#stocks on radar

[captainjonnitkessler]

Spent four hours this afternoon doing unpaid labor for my union's women's committee, trying to promote an event for solidarity between workers. Posted it on my city's subreddit and the first four responses are people bitching that we used AI on the poster and are "stealing artists jobs" - a poster which was, again, created by a member of my union, unpaid on her own time, for a social media post. Because you know, if she hadn't used AI we would have spent hundreds of dollars paying an artist instead of using, like, a stock photo.

Could the anti-AI people focus. For like a second. On literally anything that matters.

[vaporwave]

[ravetamer]

everybody.. have a whimsical radar… oooh you love my interpretation of the skrungly oooh 🌀🌀🌀

and of course there’s AIDEN UNDER THE CUT!!!! i do this to you guys because every time i step into the tumblr gates i miss him

bet u werent expecting THAT :devious:

[m4gp13]

Hc that Ethan is naturally very perceptive and has a really good gut instinct for taking note of things that slip under most people’s radars, hence how he was able to figure out Percy’s Achilles heel, and this is why Nemesis chose to take his eye specifically

In addition to this, hc that he and the Stolls were quite good friends during his CHB years because he could always tell which one he was talking to from a glance and never mixed them up.

[cambriancutie]

can someone give me 200$ so i spend it on the limited edition dvd box set of squid girl

[sea-buns]

dude I opened instagram to the audio of The Book of Bill announcement reel and when I tell you that the preteen in me is fucking singing

it also immediately reminded me of how I was literally gifted Journal 3 by my family and then wasn't allowed to hang up the schematics poster LMAO

suffice to say, I need this book in my life

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining being nervous around the 141 and yet STILL garnering their attention.

Like, you've done everything in your power NOT to get noticed. You're as happy as a clam to work on all the behind the scenes issues. You don't even go out on the field!

You're the one to get gear in place, you're the one talking to Nik and supervising the equipment repairs. You make sure the armory is stocked and that the showers aren't running with rusty water.

You really DON'T want any eyes on you.

You just want to do your job and do it in fucking peace.

So why the hell are they always wanting your attention?

-

"There she is. Keepin' everything in order while 'm gone." Price chuckles, placing a hand on your back as he passes through the armory's narrow shelves. "Looking to take my spot as Captain hm, Love?"

You bury your face into your clipboard, trying desperately to ignore him. He's not going away but God do you want him to. His presence is always so overwhelming and his gaze so pointed. If you could shrink into nothingness you'd try.

-

"Oi, Bonnie!" Soap calls out to you at mess. He waves his arms wildly, making everyone look his way. "C'mere! Sit w' us today!"

He's so loud his voice echoes across the cafeteria. Recruits and lower ranking members shrink at the sound of it. So do you, even though you can hear only excitement in his tone instead of the usual ire he employs while training the rookies.

You know that if you decide to sit with your friends you'll never hear the end of it. But if you choose to sit with him and the rest of the all star task force you'll be under their gazes for the better part of the morning. You want to just drop your lunch tray and run out, but on unsteady legs and a bowed head you shuffle to the table.

-

"Well well, look who it is." Gaz huffs, looking up from his terminal set up in the surveillance room. "Thanks for packing those extra headset chords for me."

"Uh...yeah, no problem." You nod, trying to ignore him while simultaneously digging in an old box full of wires.

"Whatcha lookin' for?"

"Uh...a mouse. A wireless one."

"Here, take mine." He smiles, unplugging the tiny chip from the side of his laptop. "Need a new one anyway."

"It's alright I-"

"Just take it. You deserve it more than me." He hums, looking away wistfully. "If it weren't for those extra cords we wouldn't 'ave been able to call for evac on that last mission."

You take the mouse into your palm, feeling uneasy. Something about his demeanor isn't right. Gaz is always confident and sure. But the way he glances at you before he turns back to the computer makes you worried.

Is he...jealous?

You slip out of the door and close it behind you without making a sound.

-

"Need t' put a bell on you." Ghost grumbles. "Can't hear you n' those."

You stop midway down the hallway, confused and nervous.

You look down at your old, beat up reg boots from your PT days. They were definitely in need for a decommissioning, but they were comfy despite the fact that the soles had no tread anymore.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry." You awkwardly mumble. "Need new ones."

"No."

You raise a brow at him. It was just the two of you in one of the maintenance hallways which was, ironically enough, poorly maintained. The overhead fluorescents flickered and made it hard to focus.

"Keep 'em." He nods, turning away and showing you the full breadth of his back. He mutters at you as while he keeps walking on.

"Keeps you under the radar."

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself. 

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do—he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

[miryum]

An arranged marriage with James Potter

Something had happened over the summer that made James Potter the most love-sick fool in all of Hogwarts. Purebloods being purebloods, it wasn’t uncommon for children to be paired up early on to secure the bloodline. While this happened mostly between the old-arching Slytherin families, an example being Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, every once in a while, the other houses would participate too. 

Such was the case with James Potter and Y/n L/n. The L/n’s had spanned generations, stretching back to even the Gaunt’s time. But, such as the Gaunt family, the L/n family had run into some bad luck. Stocks didn’t go the way they wanted or something of the sort and now they were in ruining trouble. 

Euphemia Potter was usually one to scoff at arranged marriages, wanting the children to find love for themselves, blood status be damned. However, the L/n’s were good friends of hers and James had written home multiple times about their daughter. From his letters, it seemed as if the two were already dating. It was a perfect coincidence. Euphemia and Fleamont agreed instantly, lifting the weight of a thousand bricks off of the patriarch of the L/n household. 

However, James and Y/n were not dating. Much to James’ annoyance, the only thing between them was his unrequited infatuation towards Y/n. 

So that’s where the pair found themselves at the beginning of seventh year. Y/n L/n trying to fly under the radar and not draw any attention to herself or the new ring on her finger, and James Potter doing everything in his power to show off their relationship and spoil her in front of everyone. 

It began at the start of the year feast. James had an arm around Y/n’s shoulder the entire time. When a third year nervously asked if the two were dating, staring reverently up at James, the boy grinned and looked to Y/n. “I don’t know, love, are we?”

Y/n pushed James’ arm off her shoulder and indelicately said, “no. Take him.” The third year blushed and mumbled their way out of the conversation as James clutched his wounded heart.

During classes, James would loudly correct the professors from Miss. L/n to Mrs. Potter. It earned him wry smiles from McGonagall and Sprout, chuckles from Slughorn and Flitwick, and a cold glare from Y/n. The students all looked a bit confused whenever this happened, but chalked it up to the usual antics of James Potter. 

In the courtyard or by the Black Lake, James would lay his head on Y/n’s lap, even if she pushed him off or was sitting with her knees up. There were roses on her bed and notes in her bag and it got to the point where Y/n didn’t even question how James had snuck into her dorm. 

If Y/n ever went to Hogsmead, James was sure to follow. No matter what she bought, he would pay for. Even if she got frustrated, he would slip the galleons up onto the counter, grinning at the cashier. He wanted to show her that he could provide for her and give her a nice home. As she would walk from shop to shop, he would point out colours of shops, saying, “oh, that would be a good colour for our bathroom. Look at that little cuckoo clock! Y/n, we have to get it.”

He would follow wherever she went, asking what seemed like meaningless questions. Have you ever had any pets? Do you like the country or city better? Any aspirations for your career? What’s a place you always wanted to visit? Y/n thought nothing of it, but to James, her answers were slowly sculpting his future. Would she want a dog or a cat in our home? Where should our house be? I would like the country so our kids could run around more, but we can easily make the city work if she wants. Should I be a stay-at-home dad? Or could we juggle two careers? Where should our honeymoon be? 

Quidditch games were no better, because after every goal the chaser scored – and he scored a lot – he would look to the stands, find his fiancée, and blow her a kiss. Before every match, one of his spare jerseys would be laid out on her bed, a small note attached, begging her to wear it. She never did and he always gave her a pout when he realised it. And God forbid she didn’t go to the games. Once, she had been studying for an upcoming exam and hadn’t been able to make it. James had thrown a fit. Sirius had to drag him away from Madame Hooch before he secured an entire year of detention, but the boy still refused to get in the air. Madame Hooch threatened to start the game and make Gryffindor play a catcher down, but thankfully Remus and Peter had just found Y/n and dragged her to the pitch. The moment James saw her, he beamed and kicked off, broom now in the air. They had ended up winning. James spent the afterparty with his head on Y/n’s lap, arms reaching up to encircle her waist. He continuously reminded her how awful it would’ve been if she hadn’t shown up and only shut up when she began running her fingers through his hair.

And every night, no matter if he went to bed first or she did, James would always go over to Y/n and give her a soft kiss on the forehead and a whispered, “sweet dreams.” No matter where she was, this became a daily occurance in Y/n’s life. At first, she tried to avoid it by sneaking off to the library whenever James began yawning and tossing around the idea of going to bed. But he would find her. She tried the kitchens, hoping he didn’t think to look for her there. But he would find her. She tried being in a group with her friends, in animated conversations. But he would weave his way through the group, step in front of her, and still say goodnight. It was like he had this magical map that told him where she was at all times. It was bloody infuriating. 

Much to James’ dismay, no progress seemed to be made. At least she was staying faithful to her fiancé, the Marauders reassured him as James griped and moaned. He would sling himself onto a common room chair, conveniently in the earshot of his dearest. Y/n would just roll her eyes. 

