hugs!"

The cat, if anything, only seemed to shrink further into himself. His eyes widened, darting over to Y/N like a prisoner begging for mercy. His tiny paws swatted at the air weakly, trying to escape, but Jinx’s hold was unrelenting. He gave Y/N one final pleading glance before squirming again, this time attempting to contort his body like a professional escape artist. His dignity was slipping away, and he was too proud to let it show.

Y/N sighed dramatically, setting her cup down on the table with a soft clink. She folded her arms, her amused expression morphing into one of mock sternness. "Jinx, if you don’t let him go right now, he’s going to turn into a puff of fur and resentment. You’re not exactly 'winning him over' here."

Jinx raised her eyebrows at the challenge. "Nah, he’s just a tough nut to crack! I’m not giving up. We’re gonna be besties by the end of the day!" She pressed her cheek to the cat’s fur as though it would somehow convince him.

The cat’s eyes flicked to Y/N again, this time looking more like a tiny, furry hostage. It was the sort of expression that said, Please, for the love of all that’s good, save me. His tail, previously twitching in annoyance, now whipped around in short, rapid jerks as he tried to break free.

Y/N gave an exaggerated shrug, leaning back in her chair with a devilish grin. "Well, you’ve got about three seconds before he goes full tornado of fury on you."

True to her word, the cat’s tail fluffed up to twice its size, and with a sharp hiss, he made his move. It was like a blur of fur as he squirmed out of Jinx’s arms and darted down to the floor with an agility that belied his tiny frame.

Jinx made a noise of protest, but by the time she even realised what had happened, the cat was already bolting for cover under the couch. His little face peeked out just enough to confirm that he was now safe, looking up at Y/N with a mix of gratitude and exasperation. His tail twitched in what could only be described as a smug victory dance.

Y/N stifled a laugh, watching the cat's little face of triumph. "See? He’s just not a hugger."

Jinx huffed dramatically, crossing her arms. "Fine, maybe he’s not a hugger. But that’s just because he’s too cool for hugs. I’ll win him over with treats!" She stood up, a plan already forming in her head.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. "You sure? I wouldn’t be surprised if he just takes your treats and then runs off with them like some kind of criminal mastermind."

Jinx’s expression softened in determination. "You just wait. I’ve got this. One way or another, that cat is going to love me!" She gave a little nod to herself, as if it were a done deal.

Meanwhile, under the couch, the cat was staring at the two of them with an air of cautious relief. His body was still trembling slightly from his narrow escape, but now that he was out of Jinx’s clutches, he was beginning to feel slightly more like himself again. Still, he shot a final, pleading look at Y/N, his eyes silently begging for her intervention should things take another turn.

Y/N chuckled to herself, glancing back at the cat and then at Jinx. "You know, you’re going to end up making him suspicious of treats at this rate. He might start avoiding you altogether."

Jinx paused mid-step, looking back at Y/N with that same unshakable confidence. "No way. He can’t resist my charm!"

The cat, still in hiding, rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long day.

=

Days later, Y/N sat on the couch, half lost in thought, her eyes idly flicking between the small book she was reading and the scene unfolding before her. Jinx had been at it all afternoon, determined as ever to win over the cat. Y/N had watched in amusement as Jinx used treats, soft words, and, to her disbelief, a homemade sweater to try and coax the cat into liking her.

The sweater, a bizarre yet undeniably cute creation made from scrap fabric Jinx had scrounged from who-knows-where, was admittedly a masterpiece of chaos. It was stitched together with questionable craftsmanship—frayed edges here and there, mismatched patches of cloth sewn haphazardly—but there was no denying the effort that had gone into it. The cat, however, hadn’t quite shared that sentiment.

At first, when Jinx had carefully draped the tiny, too-tight sweater over him, the cat had immediately turned into a squirming ball of fury. He’d managed to escape twice before Jinx finally got him back into the thing, and with a triumphant squeal, she’d squeezed him into a cuddle.

Now, hours later, Jinx was curled up on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her, holding the cat in her arms like he was a delicate treasure. To anyone else, it might have seemed like the cat was still at odds with the whole situation, but there was something about the way he had settled into Jinx’s embrace—his tiny, furry head resting on her chest and his body finally still—that told Y/N a different story.

Jinx was practically beaming, her arms wrapped protectively around the little furball, her cheek pressed lightly against the cat’s head as if he were her most precious possession. His eyes were half-lidded, his tail still flicking occasionally, but he no longer looked entirely displeased. If anything, he looked... tolerant. Y/N chuckled softly to herself, shaking her head in amusement. Jinx had won, but not without a significant amount of persistence—and perhaps a bit of force.

The cat, now dressed in his peculiar little sweater, did look... somewhat comfy. Y/N smiled at the sight, the cat’s usual defiance somewhat softened, his tiny chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic breaths as he dozed. He was still glaring at Jinx through half-closed eyes, but the death grip on his freedom had loosened, just enough to allow him to relax into the warmth of her embrace.

It was a rare moment of peace in a chaotic world, and as she watched Jinx gently stroke the cat’s head, her heart melted a little. There was something undeniably endearing about the way Jinx tried so hard, despite the cat’s stubbornness, to form a bond. Even if it looked like it was a battle of wills, there was tenderness there—something she hadn’t expected from someone like Jinx.

Y/N sat back further in her chair, feeling the warmth of the moment settle over her. The sight of Jinx, her face soft and full of pride, holding the cat so carefully—despite everything—was enough to make her smile.

