#trapped on limited banner

[satorugojoswiife]

for anyone playing the global release of phantom parade !!

Feel free to use my invite code: e6GUmUWzAPEJ (so we both get cubes lol)

Also feel free to add me to your friends c: I'll follow everyone i can back!! 2u5s28z8sven0

[chuluoyi]

𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑

- xavier x reader

a new friendly colleague has joined your team, but your boyfriend is convinced he is up to no good... and that's why xavier is determined to show it that you are his

genre/warnings: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact!—jealousy, fluff explicit smut: slightly rough sex, fingering, doggy style, based on xavier's card misty silhouette

note: skxmskcjsf bye don't look at me. this fanart and xavier's card messed me up :') this banner is so unhealthy for me i swear </3

Xavier knew he wasn’t the most patient person.

But even patience, he thought, has limits. And he had been patient and reasonable for a week, to be precise.

It all started ever since that damned new recruit entered his team. He didn't know why, but he kept coming to you for everything—directions, advice, even trivial nonsense like lunch recommendations. It was almost as if on purpose.

This afternoon was no different. Xavier had been looking forward to having lunch with you—just the two of you. You’d promised him, after all.

And yet—

“There was this one time I got trapped inside the N109 Zone—”

“N109 Zone!?”

“Yes!”

“Really?! What did you do then?”

“Hmm, so at first, I was in total panic, but then—”

For the past 15 minutes, your lunch break had been taken over by recounting your tales of valor as a hunter to the new recruit. Nearby, Xavier sat in brooding silence, scathingly sparing him a glance. The slight frown on his face said it all—blatant disinterest and a touch of irritation.

And you too... why are you engaging him so enthusiastically?

Then again, given his age, Xavier knew he had to be mature about this. He tried, really. If it had been someone like Jeremiah, he might have let it slide.

But there was just something about this new recruit—Sean, was it?—that rubbed him the wrong way.

“Whoa, you're so cool, Miss Y/N!” Sean exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with admiration. “Not only are you pretty and talented, but you're also incredibly skilled! What do you even lack, eh?”

“Really, it's not that much,” you giggled, brushing him off. The way you got sheepish only made Xavier’s annoyance flare even further.

“Let me guess— a boyfriend!”

So that’s what it was. Now Xavier understood what about Sean that set him off. The entire time you’d been talking, he had been giving you those googly eyes.

He didn't like it one bit. He looked ridiculous while doing it.

Despite being silent as a mouse all the way, before he could stop himself, he blurted, “She has a boyfriend already.”

You turned to him in surprise, clearly not expecting him to announce it so bluntly.

“Oh...? Xavier, you know who her boyfriend is...?” Sean turned to him with curiosity.

He noticed it. How his expression fell ever so slightly upon he told him that you were already taken. Xavier huffed and stuffed his mouth with his ramen.

“Yeah. Her boyfriend lives next door.”

Technically, he lived upstairs, but the detail didn’t matter. He just needed to make his point known.

And somehow, for the rest of the day, the new recruit finally seemed to develop some sense—at least enough to stop hovering around you so frequently. Particularly when Xavier was nearby.

“Xavier... why did you tell him that?”

You fell into step beside your quiet boyfriend as the two of you headed home that evening, tilting your head as you replayed the events of the afternoon.

Xavier gave you a brief glance before looking straight ahead again, ignoring your question.

You observed him. There it was again—that gray cloud hovering over him. It always seemed to appear when he was in a bad mood.

Puckering your lips, you pressed further. “We haven’t even told anybody else about our relationship... And what you did there—you’re literally telling him we’re dating.”

“So what?” he shot back, his tone sharper than usual. “Are you afraid people might find out we are? Or—”

Xavier abruptly stopped in his tracks, turning to face you. His usually vibrant blue eyes darkened, piercing into yours with a sharp gleam. “Are you afraid he will find out?”

There was something in his gaze that held you captive—that made your silly heart skip a beat.

“N-no...” you looked away, swallowing the heat that were about to take over your face. Why does Xavier look kind of... hot like that...?