The majority of Hogwarts didn’t know what to do with them. The girls would swoon when they heard the new thing James Potter had come up with to woo Y/n L/n. The boys would huff and grumble about needing to step up their own game when it came to their girlfriends. James was setting the bar too high. The teachers would sit around, taking time to sip a well-deserved drink, as they complained how if L/n didn’t soon see the boy that was right in front of her, helpless to his love, then Potter was going to have a breakdown.

Yet, Y/n continued to push him away. James could be patient. He had been waiting practically seven years – he could wait a little more, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt whenever she brushed him off. She could’ve said no to the engagement. She could’ve punched or hexed him. It didn’t seem like she truly hated him, more like she was embarrassed and tired of him. 

“I don’t get it,” James said finally one night. He laid out on his bed, long limbs stretching over the place as Peter and Sirius played Exploding Snap on the floor. 

Remus was reading on his own bed. The werewolf sighed, knowing where this was going. “What don’t you get, Prongs?” 

“Why doesn’t Y/n like me?” James murmured, looking at his friends with large, hurt eyes. 

“Mate,” Sirius said. One of the cards exploded, making Peter flinch. “Listen. She likes you, yeah? How else are you able to get close to her? I swear, you were practically on top of her a couple days ago.” He scoffed and laid down a card. 

James groaned loudly and exclaimed, “but I’ve tried everything! Hell, we’re literally engaged! I can’t go through an entire marriage like this. Especially not with the woman I love.”

Peter piped up, smiling sincerely at James. “Hey, I’m sure she’ll realise it soon enough. I think she loves you back. She’s just scared.”

“But I’m me!” James shouted out. “I’m not scary!” He looked around wildly at his friends. “Am I?” he asked pathetically.

“I think if you have to ask if you’re scary,” Remus pointed out, “then you’re not scary.”

Sirius grinned. “Excellent point, as always, Moony.”

Remus sighed and gave James a pointed look. “Perhaps, the best thing to do is talk to her. Since she is your future wife, after all.” 

“I do talk to her!” James argued. “I ask her about her day and tell her about our pranks. She- she responds. She’s very sweet, you know, but she never shows any affection.”

“Maybe you’re pressuring her,” Peter commented. “By being all lovey-dovey. You could try being her friend first?”

James didn’t think he could do that. He already thought of Y/n as his wife. He already thought of her as one of his best friends. But what else could he do to get her to feel the same way?

The next week, James took Peter’s words into consideration. Instead of leaving flowers in her dorm, James asked if he could join her in the library for a study session. Instead of blowing her kisses during Quidditch games, he just waved. Instead of envisioning their future, he focused on the present. 

It wasn’t until three weeks had passed that James noticed the results. Y/n began coming to him with some questions on schoolwork. Y/n waved back at Quidditch games, shooting him a thumbs up in encouragement. Y/n wouldn’t fiddle with her engagement ring nervously, as if worried someone would spot it. 

The girl noticed her changed behaviour too. On a random Thursday, when James came to kiss her goodnight, she paused her conversation and whispered back, “sleep well,” angling her body so he wouldn’t have to reach as far to kiss her temple. Soon after, she excused herself from her friends, flustered. Y/n paced around her dorm, twisting the ring back and forth. 

A knock came at the door. “Hey,” James murmured as he pushed open the door. “Are you okay?”

Y/n turned to face him. “You actually care about me, don’t you?” she whispered. 

James couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course,” he replied. “Why on earth would you think otherwise?”

She shrugged. “It seemed fake, you know? Like this one big prank to single me out. But then you actually seemed excited and willing to marry me, James. Marriage. This is the rest of our lives and we haven’t even kissed!”

James cracked a smirk. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I can fix that really easily.”

“But you think you’re in this for the long run?” Y/n asked desperately. “For- for the fights? The late nights? The chores? And we haven’t even talked if we want kids or not!”

“Love,” he interrupted her spiral. “Have you thought about the waking up every morning in my arms? The dancing in the kitchen for no reason? The anniversary dinners where I profess my love over and over again?” He stepped forward, placing his warm hands on her arms soothingly. “And if you want, I would love to have mini replicas of us running around, waking us up in the middle of the night because of a night terror. I would love for them to disrupt our dancing in the kitchen by demanding they want to dance too. And I would love for them to groan when they see me being all sappy towards my wife.”

How could any girl say no when James Potter was standing before her, promising her endless devotion? The kiss was slow, James’ lips slowly moving against hers. He revelled in the warmth of her body and how her head tilted to him as he cupped her cheek gently. All short and lovely and sweet, the kisses were exactly how James had dreamed. 

The couple parted and the boy stared down at her. His finger went up to brush her bottom lip before murmuring, “will you marry me?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

[hood-ex]

Need a fic where Dick gets zapped by some magic hoo-ha and starts acting like his fanon self, and everyone hates him because of it, and they're like, "We have got to get him back to normal like yesterday."

Fanon Dick transgressions:

Dick promptly moves back into the manor (or whatever the fuck Bruce's current abode is called idr). He basically turns into Buddy the Elf and just wants to eat sugary shit that does absolutely nothing for him. Because of this, the pantry is stocked full of sugary cereal. Whenever Bruce tries to tell Dick to actually cook something for himself, Dick's like, "You know I can't microwave anything that doesn't have a preset button." And when Bruce looks rightly annoyed by this, Dick goes in to give Bruce an apologetic hug, and Bruce cannot handle that amount of gross affection, so he's constantly dodging Dick's hug attempts or making excuses to hurriedly get away from Dick.

The Titans try to take things into their own hands to help Dick get back to normal, but whenever they try to get Dick to come back to the Tower with them, or to hang out in general, Dick's just like, "Sorry guys, I'm going to be with my family tonight. And tomorrow. Probably the entire weekend too."

Damian can't stand Dick's habit of babying him and calling him "Dami" and "Baby Bird." Like Bruce, he has a radar for when Dick's about to get overly sappy and affectionate, and he quickly removes himself from the room when he gets a ping.

Dick suddenly doesn't know how to do anything when Jason's around. Doesn't know how to hold a baby. Doesn't know Spanish as well as Jason does. Doesn't know how to crack an egg. Jason would find it funny if he wasn't so annoyed by Dick constantly pestering him to come home to eat Alfred's cooking. (Bonus points if this occurs when Alfred is dead/Jason is already integrated back into the family).

Dick constantly asks Tim if he's okay, and when Tim asks, "Yeah, why?" Dick frowns and says, "You're usually on your third cup of coffee by now."

[yandere-sins]

Cake Surprise

a/n: Happy Valentine's Day! I'm glad to be able to do specials again, so this year I worked on an idea I had for a while! Unspecified yandere, too, so you can imagine whoever you want! :D Hope you enjoy it ♥

Characters: Male!Yandere x GN!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Food Sabotage, Feeding body fluids), Pathetic Yandere, Stalking, Forced Isolation, Pretending to be a friend, Long Post

Valentine's Day had never been his favorite day.

Why? Sharing a birthday with an official holiday just sucked. The gifts were generic merchandise catered to the holiday—all pink and cute and strawberry scented—and most people were too busy to celebrate on his actual birthday since they were doing couple stuff. But this year? This year, he loved his birthday.

Because he got to spend it with you.

He couldn't remember the last time he was so excited about his birthday party, especially since there had never been someone special by his side before. Usually, he sat between all the guests, who were coupled up and feeding each other cake and laughing at the bad jokes of their lovers, but this year would be different. Because out of all the people invited, you and him were the only ones single.

There were great hopes tied to the fact that between all the lovey-dovey couples, you'd only have one option to choose. He had ensured that no one got the stupid idea to ask you out leading up to this day. For the last weeks, he had followed you around, discouraged others from approaching you, and conveniently put himself on your radar, always smiling and greeting you, walking you home after work when you two "coincidentally" met after his own shift. Buying and offering you a drink or a snack ever so often just from the "goodness of his heart". You never even noticed how he melted in your presence, how he absorbed every word you said, more desperate to spend more time with you every day.

It was a lot of effort to be the only one by your side, considering how beautiful and desirable you were. Countless times, he had to hold himself back to not pluck out the eyes that followed you wherever you went. The light in your eyes was so vibrant that no picture could capture it, and your smile made him feel like he was finally coming home after years of trying to find his place of belonging. It simply had to be you, no matter the struggles he had to go through. He made sure to be up-to-date on every hobby you had, so the conversations wouldn't run out, and in times of distress, it was him who offered his help. No wonder that you, when you were sad about not meeting your friends as often anymore and feeling lonely, gladly accepted his offer to come to his birthday party.

He regretted having to put a damper on your mood before this by making sure you'd be a little more desperate to spend time with him, too. But when you said "yes", he heard the wedding bells ring.

Everything was already decorated, his apartment a monument to everything he didn't like. Gaudy balloons, reds and pinks, roses, and kitsch that made his stomach churn. His fridge was stocked with bottles of sparkling wine, Valentine's special drinks, chocolate-dipped fruits, and the highlight of the day: a sweet, strawberry-flavored, buttercream-covered, delightfully decorated, three-tiered cake. No one would call him stingy, that much was sure.