"Well," Y/N said quietly, more to herself than anything, "I guess that sweater was the key after all."

Jinx, eyes glinting with quiet triumph, grinned and nodded, though she kept her voice low, not wanting to disturb the cat’s nap. "Told you. It’s all about the sweater. And the hugs. He’s totally warming up to me."

Y/N chuckled softly, watching the cat’s little face shift slightly, his fur rustling under the soft pressure of Jinx’s hand. He wasn’t entirely asleep yet, but he was no longer fighting, and for now, that was a small victory in Jinx’s eyes.

"I think he’s just starting to accept his fate," Y/N teased gently.

Jinx shot her a playful wink. "Yeah, well, he’ll thank me when he realises he has the best cuddle buddy in Zaun."

The cat, blissfully unaware of their banter, snuggled further into Jinx’s arms, and Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the scene. It wasn’t perfect, and it certainly wasn’t without its moments of conflict, but in this quiet, contented moment, Jinx had found a way to make the cat feel safe—at least for now.

With the soft hum of Jinx’s quiet satisfaction filling the air, Y/N settled back in her chair, content to just let the moment unfold. She knew that, at the end of the day, whether or not the cat truly warmed up to Jinx, it was clear that there was a bond forming—a connection, however unlikely—and that was enough to leave her heart a little fuller.

For now, she’d let them enjoy the peace. The chaos would always return, but this rare, calm moment between them was something to cherish.

[searchingforserendipity25]

it's a good thing conclave didn't waste any time on making the stories about catholic orders and their in-fighting. and probably i shouldn't either because i am not informed enough about it to go on at length. pls take all of this w a grain of salt.

but i know in my heart of hearts that aldo bellini is a progressive liberal jesuit, the holy father's specialest most progressive liberal italian-american jesuit.

look at him. look at his glasses. those are the glasses of a man who did his dissertation on reinterpreting loyola through a contemporary reformist lens. academic wunderkid. has sooo much beef w the editors of american jesuit weekly. possibly the events of conclave are occurring in a better more beautiful world where aldo bellini is the editor of american jesuit weekly.

the late holy father for sure was a progressive jesuit also. vr pope francis coded. and low-key set him up as a successor. for a while, that seemed nearly a sure thing in some circles.

but there is the fact. well. the fact that everyone is tired, done and tired of jesuits, progressive or otherwise.

this among other factors meant he couldn't consider him the best option, besides whatever character judgement and uncanny machievallien prediction he came up with.

adeyemi has that benedictine swag which makes his potential election particularly seem like a breath of fresh air + reliable + lots of influence. tremblay is giving dominican drip and dominican corruption. and dominican flop. his nespresso machine? it's giving dominican also.

tedesco has to be an italian-founded order member. most hypocrital salesian of all times maybe?? this is unrelated to the fact that i was nearly enrolled in a salesian primary school and the weirdly panopticon-ish playground didn't pass the vibe check. and also because: consider tedesco rising in the ranks of an order created to help migrant workers...someone kick him in the head for me pls.

who even knows about benítez. i want to say franciscan but that might be just too on the nose. cistercian?? honestly it would work well if he is also without affiliation.

this lens does make lawrence's homily being interpreted as a campaign speech more understandable (and particularly funny).

because, as far as anyone can tell, he's fully running as an independent candidate. zero platform besides - if i fuck up i'll apologize and do better and be held accountable, which is more than any of you probably would.

and because he stands alone, he can be held accountable. he can belong to all, and not one faction only. as far as anyone can tell, he's burning bridges with bellini and rocking the statues quo.

he is speaking to/from a place of frustration with institutional inertia and factionalism, he is using his position as dean to bravely promote a platform for internal change in the curia, he is offering doubt as an alternative to certainty, he is pulling an absolute wildcard move.

pity he didn't mean it.

pity the the only order lawrence is interested in joining is the most hardcore discalced carmelite experience possible.

you know how some people look into luxurious real estate listings like it's porn? that's lawrence w tiny monasteries. the sort of minuscule organization with not enough people for management to be necessary. too small for politics. as close to erasure as you can get in this world: no need to be useful.

serving god by existing only to meditate on him. a narrow slant of a life, at that. barely taking up space, barely casting a shadow.

his favorite is a decrepit wreck of a place in the middle of southern spain, nowhere. no wifi no speaking aloud no possessions. no shoes no food. no nothing, only prayer. and a big big sky overhead.

maybe that will fix his issues with reaching god. if that doesn't work he'll probably just wander into the tabernas desert and become an hermit. works for some people, supposedly; plenty of order founders seem to believe so, anyway.

[kammazi]

★ you and katsuki have been dating since highschool and as luck would have it, you both loved to play video games together (or sometimes separately when katsuki would keep blowing up your house in minecraft).

you would play when you would both come back from patrol, or on your days off, including the nights when you chose to stay in when your friends went off partying to god knows where.

eventually however, the more you played the more you realised how funny katsuki was with his reactions and constant serious concentration face that looked like he was in a fight with a villain. so you brought up an idea you had one day.

to start twitch streaming.

at first you expected to be shut down with a scowl or the roll of the eyes but to your surprise he gave you an eyebrow raise followed by, “you know what, why the hell not.”

and that’s what brought you here right now, the two of you huddled around the dual monitor with you having one hand on the mouse, the other on the WASD keys. shaking.

the camera was set up in front as your microphone was positioned in between you two with the chat spamming hilarious comments that were going too fast for you to read, not that you were trying however because you were about to piss your pants.