Your cheeks warmed regardless, but you had to appease him. “Like I told you before, I just thought it’d be easier if this stays our little secret. It’s less of a bother if they don’t know…”

Reaching for his hand, you gave it a reassuring squeeze and flashed him a soft smile. “Besides, why would I be afraid if he knows? My boyfriend is cool, handsome, and the best hunter there is.”

You watched as Xavier's expression softened, the tension melting away. A faint blush crept up his cheeks too, and the gray cloud that had loomed over him finally disappeared. He squeezed your hand in return, looking away as if to hide the way he got bashful.

Adorable. For all his brooding, your boyfriend was surprisingly easy to soothe.

For the rest of the walk back to your apartment, you two remained hand-in-hand, the tension of the afternoon slipping away with each step.

. . .

You were staying over at Xavier's place tonight. After a relaxing bath and a hearty dinner, the two of you found yourselves standing side by side in the kitchen, doing the dishes together.

It was mundane things like this that Xavier considered his favorite routine to do with you. Just as you handed him the last plate to dry, you spoke up, your voice breaking the quiet hum of contentment—

“Xavier, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm?”

“I was just thinking... Sean seems nice and friendly, but from what I’ve seen, you seem kind of... unwelcoming— almost hostile even towards him.”

At your words, a frown etched itself onto Xavier’s forehead as he turned to face you fully. You seemed so oblivious, standing there with a look of genuine curiosity.

“Do you really not know?” he questioned you incredulously.

You blinked. “Know what?”

Damn it. Xavier sighed and put down the dish he was holding, but the words faltered on his tongue as a sour expression crossed his face. “No matter,” he muttered under his breath.

He took a deliberate step closer, his movements slow and heavy, and you instinctively backed away—

“So,” he said, his voice low, his blue eyes boring into yours as he took one hot step forward after another, “while Sean is nice and friendly, I’m hostile and unwelcoming, huh?”

—only to find yourself pressed against the window, unable to retreat further.

He stood in front of you now, his arms caging you in, creating a barrier that sealed off any chance of escape.

Uh-oh. Apparently, you had flipped that switch—

The air between you grew thick, and you could feel your pulse quicken under the weight of his gaze. “That’s not what I'm getting at—”

“He’s been eyeing you all day, following you around... getting lunches with you—”

In that moment, your phone erupted to life, its ringtone cutting through the tension. It sat on the small table near the windowsill, and Xavier gave it a quick glance, his expression darkening upon seeing Sean's name flash on the screen.

“Oh?” His voice dropped lower, a dangerous glint flickering in his eyes. “He’s now calling you at nights too?”

“No!” you quickly refuted, your words tumbling out almost too fast. “Xavier, don’t get the wrong idea—”

He tilted your jaw to face him, holding your spooked gaze. “Then what idea am I supposed to be getting when he’s so blatantly pursuing you and you don't even do anything about it?”

The plot twist is... you know. Of course you knew it when a guy was trying to make a move on you, you just pretended not to notice it because it was easier that way. You didn’t know which devil had planted this rotten idea in your head that made you want to push Xavier to the edge, just to see how he'd react when he held nothing back—

The call tonight was a coincidence though, but definitely fueled your lover's ire even more. It was a dangerous game, but now that you’d crossed this line, you couldn't go back any longer.

Your lips curled into a bewitching smile then, and your boyfriend was almost mystified. "So, what will you do to me?"

Xavier looked at you with slightly widened eyes, not expecting your boldness at all. But then he grimaced, as at the same time, the irritation in his veins suddenly flared up—

With a swift, fluid motion, he turned you that you faced the window, his right arm wrapping around your waist from behind as he pressed his body against yours—his hardness pressing, almost poking you.

“You’re so clueless,” he growled into your ear before going after your neck, sucking hard and fast. His hips began to grind against you, pressing harder with each movement. “Too damn clueless...!”

His fingers that gripped your belly moved then, slipping inside your frisky nightgown to finger you— and you lost all your wits in that instant. “Ah-h—!”

