#its never been fixed 😔

[caliganxio]

a Leon! and new pfp methinks

[today-i-am-thinking-about]

bird nests

[stargirlrchive]

i think the only way i can get this priceghost threesome fic out is if i post half first! so enjoy (don’t hate me for blue-balling yall 😔 the smut is coming! i promise)

one — two — three

“Invited the Captain over for dinner.”

Your skin prickled as Simon’s gaze pinned you to your spot. He was watching your reaction and no doubt did not miss the way you chopped a bit harder into the vegetables you were cutting.

You just hummed, hoping he would miss the way your thighs gently clenched together at the thought of having both of them in your home.

Your last encounter, if you could call it that, was Price encouraging Simon to fuck you harder over the phone and you had not stopped thinking about it since.

Guilt had webbed its way into your chest as night after night your underwear soaked at the thought of both of them taking you.

Simon deep down your throat while his Captain devoured you.

You missed the way Simon’s eyes glossed over at your reaction. Already chubbing painfully as he watched you bite down onto your plump lip, and squeeze your thighs.

He knew the nasty little thoughts that ran through your mind. Had caught onto how you listened intently whenever his captains name was mentioned in conversation.

He didn’t blame you, gods he had been thinking about it too. The way your eyes would grow low and desperate as Price fucked you. Begging Simon to touch as you moaned and writhed beneath his captain.

The only reason he had let weeks go by to make a move is because he needed to be sure you’d be okay with it. He didn’t want to force something onto you that had happened accidentally.

But it was obvious. You were never well at hiding when your interest was piqued.

You had been so lost in your filthy little daydream you missed the sound of Simon’s footsteps approaching. You jumped lightly when his thick hands laid flat on your belly.

His nose dragging down the side of your neck as he pressed his hardening cock into you. He was so big it rested comfortably on the small of your back, right above the swell of your ass.

“Is it a problem that I invited him over?”

His breath was fresh against your heated skin and it caused a shiver to zip down your spine. One of his hands trailing lower before it slipped into the waist band of your shorts.

“No, not a problem. Just wish I would’ve known so I could’ve fixed myself up a bit. It’s not every day we host your team.”

You could hardly focus on not nipping your fingers with the knife as Simon’s finger dipped between your underwear. You wondered if he’d know that reason of your slick was also due to the older man.

Your head resting against his shoulder as he pushed the pad of his fingers against your wet clit. “You get this horny from chopping up vegetables?”

He laughed at his own joke, and you couldn’t help the huff of laughter that left your mouth. “Yeah, something about the chop really gets me going.”

He nipped at your throat lightly, his fingers barley hovering over your clit before he was dipping his fingers between your folds.

“And here I was thinkin’ it was because of me and John.”

Your body stilled against his, had you really been that obvious? Was…was he mad?

“I’m sorry-”

Simon kept your pressed against him as you tried to turn around to face him. His fingers still dipped into your slick pussy.

“What for, hm? For being a greedy little thing and wanting two cocks?”

You whimpered softly, thighs tightening around his hand as you nodded, you didn’t know what to do. On one hand you were worried Simon was upset, and on the other you were so fucking horny that your brain turned to mush.

“S’alright, baby. Cap’n and I arranged this all for you to get your little fix.”

You couldn’t wrap your mind around what he was saying, the tip of his finger dipping into your entrance. Your body felt like it was burning hot, clit pulsing with need as he slowly fucked you with his fingers.

“What is it that you want him to do?”

Simon’s free hand enveloped your breast, teasing your hardened nipples as he rolled his thumb against them. His other palm flat against your clit as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“Want him to use your mouth? We can show him how good I’ve trained you.”

Your gasps and soft cries filled the kitchen, “Or do you want him to use his mouth on this pretty pussy. Get you all nice and wet before I stuff you full of my cock?”

Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, fucking yourself against his thick fingers as you cried and whined.

You were so close, just a few more swipes to your clit and you’d come all over his hand.

But the soft knock at your front door caused a warbled gasp to leave your mouth. Rutting against Simon’s hand before your release vanished. But he delivered a soft pinch to your nipple before his hand moved to your hips.

Gripping tight enough to still your movements as his fingers slipped out of you.

“That’s the Captain. Can’t keep ‘em waiting.”

You hoped your thoughts and desires weren’t written clearly on your face, but the subtle smirks thrown your way from Simon, and gentle smiles from Price told you otherwise.

You had to refrain from choking on each bite as John held your gaze as you spoke. He was so attentive, something that no doubt came from years of his job.

He was intense, but despite it all his eyes were warm, and it caused your cunt to pulse. All you could think about was how his hands would feel tugging on your hair, or biting into your skin. Or if he preferred to memorize your skin with soft, lingering touches.

You wondered if he preferred a gentler approach to having sex or not. You couldn’t tell.

And it was driving you crazy.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, doll?” John’s voice dripped like warm honey, warmth blooming in your belly as you refrained from melting into a puddle right at his feet.

You had to bite back the whimper that threatened to leave your mouth as Simon laughed as he saw the coy look on your face at the pet name.

Simon’s hands patting your thighs as he mumbled out,“Spacey little thing.”

You knew Simon was teasing you, and you huffed, letting your head rest on his shoulder as you let them talk.

You wouldn’t have added much to the conversation. Not when Simon’s hand was dangerously close to where you desperately wanted him.

You were so familiar with his touch, so used to the way the callouses of his fingers made your body burn with desire.

He was familiar, and safe, and home.

He teasingly rubbed and gripped at your thigh, throwing knowing glances your way each time your legs pried open a little more.

John excused himself to use the restroom, and Simon smiled down at you teasingly, “How are you feeling, love?”

You huffed, because he knew exactly what was going through your mind, the way your eyes drooped with desire.

“Need you, Si’.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded, pawing gently at his cock as you pressed soft kisses to his neck. You were met with a soft grunt, his fingers tightening around your thigh.

He gently gripped your chin, forcing your eyes to meet his and his eyes scanned over your face, a small smidge of concern evident in his eyes as his words quietly filter through the room, “Jus’ wanna make sure, you okay with Cap joinin’ tonight?”

The flutter of your lashes was answer enough but he wanted to hear you say it verbally. You gave him a nod, trying to bite back a smile, “Yeah-I’m okay with it.”

He sent you a lazy smile, pressing his lips to yours as he pulled you up, moving the two of you to the couch and perching you on his lap.

John met you both in the living room, his eyes locked onto Simon’s in silent communication. With a subtle nod from Simon, Price’s eyes dropped down to you. Shamelessly drinking in your form and the way Simon’s fingers teased at your shirt, “You’re gonna make me jealous, Lt.”

Your eyes flickered to John’s, eyes fixated on the tent in his pants as he licked his lips, “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about all those pretty noises you made.”

You forced yourself not to squirm under his gaze, Simon’s deep voice rumbling against you as he spoke, “Took ‘em right there on that couch you’re sittin’ on.”

You bit your lip, recalling the way Simon handle you, pressing your face into the cushion to keep you quiet, fucking you relentlessly with the encouragement of his boss.

“Go on, baby. Think it’s time we show ‘em how good you are.”

[eelliotss]

— the way you look at me

‼️sylus x reader, angst!

“A lifetime spent chasing her, only to see in her eyes the very fear she once promised he’d never deserve”

word count = 0.5k

was playing with the photo-booth and got this picture which created a whole angsty story in my head 😔

“Kitten—“

“Don’t come closer!” you scream, hands trembling. “Don’t call me that.”

You stand before him, bathed in an eerie glow, your silhouette delicate and untouchable, like a dream slipping through his fingers. He had imagined this moment for lifetimes, chased it through endless nights, hoping, praying that the universe wouldn’t be so cruel.

But his worst fear is flashing before his eyes.

Your fingers clutch at the fabric over your chest, your body shrinking back, as if you could fold yourself small enough to disappear. You stare at him the way the others always had. The way you never had.

“Yn..” His voice barely makes it past his lips, raw and desperate, unguarded in a way he hasn’t been in centuries.

You flinch.

His chest tightens.

The memories flood in all at once—of your laughter, of the warmth of your hands, of the way you never recoiled from him, even when the rest of the world did. You had been his light, his home, the one place he was never feared.

And now, you look at him as if he’s something to run from.

“You’re—“ you breathe, holding yourself. “You’re a monster.” Your voice is small, hesitant.

Sylus stops mid-step. His outstretched hand trembles.

He looks down to his hands.

Blood.

Blood is everywhere, dripping from his fingers, drenching his clothes, filling his vision. Its raw stench fills his nostrils, clouding his mind.

His gaze returns to yours—widened, filled with fear. He could see the adrenaline pumping through your veins. Your pupils dilated, filled with nothing but pure horror.

Through the dim light of the hour, he could see his reflection in your eyes clearly.

A reflection he has seen millions of times before, one he had believed was really him until you destroyed that image.

One he had never imagined he would see in your eyes.

A monster.

A knife to the gut would have hurt less. Drowning in memories of you would have hurt less. Living an eternity without you would have hurt less.

His breath shudders out, his fingers curling into fists. His mind screams at him to fix this, to say something, to make you see.

But you already have. And in this life, you see him as a monster.

You take a step back.

And he has no choice but to let his hand fall to his side.

“Sylus?”

His eyes snap open.

Sweat clings to his skin, his breath ragged, chest rising and falling in frantic gasps. The pounding in his ears drowns out everything else, a relentless rhythm of panic. His hands—quivering, unsteady—clench at the sheets as he gasps for air, lungs burning.

A hand grasps his.

Soft. Familiar. Real.

He turns, heart still hammering, and finds you beside him, rubbing sleep off your eyes. Peaceful. Here. His.

“It’s a nightmare, Sylus, just a nightmare,” you mumble.

For a moment, he just stares, struggling to reconcile the nightmare with the reality before him. His mind screams that the pain was real, that you had looked at him with fear in your eyes, that you had forgotten him.

But your steady breathing, the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips, your soft voice attempting to calm him down—this is real.

And so, with a shuddering breath, he lets out a sigh.

He pulls you closer as he presses his face against the hollow of your neck, curling into you. He breathes in your scent, relief washing over him.

“Yeah, just a nightmare,” he whispers.

[ikwon1c]

Motte

“i’m tired of being g-dragon. can kwon jiyong come home now?”

characters: kwon jiyong x y/n

summary: during the MOTTE tour, jiyong was constantly surrounded but never truly seen or heard—performing through exhaustion, buried under expectations, and silently falling apart. but in a rare moment backstage, he allowed himself to fall apart in the arms of someone who simply saw him—as a person, not a legend.

tags: angst, heavy emotional themes, burnout, idol exhaustion, platonic comfort, vulnerability

if only i could hug 2017-2022 jiyong and tell him how proud i was of him 😔 he did so well. i must protect him at all costs 💔

—

The crowd had screamed his name like he was a god.

Every breath he took on stage felt like another part of him slipping away like the lights, the sound, the sea of people only chipped at the pieces left of Kwon Jiyong. He danced, he sang, he bled on stage in that quiet, metaphorical way people don’t notice unless they really look.

But no one looked. No one ever really did.

Amsterdam’s air clung to the skin differently—cool, wet, detached. The kind of weather that didn’t press against you, didn’t demand warmth. He liked it. Or he would have, if he were still capable of liking things.

Backstage, it was all noise.

Assistants rushed around. Staff chattered and buzzed like they were the ones who just performed a 2-hour set. Cameras flashed. Praise, criticism, commands—all spoken like he wasn’t even in the room. He wasn’t, really. He was there, but also… far. Sitting in the corner of the dressing room on a low, padded bench. Elbows on knees. Head bowed slightly, like a puppet with its strings cut.

No one noticed.

No one, except me.

And me? I was a nobody.

Just an assistant under Geeun—his stylist. My job was to hold the clothing rack when it rolled too fast. To steam out creases. To label shoe boxes. To stay quiet, smile, and keep moving.