“katsuki i don’t want to do this anymore.” you could feel the sweat gathering on your palms. you were currently guiding your character through a dark hallway, the only light coming from your flashlight.

“stop you’re fine, just keep going. don’t overthink it.” that’s basically all the support you were getting and you know what, you only have yourself to blame as you thought it would be funny to play a horror game you saw circling on your feed recently, with katsuki saying it didn’t even look scary to be considered one.

“no wait did you see that, there was literally some guy peeking around the corne— OH MY GOD HES CHASING ME HELP.” you could hear katsukis snickers as he watched you pathetically try to escape.

“left sweets, turn left.” your words came out as gibberish as you panicked “I CANT MOVE”. your comment was shortly followed by a scream as the figure lunged at you, the screen displaying a red ‘GAME OVER’.

the force or the jump knocked the microphone, slamming it against katsukis face.

the comment section started blowing up as you sat there contemplating why you ever thought this was a good idea in the first before realising what you did.

katsuki was bent over, laughing hysterically as he fixed the microphone before sitting back up and wrapping an arm around your shoulder, rubbing it in comfort.

you turned to him, a hand covering your mouth. “i’m so sorry kats i didn’t mean to.” you rubbed his face to try and soothe the hit that he probably barely even felt. while still laughing, he kissed your cheek and stood up.

“alright move over and watch the real pro at work”

which was very short lived because after a cruel jumpscare catching him off guard (which you had deemed was impossible before today) and resulted in him letting out an almost inaudible yelp, he had sat there with a straight face before turning to look at the comments that were mocking him to no end.

he scowled before responding to some.. not so gently. “FUCK YOU ‘GOONMASTER227’, I KNOW YOU WOULD BE TOO MUCH OF A PUSSY TO EVEN TRY-” you quickly cut him off by grabbing his bicep and pulling him away from the screen. everyone was already used to katsukis outbreaks wether that be on the clock or over some stupid game, however everyone still thought it was the funniest thing ever and always clipped him in these moments.

you tried your best not to chuckle. “okayy guys i think that’s enough for today. if you want us to finish the game please let us know and we hope you enjoyed the stream.” you had by now started cackling as you could hear the steam coming off of your boyfriend.

“like hell we will, this game is ass. get this off the screen.”

two days later, your boyfriends reaction was soon all over the internet, just like you assumed, and his fearsome expression that people managed to pause at the right time and screenshot was on every single profile picture of every account you saw, even your own friends.

safe to say you took a short break from streaming and had to kiss away the scowl on katsukis face for days on end after that.

a.n ; was watching coryxkensin and thought it could be funny. half assed it tho forgive me 😔 (not proofread)

@KAMMAZI 2025

[buttercandy16]

A Taste of her Masterpiece

PAIRING(s): DarkChef!Agatha Harkness x Reader

SUMMARY: Celebrity chef Agatha Harkness hides a dark secret behind her fame. When a young fan joins her kitchen, obsession takes a twisted turn, blurring the lines between love and danger.

WARNING(s): Dub-con, Cannibalism, Blood, Murder, Manipulation, and other Dark Themes.

A/N: This is sick, and I love it. Don't read if you can't handle it.

The name Agatha Harkness was synonymous with culinary perfection. She wasn’t just a chef; she was an artist. Her restaurants, scattered in the most elite corners of the world, weren’t just places to dine but experiences to be revered. There was something about her food that entranced people. Some described it as divine. Others said it evoked emotions they couldn’t quite explain—comfort and terror, ecstasy and unease, all in one bite.

You had followed her career for as long as you could remember. Watching her TV specials, reading her cookbooks, religiously recreating her recipes—it was a passion, maybe even a mild obsession. She was captivating, her confidence magnetic, and her talent undeniable. When an opportunity came up to apply for a position at her flagship restaurant, Memento, you didn’t hesitate. Landing a job there wasn’t just a career move—it was a dream.

What you didn’t know was that it would also become your nightmare.

Walking into Memento for the first time was surreal. The ambiance was intoxicating, luxurious, and yet strangely eerie. The staff moved like ghosts in their pristine uniforms, their faces stern and obedient. There was no sound of clattering dishes or shouted orders—only silence, broken occasionally by Agatha’s voice drifting from the kitchen like a symphony conductor’s commands.

You didn’t expect to meet her right away, but there she was: elegant, poised, and powerful. Her sharp features were framed by soft waves of dark hair, and her piercing eyes seemed to look right through you.

“So, you want to learn?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an undercurrent of something sharp.

“Yes, Chef. I—I’ve admired your work for years,” you stammered, suddenly aware of how small you felt in her presence.

Her smile was faint but genuine. “We’ll see if you’re worthy of my kitchen. Follow me.”

You didn’t realize then that stepping into her kitchen would mean stepping into her world, a world where culinary brilliance masked a much darker truth.

The first few days working in Memento were grueling yet exhilarating. Agatha Harkness was a perfectionist, as ruthless as she was captivating. She demanded excellence and punished failure with sharp words, but she rewarded brilliance with smiles that made your stomach flip.

From the beginning, she singled you out. When your fellow apprentices were scrambling to keep up with her instructions, she pulled you aside to demonstrate techniques herself. Her hands would brush yours as she corrected your grip on a knife. Her whispers, low and intimate, felt like secrets meant only for you.

“Don’t let the others distract you,” she said one evening, as the rest of the staff cleaned the kitchen. You had stayed behind, eager to please her. “They don’t see what I see in you. But I do, darling. You’ve got potential. If you trust me, I can make you extraordinary.”