Two of his fingers pumped in and out of you, dragging them almost rashly, and it took everything in you to stay upright. "X-Xavier!"

“Mmph,” he breathed against the skin of your neck, his other arm pressing you against him tighter, simultaneously squeezing your breasts. "You asked for it."

Your thighs were trembling in no time, and your breaths came in shaky moans. Your boyfriend was not exactly gentle, but this is probably the first time in a while that he was being rough without reservations. While you wanted to protest, it felt too good—

He turned your face towards him then, crashing his lips on yours.

It almost felt like you were punished, but you couldn't do anything about it. The tension in your lower belly was steadily building, ready to snap at any moment, and the way his fingers relentlessly hitting that one unforgivable spot was starting to made you dizzy.

"Ah—ngh!" You finally shuddered when you reached your climax. It was freeing when you felt yourself burst on his fingers, the release smearing your thighs.

And right then your knees buckled—

But Xavier immediately got a secure hold over you, lifting your body effortlessly into his arms, one hand supporting your knees, the other cradling your back. Through your teary eyes, you met his gaze once more. His expression was unreadable, a dark haze of disapproval clouding his features.

“I’m not done yet.”

He brought you over to his bed, gently lying you down despite the roughness of his voice. He parted your legs, getting himself between them—

Ring! Ring!

The shrill sound of your phone pierced the coolness of the room, and you almost jolted.

But your lover... the sound was like a spell to him, only intensifying his irritation as his features twisted with frustration, and you knew that he was about to take it on you.

As if changing his mind, Xavier suddenly flipped you over that you laid on your stomach and straddled you from behind. He quickly turned your head to face him and claimed your lips in a deep, urgent kiss.

“Mm, hmmp—!” The ringtone of your phone blared in the background, a jarring sound that wasn't pleasant at the slightest. It wasn’t until it finally stopped that he pulled away from the kiss.

You were gasping for breath, your chest heaving, and a stray tear slipped from your eyes. Xavier stared at you, and gently wiped it away with his thumb.

Flushed, sweaty, tearful... you looked so enchanting in his eyes in that moment. He almost felt bad that he had manhandled you this roughly.

Almost.

His hands gripped your waist, and he paused, his gaze locked with yours, silently seeking your approval— or more like, commanding you to give it to him.

In response, you arched your back— a silent affirmation, bracing yourself.

From then on, he was no longer holding back. He tugged your panties down and let his throbbing member out of his pants. It was laughable how insatiable he was— both of you were still clothed, save for his unbuttoned shirt, but he was already this aroused and hard.

He nudged forward, his tip breaching your entrance. The feeling of that familiar stretch left you keeling, babbles and whimpers falling from your lips as he slowly eased into you.

It was hard to take him in fully, and you were a mess of breathy gasps the moment you did. But you were in for the main ride when he started ramming into you, pushing in and out of you in a merciless pace.

"Ah... Xavier!" you panted between thrusts, feeling how it started to be too much for you the more he went on. "Ahh, hrah!"

Behind you, Xavier groaned in reply, his lips sucking your shoulder as his hips quickened, striving to bring you to the peak faster. One of his large hands dug into the skin of your stomach, urging your back to arch more, while the other clasped yours, fingers entwined in the sheets.

He watched intently as your face twisted and contorted in ecstasy, a surge of pride swelling within him, greater than he thought possible.

It was mind-blowing, slightly forceful, and your senses were all heightened. The harsh pace drew cries from your lips, your tears falling to the sheets, yet the pleasure also catapulted you into the stars—

The sinful delight of having him so deep within you.

The sinful rapture of being thrusted over and over.

“Ahhh!” And then, all at once, it was as if heaven and hell collided in a cataclysmic burst. Everything inside you shattered as you cried out—a scream morphing into a high-pitched gasp—as the two of you reached the climax together. Your body trembled uncontrollably, your walls clasped around him impossibly tight as Xavier filled you with everything that he had in one shot.

