#technically drone but you get what I mean

[colacat53]

part of me wonders if(/feels like) J loved Tessa. Whether those feelings were returned or if it was purely platonic from Tessa's side who knows (I'd like to imagine it was mutual because I do enjoy Jessa) but I feel like J loving Tessa would add another layer to why J chose to side with Cyn/The Absolute Solver. On top of J feeling it's impossible to defeat/escape Cyn/The AS it would also introduce the reason of J also staying because Cyn/The AS was acting as Tessa/wearing her as a skinsuit, possibly seeing it as the last part of Tessa she has

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤMY CRAZY BOYFRIENDㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Teen Team Guys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ SYNOPSIS : When They Act Crazy But Think It's Normal.

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Mark Grayson, Rex Sloan, Rudolph 'Rudy' Conners, Male Eve Wilkins.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— MARK GRAYSON ⋆

You sigh, rubbing your eyes as you slide open your closet door, fully prepared to grab a sweater and move on with your night. Instead, you’re greeted by the sight of Mark, squatting in the corner like some feral raccoon, clutching one of your hoodies to his chest.

He blinks up at you, wide-eyed.

“…Hey.”

You don’t even react. You just shut the door again.

“Wait—babe! Come back! This isn’t what it looks like!” His muffled voice seeps through the wood.

“Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like.” You rub your temples. “Mark, why the fuck are you in my closet?”

There’s a long silence, then a hesitant, “…To be close to you?”

You groan.

“Okay—wait—before you get mad,” he tries, “I technically haven’t left. Like, all day. So, technically, I haven’t been following you, I’ve just… always been here.”

“GET OUT OF MY FUCKING HOUSE!!!”

He bursts out like a guilty child, tripping over your shoes in the process. “I just like your smell, okay?! It’s comforting!”

You’re pretty sure he’s stolen half your wardrobe at this point.

Then you grab your coat and walk out of your room. You can’t deal with this. "I'm sleeping at a friend's house."

"Okay!" he calls after you. "I'll be right here when you get back!"

— REX SLOAN ⋆

You're at a restaurant, minding your business, when the waiter places a drink in front of you.

"Here's your drink, ma'am," the poor guy says.

Rex lunges across the table, knocking everything over in his path. "WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, BUD?!"

The entire restaurant turns to stare as Rex grabs the waiter by the collar.

"Sir, I—"

"DO YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOUR DRINK? YOU THINK SHE WANTS YOU?! YOU TRYNA FLIRT?!" Rex’s hands start to glow, dangerous sparks flying. The table catches fire.

The waiter is pale. "Sir, this is my job—"

"OH, SO YOUR JOB IS TO HIT ON MY GIRL?! I’LL BLOW YOUR NUTS OFF!"

"Rex," you hiss, face buried in your hands. "Put him down. Right. Fucking. Now."

Silence.

Then Rex lets go. The waiter collapses onto the floor, trembling.

Rex turns to you, panting, eyes crazed. Then he smirks, sliding into the seat next to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders. "So anyway, babe, I was thinkin’ about gettin’ a tattoo of your name across my chest."

You stare at the burning table. "I'm leaving."

— RUDOLPH CONNERS ⋆

You wake up to the soft, persistent buzzing of your phone. You squint at the screen.

Unknown Number: Good morning. You should drink some water. Your body temperature was slightly high at 3:42 AM.

Your stomach drops.

You: Who is this???

Unknown Number: You left your window unlocked again. I locked it for you. You’re welcome.

You don’t respond. Instead, you launch out of bed, rip open your curtains—

And stare directly at a hovering drone. It stares back.

It waves at you.

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper.

Your phone buzzes again.

Unknown Number: Why did you close your curtains? :(

— EVAN WILKINS ⋆

You freeze as soon as you step into your apartment. Something is… off.

The walls. They’re a different color. Your furniture? Not where you left it. Your wardrobe? Different.

Oh no. Not again.

“Surprise!” His voice is so cheerful, it makes you want to throw something.

You whirl around. There he is, standing in your newly pink-painted living room, arms wide open like he expects a hug.

You stare at him, horrified. “What did you do?”

“I made everything better!” he beams. “I mean, you have terrible taste. No offense.”

“No offense?!” You gesture around wildly. “You redesigned my entire apartment without asking!”

“Yeah, because I love you,” he says, like that explains everything.

You inhale deeply. Do not commit murder. Do not commit murder.

“Also, I made sure the door won’t open until we talk about your feelings,” he adds helpfully.

You scream into a pillow.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[thalwri]

i'm feeling super feral for zayne so here's a little snack!

it only made sense for you and zayne to keep warm by any means necessary.

it only made sense for you two to strip your clothes off until you were left raw and bare– to keep warm, of course. 

it only made sense for your legs to be held up in his grip with his lips pressing sticky kisses onto your skin while his cock found comfort deep inside you.

“should’ve– listened– to you–“ his voice was trembling in hiccups. he was way too hypnotised by your soft tits bouncing around with each slow, deep thrust. he was way too enamoured by your eyes crossing at the feeling of him raking his way through your walls. he was way too absorbed in the lewd noises that escaped your pretty lips. 

how did you end up in a freezing storage room? it was a prank.

you had brought a few young children suffering from protocore syndrome to zayne for consultation and eventually surgery to remove any shards damaging their organs. it was only moments before they’d go under when zayne realised a bunch of equipment had gone missing and had you go with him to get the replacements.

you had your suspicions, of course. as a hunter you had a strong feeling those petrified children were doing what they could to avoid that surgery. you couldn’t blame them.

well, you would have ten minutes ago. it’s fucking freezing in the storage room. but now you felt more inclined to send your gratitude. if not for them, you wouldn’t be lying over a blanket of clothes being practically dominated by your favourite practitioner.

apart from the droning noise from the vents above you, the only thing you could hear was the lewd, wet clapping of your skin colliding with his, the sound of his moans escaping his lips in huffs, and your own cries riling him up to the point where he went harder and rougher.

“z-zayne–“ you moaned. you couldn’t even muster a sentence without sounding like you were being roughhoused - i mean, you technically were but that’s not the point. 

his eyes were darting all over your dishevelled form from your cute face all the way down to watch his length disappear deep within the confines of your sweet, addictive pussy. each thrust was painfully fast, making the ring of cream around his base larger and frothier to coat his hips in pussy paint.

did he block off all the entrances with ice? maybe.

was he going to stop before either of you were completely satisfied? fuck no.

“i should thank those kids,” he grinned. “it’s not every day i get to see you like this.”

I NEEEEEEEEEEEED HIIIIIIMMMMMMM

[sungbeam]

𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐩 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

nonidol!yoon jeonghan x gn!reader

2.3k words, fluff, comfort, reader is sick, technically a college au, light swearing, mentions of food, mentions of cold medication, tbh i know i advocate for platonic fics but i am also just a girl. so he does pine a little lol, slice-of-life-ish, barely proofread

a/n: there is like no plot, i just am feeling ooey-gooey about svt rn heh :') been watching so much gose recently and it's healing my soul

Yoon Jeonghan was many things, but oblivious was not one of them. “Oh my god, you're sick,” were his first words to you when you opened your apartment door. His voice was droning, perfectly unimpressed, but it masked the concern attempting to skirt its way to the surface. 

“It's not that” —your sorry attempt at denial crumbled like a house of cards as you turned away to cough into your elbow. The taste of metal lingered in the back of your throat and you winced, reaching into your bag to grab your water bottle. After swallowing down a generous helping, you said to him without looking him in the eye, “I'm fine.”

Jeonghan blinked. “That's really cute,” he replied with a thin smile. “Back inside.”

“But Jeonghan—”

“No.” He grabbed you firmly by your shoulders and steered you back into your apartment, his body waddling in behind you because of your balking in the doorway. He kicked the front door shut, shucking his shoes off with uncanny accuracy into an empty space on the shoe rack. “Shoes off, Yn-ah. Don't start an argument you won't win.”

You grumbled under your breath, but did as you were told. All the while, Jeonghan smoothed a hand over his jaw, performing mental gymnastics. How did you get sick? How much time did he have before he needed to get to campus? Could he reasonably make you soup before he needed to leave for his exam?

The first question was easy to answer. He internally smacked himself—last night: your runny nose, the vitamin C powder you added to your water, your shivers on the walk home from the library. Oh, fuck. He should have driven. Why did he make you both walk in that cold?

Guilt coursed through him as he directed you back into your bedroom. 

It was a quarter to 8, meaning he didn't have time to make you ramen and make it to his exam before the doors closed. 

“I have so much shit to do today” —another horrid cough rattled through you, and Jeonghan frowned to himself as he snatched the extra blanket out of your closet— “I can't… Hannie, there's so much I need to—”

“I know, Yn-ah,” he said softly, eyes sad and tender as he bundled you up in three layers until you were likely unable to unwrap yourself. He perched by your side, his palm grazing over your forehead to take your temperature. Hot. Not good. “But if you don't take care of yourself now, it'll only get worse.”

He glanced at his phone. Five to 8—he still had fifteen minutes. It was a blessing that you lived closer to campus than he did. 

“I hate when you're right,” you muttered. The lower half of your face was tucked beneath the edges of your blankets, so all he saw were your tired, glaring eyes. 

He smirked to himself, a fuzziness warming his chest. So petulant. “You always do,” he mused. “What did you have to do today? I'll try and help out as best I can.”

Your glare softened at the corners and your eyes flitted away from him. “It's okay. I'll deal with it all when I wake up. I—wait.” Your eyes shot wide open. “You have that exam today! You have to leave—what time is it?”

“Yah, I'll make it,” he laughed. “Worry about yourself.”

“You literally said last night that you were worried about failing—”

“And now I'm worried about you,” he countered. Satisfaction brought an impish twinkle to his eyes as you scowled at him again. “But fine, I'll leave if you insist.”

He rose from the edge of the bed, picking his backpack up to sling over his shoulder. 

“Thank you.”

With his back toward you, he could allow himself to grin. “What was that?” he called back innocently. 

“Don't fail.”

He huffed out another laugh as he reached the threshold of your bedroom doorway. Jeonghan wondered briefly if he should coax that thank you out of your mouth again, but he really did need to leave. It was awful. Everything in him was ready to throw away this exam to stay here with you. “Go to sleep, honey. I'll see you when you wake up.”

Three hours later, Jeonghan shouldered his way into your apartment, his backpack on his shoulders, his mind far away from that disgusting exam he finished, and his hands occupied with a grocery bag of items he picked up on his way here. When he left earlier, he had swiped your keys on the way out so he could let himself back in without waking you up. He dumped those very keys onto the table by the door, the gazillion key chains attached to the one carabiner clattering inelegantly loud. 

He glanced over at your closed door, hoping he didn't just wake you up. 

With a little less noise, he abandoned his backpack by the couch and made his way over to the kitchen. While he had made it in time to his exam, it had taken more willpower to center his attention on the exam itself rather than letting his mind wander to all the things he wanted to do after he was done. The to-do list spanned about five items: buy cold medicine and orange juice, decide on what food to make you, buy the ingredients for that food, persuade your TA to let him pick up your graded essay (that one, he saw on a sticky note by your desk), and come back to take care of you. 

(If the TA grading his exam took note of the small list he'd jotted down in the top corner of page five, no they didn't.)

There had been several ideas of what he could make you once he was free. He had stared at the row of vegetables in the produce department for a good ten minutes before he decided on something less usual. He could make instant ramen, but that didn't seem like the healthiest option for him to feed you. There was also seaweed soup—did he have the time to go to another store to find what he needed? No. 

His next great idea was something simple, but delicious: chicken noodle soup. 

Jeonghan rummaged around your cabinets, locating the things he needed—cutting board, knife—he opened a door and sighed to himself. So you did have pasta already. Great. 

He examined the box of dried elbow macaroni and compared it to the bowtie pasta he'd picked out. “Mine’s better,” he muttered, shelving your macaroni and bumping the cabinet closed. 

In the largest pot he could find, he brewed up a hearty chicken soup, using the bones from the rotisserie chicken he bought to add more richness to the broth's flavoring. Every carrot, onion, and celery stalk he sliced, and every piece of chicken he shredded, was done deftly and with great care. This was for you, after all, and if this soup could help you get better, then he would make it the best damn thing you'd ever tasted. 

There were plenty of things Jeonghan didn't want to do or weaseled his way out of, but he could be running on one hour of sleep, and he would still haul his ass up to make kimchi from scratch if you asked him to. 

He was stationed behind the stove, tasting the soup for adjustments, when he heard your bedroom door open. 

Jeonghan peered over his shoulder and smiled at the bundle of blankets waddling your way out into the main room, your hair sticking up in odd places, and your eyes still at half mast. “Good morning, sleepy head. How're you feeling?”

“Meh,” you said hoarsely, clearing your throat. You squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the open curtains. “What're you making? It smells nice.”

