#imagine those big eyes looking into yours

[lowkeyren]

—reject me not!

in which : when your sudden confession catches blade off guard, his response comes across as a rejection. though he realises his mistake, and tries his best to make things right. (...it gives the whole hq a headache)

slight humor, idiots in love, mutual pining, misunderstanding, you tease him w/o realizing (n he gets back at u hehe), reader is a stellaron hunter, stellaron hunters wingwomen!!!, art by @/kkuekkue on x. reblogs are appreciated! please enjoy <3

wc: 4.2k // hm secret santa? HOHOHO @mikashisus, rayray!! u might pull ur hair out at some parts idk :joy: happy reading n merry christmas my little elf xx

"i think i like you."

the words leave your mouth quicker than your brain can second-guess them. 

blade freezes mid-step, his back visibly stiffening. when he turns to face you, his sharp, cold eyes betray a fleeting glimmer of surprise, perhaps, or confusion —but it disappears as quickly as it came.

he stares at you, his eyes widening just slightly, the faintest crack in his carefully maintained composure.

but then, his lips part, and all he gives you is a single, flat response.

"i see."

two short, dismissive words. not a smile, not a frown —just two clipped words. you tilt your head, expecting some form of elaboration, but instead he just turns on his heel, his coat swishing behind him as he starts to walk away.

(what you don’t see is the way his hands curl into fists as he walks off, how his steps falter just around the corner, or the way he presses a hand against his chest to steady the sudden, overwhelming ache blooming there.)

…must this guy really be so blunt?!?!!

you sigh, a little laugh escaping despite your current situation. of all the possible responses you could’ve imagined, ‘i see’ definitely wasn’t one of them. you shake your head, a part of you wonders if elio is watching, silently laughing at your predicament right now.

it’s fine. really. you should’ve known better than to think he’d say anything different.

though the big problem now is, blade knows about your silly crush on him, so facing him in the future is going to be a total nightmare that you’re not ready to accept. you can already feel the embarrassment creeping up like it’s going to suffocate you.

“where's [name]?” 

blade steps into the base. silver wolf, tucked in the corner, engrossed in her console, raises a hand in greeting without looking up. blade nods in acknowledgment, before replying to kafka, "i went ahead of them," his voice sounds a little more strained than usual, before quickly turning to make a beeline for his room.

but kafka, ever perceptive, senses something’s off. she tilts her head with a smirk, "bladie, did something happen?"

he denies it with a quick shake of his head before slipping past her. having no other option, she resorts to… unconventional methods. 

with a flick of her wrist and a soft, almost melodic whisper, she purrs, "listen to me.”

the moment those familiar words hit his ears, a wave of calm washes over him, and against his will, he halts mid-step. "now tell me what happened, will you?"

he sighs and he rubs the back of his neck. “take your time, bladie.” after a long pause he speaks again, "[name] said they... they liked me."

kafka watches him closely, a grin slowly spreading across her face. "and then what happened, hmm?" she teases.

out of the corner of his eyes, he sees silver wolf perk up at his words, but he pays her no mind as his thoughts are too tangled in what he’s about to say next, the words barely scraping past his throat.

...

the next hour consists of him being ‘lectured’ by his fellow coworkers.

he tries to tune out the barrage of teasing, but something about  “bladie, that's not how you reciprocate,” to “ain’t no way bro fumbled that badly,” managed to stick with him, unfortunately. (he looks over to firefly standing to the side, but she only giggles and shakes her head at him.)

but really, how was he supposed to tell them that he panicked? that he was so stunned by your confession, so overwhelmed, that he could barely form a coherent sentence? that his awkward, dismissive reply wasn’t rejection, but a pathetic attempt to mask his own vulnerability?

the thought of you avoiding him, of thinking he doesn’t care, makes his chest ache with a pain he hadn't experienced for the past few centuries. 

blade makes a mental note to find you as soon as possible. he doesn’t know how to explain himself, not entirely; words have never been his strong suit, but somehow, some way, he’ll make it up to you.

later, you return to the base, your steps hesitant as you walk in. the moment you enter, the group falls silent, all eyes snapping to you. there’s an awkward stillness in the air, like they were caught in the middle of something. your gaze sweeps over the room, and it lands on blade. when you lock eyes with him, a flush creeps up your neck, and you quickly avert your gaze.

"excuse me!" you blurt out and almost sprint to your room.

...do they all know?! this has to be the most embarrassing day of your life.

you agreed to meet kafka at a bar near your current mission to discuss your next task. the magenta haired woman had mentioned it casually when you’d asked, cryptic as usual, only revealing that the task was important but leaving out certain key details —such as conveniently leaving out the part about blade being there too, of course.

(“bladie,” kafka’s voice took on a singsong lilt, her playful smile unmistakable as she glanced at him. “you’re going to use this chance to make it up to them, ‘kay?” 

blade only kept his eyes trained on the entrance, silently waiting for you to arrive.)

running late, your prior mission having dragged on longer than expected, you found yourself hurrying to the bar, weaving through the sparse but lingering foot traffic of the evening.

after what feels like hours, you finally make it to the bar. stepping in, your eyes scan the room for kafka, when suddenly, a man steps right into your path.

the man smiles warmly, though you could tell he’s had a few to drink tonight. his tone is friendly, with just a hint of flirtation as he strikes up a conversation, casually asking if you’d be interested in grabbing a drink sometime.

he’s polite, respectful even, and there’s nothing about him that feels overly forward or aggressive —just a man who’s trying his luck, that’s all. still, you can't help but feel a slight annoyance at the timing.

as you try to figure out a way to decline his invitation, you remain oblivious to blade’s gaze —specifically, how it's fixed on you, or rather, more pointedly on the back of the man’s neck.

“you’re going to snap his neck if you keep looking at him like that.” kafka’s voice cuts through the tension, her tone teasing as she watches the exchange from the side.

“i don’t like what he’s doing,” blade mutters, his voice low and filled with an edge that suggests far more than just mild annoyance.

kafka chuckles softly to herself, already knowing where this is headed. it’s not an outright confession of jealousy, of course —he would never admit to something as petty as that, and she knows better than to push him on this one. 

nevertheless, she still catches it, her lips curling into a knowing smile. even if blade would never call it jealousy, it’s enough to push him into doing something completely out of character —something he’ll never, ever do (until now).

kafka notices immediately. her eyes widen just a fraction before she sets down her wine glass with a graceful motion, amusement dancing in her eyes. and perhaps to make sure he doesn’t look too foolish, she decides to play along and help him act the part.

a sharp clang of glass hitting the table catches your attention. your brows knit in confusion; you glance over instinctively, your eyes meeting kafka's for a brief moment. her expression is unreadable, but the faint curve of her lips makes you wonder what’s really going on.

curiosity pulls your gaze lower, to the drunk figure slumped over at her table, seemingly drunk, his head resting heavily on his arm. the spilled drink pools on the floor beside him, glinting under the dim light. 

at first, you only catch a glimpse of dark, tousled hair, streaked faintly with deep crimson at the ends —so strikingly familiar it makes you pause. then, as your eyes trace over the sharp line of his jaw and the stiff set of his shoulders, realisation dawns on you. 

wait a second.

your jaw nearly drops as you piece it together. the man lying there, seemingly drunk out of his mind, is none other than the last person you would want to see right now.

blade.

your gaze darts between him and the polite man still standing awkwardly in front of you. blade, on the other hand, never lets his guard down, so this... state of his? unprecedented. 

apologetically, you offer a small smile to the man before rushing to blade’s side, urgency in every step as you push past the tables, heart hammering in your chest.

blade’s eyes subtly flicker over to you as you approach, and you can almost sense the slightest shift in his demeanor, the thought of you giving your time to someone else, especially someone so... ineffectual —grates at him.

he swallows the ugly feeling down his throat. perhaps he’s let this irked him more than it should. but it’s too late to back out now that you’re standing right beside him, the weight of your presence making the tension in his chest only more pronounced.

as if on cue, kafka’s voice breaks the silence, “as you can see, [name], our dear bladie here has gotten himself a bit... roughed up,” she says, casually catching the wine glass that had been teetering on the edge of the table.

her lips curl into a playful smile as she glances at blade, whose jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “drinking doesn’t seem to suit him, wouldn’t you agree?” kafka continues, her tone light but unmistakably amused. her eyes flicker between the two of you, as if she’s thoroughly enjoying the situation unraveling before her far more than she should.

you blink, momentarily thrown off by the unexpected scene. your worry only deepens as you shift your attention back to blade, who remains uncharacteristically silent, his head now resting on his arm as though he really had overindulged. 

“blade,” you say softly, your voice carrying just the slightest edge of concern. “what happened?” 

before he can answer —or before he’s forced to lie —kafka chuckles, waving a hand as if to dismiss your worry. 

“oh, nothing serious. he just got a little too carried away with his drink.” she leans back in her chair, a sly glint in her eye that you’re too preoccupied to notice. your gaze falls back to blade, his hair slightly tousled.

without thinking, you reach out, gently brushing a strand strand from his forehead. his eyes flutter open at the contact —those striking, sharp eyes you’ve always found yourself drawn to, dark yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from. 

you notice the faint redness creeping across his cheeks and the line of his jaw, down to his neck. his skin hot to the touch under your fingers. “you’re warm,” you murmur softly, assuming the alcohol is to blame.

if only you knew the warmth searing through him has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with you. 

“ah,” kafka hums, pulling you out of your thoughts. “it seems something urgent has come up that needs my attention.” there’s an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. “i’ll leave you two to it.”

you glance at her, startled. “wait, what about—?”

“don’t worry about it,” she interjects, already getting up from her seat. “the bill is already on my tab.” 

well, that wasn’t what you were about to ask anyway! 

a sly smile curls her lips, and she tilts her head ever so slightly. “hmm, it’s rare to see him like this. [name], you’ll take good care of him, won’t you?” her tone is light, but the underlying implication is clear, leaving you flustered as she turns on her heel, striding off, leaving the two of you alone.

blade leans heavily against you, his tall frame making it an awkward challenge to keep him upright as you guide him out of the bar. one arm is slung over your shoulder, while his other hangs haphazardly against his side.

his head is tilted forward, strands of his dark, crimson-tipped hair brushing against your cheek, and you can feel the warmth radiating from him —whether from his predicament or his proximity, you’re not sure.

you shift your grip, looping an arm around his waist for better support, and his body tenses slightly under your touch. for someone playing the part of drunk so convincingly, he’s strangely aware of your every movement, his hand tightening just faintly on your shoulder when you stumble over a crack in the pavement.

“blade,” you murmur under your breath, trying to shift his weight more evenly as you inch forward. “you’re not making this very easy, you know.”

casting a glance his way, you’re met with a low, almost lazy hum in response. his expression is nothing short of a hazy indifference, though you swear you catch a flicker of clarity in his eyes —a brief, focused intensity that seems out of place, before he looks away.

you can feel the heat of his breath against your temple as he wavers with every step. the night air is cool, but the warmth radiating from his body is undeniable, pressing against your side in a way that sends an unexpected shiver down your spine. the closeness between you feels almost intimate in a way that will surely have you screaming into your pillow later that night. 

as you continue down the empty street, blade’s mind races; this is his chance. he knows it. he should say something now, anything, to make it clear —to tell you how he feels. (and how it’s been eating at him for longer than he cares to admit.)

this is it, the moment he’s been waiting for, but all he can do is breathe in the scent of your skin and the warmth of your touch. the sensation is all too familiar, like the pounding in his chest —but this time, it’s not from the heat of battle.

just how much longer he has to deal with this utterly insufferable feeling?

it’s worse now, because as you navigate through the halls of the base, he’s beginning to wonder if this is what it means to care for someone —to be vulnerable. 

“here,” you say softly as you stop in front of the door to his room.

he doesn’t want this moment to end. 

you glance at him then, finally meeting his eyes, and the look in them knocks the breath from your lungs. they’re hazy, yes, but there's a sharpness beneath the mask of drunkenness, a quiet intensity that makes your heart beat a little faster.

you clear your throat, breaking the silence. "do you need anything else?"

"no," he answers, almost reluctantly. "i’ll be alright."

a twinge of disappointment surges through you. right… it was foolish to expect anything different. he’s already rejected you, and you can’t help but feel a bit ridiculous for thinking it would be any other way.

you stand there for a moment, the silence between you growing thicker with each passing second, before you force yourself to nod, your voice soft as you try to mask the heaviness in your chest.

“goodnight then."

just as you turn to leave, you feel a sudden pull on your hand, your wrist tugged back with surprising gentleness.

"wait," blade suddenly says, and this time, there's no mistaking the sincerity in it. "thank you.”

his bandaged hand rests over yours, and a soft breath escapes you; flustered, you open your mouth to respond, ready to brush it off.

"oh! It's no pro—"

but you’re cut off before you can finish. he raises your hand, pressing his lips to the back of your palm in a soft, lingering kiss.

"—blem..."

your voice falters slightly as a rush of warmth spreads through you. every nerve in your body seems to spark awake all at once, making you hyper-aware of the spot from where his lips brushed against your skin. you freeze, your breath caught in your throat, unable to do anything but stand there, your hand still resting in his.

then, as if nothing happened, he steps back into his room and shuts the door behind him, leaving you standing there, still processing the unexpected moment.

safe to say you got little to no sleep that night. you roll over, staring at the ceiling, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips. it feels ridiculous, embarrassing even, how many times you've replayed that scene in your head every time you close your eyes.

you couldn’t help but smile to yourself like a fool. 

(“so bladie, how’d it go?” / “...”) 

you hadn’t even planned on leaving the base today, let alone stepping foot into the brightly lit chaos of an arcade, but silver wolf had insisted —no, nagged, until you caved. and somehow she’d managed to drag blade (of all people) along, her smug grin all too telling as she pushed the two of you together and skipped off to “go play some gachas”

now, you stand awkwardly by blade’s side, the flashing lights casting a colorful glow over his impassive face. it’s hard to ignore how out of place he looks, his dark coat, sunglasses, and the mask covering his lower face a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere. 

yet, somehow, he doesn’t seem to mind the sharp sounds of arcade machines beeping nor the kids screaming in excitement. he just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching you fumble with a stack of game tokens.

“you look thrilled,” you mutter, a sarcastic tone in your voice as you glance at him.  it’s strange, though —there’s something oddly endearing about the way he’s standing there, the dark lenses of his sunglasses reflecting a faint outline of your own face. you catch yourself staring for just a moment too long, wishing you could see beyond the lens, wishing you could read his eyes—

you shake the thought off, it’s all just wishful thinking.

behind the shield of his sunglasses, blade’s eyes tracked your every subtle movement, almost unconsciously. he caught the way your expression softened as you turned toward the claw machine, how your lips curved ever so slightly when your gaze settled on that… thing.

it was maddening, how effortlessly you held his focus, how even a trivial moment like this could stir something deep in him. he told himself it was nothing, but the tightening in his chest said otherwise. 

he wasn’t one to indulge in sentiment, yet something about the way you stared at that silly plush made him restless, made him want to do something about it, if only to keep that smile on your face a little longer.

would your smile grow brighter if that plush were in your hands? 

“let’s go.”

“to where…?” you asked, glancing back at him, the curiosity evident in your voice.

he didn’t answer immediately, but you felt the familiar tug at your hand once again, gentle and insistent, as his gaze slips toward the claw machine where you had been staring earlier.

it’s not hard to imagine the scene as a sweet little moment, with him focused on the claw machine, trying to win you a plush like a doting partner would. 

with a soft click, the claw tightens around the plush, and before you can react, it’s being lifted out of the pile, swinging toward the prize chute. you can't help but stare as he pulls the soft toy from the machine with a sense of quiet satisfaction.

(you pocket the rest of the tokens. guess he won’t be needing those…  for a first-timer, he sure got lucky —must be beginners' luck, huh?)

you blink, slightly impressed. “wow, you’re good at this,” you remark, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. 

without a word, he hands the plushie to you. 

you tilt your head slightly, a bit unsure. “for me...?”

“it's yours. take it." he looks to the side; suddenly thankful for the mask —if it weren't for that, you'd surely see the crimson tint creeping up his cheeks right now.

you hesitate for a second longer before reaching out to take it, your fingers brushing against his, a tingle of heat pulses through you, leaving your hand feeling strangely warm.

“th-thank you," you manage to spit out, and your eyes dart away, suddenly very aware of how close he is. surely, this isn’t good for your heart!

the twilight sky stretches wide, the clouds are heavy, and you’re looking oh so earnestly at him. his heart beats a little faster, louder now, as if his body knows exactly what he wants but refuses to let him act on it.

but then, he blinks —once, twice; snapping himself back to reality. he can feel the space between you growing smaller, your presence growing closer.

his eyelids flutter shut instinctively.

and then, the soft press of your lips against his cheek.

a soft sigh escapes him, and his eyes crack open. if you could see his expression right now, you'd catch the vulnerability that flashes in his gaze. he swears he can feel the warmth of your kiss in his very bones.

though not quite the kiss he imagined… it was something. (re: you got his hopes up)

the shock of your own actions hits you like a wave. you swallow thickly, “sorry —i'll go find silver wolf.” avoiding his gaze as you fumble with the tokens in your hand. "i… i’ll pass the extra tokens to her."

without waiting for a response, you turn and hurry off, your pulse pounding in your ears, praying that the ground would swallow you whole.

that night, you lay in bed, the plushie clutched tightly in your arms. the softness of it contrasts sharply with the rush of confusion filling your chest. 

why was he being so kind to you? after everything, after the way he rejected you just a few days ago, it made no sense. his actions felt contradictory.

you try to push the memory of the kiss out of your mind; impulsive decisions… often lead to mortifying outcomes. though when you glanced at him afterward, you could’ve sworn his ears were tinged with red, just peeking out from beneath his hair. nevermind, it’s probably your mind playing tricks on you.

blade, who’s as cold as the frost-kissed dusk, walks beside you through the lively festival, his dark coat a striking contrast to the vibrant reds and greens around you.

the faint scent of roasted chestnuts and spiced cider fills the air, mingling with the sound of distant carolers. he doesn’t say much, but there’s something about the way his gloved hand brushes yours, intentionally or not —that makes the chill in the air feel less biting.

you swallow, focusing on the festive stalls ahead, the decorations glittering in the night. “you don't have to stick around, you know. i can manage by myself.”

his steps slow just slightly, and he turns his head toward you, finally speaking. “you think i’d just leave you here?”

the words catch you off guard, and you fumble for a response. “i-i just meant—”

“relax.” he interrupts, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips; his hand grazing yours again. this time, his fingers linger for a moment longer, almost as if testing the waters, before retreating back into the safety of his pocket.

your cheeks flush, and you pretend to be deeply interested in a nearby stall selling hand-knit scarves. just then, his voice cuts through the festive hum. “last week… when you said you liked me,” he starts, and your breath catches.

you whirl back to face him, your heart pounding. “don’t worry about it! really, i—”

“i wasn’t rejecting you,” he says, with an unexpected gentleness in his gaze. “i like you too, [name].”

blade removes his coat, the fabric warm against the cold air as he drapes it around your shoulders, pulling you closer. you stumble, your hand instinctively pressing against his chest to catch your balance.

you look up at him, your breath quickening, as his face draws closer, his eyes locked on yours with that familiar intensity. you let your eyelids flutter shut, lips trembling, heart pounding in your chest as the space between you narrows.

but instead of the kiss you were anticipating, you feel the gentle warmth of his lips brush against your forehead.

your eyes snap open in confusion, only to meet his smirking face. oh... this asshole!

