#this was supposed to be just the first image

[earlgreylatte]

𝙒𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙎𝙖𝙮 𝙄𝙩 𝘽𝙖𝙘𝙠

Is it too much to say ‘I love you too’?

Says ‘I love you’ when he wakes up, limbs tangled with yours, staring at your sleeping face. He waits for you to respond, but you only mutter incomprehensibly, so he says it again and again, poking at you as you let out tired noises of complaint. Won’t relent until you say it back. Peak annoying dog behaviour.

Ted Kord, Booster Gold, Wally West, Johnny Storm, Peter Parker

Doesn’t realize it at first, rushing around your shared residence while getting dressed, hurrying to be not any later, he presses a kiss to the side of your head before rushing out the door shouting ‘I love you’. Realizes minutes later he didn’t receive a response and backtracks home to make sure you’re not mad at him. You ask why he didn’t just call if he was already running late. (Dumbass…)

Dick Grayson, Wally West, Hal Jordan, Kyle Rayner, Peter Parker, Johnny Storm, Kurt Wagner

You said ‘likewise’. He blinks at you, saying it again, and you give him the same response. Why are you acting like a man from the Victorian era!? Are you afraid of the ‘L word’? Just say it back! He’s not your dirty secret!

Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Hal Jordan, Guy Gardner

He greets you like he does every morning and is set on alert when your only response is a hum. His interpersonal skills aren’t high enough to approach you about it so he spends the rest of the day in contemplation to figure out if he wronged you in any way. Looks like a kicked puppy. (The type to feel like the world is ending if his girl is mad😔)

Bruce Wayne, Jean Paul Valley, Jason Todd, Bucky Barnes, Logan Howlett

Immediate side eye, actually has the balls to call you out, giving you that stare. You’re actually playing with fire, ABORT!

John Stewart, Matt Murdock (bro tilts his head in a way that has you feeling some danger), Scott Summers

Immediately apologizes, kneeling at your side, pressing your hand against his face, coaxing you to share your frustrations. You take out your earbuds in confusion.

Barry Allen, Kurt Wagner

Texts you he’s going to be late and that he loves you. He waits for a response, and when he doesn’t get one, he begins to overthink, anxious thoughts and old insecurities overtaking him. He supposes he should have expected for this to eventually happen. You then text back, explaining your phone was on silent. He nearly sheds a tear that day.

Jason Todd, Jean Paul Valley, Booster Gold, Bucky Barnes

Also texts you that he loves you, but has enough free time (or chooses to procrastinate) to spam you with messages and cursed images as he goads you into responding, declaring that you’re breaking his heart here!

Ted Kord, Johnny Storm, Wade Wilson

Actually gets an attitude (a sassy man!?) that results in you saying it, only for him to give a non-response. Definitely has you begging him to say it back next time.

Clint Barton, Logan Howlett

Knows you’re messing with him and immediately jumps onto you, fingers ticking your ribs, not relenting until you’re gasping for air and trying to say it back.

Wally West, Roy Harper, Remy Lebeau, Wade Wilson

He says it while his back is turned, spinning around when you remain engrossed in your phone, quickly striding over to you, bringing a hand to grip your face, fingers gently squishing your cheeks as he raises your head to look at him, telling you to say it back.

John Stewart, Barry Allen, Matt Murdock, Scott Summers

Stares at you in exasperation, already noticing the mischief on your face, not wanting to fall into your trap but knowing he won’t be able to continue his day without you saying it back. Relents and asks what your price is. Choose carefully…

Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne

Gives no reaction and ends up creating a reversal where you’re hassling him for a response, as he masks his smugness with disinterest.

Clint Barton, Remy Lebeau

He says it again and again, but you don’t respond no matter how hard he calls out to you, how much he tries to will you to respond. He should have known that something like a happy ending was impossible for him. Holding your cold body, he thinks maybe saying those simple words damned you in the first place.

Hal Jordan, Barry Allen, Kyle Rayner, Peter Parker, Matt Murdock, Scott Summers, Logan Howlett, Kurt Wagner

Added Remy for you unini, unnike, I can’t spell rn it’s 1am

Masterlist

[smoolpotaeto]

Manager Crashout

Pairing: Saja Boys x Manager!Reader

Summary: Overwhelmed with the amount of work you had to do in addition to the boys' constant chaos? Total crashout

**Doesn't exactly follow the movie timeline

[smoolpotaeto] Main Masterlist

"Abby, stop taking pictures of yourself every 5 seconds and help out in here!"

"Stop flirting and get back to work, Romance!"

"Mystery! Come back here!"

"Can you please stop complaining and just follow my instructions, Baby."

"Jinu! Stop smirking and manage your members!"

It was a nonstop chaos in the Saja Boys' studio room as the five were practicing their dance— or well, supposed to be practicing their dance. The four won't even listen to you properly, and their leader didn't even think of lending a hand to discipline them. Jinu was just there, staring at the chaos and you shouting at all of them to get back on track.

The boys had a show they were supposed to be in tomorrow after their 'debut' weeks ago at a street where they had performed their hit song Soda Pop. And you, drawn in by their energy and their undeniable good looks, applied to be the newly founded boy band's manager. Seeing that the five needed someone human to do most of the work for them and act as a "front," they didn't think much of getting you.

So now we're here—

You, an overworked manager who handles their PR, scheduling, idol actvities, as well looking for producers, lyricists, and the likes for their next new song, all the while handling the chaos that the five ensues. It was pretty much an everyday occurrence— Abby's narcissism, Romance's flirting, Mystery suddenly disappearing when curiosity gets the best of him, Baby being a literally man-baby, and Jinu relishing in the chaos.

Normally, it would be fine. While it's only been a few weeks, you've grown quite attached to them. They were nice when they wanted to, and they took good care of you despite their annoying attitude.

However, things have been real hectic lately. You didn't expect how huge the boys would get in such a short amount of time, and now they're being requested left and right in a lot of shows. Naturally, that meant receiving and sending phone calls and emails continuously. Aside from that, it also meant managing the boys' everyday schedules. To say that you were tired is an understatement— you already felt like a walking corpse at this point.

"Guys, please," You groaned, pleading, "Just practice your damn song. You'll be in front of a lot of people tomorrow, and you can't mess up unless you want to get your image thrown off." Your words fell on deaf ears, the five continuing to do their own thing.

It's been like that for the past hour or two— you weren't even sure at this point. What you were sure of, however, was that your anger was steadily rising, and you didn't know how long you can keep it at bay.

Without warning, your phone rang. Displayed on the screen was the name of one of the producers of the show for tomorrow. "Ah fuck, I completely forgot..." With a sigh, you started walking out of the room to answer the call, but not without calling to the boys first. "You guys better be doing something productive when I get back."

...

The call took longer than expected. The producer really wanted everything noted down and clean down to the smallest detail, and that usually meant a lot of reassurance and planning. "Well, time to check to see how they're doing."

The boys are not in fact, doing something productive when you got back. Instead, Abby and Baby were now running around the studio, Mystery was sleeping, Romance is now laughing at Abby and Baby, and Jinu was scrolling on his phone...?— where did get that?

"Oi! Didn't I tell you to—"

You didn't even get to finish what you were saying when Abby crashed into one of the studio lights, toppling and destroying it rendering the light useless.

The studio went into complete silence, and you stood there stunned. Did they really just destroy one of the studio lights? One that you worked so hard on to secure at a good price? One that costed a bit too much compared to other expenses? One that has not even been there for at least a week?

"What. The. HELL?!"

The four turned their heads towards you, and Mystery who was sleeping was now awake. "Do you know how much that thing costs?! How much effort I put in to find you guys nice lights to use for the studio room? Do you have any idea how tiring it has been for the previous days?!"

Sensing that they were about to get in trouble, Jinu quickly stood up from his position and walked towards you, "Hey, (Y/N), I'm sure the two didn't mean to destroy the lights. How about we—" The demon quickly shut up by the intensity of your glare.

"And you!" You pointed at Jinu. "M-me?" "No, it's the wall behind you— of course you! Who else is there, huh?!" The boy gulped at your tone, "How many times have I told you to watch over them? To discipline them? Tell them to get back on track? Make sure that they don't cause any problem?"

You were on a rant at this point. All the anger and tiredness you were trying to keep bottled up for the past days had now come undone.

"Don't you see how much I've been working and handling for you guys? I can't even sleep properly at night knowing that everything has to be perfect so that you guys can keep charting and be on shows. All I ever asked from you guys was to listen to me— get back to practice, behave yourselves, act like fucking adults, but what do I get in return? Nothing! Not even a single thank you!"

Tears were now brimming on your eyes, and while you felt embarrassed from suddenly lashing out, you didn't care at this point. You were tired, and no amount of patience can keep up with this amount of work. "(Y/N)—"

"No. Don't get started right now.... You know what? I'm done. Fuck this. I'm leaving." Without missing a beat, you placed down your Manager ID and clipboard and all related things to being their manager.

Abby was the first to recover from the shock. There was no way you were actually leaving now right?

"(Y/N), hey, wait." With a scowl and tears on your face, you faced Abby. "What?" "I know we messed up, but you can't be serious about leaving us, right?"

With a scoff, you turned on your heel. "Yeah... goodluck with finding a manager that can stand all of you."

The boys stared at the door that you just left in. "We fucked up big time didn't we?" "Yep..."

[twilightofthesandwiches]

Okay so…

Most the TV-Tastic Prizes Tenna lists during the intro of his show are directly related to the Dreemurrs and their interests/personalities. It’s pretty understandable when you think about it, as their household TV, Tenna only has the Dreemurrs as reference to what kind of prizes people would be most interested in.

The Floral Cowboy Bath Curtains obviously references Asgore, it’s a domestic item that combines his well-known love of flowers and his literally-just-now-established fondness for Woody’s Roundup. (From Tenna's perspective, this is just as important, if not more so, than flowers, because he mainly experiences his family through the shows they watch on him.)

The Brand New Family Car might reference the fact that Toriel’s car is getting a bit old, or maybe even it’s slashed tires (if Tenna doesn’t know enough about cars to understand which problems are very easily fixed). But mostly it’s just a generic prize for a family, demonstrating that this is still how Tenna sees the Dreemurrs, as one big happy family. In reality, with only Toriel and Kris living at home, even the car they have now might be a tad oversized, but Tenna is obviously in denial about that.

(The Ice-E decals might be a reference to Asriel’s Ice-E Brand Deodorant, or just the general fact that Ice-E seems to be a popular brand with the children of Hometown, and Tenna’s mental image of Kris and Asriel is still based on how they were as kids.)

The Big Bro’s Talker-Backer, as a goofy tech toy with the words ‘big bro’ right in its name, is based on the kinds of toys Asriel liked when he was young. Again, in Tenna’s (metaphorical) eyes, he and Kris are still the children who watched cartoons and played games on him. He hasn’t fully processed the idea that Asriel is basically an adult now.

The Kitchen Sink Fur-Guard is, well, that’s obviously something the Dreemurrs need.

Since it’s for the Kitchen Sink specifically, it’s probably meant to be a Toriel Prize, since she's the one who loves cooking the most.

… or maybe it's just because that’s the sink closest to Tenna. The bathroom sink is too far away from the living room for Tenna to be aware of it most of the time.

And the Chocolate Chewy Roll-Um’s are obviously for Notorious Sweet-Tooth Kris Dreemurr. Flavored after their second favorite food!

Now… the thing is that this prize roll-call ends with…

Originally, I just wrote off the Genuine Ralsei Plush as a silly meta-joke. Or, like, part of the ongoing thematic thread about Darkner Personhood in this Chapter. Where Tenna and Ralsei, as the two lead Darkners of the Chapter, keep alternating between treating the other as a Person and as an Object.

