#shifting to wherever tbh

[kylopen]

In My Head

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Sunshine reader is always seen as sweet and innocent to the team, always happy to use her healing magic wherever possible. Bucky, touch starved and in love, discovers reader is not as innocent as she seems.

Word count: 8.2k words <3

Plus size reader safe! All body types are safe in this fic! Everyone loves Dom! Bucky I do too but good god I need whipped Bucky who will do anything for Reader. This is the longest piece I’ve written in so long! Enjoy and leave a note<3 I’m in my marvel era again so feel free to request anyone! I didn't proof read (i finished it at 1am)

Tags: There is a plot! (porn with plot lol) AFAB reader, The smut is pure FILTH tbh, Smut, Pining Bucky, no use of Y/N.

Smut warnings: Sub!Bucky, soft dom! Reader, use of ‘Good boy’, Bucky has a praise kink, pussy eating (lots of it), Needy/touch starved Bucky, Bucky has an Edward Cullen moment, Oral (female/reader receiving— THREE times hehe) penetration, Buck likes his hair pulled, Bucky dry humps, Reader squirts (third oral sequence so skip that part if you wish) needy creampie.

There were things in the modern world that baffled Bucky, Bubble tea, new terms for prejudice ending in 'phobia', babies with Ipads in their faces. And you. The first time he laid eyes on you, you gave him a blindingly sweet smile, and held your hand out for him to shake. When he didn't take it you didn't judge him or look at him funny, you smiled like you understood. From then on, you respected his boundaries and he began to feel safe. It made sense to him that someone like you had the power to help and heal others.

You’d always bring them things; vitamins, water, those weird orange flavoured things that dissolve in water, something a little sugary for a boost, with that sweet, innocent smile he'd grown to adore. He would never- could never admit that though, someone like him wasn't worthy of you. He could settle for some longing and pining instead.

Bucky is lounging on the sofa with Steve, some 50s flick playing that Steve had insisted on, something about a painter in Paris- he wasn't sure. And then, you walk in, your sweet voice drifting into his ear.

“An American in Paris, huh?” you asked, gently teasing as you moved closer to the sofa, catching sight of the movie they were watching.

Bucky shifted a little, his gaze flickering to you, then quickly back to the TV. He tried not to look at you too much when you were around, not because he didn’t want to, but because every time he did, it felt like something in his chest tightened. It certainly didn’t help that it was a hot day today, you’d opted for a cute pink and white sundress that stopped mid thigh.

“Yeah, Steve’s choice,” Bucky muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice came out a little softer than he intended. He knew that you liked these kinds of old movies, so maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

Steve grinned from the other end of the couch, catching the subtle shift in Bucky’s tone, but not saying anything about it. Instead, he glanced up at you with a friendly smile.

“You a fan of the classics too?” Steve asked, gesturing for you to sit if you wanted to join them.

You walked over, the scent of your shampoo reaching Bucky’s senses. Vanilla and coconut, coincidentally his favourite fragrance, something that had changed not long after he’d met you… coincidentally of course, and the more you lingered around, the harder it became for him to focus on anything but you.

“Reminds me of my dad. Some are super sexist but I’m a sucker for Marilyn Monroe” you said, sitting down at the edge of the couch, right next to Bucky. Close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of you, but still with enough space to respect his boundaries. You always seemed to know exactly how to balance that, without even trying. It amazed him.

Bucky felt his pulse quicken as you sat beside him. You were so close. Too close. Not close enough.

He grunted in agreement with your statement, nodding, though his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to you—he just didn’t know how. What could he say that wouldn’t make him seem awkward or broken? Besides, talking might make him reveal just how badly he wanted to be near you, and he couldn’t afford that.

But then you spoke again, your voice soft and gentle, like you were speaking just to him. “How was training today?”

He cleared his throat, trying to push away the thoughts clouding his mind. “Same as always. Steve still hits like a truck.”

Steve laughed from the other side, “You’re the one with the metal arm, Buck.”

Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. Just a distraction. He was grateful for it.

You laughed too, and that sound—it was like a melody that settled right under Bucky’s skin, making him feel warm in a way he hadn’t in a long time. He stole a glance at you again, just for a second, and you were looking right at him. That smile on your face, the one that had been seared into his memory from the moment you’d met.

“Let me guess,” you said, eyes twinkling, “you didn’t let him win this time either?”

Bucky’s lips twitched, almost into a smile, but he stopped himself. “Nope.”

“Good,” you replied, your voice soft again, almost as if you were relieved. “Can’t let Cap off easy.”

It was such a simple thing to say, but it hit Bucky harder than he’d expected. You cared. Not just in the way you handed out snacks and drinks after training or smiled when they passed by, but genuinely cared. For him. For Steve. And maybe, just maybe, that meant you’d be willing to see something more in him than he saw in himself.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward, but it was thick with unspoken words. Bucky could feel it. He wanted to reach out, say something—anything—but the words lodged themselves in his throat, like they always did when it came to you.

For a moment, Bucky let himself wonder what it would be like—if he could let himself believe he was worthy of you. Of someone so full of light and warmth, when all he felt was the shadows of his past.

But then the doubt crept back in, and he looked away again. He couldn’t let himself get too close. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could manage without giving too much away.

You didn’t push him, though. You never did. You just smiled again and settled into the couch beside him, watching the movie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And for a fleeting moment, Bucky let himself pretend that it was.

The training room echoes with the sharp sound of fists hitting metal, the rhythmic thud of boots against the mat, and the occasional grunt of exertion. Bucky and Steve were sparring again; the same routine they'd run through countless times. It usually helped Bucky clear his mind, focus his energy on something physical, something he could control. But today, it was different.

“Come on, Buck, focus,” Steve says as he circles around, hands up and ready. His movements were fluid, precise. He was always like that—disciplined, unshakable. Bucky was too, usually. But not today.

His thoughts kept drifting, unbidden, back to you.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how close you had been on the couch last night, the way your voice had softened when you’d spoken to him, like you saw something in him that no one else did. That smile. It was haunting him in the best way.

As if to taunt him farther, his mind flashes with the image of you in your sundress, the way it swayed around the soft skin of your thighs.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cut through his reverie, but not fast enough.

Distracted, Bucky moves just a second too late. He swings wide, and Steve, quicker than ever, ducked under his arm and swept his legs out from under him. Before Bucky could react, he hit the mat hard, air leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp.

“Damn it,” Bucky growles, more at himself than at Steve. He stays on the floor for a moment, trying to shake the thoughts of you from his mind. He shouldn’t be getting distracted like this. Not during a sparring session. Not ever.

Steve stands over him, offering a hand, his brow furrowed in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbles, accepting the hand and letting Steve pull him back to his feet. His ribs ache from the fall, but it wasn’t anything serious. It was more the embarrassment that stung. Bucky didn’t like feeling off his game, and lately, thinking about you was doing just that.

“You weren’t focused,” Steve says, stepping back into position. It wasn’t a question.

Bucky wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking out his arms as if that could somehow reset his mind. “I’m fine. Let’s go again.”

Steve hesitates for a second, then nods, getting back into stance. He could tell something was on Bucky’s mind, but he wasn’t going to push. At least, not right now. Steve knew when to back off, and when to press—though Bucky had a feeling that conversation would come soon enough.

They start again, trading punches and dodges, but Bucky couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. The way you made him feel—safe, seen. The way you’d praise him. God… the way you’d tell him he did a good job after training or a mission,

Just for a second, his mind drifts again— Your pretty eyes, the way they’d look at him like he was something amazing, the smile you’d give him and then he wonders what your face would look like as he dives down deep between your thighs-

Steve’s fist came in fast, and though Bucky manages to block it, he doesn’t account for the follow-up. Steve's knee connects with his side, hitting just below his ribs with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

Bucky staggers back, holding his side with a grimace.

“Whoa, Buck!” Steve stops immediately, hands out in concern. “You good?”

Bucky clenches his jaw, nodding, though his side throbbed. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not fine,” Steve replies, taking a step forward, but Bucky waves him off, frustrated with himself more than anything.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, turning away for a moment to catch his breath. He hates this. Hates how easily you get into his head, how much he let himself think about you when he was supposed to be focused. It wasn’t like him to get distracted, especially not in a fight.

Steve gives him a long, knowing look. He wasn’t pushing the subject yet, but Bucky could see it in his eyes—Steve had noticed something. And knowing Steve, it wouldn’t be long before he asked about it.

Steve lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You need to go get that checked out.” He motions to the cut on Bucky’s cheek and his ribs.

“I said I’m fine,” Bucky mutters.

Steve doesn’t budge. “Buck, if you don’t get that cleaned up, it’s going to get worse. You’re already bruised, and that cut—” He gestured to Bucky’s face. “—needs to be looked at.”

Bucky was about to argue again when Steve adds, with a pointed look, “Go see her.”

He blinks, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest. “What?”

“Go see her,” Steve repeats, his voice calm but insistent. “You know she can patch you up. She always does.”

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. You always did take care of them after training, offering vitamin drinks or snacks, your touch gentle and your presence calming.

“I don’t need—” Bucky begins, but Steve cuts him off with a significant look.

“Buck, you’re hurt. Let her help you. Besides, we both know she’d want to,” Steve says, his tone softening as he rests a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She cares, man. And you’re not doing yourself any favours by pretending you don’t need her.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, his chest tight with a mix of frustration and something else he couldn’t quite name. The truth was, he did want to go to you.

With a heavy sigh, Bucky nods, finally relenting. “Fine.”

Steve smiles, patting him on the shoulder. “Good. Now go get cleaned up. I’ll finish up here.”

Bucky hesitates for a second before turning to leave the training room, his side still aching from the hit.

All he knew was that when he saw you, when you smiled at him with that gentle, understanding look in your eyes, it was going to make it that much harder to keep pretending he didn’t feel anything.

Bucky’s footsteps echo softly through the hall as he makes his way to the infirmary. When he reaches the infirmary door, he gives a soft knock before stepping inside.

You’re there, sitting at your desk with one thigh crossed elegantly over the other, your attention focused on some paperwork in front of you. You’re dressed in your usual professional attire—a fitted dress that hugs your form just enough to hint at your curves beneath your white lab coat. The subtle click of your black heels against the floor when you shift is a small, but noticeable, sound that makes Bucky's heart beat a little faster.

You look up when you hear him enter, that sweet, welcoming smile appearing almost instantly. “Bucky,” you greet warmly, your voice soft. “What brings you in? Did you and Steve go a little too hard today?”

For a second, Bucky just stands there, distracted by how you look. His heart skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you. He notices, maybe for the first time, how the hem of your dress rides up slightly when you cross your legs. He forces himself to look away before you catch him staring.

“Uh, yeah,” he mutters, gesturing vaguely to the cut on his face. “Just a cut… and maybe some bruised ribs.”

You arch an eyebrow, your smile turning a little coy. “Only maybe bruised ribs? Sounds like you need me to take a closer look.”

Bucky blinks, heat creeping up his neck as he tries to decide whether he’s imagining the playful tone in your voice or if it’s actually there. He clears his throat. “Yeah… probably.”

With that, you uncross your legs and stand up, heels clicking softly against the tile floor as you walk over to him. Your movements are graceful, confident, and Bucky feels his pulse quicken as you draw closer. There’s something about the way you carry yourself today—calm, collected, but with an air of subtle suggestion that makes him feel off balance.

You stand just inches away from him, reaching up to gently tilt his chin up so you can inspect the cut above his eyebrow. Your fingers are cool against his sweaty skin, and Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat.

“It’s not deep,” you murmur “But it’s a little more than a scratch. Seems like you need my magic touch~” you wiggle your fingers and Bucky bites back a groan at the subtle implication.

Before Bucky can respond, you place your hand gently over the wound, and he feels a soft, warm tingling sensation spread across his skin. Your healing powers are subtle but effective, and within seconds, the pain is gone, the cut already closing up beneath your touch. He’s experienced your abilities before, but every time he feels a spark from your touch, it’s a simple move but he craves more.

“There we go,” you say softly, removing your hand from his face. Your fingers linger a little longer than usual, trailing down his jaw ever so slightly before you step back, your eyes locking with his for a brief moment.

Bucky swallows hard, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. He’s probably imagining it—just reading too much into things. You’re always sweet, always kind and innocent.

Your gaze drops to his side, and you gently brush your hand over his ribs. “Lift your shirt for me?” you ask, your voice light but carrying a tone of suggestion that makes Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He hesitates for a second, then does as you ask, pulling up his shirt to reveal the dark bruise spreading along his ribs. You make a soft sound of sympathy, a small pout forming on your lips as your pretty eyes lock with his for a moment. You look back down, your fingers grazing his skin as you crouch slightly to get a closer look.

“You really got hit hard,” you murmur, your tone carrying a note of concern but it switches up subtly as you carry on: “Good thing I can take care of you.”

Bucky’s breath hitches. Did he hear that right? Is there something more in your words? You were just talking about the injury right? The way you said it, the way you moved—it feels almost sinful in a way he’s not used to, at least not from you. He tries to keep his focus, but with you this close, your fingers trailing lightly over his bruised skin, it’s damn near impossible.

You place your hand gently over his ribs, your touch soft but firm as you close your eyes for a moment, focusing on healing the injury. Bucky feels the familiar warmth of your powers again, spreading through his body like a gentle wave. The pain begins to melt away, the bruise slowly fading beneath your hand.

“There,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All better.”

But your hand doesn’t move right away. Instead, it lingers on his ribs for a second too long, your fingertips brushing the edge of his abdomen in a way that makes his breath catch. Then, just as he’s about to say something—anything—you pull away, turning to your desk, palms flat and bending as if you’re looking for something. Bucky’s mind flashes to pulling up your dress and fucking you senseless then and there, his metal hand clenches and he shakes the thought away.

Bucky exhales slowly, trying to calm the sudden storm in his chest. He has to be imagining it, right? You’re just being your usual caring self- but that touch felt different. Everything you’re doing feels different. More intentional. And the way you’d looked at him just now—

He notices you didn’t actually pick anything up from the desk after you’d bent over it a little.

“Alright, just one last check,” you say as you come back to stand in front of him, a small, almost playful smile on your lips. “Let me make sure everything else is fine.” You reach up, your hand lightly brushing against his neck as if you’re checking for tension or soreness. But then, your fingers linger—soft and warm against his skin, trailing slowly down to his collarbone. The touch is innocent enough, but there’s something in the way you do it that makes Bucky’s entire body tense.

You meet his eyes, your expression still sweet and professional, but there’s a hint of something more—something almost teasing in the way you hold his gaze. “Hmm, seems like you’re all healed up,” you murmur, your voice soft but suggestive in a way that makes his pulse race.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly dry as he stares at you. For a moment, he can’t move, can’t speak—stuck between the need to figure out if what he’s feeling is real or just in his head. He tries to convince himself it’s all innocent, but the way your hand lingers on his neck, the way your eyes flicker to his lips for the briefest of moments… it leaves him wondering if you aren’t quite as innocent as he thought.

You finally step back, that same sweet smile on your face as if nothing happened. “Take it easy, alright? Don’t push yourself too hard next time.”

Bucky nods, his voice hoarse when he finally speaks. “Yeah… thanks.”

You tilt your head, your smile widening just a little. “Anytime.” You sit down on your chair again, crossing one thigh over the other, it seemed deliberate.

You rest a pencil on your lower lip, teeth grazing it just slightly, pretty eyes on him. Bucky draws in a breath and feels a problem growing between his legs. He spins around to the door, hoping you don’t notice.

As Bucky begins leave you call out once more: “Let me know if you need me Bucky~ you can always come to me”

As Bucky leaves the infirmary, his mind spins. He came in with injuries, but now he has a different kind of problem, he attempts to calm down, the hardness in his pants making it hard to think. Something has shifted between you two, and whether it’s real or just in his imagination, Bucky can’t help but think back to it all. Did you want him too?

That night, Bucky stares at his ceiling, mind flashing back to you at your desk. Why didn’t you pick anything up? Did you forget what you were looking for? The look in your eyes told him you must’ve known what was going through his head.

He groans and pushes his face into his pillow, he thinks back to something that had happened a few days ago. You were giving out some sort of vitamin pill to everyone, when you’d leaned in, lips near his ear as you whispered:

“I saved you the last cherry flavoured one, don’t tell anyone” before winking slightly.

He shivers at the memory; he could smell every inch of you when you leaned in.

He grunts and pushes his face farther into the pillow. Why did you always save the good things for him? Was it on purpose? Whenever you baked you’d give him first pick- he thought you were just being nice, the sweet girl they all know. But the more he thinks about you the more he notices those little things.