“what?" he teases, his tone deceptively casual. “you seem pretty eager,” his voice drops an octave, hand gently tilting your chin as he leans in just close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin.

you glare up at him, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. the way your lips quiver, unable to hold his gaze for long; the fact that he actually adores that flustered expression on your face... well, that’s when he realises. he’s too far gone.

what a dumbass lmfao

MASTERLIST.

[tfwbluu]

Self indulgent thoughts about Riki’s hands . . (⸝⸝𖦹﹏‏𖦹⸝⸝)

I can’t stop thinking about how big Riki’s hands are—the way they could wrap around your neck like a necklace, his grip firm yet teasing, leaving you gasping for air as he pounds into you mercilessly. Now imagine those same hands adorned with rings, the cold metal pressing against your flushed skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“Just take it, baby, I know you can.”

“You look so pretty with my hands around your neck, don’t you agree, angel?”

Or how his long fingers would spread you open, reaching spots your smaller ones could never dream of touching. His thumb pressing against your clit while his other fingers curl perfectly inside you, pulling moans from your lips like a melody only he knows.

“Yeah, feels good, angel? Look at you, all trembling between my fingers, hmm?”

“That’s it, cum for me, pretty girl.”

“You can never feel this good without me, right, baby? Those little nimble fingers of yours don’t satisfy you, so here you are, seeking my help.”

And then, when he pulls his slick-coated fingers out, he’d bring them to your mouth, his dark eyes fixed on yours as he orders you to clean them. You’d obey, your tongue swirling around each digit, tasting yourself under his intense gaze.

“Clean up your mess, baby. Taste yourself.”

“What a messy girl... look at you, drooling all over the place.”

But he wouldn’t stop there. Oh no, Riki would start all over again—his hands relentlessly working to ruin you until all you could think about was him. Him and how he made you feel so good, like you were made to fall apart in his hands.

“You asked for this, angel. Now come on and take it.”

“Put your hands up, baby, or else I’ll have to tie you up and we don’t want that, do we?”

“You keep saying you can’t take it anymore, but your cunt is sucking my fingers in, angel. It’s like they were made for me, hmm? Come on, I know you can give me one more, yeah?”

[eufezco]

A FRESH START 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

synopsis — after leaving wakanda, bucky starts to rediscover who he is while living with you, slowly bulding a new life. his dispair deepens and you offer him a fresh start with a simple act: cutting his hair.

angst. fluff

—you have to stop thinking that every time something good is happening to you it's because something worse is on the way. that´s not a way to live, buck —. you said softly, your voice steady but with a hint of concern.

bucky shook his head, running a hand over his face as a sign of desperation. if only he could remember what life felt like before hydra took him, before all those wasted years. after so long he was still trying to figure it out, still trying to find a version of himself that didn’t feel like a stranger. trying to get used to his new life in the city, far from the peace he had known in wakanda. all these sudden changes only made him more confused and it wasn’t that he didn’t want to adjust, it was that he didn’t know how.

it had been a almost a year since bucky had moved in with you, since you had defeated thanos and steve had left. when the dora milaje declared him ready to live a normal life, bucky stood there, unsure of what that even meant. he had no place to go. louisiana crossed his mind for a moment, sam had always extended an open invitation but the thought of intruding on sam’s family life stopped him, and steve was gone, something he chose not to think much about, so for the first time in over a century, bucky was truly on his own.

except he wasn’t. you were there.

when you found out he needed a place, you didn’t think about it twice. he resisted at first. ayo told him you were the right person to star building his new life. you trust her, you trust her more than you admit. that is where you begin. trust. she is the right person to help you build this new life, james.

and he couldn't remember what you two had shared before hydra took him, before everything fell apart but there was a pull. by the things steve told him, you three were best friends once, inseparable. he spoke of nights you spent laughing, of how he’d head home early, leaving you and bucky behind, knowing that bucky would arrive later, with a big smile on his lips. steve chuckled when he mentioned your lipstick, smeared on bucky’s mouth when he finally made it back. you never wiped it off, you wore it like a badge of honor.

bucky tried to imagine it, those moments of joy but the memories never came. but he could still feel it. he felt it that day in wakanda, when you arrived with steve and natasha to fight thanos. you smiled at him, just a brief moment in the chaos, but it stayed with him. there was something so familiar about that smile, something warm and he felt it too every time you visited him or sent him what had once been his favorite sweets, little reminders of a life he no longer remembered but somehow still carried with him.

so, he showed up at your door a few days later, a bag hung over his shoulder and a sad look in his eyes. he didn't try to argue this time. —you sure about this?

you didn’t hesitate. —absolutely.

living with bucky was easy. he was quiet, he didn't need much space. after months, he started making it his place too, little by little. he left his shoes by the door beside yours, the book he picked up from one of your shelves appeared on the coffee table, his leather jacket draped over the back of a chair.

—it's not that easy —. he murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

you watched him. —i know it’s not, —you said softly, stepping closer to him. —but you don’t have to do it all at once. no one expects that from you.

he shook his head again. —feels like they do, —he said, his blue eyes looking directly into yours. you could see the sadness and the guilt of the moments he couldn’t take back. —feels like every time i mess up, it’s just proof that i don’t belong here. as if this life was not made for me —his voice was low, barely more than a murmur. —what if the only thing i'm good at is killing?

you took a deep breath. it was hard to hear him say that, to see the man you’d known before hydra, who was your best friend and the love of your life, now drowning in self-doubt and guilt. —you’re more than what they made you.

—am i? because that’s all i’ve ever done. all i know how to do.

—but it’s not who you are, it’s what they forced you to be. the fact that you’re even asking this? that you’re fighting to be someone better? that’s proof enough that that wasn't you at all.

he closed his eyes tightly and ran his hands through the long strands of his hair. for a moment, you just stood there, watching him. you wanted to pull him back from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, but you hesitated, ayo told you to do so, to let him space to feel this, to fight against it, even if it hurt.

—i can still feel him inside my head, i can hear his thoughts. he's not gone.

bucky’s fingers suddenly grabbed the roots of his hair with a little more force. his breathing grew faster, his hands shook and his eyes squeezed shut. you couldn't see how deep his pain was and not do anything to stop him from hurting himself.

you stepped closer. —bucky, hey… —your hands sneaked into his hair, softly pulling his grip from his scalp. his hands were trembling, and for a moment, there was resistance in him like he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go of the only thing he could hold onto. but your touch was soft, familiar and something shifted, almost imperceptible, but you could feel the tension in him loosen.

—the bucky i knew isn’t gone. he’s still in there. i see him every time you fight for something good, every time you try to make amends, every time you care about the people around you, about me.

his shoulders fell, and his head hung low, he didn’t want you to see him like this, weak and broken. but you had seen him in his darkest moments as the winter soldier and you had experienced thanos taking him away from you with the blip. the years without him had been a painful, you thought you lost him forever. yet there he was, standing before you, alive, and you weren’t about to let him go again.

your hands gently moved to push the back of his head, guiding him to rest his forehead on your shoulder. he was still a bit unsure about how to handle this type of physical contact, used to years of torture, where touch always meant pain, control, or something to fear. now you held him close to your body, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

—why don’t i cut your hair?

—cut my hair?

—yeah, it´ll help you to see yourself in a different way. a fresh start.

bucky pulled back a little, he wasn’t sure if you were joking. —you think cutting my hair will fix everything?

you smiled softly, you wished it could be that easy. —no, —you admitted. —but ayo told your new life will be built on small things.

bucky sighed.

the idea of letting go parts of himself that tied him to the winter soldier felt like a whole world. first, it was his metal arm, the one with the red star, when tony ripped it off of him, bucky felt relieved, like tony was cutting one of the heads of the hydra to end the monster. in wakanda, he learned to live using only his flesh-and-blood arm until they gave him a new one which he only intended to use for good.

and now you were asking to cut his hair.

—ayo did say that, didn’t she? —he murmured, almost to himself.

—she’s a smart woman and besides, it’s just a haircut. if you hate it, it’ll grow back.

a small smile appeared in his lips. —if it ends up bad, i’m blaming you.

you took a chair from the kitchen to the bathroom and he sat down in front of the mirror. bucky stared at his reflection as he pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. he didn't like mirrors, he avoided them as much as he could. he didn't like the person staring back at him, he didn't know who that man was and now sitting on that chair there was no escape.

there was a difference this time. next to one of the things he most hated to look at—his reflection—was one of the things he liked the most to look at—you.

his blue eyes moved from his reflection to yours. you stood behind him and ran your hands gently through his hair. he felt that familiar tickle in his stomach, the one he first felt almost a century ago and that, even after all the years, it hadn't gone away.

he felt it every morning when you entered the kitchen, hair a mess from sleep, mumbling a soft “good morning” to him. he felt it when he came home in the evenings and dinner was ready and you were sitting at the table, waiting for him. he felt it most when you would fell asleep on the couch and he had to carry you to your bed, careful not to wake you. and you'd ask him in your sleep to stay, and he'd freeze, he wanted to say yes, he wanted to stay. but he couldn’t risk it, his nightmares were still too real. so bucky would gently place you in your bed, making sure you were well tucked in, and whisper, i’ll be in my room, if you need anything.

—are you ready? —you asked him, bringing him back from his thoughts. you already had the scissors in your hand and bucky shifted in the chair at the sight of them. —it'll be okay, buck.

—feels like more than just a haircut.

you nodded, understanding. —well, that's what we wanted, isn't it?

bucky swallowed and nodded.

—why don't you close your eyes? i'll let you know when i'm done.

with a deep breath, he did as you said. your lips curved into a small smile even though he could no longer see you. you were aware of all the progress he had made. you knew he trusted you with his heart because on no other occasion he would willingly keep his eyes closed with someone standing behind him, scissors in hand and when your hands rested on his shoulders, he hadn’t flinched at the contact.

—okay, i'll start.

with his eyes closed it was much easier to feel the delicacy with which you treated him. the way your fingers combed through his scalp and then the sound of the scissors, followed by the sensation of the strands falling and taking with them the weight he had carried for so long. and you talked, about anything that crossed your mid so he did not feel that he was in danger or he had to be alert at any time.

—maybe we could get a cat, —you said. —i think it’d be nice. do you think you’d be a good cat parent?

—maybe —. he said after a pause. —i definitely prefer a cat to a dog.

you switched to the clippers, you left the hair at the top of his head a little longer, while the rest of it was cut shorter. a very chic haircut for someone born in 1917. you carefully checked that his hair was even and then you styled it with your fingers.

—okay, i'm done, you can open your eyes.

bucky hesitated for a moment, then opened his eyes. your breath caught in surprise as you watched him take in the sight of himself. it was like having the bucky you once knew staring right at you through the mirror. his features were the same, just a bit more more defined and mature.

he felt the same relief as when tony ripped off the metal arm that hydra embedded in his body, like a part of him that had once been used against him, now freed. he turned his head slowly to both sides to get a better look and to be honest, he liked his new look. physically, he could see the resemblance to the man in the photos you had shown him, the young soldier who smiled to you, in love.

—how do you feel? i think it suits you —. you asked gently.

bucky nodded. —i like it —. he caught your gaze in the mirror. the eye contact was so intense that you had to look away. you cleared your throat, hoping to ease the tension, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

—alright, come on, —you tapped his shoulder for him to stand up. — i'm going to sweep your hair off the floor.

bucky got up from the chair and turned his head to look at you, not through the mirror this time, but directly, and the sudden closeness made your breath hitch. —thank you for doing this.

—you don't need to thank me, buck. i'm glad it turned out well, it was my first time doing it.

—you sure about that? —he asked—it doesn’t feel like it was your first time.

you laughed, still avoiding his gaze. —guess we got lucky, then.

there was a silence; you were both too close, but not close enough yet. bucky’s eyes moved to your lips for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to make your heart race. you could both feel the tension, an invisible string pulling you toward each other, daring one of you to close the gap. you didn’t want to take the first step, you didn’t want to push him into something he wasn’t ready for, the last thing you wanted was to break the fragile trust he’d built with you.

you opened your mouth to say something but he talked first.

—can i kiss you? —his voice was low, almost shy.

you were surprised because you didn't expected him to ask so directly, but consent was so important to him. he spent too many years under someone else’s control, forced into actions that weren’t his own, and now he was determined never to cross those lines. it wasn’t just about asking to kiss you, it was about making sure that you were comfortable, that you wanted this just as much as he did.

—yeah, —you whispered —you can.

bucky stepped closer, his flesh-and-blood hand reaching to cup your cheek, his fingers gently brushing against your skin. he leaned in, his movements careful, giving you every chance to pull away. but you didn’t. you leaned into him instead, your lips finally meeting his.

he felt strange. he had wanted to kiss you for what felt like forever, and now that he had, he wasn’t sure what to do next. his mind raced, trying to remember how this was supposed to go. he forgot about kissing, forgot about the rhythm of it, the give and take. his hand slipped from your cheek to fall awkwardly at his side as he pulled away from your lips just enough just to say:

—i don't... i don't remember how to do this.

—it's okay. you're doing just fine. there’s no right or wrong way. just… follow me.

this time, when your lips met, you moved slowly, guiding him. his tension disappeared as he mirrored your movements, his right hand returned to your cheek, the other, his metal one, moved to hold your hips. it wasn’t perfect, the movements of his lips were still hesitant, but there was something honest about the way he kissed you.

as he kissed you, bucky became more aware of his body and where his hands were and realized that his metal hand was resting lightly on your waist. he pulled the hand away quickly. —i'm sorry, i didn't mean to...

you shook your head, one of your hands flew to the back of his neck to connect your lips while your other one grabbed his vibranium arm and guided his hand to where it was before. as the kiss deepened, you felt him relax, stop worrying about whether he was doing it right or wrong, about the touch of his cold hand on your skin, and he just kissed you.

you hummed before parting ways. his cheeks were flushed, his lips were a bit swollen and glossy, his breathing a little uneven and you couldn't help a little laugh from escaping your lips.

—okay, now you're just laughing at me.

—you're so cute, buck.

[prince-jjae]

Flesh & Rind.

Pairing; watermelon sorbet!yj × cherry jam!male reader

Genre; smut, pwp (porn w plot.) [nsfw, mdni.]

Synopsis; When moving to the quaint little region that was Strawberryland, Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun had one thing on his mind: relaxation. Enter Cherry Jam, the most devastatingly attractive boy that Yeonjun had been ever-so-blessed to lay eyes on. Cherry was decidedly not part of his relaxation plans, yet with the help of a little magic (and some incredibly well-placed scones), Cherry might just worm his way into Yeonjun’s heart (and while he's at it, his pants, too.)

Warnings; extremely dubious consent, this is on the darker side so please proceed with caution. Stalking, Maneater!reader, Yeonjun is whipped, Reader pretends to be innocent, Yeonjun literally eats a treat left on his windowsill (DO NOT DO THIS). Yeonjun is a bit of an airhead. Reader is manipulative as SHIT.

Smut Warnings; Again, Dubcon. Come eating. Coercion(?). Accidental exhibitionism. Masturbation. Aphrodisiacs in the form of flavoured bodily fluids. Intoxication play if you squint. Switch!yj, Switch!reader. Meandom!reader. Bondage. Anal sex (obviously). Oral (m!rec, anally ofc). Fingering. Riding. Power play. Degradation/praise kink. Comeshots/Coming untouched.

WC; ~7.5k (oof.)

Jjae's comments; holy shit. big shoutout to my moots and fellow creators in this event. This has been a wild ride for all of us and im so glad i got to share this experience with so many writers ive spent months looking up to. i hope this is as fun to read as it was to write. happy holidays!

[masterlist.] [event materlist.]

It was because you were new to town, as was he. That was clearly the reason, otherwise he had no method of explanation as to why his eyes kept being drawn to you. You, with your fluffy pink hair, tumbling about your temples in gentle curls. Yes, it was because you were both new, novel and fresh to the town you now shared with plenty others, that's why you caught his eye.

No other reason.

Surely not because of the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, nor was it because of the way your eyes would sparkle upon helping one of your shared neighbors. No, there was no other explanation.

At first, he didn't think much of it. It was easy to ignore. You were easy to ignore. Not that Watermelon Sorbet Yeonjun thought himself rude. On the contrary, he considered himself to be quite nice. He was always described as a friend who would be there for you, someone who would bring warmth and safety to those he loved. Yet there was something about this pretty cherry boy, something about you, that sent alarm bells ringing in his head. A warning, loud and clear, to stay away. You didn't seem dangerous, not by any means. He figured you were such a gentle soul that you'd likely cry about the smallest things.

Oh, he could imagine that. Your bottom lip jutted out, trembling as fat tears gather along your lash line, threatening to spill down those bright pink ch- 

He shook the thoughts from his head violently. This whole town was full of innocent joys, fruit houses piled atop the rolling hills, filled with even sweeter tennants. That’s why he was here, to finally be somewhere quiet and nice, away from the unforgivingly loud Big Apple City. He was here to relax, maybe even make some money. He wasn’t here to get involved with someone as dangerously alluring as you. 