And like, it is that, but also, there is an in-universe explanation for why Tenna decided to make it one of the main prizes he uses to sell the show. Because Tenna first heard of Ralsei’s existence…

…During Susie and Kris’ little chat on the sofa.

The Ralsei Plush is supposed to be a prize for Susie because the Literally Only Two Things Tenna knew about Susie at the time is “likes Giant Monster Movies” and “has two Darkner friends named Ralsei and Lancer”. The Susiezilla Minigame is Tenna’s attempt to appeal to the former, the Ralsei Plushie is his attempt to appeal to the latter.

Obviously that still loops back to Tenna’s tendency to kinda see Ralsei as an object (the same way Ralsei did to him at the end). He has a much better understanding of the appeal of Kaiju Movies, why Susie loves them and how to replicate that appeal for her in the Dark World.

But then he’s like, well, Susie really likes that Darkner friend of hers… obviously I understand why.... it's because he'd be great as a Marketable Plushie! Obviously the next best thing if she can’t take him to the festival! (I assume he went with Ralsei Plushies cause they seemed much more conventionally marketable to Tenna's Normie Mass-Entertainment Taste.... also from a Doylist perspective this thread of Darkner Personhood isn't as much as a big deal for Lancer's character at the moment)

[petalbcrnes]

؛ ଓ _ _ 𓏴𓏴 LOVE ON THE MOTOR _ _ j. todd .ᐟ ‿◞ˇ

... .. . ✶ ᶻz .ᐟ .. . . this is a requested continuation of my drabble, in which jason teaches you how to ride a bike. honestly i’ve been wanting to expand on this idea for some time so i finally got the chance.

؛ ଓ ✶ jason todd—your best friend—teaches you how to ride a motorcycle ། 　1.0k wc ✶. ། 　𝓵inks𓈒　　mlist　　rules𓈒

The motorcycle gleams under the afternoon sun, parked in the empty parking lot behind an old warehouse. You’ve been staring at it for some minutes now, arms crossed, while Jason leaned against the brick wall with a curious expression. His eyes are locked on you, analyzing every little twitch of your brow as you stare down the vehicle in front of you.

“It’s not going to bite you,” He said, pushing off the wall and walking to stand beside you.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve been riding since you were practically in diapers.” You shoot him a look, which he answers with an amused grin. “I didn’t go near death machines as a kid.”

Jason’s laugh was warm, the kind that made something in your chest that you’d been ignoring for months now. “Death machine? It’s a Yamaha, not a rocket launcher.”

“Same difference.”

He stepped closer, and you caught that familiar scent of leather and motor oil that always seemed to cling to him. “Hey.” His voice was softer now, and when you looked up his sea-green eyes were filled with warmth. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. You know that, right?”

The sincerity in his voice made your breath catch. This was Jason—Red Hood, the guy who could take down a room full of thugs without breaking a sweat—looking at you like you were made of something precious.

“I know,” you said quietly. “I trust you.”

Something shifted in his expression at those words, but he cleared his throat and gestured toward the bike. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. First thing— how to get on without looking like a newborn fawn.”

You snorted despite despite your nerves. “Encouraging.”

“I’m here to help, not flatter.” But his grin was teasing. “okay, so the bike’s got a stand right now, which makes it easier. You’re gonna swing your leg over the left side. Go ahead.”

You approached the motorcycle like it might suddenly roar back to life and buck you off. The seat was higher than you’d expected, and your first attempt to swing your leg over was graceless at best.

“Here.” Jason moved behind you, his hands settling on your waist to steady you. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the breeze. “I’ve got you. Try again.”

This time you managed to settle onto the seat, though you immediately gripped the handlebars like your life depended on it.

“Relax,” Jason chuckled, moving to stand beside the bike. “you’re holding on like you’re trying to strangle it. Loosen up your grip a little.”

“You’re not the one sitting on a metal beast.”

“Metal beast?” He raised an eyebrow. “What’s next, calling it a steel demon?”

“Don’t give me ideas.”

Jason walked around to the other side of the bike, studying your posture. “Okay, so your positioning isn’t bad, but you’re too tense. Sit back a little more— yeah, like that. Your feet should be able to touch the ground when you’re stopped. Can you reach?”

You stretched your toes down and managed to brush the asphalt. “Barely.”

“That’s fine. You’ll get used to it.” He moved closer, adjusting your position slightly. “When you’re actually riding, you’ll put your feet on these foot pegs here. But for now, just get comfortable with sitting.”

“This feels so weird,” you admitted. “Like, what am I supposed to hold onto when you’re driving?”

Jason’s cheeks actually colored slightly, and he looked away for a moment. “Well, uh, traditionally the passenger holds onto the driver.”

“Holds onto what part of the driver?”

“Around the waist, usually.” His voice was a little shaky now. “Or you can hold onto these grab rails if the bike has them, but mine doesn’t, so.”

The image of wrapping your arms around Jason’s waist, pressed close against his back as the bike roared beneath you, made heat bloom in your chest. You’d thought about it before—more than you cared to admit—but hearing him say it out loud was different.

“Oh,” you managed.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat again. “But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s just focus on you getting comfortable sitting first.”

You spent the next twenty minutes just sitting on the stationary bike while Jason explained the controls— where the brakes were, how to shift gears, what each gauge meant. His voice was steady and patient, and gradually you found yourself relaxing.

“You know,” you said during a break, “I never asked why you wanted to teach me this.”

Jason was quiet for a moment, fiddling with one of the bike’s mirrors. “You mentioned once that you felt like you missed out on stuff. Normal fun things.” He shrugged, but you could see the tension in his shoulders. “Figured this could be one of those things.”

Your heart did something complicated in your chest. Jason remembered that conversation— a late-night talk on a rooftop weeks ago when you’d been feeling sorry for yourself about your upbringing.

“That’s really sweet of you,” you said softly.

“Yeah, well.” He looked up at you, and there was something vulnerable in his expression. “I want you to have those experiences. And I want to be the one to give them to you, if you’ll let me.”

The words hung in the air between you, loaded with meaning that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge. But the feeling was there, warm and patient and real.

“Okay,“ you said finally. “But I’m still not ready to actually ride today. Can we just—... sit here for a while longer?”

Jason’s smile was soft and understanding. “Yeah. We can sit here as long as you want.”

And if his hand somehow found yours while you sat there in the fading afternoon light, both of you pretending to watch the sunset instead of stealing glances at each other, well—that was just another part of the lesson.

Some things, you realized, were worth the risk of falling.

.. ,, ... , ☘️ .. , . a/n: i’ve been trying to improve my writing skills, taking into consideration the structure, grammar, syntax and overall flow of my works to better them. i’ve even gotten the help from the lovely @/ramzuni6, bless their beautiful mind <3 they beta reader’d this !!!

﹒   ♪   ┊ INBOX OPEN.⠀⠀feel free to send me asks and suggestions in my inbox. ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

˖ `· . 𓏵 © 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐂𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒 don’t use my work without my consent. ... ⏤ㅤ Ⳋ ⊹

[weallfallwriting]

Saja Boys Headcannons: Getting to know them

Abby loves to pout when he doesn’t get his way. He looks at you with the cutest, most adorable puppy dog eyes when you tell him no, and it’s just so hard not to give in when he looks at you like that. If only he were always this sweet. Instead, he ragebaits you. All. The. Time. Poking at your cheek when you try to focus, swiping bites of your food, stealing your stuff… The list goes on. If he notices a subject or slang word you find annoying, he’ll go out of his way to bring it up. Multiple times in a conversation. He likes getting overly close to you while you talk, to see if you’ll blush and push him away, flustered. The man loves pushing boundaries, but if you get mad when he goes too far, he resorts to the puppy dog eyes as his get-out-of-jail-free card. And then goes right back to annoying you.

Baby is the most adventurous in the group. It’s easy to see him as just the cute idol of the group, but he’s so much more. He leans into the image of maknae, being cute and playful, but only because he thinks it's fun. While he loves being babied, he appreciates when people realize he’s more than that. He enjoys rapping his heart out, and a lot of the time, it’s only through creative mediums like singing that he can express how he feels. He likes using arts and crafts as an outlet when he feels upset– making rap lyrics is his go to, but he’s tried painting, drums, knitting– okay, drums isn’t arts and crafts, but it counts. It might not be yarn and a needle, but he’s making stuff isn’t he?

Baby only became an idol because he thought that would be fun too. Without something fun in his life, he becomes severely depressed. That’s why he started singing. It became something he could rely on, express himself through. It lifted the monotony of daily demon life. He was glad when Jinu asked him to be an idol.

Mystery can be an antsy ball of energy. Most of the time, he’s a relaxed, easy going fellow, just like some of the other idols. We know he acts more reserved when you first meet him. However, once he loosens up around you, he acts more clingy. He starts seeking out snuggles. This grown ass man will be all over you after a few weeks of getting to know you. He’s definitely not reserved with physical intimacy: draping himself over your shoulder, slouching against your side while you’re sitting together, curled up against you snoring– yeah, he’s as bad about it as Baby, if you haven’t noticed.

When Mystery gets bored, he gets antsy. Drumming his fingers against the table, jogging his knee so violently it hits the table, and when he gets really, REALLY bored, trying to sit upside down on his chair. Not that he ever sits right anyway, he’s always slouched or sitting criss-cross on a normal chair. But picture it: Mystery’s sitting on the couch while the Saja Boys plan their takedown of Huntr/x, but it’s just so, so, boring. He flips over with his back on the cushion, head hanging down towards the floor, and feet propped up where his head is supposed to be. Either that, or he curls up like a cat around a throw pillow and takes a small snooze. Homeboy canNOT sit right.

Romance loves clothes shopping. Fit checks with you, your go to guy for an outfit. He just has a sense for these things. He’s a total diva though. It’s not obvious at first, but the more you get to know him, the more dramatic he is. However, Romance is a little bit more cruel than the other Saja Boys. He likes the thrill of “talking to someone”, and going on first dates. He likes the thrill of leading someone on. If someone gets too attached, he’ll drop them immediately. The King of ghosting. Waits hours before replying back, leaves you on read if he doesn’t care about what you texted. When he does text, it’s in the middle of the night, and it’s like he’s encouraging you to wait up for him to text back later and later.  

If he’s really into someone, it will take a while for him to realize. Effortless flirting, the same with everyone. He’ll stare at you, and smirk when you catch him. Casual touches on your hand, and back. He won’t text you back a lot in the beginning, and you’re the one to text first for every conversation. But you’ll notice something weird about Romance. You’ll be out with the Saja Boys and realize Romance is at your side, or you’ll be at home and find him at your front door with no warning. He’ll look for any excuse to be close with you, start more conversations, and you’ll slowly start to realize that he’s fallen.

Jinu revels in power. He feels guilty about it, and still wants to become human again, but a part of him craves the demon power. Even when he was human, he relished in the power that came from having a station in court. At least until he gets therapy, or resolves it through some other means, he will always struggle with guilt and temptation. After all, is power so bad? With it comes all the luxuries of life. Jinu hated the struggle he had to face when he was homeless, and finds himself hard-pressed to give it up.

Because Jinu was poor, and often went without food, he stockpiles all sorts of food at home. Most of it is cheap food that reminds him of what he had with his family. Oftentimes, leftovers go bad because he can’t eat them all in time, but he will NEVER have an empty fridge. The stress from his human years of never having enough to eat guarantees this habit of overstocking now. His pantry is filled with cans of soup, instant ramen, and all the chips he can get his hands on. He prioritizes carbs over meat and vegetables, and while you might think it’s because of the intense choreography he has to do, it’s mostly because he couldn’t afford them as a human, and because carbs were easier to come by.