Before he had even registered what he was doing, he was standing and making his way to your rooms. You did say he could always come to you. Bucky freezes outside the door when he realises where he was and what he was doing. Was he crazy? How could he come up with an excuse for being at your door at eleven at night? Before he can change his mind and turn around your door opens. There you stood wearing nothing but a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top- with no bra.

Bucky freezes, his breath catching in his throat as his gaze locks on you. The soft glow of your bedside lamp spills over your frame, highlighting the way your sleep shorts hug your hips and your tank top clings to your chest. His mouth goes dry.

You blink at him. “Bucky?” your voice is soft, a hint of curiosity laced in your tone. “Is everything okay? F.R.I.D.A.Y told me you were stood outside my door.

For a moment, all he can do is stare. He knows he should say something, anything, but his mind is scrambling for an excuse—an explanation for why he’s standing at your door in the middle of the night. His thoughts drift back to your touch earlier, the brush of your hand on his neck, and the memory of your lips near his ear just days ago.

You tilt your head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips, and Bucky swears there’s something teasing in your expression. You step aside, opening the door wider as if you’re inviting him in. “You didn’t have to knock, you know,” you say with that same sweetness. “You can always come to me.”

His heart pounds in his chest, loud enough that he wonders if you can hear it. He swallows, trying to push down the tension, but something in your eyes—something about the way you're looking at him—has his feet moving before his brain catches up.

He steps over the threshold.

Bucky steps inside, the door clicking shut softly behind him. The room is dim, and the soft scent of your perfume lingers in the air, teasing his senses. He watches you as you turn back toward him, your smile still warm, still innocent—at least on the surface.

“So…” you say, your voice soft as you walk a little closer to him, “What brings you here so late, Bucky?” There’s a hint of playfulness in your tone, like you already know the answer but want to hear him say it.

He shifts awkwardly, his eyes darting away from yours. “I… uh, I couldn’t sleep.” His voice comes out rougher than he intended.

“We both know my healing powers can’t help you sleep Bucky. So what’s up with you coming to see lil’. ol’. Me.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but no words come out. His mind is racing—unsure if you're playing a game or if he’s just reading too much into it. His eyes flick down to your tank top, the way it clings to you, the coolness from the hallway had made hard peaks appear on your chest he then glances back to your face. You’re watching him carefully, that same playful glint in your eyes.

You tilt your head slightly, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” Your fingers brush lightly against his arm, sending a shiver through him. “About me?”

Bucky feels his pulse quicken. He’s certain now—there’s no way he’s imagining it.

“I—” He swallows hard, trying to find the right words. But before he can, you step even closer, your body inches from his now, your hand lingering on his arm.

“You think I didn’t notice?” You ask sweetly

Bucky’s breath hitches as your words sink in, and his chest tightens, the space between you suddenly feeling far too small. His mind is racing, but his body is rooted in place, drawn to you in a way he can’t explain. He tries to speak, to form some kind of coherent response, but his voice fails him.

“You think I didn’t notice?” you ask again, your voice low, sweet, but with a teasing edge that makes Bucky’s heart race. Your hand is still resting lightly on his arm, your touch burning through his skin despite the fabric of his shirt. The warmth of your body is so close now, and Bucky is overwhelmed by the scent of you—intoxicating, pulling him deeper into the moment. He can feel himself grow hard at the simple touch, he want’s your hands all over him. He just needs to feel you touch him.

He stares down at you, his gaze flickering between your eyes and the way your lips curve into that soft, knowing smile. You tilt your head up slightly, your eyes locking with his, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, standing impossibly close, the air between you thick with tension.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, but Bucky hears every word. “I notice where your eyes go when I wear a skirt or dress, if I bend over or wear anything even remotely low cut.”

He swallows hard, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wants to say something, to explain himself, to apologize, but he can’t—because the truth is, you’re right. He has been looking at you, watching you, craving your presence without ever fully admitting it to himself.

You shift even closer, your chest almost brushing against his, and Bucky’s breath catches as your fingers slowly trail up his arm, lingering at his shoulder. His heart feels like it’s about to burst out of his chest, and he’s not sure how much longer he can keep control of himself. The way you’re looking at him, your lips parted slightly, your eyes holding his like they’re daring him to make the next move…

He’s losing it.

“You don’t have to hide it,” you whisper, your voice laced with that same soft, teasing edge. Your hand moves up to his neck now, your fingertips brushing the sensitive skin just below his jaw. “You can tell me what you want, Bucky…”

He whines.

Before the embarrassment can hit him you let out a low groan at the sound. “Fuck…”

Bucky’s breath comes out in a shudder, his self-control hanging by a thread. He feels the warmth of your hand against his neck, the way your touch lingers just a second too long, and it sends a wave of heat rushing through him.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already moving, closing the last bit of space between you. Your eyes flicker down to his lips, and Bucky’s resolve crumbles. He can’t hold back anymore.

His hand reaches out almost instinctively, fingers gently curling around your waist, pulling you closer. He leans down, his breath mingling with yours as he hovers just inches from your lips, his heart pounding in his chest.

“You…” His voice is low, strained, as if he’s barely holding on. “You’re driving me crazy, doll.”

You smile, and the look in your eyes—soft, teasing, and just a little wicked—sends him over the edge.

Bucky leans to close the gap but your finger presses against his lips. A frown forms on his face, and then you speak.

“ah ah ah” you shake your head “we ask for what we want”

Bucky mentally scolds himself for not asking, he was in the moment.

“May I kiss you?” he asks.

“Say please” there was an unexpected dominance to your tone, completely wiping out the innocence.

Oh fuck.

Bucky feels himself grow harder at the tone. He’s momentarily stunned. Your pretty eyes are on him, feigning innocence but there’s something sinful hiding in them. His beautiful blue eyes look down at you, filled with need.

“Please?”

You let out a moan at the word, your body heating up, your core dampens your shorts.

“Fuck… Bucky…” You say breathily before you pull him down a little to reach your height and kiss him. It’s gentle, as though you’re teasing him, giving him a glimpse to what he can have. He just needs to ask politely.

“Doll… please… I…” He struggles to get his words out, brain fogged over from all the sensations hitting him at once. You run your hands along his abs and he whines again. The whine shoots straight through you. Bucky Barnes, the worlds most accomplished assassin is whining for you.

“Please what? Good boys use their words.” You say in a sinfully soft voice that sends a shiver down his spine.

“I need… more… please” He whispers your name at the end and you hum, satisfied. You grasp his hand and it feels so good to him. Too good. He follows you as you pull him towards the bed.

“Sit there. Lean against the headboard” you hum and he immediately does as he’s told. Sure, he was a super solider who could overpower you in a second, you were both aware. But you were both also aware that he didn’t want that. He needed you to guide him.

You plant yourself in his lap, straddling him, before letting out a soft hum as you feel his hardness push against your core over your sleep shorts. Bucky lets out a moan at the contact but you’re quick to swallow it with a deep, heated kiss. His hands claw at your hips and you gasp slightly as the metal of his hand touches your skin. He’s quick to pull it away but you’re quicker, gripping his wrist and shaking your head, guiding it back in place.

You continue the kiss, before taking his lower lip in between your teeth. You open your eyes to see his blue ones are locked onto your own in what can only be described as the hottest, neediest way, his pupils dilated. You lick over his lip before your hand snakes around the back of his neck and up to his hair. You gently tug, its light, testing the waters and his lips part, head nodding. You pull his hair back a little harsher and he moans. You laugh, the sound dark and sinful in Bucky’s ears.

Your lips kiss his earlobe. “You like your hair pulled? Dirty boy~”

He moans again and nods, hands gripping your hips a little harder, pulling you down to grind on him. You make a ‘tsk’ sound and he freezes, quickly remembering your rule.

You get off him and he groans at the loss of contact, his needy eyes falling onto you. You slowly pull down your shorts, revealing your core to him. His breathing quickens, cock twitching and straining against his sweatpants.

“Take your clothes off, honey” your sultry voice fills his ears and he does so immediately, stripping off his shirt first, exposing the honey toned abs with numerous scars here and there. He is beautiful and you let it show on your face. He drags down his sweatpants leaving him in his grey boxers. There’s a dark damp spot on them from his arousal, pre-cum weeping through from the tip. You make a gesture for him to keep going and he obliges, dragging the boxers down. He stands there, glorious cock hard against his abdomen, looking at you, waiting for your next command.

“What do you want? You just need to ask” You inquire, goading him to tell you.

He swallows, looking down at your dripping core and then back to his cock. You fully expect him to ask to fuck you based on his expression, but he shocks you.

“Can I taste you please?”

Your eyes widen briefly, stunned at his choice.

“I’m sorry— if you don’t want—“ He begins to speak but you cut him off with a finger to your lips and standing up. You slowly peel off your shorts, leaning against the wall.

“You asked me so nicely.” You beckon him and the speed in which he’s on his knees in front of you has your legs weak. His hands skim over your thighs, leaving Goosebumps in their wake. “Is this what you want?”

Bucky looks up at you with desperate eyes, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Yes, please” His voice is hoarse.

“You wanna make me feel good?” You coo.

Bucky groans, his hands gripping your thighs a little. “More than anything” He confirms.

You nod, giving your permission and he settles in between your thighs. He grasps your ass, pulling you up so your legs are over his shoulders, his head cradled by your thighs. You’re momentarily stunned, briefly forgetting he’s a super soldier with insane strength. The thought goes right to your core. Your back is against the wall, his hands still firm on your ass, keeping you in place. Bucky’s breath ghosts across your core before he looks up at you. The sight was nearly enough to make you come. With a firm squeeze on your ass, he dives in, licking a stripe up your lips, making you gasp and weave your fingers through his hair. He groans and begins to lap at your clit like a man starved. He occasionally moans and groans, letting you know how much he’s enjoying being between your legs.

“Bucky— oh my god” You moan out. This only drives him more, he focuses his tongue on your bundle of nerves and you see stars.

He is good at this.

Really fucking good.

Too good?

It doesn’t take you long to come at all, you grasp his hair tighter, thighs squeezing around his head in a way that makes his cock twitch against his abdomen. He rides you through your orgasm until you’re squirming and too sensitive.

He pulls back, holding you up still, and looks into your eyes. The lower part of his face is sinfully wet, he gives you a charming smile, eyes still betraying his neediness.

“You did so well… so good for me…” You breathe out and a strangled noise escapes him.

A praise kink.

“You did so so good for me Bucky~ You deserve a reward” You coo, getting off his shoulders and standing up. You tilt his head up with your finger. “You want a reward baby?”

Bucky lets out a breathy noise and nods.

“What do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want”

Bucky Looks up at you, standing up. He shocked you again.

“Please doll… sit on my face… if… you want…” He adds the last part, unsure. All he knows is that being in between your thighs, hearing you, feeling you, giving you pleasure is all he wants right now.

You bite back a groan and nod, watching him scramble to the bed, laying on his back. He’s gloriously naked, thick cock incredibly hard and standing to attention. You crawl up his body, making sure to brush up against his length to hear those delicious whines from him. His hips buck a few times against you and then you’re settled just above his face. You look down at him and he looks ravenous— His desperate eyes flicking from your core to your face. His hands keep flexing as he struggles, wanting nothing more than to pull you down onto his face and hold you there until he can’t breathe.

“You can touch me Buck” you say softly and his hands hesitantly settle on your hips. He pauses before it eventually becomes too much and pulls you down onto his face, groaning at the impact. You don’t move much, assuming he wants to take the lead when he speaks, muffled against your core.

You giggle and look at him innocently. “Sorry honey what was that? I can’t understand you~”

His eyes grow even more needy, looking up at you. He speaks, muffled again before he decided to lift you up just enough to speak.

“Move— please. Grind on my face. Use me to come please”

How could you say no to such a beautiful request?

You settle back down and rock your hips. His tongue moves with the same finesse and you can’t help but wonder if he’s tired. He doesn’t look tired. You move his arms so he’s holding them up and you entwine your fingers, using his arms to keep you upright, moving against him. His eyes are fluttering shut in pleasure and you groan. You make quick work of your shirt, leaving you both naked now.

“Eyes open Bucky~ I thought you wanted to see what you do to me?~” You tease.

His eyes shoot open again, pupils dilated, his eyes more black than blue now.

“Good~ So good to me” You breathe out and he moans against you, making you gasp and your hips stutter. You grip his hands tighter. His pretty eyes are begging you to come and you do, thighs once again squeezing around his head, making him feel dizzy. Your hips are bucking against his face not even thinking about his breathing— but that isn’t on Bucky’s mind either. You ride out your orgasm and get off him, falling on your back, breathing erratic.

Bucky lays there with the lower half of his face wet, stubble and all. His breathing is erratic and his cock is painfully hard against his abdomen.

“Holy shit Bucky” You huff out and a hoarse moan leaves his mouth.

He slots himself between your legs, kissing your shoulder, slowly moving down your body until he’s at your hip, kissing it softly.

“You are so beautiful doll” His eyes are sincere and your cheeks feel hot at the compliment. “One more time? Please?” He asks, eyes pleading.

Sweet mother of Jesus.

“You want— you seriously— you want to eat me out again?” Your eyes are wide.

Bucky nods, nuzzling and kissing your thigh before focusing on your face again. “And to fuck you with my fingers if that’s alright with you doll?”

Sweet. Mother. Of. Jesus.

Your brain short circuits for a moment at the words leaving his mouth and you mindlessly nod, your gaze heated and intense.

He runs a finger along your dripping core and he moans. Was he really getting this much pleasure? You hadn’t even touched him at all. He teases your entrance before sinking a finger in softly. He hisses at how tight it is, his cock twitching. You let out a soft breathy moan at the feeling, instinctively reaching for his hair. Bucky peppers kisses on your thighs before he begins pumping his finger.

It’s not enough.

“More” You demand, gripping his hair. Bucky is happy to oblige, pushing a second finger in, your toes curling. “oh god yes”

Bucky begins to curl his fingers, brushing up against your sweet spot as he increases his pace a fraction and you cry out.

“Am I doing good?” His husky voice asks, desperate for praise.

“So good baby, so fucking good. You’re so good to me” You moan out and he snaps, thrusting his fingers into you with a little more force and latching his mouth onto your clit. You’re so sensitive at this point you let out a whine, your words not coherent. You didn’t even know it was possible to come this many times before being fucked. The coil in your stomach feels more intense than you have ever felt before, you tighten around his fingers and before you could warn him, he pulls away, watching the liquid squirt from you in awe. You, on the other hand are glassy eyed and trembling afterwards.

Bucky gives you a few minutes to settle before he brings himself back up to your face, you pull him in for a messy kiss. His cock is settled on your thigh, Bucky whines into the kiss and you can feel him jutting against it. You grasp his chin as he kisses you, feeling his length as he desperately claims whatever friction he can get.

Bucky is surprised at himself. There has never been a time in his life where he has felt the need to dry hump a woman. But you have the best ways of bringing new feelings and actions out of him.

“Please” He says softly.

“Oh you’re so worked up honey. After doing such a good job. Take what you want Bucky” you coo, stroking his cheek and he leans into it before settling his hips between your legs.

“Can I… are you okay if I…” He begins and you nod.

“You’ve more than earned it” You rake your hands through his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

In an attempt to ground himself, He places his hands on your headboard, letting you guide his cock into place. He pushes in and groans, immediately shattering the headboard where his hands were.

Oh lord.

You squeeze around him and let out a breathy, aroused giggle. Bucky on the other hand looks mortified.

“Oh my god doll I am so sorry—“ He goes to pull out of you but you grasp his arms and shake your head. He doesn’t take much convincing before he pushes into you fully. He’s panting and rests his forehead on yours. Even with the fingers stretching you earlier, you need to adjust. The super solider cock is no joke.

You moan encouragingly in his ear and he pulls back softly before pushing back in. Your eyes flutter and Bucky has his trained solely on you and your reactions.

“Am I hurting you, doll?” He asks, breathily, stopping his motions.

You shake your head immediately. “Please don’t stop”

He keeps his strength in check, bracing on the half broken headboard again, his hands slotting into the Bucky sized hand holes in them. He uses a leisurely pace that does hit the spot, but it’s not quite enough. You could tell he was holding back for your sake but you needed to see just how much he needed you.