You collapsed against the sheets like a ragdoll, the pressure finally easing from your sore spine.

“Hello? Yes, it’s Xavier...”

The morning after. You stirred awake, your mind still foggy with sleep, as muffled voices filtered in from outside the bedroom.

“I have to take an urgent leave today...”

You were still utterly drained, your body heavy and unwilling to move. Instinctively, your hand reached out to your side, searching for your lover, but the spot was empty.

“Yes. Y/N too. She isn’t well today... We will be back tomorrow...”

You let out a soft, tired whine, your voice plaintive, as you lay sprawled across the bed, wishing for his warmth to return. Honestly, everything was still sore, and you were this close to tears again.

The door then opened with a creak not long after, and you let out a whimper, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Are you awake...?” Xavier's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he stepped closer to the bed.

You blinked up at him, your vision still blurry. He was already dressed, his crisp appearance in stark contrast to your disheveled state. In his hand, he held a small plastic bag.

“What’s that...?” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you struggled to prop yourself up, curiosity flickering through your tired gaze.

“Don’t get up too quickly,” Xavier murmured, his hands steady as he caught you mid-movement. He guided you back down and tucked the blankets snugly around you, his touch gentle yet firm. “Just rest for now.”

A low hum of contentment escaped you as you leaned into his touch. Your bleary eyes focused solely on him, and despite himself, Xavier found a smile tugging at his lips.

“I just went to the drugstore downstairs to get you some painkillers,” he explained, lifting the small plastic bag slightly. “Take them after you’ve had some breakfast later.”

He then fixed you a bashful grimace, looking down. “Sorry for... uh, last night... I think I’ve pushed you too far.”

His fingers reached out, brushing gently against your cheek. The same fingers that had driven you to the brink of madness the night before now so tender against your skin. “You were crying,” he murmured, guilt lacing his voice. “I feel bad.”

“Mm-hm, so that’s what happens when you don’t hold back at all,” you snickered softly, the corners of your mouth curving despite the lingering ache in your body.

Xavier shifted his gaze away, his confidence faltering. “Will you... hate me for it?”

It was hard to contain your smile from breaking out into a grin. Your boyfriend, a ferocious wolf in a sheep’s clothing, had no need for this shy charade when he had railed you that hard last night.

“No, but you’re going to have to make it up to me. I can’t even walk now.”

Xavier blinked before he patted your head. “Yeah, I’ll fulfill any of your wishes,” he sighed in relief, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice. “So, what is it?”

You paused for a moment, then with a mischievous glint in your eye, you said, “Take me to the bathroom? I want to have a shower first.”

And, of course, he obliged. With a effortless motion, Xavier scooped you up into a princess carry, holding you close. His arms cradled you with care, and you rested against his chest, the warmth of his embrace offering a sense of security.

Just like that, you spent the rest of the day as lovers, sleeping in with careless abandon, unburdened by your duties.

Epilogue

Later in the afternoon, you were once again deep in a sleep as Xavier cuddled you close, when suddenly the doorbell of his apartment rang incessantly.

Frowning, Xavier carefully eased himself out of bed, making sure not to disturb your slumber. He moved quietly towards the door, and when he saw the intercom, his frown worsened.

Sean, the newbie, was at his doorstep. He had half a mind to ignore him, but after a beat, he decided to open the door.

“What do you want?” his voice sharp with annoyance.

“Oh, Xavier!” The guy was stunned for a moment as his eyes lingered on Xavier’s chiseled abs, exposed through the his unbuttoned shirt. “O-oh, so... I’ve been trying to ring the doorbell to Y/N's apartment to give her a fruit basket to wish her a fast recovery, but she’s not answering—” he hastily explained, gesturing toward the basket in his hand. “Can you reach her—?”

Xavier felt like popping a vein at how meddlesome this guy was. Was this guy an idiot? Didn’t he realize by now that he was your next-door boyfriend?

Nevermind. The hard way it is.

“She’s with me.”

“H-huh?”

He shot him a pointed look. “Don't think you’ll have a chance with her, newbie.”