So he made a point to avoid you. Physically, anyway. He couldn’t deny himself the temptation of viewing you from across the room at gatherings, town meetings, seeing you across the stall from him at the weekly market. You always sat there so politely, cheeks a pretty pink as you gushed about your latest batch of jellies and jams. All variations of cherry, of course. And how cherry did suit you, Yeonjun thought. You were certainly just as pretty, and Yeonjun would wager you were just as sweet. 

He kept his distance, and it seemed to be working. You hadn’t said much beyond your cutesy greetings in passing, eyes shining bright with wonder and sparkling at him in a way that made his stomach twist. He would always nod, rather stiffly, before turning on his heel and making a quick exit whenever possible. He always missed the way you wilted, face hardening into something unrecognizable for a few small moments. Maybe if his eyes lingered on you for a second longer, if he had cast a glance over his shoulder as he left, he would have seen that facade drop.

– 

The first time he found one of your gifts was around two months after you two had moved into town. Two months of dancing around each other, with Yeonjun staring at you down the length of his nose whenever he thought you weren’t looking, two months of torture. It was a warm summer morning when he opened the shutters to his bedroom window only to find a scone, covered in the most delectable cherry jam he had ever seen. He hadn’t eaten yet, and although his mind screamed at him to not devour the treat, he inhaled it in the few seconds following his tongue darting out to wet his lips. If he had any better self-control, he might’ve tried to school his expression as he licked the sticky jam off of his plush lips, maybe even bite down the moan that bloomed in his chest upon savoring the taste on his tongue. 

Unfortunately, Yeonjun wasn't known for his self-control.

He understood now why you had the town wrapped around your finger, drawing crowds to your stall every week for your newest batches of sweet treats, jars decorated with ribbons and bows, just like their maker. He fully understood the draw to your business, especially if everything you made tasted this divine. 

The next time he found a gift was in much the same way, a still-warm scone dripping with jam, served neatly on a plate sat on his windowsill the very next day. And then the next day. And then the next. This continued for about a week, leading to Yeonjun waking up with a hunger he couldn’t describe every morning, drool pooling in his mouth long before he reached his window.

On the seventh day, the market finally rolled around. He needed more. Desperately. The sweet treats in the mornings weren’t enough to satiate his newfound sweet tooth. He needed one of your pretty jars. Hell, he would eat the sweet stickiness straight from the glass if need be. He was still wary of you, however, even as he approached your stall that morning after all was set up. There was still a decent amount of time before the earliest customers would wander through the market, perusing the many wares positioned along the street. 

You were already smiling up at him politely as he strolled up to your stall with practiced confidence. He missed the way your eyes raked over his form, and subsequently missed the tiny quirk of your lips as they tugged into the ghost of a smirk. The expression washed over with that same pretty smile he was familiar with, and you knew he was none the wiser when he opened his mouth. 

“Hi! Yeonjun, right?” You had beaten him to the punch, smooth voice ringing in his head like a melody of gentle bells, yet it did nothing to quell the violent churn in his stomach. His mouth paused, stuck doing gentle open and closed motions as he fumbled for his words. His brows furrowed as he promptly shut his mouth. This was most unlike him. Yeonjun was suave and collected, like a fox stalking through the world as if it was his runway. To be rendered speechless was something he was entirely unfamiliar with. You waited patiently, smile still easy and comforting as he gathered himself back together. 

“Yeah, that’s right..” He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, now that he really thought about it. He tilted his head, contemplating before finally opening his mouth again. Only a moment of hesitance was needed for you to interrupt him again.

“Here to snag a jar?” You queried, head tilted in the opposite way of his own, eyes twinkling in the same way that he had memorized, the visual long since burned into the back of his eyelids. He nodded, the movement stunted and jerky. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. He was never rendered this useless before in his life, and he was so thrown that he missed the way your eyes sharpened, hands reaching for something that lay at your feet behind your stall. “I have a special batch that I made just for you! Something new that only us newbies should share.”

Yeonjun’s brows furrowed, watching as you held up a jar much like your other ones, the only difference being the tiny watermelon and cherry charms attached to your decorative ribbons that wrapped around the glass. Something itched at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was your tone of voice, or maybe your choice in words that should have given him pause, yet he found it hard to focus. His eyes were locked on the jar, filled to the brim with the sweetness he had been craving for the past week. Like clockwork, drool pooled in his mouth embarrassingly fast, causing him to nearly choke on his own spit when he finally reached out and took the gift from you, muttering a hurried thanks as he fled back to the relative safety of his stall.

–

Yeonjun had never been one for sweets before, always more prone to craving savory or spicy meals. His old friends from the city used to poke fun at this little fact. Something about how his tasted contrasted so harshly to his fruity nature. Even the fruits (watermelon, naturally) he so lovingly tended to in his garden rarely tickled his fancy. Yeonjun wasn’t sure why this was all changing on a dime. He wasn’t sure how to explain the craving he had, a craving that was swallowing him whole and leaving him dizzy. Perhaps if he thought about it further, Yeonjun would find that the more he slathered that special jelly on his morning toast, scones, and muffins, the more intense his thirst grew. It bothered him greatly. He had never felt like this before. He found himself staring at you more often, now, not even trying to hide it. He was confused, yes, but he was equally hungry. A bone-deep kind of hunger that twisted around his brain and rendered his logical thoughts as useless as smoke in the wind. No longer did he reserve those glances for when you had your head turned. He was staring unabashedly now, sharp eyes boring into yours even when you met his gaze and gave him the most adorable eye-crinkling grin and excited wave. His newfound intensity didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest.

After weeks of this torture, this all-encompasing need swallowing him whole, it was you that finally did him in. He finally bent to those baser desires that he had shoved down when he first moved here, and now it was coming back to bite him. It was an innocent interaction by all accounts. You had scurried up to him while on the way to the newest town meeting, the breeze ruffling your curls to make them even more fluffy than usual. You seemed nearly out of breath, chest heaving with effort as if you had run a great distance to catch up to him. Perhaps you had, with how much longer his legs were than your own. You placed a steadying hand on his bicep, fingers curling into the muscle slightly. It was likely to give yourself a moment to catch your breath before greeting him, cheeks flushed and that smile pressing dimples into the blushing flesh. It was that visual, that touch, that look that ruined him. He ached, he felt the need deep in his soul, splintering his bones and ruining him from the inside like rot taking hold of sweet fruit flesh. He couldn't take it anymore. One final glance at those pretty pink cheeks and he had enough.

He found himself home far quicker than he usually would, the journey blurred and fuzzy in his mind. He didn’t care how he got home, anyway, he was more fussed about why he was home so early. It didn't take him long to stomp into his bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached from the pressure, before he finally allowed that desire to consume him in the way he needed most. 

Legs splayed prettily, head thrown back, bright red hair framing an ethereal halo around his head atop the silk pillowcase. Yeonjun was the picture of sin, with his skin sparkling with sweat, a bead rolling down his temple and vanishing along his damp hairline. Not much could be heard in the watermelon house, other than his whines and groans, naturally. It wasn’t often that Yeonjun found himself in such a position, desperately canting his hips up into his waiting fist, the slide deliciously wet and noisy due to the way he was practically dribbling precome down his own length at the thoughts in his head. 

Oh, the thoughts in his head.. Filthy thoughts, really. Thoughts that should never see the light of day. Thoughts of claiming. Thoughts of animalistic, overwhelming claiming. Thoughts of pretty pink curls bouncing rhythmically, thoughts of those sparkling eyes swimming with tears of overstimulation, thoughts of those pretty lips singing his praises and begging, crying, pleading. 

His orgasm crushed through him embarrassingly fast. His head, stuffed with cotton, could think little else on anything aside from ruining that pretty cherry boy. That same cherry boy that smiled at him with such affection, that same cherry boy that gave him such sweet treats out of the kindness of his heart, that same cherry boy he was utterly defiling, entirely ruining in his head. 

He was blissfully unaware, as the sticky watermelon cream dripped over his fingertips and made a pool on his toned stomach, that he had forgotten to close his window. The opening left room for a gentle breeze that cooled his sweat-soaked skin, which he happily basked in. If he had opened his eyes, turned his head even a little, he would have caught it. 

A pair of sharp cherry eyes, grinning at him in devilish satisfaction.

–

It was the aftermath that Yeonjun wasn’t prepared for. He had allowed himself to fall into that temptation after he had spent so long denying himself. Now that the metaphorical dam had been broken, those foul thoughts plagued him constantly. As he watched you, they pressed into his mind entirely without his permission. 

You raised your hand at meetings, fingers slightly limp and curled in the air, and suddenly he couldn't think of anything better than seeing those fingers curl around his length. Would they look just as pretty decorated in that sweet watermelon sorbet? Perhaps it would look even better on your face, dripping over those pink curls and eyelashes, over your cheeks, nose, lips-

He adjusted himself in his chair, averting his eyes from your still-raised hand. 

He missed the smirk on those very same lips. Perhaps if he had seen it, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when you approached him as the others were making to leave. He was doing much the same, running his fingers through that bright red fringe as he stood from his seat. His back twinged, perhaps he had been slouching too much in an effort to hide the issue between his thighs. 

“Yeonjunnie!” Came your chipper voice, sending his eyes into a wide-set panic. Oh. You’d never called him that, before. He-

“Did you like that? Your cheeks turned all red!” If he listened any closer, he might have said you sounded smug, pleased with yourself and how easy it was to fluster him. Yeonjun had more pressing matters to concern himself with, however. He pressed his thighs together. 

“Anyway! I wanted to ask you something. Is that okay? Is now a good time?” Yeonjun could only manage to nod his head. If he tried speaking, he knew he would say something incredibly stupid (read: incredibly horny). You paid no mind to his lack of audible response, bright smile dimpling your cheeks as you continued on. Yeonjun noticed the way you talked, something so endearing that he couldn’t help but give you his full focus whenever you opened your pretty mouth. You spoke animatedly, hands moving about to emphasise your points and certain words. Yeonjun found himself smiling slightly as he watched you speak.

“I was wanting to try a new recipe, but I need an extra set of hands to make it the way I want to.. Do you think you could help me?” Yeonjuns brain faltered, stuttering to a stop. The feeling only compounded when you followed your invitation with a belated, slightly whiny, “Please, Jjunie?”

When you put it like that, did he really have a choice? 

That's how he found himself following after you like a lost puppy, all the way up to your front door. Your front door. God, how many times had he imagined himself behind this door, defiling you in the most depraved ways he could think of. And here you were, smile still tugging at your lips as you beckoned him through the threshold. Perhaps, once he passed through, he would explode into a puff of pure sin, like something from a corny horror film. He took a steadying breath, and walked through.

He didn't explode. That was a pleasant surprise. What was even more of a pleasant surprise was the way you promptly shoved him against the door, kissing all sense from his head. His hands flexed at his sides, shaking as he had no clue what to do with them. He was flailing, breath stuttering in his throat as you continued your onslaught against his pliant mouth. He felt you smirk, this time. Heard you chuckle. 

“God, you're easier than I thought.” Your voice sounded raw, darker in a way that sent him into a tailspin. No, this wasn’t you. The you that was licking back into his mouth with urgency was a far cry from that cheerful, playful innocence he was familiar with. No, you had become something else entirely. The you in his head was so much closer to the way you acted in public, but in this moment, everything suddenly and finally fell into place. 

All of it was just that, an act, and he had fallen for it hook, line and sinker.

Apparently growing bored of his lack of real reaction, you pulled back. You were panting, lips swollen and slick with spit, and the visual alone made him weak in the knees. Your mouth was set into a frown, something he had never seen on you. He found it intensely attractive. Just as you opened your mouth, complaint no doubt waiting on your tongue, he lunged forward. The kiss was desperate, messy, more tongue and teeth than any sweet press of lips. But this was you he was kissing. He now realised that there was nothing sweet about you. …Actually, that was a theory he most definitely wanted to test. 

He hiked you up with firm hands under your thighs, turning to press your back into the door instead. A chuckle bubbled past those swollen lips, head tossed back to make a gentle thunk against the wood.

“Oh, you poor thing. Did I not make it clear yet?” Yeonjun’s vision swam, his brows tenting to gaze at you in bleary confusion. Clear? What was there to make clear? Did you not want this? Was he going too-

A hand in his hair, tugging harshly at the blood-red strands. A yelp pulled from his chest, making him arch to follow the pressure. Lips near his ear, hot breath brushing down his neck, leaving gooseflesh in its wake.

“You aren’t in charge here.” Oh. 

Oh.

He didn’t even register that you had eased yourself back onto the floor, his head was too fuzzy with the thoughts you put into his head with those simple words. Months of daydreaming, fantasizing, and you tilted his world on its axis with one sentence. He wasn’t in charge. Oh, fuck. You were going to ruin him.

He vaguely heard your resounding giggle, sounding far too innocent given the context. Obviously you could see right through him, a thought that made him shiver down to his core. He wanted to tilt his head to follow the sound, but he found he couldn’t. Your hand was still in his hair, gripping at the roots with enough to make his scalp burn. You kept tugging him backwards, making him stumble after you down the hallway. His hands rushed to grab at your wrist, grasping blindly at your skin. He wasn’t even trying to pry you off, there wasn’t enough force in his hands to do that. No, the dawning realisation was starting to settle in his stomach like lava. He wanted this.

All too soon, your hands left their place in his hair, the drop in pressure pulling a desperate whine from him. You laughed at him. 

“Stay here.” You commanded. Your words left little room for argument, though he imagined he couldn’t have argued against you even if he wanted to. And he didn’t. He watched, eyebrows furrowed and a pout drawing at those pretty plush lips of his, as you sauntered into your own bedroom. You moved with all the lethal grace of a predator, all smooth lines and sharp promise in the aura around you. You exuded dominance, he didn’t know how he missed it before. It was all-encompassing, shrouding you in a thick layer of power that he couldn’t look away from. He was positively enraptured. 

You moved slowly, pulling at your clothes with all the leisure of someone who had all the time in the world. Perhaps you did. Perhaps you would make him wait forever, drool dripping down his chin at the very sight of you getting undressed and comfortable in the middle of your bed. You were a goddamn vision, sitting back prettily on your spread knees. His eyes followed a slow trail from your rosey knees, your flushed skin, the way the- Oh, fuck. Was that lace? Pretty white fabric decorated with little cherry patterns, innocent in a jarring juxtaposition against everything else about you. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting up to your face, his own pinched from restraint. You hadn’t invited him in yet.

As if reading his mind, your smirk grew sharper, cheshire. You slowly lifted your hand, watching in amusement as his eyes snapped to follow the action, and quirked a finger at him, beckoning him to the bed. 

And who was Yeonjun to say no to such a command? He moved to take a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side-

“No.” Your voice sliced through his thoughts. He froze in place, eyes snapping back up to meet yours in a panic. You laughed at him again, pointing your finger down to the ground. Your smirk dropped, expression schooled into bored indifference. “Crawl.”

Oh. Holy shit. Yeonjun dropped to his knees harshly, yet he barely registered the loud clack of the joints against the flooring. No, he was far too busy rushing to please you, crawling across the floor to your bed with such an eager expression that you giggled. There it was again, that innocence pulling at his mind, reminding him of all the times he imagined doing this to you, being in your position, and how wrong he was. He didn’t want that anymore, didn't want to be the one ruining you. Fuck, no, he wanted to be ruined. 

With that in mind, and his hands now resting on his thighs as he kneeled in front of your bed, he peered up at you with such a hopeful gaze. You tilted your head, regarding him with amusement dancing in your sharp cherry eyes for just a moment before you silently patted the bed beside you. The Watermelon Boy scrambled to obey, nearly stumbling over himself as he eased his way onto your sheets. The mattress felt so soft beneath him, akin to sinking into a vat of marshmallow fluff. He crawled closer to you, nearly whimpering when you finally reached out to touch him. 

Your fingers might as well have been scalding as you clutched his chin between your thumb and forefinger. You shifted his head around like that, smirking down the line of your nose at him. I did that before, he thought, but the image was too fuzzy to properly place. Focusing on you was much more important, especially with the way you used your thumb to wipe that trail of drool from the corner of his mouth, only to lick it off of your own finger. The subsequent shiver that wracked through Yeonjun was involuntary. He had never felt desire so strongly in his life. He wanted you so badly he could practically taste it. His tongue darted out to lick at his crimson lips, brushing against the pad of your thumb when you gripped at his chin again. 

“Poor melon. And here I thought you'd put up more of a fight.” You almost sounded disappointed, and Yeonjun couldn’t have that. He was far too high off of you to even try and push down the whine that your words drew from him. Not trusting his voice, he shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He would never put up a fight with you. He knew it, the fact ringing deep within him, entwined with his watermelon DNA. He was yours. Yours to use, to play with, to claim. He wouldn't have it any other way. 

As if knowing this, as if expecting his answer, your smile returned. It was predatory again, and he watched as your eyes darkened when a particularly delicious thought entered your head. You nodded down to his clothes, then down to what little you still had on. Lace, his brain reminded him helpfully. He gulped, vision flicking down. Sure enough, said lace was struggling (and failing spectacularly) to keep your length contained. His jaw fell slack, body lurching into motion to pull his clothes from his body as if they scalded him. 

Only once the offending items had been sufficiently tossed to an unknown part of the room, did he finally go to complete the rest of your wordless command. He eased himself between your spread thighs, fingers digging experimentally into the plushness. He groaned, the feeling of your soft skin doing a number on his brain. He could hardly keep himself together, especially now that he had your crotch barely an inch in front of his nose. Fuck.

Lip caught between his teeth, Yeonjun positioned himself to nose against the patch of skin around your hip that peeked out over the delicate lace. His eyes flashed up to meet yours again, and he nearly melted into the bed once his gaze met your own. Hunger, power. That was how best to describe you at that moment. He felt small under your sharp eyes, which he supposed could be funny considering he was a decent bit taller than you, but he knew height wasn't the issue here. No, he was shockingly at home with this feeling of being lesser, of being below you, as if this was where he was supposed to be. Perhaps he was. 