“Harder Bucky~ Fuck. I can take it— please”

The headboard crushes even more at your words, your legs were wound around his hips, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you, his face buried in your neck as he desperately thrusts into you. It’s hard and fast, a string of moans and curses leaving your mouth as you can’t move in his grip, all you can do is take it. You’re seeing stars now, as Bucky is whining and muttering praises in your ear.

“You feel so good doll”

“I would do this forever… beautiful beautiful girl”

And lastly:

“Oh god thank you” He repeats the phrase a few times and your head spins.

He’s fucking thanking you.

You manage to moan out a few praises that are punctuated by his sharp needy thrusts. He pulls his face away from his neck when he’s close. You can see it on his face, begging you to come first. He slips his metal hand down to your clit, stroking the already sensitive bundle of nerves and your eyes widen at the coolness against it.

“Please come” He moans and it doesn’t take you long to oblige his plea, the metal hand on your clit, the whines from Bucky and his cock hitting you deep pushes you over the edge and you come, clenching him hard.

“You’re so beautiful” He says in awe. “Please can I come— please doll” Bucky’s thrusts are faltering.

“fill me up Bucky~” You moan and that’s all it takes, his thrusts become harder, your body jolting from the force, you’ll feel this in your hips in the morning. You could always heal it away. But you probably won’t. You place a hand over his neck holding it loosely, your other hand raking through his hair.

Bucky thrusts into you hard and deep, with hoarse moans of thank you as he comes inside you, filling you up. He simply stays inside you after, his body moving with his deep ragged breaths before he collapses on top of you, making sure to use some strength to stop him crushing you. You stroke his hair, muttering soft praises.

He rolls off you, his honey toned skin covered in a sheen of sweat that made him look godly. Your legs are jelly; you aren’t even sure you can use them for the next few days. Bucky stands and walks to your bathroom, giving you the perfect view of his sculpted ass and returns a few moments later with a warm wet cloth to clean you up with.

When the both of you are cleaned up, Bucky begins to wipe away the crushed pieces of headboard from your bed sheepishly.

“Sorry doll” He says quietly.

“It’s okay” You assure. “It was hot. Made me feel like Bella Swan” You joke.

Bucky looks at you, not understanding the reference.

“From Twi… never mind” You hum, helping to brush off the little pieces of wood. He lays back down and pulls you into his arms.

“Doll… I… I have never felt like that before. What did you do to me? I am under a spell when it comes to you.”

You yawn and let out a sleepy laugh. “You’re telling me. I don’t think I could sleep with a regular dude again after that”

It’s not long until exhaustion rushes through you. Super solider stamina is no joke. You drift off, head on his chest. Bucky watches the soft rise and fall of your chest, your soft snores filling the room.

And for the first time in what feels like forever; Bucky has a deep, dreamless sleep. His nightmares paused as he slumbers beside your soft, warm body.

It’s late when Bucky wakes up. Your side of the bed is cold. He glances at the clock on his phone, reading 11:07am, and a text from you, timestamped two hours ago:

‘Morning sleepy head. I didn’t wanna wake you. You looked too comfortable ;)’

He smiles at the text and looks for his clothes, only to find you must have taken a trip to his room to grab some fresh clothes. There is a towel on a chair with a new set of clean clothes and a pair of boxers.

When he’s all cleaned up and dressed he makes his way to the kitchen. You’re talking to Wanda, Steve and Sam.

“Bucky good morning!” Your sweet voice drifts over to him. “You slept in late. Are you feeling okay? Late night?” It’s an innocent question, no one bats an eyelash at it. You’re the healer of the team, and you’re concerned. But Bucky bites back a groan at the implications they both know is behind the sweet words.

Before Bucky can respond, Tony walks in.

“Hey Hippocrates” Tony calls out to you. “Why did F.R.I.D.A.Y tell me you needed a new headboard for your bed?

Oops.

-END-

[gatorbites-imagines]

When normal Reader is working their minimum wage job, I don’t even wanna think about what happens to the poor sap of a villain that decides to destroy it along with the many other buildings in the city, while terrorizing the citizens. If none of the Marks stalked Reader “just in case” at his work, then they’re definitely there for Reader in seconds tops, digging him out of the rubble while the other half of Marks easily capture the poor (and admittedly stupid) villain. Honestly, they did no research on the city that hosts multiple bloodthirsty Invincibles whose only reason for not dominating/destroying the Earth is because they’re completely whipped for a normal dude? They brought whatever happens on themselves TBH.

Regardless if Reader is hurt or not, they’d all love a good while to bond over slowly torturing the villain. They all take turns, some going to assist Reader, take him to a hospital just in case (screw the other hurt, scared citizens screaming for help beneath the rubble - this is their Reader. Get your own harem), get him safe while the others have the villain hostage somewhere. All the Marks make small groups to cycle through, so they can go between checking on Reader and having a nice long ‘talk’ with the villain who’s begging for death ATP.

Reader thinks that maybe he should stop them, but fuck it. Reader has injuries and has to look for a new job now. Besides, this is the most Reader has seen the Marks get along really well and actually work good together. Reader will just take it as an overdo bonding experience for them and not question the inhuman amount of blood they’re stained with when some walk through the door. At least, Reader’s not at home where they’d likely track blood through the house. So long as they give him the juicy details of their villain-turned-prisoner, it’s fine by Reader.

All the Marks are positively buzzing with pride at Reader actually giving what they perceive to be praise/thanks. At the end of the day, if Reader was released to go home, they’re all in their huuuge bed, cuddled up to Reader, happy and purring. If Reader wasn’t released, then they’re all still a happy and purring bunch of boys, sitting and laying around Reader’s hospital bed.

And meanwhile, wherever the Marks have them kept prisoner, the villain is still wailing for death to save them.

(Bonus)

Nurse: “G-Gentleman! Are you all hurt!?”

Invincibles: (Looks at themselves, caked in blood) “Oh, don’t worry! It’s not ours.” 😁

Nurse: 😨

(Sorry, I got REALLY carried away lmao)

I feel like the reader isn't even surprised at this point, he just looks at the marks with such a flat, tired, retail worker look, and sighs loudly. He'd try to tell them to dig other people out but whatever mark is holding him just goes "huh? Babe, I can't hear what you're saying" cuz they're flying.

Rest in peace to the villain who targeted that area of the city, they won't even get a nice and quick death like the vincibles normally give. They're gonna feel pain that can't even be described in words or noises. I imagine the marks get very creative in whatever they're doing

Reader, in hospital bed: hey, honey, where's the others?

Maskless mark: :)

Reader: honey?

Maskless mark, resting a hand on the readers forehead: you should get some sleep babe.

Reader would get annoyed at them for not saving the others, especially his favorite coworker who'd share cigarettes and weed during shift. This means he rolls over in the hospital bed and won't look at them. This doesn't work obviously, and the marks are gonna be whiny and acting all cute asking for forgiveness in their own ways. Some straight up on their knees by the bed, rubbing against the readers hand. And others just apologizing and giving lethal puppy eyes.

Reader ends up giving up, sighing loudly again, and letting them nuzzle up to him or just hover in the corner all intimidating and scaring the nurses. Readers too busy scrolling his phone for a new job...

[anjelicawrites]

I was playing with the idea of Simon and Ghost being to separate identities *and* domestic Simon, this happened. Tbh I have no idea of what this is, it could evolve in some sort of domestic team 141 thing.

You were supposed to start annual leave four night shifts ago, right in time for Simon's return from deployment, instead you're dead on your feet, have tried to use your badge to open the car door, have input the pass code for the ward to enter your building, and you're now staring owlishly at Simon, surgical mask still on his face, warm cup of tea ready for you.

Suggestive themes, 18 + only please!

"Why are you here? It's not visitor's time yet." "You're at home, dove."

You stare at him, look at yourself in your normal clothes, stare at him again, and then sigh.

"Bad night?"

You drop in his warm embrace, snuggling his chest for warmth and comfort.

"Make it four. I'm so tired I only want to sleep, but I need to shower first. Do you think I can do both at the same time?"

Under the mask Simon smiles.

"You can try, dove. Come on."

He turns you gently, his big hands light on your shoulders guide you towards the bathroom; you shuffle a little, your feet achy and sore. You're so tired you can't coordinate them and drink the tea Simon has, so lovingly, prepared you.

The bathroom is crammed. The whole apartment is as well, now that Simon basically lives here with you; you two are supposed to find a bigger place but, between his long deployments and you working in healthcare to atone for your sins, you two are still struck in this overpriced shoe box.

You sit on the water closet, sipping your tea, while Simon starts the shower and removes his hoodie.

"Are you joining me? Because I think I am too knackered for anything." "I'm not aiming for a repeat of last time."

Ah, yeah. when you two tried shower sex and Simon had knocked his head one too many times on the shower head and you two had flooded the bathroom: definitely not your best performance as a couple.

He takes the empty mug from your hands and places it on the small sink. His hands cup your face and you lower the surgical mask, so that he can kiss your closed eyes with his scarred lips; they're so chapped you know you'll have to wrestle him into a whole session of skincare to savage the damages of the weather he has encountered wherever he was.

Simon is huge, humongous frame and thick muscles, yet he still surprises you with how gentle and graceful he is as he undresses you and starts washing your hair with your shampoo; you know he holds a strength you will never match, and that he has such a complete control over it drives you insane with need, even now that you're ready to fall asleep while standing up.

"Short routine?" His voice rumbles against the tiles, you're so out he has to ask twice. "Yes please baby."

Of all the people you have dated in your life, Simon had been the first to truly listen, and absorb, your hair and skin routine. You had explained to him once, when he had stared at your latest haul of products with curiosity, so you had sat him down and went through everything; you had never expected him to truly follow your explanations, and to help you go through the full routine during one rainy Saturday afternoon. He still doesn't get why you want to use your products on him, he can manage with the basic stuff he gets at work, but lets you pamper him because it makes you happy, and that's his only goal when he's home, with you.

By the time he's rinsed the shower gel off your body, you can barely keep your eyes open, simply following what he's telling you to do to help him dry you and your hair. You're fully asleep when he helps you into one of his T shirts and carries you to bed, laying you on the sheets carefully, before joining you; he doesn't expect to sleep, he's had full four hours last night, yet your slow breathing mesmerizes him, until he follows you in a cat nap, ready to wake at any time.

When you wake up it's lunch time, Simon is laying next to you the surgical mask back again on his face: he's still hovering between himself and Ghost (and you hate that you were so tired you didn't see it as soon as you had arrived). You weren't there to help him shake his shadow off, for four days you two were ships sailing at night, you so tired you had barely managed to peck him before heading to work, him so hollowed out by the latest deployment, he had barely the energy to exist, let alone put Ghost to rest, for a while.

"Hi handsome." You purr, voice still laced with sleep.

For a moment you see the two of them coexist: Ghost's cold, calculating glance, and Simon's burning love for you, the latter winning (and thank God for that, you're too tired to deal with Ghost right now).

"Hello, dove."

Simon had woken up not that long ago, his mind still hazy and confused by his surroundings when he hadn't felt your weight against him; Ghost had raised his hackles immediately like a bad omen in the back of his mind, and refused to leave, even when Simon had noticed that you had rolled away in your sleep and had pushed an arm between your splayed legs to grab at your back and pull you against himself. Even then Ghost had kept watch for Simon, and for you, his uneasiness at the peaceful morning setting Simon's teeth on edge.

You could try to butt heads with Ghost, you have tried long enough to know he's too stubborn to leave until he thinks Simon doesn't need him.

"Breakfast?" You ask.

You tackle Simon as soon as he's vertical, your legs wounding around his hips, your arms tight around his chest; he's still too wound up to truly laugh at your antics, yet you feel his whole body relax a bit.

You eat your breakfast straddling him; your stomach can't fathom lunch when you're just up, that you leave the steak to him, while you enjoy your cuppa.

"I'm going to steal you away tomorrow." He tells you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Take you camping up in the Lake District or the Cotswold. Me, you and the bike." "In the wild?" "Aye." "Have I told you how much I love you?"

He doesn't answer, he prefers to abandon his head against your chest, letting your fingers scratch his nape and scalp, playing with his hair, now slightly longer and curlier than when he left.

Silently he stands up, anchoring your body to his as he heads for the sofa, where he lays you, before he drapes his heavy frame over yours, his head on your stomach so you can keep scratching him like you would a cat.

Blindly you fish for the remote and find one of those 'How it is made' shows that Simon likes so much and that helps him relax fully into himself, his other half in standby; when you wake up he's still watching and his muscles are liquid under your fingers.

"Pizza?" He drawls "I love you so much my heart is going to burst."

He's lost the surgical mask somewhere, now that Ghost is gone, and you can appreciate his smile, with his cute canines showing.

"After food." He deadpans. "Oh God yes! I would hate to die on an empty stomach!"

[wonuism]

REFUSING TO HOLD THEIR HAND

pairing. svt x reader genre. fluff warnings. none

SEUNGCHEOL. . . will probably not notice that you let go of his hand at first because he's too focused on what he's doing but after a few minutes he'll stop what he's doing and will attempt to grab your hand again. he's not even looking at your direction, he's confident that he can sense your hand wherever it is only to be confused when he keeps grabbing the air. he will then turn to you and see you giggling with your hands inside the pocket of his hoodie that you're wearing and will glare at you before wordlessly reaching out and showing his palm to you as a demand to give your hand to him.

JEONGHAN. . . he's petty sometimes. when you refused to hold his hand, he took that personally and never held your hand for a week. he was dying inside during that week tho, but he wants to teach you a lesson. but instead of learning from it, you found it funny how miserable he looks during that week. his plan of not holding your hand because you refused to hold his backfired because after a couple of days of no physical contact with you he gave up and smothered you with hugs instead. after that whole fiasco happened he was practically glued to your side and refused to let go of you even when the both of you are outside.

JOSHUA. . . you'll probably be at a cafe or something, sitting across from each other. your hands are intertwined on the table while he checks his phone, waiting for your food to arrive. your hand is starting to feel hot and sweaty so you decided to let go and watch the scenery around you only for him to call your name with an expectant face, his hand still laying on the table waiting for you to hold it again. you'll say it was starting to feel sweaty and he'll immediately sulk, cross his arms, and look away. you couldn't help but laugh at his reaction and offer your other hand for him to hold.

JUN. . . doesn't care that much tbh. but on times when he's feeling particularly clingy and you let go of his hand, he'll find ways to keep his hand on you. when you're walking and you refuse to hold hands, he'll put his arm on your shoulder or waist or he'll put his hand on the back pocket of your jeans. but once he sees you getting irritated with him holding you, he'll gently let go and offer you a smile and a kiss on the side of your head before keeping his hands to himself. he'll still stay close to you tho.

HOSHI. . . holding hands while driving is a must. always. doesn't matter if he needs both hands on the steering wheel, he'll take your hand with him and there would be three hands on the steering wheel. during one of your long drives, his hand will be on yours at all times. eating? holding hands. sleeping? holding hands. need to change the stick shift position? holding hands. so while he's driving and your intertwined hands are resting on your thigh, you shook his hand off of yours as your hand was starting to cramp. his hand stayed on your thigh, unmoving, before pinching it and spewing questions on why you let go. he can't even look at you, too focused on the road, as he attempts to reach for your hand again. and with a small laugh, you held his hand again and rolled your eyes at his tiny victory cheer.

WONWOO. . . he's a gentleman. the moment you let go of his hand, he'll of course reach for it again but once he sees you blatantly dodging his hand he'll immediately back off and just settle with sitting or standing next to you. he didn't want to cross any of your boundaries and make you uncomfortable. he won't even feel suspicious about it and will just think that you just want a little bit of space and he's willing to give every space you need. after all, he does get in those urges too so he understands your situation very well. you'll probably have to be the one who initiate the affection again because there's no way he'll hold your hand ever unless you're the one who initiates it. after a short while, you held his hand again and leaned your head on his shoulder before explaining the tiktok trend of not holding your s/o's hand to see their reaction and he'll just look at you blankly before shaking his head with a small smile.

WOOZI. . . wouldn't think too much of it. just like wonwoo, he doesn't want to cross any of your boundaries so when you let go of his hand, he just offered you a smile before resuming what he's doing. but after a few minutes you're back to holding his hand again. you tried not holding his hand to see his reaction, you really did, but it's torture for you cause you're pretty sure he wouldn't mind not holding your hand for a long time and will just wait for you to hold his. unbeknownst to you, he's looking at you while you were spaced out thinking to yourself and squeezed your hand to get your attention before pulling you towards him using your interlaced hands. he'll plant a small kiss on the side of your mouth before asking, "where have you gone off to?"