And with that, he shut the door in his face.

[ramen8008]

Tony having a list of habits of the avengers that annoy him yet also altering the entirety of the compound to meet those habits.

Tony: You realize how annoying it is to have you in my vents?? Just let me breathe my 5 million dollar air in peace

Also Tony installing a proper scanner which doesn't ring any alarms if Barton is in the vents but instead just makes in a video compilation of each time he falls.

Tony: Thor I swear to the Gods. If you take one more Pop tart from me I wil-

Also Tony bulge buying Pop tarts for every time Thor visits.

Tony: Cap how do you not kn- No being frozen for 80 years is no excuse. This is vital part of history, No I don't care that it's "just a show" this changed lives

Also Tony installing a "Cap is confused again" Protocol on FRIDAY for each time there's anything Steve doesn't understand which might be basic knowledge to everyone else so FRIDAY can give him a summary of it all.

Tony: Nat you need to stop hiding weapons everywhere. I can't be going around finding machetes in the compound!

Also Tony providing her as much space she needs for her weapons in each room if that's what she needs to feel safe.

Tony: No! No magic. Wanda you go through my head again and I swear you'll regret it. My therapist quit, you think you can handle it? Nuh uh this is a magic free household young lady.

Also Tony installing a whole new simulation based training room so she can practice her magic properly.

Tony: Bucky, I know I'm rich but can you please stop crushing my equipment and cups

Also Tony very gently talking to Bucky about everything he is doing step by step as he checks up Bucky's arm. Giving him his own room with open windows so he doesn't feel trapped with every bit of little hobby he might pick up from knitting to painting to playing the piano. A bookshelf with the entire limited edition of The Hobbit and every 40s music he might like. And some more recent songs in case he decides to "stop being old".

Tony: Strange I need you to stop doing that shit. I understand you're a wizard but don't they have rules for that? Like no magic outside of Hogwarts until you're 17? None of that weird stuff in the tower... ever.

Also Tony creating a special meditating room for Stephen with Pink Floyd playing where he can just calm down for a while in the tower and somehow a room in the mirror dimension when he really wants peace and quiet.

Tony: Vision I know you're an AI who is very interested in human nature and I am flattered but I swear if I hear one more explosion because you tried to learn knitting or the piano I will find an off switch whether or not you have one.

Also Tony making every single hobby Vision wants to pick up possible in the best way. Providing him his own kitchen to getting him a piano teacher because he wanted to experience "learning by being taught"

Tony: Banner I get that you have everything under control which is great but my lab is not big enough for The Hulk

Also Tony making his lab big enough. Getting him his own lab. Making sure he had everything he needed to calm down when he couldn't control the Hulk. Labeling him as the "strongest avenger". Getting him a therapist. Making sure he never feels alone yet always has peace

Tony: Rhodey you need to understand that when I say I'm fine I'm fine. You act like such a party pooper you know that?

Also Tony who trusts Rhodey with his life and everything. Making sure Rhodey never feels lesser than. Who couldn't be more grateful that Rhodey stuck by him throughout everything and always stayed. Tony always turning to him for advice and no matter how much he acts like Rhodey is being a bummer always takes his words to heart.

Tony: Peter.... Don't walk on the ceiling! Oh my God don't die! What the hell kid please don't explode your homework again! Your aunt is going to KILL me! You mess with the suit again and I- No , you can't borrow my suit what do you mean? I told you to stay back, tell me what you interpreted that as? No the adults are talking.

Also Tony doing everything that kid wants no matter what. Making sure his suit is so safe that he might as well be immortal. Buying him everything he even remotely suggests to liking. He has his own room in the tower cause of all the time he spends in the labs.

"You want to test out this new thing with your webs but it requires this extremely expensive and toxic chemical? As long as you wear proper protection!"