She poured you a glass of wine, her fingers lingering on yours as she handed it over. The way she looked at you made your pulse race. There was something disarming about her, something that made you want to confide in her. You started telling her things—about your ambitions, your struggles, even your insecurities.

She listened intently, nodding and offering words of comfort. But Agatha had a way of twisting the knife.

“You give too much of yourself to people who don’t deserve it,” she’d say, her tone dripping with venom. “The people you love—do they really love you back? Or do they take and take, leaving nothing for you?”

It stung because part of you believed her. Soon, you found yourself drifting away from old friends, even family, making excuses not to call or visit. Agatha was always there, always ready to fill the void.

“You don’t need them,” she told you one night after a particularly long service. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll teach you everything. You’ll be my masterpiece.”

Her words were addictive, and you found yourself craving more of it, more of her. She was always near, her presence wrapping around you like a fog. But there were cracks in the veneer of perfection. Little things—a peculiar smell wafting from the back freezer, missing staff members who were never spoken of again, whispers from the other cooks that stopped abruptly when you entered the room.

She handed you a plate of food to taste. It was exquisite, the flavors rich and unfamiliar, yet they lingered uncomfortably on your tongue. “What do you think?” she asked, watching you intently.

“It’s... amazing,” you said, though something about it unsettled you. Her smile widened, and for a moment, you swore there was something predatory in her gaze.

“You’re learning,” she murmured, placing her hand on your shoulder.

As the weeks went on, Agatha tightened her grip. She insisted you take more shifts, pulling you away from your life outside the restaurant. Your coworkers began to whisper, their jealousy evident, but Agatha made it clear you were above them.

“Don’t let them drag you down,” she hissed after you mentioned the cold glares the others had been throwing your way. “Mediocrity despises brilliance, and you, my dear, are destined for so much more.”

But there was always an undercurrent of cruelty beneath her praise. If you made a mistake in the kitchen, her disappointment was palpable, her words cutting.

“I expected more from you,” she said once, after a dish you’d prepared fell short of her expectations. “Maybe I was wrong about you.”

Her disappointment was unbearable, a gnawing ache that kept you awake at night. The only way to earn her approval was to work harder, to give her more of yourself.

One night, as you sat together in her office, Agatha poured another glass of wine and leaned closer to you. “Do you know why I’m so hard on you?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Because I have potential?” you replied hesitantly.

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because I love you,” she said.

The words hit you like a thunderbolt, rendering you speechless.

“I see you, truly see you,” she continued. “And I’ve given you everything. My time, my knowledge, my devotion. No one else will ever care for you like I do.”

Her hand rested on your thigh, her thumb tracing slow circles. “And you love me too. Don’t you?”

Your heart raced. It wasn’t true—was it? But the way she looked at you, the way her presence filled every corner of your life, made you question everything.

“Yes,” you whispered, though the word felt like surrender.

Her smile turned triumphant, her fingers tightening on your leg. “Good. Because I’ll never let you go.”

Then came the night when she revealed her “true art.”

She led you into the backroom after service, a place the other staff seemed to avoid. The air was cold, the metallic scent of blood hanging heavy. In the center of the room was a table, and on it lay what could only be described as a macabre masterpiece—a carved human leg, meticulously prepared, the skin glistening under the fluorescent lights.

You stumbled back, bile rising in your throat, but Agatha caught you, her hands firm on your shoulders.

“Do you see now?” she whispered, her voice soothing yet terrifying. “The secret ingredient. The reason my food touches people’s souls. It’s because they taste life itself.”

“You’re insane,” you choked out, but even as you said it, you couldn’t pull away from her.

“No, my darling. I’m an artist,” she said, her eyes alight with passion. “And you... you’ve already tasted it. That’s why you’re still here. That’s why you can’t leave.”

Your stomach churned as you realized the truth. She’d been feeding it to you all along, seducing you not just with her words but with her food.

Whether out of fear, fascination, or something darker, you stayed. She lavished you with attention, pulling you deeper into her twisted world. She claimed it was love—that her obsession with you was pure and consuming, and she began to whisper her ultimate truth:

“When you truly love someone, you must consume them. Body, mind, soul.”

You didn’t fight as hard as you should have. Maybe you were too far gone, too ensnared by her charisma, her manipulation. When the night came, you let her guide you to the table, let her touch you with tenderness as she prepared to take what she believed was hers.

The room was dimly lit, candlelight flickering across the table where Agatha had arranged an array of her finest culinary tools. The knife she held glinted as she tilted it, running a finger along the blade with the care of a maestro tuning their instrument. Her expression was serene, as though preparing for something sacred.

You sat in the chair, wrists trembling against the restraints she’d insisted were “necessary.” Her eyes met yours—intense, full of adoration and madness. “I would never hurt you,” she purred. “This is love, my darling. This is how we become one.”

Your chest tightened. “Agatha, please…” you whispered, though it wasn’t entirely fear driving your plea. Deep down, a horrifying part of you craved her touch, her obsession. The thought sickened you, but her words and actions had eroded your sense of self. You didn’t know where your revulsion ended and your strange desire began.

She knelt before you, taking your trembling hands in hers. Her touch was tender, her thumb stroking your palm as though to calm you. “You’re exquisite,” she murmured. “Every piece of you is a masterpiece. And when I consume you, it won’t be to destroy you. It will be to preserve you. Forever.”