Carefully pulling out the cake from the fridge, he admired how heavy it was, smelling heavenly with all the cream and fruits on top of it. It would be the day's highlight and, hopefully, the way straight to your heart. He knew all about your love for sweet carbs, and although you ate it mostly for special occasions or when you felt really shitty on some days, this cake was definitely going to impress you.

Setting it down on the kitchen counter, he admired the artistic endeavor done on the food. Some would say it was almost too pretty to eat with all the swirls and decorations covering it, but he'd make sure you'd receive the biggest, most delicious piece of them all! Just thinking about you cutting a big bite out of it, scooping it up on your fork, and passing it through your plush lips sent shivers down his spine.

Your tongue darting out to lick off some excessive cream left behind on your cheek, the sounds of pleasure and delight you'll make as the cream melts in your mouth, coating everything in sugary sweetness. Feeling his cock twitch beneath the fabric of his pants, he knew he shouldn't indulge in the images of you enjoying the cake he provided for you, but how could he not, especially when the comparisons were almost too perfect?

Even though he knew there was a difference between the cake and his cock, it was so easy to replace the two in his thoughts.

He was imagining you on your knees, tongue stretched out to taste his shaft with eager licks, eyes gleaming with anticipation. Your lips wrapped around his tip, licking and sucking up the precum spreading all throughout your mouth until you could finally swallow his whole length, your head bopping up and down, pleasing him to receive all of his "cream".

By the time he pulled himself out of his head, watching the seconds run by on his clock with no more than twenty minutes left until the party was supposed to take place, his cock was rock-hard and leaking into his underwear. You were a potent aphrodisiac and he should have known better than to indulge in the thoughts of you, but it was hard, considering he desired you more than he ever had anything before. Nothing would ever bring him as much joy as you would. You had long become his whole world, and he worshipped you like the deity you were.

It was absolutely impossible to look into your eyes without coming right then and there on the spot. Time was running out as every minute threatened with his guests' arrival, and now he had this extra challenge to take care of before this perfect day could commence.

Working quickly, he freed his imprisoned cock, his palm almost immediately slathered in pre-cum, lubricating him as he pumped it up and down. All he had to do was keep imagining you and all the things he had planned for when he'd finally get to claim you as his completely. His hand worked back and forth, and he thought about taking you to his bedroom after the party, you wanting to thank him in private for the invitation. You, in skimpy, pink lingerie, slowly undressing yourself. The thought of you stripping away your clothes until you were almost completely bared to his eyes was nearly enough to make him cum. However, his cock was a mean prick, still so hard and needy, even though he fed his mind the delicious imagery of you.

All he could do was keep going at this point, time ticking away as he scolded himself for not finishing up quicker. You, jerking him off instead, your soft hands working over his shaft, telling him how much you want him to fill you with his big cock. How you've dreamed of him taking you and moaning at the pure thought of it. His hips made a jump forward as he imagined the tip of his cock about to penetrate you, finding your soft, receptive hole waiting while you mewled and pushed back against him. It almost felt real how wet you were in his mind, almost as if...

Prying his eyes open, he looked down in horror at the smudge on the cake, his tip donning a cream hat, which would have almost been funny if the situation hadn't been so serious. This cake was his masterpiece, and he just put his cock against it, almost completely ruining it!

"Shit, shit, shit," he mumbled, using his dirty hands to spread the buttercream down evenly where he had nudged it, the precarious state of his cock forgotten for a moment. It clearly looked like someone tampered with it, but at least it was uniform again. He'd simply take this piece so that no one would see.

Sighing, the stress fell off him again, his cock twitching below to remind him of what still needed his attention. Swiping off the cream from his tip, he licked it off his fingers, moaning at its sweetness. You'd enjoy it so much and savor every bite because he knew you liked the flavor. And it was all his doing.

Stroking his cock again, he eyed the smudged spot on the cake that he had ruined, imagining you eating something his dick touched. You'd never know, but you'd still enjoy it. There was barely anything more he could do to mark the cake, yet it drove him almost insane to think it was all his doing that made you enjoy it. If only there was something more. Something even clearer that marked you as his, other than just providing you with cake and a quick taste of his dick hurriedly covered by coating.

His pulse rose as he imagined his cum dripping down your lips, seeping into your skin. You, moaning as you tasted his jizz willingly, enjoying the taste mixed with the enormous amount of sugar from the cake. You'd never know what he did, never question it. No, instead, you'd be thankful and filled with his cum. You'd be marked as his by the smell of his cum and your willingness to consume it. No one could argue who you'd belong with while his batter was inside you.

With heavy breaths, he placed his tip back on the smudged cake spot. No one had to know. He could simply fix it again, and no one would notice the disgrace he did to this cake he'd present as his masterpiece.

Awfully slowly, with a loud groan, he pushed his tip inside the goods, followed by his shaft. The insides crumbled around him, welcoming him like he imagined you would. Sounds of pleasure erupted from the cake, the same wet squelching that was anticipated from any good hole.

One push, two. Everything was tight and yet softer than he had ever imagined. Immediately, the images returned to his mind—you, hungrily licking off the cake from his cock. It was all that was needed for the pressure to build. His thrusts grew sloppier as he snapped his hips forward. The cake threatened to slip away, so he grabbed the plate, making sure it would take his cock as it should. Another thrust, another loud moan as he imagined you arching your back and curling your toes, screaming as you were coming on his cock in your frilly lingerie, flushed with ecstatic pleasure only he could give you.

It was enough to send him over the edge, too.

He felt his cum burst into the cake, sloshing all around him and threatening to leak out. There was too much to absorb, but for a moment, he simply let himself enjoy the feeling of filling you to the brim. He'd have to clean up and get ready very quickly after this, so for a few blissful seconds, he let the shudders rush through him, listening to the screams and moans of yours that he could easily imagine just from his memories.

By the time he got a grip on himself, cum had already drooled out of the hole he made, adding an embarrassing stain against the white buttercream. He wiped off his cock quickly before putting it back inside his pants and grabbed some coating and fruits to fill up the hole he had created. In a moment of clarity, he realized how fucked-up this was, but the doorbell rang before he could decide not to serve his cum-filled cake to anyone and discard it.

As expected, everyone was awing and oohing at his efforts, their eyes going big at the sight of the cake. Embarrassment was an understatement for what he felt. It should have been pride, happiness, carefreeness. But knowing what lingered inside this cursed cake was too damning, too shameful, even for him.

And then, you arrived. Like an angel sent from heaven, with a little green package, whispering how you knew he didn't like the Valentine's fuss, so you made sure to be extra careful not to come close to the theme with your gift. Your heart was so good, your intentions so pure, and watching you light up as you saw the cake utterly broke his heart.

He wanted to, but couldn't. He definitely couldn't serve it to you.

The guests mingled, filling his apartment, as he began to dread every second of the party. You looked so natural, swaying your body through the room as if you already lived there. As if you were another host to the party, you handed out drinks and helped everyone to settle in. A sight to behold, that's what you were, fitting between all the decorations with how beautiful you were.

He should have been overjoyed by the sight of you acting so naturally in his home, playing his better half without even agreeing to go steady with him yet. But when everyone sat down at the table, ready to celebrate him, his mood crashed violently. Sweat collected on his forehead as he cursed the damn day, especially when you walked up to him, asking if he was alright and checking his temperature. You were so perfect, so sweet. So kind to offer to check on him. If only you could have touched him more, made him forget about all the other guests, and let him explore your body indefinitely in return. Of course, he quickly denied anything was wrong, instead inhaling your perfume, which left him light-headed. It made it easy for you to lead him to the table, sitting him down while you went to "take care of the rest" for him, and his guests kept him busy, talking and congratulating him, so he didn't see what you were doing in the kitchen.

At least not until you started bringing out slices of cake to everyone. He got the first one, topped with fruit, since it was his birthday. It was a beautiful piece from the top tier, and one by one, the cake was handed out. Gripping the chair he sat on hard, he watched as the cake slowly lost its height, piece by piece. Soon, only half of the bottom tier was left, and from his position, he couldn't see where you cut yourself a slice from. Maybe you'd miss the spot, and he could dispose of the rest quietly later. No one had to know, even if it was gross what he did to the cake either way.

But when you sat down next to him, smiling at him as you held up your plate, the color drained from his face when he noticed the change in cream consistency inside and the piece of fruit stuffed into the middle of the cake.

Jackpot.

Everyone sang him "Happy Birthday" while he sweated profusely, his eyes transfixed on your plate, but he didn't even notice or care. Clearing his throat, it was his time to make a small speech, but instead, he merely asked you to swap pieces since he had much more fruit on his, and it looked more delicious. You shook your head, holding your plate out of reach playfully before telling him firmly it was his birthday and he deserved the best piece. People chuckled and started digging in. Moans and compliments rang through the room, but he couldn't pry his eyes off your plate.

Using your fork, you stabbed it right into his cum, the fluids dripping off as you didn't seem to notice the difference from the cream. You lifted it to your mouth, opening wide, and so did his as he wanted to stop you, but no words rang out. Shame and hesitation held him back as he watched you consume the cum-filled cake with delight, humming appreciatively before gulping it down.

Heat filled his cheeks as he watched you take fork after fork of his surprise cake flavor, unaware of how he disgraced it. You were smiling and enjoying your cake thoroughly until you noticed he hadn't eaten a piece yet. With an innocent grin, you cut off some of yours, holding it out to him and prompting, "Open wide!"