“Hm? Oh, I made you some soup. Go take the medicine on the counter and sit down; I'll bring you a bowl.”

As he reached over to grab another pinch of salt, he heard you tearing open the box of cold medicine behind him. 

A moment passed by of quiet, but his heart leapt straight into his throat as he felt a soft weight rest against his back. “Thank you, Hannie,” you murmured, forehead pressed between his shoulders. 

There were about a dozen things running through his mind at the moment—things he could say, things he could do. He was an ounce of willpower away from melting on the spot, but the heat rising from the soup pot kept him upright. “Aish… thank me by getting better, okay?”

You hummed in acknowledgment and lifted yourself off his back. When you hobbled away to sit down at the table, Jeonghan couldn't brush away the feeling that the spot your head had rested was now cold. 

“How was the” —cough— “the exam?” 

Jeonghan glanced over at you as he carefully ladled soup into two bowls. He hummed, “Could've been better, but can't really do anything about it now.”

“I'm sure you did good,” you replied, holding out your hands like a kid waiting for their turn to get candy from a jar as Jeonghan made his way over to you with the soup. “You always say you did bad when you actually scored in the top ten percent.”

“Careful, honey, it's hot.” Jeonghan continued to hold the bowl even as you cupped it in your hands, until it safely reached the table. Only then did he seat himself down adjacent to you. “Yeah, well, you always said I should be more humble,” he joked.

You picked up your spoon and gestured at him with it. “Humility and lying are different things,” you said pointedly. “Anyways, thank you. This looks really yummy.”

“I don't lie,” he drawled with a twinkle in his eye. He leaned his cheek against his fist and watched as you took a spoonful and gently blew on the hot liquid. The delight that lit up your face was enough to make him happy for a century. He inclined his chin. “Good?”

“Very good. Sometimes I forget that you're good at cooking, too.”

“Not like Mingyu though,” he chuckled and brought a spoonful up to his lips. 

You shot him a look. “You don't always have to compare yourself, Hannie-ah. I'm not talking about Mingyu right now.”

Maybe I just want to make sure, he thought, then brushed it under that large, metaphorical rug in his mind. Jeonghan gave a half-hearted shrug. 

Your mouth flattened into a displeased line. His grin widened. 

When the both of you finished as many helpings as you had the appetite for, Jeonghan graciously offered to wash the dishes. He practically anchored you to the couch by wrapping you in yet another blanket—it was a double-edged sword; you were quite cute like that and he had half the mind to ditch the dishes. Once done with his task, he plucked out a dose of cold medication to take for himself, as well. 

You eyed him from the couch as he swallowed the pills with a glass of orange juice. “Did I get you sick already?” you asked, your voice having become more nasally from your stuffy nose. 

“Not yet,” he said, “it's just preventative measures since I'm gonna be hanging around you.”

“You're not leaving?” 

Your words were one thing, but the way you peered over the back of the couch at him and the upward intonation in your voice told him something else. He smiled to himself as he walked over to the couch with his juice. “No, I was going to help you finish your work for the day, but if you want me to leave, I—”

“Only if you're not afraid of getting sick,” you said quickly. 

He sighed with an air of melodrama. “I suppose I can stay after all.” He brought out his laptop and the essay he finagled from your TA, vaguely mentioning something about his careful white lies in order to accomplish his mission. It was truly something only Jeonghan could pull off and get away with. 

The first item on your to-do list was to send out a couple emails. 

Jeonghan felt the weight of your head fall onto his shoulder, and he glanced down at you in amusement. “You're not falling asleep on me, are you?” he teased, his fingers paused from the email he was typing out while you dictated the wording. 

You shifted your head. “No, I'm still awake. Do you think this sounds too bubbly?”

“It’s not too bubbly,” he said, cocking his head to the side. “But the thing is you're not this agreeable in real life—aish! Haha, hey! Don't hit me!”

He could imagine your cute, little scowl. “I am incredibly agreeable.”

“Yes, yes.” Jeonghan lightly pat your head. “You're very lovely, Yn-ah.”

You chose to ignore the impish tone in his voice. It was what he wanted you to do anyway—believe that he thought you were lovely.  

It was difficult to parse out how much time passed, but at some point, the TV was turned on to a random channel playing some 90s sitcom, and his laptop was ditched on the coffee table. Jeonghan's legs ended up sprawled across the length of the couch while your layers of blankets covered both of you. Your head rested comfortably on his chest as he continued to watch TV in silent contentment.

Jeonghan was a lot of things, but he certainly wasn't oblivious to the fact that you took the wrong cold medicine. The box he bought had both daytime and nighttime meds, the latter of which contained melatonin to aid with uninterrupted sleep. He didn't say anything earlier when he realized, but it wasn't like he could say anything now. 

He glanced down at your face, his hand cupping the back of your head with too much tenderness for friendship. You were asleep; there was nothing he could do, no jokes to make or fun to poke. 

Him, his thoughts, and you. 

But this was fine. He was happy and warm like the perfect bowl of soup filling an empty stomach, and he had no intention of leaving until he knew that you were better. As his eyes slowly drooped closed, he sank further into the blankets and your hold, soul nourished.

a/n: pls remember to reblog + comment if you enjoyed <3

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @flwoie @vatterie @seomisaho @hqrana @ja4hyvn @outrologist @rikizm @luumiinaa @lotties-readings @tinkerbell460 @meosjinnn @hyunjaespresent-deobi @otterly-fey @floatingpluto @ethereal-engene @gyulfriend @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @eunseok-s @bless-311 @leaz-kpop-life @fluorescentloves @thesunsfullmoon @haechansbbg @kpopjackie @jundundun @http-gyu @mars101 @moonyswolf @honeyrecommends @synthwxve @thecarnivaloflies @p-d1ddy @thatonedemigodfromseoul @foivetimesthecharm

[miniseokminnies]

deserve it —- x.mh

♡ pairing: xu minghao x fem!reader ♡ genre: roommates to lovers ♡ wc: 1.5k ♡ warnings: 18+ MDNI, oral [f. receiving], possessiveness, descriptions of female anatomy, dom!hao, jealousy

“You’re wearing that?” Your roommate, Minghao, hissed incredulously, not even looking up from his book. 

“What do you mean,” you pouted at him, “you didn’t even look” swiftly attempting to snatch the book from him, his hands gripping instantly, causing it to slip from yours. He smiled at the attempt and closed the book, two of his slender fingers sliding between the pages, holding his place for him to return to after your little tantrum was over. 

“What I mean, y/n,” he took in your form from over his reading glasses, “is: will he appreciate you in it?” the combination of the question and the way his eyes lingered just slightly, almost not enough to notice, on how your dress hugs your curves, made you flush. 

“I—-“ you hesitated, “what?” is the best you could settle on, in the years Minghao and yourself cohabitated, mostly for money saving and convenience purposes, he has never said anything like this to you. A heat crept up Minghao’s neck, and he attempted to rub it away with his free hand, he knew he had said too much this time. He opened his mouth to attempt to come up with some lame excuse, but a knock on the door took the words away from him. 

“Never mind,” he smiled slightly, “have fun y/n, call me if you need anything,” and with that he opened his book and continued reading. 

***

The date was going terribly. This guy was nice enough, but your mind was elsewhere. He was currently droning on about his degree in finance, which in your current state you couldn’t care less about. 

Why did Minghao say that, and why did he say it like that. You replayed the way his eyes raked down your frame, almost too subtle to realize what was happening. Does he do that often and you’ve just never noticed? 

“Are you okay?” the man who was actually across the table, actually on a date with you pulled you out of your thoughts. You had just started to push the vegetables on your plate around with your fork. 

“Uh…” you looked up at him, who was looking at you expectantly, “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just not feeling the best” which wasn’t technically a lie. 

“Oh!” he nodded, “let me get the check, I’ll get you home, I wouldn’t want you feeling worse because you stayed out here with me” 

He was a nice guy, too bad this wasn’t going to work out. 

*** 

“Xu Minghao” you threw open his bedroom door. He sat up in bed, his hair falling in his eyes, taking his headphones off. He took in the sight of you, still in your dress, fuming in the doorway to his bedroom. 

“You’re home early,” he pointed out, as you walked further into his room. 

“Yeah!” you threw your hands up dramatically, “Because of you!” you got close enough to poke him in the chest, “what the fuck did you mean by that” 

“By what?” his eyes lowered to your finger, still prodding his chest, “I don’t know what you’re talking about” 

“Yes, you do,” you almost growled, pushing your finger into his chest slightly more forcefully, “you have to tell me what you meant.” He reached up and closed his lithe fingers around your single one, eyes traveling from where your hands met to your eyes. 

“Beg” he said simply. The single word had heat pooling in your stomach and color flooding your cheeks. 

“What?” you squeaked trying to avoid the intense eye contact. 

“You heard me” he lowered his voice, “beg” 

“Minghao….” he looked at you, waiting, “please tell me what you meant…” you whispered hesitantly. He dropped your hand, which fell to your side, as if it weighed a thousand pounds. He then swiftly gathered your hair at the nape of your neck and pulled until your head tilted up, forcing you to look at him. 

“I need you to really show me you want to hear this,” his breath fanned over your face, you didn’t even realize he had gotten so close to you, “because once it’s said there’s no going back” he searched your eyes frantically for understanding. You simply nodded, “ask again” 

“Minghao, I need to know,” you whined. The heat in your stomach was undeniable at this point, and unconsciously you squeezed your thighs together, “I need to know why you said those things earlier,” his grip in your hair tightened, “and why you looked at me like that” 

“Oh” the flush in his cheeks was back, “Y/n, was he worth it?” he asked, “did he deserve to see you in that pretty dress that you’ve been saving for something special?” You shook your head, honestly surprised that he remembered, “use your words, baobei” 

“I don’t know Hao” your hands found purchase on his thighs, he moved to the edge of the bed and dangled his feet off the side and pulled you to stand between his knees, “I couldn’t think about anything but what you said,” his hand dropped out of your hair and moved to take a fistful of the fabric of your skirt instead, 

“Good” his other hand mirrored its opposite, “I want to be the only reason you wear this dress, I want to see it on you, but y/n, god right now all I really want is to see it on the floor of my bedroom” pulling you as close as possible his plush lips crash into yours. To say you were surprised would be an understatement, but not that you were complaining. His lips moved feverishly while his careful fingers found the zipper on the back. You shivered as the cool air hit your exposed back as he unzipped the dress painfully slowly. 

The dress pooled around your feet as he let it fall off of you. He pulled away from your lips and took in the sight of you, wearing a lacy matching bra and underwear set. “You were going to let him fuck you” he muttered knowingly, “you never fuck on the first date” 

“This wasn’t the first date” 

“He deserved a second date, and he could’ve even had you” he smirked, “I messed things up pretty bad” before you even had time to think he was pulling you up onto his bed and flipping you so you were under him. He took his time, worshiping, kissing, licking and biting. You could feel your panties sticking to your pussy at this point and you were desperate for some relief. A whine escaped your lips as you once again squeezed your thighs together. You heard Minghao click his tongue, before he was taking your panties off. 

He looked at your glistening cunt, all wet and ready for him. Lowering himself to greet you with his tongue, he never broke eye contact with you. Until he licked the first fat stripe, getting a taste of you. At this, your eyes screwed shut. Minghao had no trouble finding your clit, he attached his lips to it and began to suck. A breathy moan escaped you, and as if spurred on by the reaction Minghao began slowly swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. Your hand flew to his hair and tugged at the longer pieces at the nape of his neck. You earned a moan into your pussy in return, the vibrations making the coil in your stomach tighten. 

“Do that again,” he begged, breathlessly, before returning his tongue to its duties. You did as you were told, pulling his hair a little harder this time. You felt Minghao line up two fingers at your entrance and slowly slip them inside. 

Somehow despite never doing anything like this together before, Minghao seemed to know your body, he found the spongy spot inside of you and curled his fingers to reach it. He slowly pumped his fingers, in and out, in tandem with his ruminations on your clit. You were quickly becoming undone, and Minghao could tell by the way you were bucking your hips. 

He took his mouth away from your cunt, and the cool air hitting you made you whine. He moved back so he could watch his fingers disappear inside you. He felt the wetness drip down his fingers as he added a third. 

“Fuck yourself on my fingers” he watched as you picked up your pace, desperately trying to reach the rapidly approaching high. Your moans grew desperate as you moved your hips, the drag of his slender fingers feeling delicious on your walls, “He never deserved to see you like this, only me” 

“H-Hao” you desperately called. 

“I know” he watched your hips sputter, “Cum on my fingers, baobei” that was all you needed for the coil in your stomach to snap. Your eyes shut so tight you were seeing stars, and practically screaming for Minghao. 

He slowly removed his fingers and ran to go get supplies to clean you up. Neither of you really knew what this meant, but what Minghao did know was that he liked the visual of your dress on the floor when he came back with a towel and a glass of water.

[vexwerewolf]

If I could ask you for some advice, what do you think helps the flavour text of a mech or piece of equipment sell a player on the fantasy of using it?