But I noticed. I always noticed him.

Jiyong didn’t look like himself that night. He didn’t look like the legend, the fashion icon, the artist, the man with the world in his palm. He looked like a boy who hadn’t slept in days, whose heart had been wrung out and left to dry on a wire no one cared to check.

His eyes weren’t just empty. They were gone.

And I couldn’t stand it.

I didn’t think. I walked. Through the crowd of stylists, producers, sound techs, security. No one stopped me—no one looked long enough to register that I shouldn’t be approaching him.

He didn’t flinch when I got close.

I stood there, in front of him. Close enough to hear the catch in his breath. Close enough to see that his fingers were shaking, just barely. I didn’t say a word. Just offered them like I’d done it a hundred times before like this wasn’t completely crazy, like I wasn’t a nameless ghost in his orbit.

My arms lifted slowly—on instinct, on faith—and I opened them. For a second, I was terrified. He would look up, see me, some nobody intern, and brush me off. He would snap back to stage-mode, fix his posture, flash that trademark smirk, and I’d melt into the floor in embarrassment.

But then…

He looked at me.

Really looked at me.

And his eyes…

God, they were tired. Not just from the show. From life.

So I smiled, gently. Soft and unsure, and maybe a little sad, too.

He stared at me. Still blank. But then, slowly, he moved. And for the first time all night, he did something real.

He stepped into my arms.

No words.

He just… stood up and walked into my arms like that was always where he was meant to go. His body hit mine with a weight that almost knocked the air out of me.

He didn’t hug me gently. He clung to me.

His weight sank into me like the gravity had finally won. His arms came around my waist, slow, unsure, and then all at once tight. Desperate. His face buried in the crook of my neck, breath hot and uneven. And then—

A sound.

Low. Raw. Barely a breath. But I felt it more than I heard it.

A sob.

Silently, at first. Just a tremble in his shoulders, a wetness against my skin. Then a sharp breath, and the quiet hitch of someone trying not to fall apart and failing.

My arms tightened without thinking. One hand cradled the back of his head, fingers slipping into sweat-damp hair. The other pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, grounding him, anchoring him.

He cried.

The kind of tears that don’t fall pretty. The kind that rip through your lungs on the way out. The kind that never get seen in public, because even celebrities deserve the dignity of privacy when they break.

No one noticed. No one cared. They moved around us like we were shadows.

And that night, in a city neither of us called home, surrounded by people who only saw the surface, he broke down in my arms.

Just me. Just him.

Just us.

—

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I just let him cry.

I think he needed it—the quiet. The lack of expectation. No one asking him to be okay. No one telling him to perform happiness.

When his breathing evened out, when the shaking slowed, he didn’t pull away.

He just whispered, “I’m so tired.”

And it broke me.

I whispered, “It’s okay,” not knowing if it was or would be, but it was all I had. “I’ve got you.”

I ran my fingers softly through his hair, careful not to mess up the carefully constructed style too much. “I know baby,” I whispered. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

He didn’t. He just clung to me. I just rubbed his back while his arms tightened even more around my waist. A quiet plea in the way he held on.

We stayed like that for a long time. I don’t remember how long. Minutes? More? At some point, I felt him start to shake. Not from cold. From everything.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, and his breath came in short, uneven gasps. I helped him sit down again. Still in the corner. Still mostly unnoticed. I grabbed a towel and handed it to him, pretended not to see how red his eyes were. He wiped at his face with trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, finally meeting my eyes.

I gave a little nod.

“You… What’s your name?” he asked after a moment.

I hesitated. “Y/N.”

He repeated it like it meant something. Like it was a name he wanted to hold on to.

“I’m just… with Geeun,” I added, embarrassed.

“Can you come with me?” he said. “Just… for a little while?”

I nodded.

The car ride was quiet. The city lights slid past the windows like oil paintings. Jiyong sat beside me, his hand resting on the seat between us, twitching occasionally like he wanted to reach for something and couldn’t quite do it.

I didn’t push him.

He led the way to the elevator, head down. The suite was on the top floor—of course it was—and silent as a museum when the door opened. Too clean. Too empty. It smelled faintly like polished wood and expensive loneliness.

He dropped his bag just inside the door. Then he stopped moving. Like he didn’t know what came next.

I stood behind him, unsure if I was still supposed to be there. But then he turned, and in his eyes there was something raw. A silent ask.

“Can I… talk?” he said.

“Anything you need,” I answered.

So we sat. Not on the couch. Not at the table. On the bed.

He sat cross-legged, slouched, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck like he was trying to stay grounded. His voice was quiet when it came.

“I don’t remember why I started doing this,” he said. “I used to love it. I think. When I was a kid. Music felt like… like home. But now it’s just pressure. Just noise. I can’t breathe.”

I listened.

“I go on stage and it’s like… I become this thing. This idea. And people scream for it. But when the lights go off, I don’t know who I am. I don’t know what they’re cheering for anymore.”

His voice cracked. He closed his eyes.

“I’m scared I’m not a person anymore.”

I said nothing.

He kept going.

“I can’t sleep. Not really. I smoke, I drink, I take something, I knock out for an hour, and then I wake up like I never rested at all. And everyone just keeps saying, ‘You’re doing amazing, hyung. You’re killing it.’ But I don’t feel alive.”

I didn’t move. Not until he did.

He leaned toward me, slowly, like every movement hurt. Then he laid his head in my lap. No fanfare. No drama. Just a tired, broken man looking for something soft to hold onto.

I placed my hand on his hair and gently ran my fingers through it. He exhaled like it was the first breath he’d taken all night.

He kept talking.

About everything. The loneliness. The isolation. How even surrounded by thousands, he felt like no one really saw him. How the pressure to be a genius, an artist, a brand, was killing the little boy who used to scribble lyrics in the margins of his notebooks.

And I just sat there. Held him and just listened. Tonight, he was just wants to be seen and heard.

Loved him—not romantically, but purely. The way you love someone when you see their soul laid bare and you want to help them carry the weight of it.

Eventually, he stopped speaking.

Eventually, he cried again.

Quieter this time. Softer.

His hands curled into the sheets beside my legs. His face pressed against my thigh. And I felt warm tears soak through the fabric of my pants. He was under the blanket now, and I stayed on top of it, upright, rooted. A silent support beam for the wreckage of his heart.

He whispered, “Thank you.”

I whispered, “Sleep.”

And he did. Still holding on. Like I was the last real thing in the world.

And that’s where it ended.

No promises. No forever. Just a night of being human. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

—

The thing about moments like that night in Amsterdam is that they don’t come with closure.

There’s no dramatic ending, no music swelling as you walk into the sunrise. No promises made. No numbers exchanged. Just the slow, steady fading of something too delicate to name.

I never expected to be called again. I didn’t even know if he remembered it after that night.

And I was okay with that.

Sort of.

In the weeks that followed, the tour kept moving. Cities blurred into each other. Hotel rooms changed. Outfits were steamed and wrinkled and steamed again. The music thumped through arena walls night after night, and backstage was always a mess of coffee cups, frayed nerves, and late arrivals. I kept working under Geeun. I stayed in my lane.

I saw him sometimes, of course.

Jiyong.

Not the man curled up in my lap. Not the broken soul I held like a secret. Just the artist again. The brand. The silhouette striding past with sunglasses at night and security in tow. Sometimes he’d walk within arm’s reach, and I’d wonder if he felt it too, that small hum in the air.

But he never looked my way.

And I never expected him to.

So by the time we were packing to fly out again, I had already filed it all away into the drawer of Beautiful, Quiet Things That Don’t Belong to Me.

It was early.

Too early for the sun to be awake. My eyelids felt like sandpaper. My carry-on strap was digging into my shoulder, and I still had the taste of airport coffee on my tongue. Most of the staff were gathered near the group check-in, buzzing softly as they waited for boarding to be called.

I was scrolling through a half-loaded screen on my phone, earbuds in, mind somewhere else entirely, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

I turned.

It was Minji, one of the production staff. She looked mildly apologetic, like she was bracing for me to be annoyed.

“Hey,” she said. “Change of seat.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You were in economy, right? They moved you to business. Seat 3B.”

I frowned. “Why?”

She shrugged. “No idea. Just told me to pass the message.”

I stared at her, confused. “You sure?”

“Your name’s on the manifest now.” She held up her tablet. There it was, clear as day. My name, my passport number, and the updated seat assignment.

Still confused, I nodded and thanked her. She walked off before I could ask anything else.

Seat 3B.

I was among the first to board. The flight attendants greeted me like they’d been prepped. One even said my name with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I followed the winding path of the jet bridge, stepped into the cabin… and there he was.

Jiyong.

Sitting in 3A.

His head was tilted against the window, hoodie up, headphones resting around his neck instead of over his ears. Sunglasses off this time. Face bare. Tired.

He looked up when I stopped in the aisle.

We locked eyes. And just like that, my heart remembered everything all at once.

The weight of him in my arms. The sound of his voice cracking in the dark. The way his fingers had clutched the sheets beside my legs while he cried. That night had lived inside me like a small, sacred flame but I hadn’t known if it lived in him, too.

Now I did.

He nodded toward the empty seat beside him.

I sat down.

The seat was too wide, too soft, too quiet after the chaos of backstage life. I adjusted my seatbelt. Stared at the touchscreen in front of me without seeing anything.

Neither of us spoke for a minute.

Then his voice, low and tired: “Did I wake you?”

I glanced at him. “No. I’ve been up.”

A pause. Then, “I asked for you.”

My chest tightened. “I figured,” I said softly.

He nodded again, eyes flicking toward the window. The world outside was still dark. The kind of gray-blue quiet that only exists before dawn.

“I didn’t know if I could,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Another silence.

This one heavier.

“I’ve been… trying,” he said at last. “Since that night. To feel things again. To rest. To talk. Sometimes I manage. Sometimes I just… get through the show.”

I nodded, watching his profile. There was something so human about him in this light. No glitter. No spotlights. Just skin and eyes and breath.

“I never said thank you right after,” he added.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I want to.”

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I reached for the blanket tucked under the seat. Unfolded it. Without a word, I laid half across my lap, then held out the other half.

He looked down at it, and for a second, I thought he might resist. Then, slowly, he leaned toward me.

He didn’t lay in my lap this time. He just rested his shoulder against mine, head tipped lightly toward mine, sharing the same warmth. His hand found the edge of the blanket and pulled it a little higher.

The plane took off.

Somewhere over the clouds, he exhaled long and low. Not a sigh, not quite but something close to peace. We didn’t talk after that. We didn’t need to. The space between us said enough. He asked for me and I came.

Quietly.

Gladly.

Always.

[anitalenia]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𝒄𝒘: sexual content ahead, husband!bale!batman, fem!reader on top, riding, some dirty talk, soft sex, not my best writing but fr fr don’t come for me im just trying to post things okay? ahhhhhhh 😔🤚🏻 maybe some typos 😚 i oughta be ashamed of myself fr fr 😔😔🤚🏻🤚🏻 ₊˚⊹♡

₊˚⊹♡ 𝒃𝒓𝒖𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆; eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy.

Labels. These were all just labels Bruce never particularly cared for nor paid attention to, monickers used to try and simplify who he really was so he could be easier understood. Labels used to better classify him because rich men like him supposedly didn’t have depth or purpose beyond what the media claimed him to have.

They were just labels, words that barely scratched the surface of who he really was.

Bruce had been called many things in his life, too many awful and offensive things he had quickly learned not to pay attention to. Caring gave them meaning, he was told so early on, caring gave them significance. Now, he really couldn’t care less.

Throughout the course of his life, throughout all the tragedy and grief, Bruce had learned to ignore it all; the names, the judgments, the looks, the labels. His indifference had become second nature, an innate response to anybody trying to provoke him.

He didn’t really have a choice anyway. There were too many people praying on his downfall since his birth, too many people biting at the fruits of his labor to see if they were ripe enough for the taking. Selfish, greedy, money hungry men desperate for his demise.