DK. . . he knows you’re toying with him. you purposely move your hand to a position where he can’t hold it properly and honestly he dgaf. he’ll still hold your hand even if it’s in the most uncomfortable position and he doesn’t care if he sprains his wrist holding it. the type to also bend your fingers if you decided to straighten them up, you complain that it hurts? that’s your fault. if you hold his hand properly then you two wouldn’t be in this kind of situation. but honestly once you stop joking around and start holding his hand properly, he’ll give the back of your hand a kiss before pulling you into a tight hug.

MINGYU. . . you tried dodging his hand once, and you were left with a sulking mingyu to comfort. so when you tried it again for the second time, you didn't know what to expect. you two were watching a movie on the couch, you're practically laying on him so there's no reason to hold hands, right? wrong. the moment you let go of his hand he immediately bear hugged you and caged you underneath him, his head hidden on your neck as you laugh in amusement. no matter how many times you tell him to let go, he just responded with gibberish and cuddled closer to you.

MINGHAO. . . he's not a touchy person. he doesn't like being smothered a lot especially by other people. but he's okay with everything as long as it's you. when you refused to hold his hand, he'll start whining and when you call him out for whining, he'll whine about not whining while still reaching for your hand. he'll only act like that infront of you though, if there's people around and you refused to hold his hand he'll just look into your eyes deeply to convey his message but if for some reason you're not looking at him, he'll just stare at your face and hope that you'll feel him looking at you.

SEUNGKWAN. . . looks at you like you just told him you're breaking up with him. he'll attempt to hold your hand again and everytime you try to avoid it, his advances becomes quicker until the both of are full blown giggling and playing. he took it as a challenge and started chasing you around, demanding that you hold his hand, Bookkeu decided to join in the fun too and started running around as well until the household booms with your voices and his barks.

VERNON. . . he knows the game, it was all over his fyp when it was still trending and had a hunch that you might try it on him too. so when the two of you are walking around, he felt your hand slowly slipping from his grip and he just looked at you before he resumes walking. seemingly unbothered by what just happened. you on the other hand was shocked with the underwhelming reaction he just gave you as you stood still with your mouth open. it took him a while to sense that you're not next to him, so he looked back and saw you a few feet away from him with a shocked look on your face. he immediately bursts out laughing before walking towards you, apologizing in between laughter. you just looked at him with a small frown on your face but you still let him coddle you on your walk back home.

DINO. . . will ask why you let go of his hand and won't stop nagging you until you answer or until you give him your hand again. but if you genuinely don't want to hold his hand he'll just look at you and watch you, attentive to your facial expressions and body language because he may not show his affection through physical touch but he sure as hell can through being observant to your needs and wants. he'll stay by your side as an assurance that you may be irritated right now, but he won't ever leave your side even if you snap at him.

notes. i'm rusty. this is also not proofread.

masterlist

[withleeknow]

i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝

me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)

light years.

summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.

pairing: minho x f!reader genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p word count: 4.2k note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi

I'm not sure what it means to love But I blink kind of slow around you I'm not sure what it means to love But I'll grow wherever you do What that means, I don't have a clue

I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier

One.

Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.

While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.

Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.

And above all, he's got you.

You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.

You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.

Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.

"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"

What does he think?

Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.

Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.

It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.

In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.

You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.

Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.

Two.

Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.

Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.

But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.

He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.

It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.

As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.

He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.

Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.

He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.

"How did it go?" he asks gently.

You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.

"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."

Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.

You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.

Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.

Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.

"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."

Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.

I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.

But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.

"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."

Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.

Three.

Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.

To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.

You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.

He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?

He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.

You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.

You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."

"Please elaborate."

"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."

Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?

"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."

"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"

And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?

I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.

You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.

For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.

But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.

"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."

Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.

Four.

Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.

Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.

He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.

You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.

All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.

Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.

"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.

Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.

He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.

You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."

He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.

He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.

Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.

Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.

He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"

"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."

Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.

You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.

"What look?"

"You had a look."

"No, I didn't," Minho insists.

"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"

He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.

"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.

You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."

"What? I'm speaking from experience."

"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"

"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."

Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"

"How do you know they didn't come true?"

"Because..."

Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.

Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.

"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."

There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.

"No, what were you going to say?"

"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.

"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.

What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?

And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.

"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."

He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.

But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.

What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.

Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.

The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.

"I've waited for you long enough."

His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"

You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.

Then it all comes rushing out.

"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."

Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.

If you really love me too.

Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.

He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.

He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.

"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."

You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?

You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"

Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.

Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"

You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.

Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]

[zoieru]

Musings on a skin loving Boothill ~

Yeah, bath thoughts. They kept coming and I was like aaaaa write them down. cws: nsfw suggestions, nothing explicit, mentions boobs but could easily be pecks, Boothill's dodgy and excessively charming use of language, he feels.

Boothill who has become increasingly attracted to and fascinated by skin and flesh since he's become a cyborg, his own replaced with flexible but firm metal plating. Initially, he shrugged it off, the fleeting moments of interest he found himself having when encountered with some bare skin, his eyes lingering a touch longer than usual. He ain't got no muddle-fudgin' time for pond'rin that hodgepodge. But now he has you, a sweet thing he likes a bit too much, and who seems suspiciously receptive to his weird affections. So butter my fudge 'n' call me a biscuit he might as well indulge a little hm?

Freckles and moles ~ whenever they're visible, wherever, he finds himself a touch distracted. It's usually if you're relaxed together somewhere, on the bed, the couch, which isn't extremely often so it just increases the intensity of it. He'll run the smooth metal pads of his fingertips over the small darkened speckles of skin, bullseye pupil following the movements with a strange sort of determined affection. He doesn't have these, anymore, other than the ones on his cheek, and they're all the more beautiful to him because of it, small dots of cuteness. If he was some sappy forker like Argenti he would probably make some simile about the stars...or somethin' like that.

(addition, he'll get all blushy and awkward when you notice his fascination and you make a gentle comment about the small nicks and scratches on his metal being his freckles, and that you love tracing those too. He sees them in a whole new light when he takes a glance in the mirror, catching a curl on his lips before shaking his head and moving on. He's a tough guy you hear?)

The way it bends and curves around clothing, his fingers, anything ~ like I said his metal is flexible enough for him to move almost like normal. Enough to pull those way-too-attractive and very unnecessary poses as he shoots, or threatens to. But it doesn't act the same. It doesn't squish slightly under tighter clothing, making the skin puff ever so slightly either side of whatevers obstructing it's usual gorgeous curve. It doesn't leave indents afterwards either. And he loves the way yours does that, his metallic fingers twitching slightly with the urge to squish it himself.

(addition because HEHE ~ I like to think he's a boobs and an ass guy, well he's an all of you guy, tbh, but: he likes boobs the most, or tends to them, because they're in front when he's talking or doing other very fun things, and he can see the way they squish and bulge under his fingers easier.)

Spreading moisturiser onto you ~ okay, so he loves the way it squishes and moves under his touch. That naturally shifts to when he sees you spreading cream or any products you use on your skin, especially your body other than your face. He wants to watch the skin move subtly under his direct movements, the cream making his metal slightly slick and slide softly against you. It's so intimate, and often he's not even thinking about the sexual implications that could be applied here, just enjoying not only the feel and sight of your skin, but helping you do something, tending to you and your body which he adores.

Saying that, I think his perception of bodies might have shifted too. The man decided to change his own, seeing his body as a tool. And while it is deep rooted in survivors guilt and vengeance, I think it would have likely rubbed off on his perceptions of bodies in general. Now I don't think he'd view yours as a tool the way he does his, no. Quite the opposite perhaps. He sees it as almost a vessel for you, a 'temple' but in a practical sense. It's the thing that keeps you here, represents you, enables you. Therefore it must be looked after, treated with upmost care and respect, like a well used and well cared for piece of equipment, which it essentially is. But also not in a dainty goddess type of way, I feel. He's a strong man, a hardened one, taught respect for life and the strength and beauty of life, and taking it, from a young age. And he knows how quickly it can be taken away. So he sees your body that way, too, as strong, capable, but less so than his ol' metal one. Cute :3

Biting ~ okay back to the stuff that doesn't make me feel like crying - he likes to nom on your skin. The feel of it bending underneath his sharpened teeth, the act itself just being so him and cheeky. He won't hurt you, unless it's an accident or you ask him to, though he might need some convincing. But he just likes nibbling you like a puppy with their baby needle teeth. Is he teething permanently? Maybe. You don't mind.

Falling asleep on you and then tracing the faint imprints left by his plates ~ that's the point. He'll wake up all sleepy, you still tucked underneath him, and shift slightly, moving his arm or middle that was rested cosily onto you, the plates now warmed from your body heat, and notice the faint lines across your skin that the indents of his metal pieces left. There is a small cheeky flash of hehe-i-made-those in his little sleepy grin as he'll trace them with his fingers, trying not to wake you up.

Ultimately - the way your skin moves, the imperfections across it, the way it feels, they remind him you're alive. Something he felt he parted with a long time ago. And fudge me sideways he'd rather keep it that way.

[frostironfudge]

Rewrite Our Tale

Summary: I was playing around with this idea about Loki having a soulmate and her being lost to him because of his fate in the timelines and him seeing it all as the God of Stories. Canon divergent. Doesn’t follow canon at all.

Warnings: past in italics, angst, soulmate bonds, mentions of previous fate of loki’s character dy-ing

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

A.N: tbh I’m writing after a long time and I just wanted to put something on here cause I wanted to know what people think of this idea, I may continue it but for now this is like it

Masterlist

Silence. Deafening silence. Only broken by the tightening of a branch around its story. Then silence again. Sometimes he would forget to breathe, a God not needing anything. Breath, sustenance, what even were these mortal wants?

Aurora borealis surrounds him, the hues changing every few moments, seconds or minutes? He still hasn’t decided how time would move for his immortality.

He yearns, not for power no, that was a stupid goal. No matter how his destiny was written, he suffered.

Walking around the garden sowed around his version of Yggdrasil; the God reached the flowers his mother adored. Fingertips tracing the petals, softness wrapped around him.

There were other flowers he had planted.

Not using seidr but with his bare hands. There was something about these flowers, in a vision of his variants, this flower always was encased by his palms and then gently placed into the palms of another.

Her hands always hidden away, he knew soul bonds were a thing, markings that matched exactly.

He pauses, staring down at his hands, the torsion of branches had marked him. A pattern on his forearm. Starting between his thumb’s webspace snaking its way around his wrist and forearm ending at the elbow.

The life video Mobius had shown him did harbour her. His soulmate. How he met her during the battle of New York, commanding the Chitauri. A false ruler. A mere pawn in the larger game.

The building they first hijacked had her curled away in the corner. Frightened. Her eyes shifted as they met his iced blue. For a moment the noise, the screams seized to exist.

She watched his eyes return to their original green. Her hand held out, the marks that he grew up with, mimicked on her as well.

A gasp left him, he pulled her close. Flush against his chest.

“I’m sorry.” The first words he whispered, “It—, this is not who I am, you have to—,”

“You can right your wrongs.” She had cut him off, the soul bond creeping along their bones, stitching itself into their beings to bring them together.

The video continued to show his deception to his brother and father. A duplication casting spell done.

Loki had visited the universe, then. Curiosity had gotten the best of him. Wanting to know what it was to be accepted, despite being flawed.

He realised a few things, whatever his variant had disguised with his seidr to it worked on everyone but her. He had made sure she’d have the ability to see through his magick. So she could trust him. Know his intent behind the spell.

She’s a spellbinding woman he agreed. Carrying herself so elegantly. She worked from the house most days, going to volunteer at the animal shelter. Hair her form of expression it would tell him her mood or mindset.

A simple braid indicated tiredness, resulting in his duplicate to curl up with her.

An intricate french braid, she wanted her hair out of her face for baking or going to her gym.

Two tiny buns on her head, she was happy, it made her smile wherever she caught her reflection. It was his favourite.

Her beautiful locks open, worn natural? She was every bit the divine he would kneel for willingly.

Another visit more far off in time, when his death occurred.

It was during the formative phase of Thanos’ attack. She was there tucked behind several people. She was helping the Asgardians rehabilitate. While she was working in shelters and other spaces allowing her expertise.

The to be martyred Loki’s eyes were on her, she could feel his seidr around her. Tearful eyes blurring him and then clearing the memory that would haunt her.

“Close your eyes,” She weakly ordered the travellers. The parents covered the eyes of the children. Some even screwed their own eyes shut but Thor and her watched.

“No resurrections this time.” Thanos’ words were followed by five sounds.

A crack.

A shatter.

A thump.

Footsteps receding away.

A wail.

The wail parted Asgard’s remains. She saw Loki. Crumpled. Skin no longer vibrant.

Even if he was the God of Stories now that scene is what breaks him apart.

Her crying and pleading. Telling him he can stop pretending. That they were safe. He could return to her. Return to build their future. Together.

He wanted to alter the timeline but he knew he couldn’t, not with how this branch was supposed to take root.

“The mark’s gone .” One of the people whispered. Then more joined in. Even Thor’s heart broke because that was the sign your soulmate was dead and gone.

Thor wanted to offer comfort to the woman who he’d accepted as his younger sister in law. The way she brought out a facet of Loki he had hoped would shine earlier. He didn’t know what to say to the inconsolable woman.

The journey to earth would be painful.

Loki narrows his eyes at her forearm, he could still see the mark. So what was everyone on about?

The God of Stories pauses his hands tending to the flowers. He hadn’t visited that timeline in a long period of time that had elapsed.

Why could he still see the mark? Was this a common occurrence across all his deaths?

He dusted his hands off. Upon turning finding himself at the foot of his throne. A branch slithered towards him. Loki took it.

Every branch, each timeline. He could view the mark whereas everyone else couldn’t, he had to follow his soulmate.

Advancing through the time, he held his breath.

“Why can I still see it?” She traces the lines, “You’re out there aren’t you? You’re going to find me Loki.” Her hands move to whatever jewelled totem he had bestowed upon her.

Earrings, necklaces, bracelets. She held onto them and hope.

What the fuck had Kang done?

Was a variant of her supposed to escape into the TVA? If so why hadn’t Mobius said anything to him? It should have been similar to him. Did she not try hard enough to fight? Was her rebellion against the TVA pulverised each time? Was she lost?

For the first time since his coronation Loki feels sick to his bones. His soulmate was out there waiting for his return. Holding onto hope.

Each timeline had her, he needed to explore them all. He needed to know what became of her.

He needed to go back to see Kang.

Loki feels the branches wrap around his forearms. His sacrifice meant something. This control wouldn’t be relinquished. He had to know, he had to know her.

Protect her better.

Cherish her better.

He could conjure a second throne. They could rule together.

Selfishness ebbs at his selflessness.

Loki closes his green eyes, when he opens them. He’s back at Kang’s residence hours before Sylvie made the choice for them all.

“You’re early.” Kang tuts closing the hardbound book, turning to Loki. He hums.

Loki merely observes. It was better to allow Kang to reveal what he knew before using his own words.

“Ah, I see you’re late.” Kang smirks then, “What questions do you seek answers for, God of Stories? Have you come to ask why? Or is it something, or someone else?”

“You know what you have done.” The God perches himself on a chair.

“Yes; and look where that got you.” Kang gestures around and then to the vintage model of the milky way.

“I did not think you would play with soul bonds.” Loki comments drily.

“Just yours and maybe a few others, you were inevitable well some version of you. All this power why should you share it?” Kang resumes reading, “She has one triumphant variant as well, the way you have died and escaped, she shall too go through the same fate. However, you took over before it came into fruition.”

Fists clenched, the cuts from the branches reopening over his knucles, “You dare play games with a God?!” His voice bellows. Earlier grandeur colouring his nerves. The wounded ego aching to return with a vengeance.

“You lost her yourself, Loki. You must find her yourself. I had prepared it but you chose different. I do not control the crown that rests on your head. Tempting, however it may be.” The man chuckles, reopening the book. “Go on, there are no clues here. My death shall not be of aid either.”

Loki knew, no amount of torture, magick, time loops, and pleading with his own mind would be of aid. This was a riddle left for him to figure out.

The branches of time part, the portal softly moving the way leaves do in gentle winds. Loki stops himself, “Where was she to meet me?”

“Can’t trick a trickster, can I?” Kang sighs, “When she chooses a different path, the TVA would have brought her, you’d be the interrogator. Beyond that it would be you, her and your choices.”

Loki walks through the portal, the creaks of wood surround him. Wind whipping harshly at his cape.

He looks to her flowers as he ascends the throne.