I'm finding it frustratingly difficult to do so with my own homebrew content: I can come up with lore and backstory easily enough, but re-reading it feels dry, and I can't help but contrast it with how the descrptions in official content and other supplements is more evocative, at least for mechs.

Let's observe some corebook Lancer flavour text and examine the various varieties it comes in.

Purely Functional

While it's usually not the most fun type of flavour text, this just tells us what the weapon is, and - if it has any particular tags or on-hit effects - why it's like that. The Hand Cannon is a good example: here's what it is (modified pistol), here's why it does more damage, and here's why it has Loading.

The main advantage of Purely Functional flavour text is that it provides space for other types of flavour text to breathe. Flavour text is a great place for jokes, but it's not good for every piece of flavour text to be a joke - the pauses between notes in music are just as important as the notes.

Obfuscating Vendorspeak

The Bristlecrown Flechette Launcher this is a great example of dark humour that Lancer uses quite often: marketing fast-talk to cover up something really unpleasant. The joke here is based on us understanding precisely what the equipment does mechanically, and then seeing how the manufacturer tries to sell it. There's a bunch of dense technobabble here meant to obfuscate the fact that this weapon fires knives in every direction specifically designed to kill infantry.

Deadpan Weirdness

The joke here relies on describing something extremely weird like it's the most natural thing in the world. Wait, you're telling me that in a world where I can just print new parts if the old ones break, they put DRM on my fucking knife and I have to apologise to the fucking knife maker to get a new one? What the fuck, dude? Why are you acting like this makes any sense?!

My sword uploads fucking what to the Space Internet?!

Third-Act Twist

This type of flavour text disguises itself as something else - most often Purely Functional - and then hits you with Third Act Twist. It makes you go "wait, what?!" It's very classic setup-punchline stuff. You're telling me my mech can rot?!

As a side note, Lancer loves to use this for its NHPs.

WHY DID YOU PUT THAT IN SCARE QUOTES, LUCIFER

Worldbuilding

This is similar to the Purely Functional, but instead of just describing technical specifications of the weapons, it puts the weapon in the broader context of the setting's history. Okay, so we know what this weapon is and what it does - why was it built? What was the original use case, and why? Most importantly, what can the existence of this weapon tell us about the world that build it?

Whimsical Aside

This is the insertion of a light-hearted, humanising little insertion regarding how this piece of equipment gets used in the field. This serves to remind us that soldiers aren't cold, unfeeling killing machines: they can be as emotional, irreverent and silly as the rest of us, and they do things like name their mobile bombs...

... or call resupply drones "mech snacks."

The Ominous Out-Of-Context Quote That Explains Nothing And Only Raises More Questions

As I've said in multiple textmash memes, this is basically Tom and Miguel's shorthand for "this technology is Intensely Fucked Up in a way that it is more fun and scary not to explain." This is essentially Lancer's version of SCP's [REDACTED].

You might think this is the domain of HORUS, and you'd be right, but every single manufacturer indulges in these - although IPS-N had to wait until NRFaW to get theirs:

What the fuck do you mean by that, Lancer?

[miupow]

for kinktober!! husband tyun punishing reader my spanking her! <3

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 ‘24 ── 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 + 𝐒𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

𝜗𝜚 ㅤ― 󠀬󠀬[ minors do not interact! ] kang taehyun x fem!reader . non-idol au , marriage au , mean dom!taehyun , punishments , spanking , possibly toxic marriage/gender dynamics , dirty talk , discipline , semi-public sex , slight exhibitionism , pussy slapping , anal fingering (f. rec) , buttplug mention , voyeurism mention

a/n ⸝⸝ oh bastard husband taehyun my beloved….

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“i said count, honey. don’t make me tell you again.”

swiftly, another ear-ringing slap descended upon your stinging asscheek, right over where he had struck you last — you bite your lip to keep in your shriek, all too conscious of the droning chatter coming out of the adjacent dining room.

“one, thank you, sir!” you squeak— you know your husband’s rules by heart, and while that had been technically your second spanking, you knew better than to count the one that you hadn’t properly thanked him for.

“good girl,” taehyun coos, his sweet low voice laced with a condescending edge that made your pussy leak. “finally listening for once. now tell me what you’re being punished for when you thank me for disciplining you. i need to make sure this punishment gets through your dumb, empty little head.”

he rubs gently at the blossoming bruises on your ass before he rears his hand back to strike you again, the sharp clap of his palm against your ass deafening in your ears. you were certain that taehyun’s colleagues could all hear from the table, your face burning with shame at the thought of them knowing that your husband was punishing you in just the room over.

“t-two, daddy, sir— thank you, i was being a slut—“

another spank, harder and louder than before. you barely manage to contain your scream, choking on a strangled whimper as you blink away tears. “how were you being a slut?” taehyun asks, so nonchalant and casual like he was simply going through paperwork. while his carefully crafted facade infuriated you to no end, you reveled in the feeling of the growing bulge in his slacks rubbing up against your tummy.

“three—! thank you, daddy!” you warble, trying to hide your face in taehyun’s pant leg. “i was f-flirting with your friends, a-and letting them touch me—“

taehyun stops to adjust your dress before he spanks you again, expensive fabric bunched around your waist to expose your bare ass and pussy. your lace panties were pooled around your ankles, trapping your legs together as you bucked and squirmed over your husband’s lap.

“four!” you all but shout— you would cover your mouth if your wrists weren’t being held behind your back by taehyun’s free hand. “thank you, sir! i was a bad wife, i’m sorry—“

he shuts you up with a spank aimed at your pussy, peeking out from between your quivering thighs— you bury your face in taehyun’s leg to muffle your shriek of pain and pleasure, unable to hold your noises back anymore with your sensitive pussy stinging. “i should bring them in here,” taehyun remarks coldly, calloused fingers ghosting over your glistening pussy lips, “let them watch us; how about that, honey? let everyone see how you get punished when you’ve been bad?”

“i’m sorry, daddy!” you sob into his slacks, tears and drool soaking the fabric. “please don’t, i’ll be good, i promise!“

“that’s what i like to hear.” taehyun hums, working two thick fingers between your folds to plunge deep into your hole. the wet sounds from your cunt as he pumps his fingers are obscene, and tears truly begin to fall down your burning cheeks as you hiccup and whine and try your absolute best not to start screaming. “i invite all of my colleagues over for dinner, and my little wife decides to whore around like i can’t control my woman. you embarrassed me, baby. and this pussy is dripping so fucking much— you want me to fuck you, huh? well, bad wives don’t get cock.”

he slides his fingers out of your cunt and trails them up your slit to your winking little asshole, the wet slick coating his fingers perfect lube for them to bully their way inside without much resistance. “such a bad little girl but you take my fingers so well… bad wives don’t get to cum either, so you better behave while i stretch this little asshole out for the plug. then you’re going to go back out there and apologize for your behavior, you understand?”

“y-yes sir.” you whimper, sniffling.

“good girl.”

[gay-dorito-dust]

hi!! could you maybe write for being the younger sibling of dipper and mabel? maybe the reader is like, 9/10 y.o i wonder what they're sibling relationships would be as well as they're relationship with stan and ford

They say a bond between twins is a bond unlike any other, but didn’t mean that dipper or Mabel cared about you any less then they did each other, you were their baby sibling and they were always going to have your back no matter what.

Dipper would be the protective older brother who’s sometimes come across as strict and would often forbid you from joining him and Mabel on monster hunts, stating that you were too young to be doing something as dangerous as hunting monsters.

You’d naturally respond with the fact that technically he and Mabel were also too young to be going head on into monster hunting too, so thereby making the statement redundant and him look like a hypocrite. To which Dipper would agree with you on but still would tell you it was too dangerous for you, he only wants to keep you safe but you had too much of a stubborn spirit to be easily swayed into staying put.

Mabel on the other hand was the chill sibling who’d let you join in the monster hunting any day because she didn’t want you feeling left out. After all it was kinda a family thing to hunt the unknown of gravity falls at this point, so she didn’t see why you shouldn’t come along with her and Dipper because as long as you had the journal with you, you were fine.

You tend to argue with dipper more than Mabel but that’s because dipper tended to take himself too seriously as your older brother while Mabel doesn’t take herself seriously enough. So whenever you and dipper did argue, Mabel tended to be the peace keeper between the two of you or use Waddles as a distraction from your arguing to come together.

Despite all this you, Dipper and Mabel were loyal and faithful to one another that there wasn’t anything any of you wouldn’t do for the other.

Dipper would give up everything to keep you and Mabel safe as he knew you and her would do the same and you did on multiple occasions, saving each other’s lives and so on. You all headed into the unknown together, never once thinking of leaving the other behind because if one of you were to go down, the other two would rush to your side and pick you back up.

You helped dipper decode stuff and listen to him drone on about Wendy from time to time while playing dungeons, dungeons and emore dungeons with him and Grunkle Ford.

You’d help Mabel bedazzle everything in sight and spend time with her, Candy and Grenda on the odd occasion of doing karaoke with her and grunkle Stan whenever the occasion calls for a bit of fun.

You were best friends with Dipper and Mabel as much as you were siblings and that was the best kind of relationship you had.

Also if Mabel had waddles then you have a pet raccoon or maybe an axolotl like Ford once did.

If dipper was similar to Ford

And if Mabel was similar to Stanley

Then you were the perfect balance of both of them. Stubborn and sometimes silly like Stan but curious and observant like Ford.

Stan and Ford could clearly see bits and pieces of themselves in you like they could with Dipper and Mabel, with the only difference being that you weren’t a twin nor had a twin but that didn’t stop either Grunkle from wanting to spend time with you.

They had to play rock, paper, scissors against one another to see who’d get to spend time with you first, only for Stan to come out the victor.

Stan would teach you how to box first and foremost so that if anyone tried anything with you, they’d get decked in the face from a vicious right hook. He just wants you to be able to protect yourself even if you were only 9/10 it didn’t make a difference to him really.

Teaches you on how to con people out of their money, lie effortlessly and make quick get aways or even how to get out of handcuffs without trying. Did he once give you a fishing hat with your name stitched on it for the soul purpose of taking you fishing with him when Dipper was with Ford and Mabel was with Candy and Grenda? Yes, he wanted something only you and him could do together that was just yours and his.

Cuz it was either that or commit arson and or property damage to other competitors.

Now with Ford he’ll probably have you be outside with him and documenting strange looking mushrooms and or flowers that you’d come across. It sounds boring but it’s quite fun if you came across fairies and the like, however the moment Ford sees that you were about to fall into a Fae trap, he’s picking you up and getting you as far away from it as he could.

Just like Stan, Ford wanted something that was just for you and him, sure he and Dipper go monster hunting, and he and Mabel dressed up as witches once, but he wanted something he could do with just you.

You’d bond over the fact that you both had/have a pet axolotl.

You and Ford probably took a break from your joint documenting to make flower crowns for one another while having a small picnic in the woods. It was peaceful and relaxing to you but Ford was keeping an eye out to make sure nothing would disturb your little picnic, while looking as menacingly as he could with a cute flower crown on his head.

If you both found a flower that was never seen before, you can bet your ass that Ford is naming it after you, no questions asked.

Stan and Ford are just as protective of you as they are the twins and they can and will step in between you and whoever is making you uncomfortable, all the while keeping you safely behind them as Stan whips out his brass knuckles and Ford shows off the gun on his hip in a silent threat.

Nobody messes with their family and they’ll make sure that message is loud and clear.

Bonus; Bill would probably try to manipulate you into thinking that neither dipper, Mabel, Stan or Ford cared about you cuz twins will look out for each other always but you were the spare sibling that gets forgotten, Insisting Stan and Ford’s brother as reason as to why but you knew your family better then a sentient one eyed triangle did and know that your family would always come through for you time and time again.

And they have and they always will no matter what.

[perpetual-stories]

Eight Strategies for Improving Dialogue in Your Writing

Well, hi! Oh my… wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted! I’ve been very busy and I am genuinely sorry to all my followers, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this account, but here is one final post for the year!

Hopefully next year I become consistent with it again!

Let’s begin!

One of the best ways to help a reader connect with your writing is by crafting excellent dialogue. Use these tips to learn how to write dialogue that showcases character development, defines your characters’ voices, and hooks readers.

Why Use Dialogue?

Good dialogue performs all sorts of functions in fiction writing. It defines your characters’ voices, establishes their speech patterns, exposes the inner emotions, and showcases their character development. Beyond mere characterization, effective dialogue can also establish the setting and time period of your story and reveal information in a way that doesn’t feel overly expository.

Authors use lines of dialogue to reveal a character’s personality and express their point of view. For instance, an archetypal football coach might speak in short, terse sentences peppered with exclamation points and quotations from famous war generals. By contrast, a nebbish lover with a broken heart might drone on endlessly to his therapist or best friend, speaking in run-on sentences that circle around his true motivations. When an author can reveal character traits through dialogue, it cuts down on exposition and makes a story flow briskly.