Sharks lurking in untamed depths ready to snatch him up if he swam too far, hiding in the black shores with their sharp teeth bared and beady eyes hungry.

Despite what many people believed, Bruce didn’t have it so easy in the sense of work and spirit. When you were rich like he was, famous like he was, as powerful as he was, everyone believed you couldn’t possibly be burdened by anything.

That he was too spoiled by the grandness of life that it had gradually bled into a lack of work ethic, that it was his last name that gave him any status at all, that it was his reputation that gave him everything he had without him having to ask for it.

He had the money to fix any problem, the influence to hide any scandal, the face to get him out of any situation he needed to get out of.

He was CEO of Wayne Enterprises for gods sake, son to Thomas Wayne, a man that was great and beloved all in his own right. Yes, people had doubted Bruce’s ability to lead, to run a business after so long of being away from it, but then he came back and proved them all wrong as he usually did.

Being someone so honorably renowned in Gotham City, someone that carried the Wayne name at that, it came with its own barrel of familial obligation and responsibility outside of his own personal commitments. He couldn’t disappoint anyone, could never fathom disappointing his late father.

Working by day a normal man with a bullet on his back, a price on his head to any hungry buisness man willing to do whatever it took to get to the top. Then working by night as Batman with the bruises and scars to show for it. Someone every criminal and lowlife in Gotham City wanted dead.

Batman, not so much a label as he was a separate being entirely. It was Bruce, but he couldn’t find any similarities between the polite buisness man wearing a suit by day and the other man wearing a blood stained mask by night. One was forced to coerce with society in the manner of business and passive aggressive smiles, another undertaking the grueling task of removing the grime from it.

Bruce Wayne was all expensive cologne and hand shake deals, money hungry tabloids and self absorbed white collars. It was a life always on display, always the center of attention, always everyone else’s focus.

Batman was purely mystery and intrigue. Hidden from sight yet found in every shadow, heard in the trembled whisper of every breath. No one knew who he was yet he had somehow gotten all of their attention. Everyone eager to know who was behind the mask but no one ready to answer for why he existed in the first place.

The only similarities they shared were the cause for conspiracy. Whether it was Bruce or Batman they stole every headline — always someone trying to figure them out, bring their true identity to light and spread more moral quandary about whether they were right or wrong for every choice they made.

Pure opposite lives he juggled in the same two hands.

No, he did not have it easy. Always more enemies than friends and more snakes than family. Every hour, every minute, every second he spent left exposed there was always someone right behind him ready to push him if he faltered.

He had to be careful; always be passive and nice, diplomatic and respectful to those he knew wanted him gone, to the people who wanted his seat at the head of the table and the money in his bank. Bruce had to be the CEO his father wanted him to be, the one he was destined to be, the one etched into his history before he was even born.

He had a reputation to uphold, a legacy to live, a job to do.

But no, it was not always easy.

Being rich and handsome like he was did have its downsides, as meager as they may seem to less fortunate individuals. Many people hated Bruce Wayne just for those simple, superficial things alone. His looks, his status, his job he was so rightfully given. Apparently this made him an asshole, arrogant, narcissist.

It was looks of hatred and envy from men he’d never even met, women he’d abandoned after a steamy two hour hookup (not that he did those anymore but women loved to hold a grudge), businessmen who cursed him to hell and back for his amount of wealth and fame he had no control over.

He didn’t care about these people anyway. These rambunctious, single minded people who preyed on the weak and ate the hopeless. They were all self centered, arrogant, narcissistic. Self absorbed scum unwilling to put in the hard work necessary to be as successful as he was.

On the opposite side of the spectrum, Bruce was often regarded as someone lonely, someone lost, someone desolate and pitiful. He was a coward, hiding in his soulless black mansion under thick piles of money ever since the fatal death of his parents. So sad, an orphan, just depressing.

That was hushed whispers behind his back and somber stares, awkward, harrowing smiles from coworkers and the front pages of newspapers. Bruce Wayne back from hiding after all this time… living on his father’s name… will he fail or carry on the legacy of the great Wayne fortune… yada yada yada.

Just more words. Pointless and purposeless, written to appease the swill of Gotham with no real substance behind them. Gossip, false news, attention grabbing headlines that were purely speculation.

However, as much as he hated labels — more so his — whatever names he got called behind his back, Bruce couldn’t find it in sensible reason to argue that they weren’t pieces of who he really was. Fabrics of his character torn out thread by thread and poked and needled at by societies curious hands.

They were just pieces, stretched and torn so far from the truth but yet the original strings were still there, hanging on in remembrance of what he truly was chaotically intertwined in the lies and deception of what people thought him to be. Too shredded to be properly understood but still thriving in the undercurrents of whatever he was now being labeled as and people were now foolishly believing him to be.

Yes, they were just labels. But labels that were not so far from factual truths.

However again, none of those words mattered to him as much as this did, as much as the one label that he truly cared about.

Husband.

Your husband.

The only title he held in the same esteem as Batman and Wayne Enterprises CEO, perhaps even higher. It was one of the only labels that carried a semblance of true meaning, one he didn’t shy from.

Husband. It was the only honorific that mattered to him, one of the only sentiments that made him feel actual pride in who he was. Husband was something real, concrete, not some anonymous opinion in a paper or a cruel murmur in a hallway.

It was the label that pierced him through and through especially in moments like this, moments when your hips were rolling deeply on top of his and he was buried balls deep inside your warmth.

He couldn’t think about anything in this moment. Nothing and everything at the same time as your finger nails, freshly manicured and glittering, gripped into his shoulder blades as you rolled your hips once again.

Bruce winced pleasantly, jaw clenching as his head leaned back into the softness of his black silken pillows. Brown hair frazzled and stringy, his smooth skin alight with a soft, lovesick glow.

You rolled your hips once more in a soft soothing motion, nothing too rough and nothing too fast; the evening had called for something more sensual in the delicacy of Bruce’s touch and the softness of his words just an hour prior.

“Oh Bruce…” You sighed dreamily, hands pressing into his bulky arms as he sighed out a trembled breath from his nose.

Your thighs tightened around his waist, his heavy hands squeezing your hips but not as to pressure you, only to keep you connected to him at the hilt so he was never too far out of you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, get it just like that… mmhmm.” Bruce swallowed heavily, voice low and raw as his eyebrows furrowed over darkened hazel eyes. Fingers thrumming on your skin as you pulsed around him, wetness seeping out of your full entrance and gliding down his length until it could leave a memorable darkened patch on the sheets.

You whined quietly, voice high pitched and greedy as the length of him filled you up and pressed into every soft wall surrounding him. He was always thick, always perfect, always felt so fucking good it made your muscles tense and spasm.

You rolled your body in that delectable way he liked once more, barely moving yet every part of him felt the sparks of pleasure thrum through his skin and make his thighs lock up.

Bruce groaned hotly at the action, eyes flickering down to the wet mess of where your pussy was sucking him in. It was messy, glistening, shared arousal in white strings of mutual attraction. His fingers dug into the flesh of your ass from where it sat perched on his strong thighs.

“Mm, fuck, honey.” Bruce breathed out gruffly more to himself than you when the sight of your wetness smeared all over him made his heart spike.

You didn’t respond, chin down to your chest and eyes closed as you focused on the pleasure in your own lower regions, the fullness and heaviness that filled you up and refused to part.

“Ohhh, feels so good-“ You gasped as a heavy spurt of pure pleasure sparked up your tummy, hole clenching around him tightly as an obscene gush of wetness leaked down his cock and onto his thighs.

Bruce licked his dry lips, eyes staring up at you heatedly; at the tightness of your shut eyes, the sweet moans gasping out of parted lips — lips, lips that were glossy and plush from all the needy kisses you shared with him just a mere moments ago.

He was enraptured by you, by your naked physique all soft and sweaty on top of him but he didn’t care. You were just so beautiful, pussy so perfect wrapped around him, squeezing his cock so good it made his mind fog up with indescribable pleasure.

“Yes, sweetheart, god, yesss…” Bruce agreed huskily, his head resting back on his pillow once more as you bucked your hips. His thighs tensed, toes curled, a grunt sounding in his throat as his hips rose to further dig himself inside you.

He couldn’t help it; like a soul to a light he sought you out, your warmth and tightness so snug and comforting around him he didn’t ever want to be apart from you.

You whimpered at the intrusion, nails digging into his skin in a painful sting that Bruce was too fucked out to really notice.

He swallowed hazily below you, eyes closing then opening to look down at the way your pussy molded into one with his hard cock as you rocked gently against him. Deep inside you where he was meant to be, stomach and pelvis and thick thighs soaked with your gushing arousal.

Fire shooting down his legs and tummy with every soft bounce back down on him, illicit wet noises sounding in the room with every desperate grind.

He loved that sound, your wetness mashing with his thick base. But not nearly as much as your melodic sounds gasping out every so often because his cock made you feel that good.

His mouth was terribly dry from his own grunts and moans, handsome face and muscular chest flushed pink, the air so so hot he could feel his own dark hair sticking to the dew on his fevered head.

His hands, big and clammy, dug into the soft fat of your hips to help you dig into him in that way you both liked, the one that had you both gasping hotly into each others mouths as you leaned down to give him another sloppy kiss.

You couldn’t quite get it right though, too distracted by the feel of him so deep inside you that your lips stuttered on his. Moving messily against him as you whined into his mouth once more, the tip of his cock so high up inside you it almost hurt.

He was always so big, so round and tall that the stretch alone always seemed to ache pleasurably with every short thrust he made inside you.

“That’s good, sweetheart… that’s it… just how you know I like it…”

Bruce breathed heavily against your lips from where you were leaned on top of him, naked breasts mashed to his chiseled chest and hands gripping onto the headboard now.

You needed something sturdy, something unbreakable to tether you back to him when you felt the pleasure making you float too far.

His breath was hot against your sore lips, mingled with your low moans and spoken just above the subtle creaks of the bed; sounding every time you moved above him in a sensually quickened pace that had your toes curling and thighs tensing.

“So beautiful, sweetheart, so good…”

Bruce couldn’t help but compliment you even in the most nasty of times, voice clenched yet breathy, spoken through hot breaths and pressed teeth as your wetness dripped down his length once more.

You moaned sweetly at his doting words, his voice cracked and low in that gravelly salacious tone you loved so much.

You clenched around him in response, his fingers tightening on you as he let out a handsome groan from the feeling. You watched as his head sunk into the pillow beneath him, eyes clenched shut and a heavy grunt leaving his chest.

The sight was attractive, seeing him so wrecked from just a few simple back and forth motions you were carefully orchestrating.

You felt a wave of stinging pleasure spike up your thighs and down your legs, up your tummy and into your head until your whole body was tingling. Your eyes brimming with unshed tears as sweat prickled at your skin and your legs burned from sitting for so long.

You didn’t care about the pain, too drunk on the sensations of his thickness rubbing inside the most intimate part of you, your hips rolling in desperate circular motions so he was never completely apart from you. You liked keeping him inside as much as possible, to feel that fullness and that dull burn to remind you of just how big he was.

Bruce loved it too, resting inside your warmth, comfortable, letting you take him however you wanted in whatever way you needed. He was always a giver, always a good husband when you needed him to be.

“F-fuck, Bruce, you feel so good.” You gasped wantonly, voice quiet yet fragmented, needy and breathless as your nails dug into his skin.

“Yeah, honey? It feels good?” Bruce replied just as quietly, being sure to thrust up into you just a little bit harder so you’d gasp some more for him.

It was lewd, lovely, his dirty words spoken onto your quivering lips and his meaty hands gripping your thighs to help aid in your eager movements.

It felt so good, so right, being there with him in the darkness of his room with only the sound of your shared panting and moans filling the silence.

It was hot and perfect; his hands on your thighs gripping hard enough to show you he doesn’t want you to stop, your mouths ever so often pecking together in a sweet kiss you couldn’t continue, fond gazes in darkened irises.