[walkingnearfoxes]

The Right of the First Night (Homelander x Reader) - Part 2

I was talked into a sequel. 3.2k words. NSFW due to horny Homelander, questionable consent, and any HomelanderxReader fic should be NSFW tbh.

"Clean that shit up."

The Homelander leaves you where you were on the bed, closing the door behind himself and your husband. The last sight he had of you before leaving the bedroom, legs sprawled and tits rising with your labored breathing, deserved to be framed. That would be a fun thing to commission through Vought. But first things first.

He stands impatiently in the hallway as your husband scurries to the bathroom to wash his hands of his cum. When he's finished, the Homelander puts a hand on his shoulder to guide him down the hall and into the home office. He guides him with such a familiarity that an unknowing eye would think this was the Homelander's home, and not the other way around. 

The leader of the Seven stops your husband to stand in the middle of the office. He takes a moment to wander around the room as if he has all the time in the world. He notes the decorations with mild interest, chuckles at a framed award from Vought, and then looks back at your wide-eyed husband. He rolls his eyes. "Jesus, your heart rate’s like a hummingbird. I'm not gonna kill you. Don't think she would appreciate that very much."

Your husband swallows nervously and his hands twitch at his sides. "We won't tell anyone about this."

The Homelander snorts. "Of course you won't. That's not what we're here to talk about."

He steps closer and allows your husband to take a fearful step back. "Look, this is a unique situation. For you. You wouldn't believe the ladies dropping their panties for me after these galas. There was this one Fourth of July..." He drifts off momentarily, chuckles, then returns to the present. "Well. This is different. We're gonna be doing this again."

Your husband's face pales. "Again?"

“You a fucking parrot? Yes, again," The Homelander glances back at your bedroom and murmurs your name like a promise. "I don’t want her just once."

He looks back at your husband with a wide-mouthed grin. "It's your lucky day, pal."

He's entertained to see how quickly the fear in your husband's face shifts to anger. This man loves you so very much; it's cute. He even steps towards him, as if he had the slightest chance of causing a smidge of harm. "How is this lucky? My wife-"

"Your wife is on your bed drunk off my cock," The Homelander reminds him, his blue eyes glistening with a silent threat."I wouldn’t be surprised if you got sound complaints from her performance. You really think she's not gonna want to do this again?"

Your husband hesitates, and that's all the Homelander needs. He smirks and claps a hand on your husband's shoulder again. "Here’s the plan. I fuck your wife wherever I want, whenever I want." He pauses, shrugs his head back and forth and then continues. "Tell you what, I'll even have your salary raised for the trouble. You won't have to worry about expenses another day in your little lives. Deal?"

Your husband didn't make it this far in his career by being stupid. He knows there's no "deal" here. What Homelander wants, Homelander gets - and he wants you. Your husband will never say it aloud, but he knew this was coming. He knew it when the Homelander came to his office and commented on your picture on his desktop. He knew it when he saw the Homelander with you at the gala. Calling it a "deal" is a game that the supe immensely enjoys.

Your husband tells himself that he shakes the supe’s hand to keep you both safe. His agreement has nothing to do with the view he had of the Homelander fucking you on his bed.

~-~

You aren't mad at your husband. He didn't have a choice. That’s the phrase you both use when discussing this "arrangement." Neither of you had a choice, so you both quickly agreed to the Homelander's demands.

Those demands prove to be quite frequent. You never make it a week without the Homelander commanding for you. Sometimes, he'll call your husband when he's in a more patient mood. He’ll often just appear in your house to sate his appetites. The kitchen counter, the dining room table, the shower, your husband's desk - the Homelander is quickly using every home surface to make you scream for him.

He never forgets your husband. You figured out very quickly that this is part of the fun for him. The Homelander loves telling you to look at your husband while he's deep inside of you - and God help you if locking eyes with the love of your life across the room while the Homelander makes you come doesn't thrill you.

One morning, you're settling down for cereal when your phone buzzes. You glance down, raising a brow when your husband's number pops up. He had only left for work about 20 minutes ago. You read the text.

"His penthouse. 30 minutes."

You blink in surprise, your hand hovering over the phone before you send your reply.

"Isn't he in California?"

By this point, you were a connoisseur of Homelander news, and you could have sworn you saw him at a press conference in Los Angeles. Your husband connects that information with his following text.

"It didn't go well. Can you make it?"

Was the Homelander really able to fly so quickly that he's already back in New York? You had many logistical questions about his powers. You tried asking him about them once after three rounds in your bedroom. He started to answer you at the same time he curled three naked fingers inside of you. It wasn’t much of a conversation.

Back in the present, you let out a dry laugh at the phrase "can you make it.” Neither you or your husband had ever tried to deny the Homelander - mainly because you weren't sure you even could. Still, you kept up the pretense that you had agency as a couple or wouldn't come running when he called. You finish your breakfast, you feed the cat, you throw on a pair of jeans - the Homelander had commented more than once on how much he loved your ass in a pair of jeans - and you called a cab to Vought Tower.

You meet your husband outside of the Homelander's penthouse door. His smile is so gentle it almost hurts. He takes your hand and kisses your cheek. "You look beautiful."

You give him a gentle kiss in reply. "You get any work done today?"

"With the 20 minutes I had? No," He murmurs as he softly pulls you towards the door. "This...this is a bit more important."

He's raising his hand to knock, but the Homelander opens the door first. As always, he's in full uniform. You've only ever seen his hands or his cock out of costume. His hair is slightly disheveled, and when you glance inside, you see his balcony window is open. He must have flown in mere seconds ago.

"Finally," He mutters, stepping inside to allow you both in. "I'm gonna burn California to the fucking ground, I swear to God."

You glance at your husband, but step inside. It's not your first time inside of the penthouse. At first, it was bizarre to be fucked while surrounded by American memorabilia. You had trouble coming the first time, but the Homelander simply ate you out until that was no longer a problem. With your legs over his shoulders and your back against the floor-to-ceiling windows, you came next to a portrait of Theodore Roosevelt.

This time, the Homelander storms over to one of his couches. He has your husband's favorite coffee in a mug on the table. Nothing for you, but you have a feeling you won't be sitting for long. Still, as the Homelander sits with his legs spread and his arms along the back of the couch, you and your husband feel the need to sit on the sofa across from him. He seemed to favor a conversation before the fun began - as if he liked to imagine that all of this happened organically and not under a veiled threat.

"What happened?" Your husband asks as casually as he can. "I saw the Deep's ratings tank-"

"Don't even say that fucker's name," The Homelander growls and throws his head back. A few weeks ago, you would have been petrified at how bluntly he talks to your husband. Now, you've grown to realize that he enjoys talking to your husband on some level. He treats him almost like a colleague - a colleague who's wife he gets to fuck whenever he wants.

"You know why we were in California, right?" Homelander asks your husband.

Your husband frowns, maybe in concern or maybe in thought. "Promoting environmental conservation?"

"Save the god damn turtles," Homelander confirms with a dismissive scoff. "Vought needs the best superheroes in the world to stop people throwing their condoms in the fucking ocean? Give me a break."

He reaches down for his belt and undoes it while he continues to talk. "I'm trying to wrap up this waste of a PR stunt when the Deep starts going on and on about dolphins. Dolphins. God, I should've fried him on the spot. We all know he just wants to fuck them in the blowhole. Fucking idiot."

The Homelander's cock is fully out and in his hand now. He strokes it leisurely, one arm still lazily thrown along the back of the couch. He rolls his eyes before locking his gaze back on your husband. "Give it to me straight. How are his numbers?"

Your husband doesn't dare look down at the Homelander’s dick and God bless him, tries to keep his voice as steady as possible. "He...his percentages are up by about five percent in California but are starting to fall in the Midwest."

"Good," Homelander then looks at you for the first time since you arrived. "Get over here, sweetheart. I need that mouth."

You stand up slowly, but immediately. You kneel between his spread legs, your hands instinctively moving to rest on his upper thighs. You don't notice his slight grin at the casual contact. His fingers thread through your hair and he pushes you forward. He doesn't rush; his strength is a guide you can not ignore - even if you wanted to. You open your mouth and his cock settles against your tongue. He lets out a low growl of relief as you suck down. Without further prompting, you bob along with him at the slower pace you know he enjoys. He prefers his blowjobs to be slow and savory, or an absolute ravaging of your mouth that leaves your voice weak. Today, you judged his needs correctly, as his fingers sit curled in your hair. He lets you set the pace while he continues to chat with your husband.

"How are my numbers?" He asks. "I saw a dip southeast."

"That's taken care of," Your husband replies quickly. His voice dropping lower is the only indicator that he's watching his wife blow his boss. "It was a glitch."

Homelander's glove in your hair tightens, though he continues to let you choose the pace. "A glitch?"

Your husband speaks slower now as he chooses his words more carefully. "We have some new employees that coded the numbers incorrectly."

"What dumbass-Jesus Christ," He curses as you purposefully bring his cock as deep into your mouth as you can go. His irritation immediately fades to a grin, and he looks down at you. "You're gonna choke on me if you're not careful, honey."

You open your eyes to look up at him, and you're rewarded with his lips gently parting at the sight. He loves your eyes.

"How did you two meet?" The Homelander asks. You assume he's addressing your husband with your mouth so busy.

You can't see your husband, but you can hear his voice becoming strained. "A dating app."

"No shit," Homelander laughs as his hand begins to guide your movements. "Were you just looking for a good fuck?"

It takes a moment for your husband to respond. "It started casual, but-"

"But you couldn't stay away, huh?" Homelander chuckles darkly as he continues to watch you bob along his cock. "I don't blame you, pal. A lady that can suck dick like this is hard to keep away."

Without warning, he thrusts hard into your throat. You gag, instinctively trying to pull away, but his grip on the back of your head holds firm. You look up at him with panicked eyes as you choke, but he just gives you a gently shush. "Through the nose, baby," He purrs gently. "C'mon, we've been working on this."

You still fight for a moment on instinct, but you may as well not have moved at all with his grip on you. With little other choice, you still and breathe in through your nose. You see his grin through your eyelashes. "Atta girl."

He abruptly pulls you off of him and watches fondly as you gasp for air, your hands still clenched onto his thighs. When your breathing begins to even out, he tugs sharply at your hair. "Strip. Now."

He must've liked the clothes you picked; usually, he would have just torn them off. You strip yourself bare, tossing your clothing behind you. You use the opportunity to glance at your husband. Even from across the room, you see the tent in his trousers, but he isn't touching himself. Sometimes, and increasingly more often, he just likes to watch.

The Homelander's hand on your hip guides your attention back to him, and he gently pulls you to stand between his legs. Without warning, he uses his free hand to cup your cunt. The heel of his palm presses to your clit as two gloved fingers slip inside of you. You gasp loudly, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders.

"Fuuuuck," Homelander growls as he fingers you. He slides them out of you slowly but thrusts them inside, hitting that delectable spot inside of you that makes your legs quiver. "You've been soaked since you got here. You've been waiting for this, huh? Has our little cuck kept you waiting for this?"

His fingers speed up. His hold on your hip is the only thing keeping you upright. You open your mouth to reply, but cut yourself off with a moan. "Y-yes, he has..."

It's true. As your sessions with Homelander have increased, sex with your husband has started to decrease. Again, that unspoken language seems to exist between the two of you. Each of you ache for these moments with the most dangerous man in the world, and the waiting makes it more delicious.

The Homelander smirks and angles his thumb to press directly to your clit. "Do you like that? The waiting?"

You nod eagerly. "God, yes."

He abruptly removes his hand and chuckles at your whine of disapproval. He pats his thigh. "No more waiting, pumpkin. Come sit on Daddy's cock."

You don't hesitate. You shift your balance forward to straddle him and slowly sink yourself onto him. His smile widens to show teeth as you cry out in pleasure; you don't wait for his word before you start riding him slowly as you adjust to his size.

"That's it, take what you need..." He purrs and leans forward to brush his lips along your neck. He finds your most sensitive spot with ease and bites down, his sharp teeth digging in enough to make you wheeze. He soothes the bite with his tongue, humming quietly against your skin before coming off with a pop. "There you go, a pretty little hickey to remind you who you belong to."

He moves both his hands to your hips, but does nothing to help you. As you ride him, he looks over your shoulder at your husband. "Who's the asshole that fucked up the numbers?"

Damn it. He hadn't forgotten.

When your husband hesitates, Homelander lands a smack on your ass hard enough to bruise. You gasp loudly, unconsciously clenching down on him. He grunts and tightens his grip on your hips as he keeps on talking to your husband. "Whoever the fuck they are, you're firing them. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Your husband says immediately.

Homelander thrusts up into you. "You’re both too damn noble, you know that? Protecting noname fucktards?" He wraps a hand in your hair and tugs you down to level your face with his. "They wouldn't do that for you. The only one who can protect either of you is me."

You reply by kissing him hungrily. It's a mess of a kiss with the taste of him still on your lips, and you feel him stiffen in surprise. But then, he kisses you back with an intensity that takes your breath away. He flips you like you weigh nothing, your back landing on the couch. He's over you an instant with one hand groping your breast and the other curling around your throat.

"You're mine," He growls, low and heated, as he thrusts his cock back into you. He sets a relentless pace that has you keening and arching into him; it's an inhuman assault to that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

"Go ahead and come, baby," He purrs against your lips. "You're allowed."

You whimper, and with a few more thrusts, you climax. Your legs quiver around his hips, and it's enough for Homelander to finish along with you. He murmurs your name like a prayer against your lips, his hand lightly squeezing your throat as he works you both through the climax.

"God, I needed that," He mutters. He sits up slowly and looks down at you, his expression almost fond. "You alright?"

You shakily nod as you rest your feet on the couch. "I can't feel my legs."

Homelander chuckles and slowly pulls out of you, both of you letting out a quiet grunt at the release. "Go shower," He says, gesturing lazily down the hall with a wave of his hand. "We're not done yet."

You nod and slowly stand up. He lands another hard smack against your ass that nearly has you stumbling forward. You don't dare turn around when he laughs and instead limp your way to his luxurious shower.

Homelander keeps his eyes on you until you disappear into the bathroom. "She's on birth control, right?"

Your husband, fully hard, nods his head. "Y-yes."

Homelander's face is unreadable. The twitch of his smile could easily mean he's relieved or disappointed. "Well, wouldn't be the first time that meant fuck all...does she like it up the ass?"

Your husband sputters. "S-she-"

"How are you still getting so nervous around me, buddy?" Homelander laughs as he stands up and tucks himself back in his pants. "Haven't I earned a little trust here? I'll never do something she doesn't like."

He folds his hands behind his back and tilts his head. "Now, you go fire that little cocksucker in analytics. Think I'll go check on the Mrs."

[jeon-ify]

on live - nakamoto yuta

pairing: yuta (nct) x female reader *

a/n: hello!! this is my first nct smut!! ofc its gonna be of my bias????? yuta is rlly hot in this one and hes super super dom and mean but recently ive been into cnc (its a trauma response or a coping mechanism mannn idk) and i had a dream about yuta last night so i think this would be THE ONE! this might be my most toe curling and nastiest and most graphic smut i’ve ever written and tbh i love it 😁

in which yuta fucks you and makes you touch yourself on camera for him to watch while he’s on tour.

warnings: swearing, dom!yuta x sub!reader, unprotected sex (yeee a big no no) mentions of tossing out birth control (ib @justaaveragereader ), yuta calls reader a bitch, slut, whore, cnc!play, sextape in the making, pussy slapping, titty slapping and sucking, face slapping, spit play, breeding kink, female anatomy, she/her reader, some?jaehyun? sex on live, if i missed anything lmkk

genre: smut, dark romance

mdni. 18+

enjoy nasties

“wait, why are you buying lingerie? isn’t yuta leaving in like 3 days?” your friend asks you as you both decided to shop around for a set of lingerie to prepare for a film that your boyfriend was oh so excited to make.

as you both walked through the last couple of aisles, you find a gorgeous black and pink set. you already knew yuta would go insane over it, already imagining the different positions and scenarios he’d play out for you.

lately, yuta’s been into cnc play. something that he was so unsure and insecure about; but when the topic came up, he brought it up to you. you were always open to trying new things with yuta, as long as you both knew where you stood, and that there was a line.

“girl come look, oh my god…” you hold up the piece for you friend to see, watching the way her eyes shift to the corset area.