Eight Writing Tips for Improving Dialogue

The first time you write dialogue, you may find it quite difficult to replicate the patterns of normal speech. This can be compounded by the concurrent challenges of finding your own voice and telling a great story overall. Even bestselling authors can get stuck on how a particular character says a particular line of dialogue. With practice and hard work, however, lackluster dialogue can be elevated to great dialogue.

Here are some strategies for improving the dialogue in your own work:

Mimic the voices of people in your own life. Perhaps you’ve created a physician character with the same vocal inflections as your mother. Perhaps your hero soldier talks just like your old volleyball coach. If you want to ensure that your dialogue sounds the way real people speak, there’s no better resource than the real life people in your everyday world.

Mix dialogue with narration. Long runs of dialogue can dislodge a reader from the action of a scene. As your characters talk, interpolate some descriptions of their physical postures or other activity taking place in the room. This mimics the real-world experience of listening to someone speaking while simultaneously taking in visual and olfactory stimuli.

Give your main character a secret. Sometimes a line of dialogue is most notable for what it withholds. Even if your audience doesn’t realize it, you can build dynamic three-dimensionality by having your character withhold a key bit of information from their speech. For instance, you may draft a scene in which a museum curator speaks to an artist about how she wants her work displayed—but what the curator isn’t saying out loud is that she’s in love with the artist. You can use that secret to embed layers of tension into the character’s spoken phrases.

Use a layperson character to clarify technical language. When you need dialogue to convey technical information in approachable terms, split the conversation between two people. Have one character be an expert and one character be uninformed. The expert character can speak at a technical level, and the uninformed one can stop them, asking questions for clarification. Your readers will appreciate it.

Use authentic shorthand. Does your character call a gun a “piece” or a “Glock”? Whatever it is, be authentic and consistent in how your characters speak. If they all sound the same, your dialogue needs another pass.

Look to great examples of dialogue for inspiration. If you're looking for a dialogue example in the realm of novels or short stories, consider reading the great books written by Mark Twain, Judy Blume, or Toni Morrison. Within the world of screenwriting, Aaron Sorkin is renowned for his use of dialogue.

Ensure that you’re punctuating your dialogue properly. Remember that question marks and exclamation points go inside quotation marks. Enclose dialogue in double quotation marks and use single quotation marks when a character quotes another character within their dialogue. Knowing how to punctuate dialogue properly can ensure that your reader stays immersed in the story.

Use dialogue tags that are evocative. Repeating the word “said” over and over can make for dull writing and miss out on opportunities for added expressiveness. Consider replacing the word “said” with a more descriptive verb.

[shadyfestivalperfection]

Tiny Sorceress~Oneshot

Summery: Bucky and Sam take care of Y/n who accidentally turned herself into an eight month old baby.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Sorceress!Girlfriend!Reader

||Master List||

“—And I’m just saying,” Sam Wilson said, gesturing wildly with a half-eaten slice of pizza, “if Redwing had emotions, he would definitely like me better than you.”

Bucky Barnes didn’t even look up from his spot on the couch. He was stretched out like a very grumpy, very tired cat, his metal arm behind his head and a bowl of popcorn balanced on his chest.

“He doesn’t like you,” Bucky replied lazily. “He’s a drone. He doesn’t like anyone.”

“You’re just jealous because he listens to me.”

“He listens to programming. Calm down, Wilson.”

Sam scoffed and shoved the rest of the pizza in his mouth, pointing an accusatory finger at Bucky. “That’s exactly what someone would say if they lost an argument to a bird.”

Bucky gave him a slow blink. “You lost an argument to a coffee machine once. Let’s not throw stones.”

“That machine gave me decaf, Barnes. That wasn’t a loss—it was sabotage.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

The two men settled into a lull, the kind that came with an entire day off. Y/n, Bucky’s girlfriend and full-time sorceress-in-training (technically more powerful than she liked to admit), had holed herself up in her little mystical lab earlier that morning with a book bigger than her head and an energy drink labeled “MANA-ZONE.”

Bucky hadn’t seen her since.

He assumed she was fine. He figured that if anything went wrong, the walls would probably shake—or something would explode. That was usually how magical accidents started.

He’d been dating Y/n long enough to know when to worry and when to give her space.

Sam was halfway through a rant about superhero tax breaks when Bucky’s phone vibrated on the coffee table.

Without thinking, he grabbed it and answered.

“Barnes,” said the clipped voice on the other end.

Bucky sat up slowly, recognizing the speaker immediately. “Strange?”

“Get to the Sanctum. Now.”

Bucky was already on his feet. “What happened? Is it Y/n?”

“She’s—well—yes. But I can’t explain over the phone. Just hurry. It’s… urgent.”

And then the line went dead.

Bucky didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He just grabbed his keys.

___

“You didn’t even tell me what was going on!” Sam shouted from the passenger seat as Bucky ran a red light in a stolen-looking SUV.

“I didn’t have time!” Bucky barked back. “He said it was Y/n!”

“And that means we break traffic laws?!”

“If she’s hurt, yes!”

Sam threw up his hands. “Damn. You are whipped.”

Bucky didn’t deny it.

When they skidded to a stop outside the Sanctum Sanctorum, Bucky barely had time to knock before the doors flew open.

Doctor Stephen Strange stood there looking like someone had just thrown him into a toddler gymnastics class.

“Thank God,” he muttered, stepping aside to let them in. “We’ve had a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Bucky demanded, heart pounding. “Where is she? Is she okay? Is she hurt—”

“Technically? No. She’s… uh… quite healthy.” Strange rubbed a hand down his face and gestured toward the foyer.

That’s when Bucky heard it.

A soft little giggle.

A happy, high-pitched squeal.

He turned the corner—

—and nearly dropped dead.

Sitting in the middle of a ring of softly glowing runes, chewing on the corner of her own oversized sleeve, was a plump, eight-month-old baby.

She had Y/n’s hair.

She had Y/n’s bright eyes.

And she looked up at Bucky and lit up like a damn firework.

“BAH!” she squealed, arms outstretched. “Buh-buh-buh!”

Bucky stared.

Then blinked.

Then slowly turned back to Strange.

“What. The. Hell.”

Strange sighed. “She was experimenting with temporal regression spells. Apparently, she got the incantation slightly… wrong.”

“Slightly?!”

“I didn’t say she was good at math. Look, the spell is temporary. She should return to normal in 48 hours.”

“FORTY-EIGHT?!”

“I said it was temporary.”

Bucky turned back toward the giggling baby. Y/n had rolled over and was attempting to crawl toward him like a very determined muffin.

He dropped to his knees, completely at a loss. “Y/n? That’s you?”

She stuck her whole fist in her mouth and blinked up at him.

Sam peered over Bucky’s shoulder.

“Well,” he said slowly. “She’s got your eyes. Sorry, I mean—your girlfriend’s eyes. In a… baby. Body.”

Bucky turned around with the most betrayed expression he’d ever worn.

“Don’t help.”

___

Ten minutes later, the Sanctum had successfully unloaded its smallest magical disaster into Bucky’s arms, along with a diaper bag that seemed to horrifyingly already exist for her size.

“Did she conjure that too?” Sam asked, looking at the pink and silver bag with a grimace.

“She’s a planner,” Bucky muttered, adjusting the tiny, squeaky girl now happily playing with the zipper on his jacket.

Strange waved them out the door. “She can’t cast anything like this—her magical core’s dormant while the regression holds. So no hexes, no portals, no sudden dragon appearances. You’ll be fine.”

“And what do we do if she—” Bucky paused. “Needs something?”

“Figure it out. You’re adults.”

“You’re the wizard!”

“I’m not a babysitter.”

The door shut in their faces.

Sam let out a low whistle.

“Well. This’ll be fun.”

Bucky looked down at the bundle in his arms.

Y/n blew a spit bubble.

___

Back at the apartment, chaos erupted in three parts:

1. The Diaper Disaster.

“This isn’t fair,” Bucky muttered, holding up a packet of wipes like it was a bomb. “She’s supposed to be this all-powerful sorceress, and I’m stuck doing damage control on her butt.”

“You do realize she pooped glitter, right?” Sam said, squinting into the trash can. “That’s definitely not normal baby poop.”

“She ate magic.”

“Do we call Strange again?”

“I’m not calling that smug bastard to talk about her glitter poop.”

“Then you’re on your own, Snow White.”

“Traitor.”

2. The Feeding Fiasco.

“I don’t know how much to give her!” Bucky hissed.

“She’s a baby. Just give her the bottle and let her decide!”

“She might get full!”

“Or she might turn us into frogs if she’s hungry. I say risk it.”

Bucky cautiously handed the bottle over. Y/n grabbed it with both tiny fists and latched on like a starved gremlin.

Bucky melted.

Sam took a photo.

3. The Great Escape.

“Where’d she go?!”

“She was just there!”

“I told you to baby-proof the couch!”

“She crawled like lightning!”

“WHY IS SHE IN THE FRIDGE?!”

___

By midnight, both men were exhausted.

Bucky was slumped on the floor, his metal arm cradling a sleeping baby Y/n curled up on his chest like a warm, wiggly blanket.

Sam was on the couch, texting someone a photo of Bucky snoring with a bottle of formula in his lap.

“I gotta admit,” Sam said softly, “she’s kinda cute like this.”

Bucky grunted.

“Barnes?”

“Mm?”

“You ever think about…”

“What?”

“You know. The future.”

Bucky looked down at the tiny sorceress nuzzled into his shirt.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “I do.”

___

Bucky woke to the gentle but persistent thwack of something soft smacking his face.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

He blinked awake to find a plush teddy bear levitating a foot above his head—slowly and repeatedly bouncing off his forehead.

“Oh no,” he groaned, sitting up on the couch.

Across the living room, Baby Y/n was standing—standing—in her playpen, hands raised like a conductor mid-symphony, face scrunched with concentration.

The teddy bear rotated in the air, sparked with gold runes, then zoomed straight into Sam’s head on the opposite chair.

“OW—”

“Morning,” Bucky muttered.

Sam sat up, bleary-eyed and pillow-faced. “Is that bear flying?”

“Yep.”

“She’s not supposed to have magic in baby form!”

Bucky shrugged and stumbled toward the playpen. “Guess she’s advanced.”

Y/n giggled and, without warning, launched the teddy across the room like a missile.

Sam yelped and dove for cover.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered. “She’s gonna be a great teenager.”

___

“Why does she have fangs?” Sam asked an hour later, peering nervously into Y/n’s open mouth as she gnawed on a rubber duck.

“She’s teething,” Bucky replied, eyes wide. “But, uh… sorceress teething. With… magically enhanced baby teeth.”

“Those are tiny daggers, man!”

“Don’t let her near your phone.”

“She already bit through a bottle nipple!”

“Yeah. She’s powerful.”

Y/n made a guttural, adorable war cry and tossed the rubber duck at Sam’s head.

They ducked (no pun intended).

“Okay,” Sam said, clapping his hands. “New rule: Only plush objects within biting range. And someone hide my socks. She has a taste for cotton.”

“She’s chewed through three binkies already.”

“Let me guess. You bought normal ones.”

“…Yes?”

Sam stood dramatically. “This calls for reinforcements.”

Bucky blinked. “Are you going to Target?”

“I’m going to Target.”

___

Sam returned 45 minutes later with:

1 pack of “Extreme Comfort Binkies – Sorcerer-Grade, BPA-Free”

2 baby spellproof onesies (“They’re literally baby armor. Why do these exist?”)

A pacifier clip shaped like a magic wand

And a bottle of baby-safe calming potion from an underground mystic apothecary.

Bucky stared at the haul. “You fought a wizard for these, didn’t you?”

“I bargained,” Sam said, proudly. “Also, the cashier may now owe me a favor in the next timeline.”

“You scare me sometimes.”

Sam handed Y/n the new binky.

She examined it with her tiny, judgmental eyes… and finally accepted it with a grunt of approval.

Bucky almost cried with relief.

___

By noon, the calm had broken.

“Is she… burping sparkles?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

Y/n sat on the floor in her padded onesie, hiccupping clouds of glittery mist.

“Either that or she swallowed a disco ball,” Bucky said, crouching in front of her.

She hiccuped again. A miniature lightning bolt zapped from her mouth to the TV remote, which exploded into pieces.

“…That’s new.”

Sam slapped a post-it to the wall. “Day Two: Baby now a tiny, sparkly time bomb.”

“She’s not dangerous.”

Another hiccup lit Bucky’s shirt on fire.

“…She’s slightly dangerous.”

Y/n squealed with joy.

___

“Okay,” Bucky said, staring at the baby bathtub like it had just insulted him. “This cannot be that hard.”

Y/n, now slightly grubby from her glittery magic burps, clapped her tiny hands.

Sam watched from the doorway. “You’ve fought aliens, Bucky. You got this.”