“Feels so good, Bruce, I can’t—“ You whimpered out all cutely, sliding up from his chest until you were sitting straight up once more. You could feel him shift inside of you, hardness still prominent and throbbing. He pressed against your walls, invading every nerve point as your clit rubbed against his naval in the new position.

Bruce gripped the flesh of your ass between his hands, helping your soft rocking motions against him as he spoke, “Yes you can, pretty girl, you always do for me. You’re doing so good, sweetheart, you have no idea…”

The praise made you smile brokenly. Your skin so hot it felt burning yet every grind against your husbands hard cock made your legs go numb. You whined and bucked above him as a tightness started to stretch in your tummy.

“Always for you, baby…” You managed to mumble shakily, lovingly, hands sliding over the abs on his stomach as you sat back on his lap so not a single inch of him wasn’t inside you.

Bruce clenched his jaw at that, hands digging into your hips as he thrust his own up to meet your soft grinds. Sparks, electricity, all of the cliche metaphors for how good he was feeling shooting down his cock and into his legs as his knees tensed up.

He felt lightheaded yet completely grounded, here to his mattress. Floating in the skies yet simultaneously stuck on earth with you, his gorgeous wife who always made him feel sane and normal.

Your hair was tangled around your shoulders and falling over your flushed cheeks as you stared down at him with a fond glimmer in your eyes, bright and burning under the lust so boldly wanting.

The stretch of him inside you was so good, his gravelly moans so good, the way he was making you feel so so good.

You exhaled as you settled your weight down on his pelvis, pussy sore yet eager as you squeezed around him once more. Love struck eyes looking down at him passionately as the moon cascaded a light gray glow behind you.

Bruce felt the air escape his lungs, lips parted as he stared up at you in utter devotion; you were so beautiful, so sweet, felt so fucking good around him he couldn’t even think straight. Brain numb and thoughtless, only you and your perfect pussy, you, you, you.

You took a moment to stare back at him. Unspoken love was whispered in the shadows of your eyes bright and glittering as your movements picked up into polite, subtle bounces that had Bruce digging his hands into you, breathy sounds escaping his lips.

“Ah, Bruce…” You mumbled weakly, voice soft and needy as you tossed your head back and moved your hips up and down so his cock was hitting that sweet spot inside you he usually loved to tease.

“Such a good job, sweetheart, so beautiful like this…” Bruce spoke huskily, staring at your heaving breasts as they jiggled and beckoned him forth, beautiful and pure as you rode him to high heaven in your most organic form.

You hummed into a delicate moan, a smile quirked on your lips at his praise as you felt his hands slowly start crawling up the exposed expanse of your waist.

Warm and big and tender as they moved up, up, gentle fingers tracing over your ribcage as your flesh prickled at the touch. He was delicate, always intent on your pleasure over his as he admired your form above him, the feel of your skin under his textured hands that had hurt so many.

You trusted him, your husband, enough to see you like this. Trusted him enough to have you like this, to allow his bloodstained hands to wash over you like he himself was something pure and untainted, bestowing him your presence like a merciful deity to their promised worshipper.

You bit your lip as his palms enveloped the fat of your breasts into them, molded perfectly into his larger hands as he squeezed and admired them in a fashion so familiar for him; he always loved your breasts, enamored with the softness and weight of them in his greedy hands.

You stared down at him with a heated tenderness, the look of a wife irrevocably in love with their husband as he stared up at you with the same fervor.

When he was here, with you, there were no labels, no obligations and no judgments. With you he was just yours, another body made of flesh and blood and bone melded to yours in the conjunction of where his body ended and yours began.

He was no one but he was your everything, hands on skin and lips on collarbones, sweat amongst sweat and heady moans breathed in the gasps of kisses shared between two lovesick spouses.

In this space, in this moment, with you on top of him and his hands all over you any remnants of shame and Wayne inspired obligation was vacant. All he needed to do was sit and let you take him, sit there and be of use when you wanted to use him.

He was a good husband, the best husband to you, his perfect and lovely wife who never addressed him as anything more than yours. He wasn’t this, he wasn’t that, he was just everything and more in the confines of silken sheets under the safety of his mansion.

No cameras, no gossip, no press and no watchful eyes. Serene, tranquil, just you and him and the great love you shared that transcended any label or common sense humanity could fathom.

Yes, he was Bruce Wayne. Eccentric billionaire, former eligible bachelor, orphan boy, son, rich playboy. But those things did not define him, did not set his reality in stone so easily as your love did. He was all those things but he was so much more.

You never judged him, looked at him as anything more than the most important thing. You regarded him with love no matter his past, his present, and hopefully and most likely your shared future.

You didn’t care for labels or surface value lies like everyone else did. You ripped him at his seams, tore him apart to see what was inside and he was ever so grateful for it, for that loving animosity that bared his soul to yours. You were straightforward, heart to heart or nothing at all because then what was the point?

There was no purpose without pain, without pleasure, without love. You suffered, you loved, and you were most definitely bringing him pleasure. All blunt and raw emotions too passionate and loud to ever try and hide or make lies about. No secrets, no deception, no labels.

This night, every night just like this one — nights spent in your arms deep inside where he needed to be most, were nights where his mind was bare and he was just yours. Nights when he didn’t have to put up a face or make up a lie or tell a tall tale.

He was Bruce, he was yours, he was just this. And most importantly, he was just your husband. The only label that really mattered and the only one he ever really cared about. ₊˚⊹♡

tagging , @little-miss-chaoss , @ghostslillady , @boobaeri , @prayingal

[cinnamanz]

# ONLY ON CAMERA — chapter fifty-one!

when katseye's main dancer daniela avanzini accidentally throws shade at chart-topping singer y/n l/n on an interview, the internet erupts in chaos. with y/n already in hot waters with the press over her latest scandal, both their pr teams scramble for damage control. the solution? a 'picture-perfect' fake relationship to turn the headlines in their favor.

wc: 720 (its the last written chapter bro dont be lazy nd read it😔)

SHE

THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR WAS FAINT AT FIRST, almost swallowed by the roar of the rain. y/n glanced up from her phone, a furrow forming on her brow. another knock—firmer this time, more urgent. she sighed, setting her phone down and making her way to the door, her pulse quickening despite herself.

when she opened it, she froze.

there stood daniela, soaked to the skin, rainwater streaming from her hair and dripping off the hem of her jacket. she looked as messy as the storm outside—eyes rimmed red, lips trembling, her breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.

y/n’s voice caught in her throat. “what are you doing he—”

“i’m sorry.” the words tumbled out of daniela’s mouth before y/n could finish, her voice breaking. “i’m so sorry. “just let me talk. let me—let me explain.”

y/n stepped back slightly, her hand tightening on the doorknob. “you shouldn’t be here,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

“i know,” daniela said, her voice breaking. “but i couldn’t stay away. i can’t—” she paused, dragging a hand through her wet hair, her shoulders trembling. “i can’t keep running from this. from you.”

y/n didn’t move, her hand gripping the door frame as she tried to steel herself. “why now?” she asked, her voice quieter than she’d meant it to be, the hurt bleeding through despite her effort to hold it back.

daniela blinked, tears slipping free and mixing with the rain still streaking down her face. “because i’ve been a coward,” she said, her voice raw. “because i’ve spent every second since i left you trying to convince myself i was better off alone, that i didn’t need this—didn’t need you. but i do. i need you, y/n.”

“i know i hurt you. i know i pushed you away, lied to myself, lied to you. i told myself it was better that way. that it was safer. but all i’ve done is destroy the one good thing i’ve ever had. you don’t deserve this,” daniela continued, her voice trembling, raw and unguarded. “you don’t deserve to be someone’s second choice or their escape. you deserve to be loved the way you love—completely, without hesitation. and i was too much of a coward to give that to you.”

y/n closed her eyes. “you think an apology fixes this? that just saying you’re sorry makes it all okay?”

“no,” daniela said, her voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t expect it to. but i had to try. because i love you. and if there’s even the smallest chance that you’ll let me prove it to you, then i’ll take it. even if it means standing here all night in the rain.”

y/n’s eyes opened, locking on daniela’s, and for the first time in weeks, she saw something in her gaze that felt genuine—raw and unguarded in a way daniela had never allowed herself to be.

she stepped back, the door swinging wider. “you’re an idiot. come in,” y/n said softly, the words catching in her throat.

daniela hesitated for a moment, as if she couldn’t believe it, before stepping through the threshold. y/n didn’t speak as she shut the door behind her, didn’t look at her, but when daniela turned, y/n’s arms were already around her, pulling her into an embrace that was as much a lifeline as it was a question.

“you’re a huge idiot.” daniela let out a sound at y/n’s words—a mix of a sob and a laugh—as y/n pulled her into a hug, the warmth of her embrace cutting through the chill. the rain from daniela’s skin and clothes attached themselves to y/n’s own clothes, fabric darkening as daniela pulled her closer, hug tightening.

“i love you.” the words fell from daniela’s lips, soft and certain, like they’d been waiting their whole life to find their way to y/n. they settled in the air between them, filling the space with something tender and warm, spreading through y/n’s chest like sunlight breaking through the clouds.

y/n’s cheeks flushed as a slow, uncontainable smile spread across her face. she hid her face in daniela’s neck, her voice barely above a whisper but full of passion that seeped through the seams. “i love you more.”

masterlist 🎸⋆⭒˚.⋆ next

is that... FLUFF??????

taglist : @meganskiendielsbtc @rosiehrs @artrizzler19 @goofymickeyr @sunshinez4 @urmom2314 @meizinisnumberone @yeetaberry127 @xochitlisbest @ssamlovr @saysirhc @nyssalvr @ninguitar @kristalag @1luvkarina @idleyuri @kathleenmikaelson @sed7ction @hazel-tanthamore22 @yazzyminny @vrtualstar @meiphobic @cassiespoiler @yjiminswallet @gtfoiydlyj @taikabui @cceanvvaves @c-yerim @waitsobs @firstclassjaylee @bowforgodjihyo @thepurin @chaepu @bandaidss320 @manonsmartini @haerinkisser @esccecvp @blushmimi TAGLIST CLOSED!

[aventurineswife]

Dear amazing author (you really are! I and my friend have always feast 💜)

If I may request something - may I please request the hugs and assurance, that everything would be alright? For Aventurine, Argenti, general Jing Yuan, Boothill, DHIL / Dan Heng (you may add more, if you want, I'd gladly read it all!)

Not only I, but also my friend has bad period of time... These last two months mainly... :') college in the last year is not funny, ngl...

Thank you sincerely 💜

(also Toki, surprise ;D no matter what would happen, we are strong introverts forever 💜🤭)

We Mend as We Go

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Dan Heng IL x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Vulnerability, Reassurance, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Introspection, Found Family, Slow Burn (implied), Mutual Support.

Warnings: Mentions of Trauma, Burdens of Leadership, Existential Doubt, References to Vengeance and Loss, Themes of Loneliness and Emotional Isolation, Mentions of Past Violence (in Boothill and Dan Heng's parts).

A/N: 😭😭STAWWPPP!! Y'ALL ARE TOO NICE 🧍‍♀️😔, ALSO I can relate with college... It's never fun but neither was school (for me at least) :') enjoy this! ;)

The moon hung high over the city, casting a soft, silvery glow across the balcony where Aventurine stood, his sharp eyes fixed on the distant horizon. Despite his outwardly confident demeanor, there was a deep unease within him tonight, a rare crack in his carefully crafted facade.

You approached him quietly, your footsteps soft on the stone. He didn't turn to look at you, but the subtle shift in his posture told you that he knew you were there. You stopped beside him, taking in the view, before gently reaching out and placing your hand on his shoulder.

Aventurine’s smile was as enigmatic as always, but his eyes—held a flicker of something else: vulnerability. It was fleeting, hidden just beneath the surface, but you had learned to read him, to see past the games and the charming mask.