[thatonegrimm]

so, I havent been able to stop thinking about this ever since the soul stealing animation was shown- may as well req ot then. Could I request saja boys (separately) reaction to meeting there partner (GN) for the first time and trying to take there soul, only for them to eat it? Like that scene from murder drones with cyn/uzi where they grab the soul and nom. THANK YOUUII <33333 idk I think it would be funny.

Honestly I haven’t seen Murder Drones (it looks interesting), but I think I got what you meant—and this was so fun to write. The image of the Saja Boys trying to go full demon only to be met with a casual soul-chomp?? Iconic. Thanks so much for the request!! 💀🖤✨

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader Who Eats Their Own Soul Mid-Summon

It was supposed to be a warning. Now they’re afraid of you. Or in love. Or both.

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

🧿 Jinu 

He was being careful. Respectful. By-the-book.

Your aura was unusual—bright, soft, like starlight trapped in mortal skin—but he had to confirm your identity. Extracting a portion of your soul was the cleanest method.

One graceful motion, and your essence began to rise, golden and pulsing.

He didn’t expect you to just grab it.

He definitely didn’t expect you to bite it.

And he absolutely did not expect you to chew thoughtfully and say:

“Huh. Tastes like warm honey and unfinished trauma.”

Jinu stood frozen. His spellbook slid from his fingers. His patterns dimmed in shock.

“You—you weren’t supposed to eat that.”

“Well,” you shrugged. “You shouldn’t have summoned it hungry.”

His hands fluttered like he wanted to reset the entire room.

“That’s not how any of this works. You should be unconscious. Or cursed. Or—digesting divine essence!!”

You just gave him a cheeky smile.

He hasn’t slept since.

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

💪 Abby 

Abby didn’t even mean to take your soul on purpose. It was a reflex—some demon tension, a little spark of power, and boom: there it was, floating midair like a sparkler dipped in ghost juice.

“WAIT—WAIT, NO—”

Too late.

You reached up, plucked it out of the air like a glowing donut hole, and chomped.

Right. In. Front. Of. Him.

Abby dropped his tongs. There was meat still sizzling on the grill and he did not care.

“Did—DID YOU JUST—?”

You licked your fingers. “Was that… cinnamon?”

He pointed at you like you were on fire.

“That was your SOUL.”

“It was hovering. You hesitated. That’s on you.”

He looked like he was about to cry.

Then ran and grabbed you a bottle of water and an energy bar, just in case you combusted.

He’s convinced you’ll either gain powers or explode.

You gained his complete attention instead.

He now flinches every time you yawn. “Please don’t do it again.”

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

📚 Mystery 

He moved quietly. No announcement. No drama.

Just a subtle shift in shadow, and your soul lifted gently from your chest—soft, pale, flickering like candlelight on water.

You blinked.

You reached.

You ate it.

In two bites.

Like it was a damn marshmallow Peep.

Mystery didn’t move for a full ten seconds.

Then, calmly, he took one step back, tilted his head, and muttered:

“They bit reality.”

You gave a thumbs-up and a content little “mm.”

He nodded, once, and pulled out his notebook.

“Subject consumed personal soul. No immediate combustion. Possibly immortal. Possibly gremlin deity.”

Later, when you teased him about it, he just stared.

“It was impressive,” he said.

“And hot?” you offered.

He blinked once.

Then nodded.

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

💋 Romance 

He was flirting, obviously.

Caressing the edges of your aura with smooth fingers, coaxing your soul into visibility like it was an elegant striptease of the spirit.

“Let me just take a peek at your essence,” he purred. “It’s for compatibility. And science.”

Your soul rose—glowing, perfect, lovely.

And then, without breaking eye contact, you devoured it in two bites like a sugary snack.

Romance screamed.

Like, hands-flung-in-the-air, full-volume dramatic wail.

“YOU ATE YOUR OWN SOUL! WHY DID YOU EAT IT? WHO HURT YOU???”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “You were being weird.”

He staggered backwards, hand on his chest.

“You just unlocked a new tier of feral, and I… might be obsessed with you.”

You: “Only might?”

“...Okay, no. Fully. Utterly. Tragically.”

He now refers to you as “My Sweet Abomination.”

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

🔥 Baby

He meant to be intimidating.

Soul extraction’s a flex. A way to remind mortals they’re fragile.

So when yours rose up—glowing red-gold, warm and soft and unprotected—he smirked.

Until you looked him dead in the eye, smiled, and took a bite.

Like it was fruit.

Like it was YOURS. (Which it was, but still.)

Baby did not react well.

“WHAT THE F*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

“I was hungry,” you said sweetly. “Thanks for the delivery.”

He backed up three steps like you were radioactive.

You kept chewing.

“Tastes like red licorice and minor trauma.”

He stood there, jaw on the floor, silently questioning everything he knew about humanity.

Then, under his breath:

“...That was kinda hot.”

You winked.

He won’t say he’s obsessed with you now. But he does follow you around a little closer. Just in case.

Just in case you ever try to eat something else forbidden.

Like his heart.

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

M-List

[screwpinecaprice]

@abyssalmemory Technically a kissy mark.

(Steven was suppose to be shown holding his pink ice cream on the first image. But it looked ew and erased it, so now it's just implied pink ice cream.)

[superiorsturgeon]

Pyrrha: *obsessively trying out different outfits and taking meticulous care of her makeup in JNPR dorm room* 😰

Nora: Wow, Pyr, you must take a lot of pride in how you look! I’ve never seen anyone work this hard every day.

Pyrrha: I have to make sure that everything is perfect. Every time I go outside there are people who might see me and they have expectations…🙁

Nora: You know, if you’re just doing all of this for the cameras, then I think you should just dress how you want! Forget about public image!

Ren: You might feel more relaxed if you wore clothes that feel comfortable to you.

Pyrrha: You really think so…? Well, I suppose I could try…

Pyrrha: *hair in messy bun, no makeup, wearing a stolen pumpkin Pete hoodie from the team laundry and a pair of gym shorts* Phew…! I feel so much more relaxed…! 😮‍💨

Later…

Pyrrha: *obsessively trying out different outfits and taking meticulous care of her makeup in JNPR dorm room* 😰

Nora: …uh…Pyr…? Whatcha doing? I thought we agreed you were gonna wear comfy clothes and forget what the cameras wanted…? 🤨

Pyrrha: Forget the cameras!!! I have my first date with Jaune in an hour!! Please help me!!!!! 😫

Nora: Well, in THAT case, lemme fix your makeup! 😁

Ren: I’ll get the hair brush.

[ladylaviniya]

OKAY BESTIE LISTEN.

so i read this n like. immediately ascended. GERALT??? BATHING IN LAVENDER SOAP?? FOR A WOMAN HE LOVES???? the mental image??? i’m SCREAMINGGGGGGG 😭😭😭😭 he’s out here like “lemme get these monster guts off me and smell like a garden fairy so my gf can jump me” and like?? sir. pls.

i’m unwell

“worth all the orens on the continent.” no bc???? that’s poetry. idc idc idc he’s so HIM for that. romantic king. and Lavinia??? IN THE GARDEN??? HER LITTLE APRON??? WICKER BASKET FULL OF HERBS LIKE SHE’S A COTTAGECORE DREAM WITCH?????

i wanna bite her

the moment he sees her and the whole world goes silent like some netflix slow motion scene 😭 like yellow eyes LOCKING with brown and BAM. brain empty. only her. Geralt.exe has stopped working 😭😭

then. THEN.

“a heady perfume of sweet honeysuckle and the kindling fire burning between her thighs”

👁️👄👁️ AYO??????????????

WHO GAVE YOU THE RIGHT TO BE THIS VIVID. like the imagery. the AROMA. she out here just standing there like 🧍‍♀️🌸 and he’s one sniff away from LOSING HIS MIND. as he should. as. he. should.

AND THE KISS. the KISSSSSSSSS 😭 like first it’s all tentative and unsure and then BOOM it’s tongue and moaning and tasting berries and i’m out here like what the hell am i supposed to do with this information?????

they be in the GARDEN going feral and roach is just like “👁️🐴👁️ um would yall stop bein horny???? hello???? apple pls??”

i love her.

also the way Lavinia like??? feeds roach and BRUSHES HER and puts lil flowers in her hair 😭😭😭 wife material. horse girl whisperer. Geralt should propose on the SPOT.

then this man??? PICKS HER UP LIKE A RAGDOLL. just THROWS her over his shoulder like it’s nothing and goes “yes. bed now.” and she’s just like “🥺💕 okay teehee~” and i??? forgot how to breathe

and then… THE SCENE.

the. scene.

deep inhale

the finger???? the TONGUE??? THE PEARL????????? GIRL I AM VIBRATINGGGGGGGGGG ‼️‼️‼️‼️

like she’s there all flushed and whimpering and Geralt is just EATING like it’s his last meal on earth. sir. please. i’m not emotionally stable enough for this.

and when he says “as much as i’d love to feel your mouth on me”  i LOST it. he’s like “nah babe i gotta be inside u RN i’m gonna EXPLODE” and i support him 1000% he’s fighting for his life and Lavinia is just like “okay love that for us 😩❤️‍🔥”

HIS “TUMESCENCE” BESTIE. HIS TUMESCENCE.

WHO USES THAT WORD??? I’M SOBBING. IT’S TOO GOOD. THE VOCABULARY IS ILLEGAL.

and then the whole punishing pace thing?? AND THE “FEASTING ON HER LIPS” ??? STOPPPP i’m feral i’m howling i’m throwing rocks at a tree

THEN,  THEN SHE GOES ON TOP??? THE LITTLE FOREHEAD TOUCH??? “i love you Geralt” “i love you Lavinia forever and a day” LIKE WHO SAYS THAT ANYMORE. HE MEANS IT. HE REALLY DOES. she said forever and he said “bet.” i can’tttttt

Forever And A Day

Title: Forever And A Day

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Geralt x Black!OFC 

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Geralt and Lavinia share a passionate reunion.

Warnings: pining, soft!Geralt, oral sex (f receiving), attempted oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, mention of bodily fluids

A/N: I used a prompt from this post by @creativepromptsforwriting: “I told you we would see each other again.” Found inspiration from this post from a tag game on tumblr. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best. 

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

Her hickory-colored eyes stay on his mind for days leading up to when he will get to visit her. Along the path, there aren’t many moments to look forward to. But to see the look on her face after all this time? That moment is worth all the orens on the continent.

Geralt takes notice of himself more intently. He bathes in a lake, ridding himself of the scent of horses and the remnants of the Fleder that he killed earlier. As he washes his hair, the water around him goes from crystal clear to opaque. He carefully washes his skin, every scar on display, rinsing off the suds from the soap he bought in the last town.

The strong aroma of rosemary and lavender calms his nerves as it clings to his skin. He thinks of how different he must look after the last time they were together. Fresh marks litter his skin at different stages of healing. His hair is a bit longer, enough to warrant him tying it up on most days. 

After dressing in fresh clothes, he hefts on his boots. Stuffing his soiled clothing within the pack that Roach wears, he lifts a leg to put his foot in the stirrup. Roach huffs and moves just out of reach. Geralt raises a brow, moving closer to Roach and lifting his leg again. The chestnut mare groans and steps away from him again.