And he did.

With his heart bursting out of his chest, your gesture too cute to withstand, while his stomach twisted as he tasted his own salty cum on your fork. But how could he not have been happy? Being fed by you, even if it was his own jizz that coated his tongue and not the sweet cream of the cake? It was a dream come true, and at this point, he would have eaten anything from your hand, he was sure. You were so happy, too, grinning from ear to ear and doing a happy little wiggle in your seat, not even thinking about the indirect cum-stained kiss you two just shared.

You were now fully, utterly his. However perverted and disgusting it was, it was the only thing he could think of. His pretty little partner, owning the place and him as if it always belonged to you. You had his heart in your hands, squeezing it with every smile and making it throb at the sound of your laughter. And not only had he satisfied your fondness for cake, but your belly was now also filled with his cum that you ate so willingly and eagerly. Of course, you didn't know, but you didn't even flinch at the change of taste you must have noticed at some point. If only that cum could have soaked all over you, spilled over your face and chest, and from your little hole that was probably waiting for his cock to fill it next.

He could have said something, ruined this moment and any chances of a relationship with you or any of his friends. But it was already too late, he reasoned. You already ate most of the piece, and he didn't have the heart to tell you what he did. It would be his little secret, although he did make sure that no one else got a dirty piece of cum-filled cake anymore. If anything, they had always been meant just for you. But as he ate his own cake, filling his mouth to the brim to get rid of the bad aftertaste, you leaned over.

"Happy birthday! And happy Valentine's!" you congratulated him, and all the panic and embarrassment simply fell off as he smiled back, thanking you after swallowing the cake. He was already thinking about what he could fill with his cum next for you to eat as he asked you out to have dinner with him soon. And you beamed up, none the wiser, agreeing immediately.

Best birthday ever.

[sunseed-fandump]

Time Travel is Kind of Messed Up, Actually…

Short Bad Batch AU one-shot featuring Wild Strawberry Cookie. Word Count: 1,920

When Wild Strawberry was first spat out into this timeline, her only concern was to lie low. The TBD no doubt would be attempting to track down all the members of Twizzly Gummy’s crew. Even with the group officially disbanded, there was no way the TBD would just let them go. No, they’d broken whatever nonsensical laws those cookies had decided to impose on the natural chaos of the timelines, and now Twizzly Gummy and the rest of her crew had to pay, Wild Strawberry included.

So she kept her head down, stayed quiet, and stayed out of trouble. (For the most part. After all, a girl’s gotta eat, and she was low on funds as is. So a few vendors would find their stock a bit smaller than they last remembered it being.) Unlike the other members of Twizzly’s crew, Wild Strawberry Cookie had something the others distinctly lacked: patience. And it was this skill she used in spades as she scoped out any and all information she could gather about the timeline she’d found herself stranded in.

The good news, there didn’t seem to be any indication of a TBD agent asking around about weird cookies and rifts. The bad news, Wild Strawberry Cookie had found herself in a castle owned by a Witch whom all the castle residents feared.

Kind of okay news, she had found a couple of cookies to help her get the hell out of there.

She wasn’t quite sure what to think of the pair at first. A wizard mad with power and a zombie hellbent on revenge. She kind of recognized their faces from her time-hopping adventures, but these two were distinctly… different than the iterations she had only caught glimpses of. They were missing something, but what?

It wasn’t until much later, when they had gotten a bit closer as a unit, did Wild Strawberry realize what it was they were missing.

Her. Or, at least, this timeline’s version of her. In all the other timelines she had seen them in, one of her counterparts seemed to be nearby. It was like the three of them were destined to at least meet each other in some way or another, even if they didn’t wind up traveling together.

The night Wild Strawberry came to realize this, anxiety churned in her gut. After all, if there were two instances of the same cookie running around in one timeline, then that would absolutely come up on the TBD’s radar.

And yet… There was a distinct lack of agents knocking on her door and ripping her away from her new friends cohorts and the life they had begun to make for themselves.

The implications left her unnerved and distracted. The idea that she might be nothing more than a replacement made anger boil in her dough.

So she did what she always did when she started feeling wound up; she took her frustrations out in the training room. It was the middle of the night, she couldn’t sleep, so she hauled her ass out of bed, set up a punch bag, and started going to town on it.

With every solid ‘fwak!’ of her fist the more angry she got.

Because it wasn’t fair.

‘Fwak!’

It wasn’t fair that the TBD could decide to rip her away from everything simply because she didn’t belong here.

‘Fwak!’

It wasn’t fair that she was already dealing with an insecurity of being a fake cookie due to having artificial ingredients, and now she has to deal with the insecurity of not even being this timeline’s real Strawberry.

‘BANG!’

Wild Strawberry jumped a bit as the punching bag went flying across the room and hit the far wall, the sand inside spilled everywhere. Oh. She broke it. Whoops…

The girl experimentally opened and closed her fists, only just now realizing how sore they felt. She guessed she was a lot more zoned out than she thought, she hadn’t felt anything. With a resigned sigh knowing she was probably going to have to clean that up later, but not wanting to do it right away, Wild Strawberry turned to go fetch another punching bag.

Only to pause when she noticed someone over by the door.

“Can’t sleep?” Gingerbrave called over from where he was leaning against the wall.

“... No.” Wild Strawberry forced herself to look away and head over to the closet where the spare equipment was kept. After she hauled the oversized punching bag over to the ceiling hook and set it up, she got ready to start venting her frustrations yet again.

But as she wound up for her first punch, she stopped when she heard a sigh.

“Okay, Ber’, what’s wrong?” Gingerbrave asked with a deep frown on his face as he came to stand beside the punching bag. Wild Strawberry pointedly did not meet his eyes.

“Nothing.” Was her clipped reply as she threw a punch, hitting the bag with a significantly weaker ‘slap!’. Gingerbrave quirked a brow at her and let her get a few more punches in. Her form, usually perfect, was off. She was distracted. Definitely not okay.

“Then how come you’re not in your room grinding away on your games?” Gingerbrave pressed. “It’s almost midnight. You never come in here this late to train. So what gives?”

“Maybe I just wanted to switch things up for once.” Wild Strawberry growled, a much harder punch made the bag swing further on the hook.

“Or maybe you’ve decided to take out whatever’s bugging you on the gym equipment.” Gingerbrave gave her an unimpressed look. “Though, this is our last punching bag. So if you break this one, you’re gonna be out of luck.”

‘Slap! Fwak! THUD!’

“FINE!” Strawberry snapped, knowing that if she didn’t satisfy him he was just going to keep annoying her about it. She spun sharply to meet his gaze, fists clenched at her sides. “Fine, you want to know what’s been eating at me so badly? I’m not fucking real!”

Gingerbrave’s face screwed up in confusion. He looked her up and down, and then reached out a hand to poke her in the shoulder. “I dunno, you feel pretty real to me.”

“Not like THAT!” She facepalmed, biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m not the real Strawberry Cookie! I was never meant to exist in this timeline! We were never supposed to have even met!”

Now the boy had at least the decency to look surprised. Of course, he and Wizard knew of her time-criminal status. She made no secret of her origins in that regard. However, this was the first he had ever heard her have a crisis about it. He had never even considered the possibility of there being two Strawberry Cookies running around.

There was a beat of silence as Gingerbrave processed what exactly it was his friend was feeling. It was long enough for Wild Strawberry’s frustration to simmer enough for her to turn back to the punching bag and start throwing hands again at a far less enthusiastic pace.

‘Thap! Fwak! Slap!’

“Okay…” Gingerbrave finally said, slowly nodding his head. “So, there are two Strawberry Cookies now, why does that bother you?”

“It doesn’t.” She bit out as she threw another punch. “I’ve seen a lot of other me’s. What’s bothering me is there isn’t two Strawberry Cookies in this timeline.”

“But you just said…” Gingerbrave scratched at some of his stitches, feeling even more confused. Every time he thought he got this weird timetravel stuff down, it just got confusing again…

“There was a Strawberry at one point, but she’s most likely long dead.” Wild Strawberry paused, once again flexing her fingers and knowing they were going to be aching like hell in the morning. “And I’m just a shoddy replacement.”

Gingerbrave literally pouted at her as if she had just said some sort of terrible insult. “Now hold on just a second, you are not shoddy! You’re like, one of the coolest cookies I know!” When Wild Strawberry rolled her eyes, the boy threw his arms out to the side. “I’m serious!”

“That’s nice and all, but doesn’t change the fact that I literally don’t belong here.” She pointed out, which made Gingerbrave laugh.

“And you think I do?! Look at me! I was made in this timeline and everyone treats me like a monster.” His expression turned into something a bit more reserved as he continued. “Who cares about who comes from where and when? The only place you belong is right here with me and Wizard.”

“But the real Strawberry–” She was cut off by Gingerbrave putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gingerbrave’s frown morphed into that cheeky shark-toothed grin she knew all too well by this point. “That Strawberry wasn’t there when Wizard and I needed help busting out of the Castle. That Strawberry doesn’t have our backs against those two-bit Heroes. That Strawberry isn’t here to help me find my head every time I lose it!” He laughed at the last part. “That was all you! So even if you weren’t born in this timeline, you’re still our Strawberry Cookie. And if those TBD losers you told us about try to come and get you, then they’ll have to get through Wizard and I first. Got it?”