“Right. Okay. Soap. Water. No drowning. I can do this.”

He lowered her gently into the warm water.

Y/n immediately splashed so hard Bucky looked like he’d been hit by a water cannon.

“Alright, alright—gentle, sweetheart!”

She laughed and kicked, casting tiny bubbles into the air that somehow played music.

“Is that jazz?” Sam asked, peeking in.

“She enchanted the water!” Bucky groaned.

“She’s literally throwing a bath party.”

Y/n raised her arms dramatically. A stream of bubbles rose up in a perfect glowing arch… and burst in the shape of a middle finger.

Bucky and Sam stared.

“Okay, no more late-night reality shows for you,” Sam muttered.

___

7:00 PM.

Y/n had refused three storybooks, demanded her teddy bear “floaty,” and summoned six stuffed animals into a wiggling orbit above her crib.

Sam watched, exhausted, as the plush toys rotated like a cuddly solar system.

“She’s… going to sleep like this?” he asked.

Bucky, equally tired, nodded. “She won’t rest unless the bear is in geosynchronous orbit.”

“I didn’t even know babies knew that word.”

“She doesn’t. She feels it.”

They finally got her to sleep, surrounded by stuffed animals glowing faintly with magical energy.

“Okay,” Sam whispered, collapsing onto the couch. “She’s asleep. You can breathe now.”

Bucky exhaled, then muttered:

“She’s gonna be the death of me when she’s older.”

Sam smirked. “Oh, you’re in this deep, man.”

“I think I love her more now than I did when she was full-sized.”

Sam chuckled, cracking open a soda. “You say that now. Just wait till she’s big enough to cast spells again.”

“She already flipped me off with bubbles.”

They both groaned.

___

The door knocked at exactly 8:00 AM the next day.

Bucky opened it, bleary-eyed, holding a sippy cup in one hand and a plush bear in the other.

Doctor Strange raised an eyebrow.

“Rough night?”

“She turned my toaster into a swan.”

“Ah. She’s accelerating. Good news: the spell will wear off in about an hour.”

“Thank God.”

Strange stepped in, checked on baby Y/n (who was busy biting the corner of Sam’s hoodie), and nodded. “When she wakes, she’ll be back to normal.”

Bucky looked at her peacefully sleeping form.

“Good,” he said softly.

“…But I think I’ll miss her.”

___

Y/n woke up groggy, limbs heavy, cheek squished against something soft. A second later, she sat bolt upright.

“Why do I taste rubber duck!?”

Her voice sounded normal. Her arms were long again. Her head no longer fit in a mixing bowl.

She blinked.

She was on Bucky’s couch, wrapped in a comforter with her hair an actual bird’s nest. There was glitter on her hands, her shirt was a child-sized “Future Sorceress” tee stretched to its absolute limits, and a teddy bear with burn marks sat staring at her like it had seen war.

“Oh, gods,” she groaned. “What did I do?”

From the kitchen, a pan clattered.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called, grinning.

Y/n’s eyes widened. “Oh no. Not Sam. Please not Sam—”

Then Bucky appeared from the hallway, tousled, tired, and holding a baby bottle filled with orange juice.

They stared at each other.

Then Bucky smiled.

And promptly dropped the bottle.

Ten minutes later, Y/n was fully awake and fully mortified. She sat curled up on the couch in Bucky’s hoodie while the guys recounted the last 48 hours like war veterans.

“You tried to fly a teddy bear.”

“You bit through three pacifiers.”

“You turned our toaster into a swan.”

“You flipped me off with a bubble.” Sam added with reverence.

Y/n buried her face in her hands. “I want to disappear.”

Bucky was grinning ear to ear. “You were adorable. And terrifying.”

Sam nodded. “A menace in footie pajamas.”

“Why do I remember everything?” she moaned.

“Strange said the spell was a regression, not a full mental wipe. Guess it was more like… toddler with a genius IQ.”

“I bit you.”

Bucky held up his arm. “You left tiny teeth marks on my metal arm. I’m keeping them.”

Y/n groaned again.

Sam looked thoughtful. “You also enchanted the baby monitor to scream every time I said the word ‘pants.’”

“…What?”

___

After a long shower (which was somehow still glittery), Y/n stepped into the kitchen to find Bucky cleaning up melted pacifiers and one very suspicious duck.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “You didn’t sign up for magical baby duty.”

He turned, pulling her into a proper hug.

“I’d do it again.”

“You literally looked like a man on the edge.”

“Yeah. And I still liked every second of it.”

Y/n blinked up at him.

“…Even the part where I spit glitter on your face?”

He smirked. “Especially that part.”

They kissed—gently, sweetly, like they hadn’t seen each other in years.

From the living room, Sam yelled, “STOP KISSING AND FIX MY SWEATER, GREMLIN!”

Y/n sighed and walked out. “Did I bite that too?”

Sam pointed to the hoodie sleeve. “You gnawed through it like a tiny sorceress beaver.”

Y/n winced. “Okay, I deserve that.”

___

By noon, things had finally returned to normal.

Y/n conjured fresh pancakes to make up for the chaos. Bucky sat beside her, trying to brush glitter out of her hair.

Sam scrolled through photos on his phone.

“Okay, okay,” he said suddenly. “Real talk. Can I keep one?”

Y/n looked horrified. “Of me? As a baby??”

“You had chubby cheeks and your magic made the apples levitate. It was hilarious.”

She covered her face. “I will hex your eyebrows off.”

“I’m already bald. Try me.”

Bucky snorted.

Y/n turned to Bucky and whispered, “You didn’t take any too, did you?”

He gave her the most guilty look.

“…Bucky.”

“I just—just one! For my phone lock screen. You were so tiny.”

Y/n narrowed her eyes.

“…Let me see.”

He showed her the photo. Baby Y/n, mid-squeal, teddy bear levitating behind her, cheeks round as moons and eyes wide with wonder.

She paused.

“…Okay. That’s kinda cute.”

Bucky beamed. “I knew you’d say that.”

___

That evening, Strange showed up to check in.

He eyed Y/n with wariness, then sniffed the air. “Residual magic. Your baby aura’s still in the walls.”

“I’m working on it,” she grumbled.

“You also triggered a latent enchantment. The teddy bear is now sentient.”

Y/n gasped. “What?!”

A deep growly voice said from the couch: “I AM MR. CUDDLES. I SEEK VENGEANCE.”

Everyone screamed.

Strange calmly trapped the bear in a glowing bubble.

“I’ll be taking that,” he said, levitating it toward the portal. “Also—no more regression spells without supervision.”

Y/n scowled. “It was accidental!”

“Still.”

As he stepped into the portal, he glanced at Bucky.

“Good job surviving. Most men would’ve fled.”

Then he vanished.

Sam muttered, “Next time he pulls that, I’m hiding in Wakanda.”

___

Later that night, Bucky and Y/n curled up in bed.

She rested her head on his chest, still slightly embarrassed.

“Were you scared?” she asked softly. “When Strange called you.”

He nodded. “Terrified. Thought you were dying.”

She pressed a kiss to his chest.

“But when I got there and saw you—eight months old, mad about your footie pajamas—I just… couldn’t stop laughing.”“I was mad about the ducks.”

“You bit him.”She groaned again.“But,” Bucky added, tilting her chin up, “even in baby form… I still loved you.”Her heart melted.

“I love you too, Barnes. Even when you let me chew Sam’s hoodie.”

“Honestly, that part was kind of a highlight.”They laughed, tangled in each other, and drifted off to sleep—teddy bears safely locked in magical quarantine.

-the end

[diamondvic]

Sometimes I just think about how absolutely TERRIFIED V is of Cyn vs just the solver in general. Her behavior in specifically episode 8 when Cyn is around is SOOO interesting.

V uses her knife hands unnecessarily through the whole show - she uses them just as much as, if not more than, her normal hands. It's probably a mix of show and a genuine defensive habit she's picked up by the time the show actually starts.

Even during episode 8, when she's being emotionally vulnerable to what she believes is N, the knives are out. She's probably tense, both from the fight AND from the emotional weight of spilling these secrets she's kept for ages.

And yet, when faced with Cyn, who she KNOWS is a threat... she retreats the knives, placatingly, and IMMEDIATELY begins pleading. This is V, who has never hesitated to resort to violence before. And it's not the solver itself she's scared of, its CYN. There's a brief moment in episode 3 where, when Uzi's solver activates, V startles and pulls her gun on her. In episode 4, when Uzi is possessed by the solver, V is clearly rattled, but she still has no problem taking action against and fighting Uzi. In these instances, she WAS afraid, but not enough to not be able to take action. But here? Her confidence completely falters. Her first instinct is to make herself as small as possible and try to reiterate that she can still do whatever Cyn wants of her (and she most definetly gets this behavior from having to serve the Elliotts on Earth, and from being disposed of even before that.. do a good enough job, or you can easily be thrown out. Something something, she's never been free, and at least being gleeful about murder means she's ok with it, so therefore she's not being forced!!! Any way to get autonomy back. But that's a side tangent in itself).

When Cyn nearly eats N's heart, V is in no way being prevented from trying to reach him. Sure, J is there, but V is clearly not afraid of J, having just fought her. But faced with the drone she worked so hard to keep safe being at risk, who she'd clearly done so much for... She freezes. Because this is CYN. And Cyn RELISHES mocking her fear, like she KNOWS V won't make a move to stop her.

And even down to what she would have surely thought was when she and N would definetly die, when she is STILL technically free to get up and fly away, she freezes. It's all she can manage is to vainly try to defend herself and keep N's core sheltered. She's too terrified to even move but she's still trying to keep him safe to the end.. (side note, if you pay attention to them once Uzi shows up, you can see she's still covering him with her sword while he's out of commission, which is very cute. Presumably she stays with him while he regenerates, which is why they show up late to the fight)

V is just soo interesting. She tries sooo so much to be cool under pressure and unbothered, but Cyn's presence is enough to stop her completely. Very fun and very revealing dichotomy to her character, and seeing how she effects V makes Cyn much more personally threatening than her just being an entity employing some vague cosmic power manages to do

[sugrhigh]

ALL YOURS - ( roomie!matt pt 5 )

summary- you and your roommate matt have been sleeping together for a minute now, but neither one of you wants to ask the other what it means. feelings come to fruition one night at a party and the dynamics of your relationship change once again.

warnings- nsfw content ahead people so read at ur own risk, swearing, drug/alcohol use, dom!matt kinda, unprotected sex, it’s straight up smut at the end so fr don’t read it if u don’t want to!

roomie!matt x fem!reader

a/n: THIS IS TECHNICALLY PART 5 OF THE ROOMIE!MATT TEXT SERIES so if you haven’t read those you might be a bit confused. link to the master list is here.

strap in because it’s kinda long so i hope u guys love this final chapter as much as i do <3 inbox is always open xo

@sleepysturnss

rain patters against the windows mercilessly as the tv drones on, interrupted only by booming thunder every few minutes.

its late in the day now, and the cloud coverage makes it extra gloomy, even with interior lights on. not that this bothers you.

storms have always been a source of comfort in your eyes. something about them makes you feel safe, reminds you that the world is far bigger than whatever is worrying you.

“oh, i’ve been meaning to ask if you’re still seeing that guy. what’s his name again?” nick asks from beside you, scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he slumps against the couch.

you’ve been sitting like this for hours together, rotting in his living room while it continues to pour outside.

“it’s luke, and no, i’m not talking to him anymore.” you reply, trying to sound as casual as possible.

he looks up at you now, clearly a bit shocked to be hearing this. “please tell me it’s not because of my bitch ass brother.”

you bark out a laugh before you can stop yourself, mostly due to the fact that it’s absolutely because of matt. just not for the reason he thinks.

“as if. it was my decision, don’t worry.”

this is only half true. you did cut the poor guy off, but only because matt had essentially instructed you to do so before you guys had sex for the first time a month ago.

and then you hooked up again. and again. and a couple more times after that. neither of you could stop coming back for more apparently.

none of your friends know yet. as much as you want to be honest with them, you haven’t really talked about the details of this little situation. you’re almost positive matt hasn’t been seeing anyone else, but you also haven’t outright asked.

and there’s no use telling everyone about something that might not even be real.

“what made you do that? was the sex bad? is he an asshole?” nick interrogates further, clicking his phone off so his full attention is on you.

you can’t tell if he’s suspicious or if you’re just genuinely paranoid, but you don’t like this line of questioning either way.

“no he’s fine, he just wasn’t doing it. and his breath always smelled for some reason.” you’re lying through your teeth, but his face morphs into an expression of disgust like he’s buying it.

“ew, major turn off.”

“you’re telling me.”

nick sighs and snuggles further into the cushions, resting his head on your shoulder as he stares at the tv.

“well for what it’s worth, i’m sorry it didn’t work out. but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone sexy at nathan’s tomorrow.” he says.

“yeah, maybe.” you feed into the hypothetical, even though you know that won’t be happening.

at least not if matt sturniolo has a say in it.