“What has gotten into you?” Geralt asks, scratching behind her ear. Roach thrusts her snout in his direction, snorting as she takes in his new scent. He smiles, his large hand moving to stroke her muzzle gently. “Don’t worry, Roach. When we get to her cottage, I’m sure Lavinia will take her time pampering you. She always does. Brushing you, putting flowers in your hair, and she may even have a treat or two for you.” Roach nickers and allows Geralt to climb atop the saddle again for the tail end of the journey. 

Less than two hours later, they reach the road that leads to her homestead. With his keen eyes, he can already see her. She tends her garden, kneeling to pick the ripened vegetables and herbs that grow thanks to her green thumb. The crunching of pebbles and dirt under boots and hooves alerts her to their approach. 

Brown eyes meet yellow, and the rest of the world vanishes. 

Lavinia looks away, placing the wicker basket full of nature’s bounty on the ground before standing to her full height. She dusts off her apron, moving an errant curl from her face. By the time she looks up, she is face-to-chest with the man she thought she would never get to see again. 

Geralt uses a hand to lift her chin, delicately stroking his thumb against her jaw. He inhales her scent, a heady perfume of sweet honeysuckle, and the kindling fire burning between her thighs. He growls lowly, his body reacting to her arousal. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against hers as her hands clutch the front of his chemise.

Closing the gap between them, her lips graze his tentatively, as if unsure that the kiss is wanted. His answering groan of satisfaction is all the incentive she needs. Tilting her head, she captures his lips, swallowing his hum of approval. She welcomes his endeavor to take over the kiss when his tongue prods at the seam of her lips.

As she allows his tongue entry, his hand tangles in her hair while his other hand snakes around her waist to bring her impossibly closer. He tastes the berries she ate earlier¾tart yet sweet. Devouring her moans, he can hear her heart beating faster inside her ribcage. Her slippery tongue against his is almost too much, as his growing arousal presses against her.

He slows the kiss to a lazy meeting of their lips, only slightly less intense than their previous activity. She reaches up to cradle his face as she breaks the kiss. They stand there in the garden, breathing each other’s air for but a moment, when a low nicker comes from the ignored chestnut mare.

“She missed you as well,” he laughs, looking at Roach.

Breaking away from Geralt, Lavinia turns to smile at the horse. “My dear sweet Roach, has he been treating you well?” She bends to reach into her basket for an apple, feeding it to his trusted companion.

It brings warmth to his heart as he watches their interaction. Roach happily snorts as she receives attention. He could get used to hearing Lavinia’s laughter as it echoed in the wind around them. Grabbing Roach by the reigns, she walks toward the small stable behind her cottage.

“Let’s get her settled. Bring that basket along with you,” she calls over her shoulder.

Geralt smiles, watching the two of them in the stable. Lavinia takes her time brushing Roach’s coat. Combing out her mane, she braids in some wildflowers. Adding a ribbon at the end, she smiles at her handiwork before glancing at Geralt. Giving Roach one last scratch behind the ear, she walks over to him and tucks a strand of milk-white hair behind his ear. 

Geralt looks down at her, and his lips twist in a sinister smile. She yelps as he bends quickly to lift her over his shoulder like she weighs nothing. He grabs the basket on his way out of the stable and walks into the warm, cozy cottage. Setting the basket on the dining table, he continues on his way to her bedroom.

Letting her down, he walks her backward until the backs of her knees meet the edge of the bed. Pushing gently on her chest, he helps her lay back. He kneels on the floor between her spread legs to remove her boots. Smoothing his hands over her stockings, he hooks his fingers in the top of them, guiding them down her toned thighs and calves, letting them pool on the floor.

Wrapping a hand around her foot, he lifts it to kiss her from ankle to thigh. Mirroring the action on the other side, he continues to kiss higher and higher up her leg until his mouth hovers over her apex. His warm breath ghosting over her mound sends a shiver up her spine, making her hips raise slightly.

“Please, Geralt. I need you,” she whispers, her breasts heaving with her erratic breathing.

Leaning in, he licks a stripe between her outer labia, his tongue splitting her in two as it gathers her nectar. Swirling around her engorged nub, he sucks it between his lips. She attempts to enclose his head between her thighs, but he grips her flesh and holds her open to him. When her folds open, he dives in headfirst to lap up the slick that escapes her.

He turns his attention back to her pearl as he begins to use a single finger to tease at her opening. Listening to the sounds she makes, he knows that she is so close. Sliding his finger inside her, he sets an excruciatingly slow pace. Twisting and turning his digit inside her, he feels for her inner bundle of nerves. 

Once he finds it, he inserts another finger. Rubbing small circles into her spongy center, he presses in harder until her walls clamp down around him. He continues to flick his tongue against her sweet spot as she moans and gasps through her climax. When she has calmed down, he removes his fingers and sucks them into his mouth.

He stands, climbing between her legs and pulling his chemise over his head. As he does so, she sits up. She runs her hands over his scarred skin, his yellow eyes following her movement as her hands lower to the hem of his pants. She makes quick work of the buttons and is rewarded when his girthy member springs up in front of her.

She wraps a small hand around him, finding she needs to use both to encircle him. She strokes him slowly, her eyes widening as pre-cum leaks from his thick tip. Using a thumb, she gathers his seed and swirls it around his mushroom head. She leans in, licking a stripe over the underside of his length, earning a low growl from him.

He removes himself from her hands, knowing he won’t last if she uses her hot mouth on him. He kisses the frown off her face, covering her body with his own. “As much as I would love to feel your mouth on me, the urge to be inside you in a different way is much too appealing to ignore,” he hums, using one hand to tease her petals with his erection.

Gathering her wetness, he taps the tip against her sweet spot, then slides between her lower lips. Once sheathed inside her, they hissed in unison. Her, at the feeling of fullness. Him, at the tight fit of her warmth. He sits there, allowing her to get used to his tumescence.

As her legs wrap around his hips, she tilts her pelvis just slightly, and he knows she is ready for him. He retracts his hips until just the head remains inside then thrusts in fully. He does it again and again, setting a punishing pace.

The sounds of her moans and his grunts mixed with the slapping of slick flesh, fill the air. The intoxicating smell of their pheromones blends into a spicy, sweet bouquet. As his hips piston inside her walls, he kisses her yet again, feasting on her lips and taking her breath away.

He breaks the kiss, nibbling her jaw and licking at her sweat-slicked neck. She turns her head to give him better access, whimpering as he sucks a hickey into her flesh. His tongue soothes the tender skin as he feels her depths begin to quiver around him.

He snakes a hand between them to toy with her swollen button. The pad of his thumb brings her to her second orgasm of the night. He picks up the pace as he journeys toward his release. His hips stutter soon enough as he thrusts deep inside her to bury himself to the hilt. He fills her, painting her walls with enough spend that it begins to leak past his softening thickness.

He presses a kiss on her throat before moving to lay next to her once he slips from her folds. He opens his arm, and she rests her head on his chest. Throwing a leg over his, she tangles a hand in his chest hair. 

“I’m so glad you made it back to me, Geralt,” she beams, idly drawing patterns across his skin.

“I told you we would see each other again. No one, man or monster, could keep me away from my love for long,” he reassures, closing his eyes. He hears her heartbeat quicken and smiles to himself.

She lifts her head to look at him, bringing a hand to his face. Raising his head, he meets her lips in an unhurried kiss. He tangles his tongue with hers until he takes the lead. He reaches down to grasp her leg, maneuvering her to be on top as he sits up.

She wraps her arms around his neck, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads together. “I love you, Geralt.”

He looks into her eyes, seeing their future together in those dark orbs. Savoring this moment, a slow smile spreads across his face. “I love you, Lavinia. Forever and a day.”

“Forever and a day,” she murmurs.

A/N: This is the first time I have written Geralt. I hope I did him justice. He’s my comfort character, after all. This particular Geralt is a mix of the videogame version, the book version, and the Netflix version of him. This version of him smiles and can be soft while still able to use a sword one-handed to take down a foe. *swoon*

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[pankowcrumbs]

Delicate love X Bucky

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Plot: You find out Bucky has a file on you and how can you possibly trust him now.

Trust is a delicate thing.

It doesn’t shatter all at once. It cracks. Slowly. Quietly. And by the time you realise it’s broken, it’s already too late.

I suppose I should have seen the signs. The way Bucky would avoid my eyes when I asked certain questions. How he'd come home late and kiss my forehead rather than my lips. How his mind would wander when he thought I wasn’t looking.

But I loved him.

God, I loved him.

So I didn’t ask. I didn’t dig. I just believed.

We’d been together nearly two years. In that time, Bucky had gone from the haunted soldier with a history soaked in red, to the man who would make tea in the morning and hold me close at night. We built a life together. A quiet one. A soft one. I thought we’d made it through the worst.

Until I found the file.

I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for a charger in his bottom drawer. He always kept spare cables in there. What I found instead was a sleek, black folder. S.H.I.E.L.D. stamped across the top.

I hesitated. I knew it wasn’t meant for my eyes.

But my name was written on the tab.

My stomach twisted.

I opened it with shaking fingers. And there it was.

My full file. Where I’d been stationed during my humanitarian deployment in Sokovia. Where I lived before that. Family history. Medical records. Surveillance images. A copy of my birth certificate.

And tucked in the back a contract.

Assignment: Y/N L/N Target status: LOW THREAT Engagement objective: Gain intel and assess allegiance to Sokovian resistance cells. Agent: James Buchanan Barnes

My knees gave out.

I sat on the floor, the file spread in front of me like a crime scene.

It was a joke. A sick, cruel joke.

But I couldn’t laugh.

Because every memory every kiss, every whispered I love you was suddenly thrown into question.

Was I ever anything more than a mission?

He came home a few hours later.

I didn’t even look at him. I sat on the sofa, the file on the table. When he walked in and saw it, the colour drained from his face.

"Y/N..."

"Don’t," I said, my voice hollow.

He reached for me, but I stood up sharply. "Don’t touch me."

“Let me explain.”

“Oh, you want to explain why you used me? Lied to me? Slept next to me every night while reporting back on me like I was some kind of what? Threat?”

“I wasn’t reporting anymore,” he said, his voice rough. “Not for a long time. At first, yes. It was an assignment. But then it became real. You became real.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away. “Don’t insult me with that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No,” I said. “The truth is in that file.”

He looked at me helplessly. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me?”

“By keeping you close. By making sure you weren’t on anyone’s radar.”

I laughed, bitter. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me, Bucky.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I said it.

Words I didn’t even know I was thinking until they left my mouth.

“I would have taken a bullet for you just to prove my love… only to realise you were the one holding the gun.”

His eyes flinched like I’d physically struck him. And in some ways, maybe I had.

I left that night.

Packed a bag and didn’t look back.

He didn’t chase me.

I think he knew better.

Weeks passed.

Each day felt like dragging my heart behind me. I moved in with a friend across the city and buried myself in routine. Work. Sleep. Repeat. I kept expecting the pain to dull, but it stayed sharp. Like a knife I couldn’t pull out.

Bucky tried calling. Once. Then twice. Then every day for a week. I never answered.

Eventually, he stopped.

Or maybe I just blocked the number.

Then came the letter.

No postage stamp. Just slipped under the door.

My name written in careful handwriting I knew better than my own.

Inside was a single page.

Y/N,

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect an answer.

But I want you to know I resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. The moment you found out. I couldn’t stomach the idea of standing for an organisation that asked me to manipulate someone like that someone like you.

I’m in therapy. Real therapy. Not just missions and debriefs.

I know I hurt you. I know I lost you. But I’ll keep working to be the kind of man who never would’ve accepted that assignment to begin with.

You were never just a mission. You were my peace.