She stared at him for a long moment, unfortunately her hood hid most of her expression but Gingerbrave was sure he saw her eyes widen a fraction.

The tenseness melted from her shoulders, and she looked off to the side with a small, “Have it your way.” Despite the less than stellar reaction, Gingerbrave could tell she was feeling a lot better.

“Great!” He threw an arm around her shoulders and began to steer her toward the door. “Then how’s about me and you head over to the game room and you can kick my ass in that fighting game you love to play so much! I think I’m getting better with my main!”

“Your main is literally F-Tier.” Wild Strawberry pointed out, not bothering to fight him as he dragged her out of the training room.

“But tonight he’s gonna be A!” The statement got a rare chuckle out of her, and Gingerbrave smiled in victory. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t originally a part of their timeline, she was here now and she was here when it mattered. That’s all Gingerbrave could ever ask for in a friend.

“Hey, actually…” Gingerbrave mused aloud. “Does this mean we’re friends in every timeline?”

Wild Strawberry blinked at the sudden change in topic. “...It looked like that in all the timelines I saw.”

Gingerbrave’s smile widened. “Awesome! Then, yeah, that definitely proves you belong here with us! No doubt about it!”

There was a lot of technicalities and actual facts that Gingerbrave was glossing over, but that tiny part of Strawberry’s mind that so badly yearned for the kind of life she saw her counterparts having clung to it like a lifeline. The comforting assurance that she wasn’t just a poor replacement and was instead meant to be here, fell over her like a warm blanket.

“... Gingerbrave?” She whispered softly, making the boy pause.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.” She didn’t meet his eyes, but she could tell he was happy.

She might not have been the “real” Strawberry Cookie, but she was Gingerbrave and Wizard’s very real friend.

[maskedbyghost]

Shadows of Obsession (part 5)

part 1 TW: obsessive behavior, mentions of killing, harm, and potential danger to the character

She leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The soft hum of the safe house filled the space, but her attention was locked on Simon, who sat at the table meticulously cleaning his weapon. His movements were calm and practiced as if nothing in the world could bother him. But she had been stewing on her thoughts all morning, and now she needed answers.

“So…”

Simon didn’t look up, his focus still on the disassembled parts before him. “Hm?”

“What exactly did you tell Price about… all this?” she asked, her words deliberate. “About me being here?”

For a moment, Simon’s hands paused—just a fraction of a second—before he resumed his work, wiping the barrel with a precision that seemed almost excessive.

“Told him it was your idea,” he said simply, his voice steady.

She blinked, caught off guard by how normal he seemed after saying something like that. “What?”

He finally set down the cleaning rag, lifting his gaze to meet hers. His eyes, as always, were unreadable even without his mask, but there was something in his posture that made her stomach twist.

“Told him you wanted to go off the radar until we could find whoever’s after you. Said it’d keep you safe. Price agreed,” he continued.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You lied to Price?”

Simon shrugged one shoulder, his gaze unflinching. “Aye. I did.”

She stared at him, searching for an explanation. “Why?”

This time, he didn’t hesitate. “Because it’s what I wanted. Keeps you out of harm’s way. Keeps you… here.”

She opened her mouth to respond but found she couldn’t. Because the truth in his tone was unmistakable—Simon didn’t just want her safe. He wanted her there, with him.

-

She was bored. Restless. The kind of aimless energy that left her pacing the house, flipping through half-read books, and staring out the same windows that showed the same nothingness. Simon had been off in his corner, sharpening his knives and brooding in silence for hours.

The idea struck her out of nowhere. Cooking. Why not?

The house’s pantry was surprisingly well-stocked, though everything was either canned, dried, or vacuum-sealed. But she managed to cobble together a recipe in her head and got to work. Soon, the sharp sizzle of vegetables in a pan and the warm, fragrant aroma of spices filled the air.

When it was ready, she called out, “Dinner’s done!”

Simon appeared in the doorway and looked at the table, then at her, his head tilting slightly in that way he did when he was trying to figure something out.

She gestured to the plate she’d set down for him. “Sit. Eat.”

He didn’t argue, though his hesitation was obvious. He sat down heavily, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and picked up his fork.

The moment the first bite hit his tongue, his entire body stilled. His eyes widened, his chewing slowed, and he set his fork down like he needed a moment to process what had just happened.

She frowned. “What? Is it bad?”

Simon shook his head, his throat working as he swallowed. “No. It’s… good,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual.

But inside, Simon Riley was absolutely unraveling. Ring. Marriage. Babies. Lots of babies. Get her pregnant now. The words screamed in his head, looping relentlessly as he stared at her.

Oblivious, she went back to eating, offering him a small smile before chatting idly about how long it had been since she’d cooked for anyone.

Simon didn’t hear a word. He was too busy picturing their future together. And it wasn’t just the food that had him spiraling; it was the sheer ease of it. The way she had done something so effortlessly kind, so normal, just for him.

He finished his plate in silence, memorizing every detail of the moment. And by the time he set down his fork, he had made up his mind. She would never know, but tonight had sealed her fate.

Because Simon didn’t just want her anymore. He needed her. And no one—no enemy, no circumstance, not even fate itself—was going to take her away from him.

*a few days later*

The sun had long since set, leaving the house cloaked in darkness. The faint hum of the refrigerator was the only sound in the small kitchen as she stood by the counter, staring out the window at the nothingness beyond. It was stifling—this endless waiting, the silence, the feeling of being trapped.

She didn’t know if it was the isolation, the lack of control, or his maddeningly calm demeanor, but something inside her snapped.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she blurted out, breaking the quiet.

Simon didn’t even look up from the table, his attention still fixed on the knife he was cleaning. “Do what?” he asked, his voice low and even.

“This!” She gestured around the room, her frustration bubbling over. “Sitting here, hiding, doing nothing while they’re still out there!”

Now he looked up, his eyes locking onto hers with a piercing intensity. “It’s not nothing. It’s staying alive.”

She slammed her hands on the table, glaring at Simon with a fire that matched the storm building in her chest. “I’m sick of just sitting here, Simon! I can help! You know I can!”

Simon leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, the knife and cloth forgotten on the table. “No.”

“No?” she echoed, her voice rising. “That’s your whole argument? Just ‘no’?”

“It’s too dangerous.” His voice was clipped, firm, and final in a way that made her want to scream.

“Too dangerous for who? For me?” She pointed to herself, her hands trembling with frustration. “Or for you because you’re afraid you’ll have to trust me for once?”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You think this is about trust? It’s about keeping you alive. You don’t know what these people are capable of.”

“Oh, and you do?” she shot back, refusing to back down even as his tone turned colder. “I’m not some helpless damsel, Simon! I have a right to fight back!”

“Not on my watch.” His tone was low, almost a growl, and it sent a shiver down her spine, though she refused to show it.

Her breath hitched. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? Your watch. Your control. You get to decide what I can and can’t do while I’m stuck here in this… this prison you’ve built for me!”

Simon flinched, just barely, but it was enough for her to notice. Still, he stood his ground, his voice cold. “It’s not a prison. It’s a house. Our house.”

“It’s the same damn thing, Simon!” she shouted, her voice breaking as frustration and anger welled up inside her. “I can’t wait to get out of here. Away from you.”

Without waiting for his response, she turned and stormed down the hall, slamming the door to her room shut behind her. She leaned against it, her chest heaving as she tried to calm her racing heart.

In the silence that followed, Simon stood frozen, her words echoing in his mind. Away from you.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought against the wave of emotions threatening to break through his carefully constructed walls. Anger. Guilt. Fear.

He knew he’d pushed too hard, been too stubborn, too controlling. But the idea of her out there, in harm’s way, was unbearable. He could face any enemy, endure any pain, but the thought of losing her—it was the one thing he couldn’t handle.

After a moment, he exhaled sharply and ran a hand down his face, his mind racing. He couldn’t leave things like this. Not when every instinct in his body was screaming at him to fix it. To protect her.

She paced the small room, her hands shaking with residual anger. How dare he? How dare he treat her like a child, like someone who couldn’t handle herself? She wasn’t some fragile thing that needed his constant protection.

A soft knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, and her heart skipped a beat. She froze, debating whether to answer.

“Let me in,” Simon said, his voice quieter now.

She hesitated, her hand hovering over the doorknob. On the other side, she could hear his measured breathing, as if he was battling something within himself, something he wasn’t sure he could contain.

PART 6

-------------------------------------------

let me know what you think babess

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic @identity2212 @tessakate @lem-hhn

[thesirencult]

Pick A Card Reading 18+ :

His Late Night Thoughts About You

Pile 1

Knight Of Cups, 7 Of Cups, 5 Of Pentacles, 8 of cups

You make this man sweat. He writes and rewrites paragraphs, his pupils dilating every time a thought of you passes his mind. He wants all of you. He sees you as a dominant figure and wants you to take over.

He likes it when you play hard to get and you may both be into that.

He wants to worship you and write songs about your body.

He specifically thinks a lot about stealing kisses in inappropriate moments while caressing your neck and hair.

He really wants you to refuse him and let him chase you until you make him beg for your touch.

Pile 2

3 Of Cups, The Tower, Ace Of Cups, The World

Another simp for my pile 2 (we love seeing that here). This one might be a switch that wants to both dominate and be dominated psychologically.