"Everything’s a gamble, isn't it?" he mused, his voice light, but with an underlying tension. "No matter how many victories I've had, there's always that nagging feeling... What if it all crumbles?"

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him in a tender embrace. He froze at first, caught off guard by the warmth of your presence, before he slowly relaxed, a soft breath escaping his lips.

"Then we'll rebuild it together," you whispered, your voice calm, filled with assurance. "You’re not alone in this. Whatever happens, we’ll face it."

Aventurine stood still for a moment, his heart pounding with an unfamiliar comfort, before he allowed himself to lean into the hug. His arms hesitantly wrapped around you, the gesture more vulnerable than anything he had ever shown.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice softer than usual. "You make the gamble seem worth it."

The night was quiet, the stars shining brightly above the peaceful valley where Argenti had paused in his travels. The weight of his armor felt heavier than usual tonight, as if the burden of his sacred duty pressed down upon him more than ever. He had been wandering for so long, always alone, always with the call of duty at his side. Yet, tonight, there was a crack in the armor of his conviction—a moment of doubt.

You found him sitting on a rock, staring at the night sky with a distant expression, as though lost in thought. Without a word, you sat beside him, the silence between you both comfortable in its familiarity. You didn’t need to ask what was troubling him; you could feel it emanating from him like an unseen weight.

After a few moments, Argenti spoke, his voice quieter than usual, filled with the kind of uncertainty he rarely allowed himself.

"Do you ever wonder if I’m doing the right thing?" he asked, his eyes reflecting the stars above. "I’ve faced so much... I’ve fought countless battles, restored cities, but... is it enough? Am I truly bringing beauty to the world?"

You reached out, gently resting your hand on his, offering him the comfort he often denied himself. Argenti looked at you, his sharp gaze softening as he met your eyes.

"You’re bringing beauty with every step you take," you replied, your voice unwavering. "It’s not about the battles or the victories. It’s about the light you share, the way you inspire others. You don’t have to carry the world alone."

Argenti’s shoulders relaxed, the tension that had built up slowly dissipating as he leaned into your embrace. His armor was cold against your skin, but the warmth between you was enough to melt the doubt away, if only for a moment.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with gratitude. "It’s a lonely path, but with you, it feels less so."

The evening was calm on the Xianzhou Luofu, a rare stillness settling over the grand halls and corridors. Jing Yuan had long since finished his duties for the day, but the weight of centuries seemed to linger in the quiet moments, especially as he found himself gazing at the stars from his study. His eyes, sharp and calculating, softened as he thought about the future, the past, and the delicate balance he maintained as the General.

You entered the room quietly, approaching him from behind. Jing Yuan didn’t turn, but the slight shift of his posture told you he was aware of your presence. You stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, the touch grounding him in the present.

"Jing Yuan," you said softly, "everything will be alright."

He chuckled, a deep, warm sound that seemed to carry the weight of both amusement and something more. "You say that, but you know how fragile peace can be," he remarked, his voice soft with the wisdom of ages. "How long can it last?"

You knelt beside him, your presence a reminder that he was not alone in his struggles. You placed a hand over his, your fingers intertwined with his, and offered him a comforting smile.

"You’ve kept the peace for so long," you said. "You’ve already proven that you can handle whatever comes. But it’s alright to lean on others too. You don’t have to carry everything by yourself."

Jing Yuan’s gaze softened as he looked at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes. "And will you be here... when the burden feels too much?"

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, offering the kind of reassurance only love and time could bring. Jing Yuan, for all his wisdom and strength, leaned into your embrace, a sigh escaping his lips. He had known countless battles and victories, but in this moment, it was the peace of your presence that soothed him.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice quiet but filled with warmth. "With you, I know everything will be alright."

The cold winds of the galaxy howled through the dim-lit room, the hum of the ship's engine the only sound breaking the silence. Boothill sat by the window, his mechanical hand tracing the outlines of the distant stars. His white hair framed his face, the black streaks almost seeming to shimmer in the faint light. His sharp teeth were barely visible, lips tight, eyes focused on something far beyond the stars—something far beyond the pain he’d been through.

You entered the room quietly, your footsteps soft against the metal floor. You had always known when Boothill needed space, but tonight, something about him seemed different—more distant, like the weight of his past was pulling him under. The bounty on his head grew heavier by the day, and Oswaldo Schneider was still a shadow, always out of reach. His quest for vengeance was endless, and it was slowly consuming him.

Sitting beside him, you placed a gentle hand on his. His cold, metallic fingers trembled slightly under your touch, a sign of just how much his humanity was still alive beneath the hard surface.

"Boothill," you whispered, your voice steady but full of warmth, "it's okay. You’ve fought so long, but you don’t have to fight alone anymore. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. You’re not alone. Everything... everything will be alright."

He didn’t respond immediately, but you saw the slight shift in his posture—the way he leaned just a little closer, his hair brushing against your arm. His eyes, those sharp, calculating eyes, softened, just for a moment. The aim symbols within them flickered slightly, as though they, too, were taking a break from their endless mission.

His voice was low, rough, as though it had been unused for far too long. "I... I don’t know how much longer I can keep fighting like this." The words came out almost as a confession, a crack in his usually impenetrable armor. "Everywhere I go, it feels like I’m chasing ghosts. My family... my home... it all just keeps slipping away, no matter how hard I try."

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close. He stiffened at first, his mechanical body too rigid, but then, slowly, he let go of the tension, allowing himself to be enveloped by your warmth. His chin rested on your shoulder, the weight of his past pressing against you, but you held him tighter.

"It’s okay, Boothill," you murmured, your voice a gentle whisper. "You don’t have to carry everything alone. I’m right here, always. And I’ll help you find your peace, even if we have to fight for it together. We’re a team, and I’ll never leave your side."

For the first time in a long while, Boothill let himself relax, his grip on you steady but soft. The storm inside him had not yet passed, but in this moment, there was comfort—a fleeting sense of safety.

"You’re right," he whispered, his voice low, almost hesitant. "I’ve been carrying too much... Maybe it’s time to let someone else carry a little of the weight."

And for a moment, the stars outside seemed to shine a little brighter. As if even the universe itself was reminding him that he was not alone.

The stars stretched infinitely before you, the ship gliding smoothly through the cosmos. Dan Heng stood near the observation window, his eyes distant, gazing into the void. His posture was tense, as it often was, his sharp features betraying none of the turmoil within. The weight of his past, the memories of his previous incarnation, lingered like a storm cloud hanging over him.

You had known him long enough to recognize the signs—the way his shoulders would stiffen, how he would withdraw into himself when the shadows of the past grew too overwhelming. He had always been like this: detached, burdened by things he could not control, unable to fully reconcile with the legacy of his past life as the Imbibitor Lunae.

Without saying a word, you approached him. He didn’t turn to face you, but you didn’t need him to. You knew what he needed, even when he didn’t.

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. His skin was warm beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body was like a barrier—one that you knew he had built over countless years. Still, you could feel the way his body subtly relaxed at your touch, just a fraction, but it was enough.

"Dan Heng," you said softly, your voice the only thing breaking the silence. "I know you carry a heavy burden, and I know it’s not easy to shake the past. But you don’t have to do it alone. Whatever comes, I’ll be here. You don’t have to keep everything locked inside. Everything will be alright, I promise."

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on the stars, his expression unreadable. But you didn’t pull away. You stayed close, your presence offering the quiet reassurance he needed.

Finally, his voice came, almost like a whisper. "It’s hard," he admitted, his tone low, vulnerable in a way you rarely heard. "To live with all these memories. To know what I’ve done... what I was capable of... and still wonder if I can ever make up for it."

You stepped closer, placing your other hand on his back, your warmth reaching through the cold walls he had built around himself. "You’ve already done so much, Dan Heng. You’ve made a choice. And that choice is yours, not anyone else's. The past doesn’t define who you are now. You are not your past life. You’re you—and you are enough."

He exhaled slowly, as if your words had finally reached him, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. His hand, which had been resting at his side, slowly reached up, fingers brushing against yours. The touch was small, fleeting, but it was enough—a silent acknowledgment of your words.

For the first time in a long while, Dan Heng allowed himself to believe that maybe—just maybe—everything would be alright. And as he turned his head slightly to meet your gaze, the faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice soft. "I... I needed to hear that."

And in that quiet moment, amidst the vast expanse of the stars, you both knew that, no matter how far you had to go or how many trials awaited, you would face them together.

[moonlight-records]

Iconic Duo | LN4 (SM AU!)

pairing: lando norris x cosplayer!reader

summary: an f1 driver who does photography on the side and a cosplayer start dating

warning: the last "post" is suggestive sorry not sorry

fc: @/ani_makocosplay on insta & @/ani_mako on pintrest!

a/n: y'all seem to eat these fake smaus up and in honor of spooky season i present whatever this is!

yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend, and 304,593 others

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yourusername posted

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landonorris posted

liked by arthur_leclerc, yourusername, charles_leclerc, yourbestfriend, carlossainz55, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and 1.8m others

landonorris september photo dump 😮‍💨

comments on this post has been limited

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yourusername posted

liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, oscarpiastri, 1.2k others

yourusername ATLA 🔝 (stay tuned for next weeks cosplay 🤧)

view all 920 comments

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liked by landonorris, yourbestfriend, and 2.5k others

yourusername "No, please don't kill me, Mr. Ghostface, I wanna be in the sequel!" 🔪

comments have been disabled

[littlelovelunette]

idk if this is petty but reader ignoring vi after an argument where vi was fully in the wrong and not accepting that she was in fact wrong, but after being ignored for so long she tries to apologise but its only half arsed, pissing off the reader even more ? 😔😔

Hollow

Vi had never been good at admitting when she was wrong. It wasn’t that she never realized it—she did, eventually—but by then, the damage was usually done.

This time was no different.

It had been days since the argument, days since Vi had refused to back down even when it was obvious she had messed up.

Instead of owning up to it, she had doubled down, arms crossed, jaw set, and let her pride drive a wedge between them.

And when the silence finally settled in, thick and unyielding, she convinced herself she didn’t care.

But now, she was cracking.

Standing a few feet away, shifting awkwardly on her feet, Vi was visibly uncomfortable.

Her usual cocky demeanor was dulled, but not gone entirely. Hands in her pockets, she let out a sharp exhale before speaking.

"So… are you done ignoring me or what?"

No response.

Vi clicked her tongue against her teeth, rocking back on her heels. Okay, not a great start.

She tried again, this time with an exaggerated sigh.

"Look, I don’t even know why you’re still so mad. I mean, yeah, maybe I could’ve handled things differently, but you didn’t have to act like I—"

The sharp glare she received made her swallow the rest of that sentence.

Rolling her shoulders, Vi groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "Fine. Whatever. If it’ll get you to stop sulking—I'm sorry, alright?"

The words felt forced, hollow, and the way she said them—like an exhausted parent appeasing a whining child—only made it worse.

The silence that followed was colder than before.

Vi frowned. "What? I said I was sorry."

Still nothing.

Now irritated, she threw up her hands. "Oh, come on. What do you want me to do, beg?"

That was it. That was the final straw.

It wasn’t just the argument anymore. It wasn’t even just the refusal to admit she was wrong.

It was this—this half-assed attempt at smoothing things over without actually meaning it. The expectation that just because she finally said the words, everything should magically be fine again.

But it wasn’t fine.

And judging by the way Vi’s expression hardened when she realized her apology hadn’t worked, it was clear she still didn’t get it.

The silence between you both stretched, heavy and suffocating. Vi’s frustration was bubbling under the surface now, barely restrained, her jaw clenching as she shifted her weight.

"What do you want from me?" she snapped, arms crossing over her chest. "I said sorry. Isn’t that enough?"

That did it.

"Enough?" The word came out sharp, cutting through the space between the both of you. "You think just saying ‘sorry’—barely even meaning it—is supposed to fix everything?"