"you said you had to write about a famous place you went to but since you haven't travelled much you were gonna write about the Stark exhibition or times square.....So I got you these world tour tickets. I think they hit every landmark , just message me the ones they don't and I'll handle it. And don't worry there are two so your aunt can go with you"

[cheeseatlantic]

fuck you im too lazy to find a new banner… anyways content warning because this babygirk is DARKKKK 🤤🤤🤤 if ur into that me too babe.

minores do nawt! interact plsplspls

NO WHERE TO RUN

You knew you were playing with fire.

All day, you had been teasing him—innocent little touches, batting your lashes, making sly comments. Testing the limits of his patience. And then, at the bar, you pushed too far. You’d let another man get too close, let his hand rest on your thigh for just a second too long. You hadn’t even looked at Ghost when you did it, but you felt his gaze burning into you.

Now, you were in the backseat of his truck, trapped between the worn leather seats and the sheer size of him.

And he was pissed.

“You think I’m fuckin’ stupid?” His voice was a low growl, his breath hot against your ear.

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, his hand was around your throat, tight. Not enough to truly hurt, but enough to remind you who you belonged to.

“I should leave you here,” he muttered, squeezing just a little. “Leave you aching, all worked up, since you clearly want some other man to handle you.”

You whimpered, shaking your head. “N-No, I—”

“Shut the fuck up.” His grip tightened, cutting off whatever excuse you were about to give. His other hand yanked up your skirt, fingers brushing over your soaked panties. His laugh was low, mocking.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.”

And then he tore them—ripped the lace clean off, tossing it aside like it was nothing.

“Pathetic little slut,” he murmured, voice dark with amusement. “Drippin’ all over yourself just from me puttin’ you in your place.”

You shivered, pressing your thighs together, desperate for friction. But Ghost wasn’t having that. His hand forced your legs apart, his fingers stroking through your slick folds, spreading you open.

“Bet you’d let anyone touch you like this, wouldn’t you?” His voice was venomous. “Actin’ like a fuckin’ cocktease, lettin’ men put their hands on you.”

“N-No—just you, only you,” you gasped, arching against his touch.

“Damn right, only me.”

Without warning, he thrust two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that had you sobbing his name.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, scissoring them, stretching you. “Been too busy playin’ your little games to let me fuck this needy little cunt, huh?”

You whined, bucking against his hand, but that only made him chuckle darkly.

“So desperate,” he mused, pulling his fingers out just to slap them against your clit. You jerked, a whimper spilling from your lips. “You don’t get to act like a brat all fuckin’ day and expect me to be gentle with you.”

And then, before you could beg, he was lining himself up and slamming into you with one brutal thrust.

You screamed, fingers scrambling for purchase on the leather seats, but he didn’t give you time to adjust. He set a punishing pace, using you, fucking you like he was trying to make you feel every inch of him.

“Mine,” he growled against your ear, his grip on your throat tightening again. “This fuckin’ body—mine.”

You couldn’t do anything but take it, let him pound into you, let him ruin you completely.

The car rocked with the force of it, windows fogging, Ghost’s breath heavy against your skin. His free hand found your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise as he forced you back onto his cock.

“Not so fuckin’ mouthy now, are you?” he taunted.

You could barely think, let alone speak, but that wasn’t good enough for him. His hand left your throat, only to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled.

“You,” you sobbed. “Only you— Simon, please—”

“Damn right.”

And when you came, hard and fast around him, trembling from overstimulation, he just groaned, pressing his weight down on you as he fucked you through it.

“You don’t get to tap out, sweetheart,” he murmured darkly. “Not till I’ve had my fill.”

And judging by the look in his eyes?

He was far from done with you.

heck yeahyuh!!!