He wants to hungrily kiss your neck and grab your hair. His kisses ravaging you and lighting up a flame in your core.

He loves stockings and your breasts, might be quite tall and he loves fantasizing about your facial expressions while you are having fun.

Legs on shoulders position might be his favourite and he is quite strong, even if he is not that muscular. A loving savage.

After the ravaging, lots of cuddles and kisses will follow along with pillow talk.

Pile 3

8 Of Cups, Knight Of Pentacles, The Empress, Knight Of Swords, 10 Of Wands, King Of Pentacles

"Are you lost baby girl?" but it's your towns sleazy cop. Kidding! This man is nothing but sleazy. Steadfast and serious he sees you as being leagues above him.

"I don't deserve her." He might say to friends and family. He is fantasizing of getting your attention and riding off to the sunset.

Well, riding is certainly involved in his fantasies. Sometimes they are not that sexual but involve more intimate contact.

He is thinking about riding a motorcycle with you and having you wrapping your hands around him. Cold weather making you shiver while he opens the door to let you in his apartment.

He has these wild fantasies about seducing you and then handcuffing you and making you submit. In a loving way though! This is a gentleman!

I feel like this one is taken aback by his fantasies over you. He seems pretty cool, calm and collected and you may not even believe these thoughts would cross his mind.

Let him slip through the door and you'll find out.

He wants to pick you up and kiss you and he is attracted to your curves. If you have lower back dimples he loves them and he also loves your hair up.

He is like "Come here baby I won't bite!" and loves it when you are your genuine, innocent self. Honestly? A kind, gentle "giant". This person seems stoic but they become a puddle of love when near you. Grumpy and sunshine.

Small note : They don't realize you do small gestures to seduce them but they get super turned on! As an example, touching his arm or burying your head on his chest or ruffling his hair.

Pile 4

7 Of Pentacles, The Hermit, The Hierophant, The Lovers

This person loves watching you from afar. Their fantasies involve them stalking you and watching you take your clothes off before taking a shower.

If you are into both men and women they would want to have you with multiple partners or have you worship them like others do. These are fantasies they will never talk about because they don't care about actualising them.

They might already be in a relationship but don't want to cheat on their partner. You are on their radar though.

[downbadf0rficppl]

sweater weather

Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: While caught out in a snowstorm while on a mission, you resort to desperate measures to keep warm.

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Canon violence, slightly injured reader, smut, manhandling, soft sex, facefucking

Repost

The mission was long. And hard. And all you wanted now was a nice, long nap.

Steve had brought up this particular mission while you two were hiding in Manila. You always preferred the warmer destinations, even when you worked for SHIELD.

It was a simple mission - too simple in hindsight - the grab-the-file-and-get-out type.

"It's Austria," you sighed, again with the cold. "I know, sweets, but it's an ex-Hydra base. We gotta check it out, make sure they don't have anything they shouldn't."

You nodded, "When do we leave?"

"Wheels up in an hour."

When you landed in Austria, your mood soured quickly. There was a foot of snow surrounding the town, and you trudged through the snow to get to the safehouse - a mile away from the nearest town. You were staking out the safe house when the entire town lost power. No lights, no heating, no appliances. It was going to be a rough couple of days.

You bundled yourself in a coat and blankets while you and Steve went over what you knew. The old Hydra base had been abandoned for a while, but it was one of the few that hadn't been on SHIELD's radar due to the lack of activity in the area. It seemed that they had missed something. It seemed very active now.

You spent the first few days making sure no one suspected you were doing anything suspicious. You stocked up on firewood - making sure you would have enough, even if you ended up snowed in for a couple of days. You tried to get out to some shops, but with the three inches of snow in the local town, no shops were open. You hoped that there was some long-life food still left in the safe house.

When you set out, you silently prayed that the power would come back on by the time you had finished dealing with the agents in the bunker. You also thanked Tony for putting a heater in your suit as part of one of his routine upgrades. You weren't freezing your ass off as you broke into the base.

The bunker itself was powered by some self-generating form of energy - no doubt developed as a result of Loki's scepter in the hands of Baron Von Strucker. The bunker was still working at peak capacity when you and Steve waltzed in the building, guns a-blazing, looking for any signs they were planning something big.

The bunker clearly had been expecting you, launching a full assault on you as soon as you guys walked in. Agents flew left, right, and centre, throwing kicks and punches. The odd bullet was fired at your heads. They were good. But you were much better. You dodged each blow, retaliating with one much harder. They may have had power but it was amateur. You were a battle-hardened professional.

One guy was lucky. He took a baton to your ribcage while you were preoccupied with two other guys. Clearly, he hadn't learned to play fair. You threw the other two guys off you, kicking your assailant into the wall. A nasty crack was the end of him.

You left the bunker exhausted, gripping a nasty bruise that was forming over your ribs. Steve wrapped an arm around you, carrying your weight as you hobbled from the bunker. He abandoned the idea quickly, your height difference making the maneuver awkward. Instead, he wrapped his arms under your thighs, scooping you up bridal style.

You nuzzled into his chest, seeking out his warmth as the snow beat down upon you both. Steve was like a human furnace, his heat radiating through you, keeping you warm even in the hostile temperatures you found yourself in. He smiled down at you, gripping you tighter into his body as you retreated into the trees.

It was about 12 miles from the bunker to the safe house and Steve knew he had to get you both there before the blizzard really hit. There he could check your ribs for the extent of the damage. He prayed that the damage wasn't bad, guilt overtaking his mind. A few seconds of preoccupation on his part led to you being injured. Steve felt terrible.

He was also on high alert. There was no exfil team. They weren't Avengers anymore. They were on their own out here - even Nat wouldn't be able to get here in time if they were attacked.

The trudge through the snow was terrible. Frost covered your hair and his beard, and the chills were racking through your body with more frequency. The snow was seeping through your tactical gear, and given that night was fast falling around them, Steve picked up the pace.

More than once, you offered to walk alongside him, saying that you'd both be faster if you could run, but then an odd step would jolt your body and the pained gasp that would leave your lips was an answer enough.

By the time you reached the house, you had fallen asleep in Steve's arms. He kicked the door open with his toe - the key being a biometric scan of his eye.

You woke up as he sat you down gently on the edge of the sofa.

"Welcome back to the land of the living sleeping beauty." He chuckled as you threw your boot at his head. He caught it easily.

You almost swooned. Sometimes, you thought Steve showed off just to get a reaction out of you. You didn't mind - it was hot.

Steve shut the door with a click, kicking off his shoes by the door. You shivered. Somehow it was colder inside the house than outside. Steve grabbed your bag, throwing a pair of soft clean clothes in your direction, before grabbing some firewood and getting a fire started.

You limped into the bathroom, the coldness making your bones ache. You made quick work of your suit - throwing it into the bathtub, before toweling yourself dry. The wetness of the suit had chaffed at your skin, and the threadbare towel was doing nothing to help the soreness of your skin, but a little itchiness was nothing compared to the hell that would be a cold. Especially since you had no idea when you were getting out of here.

"The power's still out!" Steve called from outside the bathroom. You could tell he was leaning on the door frame, ever the gentleman, even in sub-freezing temperatures.

"Yeah, no shit sherlock." You mumble under your breath as you open the door.

Steve smirked, "I caught that." You gave him a sarcastic smile back. He passed you to go dry off, "No hot water, so I dumped my suit in the tub to dry." You said, leaning on the door frame to take in the picture in front of you.

Steve's usually prim and proper appearance was dishevelled, hair run through multiple times. His suit was half-unzipped, toned chest visible under the confines of the tight fabric. A spattering of hair grew on his chest - the result of multiple back-to-back missions. And, of course, being an internationally-wanted fugitive.

He gave you a nod of confirmation, before shutting the door. You turned around to be hit by a wave of warmth. In the time it took you to pull the skin-tight tac suit off your body - which, let's be honest, took quite a while seeing as it was soaked - Steve had managed to get a fire going.

You huddled close to the fire, pulling your legs into your chest and tucking your face into your knees. You stayed there while Steve stirred in the bathroom - the occasional grunt as he bumped into the things making you giggle.

You shuffled closer to the fire, trying to steal every ounce of warmth to warm your frigid body.

"Careful, doll, you might burn yourself." You looked up at him and smiled, reaching for him as he walked towards you. He sat behind you, arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. You relaxed into his arms. This was nice. You needed to do this more.

He ran his fingers over your ribs, goosebumps following in his path. You winced slightly as he applied pressure. "Not broken." He whispered, hot breath ghosting over your ear. You shivered lightly.

Steve pulled you into a chair, before retrieving the first aid kit. He sat you down, before sinking to his knees in front of you. You clenched your thighs slightly, the action pushing your mind to filth. If Steve noticed, he said nothing. He rolled up your sleeves and your trousers, revealing a plethora of small cuts and bruises that littered your body. Steve made quick work of treating your superficial wounds, smiling sympathetically when you winced at the sting of antiseptic against the cuts.

He snuck a hand under your shirt, locking eyes with you in a silent request for permission. You pulled up your shirt, revealing the large bruise over your ribs. There was a red mark in the centre of the bruise where the pole had hit you. Steve gently wiped it with an alcohol wipe, before applying Arnica cream to the bruise. You watched him tenderly patch you up.

"I'm sorry." His words surprise you.

"What?"