Agatha pressed her lips against your wrist, the warmth of her mouth a cruel contrast to the sharp chill of the knife resting on your skin. The blade kissed the delicate flesh of your forearm, slicing with precision. A slow bead of crimson welled up, and Agatha’s breath hitched, her pupils dilating as though she were beholding the most precious wine.

She licked the blood, her tongue darting out to taste the coppery warmth. Her eyes closed, and a shiver ran through her, a sound of pleasure slipping from her lips. “You’re perfect,” she whispered.

Terror gripped you, but so did something else—a morbid fascination as she pressed a square of white cloth to the wound, pausing only to meet your gaze. “This is trust,” she said softly. “And trust is love.”

You wanted to scream at her, to fight the straps that bound you, but her presence overwhelmed you, her obsession having carved itself into your psyche over weeks of whispered devotion and manipulation. You were hers now. You didn’t even remember what it felt like to belong to yourself.

Agatha turned away briefly, her movements deliberate and graceful as she arranged small bowls on the table: herbs, spices, drizzles of amber-hued oils. She hummed softly, the melody haunting and strangely comforting.

She cut a small piece from you. Your mind blanked, panic giving way to numb disbelief. She handled the slice of your flesh delicately, as though it were a rare delicacy. Blood still oozed from the cut, staining the pristine white of her apron, but she paid no mind.

“I’ll make this beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed in reverence. “Because you’re beautiful, and you deserve only the finest presentation.”

You were shaking now, tears streaming down your face as she seared the flesh on a small cast-iron pan. The smell wafted upward, rich and intoxicating, and it sent a new kind of horror rushing through you. Her movements were confident, almost graceful, as she added butter and herbs, basting the slice of you in its juices.

When she plated it—garnished with an artful smear of sauce and a sprig of thyme—it looked like something out of one of her shows. Perfect.

Agatha returned to you with the plate, her face alight with a mixture of pride and something darker. She cut a bite-sized piece, her hand trembling slightly as she brought the fork to your lips. “Open, my love,” she whispered.

You pressed your lips tightly together, refusing, but her gaze sharpened, her tone turning firm. “You’ll taste it,” she demanded, her obsession igniting into something commanding. “You have to. You’ll understand everything when you do.”

Reluctantly—out of fear, out of exhaustion—you parted your lips. The morsel slipped past your tongue, and the flavors exploded in your mouth: rich, savory, decadent. A groan escaped your throat before you could stop it, tears rolling down your cheeks as you hated yourself for the pleasure that coursed through you.

“There,” she said, smiling as though you had just declared your undying love for her. “You feel it now, don’t you? You feel how special you are.”

Your voice cracked. “You’re insane, Agatha…”

“I’m in love,” she corrected sharply, cupping your face. Her thumb wiped a tear from your cheek before brushing across your lips. “And you will love me the way I love you. We’ll be inseparable.”

Her mouth hovered over yours, and before you could recoil, she kissed you—deeply, possessively. You tasted your own essence on her lips, and something shattered inside you, replaced by a grim acceptance.

Then she pulled away, and before you could think to protest, she took a knife and made a shallow cut across her palm. Blood trickled down her wrist, and she let it drip onto the plate. She cut a thin strip of skin from herself and prepared it the same way, searing it with precision.

“This,” she said, handing you the fork, “is how you love someone. By letting them become part of you. Eat.”

Your body betrayed you. Your trembling hands reached for the fork, and you brought the slice to your lips. The flavor was different—darker, heavier—but no less intoxicating. Agatha’s smile widened as she watched you chew.

“You’re mine now,” she whispered, leaning close, her breath hot against your ear. “Completely. And I am yours.”

In the weeks that followed, the world outside faded into nothingness. Your life became Agatha—her kitchen, her obsession, her love. She continued to take pieces of you, small parts each time, weaving them into her dishes and savoring them with a reverence that frightened and thrilled you.

You didn’t recognize yourself anymore. You weren’t just her apprentice—you were her masterpiece. And as she fed you pieces of herself, you realized the horrifying truth: Agatha’s obsession with you seemed boundless.

 The way she looked at you—hungry and adoring—was equal parts unnerving and intoxicating. But you noticed a shift after she began feeding you pieces of herself and consuming you in return. Her affection deepened, but so did her control.

“You’re ready,” she told you one night, her tone reverent, like a priestess before a sacred ritual.

“For what?” you asked, still raw from the evening’s events—both in body and soul.

“For the next step,” she said, cupping your face with hands that were simultaneously tender and unyielding. “You’ve trusted me enough to taste and be tasted. Now, it’s time you create.”

She didn’t elaborate, but her words lingered in your mind. The next evening, when service ended, she led you into her private quarters. Unlike the rest of the restaurant, which gleamed with sterility and perfection, her personal space was dark and opulent, with velvet-draped furniture and walls lined with bookshelves.

She handed you a glass of wine and sat beside you, unnervingly close. “When I first began my journey,” she began, her voice soft and hypnotic, “I was lost, like you. Then I discovered the art of it all—the power of taking life and transforming it into something divine.”

You felt your blood run cold, but you didn’t interrupt.

“Every great artist begins with an apprentice,” she continued. “And you’re mine. To understand true creativity, true mastery, you must do more than taste. You must take. I’ll guide you, my darling. I’ll teach you how to savor every moment.”

You should have refused, but her words wove themselves around you like a spell. Agatha made it seem so... inevitable.

The next evening, Agatha brought you into the backroom again, but this time, a man was bound to the same steel table where you’d first learned the truth. He was unconscious, his face bruised but breathing steadily.