Vi rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, are you seriously still doing this? I admitted I was wrong, didn't I?"

"No, you didn't," you shot back, anger rising. "You’re just saying whatever it takes to make this go away, but you don’t actually care. If you did, you wouldn’t be acting like I’m the problem for not just rolling over and forgetting how you treated me."

Vi opened her mouth, then shut it, nostrils flaring. She looked away for a moment, like she was considering just walking off again—just letting this whole thing blow over on its own like she always did.

But when she finally looked back, there was something else in her expression now. Something that almost looked like doubt.

"I didn’t think it was that big of a deal," she muttered, but the words lacked conviction.

You scoffed. "Yeah. I figured."

The disappointment in your voice hit harder than any yelling would have. Vi felt it, the weight of it settling into her chest, making her shift uncomfortably.

She could argue, fight, throw up walls like she always did—but for once, she didn't.

Because deep down, she knew you were right.

[w1shfullthink1ng]

can i get a nika fic based on the song back to friends by sombr PLEASE 🙏🙏

HOW CAN WE GO BACK TO BEING FRIENDS?

nika mühl x fem!reader

DESCRIPTION/ you & nika have always been close but how close is too close? y’all eventually let y’all’s bodies take over and when the morning comes you don’t know what this means for you two now.

WARNINGS/ language, suggestive, smutt, p eating (reader & nika receiving), slight f!ngering? (reader receiving), mentions of alcohol, angsty, happy ending!

first time writing something suggestive so please bear with me😔😔😔

MUSIC BLASTING, LIGHTS LOW…the atmosphere loud and full of life. You, nika and a few of y’all’s friends decided to go out as it’s been long overdue especially with balancing life & work. Yall settled on a local bar, a few drinks in and y’all where gone. The alcohol taking its course in y’all’s bodies. You and nika have always been close, y’all first met 3 years ago y’all’s first year at uconn and have been roommates/best friends since then.

But there’s always been that unspoken tension, the looks, the touches that linger for a little longer than needed. It was even worse when y’all where alone there was times where the moment was just intimate. But y’all never spoke about it not wanting to “ruin” the friendship you guys have built. “Come on come dance with me” before you could respond nika was pulling you out of the barstool and to the dance floor. You laugh as the alcohol made her much more carefree. Y’all dance to the song bodies up against each other as the music blasts.

The world seemed to slow down when y’all locked eyes there it was. that unspoken tension. It’s like there was no one else in the room. Her grip around your waist tightens a little. “You look beautiful tonight..” she moves a strand of hair out of your face her touch lingering, her gaze goes down to your lips. The moment was cut off by one of y’all’s friends suggesting y’all do shots.

As the drinks keep coming so does the tension, the room felt hot as you two got more and more touchy. You exuse yourself to the restroom, nika following soon after. You smile softly as your gaze meets hers through the bathroom mirror. You reapply your lipstick as she wraps her arms around your waist and her chin rests on your shoulder. “Can I have some?” she asks “innocently”. “mhm” you reply, you turn to hand her the lipstick but she kisses you. You’re momentarily stunned. She just has a casual smirk on her face “What shade is this? it’s pretty” she asks like she didn’t just stop your train of thought for a moment. “yeah- it’s uhh..pillow talk deep from charlotte tilbury.” “always loved the color of your lips” she admits.

touch my body tender ‘cause the feeling make me weak.

without thinking you smashed your lips onto hers. Your hands in her hair, her hands around your waist. She pins you against the wall sliding her tongue in your mouth in a fight for dominance, she easily over powers you, gripping your neck gently moving your head back so she can deepen the kiss. She had you right where she wanted you. Her knee slides in between your legs making you even needier if that was possible. She pulls away at a gasp for air. Lipstick smudged like modern art. She wipes some of the lipstick that smudged from your bottom lip.

You fix your hair and dress making yourself look presentable. As nika made some bullshit exuse on why you two had to leave to y’all’s friends and before y’all knew it y’all where off in a cab. The messy make out in the car lead into stumbling out of the cab and into y’all’s shared apartment.

kicking off the covers.

She pushed you into the wall, kissing down your jaw & neck. She grips your thighs lifting you up with ease as you wrap your legs around her waist. Neither of yall didn’t dare to say a word just letting y’all’s bodies do the talking. Your back sinks into the mattress as she climbs on top of you. The kisses where full of need and want.

She kisses down you neck, to your chest, down your stomach till she lands in between your thighs, she looks up at you for silent permission. You nod giving her the go ahead, she studies your expression making sure there’s no sense of hesitation or discomfort when she doesn’t find any that’s all she needed. She lifts your dress up making it sit above your waist as she kisses on your thighs.

I see the ceiling while you’re looking down at me.

Her fingers tease you through the thin fabric of your panties making you whine. Nika laughs softly “So fuckin’ wet hmm”. “Nika please” you whimper, it comes out more whiny then you intended but you where needy. “shhh i’m getting there” she places a soft kiss on your core through the thin fabric making you moan softly she gently slides your panties down your legs. She grabbed your thighs to spread your legs apart. She was in awe of you “So pretty bebo..”

Her mouth mouth finally comes into contact with you, you let out a moan your body feeling like it was on fire in the best way possible. She works at you like it was her job and she wanted a raise. Her tongue glides across your folds making you squirm. “so good for me” she murmured against you. She was driving you crazy. You where a moaning mess it wasn’t long before she had you moaning her name and begging for more.

“please nika please please please” you squirmed you weren’t exactly sure just what you where begging for but nika delivered holding your thighs to keep your legs open as she applied the right amount of pressure at the perfect speed. Your hands in her hair tugging it slightly to ground yourself.

She rubbed her fingers against you just to tease you and bring you over the edge. Your legs shaking unable to stop the sounds from coming out of your mouth. “come on I got you baby..” and like it was on command she pushed you over the edge slowly her pace down riding you out of your high.

You swore that you died for a second then came back, you where seeing stars, nika laughs as she places gentle kiss on your jaw “You back on earth?” she teases. “oh fuck you” you snap back playfully. She gives you that same look she did just a few moments ago “oh yeah? why don’t you fuck me yourself” you laugh taking that as a challenge flipping the two of you over so you’re on top “there we go pretty girl” her hands go to your thighs caressing them as you slip out of your dress.

She watches you with hungry eyes her look almost taunting. You slip her out of her dress throwing it off to the floor somewhere. Kissing down her chest, abs and thighs, you slide her panties off immediately diving in like you where starved “oh fuck” she moans out gripping your hair guiding your head just where she wanted you. You swirl your tongue around earning a moan from her “just like that keep going bebo good job”. She guides you through everything still in control.

“don’t stop…go a little faster for me come on” she pulls your hair making you whine, you do as your told eager to please her. You bring her thighs over your shoulders pulling her closer to you. She grips your hair harder as she moans your name once you bring her over the edge.

You climb back up flopping next to her, both of you panting and satisfied. “well shit…” she pants out. “guess your mouth is good for something other than your yapping” she laughs “oh shut up!” you hit her playfully with a pillow. Y’all where both pretty exhausted after the events of the night so y’all fell asleep pretty quickly.

how can we go back to being friends?

The next morning you woke up with a pounding headache and a fuzzy brain. You groan softly rubbing your eyes adjusting to the light from the morning sun. You sit up a little and the memories from last night came flooding back as you find yourself entangled with your best friend, clothes scattered on the floor. The realization hitting you like a truck. You pull the covers over yourself as nika stirs up. She sits up too her back against the headboard. The same realization washes over her “oh shit..” she mumbled running her hands through her messy hair.

when we just shared a bed.

You sit in silence for a few moments the tension in the air thick and not the kinda tension from last night. no. this was a “wtf do I do” kinda tension. You where the first to speak “so last night was a-“ “one time thing.” she finishes. “right…is that what you want?” “it’s what’s practical. we live together we can’t just..” she sighs “we can’t what?” you egg on “we can’t let things get weird okay. i’m not gonna throw away our friendship over some drunk hookup” you scoff softly “is that all this was to you? a drunk hookup?” “yes.” “bullshit. you and I both know it was more than that. we’ve had unspoken tension for awhile now”

How can you look at me and pretend?

“tension or not if this becomes a regular thing then what? hmm? we’re just fuck buddy roommates yeah. real classy” she says sarcastically “God nika no. I mean I don’t know okay. maybe we shouldn’t have hooked up in the first place.” “okay so first you where saying that it wasn’t just meaningless sex now you’re saying you wished we didn’t have it at all?? I mean you’re fuc-“ you cut her off with a kiss. “just shut up.”

I’m someone you’ve never met.

She looked a little dumbfounded. “okay. umm..i’m too hungover for this where the hell are my clothes” she stumbles out of bed. “nika. we need to talk about it.” “I can’t not now we should just pretend it never happened and move on with our life’s it was a drunken mistake let’s leave it at that.” she says while getting dressed. Her words stung a little. was it really that meaningless?

You watched as she leaves your bedroom. You couldn’t shake off the icky feeling she left you with. You sigh and take a shower needing to wash your worries away…and the smell of alcohol. You two spent the whole day avoiding each other which was a little hard considering y’all lived together but y’all somehow managed.

It was late at night and you where tossing and turning unable to sleep you hated this whole situation you where someone who needed to talk things out and you hated going to bed angry. Unable to sleep you slip out of bed and to the kitchen to get some melatonin. You try to reach the top shelf, Nika would normal help with these things..you climb onto the counter.

“Bebo get down your gonna hurt yourself..” nika grabs your waist steading you on the counter so you don’t fall as she grabs the melatonin bottle for you “can’t sleep?” she puts her hands on either side of the counter trapping you in. You ignore her still upset from earlier you pop the melatonin in your mouth then try to hop off the counter but she grips your waist putting you back down on the counter.

“Hey no. we’re gonna talk I don’t want you going to bed angry” “oh so now you wanna talk? about what it was a drunken mistake and we should leave it at that remember?” you quote her. “Look I was being an asshole earlier i’ll admit that” “yeah you were.” she cups your face “And you have every right to be angry..look I just don’t know how to communicate well you know this..I just shielded myself because I got scared of what last night really meant” her voice was vulnerable you rarely saw this side of nika she was pretty guarded so you know she was serious when she got vulnerable.

“It wasn’t just meaningless sex that was real..and there was clearly emotion behind it..look I know I said I didn’t wanna throw away our friendship over this but truth is i’ve fell for you hard. and there’s no hiding or denying that now..” “nika..why didn’t you say anything?” “beacause I was scared of taking a chance and it not work out I don’t wanna lose you all together” “you could never lose me niks..don’t miss out on something…on us just because of fear” “I know I was being an idiot” “I’ll say” you laugh “alright alright not too much i’m here now and if you’re the risk i’m gonna take it.”

A/N ahhhh!!!!! I was literally shaking in my boots and laughing at myself the whole time because i’ve never written smutt and I could not take myself seriously kudos to everyone who can teach me your ways🤝 but thank you so much anon for this request! I hope I delivered 🙂‍↕️

thanks for reading, love you always

wish signing off🪽

[aluciahaz]

Mommy kink x reader fix for luci pls, idc the circumstances, I’m desperate here.

arent we all 😔 here u go!! it was pretty fun writing this, i love METAPHORS!!!!

touch of temptation

—lucifer x gn!reader

—includes : sub!lucifer, dom!reader, mommy kink, edging

lucifer’s been alone for quite some time now. yet, when you came around, you made sure to change that immediately.

of course, due to the absence of affection for years, he’s stuck to you like glue, always perking up when he sees you enter a room and running toward you with his stupid little grin.

albeit, adorable stupid little grin.

his desire for touch was not only apparent during daily life, always hooking his arm around you or poking you in jest, but in the nightlife as well.

lucifer was needy. desperate. his longing for touch was one you indulged in without question much of the time, yet some nights the two of you agreed upon abstaining him from such wants. he was the king of hell after all, of course, he’d be a little freaky.

which is why he was sobbing underneath your maddening touch, his head falling back as he cries in dismay from his inability to finish due to your quick reactions whenever he’d get close, pulling your hand away just in time to elicit a noisy whine from the king.