“good luck walking normally for the next week. he’s gonna fuck your brains out!” she says, almost too loud for the crowd.

you pick out your size and check out to head home. you throw your bags in the car, finally getting a chance to text your man.

my yuta 🤍: hey baby, i’m on my way home. i’m gonna stop at target really fast

my yuta 🤍: are you home?

y/n: hi baby!!!!!!!!! i’m not home yet

y/n: i’m almost there tho

my yuta 🤍: okay gimme like 20 minutes bb

y/n: okay :3

you pull into your driveway, grabbing your things and rushing inside to hurry into your new set. you quickly showered and did your hair, spraying it to hold the wet hair look. you rubbed on body oil followed by a body shimmer, yuta’s favorite thing you do. you sprayed perfume on your ankles, wrists and neck, wherever yuta would be closest to you.

you also put on a touch of makeup, as yuta loved when you wore makeup, just so he can watch it run down your face when he fucks your throat.

after 20 minutes of getting yourself ready for your man, you unlock the front door, running up the stairs for yuta to see you waiting on your knees in the middle of the bed. you calmed your breathing, nervousness clouding your entire body when you hear the front door slowly open.

the front door was never unlocked unless something was going on— and this had yuta’s blood rushing, knowing you were home with the door open already for him.

“baby? i’m home, why’s the door unlocked?” he yells for you, getting no answer— expecting him to walk upstairs looking for you. you hear him putting some bags down, listening to the jingling of keys and shoes being thrown around.

“my love, i’m not playing this game.” he sighs. you hear him finally walking up the stairs, blood rushing to your ovaries and making your head spin in excitement. he opens your bedroom door, taking in the view before him. you’re on your knees in the middle of the silk covered king bed, with a pink maid lingerie set on, your wet hair almost coming down to your breasts, shifting with every deep breath you take.

you hurriedly finish setting up the camera on the chair across from bed, making sure your hair and outfit looks perfect— if you’re posting this on twitter, it has to be astounding.

you rush to get back into position, hearing yuta’s footsteps approaching. he nears the room, leaving the door completely open. his gaze darkens, curiosity at the scene before him is making his cock hard. he can only wonder what’ll happen next.

“fuckin’ hell. this what you were doing? look at you, pretty girl. is this new?” he walks up to you, reaching for the straps on your fabric, admiring the way your clean skin is perfectly suited by the set you’ve had on.

“all for you, baby. wanted it to be a surprise when you got home. i remember you mentioned you wanted to try cnc, so i got excited.” you breathily laugh. yuta’s fingers run up your neck and down to the valley of your breasts.

“yeah? good memory, baby. what do you say i rip this off you and pound your pretty cunt, hm?” his long hair bounces off his shoulders when he stands up and undresses himself. slides off his white top, his black trousers following suite.

he doesn’t notice the camera at first, but when he catches you looking at the phone on the chair every 20 seconds to make sure it hasn’t fell, his cock (impossibly) gets harder and harder.

“yuta, aren’t you tired from work?” you pretend to push him away from you, but yuta doesn’t budge. he leans over your smaller figure, planting a kiss on your forehead.

the smell of his car is what’s following his body, the new car scent making your head spin. the cologne he wears makes compliment to his aesthetic, edgy and mysterious— with notes of tobacco and ocean breeze. you catch a tiny bit of vanilla as he moves away from you. the mix of fragrances makes your mind fuzzy.

“never too tired to fuck you,” he continues demandingly, cupping your jaw to get a better view of your nervous look. his shoulders are tense and you notice the sweat beginning to form around his chest. “no, yuta. i don’t want to,”

“don’t fight me baby. you’re only making this worse for yourself,” his large hands press your back down onto the mattress, spreading your thighs to kiss around your heat. his teeth magically unbutton the body suit you struggled to clasp together. amazed, you moan out when you feel his teeth graze your cunt through your thin lace panties. he pushes your thighs apart as he kisses and licks you through the thin material.

letting go of your legs, he rips your panties off and licks a long stripe from the top to the bottom of your clit. he sucks at the sensitive area, whimpering and gasping at the taste of you.

your pussy clenches and convulses around his tongue while your thighs attempt to shut around his long haired head. his brown hair is damp with sweat, using his free hand to brush his hair back. he bites at your clit, making your legs twitch. “yuta, stop— please,” you whimper with watery eyes while your orgasm threatens to approach.

he only groans in response, sucking harder and flicking his tongue faster up and down your entire cunt. your orgasm approaches; you release all over the area where a beard would sit.

his stronger hands make impact with your pussy, your body jolting in response. “stop fucking moving. i’m gonna use you how i see fit, am i clear, y/n?”

“but i-“

“but i don’t care. don’t make me tie you down.”

his dark eyes lock into yours, making your heart jump in fear and excitement for what’s about to come. your legs force themselves open while yuta strokes himself slightly and lines his cock up with your soaked, sore cunt. in one thrust, he’s all the way in, giving yourself no time to adjust. he places his hand on your mouth to block out all sound from you. “yeah, keep that fuckin’ mouth shut. only thing you’re good for is this pussy.”

he lands another sharp slap on your cunt, making you cry out. your back arches upward and you could’ve swore you just saw your brain from how hard your eyes rolled back. “gonna toss out your birth control and fill you up every. fucking. day.” with every word, he pulls out completely, then thrusts harder back into you. your body shivers and your toes curl at the contact. with your back arched up, he takes the opportunity to remove his hand from your mouth and undo your entire set, stripping you completely naked.

after he’s satisfied with the scene before him, he slaps your right tit, then your left, then the right. the muscle turns red and you wince out in pain. he leans down to suck and lick at the area, earning a gasp from you.

“don’t cum in me, please!” you beg. you absolutely need him to breed you— it’s a staple in your’s and yuta’s sex life. it wasn’t sex if he didn’t full you up by the end of it.

“shut the fuck up. the last time i checked, sluts like you don’t care about getting pregnant, hm? they just sleep around and wait for someone to empty their cum into their loose pussies, yeah? that what you are?”

“n-no.” your eyebrows furrow in anger at the words he throws at you. the expression on your face doesn’t match the expression your pussy displays. you’re throbbing and swallowing him in, unknowingly cumming around him for the -nteenth time.

“yeah, you are. say it with me.” his tone softens as he talks you through the most vulgar words, waiting for you to say the words.

“i’ll call someone if you don’t let me go.”

“who are you gonna call, darling? the cops? i’ll make them watch.” he slaps the left side of your face, leaving a red handprint on your glossy skin.

“open your legs. don’t make me repeat myself,” you force your shaky legs open while yuta continues his assault on your sore pussy. the lewd moans he lets out makes your head fuzzy. “so fucking tight. even after i fucked you for hours,”

his thrusts slow, then they continue at a rough and fast pace. his fingers are hooked into the right side of your mouth like a dental clamp. your teeth are covered in your own arousal.

he repositions the both of you to where you’re both facing the camera. he cups your jaw, making you watch him fuck you through the camera. you connected your phone to the tv, so you’re both seen on the screen.

“say hi to your fans, bitch. we’re on live.”

somehow, yuta managed to switch to a livestream, the comments being flooded with a sweaty face emoji and thirsty comments. he pounds into you while you’re both whining and whimpering, holding your hair back to push you deeper onto his length.

“n-no, yuta, let me go!”

you’re cut off by a sharp slap on your ass. “one more chance. say hi.”

“h- fuck, i can’t!”

you watch the views go up dramatically, while yuta smiles manically.

12.7M VIEWS

3.7M COMMENTS

1.27M GIFTS

cznniehoe: man im tryna get my coochie stretched too

johnnysuh: no sharing?

jaehyun: hot

marklee: dude this is so hot

taeil: bro what let me get some

taeyong: BOW BOW BOW BOW BOW THATS THAT BOOTY MEAT

the views only increase, making your heart clench at nervousness.

“say hi to jaehyun for me.”

“i can’t—“ another slap to your right ass cheek, already forming a bruise. he pulls you off of him, watching yours and his cum drip down his cock and your thighs. “h-hi jaehyun,”

jaehyun: hello pretty girl

“there you go. wasn’t so hard was it?” yuta leans over to grab the camera and angle it at your face. it’s at selfie level as you stare at your own arousal on your face and the mascara on your cheeks. your lips are puffy and red with strands of hair on your face.

you look like yuta’s bitch.

[kazooiey]

My versions of Relativity Scalene & Euclid :] (edits/additions are bolded)

(Second drawing is the more recent one)

For my version of Relativity Falls, I really liked the ideas that people put out about scalene and Euclid, so I sort of took that concept and ran with it. Here are some Thoughts I had, if u wanna use em for ur own rf versions then go wild!!! Just tell me that you’re using them because I love to see other people’s interpretations of this au :)

I really liked the idea that someone else had of them sort of being physically “together” in a sense (this, where they are back-to-back(made by @fungalscrungle)). the idea of them being so codependent they actually sort of became “one” was really interesting, but I messed with it a bit more and ended up with them both shaped in a way that they can “snap” together like magnets. They are actually two separate entities, but they are joined at the hip in the most literal sense to the point that they are constantly at each other’s side

they are all that remains of their dimension. They're all the other has. Over the billions and billions of years their shapes began to shift to fit together

They are usually called “The Ciphers” by everybody else

They both have little pieces of one another, which I decided were the Euclidean version of wedding rings. Idk it seemed fitting for Bill’s parents to “carry a piece of the other wherever they go” but literal. He’d probably think it’s romantic to have a piece of your partner’s body at all times, and… these are his parents.

Scalene is the one on the left, she’s the “mother”, and Euclid is the one on the right, he’s the “father”. Considering their dimension has 14 billion different genders, I like to think that they decided to emulate the "perfect parents" to seem “friendlier” to humans

Actually their whole vibe really revolves around that.

They REALLY give off 1950’s nuclear family suburban white couple vibes in the way they talk, like “hey honey! How about we mentally torture this human today?” “I thought you’d never ask, pumpkin!” Because those always seem threatening to me. It’s the sanitization, the perfection, the blank smiles that show just a bit too much teeth. The “perfection” to the point of inhumanity, you know?

And that sort is is the opposite of what gravity falls embodies, isn’t it? Like being ur authentic weird self vs. being a perfect version of you that hides anything different

Euclid is more methodic and calm, meanwhile Scalene is sweet, but it’s a cover for a lot of the same manic instability that bill had, LIKE THE 50’S HOUSEWIFE STEREOTYPE.

these vibes are a product of how they were raised. Repression personified, sort of idealized "American Dream" type nuclear family or whatever. Loved the 50's for this exact reason, and it was their most active decade. Their influence is probably the reason the "nuclear family" subculture even exists

Their dynamic can essentially be summed up as “She kills ppl, he hides the bodies.” True love💖

When they possess someone, maybe since there’s two of them doing it at the same time, the person’s brain starts to overheat or get damaged, since there’s not enough space for them.

In relation to Dipper, I absolutely ADORE the idea that @amissamidstthemist had (here). LIKE YES!!!! They WOULD have a sort of “parental bond” with Dipper! That is SO PEAK!

They would like baby him and praise him and Euclid would ruffle his hair and Scalene would call him affectionate names.

Not only do they tap into his loneliness when it comes to that, but they also tap into his paranoia, make him believe everybody else is out to get him. He can only rely on them. “TRUST NO ONE!” (This actually is them just making a trait dipper already has worse, but one day I think i’ll touch on that)

For their backstory, I don’t know if anyone else has thought of this(someone probably has tbh) but for me they probably tried to see the stars for their son and because of that destroyed their dimension and their son with it(ow.)

BECAUSE OF THIS, they actually begin to get attached to Dipper, because he reminds them of their son, and constantly compare him to their son.

They treat Dipper a bit like the Other Mother treated Coraline.

OKAY I THINK THAT’S ALL. UH. ENJOY I GUESS LMAO

[princess-of-the-corner]

With certain popular headcanons I get it and even go *throw up arms*Headcanon Accepted! Like Trans Adrien, Luka, Juleka, or Sabrina? Nice. I see more for Adrienne than TransGirl Sabrina, but it could be done.

ADHD, Anxiety, or Autistic ML? Yeah Marinette for sure has anxiety and Kagami could be Autistic (hate the Senti-retcon making them look like they were treating her as NotHuman being why rather than her environment or her mother’s overprotectiveness)

Lesbian Chloé though, not as much. I honestly believe she had a crush on Adrien, but not as a straight person either. Like, I really like the idea of her being on the Ace Spectrum. Her being Demi-Sexual Pan-romantic specifically. She knew Adrien since they were little and felt like she knew him, but once she realizes she doesn’t know him as well as she thought the attraction diminishes. With the media coverage and repeatedly being saved by Ladybug Chloé developed a hero worship crush which feeds of off parasocial structure; which also changes as Queen Bee works alongside Ladybug and learns more about her.

TLDR: Chloé only gets real crushes on people she thinks she knows well.

Tbh yeah like.

Honestly in general my ace ass ends up writing ace characters lmao.

But also while I write Chloé and Adrien pretty platonically, I do think lines blur a bit and shift as they go. Like when they're little it's "yeah I love them!!!" Then currently as teens it's "I probably thought it was love because Trauma(tm)/they were the only one I was close to/they were the only 'safe' option/etc. So im gonna consider us aggressively platonic", but as they sort out their issues and such it blurs into something else entirely. Kinda the line between queerplatonic and romance but at a chill "wherever the cards fall" way?

Also re: specifically lesbian: while I do have Chloé often lean toward liking women, I do have rare male ships for her. But "labels are for peasants" so I just say "Queer"

[orion-nottson]

the comet did not reply | tfp!megatron x reader

A/N: my dualities of man: megatron smut and megatron angst 💀 this one’s literally crazy insane among us balls tbh so please proceed with caution if you choose to read!!! heed the warnings!

also, megatron probs comes across as a lil ooc in this, considering the ~premise~ i establish in the story (you’ll understand if you read it 😈) but for realsies i really really did try to keep him in-character/in-line with how he’d act/react in this scenario!! 😭

title is inspired by a line from and also with you by natalie shapero.

summary: you’re old, weary, and it’s hard to fight a war when you feel like you’re losing. and the mech you once loved love leads the other side.

content: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, DARK, cybertronian!reader, gn!reader, suicidal ideation, past relationship, break up, lovers to enemies, referenced infidelity, war, violence, injury, major character death, no happy ending

word count: 4,925

~ * ~ * ~

~ * ~ * ~

Wherever you are on Earth, it’s raining. Again. It’s the fourth mission in a row that it’s been raining. The warm water patters rhythmically on your armor, wetting your wiring and gathering in seams and joints. Shifting on your peds, the grass and soil beneath sink in that strange, soft way that you’re still not quite adjusted to. Organic planets are peculiar and always will be.

Back on Cybertron, “rain” wasn’t composed of water, but of highly corrosive, abrasive acids that could eat away at a Cybertronian’s frame if they chose to stand in it for too long. Which never happened, because most ‘bots had the common sense (and innate fear) to run for cover once city-state alarms were sounded.

Once, when you were barely out of your protoform, you had gotten sprayed with the “rain” and it left shallow, yet surprisingly painful, grooves on your back struts.

Lifting a servo, you watch Earth’s tiny, harmless beads of nothing more than oxygen, hydrogen, and occasionally elements such as nitrogen and sodium, collect at the divots and seams of your palm or drip off the points of your digits. Mesmerizing little pearls, leaving shimmering trails, careless and directionless.

“Ratchet, I am at location. It seems undisturbed, but if I don’t report back in a breem, I may require assistance.” You say across the comm, still watching the rain make rivers of you. After a beat, the old medic replies with a gruff and secretly worried, “Affirmative”. Then you disconnect the line and it’s silent— save for the rain— once again.

Scanning your surroundings, you take note of your location at the base of a sloping mountain to your left, the break in the forest right before it, and the expanse of wilderness all around you. You’d have better coverage with the trees, so you stick to the treeline, quietly marveling at how, despite your towering height, they are still taller than you. 

In the air, the droplets mess with your sensors— not nearly as bad as falling snow does— and the reduced accuracy in spatial awareness and cloaking raises your guard. If you had a partner with you (especially Smokescreen or Bumblebee), you’d be doubly cautious for them, but this is an increasingly more common instance where a member of Team Prime is sent alone for a mission.

If you were truthful, you didn’t mind it. Silence was becoming more and more a treasure to you, and you’d admit you began to almost frantically seek it out. It was too hard now to be... around others. Being present, having to act as if nothing is so fundamentally wrong, pretending for the morale of the team— It makes you want to crash your own drives so hard it takes a week for them to reboot.