-

your music is playing softly over the speaker as you get ready, perched in front of your vanity like a doll. you’ve just finished your makeup when you hear a singular tap on the door.

“can you hurry it up in here?” matt calls as he pushes it open slightly.

you find it funny that he’s always sure to knock, ever since he walked in on you naked that fateful afternoon. even though you’re literally sleeping together now, he makes it a point to not invade your privacy.

“can’t rush perfection, matthew.” you taunt him as you put your palette and brushes back in their rightful place.

he moves further into your room, walking over to stand behind you. he’s dressed up in jeans and that black muscle tee you love so much, tattoos on display as his hands go to knead your shoulders lightly.

“you do look amazing.” he compliments.

“likewise.” you reply before meeting his searing gaze in the reflection of the mirror.

he increases his pressure slightly, digging his fingers into your neck in a steady pattern. you already know what he’s angling at and he hasn’t even spoken.

“you know, we could just stay home.” matt suggests with a smirk.

“c’mon, we can’t keep ditching our friends. they’re gonna get suspicious at some point.” you shake your head and stand up, because the massage is starting to feel a little too good.

“nobody cared when we left early last time.”

you cross your arms over your chest and turn to give him a pointed look. “because you convinced them that i was sick.”

“so i’ll just tell them a different lie.” he shrugs.

“oh my god, i am going to this party with or without you, so you better make up your mind before the uber gets here.” you say over your shoulder, headed out of your room toward the stairs.

“such a brat.” he grumbles, but you hear him following you regardless.

“only for you.”

two hours later you’re standing in the middle of nathan’s living room, dancing along with the typical crowd. nick and madi are on either side of you, both bopping around drunkenly to the beat.

you’ve had three shitty drinks at this point and your head feels a bit fuzzy. you’re positive your cheeks are flushed, which is actually kind of nice.

matt was with you minutes earlier, but he’s ventured off to get another drink. it’s selfish that you miss him every second he’s not around.

it’s just nice having him by your side. sure, it was kind of casual at first, and you didn’t think it was going to develop so quickly. but now whatever is going on between you means a whole lot more.

you like when he asks you to spend the night in his room, or when he saves the last can of redbull for you so you don’t go to work without caffeine. you like that he’s been replacing the flowers he got you every time they start die, the way he insists on driving you places even if it’s out of his way.

you just like him, and it’s more than casual. at least it is to you, and you can’t imagine that at this point he doesn’t feel the same.

but you don’t want to be the one to try and put a label on it. quite frankly, it scares the shit out of you, and you’re still not drunk enough to keep thinking about it in the middle of this party.

you see chris a few feet away against the wall, beer in his hand as he chats animatedly with nathan. you know he has what you’re looking for, so you shout that you’ll be back and head their direction.

they both smile at you as you approach, almost perfectly in sync.

“what’s up!” chris leans down a bit so you can hear him better.

“do you still have that joint you mentioned earlier?” you ask into his ear.

he nods happily, and nathan shoots you both a questioning glance. by the looks of his sleepy eyes, he’s probably already crossed.

“we’re going to smoke!” you fill him in, motioning toward the front door.

nathan nods and tells you he’ll stay back, so the two of you shuffle your way out of the living room, trying to avoid bumping into as many people as possible.

you pass the kitchen, and as your eyes scan the people you spot matt huddled in the corner. he’s talking to a very obviously enthusiastic girl, one that you don’t recognize. your stomach drops at the sight of them, and you hate it.

he doesn’t see you, so you turn your head and keep following behind chris. he’ll stop talking to her soon. he’ll probably even come looking for you instead.

right?

the crowd thins as out by the door, and the two of your step out into the fresh air moments later. the street is relatively quiet, and once the door is shut the noise of the party is muffled. there’s nobody else outside, and you’re grateful.

the other townhouses stare at you as chris crosses the short driveway so he can hide underneath the tree in the yard. you follow his lead, watching as he fishes the lighter and joint out of his front pocket.

“keeping it handy, huh?” you joke.

“you caught me at the right time, i just packed it upstairs.” he smiles before putting it between his lips.

the flame burns the end as he takes a hit, exhaling up toward the sky. you pass it back and forth in silence, both enjoying the momentary break from socialization.

chris clears his throat a minute later, nudging at the grass with his toe absentmindedly. “so, i have a question to ask you.”

he looks over so he can hand the joint back, and your hands shake ever so slightly as you reach out to take it.

“yeah?”

“i think matt is seeing someone. do you know anything about that?” he asks bluntly.

you try to remain calm as you shake your head at him, though it seems impossible. you aren’t prepared for this at all.

“uh, no?”

chris smiles just a little bit, like he’s already got you right where he wants you. “so he doesn’t bring anyone over? it’s just the two of you?”

your narrow your eyes at him. “just ask what you want to ask.”

“are you guys together?”

there it is. you were expecting it this time, and it still makes your stomach flip.

“no. i mean, kind of? we’re not like, dating. we’re just…uh…hooking up.” you’re trying so hard to figure out how to put it that it sounds horrible.

he just laughs. “no you’re not. that kid is in love with you.”

your jaw drops slightly in surprise, and this only makes chris chuckle harder.

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you ask him once he finally calms down.

“i’ve seen how he’s acting lately. so fucking goofy, like he’s got his head in the clouds. he only ever gets all dopey like that when he really likes someone, and i kind of suspected it was you.”

it’s hard to find any words. there’s simply nothing on your brain, no coherent thought to be found. chris gives you a playful nudge.

“it’s okay, i won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. but i think you feel the same.” he makes a guess, and he’s very accurate.

you look away as you take your final hit, trying to decide how you want to respond. you exhale the smoke and pass the remainder of the joint back to him.

“okay, you got me. i do want it to be like, a real relationship. and i’ll talk to him about it soon, i promise. just please don’t tell anyone until i do.” you plead.

he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a side hug. you relax into him, and you have to admit you’re a bit relieved that at least somebody knows now.

“of course not. i’m here to support you both whenever you’re ready. everyone else will be too.”

“thank you. that makes me feel a lot better, seriously.” you say truthfully as he pulls away.

“good.” he nods in satisfaction, giving you a loopy grin.

“i’ve mooched enough, so i’m gonna go back inside, but thanks again. i owe you a blunt for the reality check.” you point a finger at him as you back up off of the grass.

“i’ll never turn that down.”

the high has taken over as you spin around to walk normally, and it’s nearly impossible to stop smiling. having confirmation that you’re not crazy for feeling the way that you do is wonderful.

you head back inside the house, almost positive that you’d find matt hanging out somewhere with your friends.

but as you pass the kitchen again, you spot him in the same place, leaned up against the end of the counter with a solo cup in hand. it seems like the girl is even closer than she was before.

your face falls immediately. it makes you angry that it’s been so long and he still hasn’t told her to get lost yet. if he wants to be all possessive over you, then you shouldn’t have to act so cool for him.

you’re certainly not feeling collected right now. and he deserves to know that.

you wedge your way around the people chatting and pouring themselves drinks without a second thought. matt sees you coming before you actually reach him, and he looks confused by your irritated expression.

you wrap your fingers around his arm wordlessly, right in the middle of the nameless girl’s sentence. he doesn’t put up a fight. in fact, he’s practically hot on your heels as you pull him back toward the hall.

“uh—hey! we were talking bitch!” she shouts after you.

“don’t care.” you don’t even give her the satisfaction of making eye contact.

there’s really no point. matt is trailing behind you like a puppy, and that’s all that matters. he clearly doesn’t want to be there any more than you want him to.

“what’s going on?” he asks as you maneuver around the outside of the crowded living room, making a beeline for the staircase.

it’s taped off to everyone except your group, in case of emergency.

this feels like one, considering you don’t even care if anyone sees you together. you don’t respond, you just let go of his hand and step over the thin barrier, glancing behind you to see if he’ll follow.

there’s a curious look in his eye, but he does the same.

you continue up the stairs, making sure he has the perfect view of your ass as you go. you can literally feel him staring, which only stokes the fire.

“are you taunting me right now?” matt asks as you reach the second floor.

this makes you pause, and you turn around so you can wrap your hand in his shirt. you yank him into the bathroom, slapping the light switch on with your free hand.

you close the door behind you, which suppresses the booming sound of nathan’s music playing through the speakers.

“what the hell is this?” you uncurl your fist and shove his chest to put some space between you.

his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he regains his balance and sets his cup down on the counter. you realize you probably spilled some of it by dragging him around, but that’s not your main focus right now.

“what do you mean?”

“don’t you dare play dumb. you can’t stand it when anyone else even breathes near me, so why would you think that i would be okay watching you flirt with some random girl for fifteen minutes? you either want me or you fucking don’t, matt.” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

it’s shocking that you’re being this honest with him, but you’re faded and you’ve been pushed beyond your limit.

no use tip-toeing around it now.

“you think just because she came up to me that somehow means i don’t want you?” he asks, and there’s more of an edge to his tone now.

“how am i supposed to know? we haven’t talked about it, whatever this is.” you wave your hand back and forth between the two of you.

a look of understanding passes over his face. “oh, this is about labels, huh?”

this infuriates you more, because that’s not even the point you’re trying to make. he’s aggravatingly calm right now, like he’s so sure of himself.

“look, if you don’t want to be in a real relationship with me, then fine. i don’t care. but i’m not gonna keep exclusively sleeping with just you if that’s the case.”

matt is silent for a moment, eyes darting across your face. you can see him gazing at your lips, and it drives you crazy.

he takes one step forward, staring you down with those pretty blue eyes. even though your height different is relatively small, it still feels like he’s towering above you.

“are you really trying to tell me you wouldn’t care at all if i wanted to see other people?” he asks quietly.

his face is so close, and you breathe in his familiar smoky cologne. it’s dizzying, being this overwhelmingly attracted to someone.

“of course i’d be upset, but there’s not much i can do about it if you don’t feel the same.” your voice is hushed now too, and you wish you didn’t sound so weak.

matt cups your chin gently with one hand, forcing you to keep your focus on him. your heart is slamming against your ribcage now, begging for some kind of relief.

“i want to be with you so bad that it kills me.” he finally admits.

it’s your turn to be stunned, and you stay completely still as his thumb grazes over your bottom lip slowly.

“i had this whole thing planned, i was going to take you to a fancy little restaurant and ask you out like a gentleman. but you just couldn’t wait, could you?” his voice is husky, pupils blown out in lust.

“i…really?” you ask breathlessly.

“really. so what do you think? you wanna be mine?” he goads with a smirk, gripping your face a bit tighter.

it’s normally hard to swallow your pride, especially with matt, but you’re so vulnerable in this moment you can’t tell him anything besides the truth.

“i do.”

“good, because you already are.” he growls before closing the gap between you, lips crashing against yours.

he tastes sweet, like the soda he’s been mixing with vodka all night. it’s a pleasant mess of teeth and tongue as you deepen the kiss, passionate in a way that you’ve never experienced with him before.

his hands travel down to grab at your hips, pressing against you so your lower back bumps against the sink. you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling enough to elicit a groan.

it vibrates against your mouth, and you feel yourself throb just from that little noise alone. he’s normally not very vocal, but you bring it out of him.

matt’s hands slide up your body, finding their way under the hem of your sheer lace top. his cold rings press against your stomach as he slowly inches higher, leaving goosebumps in their wake. you let go of him, throwing your hands upwards so he can peel the shirt over your head.

“so fucking pretty, just for me.” matt praises as he tucks your hair behind your ear, attaching his lips to your neck seconds later.

you tilt your head back to give him a better angle, sighing in pleasure as he nips at the soft skin. one hand is feeling up your chest as his teeth dig into your collar, tongue sliding over the marks he’s leaving in an attempt to soothe the irritated areas.

you move your own fingers down between both of your bodies, ghosting them over the crotch of his jeans, palming him just a bit. his dick is already straining against your hand, and he hisses a string of curses into your shoulder.

“no more teasing tonight, i need you now.” he grumbles, already out of breath as his hands travel to undo the button of your pants.

you take the lead and slide them down yourself, tearing your thin panties off with them because you want him just as much. it doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one exposed, so you tug his muscle tee upwards in desperation.

matt doesn’t protest, he just tosses it to the floor with the rest of your discarded clothes. you let your fingers rake over his skin, down his abdomen and over his happy trail until your fingers meet the waistline of his jeans.

you glance up at him through your lashes as you unbuckle his belt, entirely naked now, and he swears he could finish just by looking at you.

the sensation of your hands skimming against his thighs as you drag his jeans and boxers to his ankles makes him twitch. nobody has ever turned him on the way you do, and it’s frightening how good you make him feel.

but you always enjoy everything just as much, because he’s the best dick you’ve ever had. perfect length, enough girth to stretch you out, and he knows exactly how to move to your liking. matt even keeps it trimmed nicely.

the tip glistens with precum, and you pull your hair back with one hand like you’re getting ready to put it in your mouth.