"I should have been there. To protect you."

You scoffed, "In case it slipped your memory, you were preoccupied. It's not your fault."

He nodded silently, rolling your shirt back down. He started to pack up the kit, but you grabbed his arm, dragging him back to sit where you had been sat moments before.

"You're hurt too, Captain," you said, sinking to your knees in front of him in the same way he had. The effect you had on him was far more visible. His face blushed a bright red, and you smiled coyly.

You bandaged up the graze on his leg, hands lingering longer than they needed to. You pushed yourself off the floor and occupied yourself with the knots in his shoulders. The adrenaline made both your bodies tense, but while you had had the time to relax in Steve's arms, he hadn't had that same luxury.

You ran your fingertips over his shoulders, kneading the particularly tight parts. Steve let out a low groan in appreciation, resting his forehead on your stomach. The sound sent electricity through your body, heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

Steve's hands came around to rest on your thighs, pulling you closer into his body like he couldn't bear to be apart from you for even a moment.

You leaned to whisper into his hair, "It's not your fault, Steve." His hold on you only became tighter.

You stood like that for a while, your arms running up and down Steve's back while he convinced himself that you were fine.

He walked out back to grab more firewood, promising he'd be back in a few seconds. You smiled to yourself, fingers ghosting over your lips. The thought of kissing Steve was overwhelming, but you didn't want to push him when you weren't sure of exactly how he felt.

You had a pretty good idea though.

Ever since you had joined the Avengers, you had been close. But with the multiple near-end-of-the-world experiences, it never seemed like the right time to explore those feelings. Steve had always been affectionate, keeping close to you, both in public and private. He had bought you flowers regularly when you lived in New York, always remembered your birthday, protected you when Hydra agents and internet trolls attacked you. In return, you had stood by him in every fight that you could - you always had his back. He could count on that. When the dispute over the Sokovia accords had happened, you agreed with Steve - even if that meant you lost some close friends. In the years that followed, you had fought countless enemies side-by-side. Bucky sometimes joined you, Sam too. But for the most part, you two had become almost intimately acquainted.

You crept towards the kitchen, rifling through the cabinets for any long-life food that might have been kept there. You pulled a can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. You pulled another can out of the cupboard. Baked Beans. And another. And another. And another. All beans.

Buried at the back of the cupboard was a single tin of Chicken Noodle Soup that was so out of date, the mold in it had probably bred a new organism. Baked beans it was then.

You heated the beans up in a pan, placing them over the roaring fire to warm them up. You huddled up to the fire again, chills wracking through your body, keeping the pan over the fire all the while. After a while, with the tomato sauce bubbling slightly, you pulled the pan away from the heat and stood up to serve it into the two cracked bowls that were left in the safe house. Tony had done a good job at emptying the safe houses after the end of the Avengers.

Your hands shook as you evenly distributed the beans. You could hardly bear to be this far away from the fire. You needed more layers, but your coat and your tac suit were soaked through, meaning you had nothing else to wear.

Your hands shook violently again as another shiver ripped through you. You tucked your hands under your armpits and raised your shoulders to cover your ears.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted something fuzzy draped on the edge of the sofa. Steve's jumper. He's been wearing it when he arrived in Austria but claimed that it was far too thick for him - immediately discarding it when you had entered the safe house. You didn't know how it had slipped your mind earlier.

You slipped it on - Steve hadn't lied. It was incredibly thick and cozy. And also quite large, dwarfing your figure, making you feel safe and warmed. You pushed up the sleeves and carried the bowls to the floor in front of the fire.

You noticed an extra pair of Steve's socks tucked into the front of his backpack. You quickly stole them, slipping them onto your feet. You were grateful that Steve was an over-packer.

You crouched back in front of the fire, pulling the jumper over your knees, balancing your bowl on your kneecaps.

You heard Steve before you saw him. He was carrying a pile of firewood in his arms and grumbling about how 'the stupid snow got in his boots and now his socks are wet'. You giggled.

"Glad you find my torment funny, sweets." He said, his eyes still trained on the wood in his eyes, "How would you feel if I got trench foot, and was benched for-" He stopped abruptly.

You looked up at him. His gaze was trained on your body, eyes darkening by the second.

"You shouldn't have done that, sweets."

Your face breaks into uncertainty. Maybe you had completely misread the situation. Maybe Steve only wanted to be friends.

The way he grabbed your face, though, told you differently.

He stooped low to cradle your face in his hands. He placed small kisses all over your face, pecking you like a bird would its food.

"You're mine." He whispered between each one. The declaration made heat pool in your stomach and you couldn't help but laugh. You grabbed his face with your hands, and pressed your lips to his, gently at first. Steve ran his tongue against your lips, begging to be let in.

You moaned as his tongue explored each and every part of your mouth. You could feel him getting harder every second that passed and that only spurred you on.

"Steve," his name fell from your lips like a prayer, "please."

He picked you up and you let out a soft gasp.

"You like that, sweetheart?"

You nodded, words cast from your mind. He chuckled, lust colouring his tone as he shuffled you in his arms.

"Makes me feel safe." You whispered, nestling your head into his shoulder. "Like it when you carry me."

He smiled and laid you on the sofa gently. He pressed deep and sensual kisses on your lips, large and warm hands caressing your body.

You arched your back as he ran a knuckle over your nipple. You were hopelessly horny, begging for friction.

"Tell me what you want, baby."

"You. Only you." You whimpered.

"Where do you want me?"

"Everywhere. Please, Steve." You were begging. Steve's eyes lit up.

"Want me to love you, pretty baby?" Steve said, dragging his fingers up your sides.

"Steve, please!" You were close to tears.

He pulled your panties down, fingers slipping in between your wet folds.

"Fuck, darling, you're making a mess." You shuddered, moans spilling out from your lips. He pulls his trousers down, dick curling into his stomach.

"You ready, sweetheart?"

You nodded in response.

"Good." He slid into you gently, your walls stretching to accommodate him. He groaned, head tossed back in pleasure.

He was bigger than you had thought - you grabbed his bicep as he brushed your g-spot.

“S’big Stevie." You whimpered, "M’all full.”

"Yeah baby? You like that?" His hands came to rest on the bulge in your stomach.

The pleasure exploded like a million fireworks in your stomach. He started moving, setting a brutal pace, pushing in and out of you. His cock brushed your g-spot with every thrust, and soon enough you were seeing stars.

"Love it, Stevie! Please don't stop!" He drilled into you, muttering sweet praises.

The coil in your stomach tightened with each thrust. “M’not gonna last.” you whimpered softly.

“S’okay baby." He praised, "Come for me, pretty girl."

You came with a silent cry, shuddering as a wave of arousal washed over you. Steve rode out your orgasm with you, before pulling out. He stood up to head to the bathroom, but you grabbed his hand and pulled him down onto the sofa. You sank to your knees in front of him, again, and licked a stripe from the base to the tip of his cock.

"You don't have to do this."

"I want to."

You placed a kiss on the tip of his cock before taking it in your mouth and sucking on it. You wrapped your right hand around the base of his cock and used the other to massage his balls. Steve drew a sharp breath in above you. You wrapped his hand around your hair, giving him permission to fuck your face. He grabbed your hair tightly and fucked up into your face, choking you with the brutal pace that he set.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna cum," Steve said, slightly relaxing his pace as he moved to pull out. You pushed your face further onto his cock.

Ropes of his cum coated the back of your throat as he came with moans of your name. Your eyes welled up as your throat filled with his seed. You swallowed it, much to Steve's surprise. He pulls you into his lap, before carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up.

You settle on the sofa in his lap, kissing lightly over and over again.

You turn your head to the fire. "Shit."

"What?" Steve looked at you in concern.

"The food. S'gone cold."

He burst into laughter, resting his forehead on your shoulder. He placed a small kiss on your shoulder. You could get used to this.

fin.

buy me a coffee

[jmdbjk]

The year that was 2024:

But first...

Standing at the threshold of 2025 I look back far past 2024 to that day in June 2022 and the grief, disbelief... the shock and trauma those of us experienced while watching the Festa Dinner video. That dinner had been pre-recorded a few weeks prior and they released it on June 14. The members had to be scared of what our reactions would be when we watched it. 

At that time we still had no idea how military enlistment would unfold, that news was still months away for us after the October concert in Busan. All we knew was BTS was going to pause but we did not really know what that meant. And it wasn't just the fans who went into a tailspin, Hybe stock took a dip, the secretary of Ministry of Culture Sports and Tourism begged BTS to come back. The news of a BTS hiatus began to hit international news media across the globe. The emotional devastation was real.

That day and following days, it seemed like 2025 was forever in the future. What would we be like in 2025? What would the members of BTS be like? What would the music industry landscape be like? What would the world be like? It was two and a half years away from that day. Back in June 2022, 2025 seemed like a lifetime away in the future, a bleak, dark unknown.

We attempted to pull ourselves together and look for the positives... "we'll save so much money!” and "we'll have time to learn Korean!" HAH! The real winner: “I can catch up on content!” LMAO!

Here we are now, two and a half years later. My god the shit that's transpired since. A lot of it was not on anyone's radar.

2024, the year of fighting...

Throughout the year and as the year wore on, we fought boycotters, haters, mantis and solos. We fought the media, each other, other fandoms... it was a constant battle to clear the mess. Our main weapon? Our love for BTS and the members and our commitment and determination.