With newfound confidence, he grasped the edge of the fabric between his teeth, letting his eyes flutter shut when you carded your fingers through his hair in approval. Then he tugged. 

If you had any issue with the sound of the lace ripping, you made no effort to show it. Perhaps you actually liked it, the way he ripped the remaining clothing off of you like an animal, like a-

“Good seedling.” Ah. It seems today was the day the Watermelon Boy found out a lot of new things about himself. The shiver that tugged down his spine should have been embarrassing, and he supposed it was, with the way his ears flushed red. And with the way you cooed down at him, he guessed it had also spread down his neck and over his collarbones, too. He stared up at you with bleary eyes, and that damn hand in his hair worked its magic again. Tugging his head roughly to the side, you sneered down at him. 

“Drop it.” Yeonjun’s jaw dropped open, allowing him to roll his tongue out of his mouth to make a show of releasing the torn fabric from the confines of his mouth. Your nails scratched at his scalp in reward. “That’s a good boy. Think you can put that mouth to good use for me?”

His breathing stuttered in his chest at the thought, but just when he swooped his head down to take you into his waiting mouth, you tugged his head back once again. “No, seedling. Not there.” 

Oh. You wanted him there? Fuck, yes, he could work with that. He hurried to reposition himself, wiggling further down on the bed to nose at your thigh, urging you to spread them apart more. You made no moves to comply with him, instead opting to continue scratching at his scalp with your nails. He huffed out a breath, but the sound came out a bit closer to a growl. He dug his fingers into the plush of your thighs again, dragging them apart himself to gain better access to do what you asked of him. He preened under your answering breathless laugh, squirming at your following words. 

“Eager little thing-- nng..”

You trailed off into a whimper when he finally pressed his tongue against your rim. You were right in your observation, he was eager from the get–go. Desperate to please. He could hardly believe this was happening, that after these months of denying himself, he eventually found himself between your thighs, splitting you open on his tongue. He wasted no time doing so, pushing the muscle into you with determined licks. Only when you were beginning to squirm did he dare to push further.

Your eyes flew open when a tinger tentatively pressed alongside the wet muscle, forcing you to choke on a moan in the process. Yeonjun had the nerve to grin against your entrance, feeling rather proud of himself for drawing such pretty noises from you. 

It didn’t take much longer for you to tug at his hair again, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. It seemed that using his was loosening yours, and filth spilled from your lips. 

“I wanted you like this for so fucking long, yknow..” You were practically purring the words down at him, and if he gathered up the courage to glance up at you, he would’ve seen the way your eyes darkened upon watching him fuck you with his tongue in earnest. He was trying so hard to please you, and you knew it. It made a thrill run through him in the most delicious way. Being used. Being useful. All for you. He hummed at you in response, prompting you to continue. The added vibration drew a beautiful moan from your parted mouth. You panted in between sentences, losing grasp on your words the longer his tongue and fingers worked into you, curling just right. 

“Thought about how long it would take to get you to cave to me. How much it would take to bring you to your knees– Ah!” With the way you tossed your head back, you were a goddamn vision. Not sin like Yeonjun had been, no. You were positively angelic. Pretty pink curls framing your face, which was slack from bliss. He found the right bundle of nerves, it seemed. He grinned against your entrance as he continued rubbing his fingers against that same spot, over and over and over– Until you pulled him away forcefully by his hair. He was sure he was going to be missing at least a few strands with the rough handling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

You caught your breath, propped up on your elbow as you stared down at him. You seemed to have many thoughts swimming around in that pretty pink head of yours, but with the way your eyes changed into something far darker, Yeonjun assumed one had won over all the rest. 

“Lay down.” The speed at which he bent to your will should be scientifically studied. He had his back pressed against the sheets in mere moments, effectively trading spots with you. You tilted your head as you straddled him, and his hands instinctively reached to find purchase on your hips. They were promptly slapped away. He whined high in his throat at the denial, though you just smiled down at him, perhaps mockingly. 

“I didn’t give you permission to touch me, seedling.” You warned, voice saccharine and dripping with an unspoken threat. Or what? His mind supplied, unhelpfully. Your expression shifted into something hard, eyes narrowed into slits at him. Oh, shit. Did he say that out loud?

 “Brat.” You spat down at him. He shivered at the sudden harshness to your voice. You reached beyond him into your nightstand, pulling something out that he couldn't quite focus on. No, you were so close to him, face so near to his own. He leaned toward you instinctively, akin to a moth and its flame. He couldn't be bothered trying to keep up with whatever you were doing, too lost in watching your pretty face settled into a focused expression, tongue poking just barely from your lips as you worked. He didn’t mind this, splayed under you as you worked, did something above him that carried no weight in his brain, until– Ah. He couldn’t move his hands. He glanced up, eyes catching on a familiar set of charms and ribbons. Cherry and watermelon. You had restrained him with the very ribbons you decorated his special jars with, adorned with your respective fruity charms. Fuck, the symbolism was not lost on Yeonjun. He gave an experimental tug, to which there was no give. His mouth ran dry. 

He was so enraptured by this change, that he was once again oblivious to whatever you were doing above him, tugging and tugging just to watch the way the ribbon dug into his wrists with fascination. That was, until he felt something decidedly too cold. His head snapped down to gaze at you, only to be rendered absolutely awestruck. You were still perched prettily on his lap, leaned back onto one hand with your other fingers working into yourself just like his were only moments ago. 

“Fuck.” Eloquent as always, yet he had nothing else to say. You looked stunning, brows pinched as you stretched yourself out for him, your own eyes, when not scrunched closed, set right on his length. You were gauging how deep it would fit in you, he figured. The thought made him shudder, the thrill settling in his stomach hot and heavy. Fuck, if he didn’t get inside you soon, he was sure he would blow his load just from watching you toy with yourself. He wasn't even aware of himself squirming on the bed, whimpering at the visage of such an angel in his lap, spreading himself open just for the Watermelon Boy to fill. His gaze flickered up to your face again, only to find you already looking at him. Oh, God.

The coldness he felt had apparently been stray drips of lube, and he followed the trail of it down the line of your wrist. God, if the visual wasn’t enough, surely the sounds were. The filthy squelching rang through the room, accompanied by your soft groans, your eyes rolled back as you rolled your hips down harder onto your own fingers. Yeonjun’s ears burned from the embarrassment of it all, but you were entirely unphased, enjoying your pleasure to the fullest with little restraint. The Watermelon Boy found himself canting his hips upward, regardless of how futile the movements were. He just wanted to be closer, wanted to touch, wanted you to finally put him out of his misery and sink down onto him– 

Perhaps you were psychic. That's the only explanation he had for tonight, especially with the way you seemed to respond to his every desire promptly without him even needing to open his mouth. Either that, or he was painfully predictable. Likely the latter. Yeonjun barely even had time to brace himself before you did exactly what he craved, and suddenly the feeling of hot, wet, too much burned through him like a brand through flesh. His senses felt like they were whiting out, nerves fraying along the edges as he pathetically writhed on the bed below you. He couldn’t move much, with his hands still tied prettily above his head and his hips held down by your hands. You were deceptively strong, he realised with a start. You kept him perfectly pinned underneath yourself, and he felt much like a butterfly with its wings pinned out. He was exposed, raw, and being forced to take–

“That’s it, seedling. Take it.” Gods above, you were answering his every prayer before he even knew to utter them. He keened, head tossed back as he struggled to even his breathing out. It wasn't until you had fully bottomed out, ass pressed to him firmly that he could do anything other than follow your command. You felt far too good, the warm temptation of your entrance proving too much to keep himself from. He rolled his hips in little circles up into you, as if he couldn’t help himself. And really, he couldn’t. You couldn’t possibly expect him to keep it together when you were sat atop his lap, looking like the perfect picture of innocence whilst speared so thoroughly on his cock that a bulge protruded from your stomach. He let his head fall back to the pillows again, forcing himself to look away from the cherry angel on his lap lest he fall off the edge too quickly. 

His ears were buzzing, unable to make out whatever filth you had leaned down to mumble in his ear. He caught bits and pieces. Praise, mainly. He caught good fucking boy and taking me so well, and fuck, you couldn’t say things like that while still expecting him to keep himself together. The second phrase made him flush a much darker red, as if he was the one getting fucked by you and not the other way around. He chanced a glance back to where you were now steadily rolling your own hips to meet his movements. No, you were entirely right. He was taking you so well, taking your teasing, your tight wet heat wrapped around him to the point he couldn’t quite tell where he ended and you began. 

He felt like he was floating, somewhere high up above himself, feeling everything you were giving to him but blissed from the rest of the world. It had narrowed to just the two of you, locked in a dance of your design. You had brought him to this, you had rendered him into this pathetic pet, made by you, for you. God, the idea was so hot. Then you picked yourself up on his lap, leaving only the tip inside of you as you hovered. You trailed a sharp nail down his chest, making his breath stutter as he looked up at you hazily. 

“You were so much easier than I expected. Just a few scones and you were a fucking goner. Pathetic, really.” Then you dropped yourself down, full weight on his lap. He cried out, the noise wet and broken. His fingernails dug into his palms, hands aching to be able to grab onto you. He desperately wanted to hold, to pin you in place on his lap as he chased his pleasure like a dog, but– Wait. What was that you said? Scones? Yeonjun blinked as the questions piled up in his brain. You continued dragging yourself up his length until only the tip remained once more.

“You didn’t think that I gave those out of the kindness of my heart, did you? God, are you that stupid? And here I thought you knew what you were asking for when you ate them like an animal.” Yeonjun’s brain swam. He wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but the dread he felt like he should be feeling just.. Wasn’t there. That fact should worry him, shouldn’t it? He should be concerned about your sinister words, but instead of making him whimper in fear, he whimpered for a whole different reason. You outright laughed at him when you felt him twitch. You slammed yourself down his length again, punching out a half-laugh-half-moan from yourself as you did so. 

“Do you know where that yummy jam came from, seedling? Or are you too stupid to put that together, too?” Your words renewed that flame in his cheeks a thousand times over. Well, when you put it like that in this context, especially while bouncing on him like this, it didn’t take much to put it all together now. Fuck, how had he managed to be so stupid? All this time, you had been dosing his treats with yourself. Making him crave you, without ever even knowing it. Jesus, you were right. He was so fucking stupid. 

But maybe he liked it like that. 

He dug his heels into the mattress below him, using the leverage to fuck himself up into you. Hard. Your eyes went wide in surprise, moan catching in your throat and coming out choked and cracked around the edges. You were so surprised, in fact, that you made no move to stop him as he pounded up into you, desperately searching for release in your heat. With a few tiny adjustments, he found what he was looking for. With a loud, throaty cry, your back arched. A grin spread on Yeonjun’s face. You didn’t have to say it, but he thought it at the very same time the words tumbled from your lips, shaky and wrecked. 

There.

Now that he knew, now that he had all your dirty little tricks in context, he couldn’t help himself now. Yes, you may be in charge, you may own him now, but he wanted something in return. Something more than revenge. 

Something sweeter.

With renewed vigor, he continued slamming home, the sound of his pelvis meeting your ass nearly drowning out the moans that bubbled from your lips uncontrollably. He had the audacity to laugh, sounding breathless to his own ears. More, more, more– 

Snap.

Hands flew down to hold your hips in place before you could even register the sound of the Watermelon Boy’s restraints being broken. Fuck yes, this was exactly what he wanted. His fingers flexed, digging into the softness of your hips hard enough to leave behind marks in the shapes of his fingertips. 

“Want it, want it, want it–” He panted, drilling into you at a speed and force that had you tumbling. He felt your subsequent near-panic, your nails scratching down the hard lines of his chest and abdomen, searching for purchase. Your wails were music to his ears, but he couldn’t stop to cherish them any longer. No, he had a goal in mind. “Give it to me, give it to me.”

And give it to him, you did. With a cry of his name, sounding like sin incarnate, he finally got what he had been wanting all along. Sweet cherry jam, sticky and red, splattering all over his chest and stomach. He watched, enraptured as your orgasm took you, cock jerking pathetically in the space between you two as your back arched into a sweet curve. Yeonjun Licked his lips. His treat would have to wait a moment longer.

The way you clenched erratically around him as you came brought him right to the brink, but what did him in was the way you lifted your head to look at him through those messy pink cherry curls, digging your finger through the mess you made, and shoving those same fingers right into his mouth. The sweet-tart flavour he had spent ages craving exploded on his tongue, and he followed soon after. 

He didn’t know what kind of face he made, didn’t know what noises and filth tumbled from those red watermelon lips of his. He was far too busy with the way he pinned your hips down flush against his own, filling you up to the brim with his watermelon cream. He watched you tremble atop him, shuddering like a leaf at the feeling, that warmth spreading through your gut. And Oh, what a pretty picture you made, now you were not only stuffed full of his cock, but that sweet cream had distended your stomach even further, a pretty bulge resting in your lower stomach. He splayed a hand over it and pushed, relishing in the way you whimpered at the sudden pressure. He felt the way you leaked around him, his own watermelon cream making a mess of the sheets below.

When he finally had the mental presence to come back to himself, he found you once again already meeting his gaze. You had a habit of doing that, he noted, but the action only serves to make his chest warm with affection, the yearning he had built up after months of dancing around his favourite sweet cherry boy. He leaned into the touch when your hand cupped his cheek, wiping the seat from his hairline. You had such a fond, blissed out smile as your cherry eyes bored into his own, and he could only melt into it. 

If the nearby residents of Strawberryland heard the absolute filth that had taken place in Cherry Jam’s house that day, they didn’t say a word. Nor did they mention it when days later, There was a pretty jar of watermelon cherry jam, adorned with ribbons and charms, sitting innocently on the windowsill.

[ylangelegy]

new traditions 💍 joshua x reader.

it's christmas day and joshua still loves you.

★ fiancé!joshua x reader. ★ word count: 1.3k ★ genre/warnings: fluff, talk about marriage/weddings. heavily inspired by toneejay's bagong tradisyon. ★ footnotes: this is a quick one (a 1/2, if you will), but it's a christmas gift for the first friend i made on here. @chugging-antiseptic-dye, it's a privilege being a carat the same time as you! i offer you your husband (literally), and one of the songs that you & i bonded over. i'm in your corner all the way across the sea. 💌

The brass of the apartment key is cold between your fingers.

You turn it over, absentmindedly tracing its biting and shoulder. This is one of two copies; the original remains in Joshua’s safekeeping.

Speak of the devil, you muse when you hear his faint call of “Love?” from the living room. 

You tear yourself out of your thoughts enough to pocket the key and pad out of the apartment’s one bedroom. What greets you is a sight for sore eyes. Cardboard boxes strewn across the floor, luggage bags practically bursting at the seams. 

In the middle of it is Joshua. Your Joshua. 

After all these years, you’re not any less accustomed to the sight of him— even if it is just him in a black, ribbed tank top. He had opted to dress down, knowing that moving day would entail a lot of hauling and organizing. 

When you step into the room, the initial look of frustration on his expression gives way to something more affectionate. This is what his friends constantly teased him about— how Joshua was so damn soft for you.

It didn’t matter. It was a feeling you reciprocated, anyway. 

“Love,” he starts as he gets to his feet. From the look of it, he had been sorting through the cutlery. “Where did you pack the mugs?” 

You gingerly step through the fort of boxes, your eyes skipping over the tape bearing the contents of each carton. “Should be with the plates,” you note. “It was one of the last boxes you brought in.” 

Joshua lets out a thoughtful hum. In the next five minutes, he finds exactly what he’s looking for. 

“Thank you,” he says distractedly. “Love you.” 

There it was. The easy, unconscious way in which Joshua would dole out those words. It didn’t matter where the two of you might be, whether you were with friends or if it was just the two of you. 

Ordering takeout? I’ll have a pizza. Love you. Visiting his parents’ house? Shop with mom for a bit, ‘kay? Love you. Falling asleep together after a long day? A yawn, and then a quiet exhale. Love you.

To Joshua, loving you was as much of a given as breathing. 

There are times when you underestimate it, when you think the words may lose their gravity because of how often he says them. That had been your fear in the beginning. You kept the words close to your heart, saving them for special occasions and big moments.

Consequently, you don’t respond to him, too distracted by the box containing your pillows and comforters. As always, Joshua refuses to stand for that. 

With a furrowed brow, he abandons his mug-organizing to saunter over to your side. 

“I said,” he says pointedly, his arms finding purchase around your waist. He gently pulls your back to his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder. “I love you.” 

The petulant tone of his voice draws a laugh from you. You can’t quite turn your head to see his face but you can already imagine the expression he’s sporting. His lips, downturned into a frown. His eyes narrowed slightly. 

“I love you, too,” you respond. You reach behind you, the position a little awkward, as you attempt to pat Joshua’s hip reassuringly. 

He lets out a low scoff. His hands move up to your shoulders so he can ever so carefully turn you around until you’re facing him. 

You’ve never been a particularly superstitious person. Neither is Joshua. Even so, the two of you didn’t want to risk anything, and so you subscribed to every existing credulous belief about moving houses. 

You didn’t do it on a rainy day or a weekday. You opted for a day where the moon phase would be a new moon. Most importantly, you made sure to arrive before six in the morning. The last one was a nod to starting the new day, supposedly promising homeowners a prosperous beginning. 

At first, you had been vehemently against the thought of getting up at the crack of dawn to begin the whole moving process. Now, though, you find yourself grateful for it. 

The sunlight starting to streak through the window has Joshua glowing as he holds you. He’s incandescent, all honeyed skin and warm eyes. The real clincher is that he looks at you like you’re the sun itself. 

“I see how it is.” He heaves out a dramatic sigh, his gaze fond despite his alleged annoyance. “I put a ring on your finger and you get cocky.” 

Said engagement ring glints in the morning light as you go to rest your arms over Joshua’s shoulders. You return his jab with a roll of your eyes.

“Are we really going to fight on our first morning in our new place?” you bite out. 

Joshua responds with an exaggerated gasp. “Who said we’re fighting? I would never fight you. I couldn’t bear to do it.” 

You have half the mind to push the envelope, to insist that his attitude has led to a good number of spats. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right, too. Joshua would sometimes be on the verge of tears when the two of you were getting into more serious arguments, and it was in large part because he couldn’t stomach the prospect of even raising his voice at you.