“l-let—me cum, mommy, please!” he wails as you drive into him, pushing him to the brink of insanity as your hand returns to his cock. he bucks up into your hand wildly, only to have his hips held down with a stern push.

“not yet, baby. stay strong for me,” you coo, yet your soft tone goes against your actions, sharp, fast, and most importantly, ruthless.

he snivels before taking in a deep, shuttering breath, nodding his head weakly at your request.

“o-okay! i’ll tr—AH!” his fingers dig into your skin, grasping onto your back like his life depended on it.

and it only gets rougher when you let go of his cock.

the scream of frustration that ripped from his throat was adorable, considering how it would get interrupted by his choking wails. you can’t help but place a kiss on top of his forehead, soothing him just a bit. he always melts at the slightest act of affection, it’s wonderful.

his legs wrap around your waist as though he‘s a snake trying to constrict its prey. he needed to hold onto you like this, to feel you as much as he could. you were his temptation, and he was willing to lose himself in it.

“pl-please please! mommy, i need—! ngh—f-fuck!” he pleads aimlessly, finding himself lost in his seemingly endless pleasure.

“use your words, baby,” you tell him, knowing fully well as you thrust faster that he would be unable to form a single sentence.

“ha—i, you—so goodwait—AH! c-can’t think-!” the fallen angel seemed to find his place back in heaven, considering how far up his head was in the clouds. but, he’s brought back down to hell as your hand finds its place around his shaft again, making him jolt in shock.

he whines louder and louder, tears never stopping as he takes what you give in full stride, never trying to go against your earlier command.

he was as sweet as an apple and red as one too with a never faltering blush across his face and chest. you couldn’t help but take a bite, his neck being the perfect area for a mark.

the shaky moans that leave him are beautiful, and with how well he was taking all of your love, you just had to give him his reward.

“you’re such a good boy,” you huff out a chuckle as you hear him whine in delight, soaking up the praise needily.

“you can cum for me now, my love,” you coo, drinking in his face of pure gratitude as he hears you.

“c-can i? can i re—ah—! really?” he asks as he cries in joyous disbelief, looking at you with wide, tear-filled eyes.

“yes, baby,” you say gently, and without a second’s hesitation, he shudders and screams in mind-breaking ecstasy, the horns on his head slowly peeking from his head as he finishes.

“th-thank—! thank—! thank y-you—mh—mommy!” he wails, his eyes rolling to the back of his head briefly before slowly looking back up at you with a dazed look.

his legs still tremble around your waist before slipping down to the bed, completely exhausted. you take your time to care for him, cleaning and making sure to cuddle your little touch-starved lover as quickly as you could.

he’s already asleep in your arms in the first few seconds, snoring lightly. you kiss the back of his neck delicately before heading off to rest as well.

and it would be peaceful until morning, where, like every morning, he would whine and clutch onto you to make sure you wouldn’t leave the bed, never able to fulfill his endless hunger for your touch.

tags: @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @drlucichen @mvskedxrtist

[dollfacefantasy]

ddlg with chris!!!😫

who else need daddy chris rn 😔

chris redfield x fem!reader

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, ddlg, p in v, cockwarming

tags: @nexysworld @d10nyx @pupthepokemonenthusiast

It’d been a hard day for you, and Chris knew it. He could tell from the second you got home. He could tell from the rhythm of your steps, the measure of your breaths, and the wistful look in your eyes when you stepped into the living room with him. Every theory he had was confirmed when he heard you call for him.

“Daddy?”

Your voice is soft and demure, how it sounds when you get in this mood. It’s muscle memory at this point, but it’s like two wires connect among the circuitry of his brain. He’s in a mood too now. The one that directly complements yours.

“C’mere, princess,” he calls in return and pats his lap, his arms already open and awaiting your arrival.

In seconds, your bag is on the floor against the wall and you’ve closed the distance between you two. Your ass finds its familiar perch on his thigh while the rest of you sinks into his broad, pillowy chest. He strokes your head and keeps you secure against the heat of his body.

“There’s my little girl,” he murmurs.

His palm intrinsically remembers the way it’s supposed to move up and down your spine. His leg bounces a few times just to remind you that he’s here, and he’s in control now. There’s nothing for you to worry about when daddy’s got you.

That glowing warmth begins to settle over your shoulders. Your stresses leak away from your brain, leaving it empty and swimming with nothing but your want for him.

“Tell daddy what’s got you down, sugar,” he says.

A lot of the time, once you had this go-ahead, everything would just pour out of you like a broken faucet, but not right now. You weren’t in the mood to vent right now. You were in the mood for daddy to make everything better.

“Too much goin’ on,” you say simply as you slot your face in the crook of his neck.

He hums with understanding and pulls you in even closer, like it was possible for the two of you to meld together.

“Too much going on?” he repeats, “They got my baby working too hard, huh?”

You nod to the leading questions, wanting to reach the destination.

“That’s not fair. You’re not made for thinking. That’s why you got a daddy,” he murmurs, his fingers coasting upwards to massage the base of your neck.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, drawing out the syllables, “Makes my head hurt.”

“Where’s it hurt, baby?” he asks.

“Here, here, here,” you say, pointing front and center on your forehead and then behind each of your ears.

He responds in kind and lands his lips on each spot. Each kiss is precise and tender. He makes a little “mwah” sound to really drive home the power of these.

“Feel any better? Or do you need a few more?” he asks, his lips already brushing your forehead while he speaks.

“Few more,” you answer without a second thought. You were never one to turn down kisses.

He gives you the few more, and your dangling feet begin swaying back and forth subconsciously. He notices in an instant, a small tell you were slipping deeper into a docile, malleable state of mind. He guides you back a bit and tilts your chin up, wanting to look into those eyes that’d be going glossy in no time.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I think daddy’s got an even better fix for this,” he says and smacks a kiss on your temple.

You look up at him curiously though you have an idea of what’s coming. The two of you had a familiar routine when it came to you feeling spread thin. He boosts you to your feet and tugs down your bottoms and panties, leaving you in just the t-shirt you’re wearing.

“Why don’t you grab your game, baby? Then you can come relax with daddy,” he instructs.

You nod and move to follow the directions. While you’re gone, Chris prepares himself for you. He lifts his hips and pushes his pants down to his ankles. His cock lays against the crease of his thigh, warm and heavy. Grabbing it, he gives it a few strokes to get it stiffened up. After all, nothing relaxed his sweet girl more than a few minutes on it.

You scurry back into the room, still pantless with your Nintendo in your hands. You head to him and stand between his legs. He turns you around by your hips and then guides you down onto his length.

“That’s a good girl,” he grunts as your heat engulfs him.

His head rests against the chair, and he lets out a shaky breath. You were so fucking tight and wet. Your pussy took the thickness of his cock like that was its purpose, and he couldn’t get enough.

Once you’re settled he pulls you towards him so your back is against his chest. You squirm a little to get comfortable, raising one of your feet to rest on his thigh. You settle in as if nothing is amiss. He watches over your shoulder as your game boots up. The little characters dance across the loading screen before you take control and start running around the map.

He relaxes too. His arms come to rest around your waist while his fingers rub your tummy gently.

“Look daddy. You like her dress?” you ask him as you show off the little outfit you’d dressed up the character in.

“Mhm. She’s pretty. Just like you,” he mumbles and kisses behind your ear.

You laugh a little and continue playing, showing him the different things you’d built in the game and mini tasks you had to complete.

To be honest, moments like these helped Chris relax too. His cock buried inside you as you sat there and brightened up the room. It was soothing, therapeutic even. You were dripping all over him, moving the little joysticks around as your slick dribbled over his balls.

He rubs your sides, the care he has for you seeping from his palms into the softness of your torso. Every so often, you’d move a bit to adjust yourself, and he would grit his teeth to resist the urge to thrust into your warmth. He manages to restrain himself though, knowing you just needed some time to relax before more stimulation.

Staying still for a while more, he allows you that. It’s only when he sees you beginning to stall in your game that he squeezes your hips and rolls his own as if he’s getting comfortable. You’d been trying to decide what you wanted to do next in your game, but the motion draws a whine from your throat, and you tilt your head back to look up at him.

He smiles at your sweet expression and drags one of his thumbs down your jawline. “What’re you looking at, hm?” he teases, “Is it daddy’s turn to play?”

You nod, and he rewards you with a peck to your lips. He hooks his large palms under your knees and folds your legs flush against the rest of your body. Your breath gets shakier as the elevated position lets his cock reach even deeper inside you.

You keep playing your games for a handful of thrusts, but the way he’s sliding in and out of you, hitting even the deepest of your sweet spots makes you put the handheld console aside. He nuzzles the side of your head.

“There we go. You feel a little better, baby?” he murmurs against your ear.

“Mhm,” you whimper. A soft, breathy moan leaves your throat as he pumps into you a little quicker. The pace was still nice and slow, supplying you with an even, steady stream of pleasure.

“Good girl,” he says, “You just let go, let daddy do all the work. Just let that pretty little head go empty.”

You nod lazily and turn your head to plant sloppy, weak kisses on his neck. He grunts at the feeling of your saliva coating his skin, digging his fingers into the dough of your legs. His hips continue rhythmically thrusting into your wanting hole. The feeling satisfies you like no other. You feel full and sated, like there’s nothing left on earth to long for. It makes it easier to turn your brain off.

“That’s my baby,” he coos, “My sweet little girl. Daddy’s here.”

Your noises are soft, cute mewls and delicate whines. Chris cherishes each one, savoring the way they drift to his ear and pull him further to release. He knows you’re getting closer too from the way you’re clamping down on him effortlessly. Every thrust massaged his thick shaft between your velvety walls. It never took much to make you cum when you were in this space.

He tilts his head down and steals your lips off his neck, connecting them with his own. Amidst the kiss, he feels your hips grinding forward a bit in an attempt to reciprocate his thrusts.

“So cute, princess,” he smiles against your lips.

You merely whimper in response and lean in for more kisses. He indulges you before pulling back and looking into your glazed eyes.

“You gonna cum soon?” he grunts.

“Yeah, daddy,” you whimper. Whines bubble from your lips at a higher frequency now and he ups his thrusts to match.

“Gotta use your manners first, babydoll. I know I’ve taught you how to ask for what you want,” he tells you.

A strangled breath comes from you and your eyes screw shut. You wanted to let it all go, but right now to your little mind, being a good girl was more important than fleeting pleasure.

“Can I please - mm - Can I finish, daddy? Pretty please?’ you ask, lips jutting out into a small pout.

He grins and squeezes your legs gently. “Perfect, angel. So polite,” he praises, “Yes, you can finish.”

“Thank you, daddy,” you whimper quickly before your back arches off his chest and you cum. You become impossibly tighter around his cock, and his moan accompanies yours as you gush around his length.

His arms fully support your weight as you lose yourself in the throes of release. He fucks up into you deep enough to hit the switch that keeps you a babbling, squirming mess against him. And now that he knows you’re over the edge and feeling good, he can let go himself. He feels the tightness of an impending orgasm and lets it snap.

He cums inside you, warm ropes of cum filling your insides. He knew you always craved that ultimate connection, that absolute claim on your body when you were feeling like this. So he provides that for you and drains himself in your cunt.

You start coming down from your high, melting back against his chest. His arms finally put your legs down and allow you to rest on his lap. He encircles them around you and holds you close while he peppers kisses on your cheek. His cock stays buried inside you. You needed a slow pull out, nothing jarring or sudden.

“Did that feel good, baby? Is your headache all gone?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you respond, “Feel a lot better.”

He smiles at the tender tone your voice takes on. Your eyes were drooping a bit too.

“Daddy always makes it better, yeah?” he asks.