“no, stand back up baby.” he instructs, and the commanding note in his voice makes you push yourself off your knees, extending to your full height.

matt turns you around so you’re facing the mirror, one hand on your side and the other on your back as he forces you to bend at the waist. your forearms press flat against the cool marble counter, and the assertiveness of it all sends a jolt of excitement right to your core.

his palm comes down on the curve of your ass without warning, just hard enough to sting. you let out a whimper, arching your back more as you gaze at him through the reflection.

he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, smoothing his hand over the place he just hit. his eyes are so dark, so full of desire that it just solidifies the way you feel about him.

“you like that? you want me to be rough?” matt leans over you, cock pressed against you as he speaks into your ear.

“please.” you whine, shifting your hips to try and feel more of him, to feel anything.

he stops your movements immediately and smacks your ass again, this time on the opposite side. it makes you groan in delight, almost involuntarily.

“you’re gonna look at yourself while i fuck you, got it princess?” he says, backing up just a bit so he can take his dick into his own hand and pump a few times.

you nod as you feel him line himself up at your entrance, and you know that at this angle you’re perfectly on display for him.

he pushes himself inside of you in one fluid motion, and you gasp as his fingers squeeze your hip. matt doesn’t give you time to adjust to him like normal. instead he immediately starts to pick up speed, wrapping your hair in his free hand so you can’t look anywhere else besides in front of you.

your lips are parted as you moan, eyes fluttering at the stimulation. you can hear matt grunting behind you, a deliciously dirty sound.

“look at how pretty you are, taking me so well. all fucking mine.” he marvels, rocking your body against him even harder.

skin slaps together, and his pace is making your legs tremble. you can feel the party raging on underneath you, and it’s strangely even hotter in this setting.

“shit, you fill me up so good matt.” you tell him, catching his eyes for a second before he throws his head back.

“fuck.”

he’s hitting it so well, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with every stroke. it’s turning him into an even bigger mess.

“god, if you keep that up i’m not gonna last much longer.” he warns, bucking his hips into you at a slightly different angle.

you cry out at the new sensation, a guttural noise that you didn’t even know you could make.

“i’m so close, right there babe.”

matt listens perfectly, using the hand on your waist to guide you so that you bounce against his thighs in the same spot. you’re a whining mess, and you can’t keep looking in the mirror.

you feel the tears as your eyes screw shut. the fire in your stomach is growing, spreading throughout your whole body. he tugs your roots a little bit more.

“come all over my dick, pretty girl. it’s all yours.”

his words are what send you over the edge, and your body shudders as you feel yourself giving in to the high, releasing all over him.

“fuck, matt, stay inside.” you pant, and he groans loudly.

two more sloppy strokes and you feel him tense, filling you up as he finishes. matt lets go of your hair, dragging his fingers along your shoulders, you back. you look so fucked out, makeup smudged slightly under your eyes, and you both love it.

he pulls out slowly, giving you one last tiny pat on your ass.

you’ve both got stars in your eyes as you stand, and you can feel the wetness pool against your thighs. thank god you’re on birth control. this was a special occasion anyways.

you turn, and matt immediately pulls you in for a kiss. you smile slightly, because you can’t help it.

“come on, i need to get cleaned up.” you pull away slightly.

“fine.” he sighs, but he lets you go regardless.

you wipe yourself off with some toilet paper quickly and flush it while he redresses. you two have been missing for minute now.

you guess it doesn’t really matter. sure, you should probably be discrete about having sex around your friends. but you’re also together. officially.

“so, does this mean i can tell the other girls in your dms to fuck off?” you joke as you put your underwear back on, shimmying into your jeans next.

“you can honestly tell them whatever you want.” matt runs a hand through his hair, smiling at you like a fucking goofball.

you’re just situating your shirt into place when the door comes swinging open, revealing a very drunk nathan. you and matt freeze, completely unsure what to do.

his eyes go wide as he realizes what’s going on, mouth hanging open like he can’t believe it.

“woah. no fucking way”

[cursedbycain]

raindrops - Cain x Lane

tagging: @rc-catalog

synopsis: maybe a meeting in the rain has it's upsides

tw: allusions to sex, rated T

wc: 1.2k

An outdoor meeting of the squad would have been fine in any other circumstance. But standing under the ledge and looking out at the rain so heavy she can barely see a foot in front of her, Lane regrets ever putting on the metal dog tag.

She also regrets not keeping the umbrella Yan had given her. Letting a quiet sigh escape her lips, she glances down at herself with regret. So much for the eyeliner and nice way she’d done her hair.

Of course, the only reason she cared was because he hadn’t seen it yet.

Cain is probably already at the meeting, most definitely waiting for her. He had left for patrol early in the morning. She has a faint memory of his lips pressing against her forehead in her haze of sleep but it could have been a figment of her imagination. Seeing him is part of the reason she had hurried out of her room once the crackle of her transponder had quieted. In her excitement, she hadn’t checked the window.

She’s about to take a step into the rain when cold fingers gently clasp her wrist. The feeling is familiar, and she already knows who she’ll see when she turns around.

“You’re late.” Is all Cain says, a knowing smile on his face.

“Technically we’re both late.” Lane notes and he shakes his head.

“I was sent to come find you. The bet is you were getting ready.” He casts an interested gaze over her face, her hair, and her body before locking eyes with her again.

“Noah owes Lester his rations tonight.” She can’t help but smile.

“They’re wrong. I just don’t want to get wet.” She gestures to the still torrential rain. Cain is already soaked but the feeling never seemed to bother him. Perhaps it was his ability to self heat. His hair is wet and pushed back, similar to the time on the platform. Water drips off of his coat and she can’t help but feel bad. He had probably been getting soaked since he left for patrol. He shakes his wings off, water flying off them and making her frown as tiny droplets fly at her.

When they’re thoroughly dry, the one closest to her raises into a ninety degree angle above her, a wall of soft white feathers. Cain’s hand slips to her waist. He gently pulls her closer and she finally realizes what he’s doing.

It’s a makeshift umbrella.

The gesture tugs at her heartstrings a bit. When she looks up at Cain’s expression, he’s smiling warmly at her.

“Now you’ll stay dry. Come on.” He leads her to the meeting spot, where the rest of the squad is.

There’s only one umbrella, clutched in the Generals hands. It’s pathetically small, barely enough to cover him and Anna. Both of them are still soaked underneath as if the item made a recent appearance.

Everyone else is absolutely drenched.

Lane suppresses her smile as they walk over. Aside from a stray drop or two on her clothes, Cain’s large wing does a tremendous job of protecting her. It’s not unlike the time he had walked (dragged) her and Anna through the snow in Rotkov.

But this time, the gesture means something very different.

When they finally reach the squad, each member shoots Lane a jealous look. It makes her slightly nervous but Cain’s grip on her waist is oddly comforting. When she glances at his face, she notices his raised eyebrow, as if daring anyone to comment on their position.

“Now we can start.” Despite the water dripping off of him, Dmitry is still the picture of a general as he discusses the squads next move at the base, now that he knows Donovan is no longer as trustworthy as before.

She has ears everywhere, which is the reason for this outdoor meeting.

As much as the squad understands it, the shivers makes it clear this has not been Dmitry’s brightest idea.

He drones on for a while. Lane tunes most of it out. She knows her purpose, her task. There’s really not much need for her to be here. But with Cain’s hand pressed against her waist, she doesn’t have any complaints.

When Cain’s body jolts, she glances up. His face flashes with irritation but she realizes quickly it’s not directed at her. Peaking past him, she understands why.

Lester stands on the other side of him, attempting to raise his other wing to cover himself from the rain. The immortal remains unamused. He keeps his wing firmly pressed down and his free hand swats at Lester.

The soldier casts a pleading look at her, as if she will convince Cain to save him from the rain. She merely shrugs in response. Lester is well aware that she and the immortal have long since passed the line of friendship. The special treatment had been apparent for a while.

The whole squad knew of it. But they didn’t talk about it. Probably cause there wasn’t much to talk about. In the middle of the apocalypse, who slept with who was the least of their concerns.

Lester gives up his attempt to cover himself, pulling away from the two. A quiet huff of laughter escapes Lane and she can tell Cain is equally amused.

“That wasn’t very angelic of you.” She mutters under her breath, knowing he’ll hear. He looks at her with a small smirk, his eyes that familiar shade of red.

“I’m not that kind of angel.” His wing shifts slightly to block another gust of rain, and he tugs her closer. His hand slips from her waist to her hip. As Dmitry continues his talk, Cain’s thumb slips under the edge of her shirt. He gently strokes her bare skin and she has to will away the images of the night they spent together.

He was totally doing it on purpose.

Finally, Dmitry relents, and the squad scatters to take cover from the rain. Soon enough, it’s just the two of them.

“I should get back to translating.” She turns to look at him. He shifts his body to face her and his other wing moves up to keep her fully covered. Rain still slips in from the part of his head he can’t cover and she frowns. When she reaches up to brush a droplet off his cheek, he dips his head down to lean into her touch.

“You look nice today. I would hate to see it ruined.” She’s about to remark that a good way to avoid that would be to get out of the rain but then his lips are on hers.

It’s a gentle kiss at first. Not unlike the one they had in the showers. He’s slightly hesitant, as if waiting for her to pull away. But she melts into it quickly, hands reaching up to thread through the dripping blond strands.

They only pull away when their lungs begin to burn. Cain’s fingers brush against her jaw, longing in his grey-blue eyes.

“Let’s go to my room. You can help me translate.” She offers. He recalls the last time she has asked that, eyes flashing red.

“Of course.”

When they finally reach the porch and his wings return to their position at his back, there isn’t a single raindrop on her.

[valentine-cafe]

( an éclair please ! )

we’ve established that he’s the type to gather information right? so like imagine when he meets us and he gets interested, but he didn’t have to pry any information out because we’re just rambling on and on (quite literally talking his ear off) about anything and everything and what our interests is and what we like and dislikes, so on and so forth.

“oh i love cats! and dogs too, actually i love all animals but maybe not cockroaches because they scare me horribly! i love love love cuddling with animals but well, i have sinus and it makes me sneeze a lot which also sucks because i technically can’t handle pollen either and that means i could never get flowers and—“ and it just spirals more on there

˖⁺. ﹙ charming inventor reaper bf  x gn reader. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . keep talking dear, it is lovely !! 🍒 :  grim reaper ˖ detective﹙ verse 9819 Jìngyí. ﹚

Jìngyí with a reader that speaks much, and he always listens

And to you, I present - a Jìngyí that listens to every. Single. Thing. That you say.

No kidding. Not only does he listen to you ramble on about anything and everything — he engages. Prompting questions or nodding along your endless array of mouth-running fever.

“Oh?”

“Mhhm?”

“And then what happened?”

“My, what an interesting dilemma.”

“Oh, you poor dear.”

A detective, is what he is. An innovator. He should be off to his newest lead on a case or tinkering up some work of art in his clocktower. Yet here he is, leaned up against the railings of one of the city bridges and watching you drone on as if the both of you are getting any younger.

Not only does he indulge your chatterbox-ing, hell — he remembers it.

For when the man runs into you again and you greet him with a wide smile and waving hand, he’s quick to sway his own to the side in direction. The corner of his lips quirked as his eyes signal behind you, then back.

“My dearest, do mind the cherry blossom. Wouldn’t want those sinuses to flare, hmm? Especially not with that darling colour on. You were right; it suits you plenty.”

[zyart-jpg]

Red Flags and Racing Hearts

Pairing: Vinny Hong x Reader (Self-Insert/OC-Insert)

Tags: Reader as Jay Jo's older sister, slow burn, canon divergent

Summary: "Detached"—that’s how your peers often described you. Not unfriendly, not cold… just distant. Reserved.

You weren’t the type to laugh too loud or join in on group chats filled with emojis and inside jokes. You were firm, rules-oriented, the kind of person who always had a schedule and stuck to it. But detached didn’t mean unfeeling. Especially not when it comes to your family.

Not when it came to your younger brothers.

A/N; Might not post the chapters on tumblr consistently because it's a work on my Ao3, the link is on the title!

Edit: 11 chapters out on AO3!

It was as noisy as ever along the corridors, despite it being well into class hours.

The low hum of chatter, bursts of laughter, the occasional ringtone, and the muffled bass of music leaking from too many shared earphones bled into each other, creating a constant background buzz that was hard to ignore. Even with a snug pair of headphones over your ears, blasting a monotone lecture on thermodynamics from a professor who clearly had no passion for public speaking, the commotion still wormed its way into your awareness.

You tried to stay focused, eyes locked on the half-finished practice equation sprawled across your workbook, but voices cut through the ambient noise—clearer, sharper, laced with that distinct tone people used when gossip was just too good to keep to themselves.

“Aren’t these kids familiar?”

“Pretty sure that’s Dom Kang, right? Not surprising, honestly.”

“It’s kinda blurry, but isn’t that the student council president in the corner?”