When you don’t contest him immediately, Joshua flashes you a winning smile. He rewards your concession with a lingering kiss to your forehead, and you begrudgingly take the ‘prize’. 

His lips are still on the top of your head when he mumbles, “Say that again.” 

“Hm?” 

“I liked the sound of that. ‘Our place’,” he hums as he pulls away to grin at you. 

Joshua wasn’t always vocal about his feelings on your big move, but it was in moments like these that you’re reminded just how badly he wanted it. How he had dragged you to IKEA every weekend in search of the perfect table linens and curtains. How he had gone through all the forms and processes with ruthless efficiency. How he had begun to include it in his prayers, the plea unassuming and full of hope. 

Lord, please let me have this. 

You’ve never been able to deny Joshua a thing. Your fingers go to stroke the short hair at his nape. Instinctively, his eyes flutter close at your ministrations. 

“Our place,” you concede to repeating. “Welcome to our place, love.” 

The dreamy smile that tugs at his lips makes it all worth it. His eyes flutter open, and he stares at you with a new kind of devotion. 

There’s still a lot that the two of you have to do. Joshua has yet to contact an internet provider to get the apartment WiFi. You need to figure out how to transport the bigger pieces that the two of you have purchased, like the couches and the wardrobes. 

But for now—

Joshua leans down to kiss you. And it’s everything. It’s his litany of love you’s throughout the years. It’s the way his hands shook when he got down on one knee. It’s the unpacked couple mugs, and the bed that you’re going to share, and the life that awaits the two of you. 

When he breaks the kiss to breathe, he doesn’t go too far. His mouth is still against yours when he softly says, “This is the best Christmas ever.” 

Initially, you want to agree. Instead, you find yourself whispering back, “No.”

You go on, “We’re going to have a dozen more Christmases together.” 

“A hundred,” he shoots back in between giggles.

You’re not usually one to give in to your fiancé’s hyperboles, but you’re willing to make some exceptions. “A thousand,” you promise, making him laugh a little more. 

Outside, day breaks. 

There is a key in your pocket, a ring on your finger, and your heart in Joshua’s safekeeping.

BONUS — translated toneejay's bagong tradisyon for your reading/listening pleasure. here's to the loves that last us entire lifetimes.

This year The two of us will live Under the same roof Oh, oh You said You're excited to see What our new traditions will be Oh, oh And Christmas will never be sad again Because you have me And I have you Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh Our bodies May grow old But my feelings for you Will stay the same Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh If there is no more love That only means I'm no longer around If there is no more love That only means you're no longer around Until the end Until we both turn to ash Until the grave Until we both turn to ash Oh-oh-oh-oh Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh This year The two of us will live Under the same roof

[evieelyzabethh]

If it’s okay to request, may I request something in modern au (viktor x reader, established relationship) where jayce is hosting a costume party and reader dresses in something that makes her look super pretty (maybe I even suggest, her dressed as cowboy barbie, cause my bi self is obsessed with that look) and viktor gets handy with her. If you’re comfortable, can you make it nsfw or at lesser suggestive?

Definitely projecting as someone whose personal fav holiday is Halloween, but I imagine reader to be super stoked about it. Like the set up gets a big makeover that she forces Vik to help her with, there's a bunch of spiders and skulls and spooky decor all over the place, the ambient music transitions to creepy organs or the instrumental soundtrack of one of those old Hollywood horror movies. You definitely spare no expense when it comes to costumes, sometimes even going as far as to make it yourself.

Jayce isn't the biggest Halloween guy; he just likes the decor and the movies. While you went as cowboy Barbie, he definitely went as a plain cowboy, walking around shirtless with a huge cowboy hat atop his head and a lasso attached to the leather belt he's wearing. The denim jeans he wears are flared, just barely showing the brown boots that he bought to match with the suspenders the rest on his bare chest. The party is rather intimate, nothing more than a bunch of mutual friends, a bunch of pizza, and at least a gallon of Jungle Juice.

Now, you knew that Viktor wasn't going to be Ken. Even though his costume wouldn't be a matching hot pink, he thinks the fringe is silly and totally not his vibe. To be fair, he hasn't done a matching costume with you since you went as a Playboy Bunny, and even then, he only showed up in a suit and tie. He didn't even name the costume; he just went along with what everyone else assumed. That year, he was a man of many costumes: Men in Black, James Bond, Hugh Heffner, a bodyguard. Someone even thought it was a Legally Blonde reference, and he was Emmett. This being said, he has no issues with you going as cowboy barbie or any of the other skimpy costumes you've worn throughout the years, as long as he gets to tag along and see you in it.

He doesn't even have to worry about jealousy, it's incredibly clear who you came with. He doesn't force you to stay by him, but the way your gaze travels to him at parties, the pretty curls you spent hours on bobbing around as you move around to find him in the crowd makes it incredibly obvious who you're tethered to. The pink, starred ascot that had been around your neck had been undone by a bathroom make out session and could now be found around his wrist. When you talk to friends, you make yourself cozy next to him, the drink you've been nursing for the better part of an hour in your hand as you lay your head on his chest, squirming deeper into him as what he whispers in your ear makes you shiver.

And you think you're being slick, but the way his hand plays on your thigh and the look in your eyes getting farther away says everything. So, when you abruptly say your goodbyes, no one is surprised that your car stays parked out front for at least a half hour.

It's really not the most comfortable arrangement, knee deep in the passenger seat or whatever Chapel said. Your head keeps bumping into the steering wheel, even with the seat being pushed as far back as it'll go, but his hand at the back of your head absorbs most of the impact. You hear it in his voice when he hisses extra loud, his eyes closing as he weighs out whether or not it's worth it to pull you off and drive home. He knows if he asks you, you'll just tell him to drive as he sucks you off and he is desperate enough to do just that.

Especially with the way you look right now. He's always been the type to initiate eye contact, and with how good you look right now, your make-up miraculously intact thanks to whatever waterproof mascara you use, spit dripping from your chin to the top of your tits, your cheeks red, eyes a bit gone from the lack of oxygen, he could cum just by looking at you. His little reminders, "Don't forget to breathe, doll. Through your nose, you can do it.", are quite necessary with your refusal to pull off until he spills down your throat, and fuck is he thankful. If you were in a teasing headspace and decided to edge him now, tears already in his eyes, half his energy going to steadying his own breath so he didn't pass out and the other half trying to keep him from bruising the back of your esophagus, he would probably cry.

You'd been going at it for a while already, pay back for all the lingering touches throughout the night and looking too good in that suit. The languid licks trailing from his leaking tip to his balls couldn't even be hurried along by his hips shallowly bucking into your mouth. You were in your own little world, moaning around his cock, hands pressed firmly in between your thighs as you buck into nothing while his honeyed praise goes through one ear and rattles around in your brain and spills out between your legs.

"Just a bit more. Doin' so good. So close.", he groans, so good. And he really doesn't last much longer, spurts of his cum shooting down your throat as he shudders and whimpers through the aftershocks. That post-nut clarity hits like a semi-truck when he looks out the very foggy windows to see Jayce out the window holding the clutch you left behind, looking entirely too shocked to have just walked up to the window. It's the scariest thing he saw all Halloween.

[virtualchiyu]

Lucky girl syndrome ꩜ .ᐟ

Pairings: Ning Yizhuo x fem!reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: making out, fingering

Ningning sat across from you, a sly grin tugging at the corner of her lips as her eyes swept over your figure. You were wearing her favorite outfit, though she wasn’t sure if you’d chosen it deliberately to tease her or if it was just her imagination running wild. Either way, the way the fabric clung to your body had her pulse quickening.

You hadn’t meant to, but the way you looked at her—those big, wide eyes shimmering with curiosity and innocence—was doing things to her that she could barely handle. Every glance, every nervous tuck of your hair behind your ear, made her temperature rise. She leaned back in her chair, legs crossing as she let her gaze linger a little longer than polite.

“You really shouldn’t look at me like that, you know,” she murmured, her voice low and sultry.

Your eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion. “Like what?”

“Like you’re daring me to do something I shouldn’t.” Her words hung heavy in the air, a challenge sparking between you.

Heat crept up your neck at her boldness. Ningning was always playful, but there was an edge to her tonight that made your stomach flip. “Maybe I am,” you whispered, barely audible, but the look in her eyes told you she’d heard you loud and clear.

Ningning stood and closed the distance between you in a few steps, her presence almost overwhelming. She leaned down, her face inches from yours, her breath warm against your skin. “Careful, baby. I’m not very good at holding back when you tempt me like this.”

Before you could respond, her lips were on yours—soft, yet demanding. The kiss was electric, sending a jolt of heat straight through your body. Her hands found your waist, pulling you up from your seat and flush against her.

Your fingers tangled in her hair, tugging gently as her lips trailed down your jawline to your neck. She nipped at your skin, soothing the bites with her tongue, her hands roaming your body like she couldn’t get enough.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” she murmured against your skin, her voice husky with need.

You whimpered in response, your knees going weak under her touch. “Ningning…”

“Shh,” she soothed, guiding you backward until your legs hit the edge of the couch. She pushed you down gently, her eyes dark and hungry as she hovered over you. “Let me take care of you.”

Her lips found yours again, more urgent this time. Her hands slipped under your top, fingers skimming over your bare skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She pulled the fabric over your head, her eyes drinking in the sight of you with a mix of reverence and desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as her lips descended on your chest, kissing and biting on your nipples until you were arching into her touch.

Her hands moved with purpose, unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You gasped as her fingers brushed against your most sensitive spot through the thin fabric of your underwear.

“Already so wet for me,” she teased, her lips curling into a wicked smile. “I knew you liked teasing me.”

You couldn’t form a coherent response, your mind fogged with desire as she slid your underwear down and spread your legs. Her fingers trailed along your folds, teasing, before she finally pressed one inside you.

Your back arched, a moan spilling from your lips as she added another finger, her movements deliberate and precise. Her thumb found your clit, circling it slowly as she watched your reactions with a smug grin.

“You’re so sensitive,” she murmured, her lips trailing kisses along your inner thigh. “I could do this all night.”

Her mouth replaced her thumb, her tongue flicking against your clit in time with the thrust of her fingers and kept pumping. The combination was overwhelming, your body trembling as she pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Ningning… I’m—”

“I know,” she said, her voice muffled against you. “Let go for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

Her words sent you over the edge, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. She didn’t stop, her movements slowing only when your body finally relaxed beneath her.

She climbed back up to kiss you, her lips soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the intensity of her touch. “You’re incredible,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You smiled up at her, still breathless. “I think you are.”

Ningning chuckled, settling beside you and pulling you into her arms. “You really have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Maybe you’ll have to show me again sometime.”

Her grin widened, and the mischievous glint returned to her eyes. “Oh, baby, you can count on it.”

[wutheringvibe]

I dream of butterflies, black wings wide and gleaming, shimmering like dark silk under moonlight, delicate and terrifying, their fragile bodies clinging to me like they’ve known me forever, like they’ve decided I’m theirs. In my dream, I see her latched to my palm, her weight too heavy for something so fragile, and yet she didn’t feel like fragility, she felt like fury, like love sharpened into a blade. I crush her, half a wing bent and broken, black and big and beautiful. Her body doesn’t snap like I expect; it melts, smears, dragging a wet line of ichor down my skin, thick and dark and alive. She didn’t die. She didn’t even falter. She held on. Her legs were needles, her touch unbearable, a slow, creeping pain that spread like ink in water, curling into every corner of me. She burrowed into my flesh, hooked and unrelenting, puncturing the meat of my hand like needles dipped in venom. I could feel her drinking me, draining me. She didn’t just pierce, she carved, carving herself into me with a desperation that felt uncomfortably familiar, carving herself into me like a lover who cannot stand to be forgotten. It wasn’t the feeble flutter of an insect it was the deliberate grip of something wild, something enraged, something that knew how to hurt. She etched her existence into my palm with the precision of something that had been here a thousand times before. I tried to shake her off, but she only dug deeper, like those red ants that cling to your skin and refuse to let go, biting and biting until you bleed, leaving venom in their wake.

I think she hated me. I think she loved me. I think she wanted me dead. Her body stretched, her wings beat against my wrist, leaving trails of venom that bloomed into scars. She dragged herself through the blood pooling in my palm, smearing it in streaks like an artist signing her masterpiece. She wasn’t trying to fly away she was trying to make me stay, trying to force me to feel the weight of her. I wonder if it’s just love. Sick love. The kind that clings to you even when you know it’s going to kill you. She was hungry, or maybe just angry. Maybe hurt. I think she questioned why I hurt her. She wouldn’t let go. No matter how hard I tried, she held on. Persistent. Relentless. It made me think of all the times I have loved this desperately, violently, clinging to people with the same unrelenting grip, needing to mark them, needing to be remembered even if it meant leaving scars. How I fed on the people I claimed to love, draining them of everything until there was nothing left but the hollow echo of my presence. She wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t free me. She wanted me to feel every second of her existence, to understand her rage, her hunger, her need to hurt me as much as I had hurt her. She looked at me, black eyes unblinking, and dared me to destroy it. She let her venom flow, as if to say, this is what love feels like. This is what you’ve always done. I thought, This is it. This is the end. This is the poison that will kill me. She marked me with purpose, leaving behind the length of her body burned into my skin, a perfect, grotesque imprint, as if she had crawled into my skin and made a home there. As if she whispered, You will never forget this. I’m a figment of your imagination, but you’ll never forgive me. i won't let you. You will carry me with you always.

I don’t know how long I fought her. Long enough to bleed, long enough to cry, long enough to see the lines of my palm dissolve into the raw, red mess she left behind. She caged me. She was vicious. She was powerful. As I finally tore her from my palm, she left behind a sting so deep it felt like a wound in my soul, a burning that would never heal. I cried, not just from the pain but from the terrible knowledge she left behind.

I wake up thinking about love, about how it always feels soft and sharp, beautiful and bruising, something you can’t shake even when you want to. I think of wings folding into themselves, paper-thin, weightless, but carrying the entire world. Love is violent in its quiet way. Like a blade hidden in silk, slicing before you feel it, leaving you staring at the blood and wondering how it got there. I think of holding hands too tightly, of nails digging into skin until the mark stays, until the hurt lingers long after the touch is gone. I think of the kind of love that wraps itself around your throat, not enough to choke but enough to remind you it’s there, that it owns you, that you’ll never escape. I think of my need to carve words into flesh. Words like “mine” and “stay” and “don’t go.” I think of hands that love too hard, that hold on too long, that don’t know how to let go without breaking. I think of lovers who leave, their voices soft but their exits louder than the thunderstorm you didn’t expect, louder than the sound of your own heart cracking. There’s a violence to love that no one talks about, a hunger that gnaws at your ribs, that makes you forget how to breathe. It isn’t soft. It isn’t kind. It’s the butterfly that bites, the knife that cuts, the sun that burns even as it warms. It’s the wings leaving marks on your skin, a brand you’ll carry forever. I don’t know how to love gently. I don’t know how to touch without leaving bruises. I don’t know how to hold someone without wanting to consume them, to pull them into me so deeply that they’ll never find their way out. This is what my love does. This is what I do. I don’t know how to love without destroying. I know not how to love without violence. I don’t know softness. I only know to mark them so deeply they’ll never forget me even if they want to. She did to me what I do to others. I am terrified of her. Terrified of myself. This love, this venom, it flows through me like a curse. I sting without mercy. It’s only a matter of time before someone crushes me in their palm.

[yanderefarm]

How would Achilles feel if darling got visibly turned on while torturing him but once they were done they would NEVER have sex with him? Like they clean him up (or let him stew in whatever pain he’s in) and then go to the bathroom to masturbate. They never let him help.

Cause I know he’s kind of like okay with no sex and he really just wants to be tortured and have your attention but at the same time if HE’S the reason you’re turned on why won’t you let him help???

thats such a good question...

i feel like he'd just feel really insecure about it? like he'd probably think its because he's not desirable in that way.

i imagine him noticing you leave again and he decides to talk to you about it when you're done so he dresses and takes care of himself and goes to find you making dinner.

".... you can see other people." he says tepidly.

"huh?" you feel your heart drop.

"I've noticed you never have any dates or anything. I don't know if you're limiting yourself because of me so I am informing you that I'm releasing you from any responsibility you feel to me."

"... i repeat... huh?" none of that is helping your heart from sinking.

"You seem in need of companionship."

"i have you, don't i?" you say bitterly with a small smile.

"I'm not your companion."

you blink at him trying to ignore how that hurts before smiling again.

"i know. but y'know between you and my usual work i have a full time job."

"Then I will be less demanding of your time. We can move things down to twice a week."

"ok. if that's what you want." you try to hold your tongue around him like you always do but you can't help yourself. "what uh.. what brought this on?"

"I've noticed your behavior and disgust towards me. I apologize for not mentioning it sooner but I wished to be selfish a bit longer." he lowers his head like a kicked puppy.

why does he look like the one who was kicked? you swallow. "dude you gotta be clearer. if you're talking about in the moment like it's just part of the scene."

"After the scene, you always leave."

"yeah so you can clean up."

"No. I know... I know you leave to relieve yourself. I know you have no real interest in me because I'm disgusting to you. I think finding a partner that can help you relieve those things would be more beneficial for you."

you pause and stand there in silence for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. "you would notice huh? I'm sorry. yeah i try to go jack off before you finish getting clean. its not... its not because you're gross or something. i just don't want to take advantage of you or push you too hard or gross you out. sorry. I'll try to stop. problem solved?"

achilles thinks of biting his tongue before he decides to take a step closer to you. "...You always help me relieve myself why would I find you disgusting?"

"because? i was supposed to kill you. its normal for you to- y'know. but im sure to you i must look like a pretty vile person."

he takes another step forward until he's hovering above you. "It would.. it would be my greatest honor to be killed by you. If you wished to take advantage of my body I would be the luckiest man in the world." one of his cold thin hands slipped into yours.

"if i get off on your pain."

"Ecstasy. I hope my pain is for your pleasure only. My blood, my broken bones, my screams. I.. I have always dedicated them to you."

you intertwine your fingers as you look up into his eyes. his steel blue eyes are looking at you like you're the only thing in the world and his cheeks are red.