[heeikeuu]

── .✦ ENHYPEN DRABBLE; When You Play Love&DeepSpace

۶ৎ featuring – enha x fem!reader

۶ৎ genre – fluff, romance, slice of life

note: hai people, I'm new to writing fanfics, but I hope you enjoy this <3

HEESEUNG ᝰ.ᐟ

You were lying in bed giggling at your phone while your boyfriend was gaming. "Nightly Rendezvous" banner teasers just dropped, and u were watching them with the volume a little too high that heeseung heard and got curious. He sneakily decided to check out the commotion. His eyes were wide, and jaw dropped. "Baby, what are you doing?" He asked, making u flinch in surprise, "Jesus christ, seungie, you scared my soul off my body." Upon seeing how red your face got your boyfriend smirked, suddenly you're trapped in the bed with his hands on either side of your head. Looking up at him like a deer caught in headlight, "I didn't know u were into stuff like this?" The question really was rhetorical but you just sheepishly smiled at him and grabbed your phone, "he reminds me of u a lot" you showed him Rafayel, your boyfriend is taken aback at first but soon shakes his head and giggles at you. "At least now I know what you do when you miss me." You lightly slapped his arm before giving him a peck on the lips, not really disagreeing with his statement.

JUNGWON ᝰ.ᐟ

Jungwon was lying beside you in bed. Both of you on your phones and just enjoying each other's presence after a long hectic day at work. You were busy trying to pull for Xavier's limited myth after saving up for a long time that you didn't realize your boyfriend got bored of his phone eventually and was watching you instead. Suddenly, your boyfriend spoke, "Which cards you aiming for?" Looking up from your phone, you notice his eyes on you and smile softly, "I want to get Xavier's limited myth, Lumiere is so hot" your boyfriend blinked at you for a few seconds before giggling, "not more than me though, right?" He asked teasingly while poking your arm, but you definitely caught on to the double meaning. "Of course not, wonie, nobody is hotter than you, silly." You stated as a matter of fact while looking at him through your lashes, "y-yeah" stumbling on his words a little he smiles sheepishly and pulls you closer with his head on your shoulders, landing a small kiss there, "don't mind me."

JAY ᝰ.ᐟ

Jay was in his office. It was break time, and he opened his phone to see what his fiance was doing. He noticed her newest post update saying she really wanted to collect new outfits for her mc, shaking his head lightly and smiling. Being the gentleman he is, he sent her money to buy that outfit and more, whatever her heart pleased. He loved spoiling her rotten, and he was well aware of that and didn't mind. You heard your phone ding while doing your makeup, you eyes widened seeing what your boyfriend texted, "I noticed you wanted new outfits for your mc so here's some money to get whatever you want, darling ❤️" with $500 sent to your account. You quickly texted him back, thanking him and saying he really didn't have to. A call interrupted your thoughts. It was your fiance, picking it up quickly. "Hi darling, just wanted to let you know that I will be heading home a little late today due to an emergency meeting so please make sure to eat well and don't stay up too late waiting for me." You hummed in agreement, "I need words, darling" blushing at his words, "okay, I promise." "Good, also make sure to show me your cute mc outfits later." Smiling to yourself at his thoughtfulness, you agreed, and the call ended. Kicking your feet and rolling in bed like a maniac, you thanked your lucky stars for giving you a real life Zayne.

JAKE ᝰ.ᐟ

Jake just came home from practice, hearing your fast footsteps after yelling, "Baby, I'm home." He smiled warmly, seeing you run into his arms. "I miss you, baby, and I have so much to talk to you about!" You exclaimed excited. Holding you up with one arm, he smiled back at you. You were his little fluff ball of energy. He already knew you were going to talk his ear off about Sylus later, but he didn't mind at all because he loved seeing how you got all nerdy about your interests. After taking a shower and eating dinner together, he sat on the couch with her in his arms as she started explaining the whole lore to him with a PowerPoint ready on her ipad. Giggling at how cute she is being. She let out a sigh "jakey are you listening? This is super important!" You stressed, and your boyfriend looked at you sweetly, "I'm listening, baby. Please continue. What happened next?" He always matched your energy, and you loved this about him. No matter how tired he was, he was never too tired to listen to his girl yap about whatever for hours.