Your heart thundered in your chest as you looked at her. “Who... who is this?”

“No one of importance,” she said dismissively, brushing her fingers over the man’s temple. “He made mistakes. Crossed lines. But his life doesn’t matter now. What matters is what he will become.”

Agatha handed you a knife—your knife, she said, one she’d chosen specifically for you. The handle was cool and smooth in your hand, the blade shining under the stark light.

“Don’t look at him as a person,” she said, her voice low and coaxing. “He’s an ingredient. A canvas. And with my guidance, you’ll make something beautiful.”

Your hands trembled, bile rising in your throat. “I can’t,” you whispered.

“Yes, you can,” she said firmly, standing behind you. Her arms wrapped around you, her hands guiding yours as she brought the knife closer to the man’s bare arm. “Do you trust me?”

“I—” Your voice cracked.

“Do you love me?” she whispered into your ear, her lips brushing your skin.

“Yes,” you croaked, tears spilling down your cheeks.

“Then trust me,” she said, pressing your hands forward.

The blade sank into flesh, and the man stirred, his groan muffled by the gag in his mouth. You flinched, pulling back, but Agatha held you steady. “Good,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “You’re learning.”

It was agony and ecstasy at once, your body rebelling against the horror of what you were doing even as her praise lit something deep within you.

Agatha breathed, her voice thick with approval. "Now, don't stop."

Obediently, you continued to cut, each slice of the knife sending a jolt of dark pleasure through you. Agatha watched, her eyes glinting with pride and something else—something hungrier, more primal.

When you finally stepped back, covered in blood and trembling, she pulled you into her arms. Her lips found yours in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth. You moaned, tasting the coppery tang of blood on her lips.

"You're amazing," she purred, breaking the kiss to trail her fingers down your neck. "I knew you had it in you."

She pushed you back against the table, her hand sliding under your shirt. Her touch was rough, possessive, igniting a fire low in your belly. You arched into her, craving more.

Agatha seemed to sense your need. She tugged your shirt off, tossing it aside carelessly. Her mouth latched onto your breast, sucking and biting at the sensitive flesh until you cried out. All the while, her hand worked between your legs, pushing your skirt up and rubbing your clit through your soaked panties.

"Please," you gasped, grinding against her hand. "I need you."

She chuckled darkly, tearing your panties off with one swift tug. "Patience, my darling. I'm going to take care of you."

She plunged two fingers knuckle-deep into your dripping cunt without preamble, making you scream. Her thumb circled your clit as she pumped in and out, building a rhythm that had you writhing on the table.

"That's it," she growled, her eyes dark with lust. "Take what you need."

You did, fucking yourself on her fingers as she drove them deeper. Your orgasm built quickly, coiling tight in your belly. Just as you teetered on the edge, Agatha pulled her fingers out.

"No coming until I say so," she commanded, smacking your clit hard enough to make you yelp.

"Please," you whimpered, "I can't take it anymore. I need to come."

She smiled cruelly, pressing the fingers coated in your arousal to your lips. "Suck," she ordered.

You did, moaning at the taste of yourself on her skin. Agatha watched, her expression intense and consuming. "That's my girl," she purred.

She pushed you to your knees, opened her pants and took out her fake cock."Now, put that pretty mouth to work."

You obeyed, taking her into your mouth without hesitation. Agatha groaned, thrusting her hips forward. "Fuck yes, just like that."

She set a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon. Tears leaked from your eyes as you gagged and choked around her cock, but you didn't stop. You couldn't stop. Not with the way she was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world.

"Come here," she growled when she finally pulled out. She lifted you onto the table, kissing you deeply as she shed her clothes.

The head of her cock pressed against your entrance, and you braced yourself for the invasion. But when she pushed inside, it was different. gentler. She filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way.

"Mine," she whispered against your lips, starting to move. "All mine."

You clung to her, your nails digging into her back as she rode you hard and deep. The table creaked beneath you with each thrust, the scent of blood and sex mingling in the air.

Agatha reached between your bodies, finding your clit. She rubbed it in rough circles, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," she commanded, her voice rough with need. "Let go."

Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your cunt clamping down around her cock. Agatha followed shortly after, burying herself deep as she came with a hoarse cry.

She collapsed on top of you, both of you panting and sweat-slicked. You looked over to the lifeless body, the reality of the horror of what you've done finally sets in. Agatha cradled you in her arms, her fingers stroking your hair as you sobbed. “You did wonderfully,” she murmured. “You’ve taken your first step into becoming truly extraordinary.”

From then on, Agatha began involving you in her process. She taught you how to choose victims—how to find the “undeserving,” those who wouldn’t be missed.

“You’re not taking life; you’re elevating it,” she explained one evening as you watched her methodically butcher a new victim. “Without us, they’d vanish into nothing. But we make them immortal, unforgettable.”

Her justification worked its way into your mind, twisting your guilt into something almost noble. You began accompanying her on hunts, watching as she charmed her targets with her beauty and wit. When the time came, she’d make the kill swift, then turn to you with a smile of triumph.

“You’ll do the next one,” she told you after a particularly successful hunt. Her tone was light, as though she were offering you a new recipe to try.

And when the moment came, you did. Your hands trembled as you held the blade, but Agatha was there, her voice soothing and encouraging. “That’s my girl,” she whispered as the life drained from your victim’s eyes.

You felt sick afterward, but she kissed your forehead, wiping the blood from your face with a tenderness that only deepened your confusion. “I’m so proud of you,” she said. “You’re mine now, completely. And together, we’ll create something the world will never forget.”