"you're a big softie.... i don't want to break your heart or hurt you in a way that won't heal."

"If I was hurt in such a way it would only be because I failed to be your most devoted slave."

"chilles im serious. you... you don't want a rel-"

"I want you only. I want to make you happy. If I can't do that then my life is forfeit."

".... you're gonna regret saying stuff like that."

"If I do then you can also kill me then."

"i'm not gonna kill you suddenly dumbass.... just give me some time to think about it... i really don't want you to be hurt and regret everything"

achilles brought his lips to your hair. "I love you."

"... stupid."

[onyxisnotuniqueenough]

---WRITTEN A WHILE AGO AND KEPT IN DRAFTS FOR WEEKS UNTIL I THOUGHT ABOUT IT AGAIN---

i hate how comfortable most of the mouthwashing fandom is with calling a disabled burn victim "a baby", or making fanart of him BASICALLY representing him like some kind of pet. his wide eyes are not for your cutesy purposes. he does not look like "the autism creature" because of his limbs. you guys are infantilizing and absolutely dehumanizing this character, and through him, in a sense, showing a few of your unfiltered thoughts about the disabled community! he is not the silly mascot of the group!!! HE IS A FLESHED OUT DEEP CHARACTER WITH HIS OWN MORALS AND HIS OWN MISTAKES!!!! AND HIS STATE DOES NOT MEAN HE BECAME A THOUGHTLESS BLAMELESS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!! HE IS NOT A PET NOR A MASCOT!!!!! JUST DRAW POLLE THE PONY (THE ACTUAL MASCOT) AS THE MASCOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! what in the actual hell is wrong with you people.

to be CLEAR this isn't only about the fandom on tiktok : i've seen countless fanarts on here being like "he looks so cute here", or drawing the other characters "holding him" like a plushie or a pet (if you can visualize what i mean) and damn, unfortunately tumblr is just as bad as tiktok sometimes

ALSO this isn't either about being able to find humor in media that aren't comedies, because yes the babygirl/blorbo/pathetic meow meow thing is prevalent in every fandom imaginable and especially for older, "masculine/tough" male characters. Which I understand even if I don't partake in it, since it's all just one big joke. Hannibal Lecter or Gus Fring covered in blood is babygirl, let's put a bow png on him. hahaha. how novel. But this is not what's happening here. you guys are not calling him baby or babygirl because he's hot or the comedic effect of calling an edgy tough guy a baby. the joke is supposed to be about the absurdity/contrast of calling those kinds of characters (murderers, criminals, old mean guys, buff masculine superheroes, or in general "stereotypical" masculine guys) "babygirl". But here it seems overwhelmingly sincere. and that's extremely concerning!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and if you want to look at it from a different/narrative perspective :

obviously there was thought put into why this happened to curly, why he looks like this, why jimmy's the one who put him through this, why it's jimmy that gives him the painkillers and why the painkillers are pills in the first place. there is thought behind his state and how it mirrors anya and what jimmy put her through. and not only is curly a metaphor for society IN OUR CURRENT MODERN WORLD in his reaction and INACTION towards what happened, the FANDOM/PUBLIC's reaction to curly and the overall plot is also a great mirror to hold up to ourselves. I won't go into detail about my full analysis of this BUT AlleyDreamer's "You Are Missing The Point of Mouthwashing" youtube video, and @/luckylefty's tiktoks about the games are both eloquent and clear and i highly recommend watching them.

SO....if you view curly's impotence, suffering, dehumanization. and overall physical state as something that can be meme'd or funny, you probably have not considered that part of the narrative that the game developers explored. and if you have and think that somehow it's still all good jokes to make EVEN when considering that joking about his state is also making a joke out of anya, out of women, out of disabled people, DAMN do you absolutely SUCK. is that really the best you can come up with?

SO. all in all. i understand lightening the mood of the fandom by ignoring the elephant in the room and choosing to just focus on jokes, but PLEASE stick to jokes about the group and their game nights and the shenanigans, daisuke and swansea's father-son relationship, or even the game's low-poly graphics and animation - hell, stick to replaying that swansea twerking clip again and again. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING ON THIS EARTH KEEP YOUR ABLEISM, SEXISM/MISOGYNY AND TONE-DEAFNESS TO YOURSELF !

ok rant over cough cough

[fandomtrash-whataboutit]

My TimKon ‘Would You Fall in Love with Me Again’ Animatic

(If i could make animatics :/)

Notes: The roles of Ody and Pen aren’t perfectly assigned bc Tim’s the one who changed but Kon’s the one who was gone, don’t worry, it’ll make sense.

Kon has returned to his normal time/place/life and has been thoroughly checked for being the real, original, correct universe Kon-El. Now, at last, Tim is able to go see him, and reunite with his lost love.

Is it you? Have my prayers been answered? Is it really you standing there or am I dreaming once more?

Tim says all of this with bated breath, not delivering the wild, enthusiastic welcome Kon had been expecting. Kon can tell something is wrong, as can everyone else in the room (I imagine perhaps Superman and dick and/or bruce)

You look different. Your eyes look tired. Your frame is lighter, your smile torn. Is it really you my love?

Kon can see that Tim looks like hell and he is slowly trying to piece together what has happened (I imagine that last part is met with some surprise, as few is any people outside of yj knew of Tim and Kon’s relationship or at least how serious it was)

I am not the man you fell in love with. I am not the man you once adored. I am not your kind and gentle husband. And I am not the love you knew before Would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I’ve done. The things I can not change, would you love me all the same?

This section focuses on Tim alone, face shrouded in shadow or just tight and anxious. Perhaps one of those cool animations of the camera moving around the central figure (note that words like husband do not have to be taken literally here, because animatic. There will be a whole section like this later)

I know that you’ve been waiting, waiting for love. …What kind of things did you do?

Kon is starting to process that something went very wrong while he was gone. He is getting scared, steps closer, and makes himself ask because he needs to know Tim is okay.

Left a trail of red on every island, as I traded friends like objects I could use. Hurt more lives than I can count on my hands, but all of that was to bring me back to you.

This part might be one of those sections that writes the lyrics on screen to alter them. The first sentence shows Tim’s time with the LoA (note that I don’t subscribe to the belief that Tim like murdered a bunch of people, even if it’s cool to think about sometimes) and say ‘traded PEOPLE like objects…’ because to be fair it was mostly the LoA and stuff that he was using, he didn’t trade friends’ literal lives the way Ody did. The second part would be a big motif of the most obvious thing, the cloning. A literal shot of just Tim, looking miserable, and in the background all around him half-transparent parts of his lab and experiments. (Still Tim below)

So tell me, would you fall in love with me again? If you knew all I’ve done. The things I can’t undo, I am not the man you knew. I know that you’ve been waiting, waiting…

This part mirrors the first chorus with my fun camera spinning thing but this time focusing on both Tim and Kon standing close to one another, both looking utterly grief stricken.

If that’s true, could you do me a favor? Just a moment of labor that would bring me some peace? See that wedding bed? Could you carry it over? Lift it high on your shoulders and take it far away from here?

This is obviously the least literal part. I imagine the camera goes to Kon for a second to indicate who is ‘speaking’ then shifts to the YJ cave. I haven’t worked out all the kinks for this but I imagine something like maybe a bed because Kon considers it the first real home he had where he was welcomed and wanted by loved ones before Superman and the Kents go involved/got their shit together, something with their initials or the Superboy and Robin symbols carved into it.

How could you say this? I had built that wedding bed with my blood and sweat. Carved it into the olive tree where we first met. A symbol of our love everlasting, do you realize what you have asked me? The only way to move it is to cut it from its roots!

This part is a lot, obv. The first sentence, a short of present Tim, horrified. Second sentence shows a quick shot of a younger Tim and Kon, Kon’s eyes lighting up with laser vision for a second only for Tim to stop him and carve it into the whatever (bed, smth) himself. The third sentence not a shot of that specific place but the round table in the cave with Tornado and the whole YJ team. ‘A symbol of your love everlasting’ shows a young Tim and Kon looking smitten, ‘do you realize what your have asked me’ hard cuts back to present Tim, finally showing some energy as he gets terribly angry. (Note: maybe a quick shot of spectators before the last sentence but maybe not). Last sentence shows that shot of young Tim and Kon looking smitten getting torn in half, revealing the shot of the whole team which also gets torn in half.

Only my husband knew that, so I guess that makes him you!

Kon needs to match Tim’s energy here as he finally sees his Rob light up the way he used to be, fiery and free.

Penelope…

Tim frozen in shock, staring at Kon

I will fall in love with you over and over again, I don’t care how, where, or when. No matter how long it’s been, you’re mine! Don’t tell me you’re not the same person, you’re always my husband and I’ve been waiting…

Kon grabs Tim’s shoulders (you know the cliche pose) getting close to him and speaking vehemently. Maybe some shots of them over the years, canon or headcanon moments of when they fell in love. Emphasize Kon’s vehemence on the ‘you’re mine’ cus im a slut for that, and maybe Kon shakes his head on ‘don’t tell me you’re not the same person’

Waiting… Penelope…

Not writing out this whole section cus I’m not copy pasting the lyrics here I’m recording them as I listen. This is a collage of them, colors and moments all around them or snapshots of their past, maybe chronologically and having at least one shot of each of them while Kon was ‘dead’

For you…

As he says this, Kon finally grabs Tim and kisses him. He sweeps him up in a massive hug off the ground as the music peaks, they hold each other desperately close (i mean draw creases on the back of their clothing type shit). I’m also debating, because I dont have much knowledge of canon alternate universities in the comics, if there would be content enough to show alternate versions of them holding each other because they fall in love in every lifetime. As the music calms, Kon gently returns them back to the ground, pulling far enough away to press their forehead together

How long has it been?

Kon asks this, still not entirely sure how long he was gone

Twenty Years

Obv its different, it dont remember the canon time Kon was gone/dead, but ideally it would be shown in month, week, day, hour format bc Tim is normal (for bonus angst do the amount of irl time he was dead cus that was prolly way longer

I love you

Need I even say anything? Holding each other close, they’re both finally smiling

[theogbadbitch]

Nami the woman that you are….

“Nami stared up at the ceiling. His bicep and forearm applied heavy pressure to her neck, the choking method felt like a boa constrictor. His arm was so thick.” Big armed men>>>>

“I can’t wait for you to touch me,’ he grunted. “Those soft pretty hands on me? I. Can't. Wait.” He punctuated his words with hip shattering thrusts. “ WE ALL CHEERED!

“And that’s why I’m making you wait,’ he hissed. “I like hearing you beg.” Sick bastard smh hope Nami put him in a headlock when he finally let her touch him

“Because as soon as I do, I’m at your mercy,’ he admitted, ‘and baby, I just can’t have that.” *sighs deeply* #needthat

“Though he bought them, he denied wanting one, until his hand dove into the bag and pulled out the last one. It just so happened to be raspberry filled. Her favorite. “ now I don’t play about my food, I would’ve cussed him out for 40 days and 40 nights

“The cart was already filled with ornaments in green and silver. She had asked for his input and he was terrible at it. Picking out ornaments that didn't match in color. Left up to him, the tree would have been neon orange, black, and gold.” Men.

“That must have shown on her face because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “

“Don't worry about it Nami,' he said. “ Can’t stand people like this because I make everything a competition now I feel like you tryna out trick me. Now I gotta get you a Ferrari by tomorrow

“I was not expecting this,' she says, opening the box to stare at the diamond tennis necklace. It was very simple, dainty, and perfect. “ we LOVE a trick iktr

“You're my submissive in bed and when I need you to be otherwise. You're also my girl,' he saw the change in her eyes, the way the softened to him. "I'm going to take you out as much as I slut you out." We all cheered!!! (Again)

“He could see the excitement in her eyes. He’d finally given her permission to touch him and she instantly had been over zealous”

“Her other hand was on his neck and she wrapped her hand around it to apply some pressure. She didn't waste time pulling him free from his sweats.”

“Nami stopped her hand at that, her index finger tapping his neck. "Put that leg down,' she said, a little commanding essence in her sweet voice. Terry did as he was told, grinning” her being strict with him just like he is with her>>>>

“When Terry turned to look at her, she wore a large grin on her face”

nami :

“You're getting some rules for touching tomorrow,' he says while tugging down his sweats. “ he pissed , now you see how that shit feels !!

I know Terry mean ass strict as hell but the power that Nami holds over him is big like she could really make him suffer with those 10 minutes of touching . (in a good way ofc🌚) just imagine….

.summary. a continuation of the previous chapter. Terry makes a bold move on Nami and gives her some well earned softness.

.kinks. choking, collaring, implied oral, sexual intercourse, suggestive language. 3021 words

.warnings. minors do not engage, you are responsible for reading material that is age appropriate. this story is written for those 21+. this chapter is a bit shorter as it's a continuation.

“Give me that pussy,’ Terry growled. 

The sound was deep in his throat. His already low voice was deeper, richer, hungrier. Nami could only moan as he stuffed her pussy with his dick. On her hands and knees, Terry’s hand pushed down on her shoulder and pulled up on her hips. 

She wiggled her hips backwards, swallowing his thickness in inch by inch. It was a little past two in the afternoon and she was fucked out. How he was able to draw out pleasure from her made Nami cross her eyes. She focused on his hips, the way they pounded against hers, and how his balls slapped up against her clit. She was salivating herself, drool coating her chin and chest, wetting up the sheets.  

"I know that shit feels good,' he cooed, his tongue lapping at the shell of her ear. 

Two orgasms in and he was fucking her towards her third. He’d already filled her with his cum and was itching to do it again. She was a mess between her legs. A creamy white mess. 

“Sir,’ she whined as his stopped moving. 

“Mh?” He asks coolly, ‘whatchu’ need besides this dick, Nami? You shouldn’t be asking for anything else right now.” 

Her lips puckered together as she whispered so breathlessly he barely heard it. “Okay.” 

Terry had given her a little more vocal leeway. Her replies had to be respectful with no cursing. He’d let her little, okay, slip because he could feel her shaking in his hands. She was still sensitive from this morning and he knew it was pushing on uncomfortable. Terry brought her back from sub space a while ago and was keeping her engaged to avoid a second slip so soon. 

“Can I share something,’ he says, his thrusts quickening as he pulled her up and threw his arm around her neck. His other landed on her belly, locking her in place while supporting her lower body before he rallied his strength and fucked into her. 

Nami stared up at the ceiling. His bicep and forearm applied heavy pressure to her neck, the choking method felt like a boa constrictor. His arm was so thick. He applied just enough pressure for her to feel it while cutting off just enough air she soaked his dick from the pressure and he could feel it leaking on his thighs. 

“There you go,’ he whispered, very close to her ear, ‘wet that dick up, pretty girl.” 

He listened to her cries and screams. Egged on by her vocal offerings, Terry rubbed hand down between her legs, thumbing the sensitive clit that was swollen and needy. 

“I can’t wait for you to touch me,’ he grunted. “Those soft pretty hands on me? I. Can't. Wait.” He punctuated his words with hip shattering thrusts.

“Please, please, please,’ she begged, voice thick with desire just for the simple act of touch. 

“And that’s why I’m making you wait,’ he hissed. “I like hearing you beg.” 

Nami was at his control, arched back into his vice grip as her pussy fluttered around his dick. “Because as soon as I do, I’m at your mercy,’ he admitted, ‘and baby, I just can’t have that.”

Terry leaned against the cart, his attention divided between the cart filling with Christmas ornaments, a Oreo Frappuccino he kept secretly sipping, and Nami, who was pacing the isle. He made the mistake of eating the last of her doughnut holes and when he slid his seat back in the car, egging on her on to suck his dick, she got out and walked towards the store, a pout on her lips. The last thing she needed was more sugar than her frappuccino and the doughnuts had been grabbed from a street vendor back at the market. Though he bought them, he denied wanting one, until his hand dove into the bag and pulled out the last one. It just so happened to be raspberry filled. Her favorite. 

"Nami,' Terry called out, bumping her thigh with the cart. 

"You ate my doughnut." 

"I can go back to get you more,' he offered, again. 

"No. I don't want them anymore." 

"Then come drink this,' he said, holding up the cold confectionary drink. 

Nami frowned. "It's melted and I don't want it anymore." 

Terry let out a small laugh, his face twisting into a smile. "You're upset over the doughnut?" 

She placed the pink ornaments back on the shelf and faced him. 

"You said you didn't want any!" She replied, voice just above a whisper. 

Nami grabbed the cold drink from him and wrapped her lips around the straw before taking a long sip. She yanked it out her mouth as her head began to chill. 

"Do you want more?" 

"You already asked me that." 

"No, I said I would go back. I'm asking if you want more." 

Nami walked around him with her cup, disappearing down another aisle as he tapped his fingers on the cart before following her.

It had been her idea to decorate a tree at his place since he didn't have one. She had her own, but the chance to get a new tree and ornaments took over. After Terry and her had showered and dress, she begged him to bring her out to find a tree. Though they were at her place, she wanted to put the tree at his. The cart was already filled with ornaments in green and silver. She had asked for his input and he was terrible at it. Picking out ornaments that didn't match in color. Left up to him, the tree would have been neon orange, black, and gold. 

"You mad at me?" 

He had stepped up behind her, his hand on her waist as she looked through the different color and shape of boxed lights. The drink in her hand chilled her palm. Blocked by his body, Terry slipped his hands down the front of her skirt. 

"Sir,' she mumbled, 'someone can see." 

He looked around at the semi busy store and shrugged. Pulling his hand back, he patted the side of her thigh. 

"Then hurry up. I have something for you anyway." 

It was a few things actually and he was glad she pushed him to put the tree up at his place. Everything he had for her would stay there unless he moved it. Nami watched him walk to another aisle before she followed behind him. 

"Wait,' she tossed the drink in a trash and caught up to him at the stockings. "What do you have?" 

She stood there with her hands behind her back. Looking up at him, Nami pursed her lips in question. He hadn't given anything away and she wasn't sure where they were in their relationship to buy him gifts. That must have shown on her face because he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

"Don't worry about it Nami,' he said.