You nod and smile, nestling your face against his neck.

“I think daddy’s gonna clean you up now and then put you down for a nap,” he says while rubbing the small of your back.

You nod again. He slowly pulls out of you and turns your body so he can scoop you up against his chest and stand with you in his arms. You nuzzle his neck before resting your head on his shoulder.

“Love you, daddy,” you murmur.

“Love you too, baby.”

[yan-randomfandom]

i love your writings sm!! It's literally so good i keep coming back to see if you've updated udgshsj 😔😔 💖💖

This might be kinda a weird idea but I want to share this idea of yandere robot ford &/or stanley-

Here's a small drabble

So so reader's like a researcher/mechanic or smth similar to that, and one day they found this strange robot their backbyard and they see that the robot's conditions are not too damaged and it look like its intended to look like a human, reader became intrigued so they took it back inside and decided to repair it. They saw that the robot's label spelling out "ST4NF0R5/ST4NL33". it took days for them to try reactive the robot.. one night reader slept on their desk, and suddenly light appears on the robot's eyes and as he scanned the environment, his eyes landed on your sleeping figure.

i'd love to see your interpretation of this if it isn't too weird !!! Can be HC's or small scenario, preferably romantic but it's up to you!! 🥹🥹

Tysm for your time i hope you have a great day!! 💗

p.s can i be 🪴 anon?

Yandere!Robot!Pines x GN!Reader

a/n: thank you 🪴 anon!! i love the lil robot idea you have, very interesting 👀 I also decided to continue your drabble, which is super well-written btw 😭

Also we won't have a specific twin here, but he'll be called Stan. The first syllable Reader nicknames for. But you can imagine any Stan!

🤖 ;

You wave your hand repeatedly in front of the robot's face.

No response. How strange.

The reports indicated recent activity. His motherboard and circuits were slightly warm, which was unusual for decommissioned robots, and some motors even seemed out of place.

You were supposed to run tests today to see if the robot was still functioning, but it seems that it was ahead of itself.

It didn't make anything less confusing, though. Did it turn on while you were sleeping? Why isn't it reacting now?

With a defeated sigh, you lean back in your chair, loosely chalking the situation up to a faulty powerhouse. Guess you're just too good at fixing stuff. You'll have to observe it more later.

For now, you should really eat breakfast—you haven't eaten anything since yesterday. A bit too fixated on the robot you found.

You placed its cracked glasses back on, your eyes lingering over him.

No further signs of movement; he remained still. You're keeping an eye on this one, because right now, you're slightly paranoid he might explode on you.

Oh, well. There's plenty of time.

You headed to the kitchen and grabbed your usual jar, your fingers wrapping around the lid.

A grunt left your lips. A bit tighter than what you're used to.

You tried to open it again, this time having your hand underneath your shirt.

Dang.

Suddenly, the jar was taken from you and, with ease, got popped open by a large hand.

Your jaw dropped.

The robot you had been fixing for the last couple days stood in front of you—no support, and no external control.

Stan placed the jar on your counter, his mechanical eyes locking onto yours. His stare felt almost reserved, calculating.

You merely stood there in disbelief for the next few seconds.

📝 —

"This is amazing! I didn't think you'd be active so soon," you rambled, scrambling around the room for your notebook. "Just give me a moment. Where did I put that darn thing..."

Stan quietly watched you. His eyes tracked your every movement, never leaving you for a second.

"Found it!" you chirped, holding the notebook triumphantly in one hand. You walked over to the robot, gesturing toward the chair behind him.

"Please, take a seat! You might not be, uh, oof—"

Instead, you found yourself gently pushed down into the chair. He looked down at you, his gaze lingering, before stepping away. That was an act of service, you noted. You cleared your throat.

"...And that brings me to my first question!" You uncapped your pen, positioning the tip on your notebook.

"What is your purpose?"

Stan paused, seemingly processing your words. You'd never actually heard him speak before so you're a little on the edge of your seat.

"...As an artificial intelligence," he started. You almost clicked your tongue at his voice. It was gruff, perhaps a feature, but either way, you could tell it lacked a stable voicebox.

"I provide day-to-day assistance and companionship," he continued, blinking robotically. Stan didn't say anything more after that.

"A companion, huh," you hummed, jotting down your newfound discoveries.

You assumed that his creator must have been incredibly lonely if they had to resort to building robots. Not that you're judging them; after all, you understood the feeling of being an outcast from society. If you had to dig deeper into Stan's appearance, his design looked oddly specific. Maybe he was based on a real person—?

"You are not my creator."

Your hand stopped writing.

"...Oh, shoot," you gasped, standing from your chair. "You're right. I haven't even introduced myself!"

He stared down at you, his height suddenly feeling like it was looming over you. You swallowed the lump of your throat before continuing.

"I'm—"

"You are not my creator," he repeated. "But you fixed me. Why?"

"Well... I—"

Stan purred within his robotic body. "I suppose it doesn't matter. My creator dismantled me, and I must make sure you don't do the same."

His large hands gripped you by your sides. You panicked, your heart rate increasing. He must have noticed.

"Do not worry. I am merely fulfilling my purpose."

bonus draft:

You grinned, letting Stan take your laundry basket.

"Aw, geez, I had it," you snickered, crossing your arms. You watched him put the clothes one by one for drying.

"It is more efficient this way," he replied as he continued to his task.

this was supposed to be longer but yeeaaahh

[harpval]

🌿Blue Lock Love Island Au🌿

Rin and Sae x Reader

Blindfold challenge— Season 7, Ep. 2

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

Hairs stand on end as the hostess approaches you and your fellow islanders. You’ve found a sweet connection with Rin Itoshi. You didn’t have anyone steal him from you, and you didn’t steal him from anyone in the first coupling of the season, he was up for grabs. Getting to know him has been sweet and you certainly have yourself strapped in for a slow burn.

Now, following the hostess’s instructions; You’re blindfolded in a chair a few feet away from Rin’s. The other couples are seated in a similar fashion, all creating a circular formation. You’re free to kiss anyone in the villa you please, or, to stay true to your couple and remain seated. The hostess goes around one by one, silently tapping you on the shoulder to allow you to make your decision. You remove your blindfold and move silently if you wish to explore another connection, and it’s all left completely anonymous.

It’s silent on your end and Rin’s end, across the way you can hear the silent padding of feet through the turf—followed by the sounds of wet kisses and shallow breaths if you squint.

You’re fairly certain that you haven’t caught anyone’s eye, nor has anyone else really caught your eye. So imagine your own surprise when you feel a presence standing before you. Silent and commanding of your attention, a cold sweat prickling your spine as the figure silently stepped closer to you.

His presence was calculating, even in front of you he was more silent and harder to detect than those you heard moving about. A finger hooks beneath your chin as if to warn you, breath ghosting over your lips slowly. Though when his lips finally press to yours the kiss is firm, slow and wet. Fucking phenomenal, may I add. It’s silent, and you can’t help but melt into it. Leaning forward just for a little more. Not that you have to worry, at this rate you’re not sure if he ever plans on stopping.

Until he does, the coolness in the air hitting your now wet lips and you’re forced to shut your mouth before bugs seek entry.

There’s a long silence as the figure slips away like he was never there. The scent wafting in your nose and you hope that Rin can’t hear the way you’re inhaling to get just one more wiff.

And as if by some invisible force its back again, the scent hitting you full force. The same presence, sleek and silent, though this time a hand positions itself on the back of your neck and tugs you in—a small breath escaping you you’re sure others heard before your lips collide with his again. Once more a wet kiss, firm, but slow enough to where you could hardly even hear.

The smooching ceased, and you’re instructed to remove your blindfolds. Other ladies of the villa rushing to fix their smeared lipstick—you attempt to signal to one of them they’ve got it on their nose but your attempt to warn is futile.

The hostess is giddy, taunting all of you with what she just saw, then announcing the arrival of the two bombshells—who are no where to be seen. That’s when you and one of the guys receive a text at the same time. (Not from the same person..)

Come find me in the Hideaway.

₊˚ ✧ ━━━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━━━ ✧ ₊˚₊

I start my job Monday 😔 (I’m lowkey excited tbhhh)

[factual-fantasy]

29 Asks! Thank you! :)) ✏️

My dearest compadre I am left handed

@ardent-38

WOAH hold your horses there friend! Octo and Seafoam aren't a couple- they're more akin to brothers than anything. So there will be no kissing in any scenario I conjure up for them <XDD

But other than that-- WAHGGGG THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭😭😭🥰🥰 YOUR MESSAGE MEANT SO MUCH TO MEEEE!!! 😭😭🥰💞💞 --and honestly have encouraged me to reconsider drawing that idea!! :00 So thank you for that too! :DDDD

A force shutdown isn't the word I'd use to describe cybertronian fainting.. "force" sounds more like someone on the outside doing something to Ratchet to make him shut down when he is otherwise healthy/ok. Rather than something going wrong internally.

Like if he was going under for surgery, maybe when he goes under it could be called "force shutdown" as well as "inducing stasis".

Now a "system failure" or "system crash" might be more appropriate for fainting or suddenly collapsing. When Ratchet injected the Synth-en maybe his systems were overwhelmed by the foreign substance and he suffered a complete system crash and collapsed.💔

Something tells me that wouldn't work somehow, but I don't have all the technical knowhow to really explain why that would be a bad idea <XD I'm sure Ratchet could explain why that would be bad.

Hmmm, good question...

The only thing that comes to mind is for Raf I headcanon that he is fluent in sign language and that's how he communicates with/understands Bee. (My version of Bee communicates with sign language, not random beeps and boops that Raf somehow magically understands)

@rainbowwatermelon7

A drawing of mine doesn't feel complete or "safe to post" unless its been watermarked. But it could be different for you and that's ok :0

I mostly draw the scribbly head when I'm feeling well, and the drippy head when I am unwell in someway. I have been dealing with some health problems for well over a year now so drawing myself drippy became my new norm. <XD But its starting to get old so I might return to the scribble head just for the fun of it tbh-

I just like to draw it a bright and fun red instead of a dull and realistic dark red :00

Probably mentally break down and die somehow. 🫠 I couldn't handle living in a world where our planet and everyone on it could be destroyed by Megatron at any moment. Let alone being on the front lines along side the Autobots.

I do have other social medias, but they are all private/just for viewing other peoples art. This is the only one I post artwork to :00

Bibi you mean? I guess I was inspired by cats <XD But I cant remember anything specific that inspired me other than that.

@zecromgen5

Nothing specific I can share online, 😅 but yeah things have been alright!

I only know of YouTube <:( That's where I watched it back then.

@candyglumboy

Aww! The boys!! :DD

(Referencing this post)

Same ✋😔

@milk-powrit

My favorite of the beasts is Mystic Flour, for personality, powers and design. The others are alright I suppose <XD

I would probably be poisoned and die within the day 💀

If you mean if I was a transformer tho, I'd probably become really emotionally unstable like Ratchet was and just sob uncontrollably until I burned through it all 😅

I've seen it floating around Tumblr, but I never really looked into it <:0

He's recruiting more Autobots it seems XDDD

They might not want to fish, but they'd like to watch the koi swim around! :)

AAAA Thank you so much!!! :DDD

@florafandoms

Ough... so old.. 💔💔

Also thank you so much!! :DD

@misscherrypie (Pics from this post)

XDD I was hoping people would notice that. I think a hug from Bibi would fix me 🥺🥺

Pick up a pencil and my friend you have the power to bring a flood 🌊

@briandraws

My spirit animal ngl

@wolfie-777

Hey that cat is pretty cute! We should make a beloved internet meme about it! :D

@kaiserdarken

I have no idea <:0 Since MatPat took a step back from his channels I haven't been keeping up with any new FNAF lore 😔

@beryl-shade

I would obliterate the fleas with my Mary sue mind powers. No fleas shall cause my babies discomfort ☝️☝️

I have now. <XD How bizarre-