The more you killed, the more natural it felt. Agatha’s voice became the only thing grounding you, her touch the only thing anchoring you to reality.

“You’re perfect,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “You’ve surpassed even my greatest expectations.”

Her lips met yours, the kiss passionate and consuming. You melted into her, unable to tell where you ended and she began.

“You and I,” she whispered against your lips, “we’re gods in the kitchen. Together, there’s nothing we can’t create. And nothing we won’t destroy. You’re everything I ever dreamed of—my equal, my masterpiece.”

And yet, no matter how deeply entangled you were in her world, you couldn’t quite banish the small voice of doubt within you—the part of you that still longed for freedom, for the version of yourself that existed before Agatha.

But Agatha knew. She always knew.

“You’re wondering if you can leave,” she said one evening as the two of you stood side by side in the kitchen, preparing the next course. Her tone was calm, but her eyes glinted with something dangerous. “You can’t. You’re mine. And if you ever try to escape, you’ll realize just how far my love for you truly goes.”

The blade in her hand gleamed as she worked, the casual threat lingering in the air between you like smoke. “Love isn’t something you can abandon,” she continued softly, slicing into the meat before her with precision. “It’s something you surrender to. Completely. Just as I’ve surrendered to you.”

Her words left you paralyzed, your mind a storm of fear and dark infatuation. Escape was no longer a possibility. You were trapped, not by the physical confines of her world, but by the chains she’d woven around your heart and mind.

And as Agatha stood behind you, her arms draped possessively over your shoulders, she whispered the words that sealed your fate:

“We are one now, my love. And nothing—not life, nor death—will ever change that.”

In that moment, you knew there was no going back. You were hers, just as she was yours, bound by blood, obsession, and an unholy art that would forever define you both.

Her love was a cage, but it was warm. And you couldn’t imagine life without her.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, comment, and follow 💚

[chosolace]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ flashing lights, lights

model! geto suguru x fem!reader x model! gojo satoru

models!suguru and satoru are one of, if not the, most sought after models of this time. the most prepossessing faces with perfectly built bodies, everyone loves seeing both of them on the runway. they find the money nice, and yeah they love the fact that they get to explore the world for free, but they only really care about one thing, you!

models!suguru and satoru are loyal only to you. whether it's getting their hair done or touching up their makeup - they only want it done by you.

models!suguru and satoru were absolute menaces to anyone who was not you during shows that had certain hairstylists and makeup artists they hired. the poor stylists and artists who were trying to do their jobs were often compared them to you.

"oh did you even try to match it with my skin? I look like a ghost."

"she would never burn my hair. did you even use heat protectant?"

"ugh I can't do this anymore. if it's not her, I don't want anyone else touching me."

their poor manager would have to beg them to hold out until they were in a position to demand you as their hair stylist so they waited. after they became famous, they made sure to avoid those certain shows because who cares if you weren't a professional? they like how you made them look so why would they not go to you?

models!suguru and satoru are your closest best friends. because doing their hair and makeup was your hobby, they often forget that you also have a full-time job. whenever you tell them that you're too tired or you had a difficult day at work, they love to surprise you by showing up at your door with your favourite snacks. they listen to you rant as you snack on the food they brought. satoru will always joke that you should just quit your job and become their full time stylist because they can easily fund whatever lifestyle you want to live. suguru will back him up but both of them know that they actually mean it but to you, it's just another one of their silly jokes.

models!suguru and satoru hate working with other models. you rarely see them work with other models during photoshoots because they hate doing those. they never mind it if it's just the two of them but if you add another model, they'll leave. they have the privilege of picking and choosing which jobs they want to do, and they'll do anything to avoid interacting with anyone they do not want to.

models!suguru and satoru suddenly go deaf when you ask them to set you up with a model friend of theirs. you're their pretty little thing so why would they share? satoru will tell you that they only have 1 model friend and he's engaged, while suguru will lie and say that all the model friends they have are not interested in women.

models!suguru and satoru have an unhealthy obsession with you. they'll always reject the celebrities who ask for their personal number, and will outright say no to anyone who tries asking them out. the only person they want to be with is you, and no money or fame can change that.

models!suguru and satoru will always adorn you in the finest luxuries of life. they're the faces of the most opulent brands so of course they would use that to dress you up in a designer dress you really liked on a model. they would gift you with lavish jewelry that you were scared to wear in fear of either getting robbed or losing it. everything they've given you would easily surpass $1 million if you ever decide to sell them.

models!suguru and satoru never fail to intimidate your dates whenever they find out you're on one. it's always oh so convenient that they show up in the restaurant you're in when they were supposed to be in new york for a photoshoot. all they have to do is greet you in the most affectionate way with a kiss either on your cheek or on the back of your hand, and then they'd subtly (not really) make you introduce them. if their presence didn't scare off your date, then finding out who they were will. you always think that it's just a coincidence that satoru and suguru wanted to have dinner at that exact restaurant, but if only you knew...

models!suguru and satoru avoid controversies at all cost, even if that means declining jobs that could potentially give you the wrong idea. if that means posing closing with another model or even acting as a couple with someone else, suguru and satoru will always say no. they don't go to parties and if they do, they stay there for an hour max. they find parties boring if you're not there with them.

models!suguru and satoru confess time and time again that they love you. you think that they're being just affectionate friends but no. each time they're declaring their love for you and they don't care if you don't say anything back because deep down, they know you feel the same way.