Yes, isolation is easy, it’s kinder. Being alone with your thoughts is easier than being in a room full of people— All talking, all watching— where you have to squash them deep down, down where each terrible, horrible thought festers in the circuitry of your processors like a virus. It pains you to no end that you can never tell anyone this, but this is war frag it— Who isn’t suffering?

A heavy, nebulous weight settles in your spark like an all-consuming void, where it started aching vorns ago and seems to have grown only larger. System diagnostics find little physically wrong, usually just slightly elevated Energon circulation, so you know it’s all psychological. The thought doesn’t help. 

Being so lost in your helm made you forget your purpose here, a living-metal titan amongst trees beneath a steady rainstorm. The Energon locator in your servo bleeps rhythmically, faster when you angle it towards the mountain. That’s where a deposit probably is, though that means there may be Decepticons as well.

A passing thought of requesting back-up crosses your mind, and you dismiss it— Along with Optimus’ inevitable disappointed reprimand should you get into trouble— faster than an optic blink. You’d be able to hold your own against Vehicon drones.

And it is a tremendous effort to ask for help; You don’t speak that language anymore. Haven’t for eons. Especially not from Optimus, whose optics are always sad when he looks at you.

At least it’s raining. In the short time you’ve been on Earth, you learned to like the rain.

~ * ~ * ~

At the far side of the mountain from where you emerge from the forest, the rock opens into a jagged cave entrance. Crouching behind an outcrop of stone, you survey the open area and see no immediate signs of Decepticon activity. Waiting a few clicks, listening to the soft rain, you stand up and hastily cross the small distance to the cave. Hiding at the mouth of it, you peek past the edge.

Dark, damp, and most importantly lifeless, the cave looks like it hasn’t been touched in some time. You check the locator as you step inside, a blip on the screen confirming Energon a little ways in. The light of the device illuminates the cave walls, though with your specialized optics, the darkness doesn’t negatively affect your vision.

As you walk, the cave tunnels seemingly endlessly, winding occasionally but steadily declining as you find yourself going deeper and deeper into the Earth. Eventually, the layers of sediment will afflict the range of your communications, and you’d have to turn back. Or continue and be cut off. 

You weigh your options. Your pedsteps don’t stop.

A break in the tunnel reveals a more open area, where a cave fractures into multiple systems of shafts that stretch in all directions. Stalagmites sporadically rise from the ground, uneven and glistening with calcium deposits. The Energon locator pings, telling you that there is a deposit somewhere beneath the clusters of mineral ore.

Somewhere, cave water drips from the ceiling and lands with soft plinks! into puddles scattered across the wet rock ground. It’s not perfectly rhythmic like the rain on the surface, but you suppose it’ll do.

plink!

You count to three, audials straining to listen.

plink!

Two this time. You shudder.

plink!

Four. It is so quiet down here, you think, I want it to be quiet forever.

plink!

In a barbaric shift in volume level, the tell-tale sound of a groundbridge crackling to life behind you sets you immediately on edge. You whip around, making short work of the three Vehicons that appear from the swirl of light, getting them each with a blaster shot. Respite wouldn’t follow, as the large, foreboding frame of the Decepticon Lord himself strides from the groundbridge just as it flourishes into nothingness behind him.

In the sheer darkness, Megatron looks like a living shadow, no light reflecting off his silver armor except the slimmest amount from the glow of your optics and weapons. His optics shine menacingly, bright enough to bathe the nearest rocky formations in red. It wouldn’t be something that any other ‘bot would catch— barring Optimus— but the brief flicker of genuine surprise that crossed them is almost too much for you to handle. He hasn’t been this close to you in vorns.

Briefly, the sight of him conjures another vision in your processor— One of being within the gloomy underbelly of the Pits of Kaon, of being introduced to a determined, yet kind, gladiator, of his optics aflame, twin stars in the dark—

— Then, the last time you saw him up close: A gladiator scorned, storming from the Council in Iacon that just renamed Orion Optimus Prime, the silver mech filling with dark, dark resolve—

You return to reality almost painfully, ignoring the deep, throbbing hurt in your chassis— An internal diagnostic check reveals nothing physical. The mech that stands before you looks similar to the one you knew eons ago, but this mech is changed. His faceplates have hardened. He’s darker, more violent. Similar, but different.

It’s a sobering thought to realize you’ve become much the same.

“Megatron.” His name passes your dermas harshly, like saying it was sharp and jagged enough to tear up your intake. You slowly lift your still-smoldering blasters, flipping one to your sword instead. Megatron takes up an untroubled demeanor, lifting an optic brow in a grand display of supposed boredom. His true intentions are divulged by the cruel glint in his red optics. On guard, you adopt an offensive stance, bristling.

He says your name like it’s meant to please you, like nothing ever happened between the two of you, and it makes you feel sick to your fuel tanks. Why did it come to this, you beg yourself and find no answer, seeing again that kind-sparked gladiator of Kaon, but now a warlord stands before you. Nonchalantly, Megatron regards his slain soldiers and dismal, claustrophobic surroundings then speaks, “It has been quite some time since our paths last crossed so... intimately.”

“Keep that word from your mouth.” You snap without thought, too blinded by the rage and hurt and regret to act reasonably. Memories become insinuated, memories you once found fond that now you can’t look back upon without flinching. It breaks your spark, makes the void grow larger, but you box them away and hide them in that deep, dark place to rust.

When Megatron’s sword slides from his armor with a clean hiss, you realize you are pitifully, utterly alone. Dread creeps in through the same cracks as guilt does.

“Are you truly so quick to discard our history?” The silver mech asks, dermas twitching up into a smirk that brandishes his pointed denta. It’s a visceral feeling to see familiar features you once loved bastardized, to see the softer parts of him sharpened enough to harm. Barely contained shudders threaten to disarm you as your processor is unforgiving in letting you forget.

I remember so much, you beg, Allow me to not, just this once.

“I washed my servos of you eons ago.” You lie breathily, as you remember the phantom touch of his servos tender and warm against your armor. Places where he once held you burn, fires igniting all across your frame like tiny volcanoes of sparkache and sorrow.

“A shame. You once promised yourself to me.” Megatron drawls, and the glint in his red optics is cruel as the familiar tickling at your spark, a sensation that was once new and curious and that you both tested on each other, rouses awake like an old god from their eons-long slumber, shaking off the dust of vorns of dormancy and misuse. The connection is near instantaneous, near overwhelming, as you feel him enter your spark. Megatron’s sudden emotions of righteous fury and long-withheld grief are unwelcome visitors to your processors.

He is reopening your sparkbond. 

And as a weapon against you.

“How dare you.” You seethe, coolant tears gathering at the edges of your optics, your spark aching in your chassis. Megatron no doubt senses your turmoil, but your servos quiver so hard you feel no satisfaction from the knowing wince that crosses his faceplates. Bonds go two ways after all.

Then:

/No— How dare you./ Megatron sends the scathing message across the bond, his gravelly voice ringing somehow in your spark and not your audials. It has you gasping, blinking back tears, the burn of his voice branding rather than comforting. It’s been so long since you’ve heard him in this way.

“Do not act as though you are blameless.” Megatron snarls, and all the bond chants is Betrayal! Betrayal! Betrayal! as it throbs with his vengeance and pain. The accusation is hefty enough to shake you from your self-loathing and pity so that those ugly feelings get replaced by anger, which is easier than all of them. Rage hot beneath your chassis, you make sure to flood the bond with it.

“Betrayal? You don’t know the meaning of the word.” You hiss, the word’s mention wanting to make you laugh and weep, “We were not the ones that turned the revolution into tyranny! We didn’t cause Cybertron to die—”

“We! Precisely that!” Megatron exclaims angrily, and the words conjure images of Optimus Prime, of what your estranged conjunx believes you to have done with the Prime— flashes of curious, black servos, foreign dermas upon your own, promises made under guilty moonlight and secrecy— and your spark sinks deep, deep into your fuel tanks. Optics blown wide, you barely manage a horrified, “I never.”

/Have you?/ Distrust, cynicism, vexation.

“Pray tell, why else would you choose him over me?” Megatron jeers harshly, and it hurts to see the pain written across his faceplates as clear as a sunny day.

“Because I didn’t know who you had become!” You cry, gesturing vaguely as terrible memories start to resurface from the deep, dark place you ensnared them in, memories of Megatron after Optimus gained his title, of a glowering mech taking up arms under the name of the Old Guild, the birth of the Decepticons.

There were so many nights of fighting, of arguments that eventually forced you to make the terrible, spark-breaking decision to walk away from your conjunx as all that you fought for collapsed.

/And into the awaiting arms of Optimus Prime./ Bitterness. Contempt.

“NO!” You howl like some wounded Earthen animal, and you never used to be a violent person, yet here you are, charging with a sword drawn at your own sparkmate. A battle cry tears out of you like a demon let free, and you lunge at Megatron swinging your sword, the blade clashing against his with a metallic bang. A litter of sparks fly off the collision, more when your swords drag against one another, and you slide back defensively as you avoid a slash from him. Megatron sneers as his blade meets air, but gloats when his fist collides with your side.

You fly back, the shriek escaping your dermas abruptly stopping when you hit the stone wall. Pain receptors flare, a system diagnostic finding nothing severe enough that you’d worry. Just as you collect yourself, you dodge Megatron’s blade and he’d thrust it with enough impact that it imbedded itself in the rocks. As he struggles to free his arm, you swing your fist at his helm, connecting with his jaw, causing him to stumble on his peds.

This has the unfortunate side effect of dislodging his blade, and the silver mech wastes no time in charging you again. He roars, his hefty blade colliding with yours so intensely it sends shockwaves up your arm. You grunt, losing your footing, fully understanding now just how competent a gladiator Megatron was, and just how strong Optimus is to be able to best him.

“You know you are no match for me.” Megatron says as if he’s heard all of your thoughts— Which he probably has, in a sense. You glare at him and while your helm says I know, I don’t plan on winning, your mouth retorts headily, “You’ve never been one to be fair regardless.”

Swords clash, a kick is attempted, a fist is swung, you sail back hard against the wall— Again. Stone crumbles and falls around you, rocks bouncing off your armor and leaving knicks in your paint. Before you can stand, Megatron seizes your neck cables with surprising speed, and your groan warbles in your intake as he squeezes your vocal processors.

Pain flares as the silver mech heaves you to your peds by your neck, clawed digits digging into Energon lines at the base of your helm. Megatron is beaming widely as your gaze locks onto his, anger wild and crazed in his blazing optics. Your servos fly to his arm— At impact, your frame automatically disarmed— digits gripping at unforgiving silver armor. Your bond weeps in pain and terror, Megatron fights to meet it with indifference and coldness.

“Do not speak to me about fairness. It never existed on Cybertron, and it certainly doesn’t exist now.” The silver tyrant drops you like you’ve repulsed him, your peds nearly giving out as you manage to steady yourself. He has half the mind to look as though he’d strike you again, but he doesn’t. At Megatron’s side, his sword shivers, and with a twang! it retracts back into subspace like he wanted to keep it out and his body refused him.

“I cannot kill you.” He says after a beat of silence, while you barely manage to keep your footing, leaning heavily against the stone all around you. 

“Our— The bond won’t allow it.” You reply dryly, not looking at your conjunx, delicately touching your now-aching neck cables. The metal beneath is warm with pain, but not unbearable. 

“Then we find ourselves at an impasse.” Megatron’s stare bores holes straight to your spark.

“So we do.” You shrug, as if you could relinquish yourself of his gaze.

Megatron laughs then, humorlessly and clipped. His stare is a low glower, the type of piercing and forbidding better suited for a wicked animal than the mech you loved— love. His bond cackles cruelly at the word.

“Tell me why. After all that we experienced, all our trials and tribulations, all our toils and triumphs—” Megatron stalks like a pacing lion, then pauses so abruptly it gives you whiplash, “Why did you abandon me?”

— You see a gladiator beneath your window, your friend Orion Pax at his side, the two of them smiling grins that make you equal parts nervous and dauntless, Megatronus saying, Come with me, friend, we have a plan.—

“I already told you! I watched you change into something darker before my optics, become consumed, become… become…” Your mind frantically grasps for words and none fit, and you are rendered speechless and wordless again until, with horror, you ask, “How can you not see what you’ve become?”

Megatron does not answer, not verbally nor over the bond, and it’s then you truly have to come to terms with your reality and reconcile the past. 

“I thought you had love for me. I now know that I was deceived.” 

There was a time you loved Megatron— More than anything in the universe, when you both were far younger, more naïve, and things were different. Not better, obviously. You had met at the catalyst to the Revolution, when the unease and righteous anger of the under class imploded and burst the caste bubble. But it had been simpler: Long days of debating politicians, business magnates, nobles, and other close-minded bureaucrats, and even longer nights of replanning, reorganizing, and desperately invigorating your supporters when ideas of reform met deaf audials.

There were also rare moments when Megatronus and you lost yourselves in the quiet, tender aspects of a blossoming relationship. Progress has never been linear nor consistent, so throughout the early parts of the rebellion, when things were generally hopeless, it was easy to grow close for comfort.

Megatronus was intelligent, engaging, and charismatic. His drive to end the decrepit caste system on Cybertron showed you parts of him that were empathetic, angry, and even scared. He was also a mighty gladiator, so when he admitted his fears to you, it was beyond meaningful. You were given access to that heavily guarded spark of his, allowed to see the sensitive mech hidden within, the one that later proposed sparkbonding to you.

And you suppose Optimus loved Megatron too, and his fault is that he still does too much for him to let go. He may have all the wisdom of the Ancients, all the knowledge of the Primes, but he still has Orion Pax’s stupid, unshakable hope.

“Stop it.” Megatron says out loud, and you come to the realization he’s been sensing your melancholic nostalgia across your now open bond— And that you’ve begun to cry, coolant tears drawing rivers down your faceplates. He glares at you, servos flexing into tight fists and relaxing shakily. Air hisses from his vents as he shifts his armor plating in discomfort. He hates remembering just as much as you do. Hates seeing you weep.

“I did love you, Megatron. I believe I still do.” Your confession is quiet, and you must be an idiot too to still hang onto your love for your conjunx after all these eons of war, after everything he’s done. The difference between Optimus and yourself is that it isn’t hope that keeps you tethered to Megatron, but some intangible, senseless whatever that ties you to the idea of Megatron, the dream that your beloved Megatronus may one day return to you.

/I am still him. I have only just bettered him./

/No. My Megatronus died eons ago. You are an imposter possessing his body./

/You do not really believe that, do you?/

Shame brings your shaking servos up to your faceplates, hiding your tears behind them. Your processor fights to separate the image of Megatron from Megatronus and Megatronus from Megatron. The sound in your audials is like rushing water, faintly accompanied by a series of dull echoes, like rubble falling and falling...

“I lost you the moment you engraved that accursed symbol onto your chassis.” You bemoan, looking past your digits and at Megatron, at the sharp angles and harsh stare of the insignia on his chassis. You just missing the plume of dust that stems out from one of the caverns.

“I could say the same of yours.” Megatron replies bitterly, and he goes to say more, interrupted by the ground trembling, as if the Earth is grieving alongside you. For not the first time, you curse the Unmaker’s name for infecting poor, empathetic Mother Nature.

“Are you so jealous?!” You shriek, vocal processors high and shrill against the cacophony of noise in your audials, in your helm. Megatron regroups quickly, straightening his back struts and setting his broad shoulders, the perfect image of lordly crushing contempt.

“I did not intend on becoming so!” Megatron roars, the curl of his derma pulling his faceplates into an ugly, ugly snarl, “I was not destined for it! But you and Orion made sure that it became my fate.”

“Your own hubris made your fate.” You moan dolefully, anguished, stepping back as Megatron steps forward. You’re not sure if it’s the chaos of the situation or your pain that warps your perception, that makes the whole damned cave shake, but you’re not sure of anything anymore. Despair rolls off you in waves, and Megatron recoils from it, his bond slinking away like a cybercat back into the shadows that birthed it.

“Stop it.” Megatron hisses again, but you barely hear it over the sound of your own systems screaming at you, alerts informing you of an imminent drive crash, realizing too little too late that the stress, sparkache, anger, grief, and guilt of millennia has caught up to you. 

Megatron, despite blocking his bond, is hit with lashes of painful signals like a whip, his servos going to clutch his helm. Your spark is suffering, he opened the bond and now feels it too.

/STOP IT./

You do not.

Then there’s a grand and catastrophic sound of caves collapsing, of walls crumbling all around you, of the stony floor opening like the maw of a mountain god, and you fall.

Everything goes black and silent and still.