– Bucky

I sat on the floor, holding the letter, my heart thundering in my chest.

It didn’t change what he did.

But it showed me he was trying.

Three months later, I saw him again.

It was a coincidence. A street market. I was with a friend, and there he was, across the stalls, holding a bag of apples. He looked different. Softer. Quieter. There were shadows under his eyes, but his posture was less guarded.

Our eyes met.

He didn’t move toward me. He didn’t smile.

He just nodded. A small, respectful nod.

And then he turned away.

I don’t know why, but that made me cry.

Because he wasn’t chasing me.

He was letting me go.

It started with the flowers.

The first bouquet arrived on a rainy Wednesday, two months after I’d seen him at the street market. I opened my front door to find them sitting in a brown paper wrap no card, no note, but I knew who they were from.

Peonies. My favourite. I’d told him that once, in passing.

The next week, it was chamomile and daisies.

Then it was sunflowers.

Always left gently at the door. Never accompanied by knocks or footsteps. Just quiet gestures.

I didn’t send any messages. I didn’t return any favours.

But I also didn’t throw them away.

I placed them in jars and let them bloom on my windowsill, the way I had once bloomed in his arms.

He didn’t push.

Not even once.

No texts. No calls. No showing up at my flat or waiting outside my job.

Just… space.

And that space, instead of staying bitter and cold, started to soften. The ache in my chest that once howled with betrayal began to whisper something else something quieter, almost like understanding.

It wasn’t until I saw Sam Wilson by chance at a community centre fundraiser that I heard anything more about Bucky.

“He’s different,” Sam said simply, after we made polite conversation and I couldn’t help asking. “He’s still Bucky. Still stubborn. Still learning how to open up without feeling like he’s exposing a wound.”

I nodded, unsure how to reply.

“But he’s doing the work,” Sam added. “Not for anyone. For himself.”

There was something solid in that. Something real. It stuck with me.

One morning, I found a card with the flowers.

It wasn’t romantic or sentimental. Just a line:

"If you ever want to talk not about us, just about anything I’ll be in the park on Sunday mornings. Same bench." – B

I kept the card on the fridge for a week before I gave in.

That Sunday, I walked to the park, my fingers cold inside my coat pockets. I didn’t expect him to be there. I half hoped he wouldn’t be.

But he was.

Sitting on the bench under the big elm tree, hands resting on his knees, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His hair was longer now, tucked behind his ears. He looked up and smiled not big, not assuming just a soft pull of his lips like he couldn’t quite believe I’d come.

I sat beside him. No words.

The wind rustled through the leaves above us.

“You look well,” he said after a moment.

“So do you.”

We sat there for twenty minutes. Talking about everything except us. The bakery down the road. A book I was reading. His recent fascination with pottery, of all things.

I walked away that day lighter than I had in months.

It became a thing. Sundays.

No pressure. No expectations.

Sometimes we’d just sit in silence. Sometimes we’d talk for hours. He never brought up the past unless I did.

And I did eventually.

One cold morning, coffee steaming in my hands, I asked, “What made you stop pretending?”

He took his time answering.

“You did,” he said. “Loving you scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to love without hurting someone… until you. And when I realised I’d hurt you too it broke something in me. I knew I had to fix it. Not to win you back. Just to be someone who deserved the kind of love you gave.”

I said nothing.

But something in me started to thaw.

He invited me to his therapy session one day.

“I won’t be upset if you say no,” he said. “I just thought maybe… hearing it might help.”

So I went.

I listened as he talked about his past, his regrets, his guilt. He spoke openly raw, but steady.

He didn’t hide from what he’d done.

He acknowledged it.

He was rebuilding himself, brick by brick.

Not for me.

But I was welcome to watch.

He didn’t kiss me the first time I let him walk me home.

He didn’t try.

He just looked at me, eyes so blue and tired and full of hope, and said, “I’m really glad you came today.”

So was I.

Six months after I found the file, he asked if he could take me somewhere.

“Not a date,” he said quickly. “Just… a breather. For both of us.”

“Where?”

“Italy.”

I blinked. “Italy?”

He scratched the back of his neck, bashful. “There’s this little town near Lake Como. Peaceful. No tourists this time of year. I thought maybe you could use a change of scene. No pressure.”

I should’ve said no. It was mad. Reckless.

But I didn’t.

I said yes.

It was perfect.

Not in a cinematic, romantic way. But in its slowness. Its intention.

He was present. Every moment.

He cooked for me in the little villa. Pasta from scratch, fumbling his way through the sauce with a grin. We walked through old markets, sat on sun-warmed stones by the lake, shared stories in candlelight without once looking at our phones.

He asked questions. Listened. Laughed with me, not at me.

He looked at me like I was his world and not because he needed something from me.

Because he finally understood my worth.

On our last night, as we watched the sun dip below the hills, he reached for my hand.

“I almost lost you,” he said softly. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I want you to know… I’ve spent every day since working to become the kind of man who’d never make you feel unworthy again.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“I couldn’t lose you, Y/N. You were the best thing in my life. I had to do the hard work not just for you, but so that I never become a danger to the people I love again. Even myself.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I see you trying, Bucky.”

“And?”

“And I love the man you’re becoming.”

We didn’t kiss that night.

We just held each other.

And in his arms, I finally felt safe again not because he was shielding me from the world, but because he was no longer someone I needed protection from.

[loganficsonly]

Omg a sick thought I just got from a whole other fix with a diff character but though you would do it like absolutely justice!! And I really hope you write it! But reader stumbling on a post on tumbler may be (lol) and gets an idea to make brownies and have Logan cum in them so she can eat them and how would Logan react to being asked to do that maybe he’d be weirdly into it to okay okay thanks for reading lots of love for your writing

you know what anon, i think it takes a lot of courage to trust someone on the internet with a request like this, and i am strangely honored you would take it to me. thank you for deeming me a safe place to wave your freak flag 🫶

my take on this is under the cut. spoiler alert, it doesn't get baked into the brownie, NOTHING HAPPENS TO THE BROWNIES (i wasn't exactly comfortable with taking things there), but... stuff happens.

just desserts

logan x f!reader, 2k 18+ VERY SMUTTY OBVIOUSLY so for the love of god MDNI!!!, established relationship, oral sex (m!receiving), rough sex, cum play, dirty talk, praise?, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), is it creampie if it's gender neutral???, reader has hair and it's used against them, unedited/not proofread cz its fucking 3am

“Thought you were a sweet little thing when we first met.” 

You’re on your knees between Logan’s legs, cold kitchen tiles biting at your bare skin. His eyes survey you from above as a hand softly cards through your hair, tucking the stray strands away from your face. Much too gentle for what he’s about to say next.

“Turns out you’re a real dirty slut, huh?”

Blue jeans and black boxers hang low, revealing his cock, leaking at the head. Your breath hitches at the sight, as if not enough of you is wrecked with lust. Eyes glazed, lips swollen, cheeks pinkish.

That’s his favorite kind of look to put on your face, if you ask him. One that says you feel good. 

Fingers on your chin tilt your head back, the movement gentle. You allow yourself to fold to his guidance, submitting to what he wants you to do.

The lazy smirk on his face tells you he’s pleased.

“Look at you.” 

The hand moves from your hair to your jaw, swiping his thumb on your bottom lip, parting it.

“Already so out of it. I just kissed you a little.”

What a liar—you were pinned by the hips against the kitchen island while he overwhelmed you, devouring you with his mouth. He kissed you like he would never get to again, deep, teeth mercilessly closing in on flesh, tugging your lip before sweeping his tongue over it like another layer of claim staked.  

When Logan pulled away, it wasn’t for breath. You were left moaning as he buried his face in your neck, sucking and biting the spot on your throat like a starved animal. You can still feel the slick of his saliva, the way his tongue teases your ear. 

On a regular day, you’d throw sass about how you felt like you were eaten alive rather than ‘kissed a little’.

Then again, you think to yourself, half-lidded eyes staring at his twitching length, this situation is entirely your fault.

It’s a lazy evening for you, and your impulses lead you to the kitchen. Not to scavenge for an assortment of leftovers to call dinner, but for the singular purpose of baking.

Brownies, specifically. 

Some would call it cursed, the thing you saw on social media earlier.

An abomination. A desecration of the very concept of dessert. Their reaction images say things like every day, we stray further from god.

But you blinked and continued to scroll. You’ve seen worse. 

You’re not fully sure of whether you were on board with the idea of adding Logan’s cum in a sweet treat before enjoying them. You suppose it did look uncannily similar to powdered sugar glaze. Amateur bakers mistake one for the other all the time. It happens.

One thing you’re sure of, though, is that you want brownies. You want them now. 

And that’s how Logan finds you when he comes home: tasting a dollop of batter on your pinky finger, cocoa powder dusting your t-shirt and short shorts. Something smells good. His face is a balanced blend of amusement and exasperation.

“What’re you up to this time?”

“And a hello to you too.” You ignore your boyfriend’s implied disdain at your spontaneous shenanigans, adding a bit of brown sugar into the bowl and mixing it.

He walks over for a kiss, the faint taste of chocolate on your mouth lingering on his. 

You begin to tell him about what triggered this particular craving while pouring the brownie batter onto a baking tray. All of it, no details spared. You’re way past the point of propriety with this man.

“Are you into that?” you ask, tone as level as if talking about the weather.

You’re too busy checking the oven to see his pupils dilate.

Long story short, that’s how you got here.

Kneeling in front of him in the kitchen, while your brownies bake in the oven. His hand gripping your skull with just the right amount of pressure, the other one slapping his cock against your cheek, making you whimper. 

He looks so ready for you, veiny and red, twitching with need.

“My baby wants to eat cum that bad?” he asks, as if he’s not just as eager.

You don’t answer, head spinning. Maybe it’s the circumstances that make this encounter that much more intoxicating. You can smell him, musky and heady in that familiar way that sends heat between your legs. Already you feel yourself salivating.

He talks to you again, voice lower, more dangerous.

“Words, honey.”

“Please, can I?” the answer escapes you immediately. Breathy. Hungry. He lets out a shaky laugh.

“Beg so pretty. Take what you want, sugar.” 

You let out a soft moan, hand immediately wrapping at the base, pumping him nice and slow. He watches for now, all dark eyes and restraint. Only when you kiss the tip of his cock, tongue teasing the slit, he jerks his hips forward. The beginning of his crumbling control.

You take him in your mouth then, but not all the way. Just enough to wrest a ragged sound out his throat. Pulling back, you tease him with your tongue, licking a thin stripe from base to pretty tip before putting him in your mouth again.

You know you’re doing a good job because his fingers curl round your hair near your scalp. It doesn’t hurt. Just a little gesture to show you how much he’s enjoying himself.

“So fucking warm,” he murmurs, admiring the view. Your eyes flick up to meet his for a second, and he swears he sees you smile around his cock. Minx. 

It doesn’t take long for him to start fucking into your mouth. You’re too good, too patient. You let him. Trust him enough to take control of you. Muffled moans reverberate through the kitchen, and underneath the sounds you make, he never really stops talking, the filth only serving to heighten your desire.

God, you love it when he uses you like this.

“Take me so well,” Logan uses both hands to cradle your head now, strong and steady. Each time he sinks himself into your mouth, you mewl in a way that fuels the pace of his hips.

“You’re being so good. Made f’ me, hm? Fuck.”

Your hands busy themselves, pumping the parts of him that can’t possibly fit down your throat and playing with his balls. He groans. Loud. 

“Gonna let me cum in your mouth, baby?”