models!suguru and satoru who will wait patiently for the day you realize that you're meant to be with them. they'll play along with your little games, pretending that you're happy dating some random man but inside, they're seething. they'll hang around by your side until you either get upset with them or they wronged you in some way. suguru and satoru will comfort you and cuddle with you until you feel better. if it was a really bad heartbreak, they'll console you in the fastest way — the most breathtaking orgasm you'll ever have so you'll remember how no one else can make you feel like that except them.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

inspired by this fanart

[nestaians]

doesn’t surprise me feyre doesn’t do her high lady duties and she only brings it up for her own interests bc remember how much she brought up tamlin not making her a high lady?

tamlin would have made her his lady, same duties now she is doing now except her title has “high” word in it

“tamlin never saw me as his equal” bc your not! you don’t even know the basics of fae world!

tamlin not seeing feyre his equal for position of ruling does not mean he didn’t love or value her

it’s most likely tamlin thought they had all the time in the world now and he would teach her as they’d go

and is like what’s wrong with that?? some self reflection would go a long way feyre

she isn’t educated

she knows nothing about the faes or lands

has no training in politics

has no idea how to behave at court

she knows nothing

feyre had no reason to believe she is worthy of being tamlin’s or anyone’s equal in a position of leadership over a court

all she did was free tamlin, who then killed amarantha

if she believes it should be bc of love like honey, that’s not how it works. again it shows she has no knowledge of the land, of fae and the world of power

if it was human lands and politics then it’d make sense, they don’t follow magic bound laws

does that mean kallias sees viviane, who was in charge while he was UtM, as weak? no

if feyre wants to hate tamlin for not teaching her anything like girl at first u didn’t care about it and then u were traumatised and whisked away to nc, when was he suppose to teach u??

even if we ignore magic choosing the ruler rule….

she married a high lord and got her title, but she hasn’t earned it

it would be one thing if she worked after getting it through marriage but she hasn’t. all she did was destroy a court, attack lady autumn, look down on her citizens like her mate and opened a paint studio like?? that’s not ruling

“i’m the high lady of night court, i can do as i please” but u can’t honey, that’s not how it works

it’s a title she shows off but she doesn’t do the job it requires, and i don’t see how she is respected for it- for being a high lady

feyre hasn’t earned the title of being a high lady

she hadn’t even earned a position of power or a position in a court

for nesta, i don’t believe she’s ready nor has earned a title of a ruler either, but she is educated enough to be a part of a court

nesta was meant to married for power but it’s feyre who actually did

looking back, it’s crazy how much tamlin not naming her a high lady bothered her and she did no self reflection on it

[louisupdates]

If you’ve been on social media today, you may have seen a certain word trending: Zouis. But what does it mean? Well, Zouis is portmanteau of Zayn and Louis. Specifically, Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson from One Direction.

The pair were spotted together in Los Angeles, with Tomlinson attending Malik’s gig—sending the internet into a frenzy

With Zouis spreading like wildfire on social media, this story operates as an interesting example of how fandoms can deal with grief, and, for once, how the internet can be a positive communal force.

What’s Happening With Zouis? Why Were Zayn Malik And Louis Tomlinson Together?

Zayn Malik is currently on his Stairway To The Sky tour, and is playing several nights at the Shrine Expo Hall in Los Angeles, California.

Louis Tomlinson—who was in boyband One Direction with Malik—attended the show on Jan. 29. This is the first time the pair, known as Zouis, have been together publicly since One Direction bandmate Liam Payne’s funeral on Nov. 20, 2024.

After Malik left the group in 2015, One Direction broke up the year after, and the members have rarely been together since, with each pursuing solo careers.

This makes the appearance of Zouis a special moment for fans, as well as seemingly for Malik and Tomlinson themselves, with the former referencing his bandmate’s attendance at his concert in glowing terms:

How Did Social Media React The Appearance Of Zouis?

The online world went wild for the return of Zouis. There are tens of thousands of tweets about the event. Many of which show pure enthusiasm:

While others contain simple declarations of love towards Zouis:

There’s a sombre tone to some posts which reference the death of Liam Payne:

While difference accounts are self-referential about their own reaction to the partial One Direction reunion:

There’s one overwhelming trend though: pure excitement and adulation.

Why Is Social Media Reacting To Zouis In This Way?

There are a few things at play. Firstly, One Direction fans are renowned for their obsession with the group. Combined with the size of the boyband—3.4 million people saw them during their Where We Are tour alone—this means there’s a huge community of interested people whenever news about them drops. Like Zouis.

But there’s also a more sombre side to this overwhelming online reaction, and that can be linked to a sense of loss.

It’s common for fans to form parasocial relationships with people they follow. Effectively, this is when individuals believe they have a close tie with public figures, even though this is a one-way friendship. Often, this is driven by the perceived intimacy of social media.

This can induce serious emotions. So, when a member of a group like One Direction passes away, as is the case with Liam Payne, it can feel as though someone they’re close with had died.

When Zayn Malik and Louis Tomlinson came together for the first time since the funeral, it can feel like a cathartic moment for fans, as though things are righting themselves. One way of dealing with this outpouring of emotion, then, is to post on social media.

And that’s a key way of viewing this explosion of activity about Zouis: a celebration.

People are not only expressing joy at seeing members of One Direction together, but this enthusiasm also acts a tribute to Liam Payne. This creates a sense of community, of an entire fandom coming together and praising a new chapter in something they love.

Ultimately, the spread of posts about Zouis displays a positive side to social media, one where people share a connection and come together in unity. In these divided times, that’s a beautiful thing to see.