We should be better at recognizing bad actors, at recognizing organized hate. I hope you all are blocking it, muting it because it is an energy drain to dwell on it and it exists. Some people are compelled to lash back at it. I'm not one of those. I prefer blocking/muting. Do what is right for you.

So here's a recap of 2024...the first quarter of the year started out calmly.

January: We were basking in the BTS documentary series Beyond the Star and waiting for a sign of our men completing their basic training. We were hoping to find out where they would be stationed for the rest of their military service.

February was relatively quiet. Except for this.

Tae's song "Fri(end)s", released mid-March.

Hope on the Street Vol. 1 released end of March with the six episode docu-series running through April.

We were hitting our stride, understanding that they'd prepared so much for us while they were away. Even k-media reported on the unusual amount of content produced by BTS to span their enlistment time. It was reassuring and we were spoiled. Looking back, it was the quiet before the storm...

This "quiet before the storm" has never quieted before the storm like this quiet before the storm quieted the first quarter of 2024.

In April we witnessed a real eclipse in the sky and then while we were having the best time unraveling the mystery of the Monochrome merch popups, the shit hit the fan with the Min Hee Jin revelations. And that circus was just beginning. Maybe I'm just naive or too much of a positive person but I never fathomed that there were people out there this demented, this twisted, this delusional, controlling and narcissistic that they thought they could single-handedly bring down a huge company like Hybe via public opinion. And as time went on and continues to go on we learned she was not alone. That woman is sick and evil.

I recalled back in 2021 seeing people be paranoid about the young company, Hybe, hiring ex-SM employees. I wanted to believe these former SM employees they hired saw the opportunity to escape a toxic workplace and therefore defected to Hybe. Now we know the paranoia was justified.

The end of April and into May I watched Begins ≠ Youth, the drama series based on the BTS Universe. It took years for that series to finally see the light of day. It was very intriguing. There was a lot of controversy about Xclusive, the platform it was delivered on. My theory is it was an experiment to see how fans would react to a blockchain/NFT product. I have a huge post in my drafts about it but we moved on from it quickly, so I did too. The series was great though.

The rest of May was a month where we were trying to remain calm, trying to remain positive. We as a fandom felt very beat up. Anticipation was through the roof for Jin's military discharge and Festa.

But first, Namjoon released Right Place, Wrong Person, the studio album and subsequently, the accompanying documentary, Right People, Wrong Place. Both the album and documentary are critically acclaimed, winning awards and landing on "best of" lists across the globe.

Finally, it's June. Jin's discharge was so emotional for everyone. We were able to see everyone except Yoongi greet him outside the gates. But it was amazing seeing all 7 together in still photos afterward. It was a collective sigh of relief that we truly are beginning the downhill side of their military enlistment. Jin has been working his ass off since that day, his album Happy and its title song Running Wild doing well.

I know we've got our opinions about the South Korean government but that day, for me, seeing Jimin and Jungkook in their uniforms, as soldiers, just hit a spot in me that I can't describe. I felt proud of them. And I hope after their discharge they can tuck away that sense of accomplishment in a safe space and flip the bird at the bureaucrats running their country.

Jimin dropped his second album, Muse, in July, the mystery solved of what all those other producers were doing with Jimin the second half of 2022. The title song Who continues to chart. His songs are wonderful. I'm so proud of how far he's come during this solo era. I miss him.

And then Are You Sure?! happened. Even though we KNEW it was coming, I can't believe we got that show. I can't believe they did all of that. Naked Jimin except for a small pair of black shorts... naked Jungkook. Just so much naked after years of Victorian era artist protection CG over every square inch of bare skin. Watching that show, so much of what I knew in my mind of how they are together was mostly confirmed.

I said this months ago: After Jungkook’s 2023 Weverse lives, the Are You Sure?! series, their companion military enlistment and his documentary I Am Still the theatrical release and the Disney+ docu-series, it is clear that Jimin is Jungkook’s touchstone, a significant presence through at least this part of his life. We can’t know what the future holds, I would never dare to assume what their own personal desires or goals are for themselves, but I do know that Jimin will play a big part in it and I hope we still get to see some of that play out when it happens.

I'm still processing. I digressed. It happens when it comes to me, Jimin and Jungkook. Moving on.

August... my god. My dear Yoongi. We are still waiting to see him again, to see with our own eyes that he is actually ok and to figuratively take his hand in ours, to reassure each other and keep moving forward to leave this year far behind. I know he knows we are here. I can't stand the wall though, of not being able to see him. Does that make sense? I mostly keep my thoughts to myself about him because it really hurts my heart to think about him having to suffer through all that. August and into September were hard, hard… so hard.

Fast forward to October when Hobi stepped out of those doors on the day of his discharge, it seemed like time had flown by as if we just watched him leaving for training camp, even though it was sooooooo long ago.

And now he's lived in LA for almost a month, been in Japan and seen with more people... A possible fashion collab? Songs/album in February? We don't know anything for sure yet but info has leaked. A tour in spring? I'll be there if I can snag tickets.

We've seen glimpses of Tae and his buff self. His collab with Bing Crosby was ground breaking and hopefully will become a holiday classic just like the original. Also, happy birthday, Tae!

[Photo shared by Taehyung on his Instagram stories.]

December began shockingly with South Korea's President Yoon attempting to impose martial law. My heart dropped. Our guys were on red alert, scrambling. It lasted a few hours before being overturned by their national assembly.

Mid-December, while on a vacation leave, Jungkook surprised us with a 2 and a half hour live just like he used to do. He looked so good. He sounded good. From what I saw, he's still the same Jungkook.

Do you realize, if martial law had remained in effect, we would not have seen Jungkook? There would be no celebrating. We would all be in limbo. Who knows what that crazy shithead (now impeached-president Yoon) would have done if martial law was still in place. The slow reveal of information about the planning of it is chilling and should be a reminder to us all to not take things for granted. Their National Assembly are still trying to get everything under control, the turmoil is not over yet.

Somehow, the Universe is working overtime to get BTS through their service and I hope it continues to do so because we still have just under six months left. At this point, I believe anything could happen.

Counting down the hours to 2025

We are about to enter the holy Borayear of our Lord Min Yoongi 2025. Bestie and I talked a lot about what the possibilities might be for 2025.

Of course, like everyone else, we know nothing for sure, only what we've gleaned from the member's themselves, official announcements, news releases and hints here and there. What we DO know for sure is there will not be a void. We have two Tannies back with us. Music will be released, content produced:

January 4 is Jin's OST.

Not directly BTS related but we as a fandom would like some closure and satisfaction surrounding the MHJ drama because trials will begin in January.

Hobi has something coming. Certainly Hobi will have another EP, perhaps HOTS Vol. 2? which would be supported with a tour. There's been a leak of info. We are on high alert.

For the others, perhaps a few one-off singles before June. Between us, we don't think Tae has another album's worth of music. Jungkook either.

A Yoongi collab perhaps?

Namjoon, probably nothing. Poor baby is so ready to be discharged.

The Jimin x Benny Blanco music, whatever that may be.

Maybe that rumored JK x Tae subunit song. Or maybe it's not a song?

Jin mentioned another album but the timing is tight to squeeze it in before June.

Then the HYYH 10th Anniversary in April, whatever that may entail. A retrospective perhaps?

Attempting to predict how their discharge days will play out is difficult. Jin and Hobi splitting up to meet Namjoon and Tae at their respective bases? And then all four of them head to Jimin and Jungkook the next day to greet them as they exit their base? We wait with anticipation.

After the Boraholy month of June 2025, we expect group activities to ramp up. What those will be is anyone's guess. Weverse lives for sure. Also, dance practice videos. We expect new music. We also expect performances. Perhaps a one-off "we're baaAAAaack!" type concert? Or not. But performances of some sort. They've been looking forward so much to performing I can't see them waiting any longer than they have to for at least one performance somewhere, somehow.

And toward the end of 2025, a comeback album and the world tour announcement. May the odds be ever in your favor. Just kidding. I'm getting those tickets.

Our speculation continues... could new music consist of more subunits?

I could be wrong but I do not think they will revisit a Bon Voyage or In The Soop format. They might pick up Run BTS but it won’t be like it was before. I can’t even see them doing what Jin’s doing in many Run Jin episodes. Not as a group.

I think (I hope) that Yoongi picks up Suchwita again. I hope he does not change one iota of the format. He can address his incident again if he chooses, reiterate he apologized, paid his fine and now we’re moving on to live our big life. That’s it. I hope if this happens his first guest is BTS as a group. 

Maybe that last thing is really wishful thinking on my part but even considering Yoongi might ditch Suchwita or change it just doesn’t align with who he is. He is a “fuck you” type of guy. 

Anyway. 2025 has a promise of hope and happiness and relief and closure. But now, I think we all know to be wary, that anything can happen. 

Bottomline to all of this, to wrap up the year and look forward to the new year is that BTS is COMING BACK. SEVEN MEMBERS STRONG.

The reality is, it will be three years from that day back in 2022, when we finally see them as a group again. The members are slowly becoming more active. We have less than six months to wait and we know how fast that can go. 163 days left for Jimin and Jungkook, 162 for Namjoon and Tae, 173 left for Yoongi.

We must enjoy every moment we can until June 2025 and hope for the best! FIGHTING.