You can’t speak, moaning with ardor around his cock instead. He shivers as he finds himself on the edge. It’s too perfect. The look on your face, your pretty lips wrapped around him, drool slick on his cock every time he pulls out, disappearing when he drives back in. The sight pushes him just shy of the crest.

“Don’t swallow,” he hisses the words past gritted teeth, “wanna see my cum in your mouth b‘fore you do.”

You cry out when he cums with a long growl, spurts of his release hitting the back of your throat you’d choke if you weren’t turned on out of your mind. It’s so much, but he eventually pulls out of you.

“Open.”

Your jaw slackens, panting, revealing the sinful pool of it on your tongue. A dribble of it escapes the side of your lips, trailing slowly down your chin.

How he’s able to look so smug after orgasming is beyond you. 

“Fuck, you’re perfect, y’know that?” he says, tone laced with wonderment even as he uses his fingers to make you close. You swallow, the taste of him making you even wetter between the legs. Opening up your mouth again, you show him your pink tongue. Clean.

That sends him into overdrive, it seems, because his cock is half-hard again and he’s gathering you up on your two feet, his grip stern but not unkind. You find yourself pressed against the island where you worked on the brownies not too long ago, palms pressed flat on the surface as he all but yanks your shorts down to your ankles. You kick them away.

A sharp slap lands on your ass once he gets rid of your underwear, making you yelp in surprise. The sting melts into delicious pleasure. You arch more, as if offering yourself to him. He stands behind you, quietly tugging your hips to meet his. The curve of his cock nestles against you, teasing. He doesn’t move. 

“Logan,” you breathe shakily, impatiently. 

“Ready?”

“Yes, fuck,” you cry, feeling his fingers play with the slick between your legs, drawing circles around your entrance as if to prepare you. The both of you know you don’t need it—one look and he knows you’re ready for him. His cock kisses you there and you feel your legs nearly give.

He engulfs you in this position, chest pressed against your back as he sinks in.

You melt, lips open in a silent scream.

He delights at the sight of you as he feeds himself into your heat, one hand tugging your t-shirt up so he sees the bare skin of your arched back. Once he’s reached the deepest parts of you, he stays still, allowing you to breathe through the stretch. Fingers stroke a long line from the nape of your neck down to your lower back, admiring the curve of your spine. You shiver at the featherlight touch.

“So b-big,” you gasp, chest heaving. His hand moves to your front, up your stomach, past your ribs, brushing against a nipple before pinching it between his fingers.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweet thing. Been wound up since I put my cock in your mouth, yeah?”

Then he moves, and you sigh in relief at the friction, encouraging him with all sorts of debauched sounds that stream out of you almost like second nature.

“Logan, please, more…”

His body crowds yours, arm wrapped around your torso to keep you flush against his chest as he pounds into you with reckless abandon, mouth gritting out filthy things by your ear. 

“Gonna fill you up instead of the brownies. I’ll pump you so full of my cum you’re gonna feel it leak out of you for days. Feel it every time you walk. Want that?”

Your mouth forms the answer almost immediately, whimpers of ‘yes, yes’ and the wet sounds of slapping flesh goading him to take more of you.

The hand that snakes between your legs is the cause of your demise, deftly manipulating you until your nerves zap electricity throughout your body, triggering your release. You’re a mess that’s held up only by Logan’s burly frame and the kitchen island, noises spilling out of you as slick does down your thighs. He moans, chasing his own high while you spasm from yours, holding you down as he pounds—

And then it’s his turn. This time he cums with his teeth on your neck, muffling a chesty “fu-u-uck” that escapes him. 

He kept his word. Not too long after the deafening heartbeat in your ears settles, you feel his cum trickle down your inner thigh. 

Wordlessly, he smears it on your skin, as if marking his territory.

Then you feel the shift behind you, cool air hitting your back as he moves. Warm breath caresses your flesh right where he just ravaged you, and you can tell he’s staring.

It’s his turn to be on his knees, both hands spreading your asscheeks wide to get a better view of what’s still dripping out of you.

He seals his lips around your opening and you cry out.

Tongue licking up the remnants of your shared pleasure, eating you the way he did your mouth at the very beginning. Shameless. His nose bumps deliciously against you, and you find yourself grinding into his face. Then he chuckles in response, the vibrations devilish, before his hands steady your thighs, almost allowing you to use him as he used you.

When he makes you cum with his mouth, your legs are shaking, held up only by his strong grip. Your mind is blank—the aftermath of the desire he seems to infinitely inspire within you.

Logan rises to his feet, arms wrapping around your torso from behind as he presses his lips to your ear. They’re soaked. So is his chin.

“Tastes better than stuffed brownies.”

[corpscs]

you wanna be mad ⧗ yelena x new avenger f!reader

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist ♡ part 1 ♡ part 2 ♡ part 3

♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , enemies to lovers , amnesia trope , injury , angst , reader was an original avenger , yelena doesn’t understand how she feels , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , divider , images are from pinterest , ussian is from google/reddit

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ word count: 2k ♡ suka - bitch

bones now playing ▶︎ mad - reneé rapp

“yelena, are we friends?”

yelena’s mouth dried as her heart hammered against her ribs. of course you were curious. did bucky even explain who she was or who her sister was?

her lips parted. the door opened.

bucky stood there. his eyes landed on yelena and his face flashed in confusion before putting on a smile.

“morning girls.” he greeted.

“hi bucky.” you smiled back. he was the only familiar face you had seen. you had sided with steve during the bombing and accords situation, so this bucky was very new to you. congressman barnes was very new to you.

“how’re you feeling?” he asked.

“like my brain is soup.” he reached over and took the tablet from your lap.

“no screens.” you sighed.

“i’m literally missing like a third of my life, and it’s not even the part your supposed to not remember.”

“you can ask questions for now.” he shrugged. your eyes turned to yelena. “anyone of us would be happy to play google for you.”

“you know what google is now.” you observed. yelena bit back a laugh.

“yeah, i know what google is.” he loaded the statement with sarcasm. “either way, ask questions. they’re good people.” bucky nodded. “who are meeting for debriefing in fifteen.”

yelena stood up, getting his gist.

“gets some rest, and no screens.” yelena followed him out the door with a small smile.

her expression when you had asked if you were friends was not great. surly you must have done something to deserve to not be a friend to her. you closed you eyes and tried not to think about it while drifting in and out of sleep for a the next few hours.

“i’m glad you’re alright.” a voice spoke waking you from your thoughts. a man with shaggy brown hair stood tucked half behind the door, shifting nervously on his feet. “i was scared.” he admitted looking at the floor.

“hi.” you remembered the photo of the team bucky had shown you, this must be bob. bucky gave you a flash run down of bob. former addict turned medical experiment that turned bulletproof and enveloped new york in a shadow of bad dreams from the sky. this bob was not the bob you had pictured in your head.

“bob?” he nodded with a little smile. “you can come in.” you told him as you sat up. he awkwardly shuffled in sideways, not touching the door and stood five steps from the bed.

“i’m sorry for scaring you, bob.��� you smiled.

“do you need anything?” he asked.

you shook your head. “company maybe, you can sit if you like? bucky said we binge watch together.” he nodded with a smile scratching at his arm.

“we’re currently on season 5 of lost. but we’re probably gonna have to restart.” he joked. you laughed for the first time since you woke up.

“bucky also said you guys would be my google? yeah?” bob nodded enthusiastically. “mean i can tell you what i know and i can google the other stuff.” he blurted. he just wanted to help. you thought for a moment, eyes searching the air before locking onto bob.

“who won the game of thrones?”

for the next few hours, bob dutifully answered all your questions he could with a smile. despite you not knowing who he was, or how silly the question was, or having to over explain everything. bob was just happy to be helpful.

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

the team was in the gym after the debriefing. bucky didn’t like the energy and wanted everyone to work off some physical tension.

“she’s happy.” bob said. bucky and walker looked at him in the doorway. the nurses had kicked him out for a dressing change. bucky and walker were clearing up from their sparring match, bucky won all three rounds.

“she just forgot the hardest ten years of her life. i’d feel good too.” bucky turned his back to pack his things.

“it’s nice.”

“is her brain damage also nice, bobby?” walker asked slapping his shoulder he walked out.

“she say anything about what happened?” bucky asked. bob shook his head.

“field technicians have almost finished sorting the scene anyways. we should have some idea of why the building collapsed anyways.” he told bob. “thanks for sitting with her. i didn’t know her well back then, but, i can say ten years ago she was a very different gal.”

“she’s the same.” bob wore a serious expression. “it’s just on the outside.” bucky made an unreadable expression.

“i’m gonna go chack in. thanks again bob.”

on the other set of mats across the gym was where ava and yelena were he stepped up to them, his toes 2 inches from the mats’ edge.

“there you are, bob.” ava greeted as she phased out and back in avoiding yelena’s attack. she groaned in annoyance.

“stop that!”

“i was greeting bob.”

yelena paused, her breathing heavy. “hi bob.”jumping head first into the topic bob spoke up, “i was sitting with her.” yelena’s eyes shifted to the floor. “bucky said that we had to be her google.” he said toying with his sleeve.

“is that where you’ve been?” ava asked, he nodded. “well now that you’re here, you can play punching bag.” she phased out and back in clapping his shoulder before phasing back out of the room.

yelena muttered under her breath as ava literally ghosted them, “suka.”

“um she asked me a question i don’t know how to answer.” he said simply.

“oh yeah?” yelena asked. “she ask why walker’s shield looks like a taco, yet?”

“she asked me if you hated her.” yelena stalled, she dropped her shoulders. “i didn’t answer that one.” he rushed out. “um, uh obviously.”

yelena broke their eye contact as she walked off the mat towards her things. “i don’t.”

“oh.” bob seemed surprised. “you guys just always- so i thought- we all-”

“i do not hate her.” yelena looked over her shoulder at him to make sure he understood that before turning back to her things. “i never hated her. i,” her voice lost its confidence and she took another breath. “i am jealous of her.” she finished. the weight of finally saying those words to another living being lifted off her shoulders. bob was quiet.

“she was one of the avengers. and she got so much time with my sister.” yelena blinked tears away from her vision. she could feel his eyes on her back. “and when everyone blipped back. my sister was dead and i saw her again, alive,” she paused, not knowing the exact words she wanted to say. “i was upset.” she breathed in a shaky voice. “upset that so many avengers let natalia down. people that my sister cared so much for and they all just allowed her to go out and die.”

“did you ever talk to her?” yelena huffed out a laugh at his question.

“of course not, i know it was not her fault.” bob heard her sniffling before she turned to face him. “she never deserved the way i have treated her. besides she doesn’t even remember it now and i,” she took a shaky inhale as her bottom lip wobbled biting down on it. bob moved the small distance to wrap her in a hug.

“she’s being so nice to me.” yelena said quietly.

“she is nice.” bob said.

“she’s always such a bitch.”

“is she?” he raised an eyebrow.

bob only knew you as the girl who helped him make dinner, who rolled her eyes but was the first to help clean up a broken glass or dropped food, who wanders into the kitchen and starts the dirty dishes when someone is still cooking, who helped john with setting up visitations with his son. you were very nice, just very hardened. like yelena.

“no.” she sighed before admitting you were not a bitch. “i met her before i was blipped.” bob stayed quiet as yelena resumed packing up.

“she was good friend to my sister.”

“then why haven’t you guys talked about it?” she laughed and shook her head, grabbing her water bottle. “you’re more than welcome, but i burned that bridge too long ago to fix it.” yelena isn’t even sure how to go about apologizing for her behavior that you have no memory of

“i don’t think it’s too late, but i don’t think she should hear it from me.”