Her shoulders dropped a little as the tension released. She would still get him something, but she at least had time and another opportunity to view his place to see what he might like or want without directly asking. Terry was a quiet man and his house looked like a page from a minimalist magazine. From what she saw of his room all his things wer put away, shoes lined up perfectly along the wall, no stray clothes, and even his fridge was organized. Everything had it's place, including her. 

Nami, anticipating what his surprise were, found the lights she wanted and tossed enough in the cart to string around the 8-foot tree. 

Nami made Terry move the tree around five times before it ended up back where it first started; by dining table right before the hardwood floors changed to tile. Her black tree skirt stood out against the frosted leave christmas tree. She hadn't paid attention but the tree also came with little red berries on some of the branches, giving it depth and character. While he found an extension cord, Name began placing the pink and white ornaments. When he came back, he knelt beside her and plugged in the extension cord for her. He kissed her bare leg and up her thigh before wrapping her arms around her waist.

"You are distracting me." She mumbled.

She clenched the ornament in her hands and looked down at him. He pushed up her shirt and kiss her belly, mouthed around her waist as his head disappeared under her shirt. The warm air sent chills over her body as Terry's tongue licked at her inner thighs.

"Finish the tree, baby,' he replied.

This was the first time she had spent a holiday with a man in almost four years. It was weird, considering their dynamic, and comforting. This past semester had been hell before Terry came into her life. The balance and structure helped her flourish. She didn't dread going to class. She was present and focused. She wiggled her toes and leaned forward, trying to put the balls on the branches, but he was taking up space.

"Sir,' she wiggled her legs, his forehead was resting on her stomach.

"Nah,' he says. His fingers pinch the back of her thighs and she yelps. "Try that again."

"Oh! Sorry, Daddy,' she relaxes in his hold. It was hard to tell of his changes when she couldn't see him.

Nami leaned forward again and was startled when Terry picked up her leg and hooked it on his shoulder. He held her tight so she kept her balance, but she hated she couldn't see his face. Nami twisted around, searching for other ornaments when her leg buckled. Terry's tongue had slipped out his mouth and pressed against her clit.

"How am I supposed to,' Nami whimpered.

Terry had started to lower her to the floor, the ornaments were out of reach at this point and her legs were pushed apart. She reached down and pulled up her shirt, his dark green eyes and focused on her. As handy as the no panty rule was, sometimes she wanted to throw them on. His mouth was lethal and she knew when he locked in on her like that she wasn't going out without at least two orgasms.

Terry tilted his head upwards and she followed his gaze. Rolling over, Nami crawled towards the decorations and let out a small 'oof' when Terry grabbed her ankle. She had one of the boxes in her hand and laughed as he dragged her and the box back towards him.

When he finally let her finish, he was watching her from the couch. She moved around the tree with ease, changing the spots where she had placed an ornament or flower. Terry watched Nami admire the tree when she was done. His apartment looked a little more festive and it wasn't a total eyesore among his cleaner aesthetic.

"Come sit."

She moved towards Terry as he sat up. He reached into the table and for a second Nami thought he was getting her cuffs. Instead he pulled out a black square box and placed it on her lap. She knew it was kink related, but what else could he have? The anal ring he given her earlier was replaced with a slightly larger one already.

Opening the box, she shut it just as quickly and then gave him a surprised look.

"I was not expecting this,' she says, opening the box to stare at the diamond tennis necklace. It was very simple, dainty, and perfect.

"Collaring is important. We'll be in spaces of like minded people and I want them to know you're spoken for. Permanently."

He took the box from her and had her kneel between his legs with her back to him. She moved her curls out of the way as he latched the necklace around her neck, officially making it her collar. She turned around and he admired it. The way it sat against her collarbones, how it sparkled just enough, and the goofy and apprehensive smile on his subs face.

"What's wrong?" He asks.

"Nothing wrong,' she says, 'I….its a bit overwhelming."

It was a representation of their relationship and her acceptance of it. Nami reached up to touch it while excusing herself to the guest bathroom. She looked in the mirror at her collar. She could feel his expectations now. The necklace was beautiful and light, but it was heavy with responsibility. After about ten minutes, Terry knocked on the bathroom door.

"Nami,' he said, 'are you okay?"

She looked away from her reflection and opened the bathroom door. "Yes. I just needed to process what this means."

"It means you're my only submissive. It means you trust me with your body. I get to call you mine."

Nami nodded, but he knew what the problem. She needed assurance. She needed to be told.

"You're my submissive in bed and when I need you to be otherwise. You're also my girl,' he saw the change in her eyes, the way the softened to him. "I'm going to take you out as much as I slut you out."

Nami next surprise made her overly excited to the point she bounced up and down when he told her. Now that he had been able to indulge in her the least he could do was really reward her for being so good. It made shivers slide down his spine, but the pleasure on the other end of it kept him hard from the moment he told her until now. In the guest room, her last surprise was in his, he told her to get comfortable. Her back was against the headboard and her legs were spread. Terry had crawled between them and kissed her gently before exhaling deeply. He could see the excitement in her eyes. He’d finally given her permission to touch him and she instantly had been over zealous. She was bubbling with excitement as he complied with her want. He turned his body, his back to her chest, and she adjusted herself some so that he was partially on the pillows beside them. Nami ran her nose along his neck and watched his hands begin to clench at his sides.

Her tongue flattened against his neck and he jerked to the side away from her.

“You playin’,” he hissed.

Her ten minutes of exploring his half naked body were winding down. Nami kissed his shoulder, her right hand rubbing down his chest and stomach. The muscles clenched and the tent in his sweat grew.

“Oh?” She whispered, her fingertips snaking beneath the waist of the sweats. “Can I touch?” She asked. “Pwease, Daddy?” Her nails made small circles on his lower abdomen and Terry stared up at the ceiling as he tried to pull control from thin air. He was shaking as pleasure coursed through his body and he knew if she touched him what would happen.

“Yeah, go ahead baby. Touch Daddy.”

Nami slipped her hand in his sweats and he watched then felt her dainty palm wrap around the base of his dick. Pre cum leaked from the top and her thumb swirling the mess down to the base of his dick on one long and slow stroke.

“Oh fuck,’ he groaned, sinking into her embrace.

Her other hand was on his neck and she wrapped her hand around it to apply some pressure. She didn't waste time pulling him free from his sweats. Instead, she stroked him and they both watched the way his body began to tremble each time her hand moved.

"Shit." He cursed, his foot planting on the bed.

Nami stopped her hand at that, her index finger tapping his neck. "Put that leg down,' she said, a little commanding essence in her sweet voice. Terry did as he was told, grinning, but softly moaning as she resumed playing with his dick because that's exactly what she was doing. Playing.

He could feel her breath on the side of his face. Her breaths were long and drawn out to match the slow stroke of her hand. Downwards, she breathed in. Upwards, she exhaled. Her hand around his throat tightened and he could feel the points of her stiletto shaped nails dig into his skin. The pinch of the acrylics made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He melted into her arms, his hands clenched the sheets and the moving tent in his sweats pulled deep guttural moans from his chest.

“You’re so big Daddy,’ she whispered, her tongue dancing around the shell of his ear. “So thick,” she mumbled in awe.

Her hand barely wrapped around him. Nami glanced at the timer and began to slow her strokes. As much as she was enjoying it, she didn't want to get caught up and have to stop. Terry sat up, slight confusion but then the timer went off and they both jumped at the shrill sound. Nami pulled her hands away and placed them in her lap. When Terry turned to look at her, she wore a large grin on her face. She was more than please with herself for making him feel the way he did.

She noticed his face was scrunched up and he hd turned so his boyd was face her. Between her legs, Terry grabbed her hand, pinning it above her head with his own. He took the other and tugged her down so he could rest between her legs. He added the other hand to his grasp, and she dropped her legs to the bed, creating more room for him. Terry's dick was hard pressed against her sex, heavy, and hard.

"You're getting some rules for touching tomorrow,' he says while tugging down his sweats.

"Oh,' Nami replies, already lifting her shirt towards her head. She couldn't hid her smile from finally wearing him down.

He stoped it at her hands and twists it to keep her hands bound. He could feel the heat from her sex and with one well practiced stroke, he was buried in her cunt for what seemed like the hundredth time that day.

I went through my tag list and removed blogs with no ages, lack of interaction, or the blog just looked empty. If you were removed and would like to be added back at least have your age in your blog.

@nayaesworld @peachbuttetfly @heauxvibez @avoidthings @mymindisneverhere @eilujion @heytaewrites  @insidefeelingofanadult @captainwithoutmakingitlove  @kindofaintrovert @jimmybutlrr @beenathembo  @virgomess  @theereina @randomhood @ash-ketchumzzz @megamindsecretlair @nubiagurllll @zillasvilla

@wabi-sabi1090 @iterum-incipi @liquorlaughslove @eilujion @taureanstargirl @mzv11@Disc0fair @prettyfilmz @simplyzeeka @heytaewrites vivaalenaa theogbadbitch

Insertcatchynamerighthere writingsbytee pocketsizedpanther

[beefscrap]

CONTEST HONORABLE MENTIONS

A total of 12 designs were submitted for this contest. Holy crap! I couldn’t ask for more. Not only that but they were all so goddamn cool and creative. It was HARD picking the top three out of all of them. So if you weren’t chosen, you should still be so proud of yourself!! Thank you to each and every one of you for your submissions.

Everyone who didn’t get first place can do whatever they wish with their designs, ofc. Whatever you choose, I wanted to do a LITTLE something to express my thanks. So I did a stupid little doodle for each of them :]

THE SUBMISSIONS

The first submission, and a GREAT start! I love your clean style, and the colors you used. Like I said before, I LOVE the birthmark

SO BADASS!!! Nugget never fails to make an amazing design. The headcanons are so silly and entertaining to think abt. Imagining a dragon who loves to walk on his hind legs for no reason like lmaooo

The colors here are FANTASTIC. The fades between each scale plate are super unique. I really love the pattern of the stars, too. Just a super cool style in general.

I ADORE the idea of nightwing scales going white with age for this dude. As I said before I loveee how he’s shaped. So many fun lore ideas were added to this guy. I love old men

Beautiful wings and awesome colors. The combo of red and blue is really cool. You have such a pretty style!!! And I love their big ears

Another baddassss designnnn. Face marking you added is something I just can’t get over. I had so much fun reading the lore.. and his name (Sickle-Moon) is so cool sounding.??! Where do yall find these names

(As I’ve said) I haven’t seen compression gloves like this for a dragon before! That’s so cool! And the pattern on them makes them even better. The blues are great - need more blue Nightwings in my life

The amount of detail put into this is CRAZY. Especially with those accessories - holy crap. They were something i particularly kept note of because of the job this character has in the story …

Love love loveddd this guy. Again, the tear drop jewelry was something I kept in mind and really liked. There’s so much care put into the scales in this drawing. Omg some of you have patience that I do NOT

[katethetank]

The Dungeon - Chapter 2

Rating: 18+ minors gtfo Chapter Summary: Eddie comes back, Steve is brave and clueless, the pieces fall together CW: Steve is oblivious, mentions of oral sex in regards to song lyrics Tags: Alternate Universe - modern setting, Rock Star Eddie, Counselor Steve, Eddie is gay, Steve is bi, Steve has no idea who Eddie is, slow burn, idiots in love Word Count:2189

Chapter 1<<>>Chapter 3

The rest of the night seems to drag on, every minute passing by like another hour. And Steve keeps looking back at the door, waiting and hoping for it to open and bring his beautiful stranger back.

Steve was knocked a little off kilter when he first saw him standing on the other side of the counter. Dark hair piled on top of his head. Half his face hidden behind some serious Audrey Hepburn shades, but beneath those, the most pillowy, kissable lips. And god, he looked so soft and cozy. Something about a man in sweats just made Steve want to nest. Cuddle up on a couch under blankets, exchange soft and lazy kisses, maybe take a little nap and snuggle. 

God, he’s not beating those “mom” allegations anytime soon, is he?

But Jesus, when he whipped those sunglasses off and batted his big old doe eyes at Steve, smirked, called him sweetheart…He was a goner.

He hoped he played it cool, but in the back of his mind he knows better. He used to be able to charm the pants off of anyone, but all of his time spent with the kids-who-are-no-longer-kids have robbed him of his cool points, and Robin had turned him into a rambling mess much like herself. 

There was some kind of spark there though, right? He wasn’t imagining it? Steve was rightfully bummed when he…Eddie…ordered his drink to go. He was hoping to work on his charm a little more, attempt some flirting of his own, see if he could bring out a blush on Eddie’s cheeks too. 

But fate just doesn’t work that way for Steve. He doesn’t get the romantic meet cutes that lead to true love. He doesn’t get the happy ending. Lord knows he tried. He’s a sucker for love and has tried to find it in not always the best places. He’s left every single one of his hookups hoping for something more, that maybe this one would be the one. But they either ghost him or only want to fuck again. 

Steve wants something more. Something deeper. He wants to be happy. He wants to find his person. Robin does her damnedest to hype him up and they both believe his person is out there, somewhere. He’s just been having to kiss a lot of frogs trying to find them.

The clock ticks on and Steve starts to lose hope that Eddie will come back. Why would he? It’s a weeknight, he said he had to work, the last thing he would want after a long day and late night is more caffeine. 

He busies himself around the shop, doing the chores the kids asked him to. He’s got Billie Eilish’s new album playing over the speakers, and it’s helping to chill him out a bit. No way metal could have the same effect, fuck your very much Mike Wheeler.

He’s wiping down the machines behind the counter, singing along with Billie about eating pussy, and doesn’t hear the door open. He doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching. Doesn’t hear someone slump onto the counter. 

“I’ll run a shower for you like you want! Clothes on the counter for you, try 'em on! If I’m allowed I’ll help you take them o-o-o-o-off!

“Well hot damn, that’s the nicest offer I’ve had all week!”

Steve, not being startled in the slightest, shrieks like a girl and throws his rag at Eddie’s face.

“Oh my god! Do I have to put a bell on you?! You scared the shit out of me!”

Eddie is laughing so hard he’s bent over the counter, his face is red, crinkles appearing around his eyes. Steve can’t help but laugh with him.

“Sorry!” Eddie gasps and raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to scare you! Oh my god, you said earlier that you could scream, but that honey? That was something else!” 

Leave it to Steve to make a total ass of himself in front of a gorgeous man. Now that his heart rate is coming back down, he’s registering how gorgeous Eddie actually looks. 

Gone are the cozy sweats and Hepburn glasses. His hair is down, wild and untamed and Steve wants to bury his face in it. He’s got some black eyeliner smudged around his eyes, making them look even darker and deeper. A black leather jacket covers his broad shoulders and peeking out from underneath…is that mesh? Dragging his eyes down further, he lands on a handcuff belt buckle resting above skin tight leather pants that look like they were painted on. Lord help him. His mouth goes a little dry. 

Clearing his throat, he meets Eddie’s eyes again - which are dancing with mischief. A Cheshire grin plastered on his beautiful face. Fuck. He caught Steve gawking at him, didn’t he?

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry. You want a..?” He points, intelligently, to the menu while he tries to get a fucking grip Jesus, Harrington!

Eddie just smiles, shakes his head, and leans on the counter.

Damn, that man knows how to lean.

“So what uh…what brings you back?”

“Well Stevie, I said be back to see you later, and I am nothing if not a man of my word. How was your night sweetheart?”

Steve is going to die. He’s going to simply pass away while this insanely hot man is leaning and smiling and giving all of his attention to Steve. “Fine. It was fine. Kinda boring actually. Not a lot of action around here on a Thursday night, you know?”

“Aw, honey, a man as pretty as you should have no trouble getting all kinds of action.”

Steve almost audibly rolls his eyes. “Wow that was awful! Does that kind of line usually work? I’m almost embarrassed for you!” 

Eddie’s face falls. 

Shit. He was going for cheeky and it came off bitchy.

“Fuck. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m so-“

Eddie, throws his head back and cackles. “Steve! You’ve got some claws, sweetheart!” He slaps his hand over his heart and admits, “You’re right! You’re right, that was horrible! My deepest apologies m’lord. I do appreciate your honesty, and I promise I’ll workshop some of my material a little more for next time.”

Steve breathes a sigh of relief. Thank god he didn’t fuck this up so quickly! “Next time, huh? You making plans for me already?”

Pulling a lock of hair over his full lips, Eddie looks almost bashful as he says,”I don’t know, how willing are you to be subjected to more heinous pickup lines?”

You could lay them on me forever. Lay on me forever.

“Hmm… depends. How willing would you be to have lunch with me tomorrow?”

Eddie perks up and Steve swears if he had a tail, it would be furiously wagging right now. ”I - yeah! I could do lunch! Where uh… where are you thinking?”

“There’s a place on the other side of town, by the community center. Wayne’s Diner? They make a mean grilled cheese. Have you been there before?”

Eddie gets this look on his face that Steve can’t pinpoint. Something almost…fond. “Yeah. I think I know the place. I can meet you there around 1:00?”

Steve’s heart is doing fucking backflips in his chest. He can’t believe this guy actually wants to go out with him. “It’s a date.”

There’s the blush Steve was hoping for. It looks really pretty on Eddie. 

They just kinda gaze at each other for a moment when Steve realizes that he’s supposed to be closing up the shop soon. “Ah shit, it’s getting late. I better finish up here, make sure I got everything done so I don’t catch hell from the shitheads.”

Eddie snickers and nods his head.”I’ll get out of your hair, sweetheart. My carriage is about to turn into a pumpkin anyway,” he says while pointing to the clock in the wall reading nearly midnight. Before heading out, he reaches for Steve’s hand, slowly brings it to his lips, and places a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.”

Steve? Swoons.

Nobody has ever set off fireworks like that in him before, especially not from something as simple as a kiss to his hand. He watches Eddie saunter out of the shop and Steve has to brace himself on the counter before he passes the fuck out. 

No sooner than the door closes that it flies back open again and a whirlwind of chaos comes barreling in. 

“Steve!  Why did we just see Eddie fucking Munson leaving our fucking shop?!” This is the most hysterical Steve had ever seen Dustin. All of them really. Even Max and El, clinging to each other while jumping up and down, are apparently losing their minds.

“How do you guys know Eddie? He was in here earlier today and he came back to uh… well. I’ve kinda got a date with him tomorrow.”