“Look at them go! Must be nice to not have an entrance exam looming over your head.”

Your eyes flicked up. Just beyond your desk, a small crowd of students had gathered, huddled around a glowing phone screen. Some were standing on tiptoe, others craning their necks, all of them absorbed in whatever was playing on the device.

Student council president?

You tugged your headphones down to rest around your neck, letting the droning lecture fade into a low background hum. Your curiosity, reluctantly piqued, dragged your attention away from the workbook as you glanced around, trying to get a better look.

Then came the teasing jab.

“Oh, yo! Weren’t you last year’s student council president? Looks like your successor’s a bit of a delinquent, huh?”

You turned toward the voice—a guy from your class, grinning wide like he’d just dropped the punchline of a joke. A few others chuckled around him, watching your reaction as they angled the phone so you could see too. You blinked, brows tugging together in confusion. Without a word, you rose from your seat, and the group instinctively parted to let you in.

“What is it?” you asked, your tone cool and clipped—stern in a way your classmates had grown used to over the years.

One of them glanced up. “There’s this video going around—some fight that blew up overnight. Kids from Sunny High are in it. You can tell from the uniforms.”

“They’re brawling with students from Gunn Technical High, I think,” another added.

Your gaze dropped to the screen. It was shaky, probably filmed on someone’s phone in secret, the angle jumping as the cameraman tried to stay hidden. But even through the blur, your eyes locked onto one figure—familiar posture, familiar hair, and unmistakable uniform.

“That’s the student council president?” you asked flatly.

“Yeah. He’s been hanging out with those two other guys lately—Dom Kang and Minu Yoon, right? They're pretty hard to miss.”

You straightened without a word, offering a simple nod and a quiet “Thanks.” You made your way to the front of the classroom and began scribbling on the board, adjusting the schedule with quick, practiced strokes. Then you tapped the board sharply, drawing everyone’s attention.

“First period’s delayed. You’ve got thirty more minutes of homeroom and then thirty minutes of self-study. Do whatever you want, but nobody leaves campus. Understood?”

There was a collective groan, some quiet muttering, and a few lazy nods. The usual. But your gaze lingered briefly on the video still playing behind you, lips pressed into a thin line.

When lunch finally rolled around, you didn’t waste time. You walked out of your classroom and made your way toward the 2nd year wing, ignoring the occasional greeting or side-eyed glance thrown your way. You weren’t in the mood for pleasantries.

You stopped in front of Class 2-1.

“Jay Jo.”

You said his name firmly as you scanned the room from the doorway, eyes darting from face to face. But the familiar mop of black hair and bored expression was nowhere to be seen.

You turned to the nearest student. “Where is Jay?”

The kid startled, flinching a bit at your tone. “Ah, um—he was called to the principal’s office earlier... and then he left campus.”

“They were suspended,” another piped up, hesitantly. “Him and the other two. Uh... sunbae.”

You frowned, a sigh escaping your lips before you turned and walked off, pulling your phone from your pocket. You scrolled to his name, hit call, and waited.

One ring. Two. Four.

Then it stopped.

Declined.

You lowered the phone slowly, eyes narrowing as irritation bubbled beneath your skin.

“That little—” you muttered, but stopped yourself short, letting out another sigh instead. There wasn’t much you could do about it now. So you turned on your heel and headed back to your own classroom.

The incident, despite the early flare of interest and frustration, eventually faded from your mind. You had a routine—structured, demanding, and comfortingly familiar. Study guides. Review packets. Mock exams. Essay practice.

It was easier to drown in the noise of preparation than to bother thinking about the mess others left behind.

–

"Detached"—that’s how your peers often described you. Not unfriendly, not cold… just distant. Reserved.

You weren’t the type to laugh too loud or join in on group chats filled with emojis and inside jokes. You were firm, rules-oriented, the kind of person who always had a schedule and stuck to it. But detached didn’t mean unfeeling. Especially not when it comes to your family. 

Not when it came to your younger brothers.

Which is why, for the past few days, you’d been lighting up your brother’s phone with a steady stream of texts—questions, warnings, demands for an explanation about the suspension you'd heard secondhand. Not one had been read. Let alone answered.

You sighed, staring down at yet another string of “delivered” messages left untouched. With a groan, you leaned back from your tiny desk, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose as the dull ache in your head throbbed in protest. The desk was squeezed into the corner of your one-bedroom dorm room—a temporary space you’d moved into at the start of the school year to focus on college entrance prep. Cramped, quiet, and entirely functional. Just like you.

You glanced at the time, sighing as you pushed yourself up from the chair with a slow stretch, joints cracking in a way that made you grimace. Hit with a thought about how a cushion for the seat might be a worthwhile investment if you planned to keep burning the midnight oil in the same spot every day.

The headache still buzzed faintly at the edge of your skull, but you pushed it aside and moved through your usual routine—washing up, brushing back stray strands of hair into a neat bun, pulling on something clean and neutral. A short list of errands prepped into your notepad, the only real break in your otherwise monotonous schedule. You had just enough time to get them done before you have to go and sit through another lecture for dinner.

As always, no matter how messy things got, the rest of the world didn’t slow down for anyone. Not even for siblings who wouldn’t return your calls.

You’d always been naturally introverted—quiet, reserved, with a studious streak that seemed to be ingrained in you and your siblings from the start. It wasn’t that you struggled with people. Socializing had never been a real issue; you knew how to carry a conversation, how to smile when it was appropriate, how to fit in when necessary.

But keeping your distance? That was a choice.

You maintained that space not out of awkwardness or disdain, but as a way to stay focused—focused on your goals, on the expectations your parents had quietly (and not-so-quietly) carved into your life. Letting yourself get too close, too distracted, always felt like inviting trouble. And trouble was a luxury you couldn’t afford.

So while your peers formed cliques, whispered secrets, and built their chaos of friendships and heartbreaks—you stayed on the sidelines. Not quite alone. Just deliberately apart.

You murmured a quiet thank-you to the cashier before stepping out of the bookstore, a modest bag of supplies swinging lightly from one hand. With the other, you scrolled through your phone, eyes flicking over your checklist as you mentally mapped out the rest of your errands.

Your gaze drifted upward, scanning the populated mall out of habit rather than curiosity, idly searching for something—anything—that might catch your attention. Maybe, if luck was on your side, you’d stumble across something to momentarily pull you out of the study-loop you lived in.

A soft hum left your lips as a memory surfaced—your youngest brother had asked for something the last time you actually visited your family home. A plush cat, wasn’t it? You sighed quietly, debating whether you could juggle another purchase without overloading your already-packed tote. Probably not the wisest idea... but maybe.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut short by a sharp, malicious scream from somewhere nearby—just a few feet ahead. Frowning softly when your eyes caught something rather disturbing and just plain disrespectful sight.

You made your way through the slowly forming crowd, weaving past murmuring onlookers until the source of the commotion came into view.

An elderly woman was kneeling on the floor, head bowed low in apology. In front of her stood a younger woman—furious, loud, and entirely unbothered by the attention she was drawing.

“Are you fucking blind?! Watch where you're going next time!” the woman shrieked, voice cracking with hysteria as she waved a hand in exaggerated disbelief.

“I’m so sorry, please—just forgive me this once...” the older woman begged, her voice shaking, palms pressed to the floor as she tried to appease the outburst. The sight made something in you twist uncomfortably.

You sighed and stepped forward, weaving past a few more bystanders frozen in place by secondhand discomfort.

“Miss,” you called out, your voice steady but firm, worn smooth by years of leading student meetings and mediating disputes. “Please calm down.”

The woman’s head snapped in your direction, her expression twisting into something sharp and entitled.

“Mind your own business! I’m not setting foot in this place again unless this woman is fired,” she barked, venom in every word.

You kept your tone even, ignoring the flare of irritation prickling at your temple. “This seems like a minor accident. Why not handle it quietly, without putting someone on public display?” You reached down to gently help the older woman off her knees, your hand steady at her arm. “She apologized properly, did she not? and it’s not like your tights are ruined.”

The woman scoffed. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are? This woman ruined my entire day! Is this how this place treats customers?”

You stepped subtly in front of the older woman as she tried to tug you back, her hands patting your arm lightly—an unspoken plea not to make it worse. Still, you stayed where you were.

“Look, if your clothes are that important, I’ll cover the cost,” you said, voice tight but polite. “But there’s no reason to humiliate someone over an accident.”

You offered calmly, exasperated already and was about to speak up again until a voice boomed from behind—

“MOM!”

The sharp voice cut through the air like a slap, drawing every head in the crowd toward its source. A  redheaded boy—no, a teen…or a man? Whatever he is—stormed toward the scene, anger clear on his face.

You blinked, brows pulling together in confusion as a flicker of quiet alarm crept in.

Wait... mom? 

You didn’t have a moment to process what was happening before the newcomer—clearly the son—snatched up a nearby mop and slammed it against the floor.

The crack echoed through the space as the handle split in two with sharp enough edges.

The fury on his face was almost feral, barely restrained as he surged forward, one half of the broken mop still in hand.

“You crazy bitch! Shut your fucking mouth!”

You flinched, a visceral reaction to the venom in his voice, the pure, unfiltered rage radiating off of him in waves. In the chaos, you hadn’t even noticed the elderly woman slip away from your side until she threw herself between him and his target, arms outstretched.

“Vinny! Stop it—what are you doing?!” she cried, struggling to hold him back, her hands clutching at his shirt as he thrashed against her.

He wasn’t listening, still seething, his glare fixed on the woman and her equally stunned companion. His whole body buzzed with barely-contained violence, the broken mopstick still clenched like a weapon.

You stood frozen for a beat, heart hammering. The situation had escalated so fast you barely had time to catch your breath. And now, with family involved and tempers flaring past the point of no return, it felt wrong—too intrusive—to step in again.

The mother and son were locked in a heated exchange, their voices clashing in a chaotic mess of pleading and raw fury. The son—Vinny—screamed with reckless anger, his words cutting through the air without a shred of restraint or respect.

You stayed rooted where you were, the weight of the situation sinking in. What had started as a public disturbance had spiraled far beyond anything you could reasonably handle. And with no mall security or staff in sight, it was now just a crowd of silent onlookers.

It became a vicious loop: Vinny’s shouting, the woman’s arrogant retorts, more insults hurled like grenades with no regard for the emotional wreckage left behind. It didn’t seem like it would end—until it did.

A sudden shift. A gasp.

Then, the older woman staggered, her face contorting in pain before she collapsed to the ground with a choked breath and one final, desperate plea for her son to calm down.

You curse under your breath, instincts kicking in. Without thinking, you dropped your shopping bags and rushed to her side, falling to your knees beside her.

“Ma’am—!” you started, but her body had already gone stiff, her limbs trembling uncontrollably.

Vinny was at her side a second later, panic carved deep into his face.

“She’s having a seizure!” you shouted, already moving. You carefully turned her onto her side, loosening the collar of her uniform around her neck and adjusting her posture to keep her airway clear.

“Mom!”

[electrozeistyking]

You can't automatically assume one tiny character in a "tiny AU" would be the same level of smallness as another character in a different "tiny AU."

Hi, there! For folks who don't know me, I'm the individual behind the "Tiny N AU," which is basically N from Murder Drones but make him tiny. Pretty self explanatory stuff. He's small now and we love him.

@megbanned is the individual behind the Mini Uzi AU. Same principle as Tiny N, but with Uzi instead and done drastically different. And most certainly a lot more often, I'd say.

We weren't aware of each other upon making our respective AUs, but from one individual with this kind of AU to another, I think it's fun! :D

That being said, I very recently got an ask on what would happen if Tiny N and Mini Uzi were to meet. And I was like, "Great! Yeah, this should be fun! I'll draw that at some point."

However, I'm also me. I wanted to do this other AU justice - so that meant I definitely looked through some things and did some "height comparisons." By which I mean I just looked at how tall Tiny N and Mini Uzi are compared to other characters.

Upon doing that, I realized something.

I have drawn Tiny N being held a bunch. Excluding the very first piece I did that technically started the AU, he's usually being held like this:

The second and third one are probably especially interesting, because you can get a very clear look at how small Tiny N is compared to V and Uzi. I try to make sure he stays roughly that size, though consistency is a pain.

But then I went to check how small Mini Uzi is.

The answer? MUCH SMALLER THAN TINY N.

I'm not going to put any of megbanned's drawings here because I don't want to do so without permission (and because you should totally just go check them out on your own time :3), but turns out Mini Uzi is much smaller than I realized.

Apparently it just? Never occurred to me she was that small until now?? Like, hello? One of the earliest pieces of this AU features her floating on a rubber duck in a mug of some kind! Mini Uzi fits in your palm, guys! You can shoot her out of a cardboard tube! You can't do that stuff with Tiny N!

Basically what I'm saying is we're pitting a rat against a hamster. Thanks for coming to my TEDTalk. Go follow megbanned.