ཐི⋆⚰︎⋆ཋྀ

48 hour observation was up and the nurses and doctors were sure you were not going to stroke out, they released you. the tower was different. it’s felt like going into a different location of a grocery store that you usually don’t go to. it’s all the same but it’s all wrong.

all wrong because all your friends are dead. bucky had sat you in the living area while he made lunch, you weren’t sure where anyone else was. bob had mentioned that everyone was giving you space. they didn’t want to confuse you right away since you didn’t know who they were.

“here.” bucky handed you a plate. you thanked him. he cut the sandwich into six pieces knowing your jaw and lip were still sore. you had asked for the sandwich though, you were sick of hospital food. you were very thankful for the coffee and muffin yelena had dropped by. the same you mysteriously woke up to this morning before you were discharged.

down the hall you could hear loud arguing getting louder by the second. three voices, all talking over each other, one of them yelena. bucky looked at you seeing your pain tinted expression.

“this is normal.” he sighed.

as soon as the three stepped into the room bucky had them quiet with a simple glare. bob was following them. “inside voices while she’s in the room guys.”

they let out a chorus of sorrys. bucky had already explained who was who, but you don’t remember much of that conversation so bob went over it again briefly earlier.

“how are you feeling?” ava asked as bob sat down beside you.

“weird.” you answered honestly.

“yeah weird to see you be so giddy.” as soon as the words left john’s mouth everyone looked to him like he killed someone.

“oof, well that doesn’t sound good.” you looked at everyone.

“you just smile a lot.” john pushed out.

“oh?” you questioned. “smiling is bad now?”

“good job, walker.” yelena walked past him to the kitchenette.

“you can’t say shit.”

“guys.” bucky sighed.

“i did not say a word to her.”

“maybe you should.”

“why would i take advice from you?”

“because she-”

“she is in the room with you.” you spoke up. “and would like to be included in the conversation.” your head fully throbbed as you raised your voice. everyone stayed quiet. “am i like the grim reaper? or something?” you asked looking at the group. your eyes settled on ava, feeling like she would give you an honest response.

“me?” you nodded. “you’re just very smiley.” ava said slowly.

“i see.”

“it’s not a bad thing.” bucky followed her statement. “it’s just different.“

“does anyone have any words besides different and smile?” bucky ended the conversation before anyone could say anything more.

thank u for over 100 followers that’s a lot of people here. i also finished remaking that video i posted a few days agobfjdj

new one posted HERE

𓉸 𝔯𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔢𝔰𝔱𝔰 - 𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔫 𓉸

masterlist ♡, bones

[formulafanfics13]

I have this image of us maybe having an argument with Charles and he’s angry and will just take us over his shoulder back home to punish. With charles making us extra sensitive first and just continuing to tease and dominate us till we are like crying for him and he’s still in a super smug mood. Just edging and playing with us, punishing till he finally gives in when he can’t control himself.

punish her properly - CL16 🔥

Masterlist

SUMMARY After a brutal fight in their Monte Carlo apartment, Charles snaps — tossing the reader over his shoulder and punishing her with ruthless, drawn-out control. He teases, denies, and dominates her until she’s sobbing and begging to come, refusing to let her break until she’s completely ruined. It’s mean. Possessive. Filthy. And when he finally fucks her, it’s deep, hard, and claiming — like he’s staking a flag. She comes over and over, undone by the way he takes everything and still gives more. By the end, she’s trembling, breathless, and his.

WARNINGS Explicit smut. Rough sex. Fighting/argument leading to sex. Power play. Dom!Charles. Orgasm denial. Spanking. Overstimulation. Manhandling. Hair pulling. Dirty talk. Intensity. Possessive/claiming language.

It starts with a fight.

Not a soft one. 

Not a stupid bicker. 

A full-blown, loud, venom-laced argument in the hallway of your Monte Carlo apartment. You said something. He said something worse.

He’s pissed.

“You never fucking listen,” he snaps, voice low and dangerous.

You scoff. “And you think I’m just supposed to do whatever you say? Like some groupie who just waits around for you to give a shit?”

His eyes darken. His jaw clenches. “Be careful,” he mutters.

You push. Harder. “Or what?”

And then it happens fast. He grabs you. Spins you. Tosses you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. You shriek, pound at his back, legs kicking.

“Charles, put me the fuck down-”

“Not a chance,” he growls, already striding toward the bedroom. “You want to act like a brat? Fine. You get treated like one.”

The door slams behind you.

He throws you onto the bed. Stands over you, chest heaving.

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

You stare, wide-eyed, but your hands obey before your brain can catch up. Shirt. Bra. Shorts. Panties. Gone.

He’s still fully dressed. Doesn’t even take his shoes off.

“Lie back,” he snaps. “Legs open.”

Your mouth is dry. You do it anyway.

He kneels at the edge of the bed. Presses one palm to your inner thigh.

“You’re mad at me, baby?” he murmurs. “Think you can scream at me and walk away like you didn’t just get fucked last night with my come still dripping out of you?”

Your breath stutters.

He smirks. “Yeah. I didn’t think so.”

Then he leans in and ruins you.

Tongue slow and devastating. Fingers teasing your folds, never quite giving enough. He licks through you like it’s casual. Like you’re just breakfast and he has all morning.

You buck your hips. He pins them down.

“No,” he says sharply. “You don’t get to come yet. You don’t get anything until I say so.”

He keeps going. Two fingers inside. Mouth on your clit. Slow circles. Just enough to make you pant. Not enough to let you fall.

“I can feel you clenching,” he whispers. “Right there. You’re so fucking close.”

You nod. Desperate.

He pulls away.

You cry out. “Charles, no, please-”

“Shut up.” His voice is ice. “You don’t get to beg until I say you can.”

The next hour is torture.

He brings you to the edge four more times. Fingers. Tongue. His cock sliding through your soaked folds but never in.

He spanks you once. Then again.

“Brats get punished,” he says against your ear. “You want to argue? You want to mouth off? Then you take what I give you and you thank me for it.”

You’re crying now. Not sad. Just wrecked. Overstimulated. Shaking. “Charles, please. Please let me come. I’ll be good. I promise.”

He moans. “Yeah. I bet you will.”

But he still doesn’t give in. Not until you’re sobbing into the sheets. Not until you’re clawing at the headboard like your body is going to break in half from the tension.

Then he groans. Deep and broken. “Fuck. I can’t. I need to be inside you.”

He flips you. Slams into you. One brutal thrust. You scream.

He’s unrelenting. Fast. Deep. The kind of rhythm that makes the bed frame slam against the wall.

You come instantly. Hard. Clenching around him like your body is thanking him for the mercy.

He doesn’t stop. You come again. And again.

He fucks you through it. Growling. Biting your shoulder. Slapping your ass and calling you his.

When he finally comes, it’s with a groan against your ear and his hand tangled in your hair.

“Take it,” he whispers. “All of it. You belong to me.”

And when it’s over, when your body is limp and ruined, he kisses your temple.

“Still mad at me?”

You shake your head.

He laughs. Soft this time. “Good girl.”

[jay-trying-things-out]

I Have A Date Everything Theory (be warned for SPOILERS below!!!)

So, at first I was just experiencing the game as a fun little dating sim, y'know, as it's probably supposed to be experienced, but then I got to thinking in the shower, and I put some things together that may or may not have been intentional.

I'll give some examples of scenarios first to illustrate my point:

1. The toxic relationship between Dirk and Harper is obviously one that the game wants you to help fix/break them up. It's a good thing when they're finally away from each other in the context of personified characters, of course, but think about what has literally just occurred. You've gotten Dirk, the dirty clothes, away from the hamper by washing them. You've finally washed your clothes, which, judging by how sick of each other Dirk and Harper were, must've been dirty for awhile. Congrats! They motivated you to get something productive done!! (Even if Clarence, is, well, Clarence lol)

2. When you talk to Keyes, the main character (not us, but the person that is inside the game) seems to realize, in at least one of the dialogue options, that they haven't played piano very often. The interaction with Keyes as a person (hopefully) gets the mc to want to interact with her more, which, again, in a literal perspective, would be playing her. The mc is being motivated to play piano either again or for the first time. To explore creative hobbies like music.

3. Mitchell Linn the food connoisseur offers to take you to three different places right out in the gate in your first interaction (usually). The choices are sushi, a Hawaiian-fusion restaurant, and ice cream. When you choose the Hawaiian-fusion, Mitchell basically tells you good job for branching out and having an open mind. I believe he says something like this for Daisuke's restaurant too, if I'm not mistaken. He is literally encouraging the mc to try new things, starting with food, at least. To learn a bit about other cultures, too, while doing it!! (Since he asks you questions about silverware/tools/how you eat certain things for Koa and Daisuke's restaurants)

4. When you talk to Amir, he is the embodiment of not only the mirror, but the best hype man ever. I've seen many people in playthroughs assume that the mirror would be very vain and arrogant, but it turns out he is just the opposite! He never misses an opportunity to try to get you see that you are beautiful, and will not stand for any negative self-talk. I think that the beneficial impact he has on you needs no explanation; he's trying to improve your self-image!! :)

5. Beverly is REALLY desperate for customers. She even demonstrates that she is slightly annoyed you would invite friends over and then always end up cancelling. She wants you to get her bar more popular, and to do that, she insinuates that you have to invite some friends over! Sure, those friends can be the objects you've befriended in your house, but she's the one motivating you to maybe step outside of your comfort zone and realize that a little social interaction after all this time might be a good thing! She does just want business, though, so take this with a grain of salt lol.

I could go on and on about each (or at least most of the) character(s), but I'm pretty sure no one has the attention span to read this ramble, so I'll summarize some others I wanted to point out:

Dunk (and technically Kristof, Dasha, Shelley, and maybe a few others, but mainly Dunk) tries to get you to not only become sporty again, but be able to love it, too! Not to do it because you feel like you have to, but to enjoy doing it!

Diana speaks in word salads, presumably taken all from sentences written in her pages, so this might motivate the mc to write more positive things, therefore enjoying the positives of life more. Having Diana regurgitate or contemplate negative feelings that the mc writes about would probably make them feel guilty, driving them to make both Diana's and their lives better by writing about the positives.

I'll stop for now (let me know if anyone wants to hear about any more characters), but there are some of the things I wanted to point out. I'm not entirely sure what this is all leading to, since these are mostly just shower thoughts I had, but I'm thinking that, somehow, the glasses are improving your lifestyle. Now that the mc doesn't have a boring, pencil-pushing job (that replaced them with AI anyway), they are able to live a better life. (Or something like that; don't worry, I realize this is all a bit of a stretch, I was just having fun theorizing :] )

Hope you enjoyed!

[the-enzyme]

I am working on my traditionally sculpted, resin cast 1:6 scale head sculpt of Raiden by Thai artist numoworkshop. I purchased the head sculpt back in 2014-ish, from his shop on eb6y. I had already modified it since I purchased it, because I am not a fan of painting sculpted hair. I also prefer my toys to have "real" hair, unless they have extremely short hair, which most of the characters I love don't have. I heavily modified it back then, but I always felt that I had a long way to go, before I could call it done or close enough.

However, knowing that I am much older now, I repainted him first to see just how much of a sh1tty job I did the first time. DX That is the first image to the left; I didn't even seal the work and thought "nope," so I wiped it clean and I'm starting from the mods now. Which is the image on the right. I still need to do some more sanding and probably need to add more Apoxie on the right eye to make both as symmetrical as possible, as Raiden is perfect that way... lol!