If it wasn’t for Billie still playing on the speakers, you could have heard a pin drop.

Steve looks around the cluster of faces, seeing shock, surprise, elation, disbelief, and (ok fuck off Mike) disgust. The kids have known forever that he’s queer as fuck, so he can’t fathom why they’re all reacting like this. Dustin seems to snap out of it first and slowly steps up to the counter.

“Steve. Buddy. Pal. You need to tell me everything, right fucking now.”

Steve quirks his eyebrow. What the hell has gotten into these dipshits? Oh fuck, they didn’t actually end up doing drugs did they? “Are you guys high? Did you take something at the concert? I fucking told you, don’t take shit from people you don’t know, it’s not safe!”

They all collectively roll their eyes as if they’d been rehearsing it, which he wouldn’t be surprised if they had. Max pipes up from behind the boys, “No mom, we didn’t take anything! Now spill, I want the dirty details!”

“Not much dirty about it kiddo, he came in earlier while you guys were leaving, ordered a drink to go, talked about music, and he kinda…flirted a little bit. I mentioned I’d be here till close and he said he’d try to stop by after work. I totally didn’t think he’d show up again, but he popped in just a little while ago and I asked him out. We’re going to lunch tomorrow.” Steve shrugs at that and turns around to gather his shit from behind the counter. The kids can lock up, he’s exhausted and is ready to climb into bed.

The silence from them is loud so he turns back around to see them staring wide-eyed back at him.

“What? Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

Mike shakes his head in disbelief. “Of course. Of fucking course Steve would be the one manning the shop while Eddie fucking Munson comes in. And you seriously had the balls to ask him out?! Unbelievable. He’s like a dorky mother hen and he manages to get a date with a fucking rock star.”

Wait. What?

“Wait. What? The fuck are you talking about?”

A collective groan fills the room. Dustin, looking at him like he’s an idiot, asks “Steve, what drink did he order?”

“Uh…The Corroded Coffin?”

Dustin nods his head slowly and asks, “And what concert did we go to tonight?”

“…Corroded Coffin…”

Oh fuck. No. No no no.

The pieces all begin to fall into place. The incognito outfit, the questions about the band, him showing up again later looking like…yeah, looking like a rock star.

The color drains from his face.

“Oh shit. Oh my god. Guys, I think I really fucked up.”

Mike’s eyes go wide. “What did you do??”

Steve grimaces. “I might have…talked shit about his band. Called it ‘noise’ and said his singing just sounded like screaming.”

The outburst from the kids makes him wince.

“What the fuck, Steve?!”

“Are you serious??”

“You did NOT?”

“This is hilarious!”

“You’re dead to me”

Steve runs his hand down his face and says, “Guys, I didn’t know! I don’t listen to your weird music, ok?! What the fuck do I do? I can’t believe I screwed this up already.”

The girls step up to the counter, always more logical than the boys thank god, and offer some reassurance. El, the angel of the bunch, rubs his shoulder and tells him, “I’m sure it’s not that bad. He still came back right?”

Max agrees, “Yeah, if he was totally repulsed by your idiocy, he would have bailed. But he didn’t. And for some reason actually agreed to go out with you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Steve nods his head. “Yeah. Yeah, maybe you’re right. What do I do though? I’m meeting him for lunch tomorrow and I’m gonna feel like such an ass when I see him.”

“Apologize, dumbass!” says Dustin. “Seriously, do we have to tell you everything? You’re not a child.”

This kid’s gotta get his ego in check.

And Steve has got to prepare himself to do some serious groveling if he has any hope of salvaging whatever this is.

Chapter 1<<>>Chapter 3

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

Comment if you'd like to be on the taglist! It's my first time doing this, so let me know if I screw it up. This is also posted on my ao3 account if you wanna check it out there.

@annachronisme

[orbweaverspidergirl]

The Four Times You meet Arkham Knight, and the One Time You meet Jason

summary: Your twin brother is dead, and he's not coming back. You know that, but when you see a man who acts just like Jason, you can't help but think of him.

tw: mentions of tranquilization (not on reader), guns, being knocked out, being threatened with a gun (not on reader), mentions of death, very brief mention of blood, reader feeling somewhat suicidal (not outwardly stated).

A/N: This is very angsty and I started crying towards the end of writing this. This is gender neutral! This is part 2 for the Jason Todd Twin Drabbles. Requests are open!

Tim Drake hurt you. He was a replacement for your brother, and yet, he didn’t mean to be. He was just a kid, just like you once were when starting out as Robin. He didn’t have good support, not from home, and especially not from Bruce. So, you became that for him, you took your grief and resentment, and you did your best to let it go. You would always love Jason, and you would always cry over him, but he’s dead, and you can’t change that. 

Once you started coming around for the kid, he was sweet. He rambled and was skittish, but you grew to love the boy called your brother. But he didn’t take the grief away from losing your twin. He never would. So sometimes, you would bring yourself out to a roof. His death would hit you the most after a patrol. Whenever you both finished the night, you would get something to eat. You would celebrate you both winning. You don’t celebrate anymore, so you would cry. You didn’t cry anywhere other than a roof, after a patrol. As a kid, no one saw you cry, only Jason. He was the only one allowed, and you kept it that way. Your mask was off, the green mantle you wore was in your hands, clinging on for dear life in the wind. 

That’s when you heard it over your loud sobs. Banging footsteps clashed on the roof’s surface, and you stood up. Your face drenched in tears and sweat from the fighting before. Before you was a man in a metal suit with the waist cinched in what looked like red camouflage. He wore heavy gear, and you looked up at him. He walked just like Jay did, and for a moment you imagine the random man as him. Tears flow from your eyes once more. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry.” You say, wiping the tears from your eyes. 

You feel him analyzing you, just like Tim does, and just like Bruce did all those years ago. “What for?” His voice is heavily modulated, you realize. It makes you suspicious, and you put your mask back on. 

“You just,” you take a heavy swallow, “You reminded me of my brother.” The words slip out of your mouth before you realize it. You shouldn’t have let that information be known, especially to a man that looks as dangerous as he sounds. 

“I’m sure your brother loves you.” You smile under the mask and let out a breathless laugh. 

“He did. He loved me very much.” You nod towards the man in respect. “Thank you?” You leave it in a question, waiting for his name.

“I’m no one. Not yet anyways.” Then, he’s gone, just like your brother. 

Eventually, you found out who “no one” was, and he was in fact, not a no one. “Arkham Knight” the new big bad of Gotham. Is Gotham the only place villains care to go too?? You sigh, as Batman flies to the bridge while you run, but Arkham Knight wasn’t your focus for right now, it was scarecrow. You see Gordon and his men in the distance, and you come to a stop.

While your father comes to a landing, you go up to the cop. He looks weary, and you could understand why. “Have you heard anything else, or is it still silent?” You ask the man, looking up at the building connected to the bridge. Batman walks behind you, listening on. 

“Nothing. We think there’s a skeleton crew in there, but they're not responding, and the facility is on lockdown.” You and the Bat share a look. 

“Green, I want you in there. Keep your guard up and be careful.” You nod towards your father, and your heart aches a little. He only started saying be careful when Jason died. He didn’t want to lose another kid, and even if you were mad at him for replacing your brother with Tim, you could never hate Bruce. You start a jog to the facility, and you bring out your tranquilizer gun, keeping a steady hold on it. You turn your head when you hear a loud “brr” sound in the distance. A helicopter flies in the air, and you furrow your eyebrows. 

“What the hell...” You mumble, and you turn your gaze to your father and Gordon. You then see the large rockets on the side of the helicopter. “Shit!” You start to run away from the door, but instead of being shot, the area between you and the others are. The helicopter drives up to Batman as he walks up to it. You can barely hear anything, the helicopter wings blocking everything out, but over your comms you gather that same modulated voice saying don’t shoot her. 

You have no time to think over it when the helicopter flies up, and the big doors behind you open. You hear your father yell out your hero's name as two cars with extended guns on the roof point at you. You run out of the way, but once again the guns don’t shoot at you, they only target Batman. You quickly realize the bias, putting two and two together. Whoever this is doesn't want you, they want Batman. You use this chance of distraction to run into the facility. You set out your grappling hook, and it carries you up onto the ‘ACE Chemicals’ sign. 

“Green, are you in?” You hear Bruce speak through the comms. 

“Yes. I’m on the sign. The men below noticed me flying in, but other than that, they can’t find me.” You grapple onto the actual building. You land softly onto the concrete and make your way onto the side. A large drop is there, and you get shivers down your spine. You kick in one of the windows and then jump through. You scan the area, bringing out your tranquilizer gun, but the room is empty. 

“I’m in a room now, there are desks and a large whiteboard with notes, but other than that, it’s nothing important.” 

“Good, I’m making my way in now.”

“Heard.” You open the door, and eye the hallway. You feel eerie, and you worry that it's a trap. You let out a breath and continue walking down the hallway. You make your way downstairs, and it’s still empty. 

“I’m in the building.” 

“I’m on the second to last hallway. It’s empty, no one in sight.” You hear nothing else on the other end, so you continue your descent. It’s like this for a while, until you hear a man struggling behind a door. 

“HELP...! HELPP, PLEASE!” You kick open the door, your gun pointed out in front. You see Arkham Knight pointing a gun towards a man tied up in rope. 

Arkham Knight looks at you, and you shudder. “It’s about time you showed up. I began to worry.” His tone is mocking, and you scowl, putting your finger on the trigger. 

“What the hell are you talking about?!” You yell; confusion clear in your voice. 

He lets out a sardonic laugh. “C’mon baby bird, you really don’t know?” You frown. No one called you that other than Dick or Jay, and for a moment you hope. You hope that this man is really your brother, your Jason. 

“Jay?” You mumble, and you wait. You wait for him to give you a sign that it is him. That this is your brother. He rips off the helmet, and you drop your gun. It’s your brother, your sweet big brother. Your twin. He’s alive. You run to him, disregarding the tied-up man, and you hear Bruce speak over the comms, trying to reach you. You don’t listen to his voice, you only hold Jason tight, crying on his shoulder. 

“Shhh, I know baby bird, I know.” He holds you tight, just like he did when you were kids, and you cry even more. 

“Green! Green, are you with me?” Batman yells over comms. 

“Batman, I think it’s time I take my twin off your hands. I’ll take care of them far better than you ever did anyways.” You lift your head up from his shoulders. 

“Jay, what-” He hits the back of your neck, and your vision goes spotty. The last thing you see is your brother picking you up. 

When you wake up, you’re lying on a bed. You have new clothes on, and your suit is nowhere to be found. When you try to get up, you realize your legs are chained to the bed. You struggle against the chains, feeling betrayed by your brother. Not only that, but you feel wronged. Why would he do this? Why would he try to kill Bruce? Why would he kill innocent people? What happened to your brother? Why is he acting this way?

 “JASON!” You yell, anger clear in your voice. Immediately, the door swings open, and your twin brother walks in. He’s out of his suit, and you admire his new features even in your anger. He has a streak of white hair, and a J gouged in his cheek. He looks over at you, as he sits on the end of the bed. You scowl, “Jason, what the hell is this?” You lift up both your legs. 

He looks down at the chains, and smirks boyishly. It reminds you of when you were younger, and you turn your face away. This isn’t teenage boy Jay, this is Arkham Knight, and he certainly is not your brother. You feel stupid. You feel incredibly stupid for falling in his trap. He used your grief to make you weak, and it worked. You almost feel proud; he was always smarter than you. 

He reaches out to you, touching your face. “I missed you.” His voice is earnest, and that hurts you even more, because you know he means it. 

“Stop this, Jason. Please. Stop this.” You plead, you don’t know what for. Maybe you want him to stop trying to kill Bruce, maybe you want him to stop touching you, or maybe you want him to stop pretending. You don’t know, and that hurts you all the more. 

“No. I won’t stop. He let me die, Bruce fucking left me to die!” He yells, and you flinch back, crying. “Do you know how long I waited?! How long I wished for Batman to save me, to have my partner save me!” 

“We tried!” You scream back, tears flooding from your eyes. “We tried Jason. We searched for you for days, and we couldn’t find you.” You break down crying, and you hug yourself. “I never stopped. I didn’t believe anyone when they said you were dead, not until I saw what Joker sent, and even then. I never stopped.” He wraps his arms around you, holding you to his chest. 

“I’m sorry...” His voice cracks, “Please don’t cry. You know I hate it when you cry.” And he did. He hated when you cried, so he would hold you. He would hold you, just like this. “I promise, I’ll make it better.” He whispers, and then he kisses your forehead. You see him get off the bed and walk out of the room. 

You don’t react, but you can’t help but feel the same when he died. You couldn’t do anything now, and you couldn’t do anything then. 

It takes you a day to break off the chains. Your fingers feel numb and bloody from holding them tight, and kicking them against the bed frame, but it works, and they break. You get the bed frame and shove it against the door. You know there’s cameras in the room, but you pay it no mind. By the time his goons get here, you’ll already be gone. 

You walk over the only window in the room. It’s large enough to get through, but the only problem is you have no gear to jump off with. The drop is far too high to not get hurt in some way, and so you rip the sheets off the bed. You hear banging on the door, and you sigh. You got too cocky and didn’t think it through that you needed a fucking way out of the window. 

You look out the window once more, and you feel tired. You feel like giving up. If you jump out of this window now, there’s a chance you’ll survive, and a higher chance you won’t. They’ve busted open the door, and in the distance, you see Arkham Knight first and foremost behind his men. Your heart breaks as your brother yells out your name, your real name, but you jump.

And you live. 

The world is white, and you advert your eyes from the searing color. You feel pain all across your body, and that’s how you know you survived. You hear a machine, and you realize it’s a heart monitor. You're on a white bed, with a blue gown on, and you sit up. You smile when you see Tim and Barbara. They both have fallen asleep leaning on each other. Behind the glass window, connected to the hallway, you see your dad and Jason talking. 

They haven’t noticed you yet, and you wish to keep it that way. Tim’s eyes start to flutter, and once he realizes you're up, he jumps out of the chair. “You’re awake!” He yells, wrapping his arms around you. 

You laugh, and you hug him back. “Hey Timmy, how are you?” He rolls his eyes and sits on the bed with you. 

“How am I? How are you? You almost died! Do you know how worried we all were?” You feel guilty, so you squeeze his shoulder. 

“I know and I’m sorry. But I’m here now, and so are you.” You hear Barbara roll her chair towards the bed. 

“That you are. We were worried sick.” She says, and you almost want to cry again. 

“I know.” You hug her, and she hugs you back.

“We missed you. I missed you.” She whispers in your ear, and you press a kiss to her head. You glance out the window, looking at the two men. 

“What’s up with that?” You ask. Barbara just sighs, and Tim looks away nervously. 

“Jason is... Back. However, him and Bruce have been going at it for days. Maybe they’ll stop once they realize you’re awake but...” She shrugs. You look at Jason, and he finally notices you. He starts to walk in the room with Bruce following right behind him. 

“Where’s Dick?” You ask. 

“He’s on his way.” Bruce says, then he goes to hug you, covering your whole body. You hug him back, squeezing the man. 

“How you feeling, old man?” Your tone is teasing, and he sighs. 

“Tired of being berated by my own kids.” You smirk and pat his shoulders. Then, you look at Jason, and without hesitation, you jump into his arms. He catches you; he always does. 

“I missed you,” you whisper, holding him tight. 

“I know baby bird, I know. I’m back, and I won’t be going anywhere else.”

[lupinsloverr]

Portable mistletoe

(Holiday special)

James Potter x fem reader

Summary ~ James is just a fein for your kisses.

Fluff, kisses, Peter Pettigrew mentions(I realize people are sensitive about this) James is being an obsessive bf (in a good way) not proof read.

You sat in the library beside Remus and Peter when Sirius and your boyfriend James entered. Which was strange because those two were never in the school library.

James had a mischievous smile on his face as he approached you, "How’s my lovely girl?"

You smile up at him, "She’s perfect."

James hands came from around his back and he pulled out a small mistletoe with a red ribbon wrapped around it.

"Is that for the dorm?"

"No it’s for me." He said holding it over the two of you.

"You’re so corny prongs."

"Oh no this is very serious, this is tradition." James retorts, trying and failing to hide his smile.

You rolled your eyes but still ended up leaning your head closer to him. The feeling of accomplishment rushed through James and he smiled softly at you before his eyes darted to your lips. He got his reward when your lips connected.

"Oi, get a room." Sirius called, as if he wasn’t basically crawling in Remus's skin at the moment.

James stuck out his tongue and like the children they were it ended up with them wrestling on the floor.

"This is a library you know." Remus muttered, rubbing the side of his head.

"Quit it." You hissed to them after receiving the most daunting look from the librarian.

"When he taps out." James said, he already had Sirius in a headlock.

"Never!" Sirius grunted. His determination didn’t last long before he finally tapped James's bicep three times.

"Don’t you guys have practice?" Peter asked looking up from his book. He did you and Remus a favor, he knew the two of you were too whipped to tell your boyfriends to go away.

"Yes we do." James said, the both of them scurried from the ground and gave a salute before making their exit.

* * *

After your Charms class the next day, classmates were looking at you and giggling. It made you worry, considering you couldn’t imagine what they would be laughing at.

"Um, Y/n, darling?" Mary bit her lip to suppress a smile as she approached you. "Are you aware that a mistletoe has been floating above you all morning?"

"What?" You looked up and found the faux plant floating above your head. "James, I’m going to incinerate that boy." you groaned.

"I think it’s rather cute."

"Not with all this attention."

As if summoned, James waltzes up to you with a big fat grin on his face. You glare at him in return.

Mary waves as she heads over to sit with the other Gryffindors in the dining hall.

He looks from you to the mistletoe hanging above your head, "Ah, would you look at that." James purses his lips expecting a kiss.

"Get rid of it."

"But, it’s trad-"

You sigh, "James you don’t need a mistletoe to kiss me." With both hands on your hips you look up him expectantly.

James grins and with the wave of his wand the mistletoe falls to the ground. You pick it up, and stuff it in your robes, before finally leaning up to kiss your boyfriend.

Cass speaks ~ Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays ❤️ 💚 Hope everyone is doing well and you’re taking care of yourselves.