~ * ~ * ~

With a groggy start, your processors boot up and the immediate wave of white hot, steel sharp pain that hits you almost sends you into damage-induced stasis. Injury reports and survival statistics blare red and angry in your vision, alerting you to the widespread, lethal wounds you incurred in the sudden rockslide.

“You are awake.” Megatron speaks from... somewhere, and suddenly he is above you, and you are laying half propped-up by his lap. You aren’t sure how you got here, an unconscious diagnostic reveals that it’s been six Earth hours that you’ve been offline. The void in your chassis grows cold, your spark twisting with dread and confusion and...

There is a tell-tale sensation of Energon... leaving your body, pooling beneath you, slick and hot against your frame. Realization cuts swift and sharp through the haze. Experience tells you this isn’t a good sign.

“Did you pull me from...” The correct words escape you, your processor too busy sorting through the alarmed pain receptors, too busy with trying to operate properly as major Energon systems in your leg struts and abdomen give weak warnings. You realize that they shut down with extraordinary distress. 

“Yes.” Megatron’s reply is too soft, sounds far far away. He looks down at you— /When had I laid down again? / You’ve been in my arms for a breem./— and there’s something like pity in his optics, but it’s less sympathetic and more guilty. Coolant tears, that you hadn’t even registered clouded your optics, roll down the sides of your faceplates.

/You’re injured. I have nothing to help you./ Comfort, anguish, regret.

/I know. It’s okay./ Thankfulness, sorrow, forgiveness.

Your mind must be going— You recall the most random thing.

“Do you... remember when we... visited the Crystal City?” It’s harder to speak now, each word is forced out your dermas like your mouth is holding them hostage. Your glossa feels heavy— Strange, really, because the rest of you feels lighter than air...

“Yes.” Megatron repeats. The rumble of his voice sounds even more distant, like thunder far on the horizon. Wherever you both have ended up— /The depths of Earth./— it gets darker, less focused and more opaque. Megatron becomes an incomprehensible figure, and only his faceplates remain superimposed in your line of tunneling sight.

“It was so beautiful.” You whisper, recalling the spires of crystal diamond, the walls of glimmering mirrors, the streets paved in quartz and prisma-glass. Megatronus takes your servo in his, clawed digits wrap around yours, encasing you in warmth and gleaming silver. You smile a small, sad thing that doesn’t reach your optics. Looking into your conjunx’s, you’re glad to see them as blue as oceans. Then you blink, and they are red. 

“It was.” Megatronus agrees, and although he’s warm and his EM field tickles against yours, your pain receptors cut off abruptly, signifying the start of what approaches.

Death is a commonplace occurrence these days, far more so after the Well of Allsparks went dark and Cybertron fell with it. It’s something every remaining Cybertronian has thought of, Autobot and Decepticon alike, of what can extinguish their spark, of when that invisible force comes to move them.

It’s all whether to fight it, to run from it, or to embrace it. There was a time you thought of returning to the Allspark, becoming one with your Maker once again, with unease and fear. It used to scare you, though now nothing does. You’ve found comfort and gratitude in the belief that you’d see lost loved ones yet again, once you’ve moved out of your frame.

“I loved you. Once.” You say, optics flickering as your body begins to allocate energy to more vital, still hemorrhaging, systems, “I never... lied about that.”

“And I was foolish enough to allow you to. Then and now.” Megatronus leans in and your spark sings as he places a wonderful, tender, sorry kiss on your dermas. His mouth is rougher than it used to be, but less clumsy and more assured. You smile into the kiss, wanting it to never end, so Megatronus lingers.

/You’ve changed. Your dermas have changed./ Delirium, realization.

/As have you. As have yours./ Worry, acceptance.

“I am not frightened by my ending.” You whisper after Megatronus has parted from you, and across your bond you hear And you never have been but Megatronus’ mouth says, “As no good warrior should be.”

His servo tightens its grip, his dermas in a hard line, the bond laments Acceptance.

“I will… see you again.” You say on your last ex-vent, and Megatronus is sure it’s a statement rather than a question.

/When you summon me, I will answer./

And Megatron watches your optics flicker, then not come on again.

~ * ~ * ~

Megatron sits with your body for another breem, taking in the beautiful stillness of you as he feels your spark diminish from his.

He’d always heard that losing a conjunx is beyond painful, that there were cases back on Cybertron wherein those that lost their sparkmates often suffered and died with them. Megatron doesn’t feel that; The severance of your bond with him is agonizingly slow and recedes like a fire dying out, but it doesn’t leave him in pain. You’ve left him empty. Hollow.

Megatron looks at your servo he holds. It fits perfectly in his palm, but now you are cold to the touch. His spark shivers once in his chassis, and now it too feels cold. You are gone. You are not coming back to him, not as anything living— Not as his friend, his conjunx, not even as an enemy.

Megatron invites the anger inside him like a welcome friend, letting it swell up from his peds to his chassis to his mouth where it smolders on his glossa like a curse. Red optics blazing, he tosses his helm back and roars, the way he did when some victories in the Pits meant only that he was still standing, still alive, until the scratch in his vocal processors confirms it.

After digging and clawing himself out of yet another Earthen grave, Megatron breaches the surface to find it is raining. He wastes no time, transforms and flies into the thunder-gray sky, where teardrops of rain slide forlorn and sleek against the silver of his alt mode until he breaks the troposphere, then the stratosphere, and leaves the rain, and you, behind.

~ * ~ * ~

[rimmerslustmonster]

I really wanted to love Arcane but after watching all of it I still find the majority of it really unfulfilling. Like, the animation really is gorgeous (as in, I literally think it's the prettiest/most smoothly animated show I've ever seen in my life and the action sequences especially were incredible) and I found basically all of the characters and their relationships initially really compelling but ultimately it just felt really empty to me.

So many characters' decisions/motivations (not all--there are a handful of obvious choices) seemed to shift aimlessly depending on what music video the creators wanted to make at the time, and the fact that the vast majority of characters actions feels reactionary to whatever outside force (the arcane/hex tech/black rose/whatever) they decided to invoke at the time was really annoying to me. Reactionary character choices aren't inherently bad, but when you have certain characters that everyone in the show plays up as strategic geniuses or powerhouses or whatever and then they also end up just kind of drifting along with whatever is thrown in to get them to end up wherever they ultimately need to be like dust motes and they don't end up being the actuators of basically anything at all in the end it's just fucking irritating tbh. (Especially thinking of season 2 Ambessa here--so much of what she found/achieved was basically by chance and it didn't feel like a coherent effort of her own that actually ended up getting her anywhere and maybe that's a commentary on the opportunistic nature of power or something but it still sucked imo because of how often everyone talked about what a great strategist she is and how dangerous/formidable she was in her own right and she just kind of wasn't in the end because the things she consciously put such a big investment in immediately fell apart for her so it was like... what was the fucking point? she could've been so much fucking better).

It felt like half the stuff that happened didn't happen in service of some overarching message or story but to fulfill vibes and the drama of it. Which again isn't inherently bad but there was just so much of it. Too many things felt like they fell into place 'just so' despite nothing the characters doing as individuals really feeling like it earned them that place. I do think they managed to pull a decent amount of it together in the end, but frankly it's only out of spite I ended up watching the final episode anyway, and you really shouldn't be counting on viewers to do that.

Anyway. Ultimately I guess it's just not for me I think, and the parts of it I did like (style, animation, themes, certain characters) didn't make trying to internally patch the parts I didn't (what felt to me like inconsistent characterization, mishandling themes/messages) to make it work for me feel like it worth the effort so in the end I really can't be bothered to care about it beyond just finishing the series and that makes me kinda sad.

As a show it was fine. The finale did a pretty good job of wrapping some things up mostly satisfyingly enough but damn it was hard to get there.

[loa-lightt]

Hello! I’ve seen your last answered ask, and I got inspired so I need some advice. I’m currently in a difficult situation.

I’ve worked on my self-concept to get it higher, yet recently I’ve stopped working on it to manifest getting in the void instead this time. I have successfully manifested without the void. I know the 3D is malleable and it’s not MY final story/it isn’t mine anymore and that I have a choice, so I’m changing it to where I already have it.

The few things I’ve manifested w/o the void:

Physical change — this was more of a mistake, but eh.

An SP — This one by far felt the easiest, because I felt the state of wish fulfilled to its full extent and it was so comforting. It felt so natural to return to the state of wish fulfilled. I mental dieted the hell out of myself, and it paid off 100% I should’ve changed my 3D circumstances first bc my SP isn’t going anywhere seriously, but you know. . . Love does something to somebody!

A roach out of my room; I was frightened terribly. — like I said I was scared shitless, but rest assured that roach was gone and dead.

Slade’s shifting brew V4. — this felt mostly natural as I wasn’t constantly checking the 3D. (Checking their channel constantly for the brew, I was doing my own things.) I trusted that slade had our backs, and on a Saturday night I saw on my YouTube timeline that they said it might come that night. Guess what? It did. I assumed (Thursday & Friday) that there would be a V4 without knowing if they were going to continue their versions. (I don’t interact with YT channels all too often. Grateful, for slade!!!)

I’ve been in the void a few times unaware, and times where I was aware that I was unaware in this darkness. If that makes sense. I need to manifest my new reality (I like to call it as this.. to me it’s not really desired if you technically have it right?)

I know manifesting is easy, but the 3D circumstances is dragging me. I’ll admit. I try not to let it affect me, and I let myself have my emotions and get right back to persisting. But, I will take breaks if the situation calls for it. I’ve felt suicidal at times, but I believe in the law and that there’s something way greater for me in the future. I know this is not the end of my journey and no matter how hard it gets I refuse to cut it short for this very reason.

—Appreciate the advice you give me, Anon.

Hello lovely! First of all I’m so proud of you for all of your current success and progress!! That’s wonderful ❤️

As for your struggles, I will just get right to the point. If you are allowing your physical circumstances to dictate your state and emotions, you are not In the wish fulfilled. It’s normal to have setbacks and negative emotions, the law doesn’t strictly prohibit you from feeling anything negative but it does become a problem when you are allowing it to control the success of your imaginings. Don’t waste any time shaming your self for not being in a desirable state, but instead as soon as you notice the change inside of yourself, allow yourself to go back to wherever it is you want to go. No states or feelings are lost within you, all thoughts and feelings are yours to have. If you feel like you’ve lost your power inside, remember that it cannot be lost. All thoughts,feelings and states are yours. Everything is yours inside imagination. Remember who you are inside. You are not a victim of your circumstances, no matter how dire the situation may seem. You are in control.

(I’ll also link an Edward art video that explains this quite well. Amy of his talks can help with this situation tbh)

Ty for the ask anon hope this helps❤️💕💕💕

[marginofthought]

Hi! I have read your fics on ao3 and I love them!Look forward to your updates!

Well,I'm going to talk about some thoughts of bottom!soulless Sam and I don't know if you're okay with that.If you're not,please ignore the rest of it and take this only as a thank you for creating such amazing works.

I also apologize for my poor English...

Just want to know if you mind discussing the possibility that soulless Sam and normal Sam both live in the bunker and get fucked by their big brother?And let's say there's only one Dean for the beginning...?Soulless Sam may look the same as the normal one in the bunker.In order to control him,Dean may fill him with various toys.There are so many ways to torture him with pleasure because he is soulless and he needs more stimulation to reach the limit.Normal Sam will be worry about the whole thing,but Dean is there to comfort him.

It will also be interesting if two Sam pretend to be each other for some reasons.In this way,normal Sam may have to deal with the toys in the dungeon,where he and his brother used to keep the soulless one.It 's too much for him that he will become a mess and be saved by Dean in the end.

As for how soulless Sam come to this world,I think a magic accident or wrong spell can explain a lot :)

Thank you so much for reading my stuff, I’m glad you enjoy it <3

I feel pretty conflicted about soulless Sam tbh, I didn’t really like him while watching because well, he wasn’t SamSam, but on the other hand it makes for very interesting ideas and discussions ;)

I feel like in this scenario it would be really interesting to see Dean interact with both of them. I imagine he could finally let out his abusive side on soulless!Sam (we have all seen his treatment in s6), and now he finally has the capacity to be nice and caring to normal Sam since he has an outlet for his darker side. 

Normal!Sam would get coddled even more, Dean taking care of him, probably feeling a little guilty for what he is doing to Soulless!Sam, since he still has Sam’s face. Even if he wouldn’t admit it he was now “making love” to Sam and secretly Sam hated it. It was nice every once in a while but that wasn’t who they were.

So yeah, I could see Sam wanting to switch places, just so he could experience his normal Dean again (masochist Sam with a toxic relationship cycle and all that). Sam would overestimate himself or maybe underestimate how ruthless Dean had gotten with soulless!Sam. it would probably take Dean too long to realize that it was his normal!Sam's safeword he had just ignored. 

Dean would definitely blame himself even if Sam put himself in that position. He’d sulk and refuse to touch Sam even if Sam tries to take the blame on himself. 

Sam figures out how to banish soulless!Sam back to wherever he came from in hopes of getting his old Dean back but now Dean shifts from too caring to too callous and Sam has to pay the price for taking away Dean’s outlet.

(Also, no need to apologize for your english, it's fine and I'm not a native english speaker either :) )

[gentlemanviolet]

HellOO! Today I wanna talk about ME!! The "Revekka" verison, ofc

First of all, my eng sucks cuz it's my second language

And yes I don't have a physical script, I script everything in my head

I think I've tell you guys a few things about me in some posts that I've posted before, but today, it'll be in details.

I was born in Los Angeles 1980, april 22 (same birth month and day as Violet who's the me, in here), I'm technically 27 years old because it's 2007 now (i'm changing the year everytime, it was 2008 a few weeks ago)

my zodiac sign Taurus, it's the best zodiac sign in everything, and its also a fire sign (ik ik just let me be), my chinese/korean zodiac animal is dragon (ik it's not how it works but I just want mine to be a dragon)

I don't have a face claim but I also don't use Violet's face for my reality because it's not that pretty so I have some examples of what type of vibes I want my beauty to give off

Nana (after school), Jo yuri (SNSD), Angelina Jolie, Adriana Lima, Lee Min-jung

First I wanna describe how I look

I was born with natural wavy jet , I have diamomd face shape, symmetrical face, dark blue eyes and those are the most beautiful eye color (ikr i have main character syndrome), my eye shape is almond, I have straight/pointed nose, I have full + rounded lips, high cheekbones, defined/sharp asf jawlines, normal eyebrows (not thick or thin), medium set and soft angled eyebrows, long lashes,

And I have fast metabolism, my body type is hourglass, I'm 173 cm tall, I have pale skin, visible colorbones, slim+veiny hands, slim tighs blah blah

Let's get back to my story, I'm half American and half Korean, my mom is a Korean princess by blood but she don't wants to be a princess and she just want to be an actress so she gave her sister the title "Princess"(who's my aunt) and became the person who she wants to be(told yall before), my dad is a very very rich person from America, they met and have ME! They made the most cutest little alien on earth<3

I became both an actress and a singer at a very young age, I was a 3 (or 4) years old, I act and sing in both country, America and Korea, I was a little It girl back then, now I'm a world wide it girl HAHAHAHAHAH

actually I got the name "The most beautiful kid" as soon as I start my career,

I had to move my ass to these two country every year so I had to go to two school each year (my eng sucks so idk how to explain), like I told yall before, my bestie followed wherever I go

I started my own clothing brand "Riona Jee" at the age of 15, and then I add more and more so Riona Jee is not just a clothing (shoes, heels, bags and anything that can wear, includes) brand, cars, jewelries, sneakers, watches, sunglasses, glasses, skin cares, and makeup

Yeah I don't make phones, I'd rather use phones that others made because I've already made almost everything, and yes I don't make wigs, but omg wait, should I make pads??? For LADIES

I became more and more famous as I get older, and tbh I get prettier

Like told yall before, humans can't die and they age like vampires so technically we're just like vampires but we don't drink blood, so.. the point is, I will look like I'm in my 20s even when I'm 100 years old or maybe 1000

I have 2 cats, lollipop and coffee, coffee is a orange male siberian, and lollipop is a white female siberian (I googled the breeds and I just chose both the breed and the names while writing this cuz I'm bad at memorizing)

And my talents are, I can literally do anything, and I'm one of the smartest human on earth, I remember everything in details *proud asf*

That's all I can remember for now

I think I will post "Storytime until I actually got there" tomorrow, but I'm gonna shift tonight! Yayy bye

Edit: I forgot that I have sharp asf vampire teeth and ears like elfs