If it's not oblivious from the second photo, which has the shot of how the sculpt looked straight from the artist. I removed all the sculpted hair, I carved the ear/audio cyborg pieces out of some of the sculpted hair, then sculpted some of the details that weren't there due to the obvious sculpted hair covering those. I carved the left eye out of the eyepatch/band on Raiden's left that was sculpted instead, and of course I didn't do half a decent job, because I suck! Those were the heaviest mods I've done, all at "once" (not literally, they took me quite a few days. Just waiting for the Apoxie Sculpt to dry takes a day, or so..) without first painting and seeing what else I need to change. I feel I did a super lousy job due to that. However, I don't regret it this time. I feel I always do slower mods, so I don't regret the crapfest later. However, this time, with this sculpt, I didn't want to have a custom Rising Raiden, with sculpted hair and a covered left eye.

Because I did pre-order and still own the Hot Toys Metal Gear Rising Raiden, but that one took a bit longer than a year to release. I feel like he was announced sometime in early 2014-ish. He was delayed a few times, if I am not mistaken. I got mine from Japan, so it was as early as possible, unlike getting it from a USA retailer and still got to me until August 2015. I knew I wanted an alternative head sculpt that was closer to the Rising that never was, which was supposed to be developed by Kojima, but then it was not to be created, and Rising was developed by Platinum. Which I don't hate, but did miss the opportunity, to get any figures based on that specific Raiden key art (which had brown eyes instead of blue ones, and that also irked me, but then it never happened anyway!). Not like Raiden is so popular anyway, there would have probably been no figures based on that key art regardless, but I still wanted to have a custom one, so I got this head for that reason alone.

End of mega long rant, just to share my progress, of this head sculpt I purchased more than a decade ago and kept in my closet along with my other resin dolls, so that I could feel they were being kept from aging too badly. I should be working on my other giant resin head sculpts first, but I feel this dude has waited long enough (and I love Raiden, I really need more figures based on him. Too bad no other MGS fans share my lonely Raiden fangirl dreams T__T;;.). (:

[littlejoyss]

destiny part 1

“All along, there was some invisible string tying you to me.”

Stray Kids - Chan x Reader

Red (golden) string of fate trope

Word count (so far): 4k

current part -> next part

summary: To save her struggling image after a scandal, (Y/N)’s company fakes a contract relationship between her and her brand-new producer, Bang Chan. Neither of them is thrilled. Then the golden string of fate appears. They’re not supposed to fall in love, it’s literally in the contract. But the more they pretend, the harder it gets to draw the line. The string seems to tighten when they’re honest… and starts to fray every time they lie to each other. If they want to keep their careers, they can’t love each other. But if they ignore the thread, they risk losing the one love they were destined for.

[NOTE: This is the second installment in my Soulmates Series. HOWEVER, this story can be completely read as a stand-alone (and is written to be). Don't worry, if this is your first time here, you won't miss any important lore :) ]

Once everyone turned eighteen, a golden thread appeared tied around their pinky. Most people discovered it at dawn, just as the first light spilled over the horizon, when the string is most visible to the owner.

The string shimmered like a captured sunrise. It never tangled and it never dulled. Where the old tales spoke of a red cord, rough and knotted with destiny, this was liquid gold. From the moment it appeared, society revolved around it.

Golden‑mornings. Families gathered for a ceremonial breakfast, slicing warm honey‑cake to celebrate the new thread‑bearer. There was always an extra place set at the table for the unseen soulmate at the string’s far end.

Length‑measuring. Thrumming with nerves, the newly bound stretched their hands skyward, guiding the filament between thumb and forefinger to gauge its reach. Long meant distant, sometimes oceans away, and short could indicate a lover already in the same room.

The First Pull. Sometime within that first year, the thread would tighten and tug. Legends claimed that if you followed the pull immediately, no power on earth could keep you from meeting your counterpart before nightfall. Most people waited for many reasons, but the bold few who obeyed the first pull were said to find love. 

Since your Golden Morning and length measuring with your family, you knew the string was pulled somewhere close. Too close. The thread hadn't stretched across oceans like your cousin’s, or vanished into the horizon like the classmate who cried because her soulmate lived in a different hemisphere. Yours was short. Immediate. Barely extended past the room. And that somehow was worse. Because how could they be so close and still so unreachable?

The years passed, and yet the thread never slackened enough to suggest they were gone, nor tightened enough to guide you toward them. It was simply there.

You had your First Pull when you were eighteen, just past dawn, sitting on a rooftop with a stale cup of convenience store coffee and the remnants of your third rejection email that week from an entertainment company.

The air was cold that morning, the sky just starting to burn soft gold behind the buildings. You were wrapped in an old hoodie and sitting cross-legged on the concrete, trying not to cry. Or maybe trying to cry, just to get it out of your system. Three auditions. Three versions of “We’ll keep you in mind.” Three polite dismissals with none of the glitter you’d imagined when you first dreamed of the stage.

And then, it tugged. Not hard, just a shift in pressure. Enough to still your breath. Enough to pull your gaze down to your hand. And there it was.

Glimmering faintly against your skin. Gold, soft as breath, but undeniably there. It shimmered against the morning light, stretched out just a few feet before vanishing into the air like mist. For the first time in your life, it wasn’t drifting loosely. It was pulling.

Your soulmate was close.

You scrambled to your feet, nearly spilling the coffee you didn’t even want. You checked every corner of that rooftop, behind the utility door, near the rusted ventilation units, beneath the stairwell leading up to the higher level. You leaned over the railing and scanned the alley below, pulse hammering, eyes searching desperately for someone, anyone, whose thread might align with yours.

You ran down the fire escape, breath catching in your throat, scanning every face on the street. The early morning crowd was thin, mostly delivery drivers and sleepy-eyed commuters. No one looked back at you. No one blinked with recognition. No one paused.

Whoever it was, if they were even awake, they were already gone. Or maybe they were right next to you, and just… not ready.

That was almost worse. The idea that they could be brushing past you in the crowd, headphones in, unaware of the string that shimmered between you. Or maybe they were aware and chose not to look. 

You were convinced your soulmate was running from you.

And maybe they had every right to. You weren’t soft anymore. Not like you were when you first stood in the mirror with glitter on your cheeks and practiced smiling like someone who belonged in the spotlight. The world had turned you sharp. Sharp enough to bleed. Sharp enough to cut someone if they got too close.

But they couldn’t run forever, not if you were a famous idol. They would see your face everywhere, right? Billboards. Comebacks. Paparazzi photos and music shows. You told yourself the stage would become your beacon. That if you shone bright enough, they would find you.

Or that you would finally stop caring.

Neither had happened yet.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Your publicist, Iseul, had called you into her office this morning. You weren’t left wondering why. It was obvious why.

It had started with a single, unflattering photo.

You hadn’t even noticed the photographer that night. You were leaving a venue after a private industry event, one where you’d been invited as a surprise guest. The lighting was low. The night was cold. And you had just spent two hours performing in front of executives who barely looked up from their phones. 

The photo showed you walking ahead of your backup team. Your eyes looked sharp, your jaw tight, your expression unreadable, but the headline gave it all the meaning it wanted.

“(Y/N) Storms Out of Private Gala, Refuses to Acknowledge Team”

The tabloids ran wild.

Screenshots from videos taken that night fueled speculation. Clips showed your stylist reaching toward you, and you flinching. They didn’t show the wire she nearly tripped over. The tabloids didn’t care about context. They never had.

They didn’t want the truth of a long day, of blistered feet and aching shoulders, or how the flinch was nothing more than instinct. They didn’t want the detail that you'd whispered an apology the moment you realized your stylist had stumbled, or that you’d offered your arm a second later.

What they wanted was the freeze-frame. A single moment that looked cold. Detached. Diva-like.

And it was enough. In less than twelve hours, the hashtags bloomed like mold across every corner of the internet. A gossip account posted a thread. A side-by-side of your earliest debut days, bright-eyed, smiling, waving at fans in handmade jackets, and the recent clip of you slipping into a car, expression unreadable. They captioned it: What happened to her?

The narrative shifted overnight. You weren’t the hardworking soloist who’d clawed her way to center stage. Now you were cold. Rude. Out of touch.

A low, rising tide threatens to drown everything you’d built. That was why you were in Iseul’s office now. She tapped her pen against her desk, jaw tight, eyes sharp behind her glasses. Her screen showed a live feed of your name trending, for the seventh day in a row. “Look, I knew no one was expecting this, so I can’t blame you for being silent on social media. But silence doesn’t sell,” Iseul said, not unkindly, but with the clipped precision of someone forced to fix a fire she hadn’t started.

You sat across from her, spine straight, even though you wanted to sink through the floor. There was no use protesting. No matter how carefully you’d crafted your performances, none of it mattered when public perception shifted. 

“Which is why,” Iseul continued, “we need to control the story before it controls you.”

You bit your lip. “Just…tell me how to fix it.” 

Iseul didn’t look relieved. She rarely did. But something in her shoulders softened at your surrender. “You fix it by being someone the public can believe in again. Someone warm. Human. Someone loved.”

She turned her laptop over to you, showing a long document of a timeline. “The plan is already in motion,” she said. “Your next project will be promoted as a collaboration with your new producer. We’ll run a behind-the-scenes campaign. Casual interactions. Maybe a joint livestream. One of those quiet, slow-burn arcs the fans like.”

You said nothing. But you didn’t look away either.

“You’ll have plausible deniability,” Iseul added. “We’re not saying you’re dating. Just that something’s starting. A beginning they can root for.”

“So…you’re solution is for me to fake date another idol?”

Iseul didn’t even flinch. “Not just any idol,” she said, tapping her pen once more against the desk, each click like a countdown. “Bang Chan.”

Your heart gave a jolt, not quite surprise, but something colder. Something heavier. You knew the name, of course. Everyone in the industry did. Leader. Producer. Golden boy. He was known for building songs from the ground up, staying late in studios long after everyone else had gone home, and protecting his group effortlessly. 

He was respected. Scandal-free. The kind of person who could stabilize a ship even when it wasn’t his to steer. He was also the opposite of everything you’d been painted as.

“So,” you said slowly, “your plan is to stick the cold, collapsing soloist next to the warm, reliable producer, and hope some of his reputation rubs off on me?”

Iseul gave you a dry look. “You’re not collapsing.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…Yet,” she admitted. “But we don’t have the luxury of waiting to find out how far this thing spreads. We need to get ahead of it. And Chan, he’s already agreed to the partnership.”

That made you pause. “He agreed?” You leaned forward slightly, searching her expression. “You mean he read all this and still said yes?”

“He knows what he’s signing up for. The contract's been finalized. Professional collaboration, plus public appearances. He’ll get visibility for his production work. You’ll get to look like you’re… grounded. Balanced. Emotionally available.” She paused. “And ideally, adored.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, exhaling through your nose. Fake relationships weren’t exactly new. Fans speculated all the time. Most artists just denied, denied, denied, and kept things ambiguous. But you would have to play into it. Lean in. Smile in just the right way. 

You could already feel the weight of the act tightening across your chest. “And if people start asking about our threads?” you asked quietly. “If they ask if we’re soulmates?”

Iseul tilted her head. “You know how common it is for people not to date their soulmates. Soulmates are hard to find.”

A perfect, palatable answer. One that wouldn’t ruffle feathers or raise suspicion. But it didn’t make your chest ache any less. You looked down at your hand. The golden thread shimmered faintly, barely stretched, like it was listening.

“Alright,” you said. “Let’s sell the story.”

(SOULMATES SERIES MASTERLIST)

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Soulmate Series tag list: @eridanuswave @dlizzzy @allenajade-ite