SUNGHOON ᝰ.ᐟ

You were scrolling through tiktok during your break until you stumbled upon an edit of zayne with enha's song. Letting out a gasp, you excitedly sent the link to your husband while giggling. The familiar sound of your notifications filled the quiet office room. Already knowing its sunghoon, you smiled and opened the chat. "I see you're having fun, but I'm here suffering missing my pretty girl," you mentally face palmed at his cute antics. Deciding to tease him a bit, you responded, "Can't a girl have two husbands?" And the next lines of texts of him went like "oh my god. My wife hates me. She wants me to die. Goodbye, world." Chucking at his dramatic behavior, you decided to call him. He picked up almost immediately, "Hi Zaynie~" you chimed in a teasing tone, you heard your husband sigh, "hello to you too wifey, now would you please mind finishing your work early because your husband is going to die waiting for you at home." You always loved how dramatic and cute sunghoon was, people often thought he was cold at first but to you he was a grade S soap opera actor, and you wouldn't trade the world for him. You always told him that and whenever he asked, "What about Zayne then?" You jokingly told him,"know your limits." But deep down, you were grateful your man always supported your interests despite acting sulky at times.

SUNOO ᝰ.ᐟ

You were laser focused on trying to win kitty cards against Caleb that you didn't notice your boyfriend was calling for you from the bathroom. It was nighttime, and usually time for your skin care routine together. "Princess, can you hear me?" He asked worriedly. He came into view with a face mask and his arms crossed. "What's so important it has your mind preoccupied like this?" He questioned, but you quickly brushed him off saying "wait I'm trying to beat caleb in kitty cards, and he's driving me crazy!! He keeps freezing me and stealing my points!" Your frustrated tone made sunoo chuckle before coming closer and taking your phone away, gasping you look up, "sunoo please baby just this one round," "You said that like 2 rounds ago, baby, come on, it's time to take your makeup off. I promise after we can beat him up together." Puffing your cheeks, you agreed. "Okay, but since you're better at kitty cards, you better win all!" You pointed your finger at your boyfriend who took your hand and kissed it softly, humming in agreement. Smiling at him while you both went to finish your night routine.

RIKI ᝰ.ᐟ

Sitting on riki's lap, you let out sighs making sure your boyfriend could hear you. Riki glanced down at you from the TV, "what's wrong, you big baby?" You were having a hard time passing the open orbit battles and started getting extra frustrated. "Ki, I can't seem to pass this level no matter what I do!" You expressed, "here, let me try, angel." He sweetly offered, and you let him help. You watch him intently choose the cards and weapons, and start the battle. Your heartbeat spiking as you watched the timer count to 10, and the wanderer's HP was like 3 hits away from victory, which is where you kept failing. "Fucking bitch" you heard your boyfriend mutter under his breath and you closed your eyes dramatically scared of losing, "LET'S GOOO" you suddenly heard him say, opening your eyes, you saw the screen flash "victory" and you jumps his bones while thanking him all giddy, "fear not baby, no matter how hard the boss battle is, nishimura will always prevail" he says proudly making u giggle at his silliness, "of course, baby" you kiss his cheek and returned to your game but noticed through your peripheral vision him blushing with a smile he failed to hide.

© heeikeuu | likes and reblogs are appreciated ♡

[drabblesandsnippets]

Imagine... (‘extreme weather leads to forced proximity’)

Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female reader

December Daze Challenge - Day 29 - @the-slumberparty

Warnings: (440w) Virgin reader. Brief mention of body image, drinking, and sex toys. (Mostly implied) smut, including fingering.

Imagine Bucky finding out that you’ve never had sex. It was the last thing he was expecting to learn about you, the two of you still laying the foundation of your friendship, most of your time spent with the others. And then an ice storm led to getting trapped in an elevator, the enclosed space triggering a panic attack that had you blurting out you didn’t want to die a virgin. In the moment, Bucky chose to pretend he didn’t hear your entire admission, focusing only on assuring you that you weren’t going to die. But as soon as the ‘danger’ passed and he safely got you back on solid ground, all he could think about was being the one to introduce you to the world of shared pleasure. A night of drinking is the catalyst, the alcohol loosening your tongue to disclose more of your complicated past and joke that your inherent lack of confidence reduces what limited options you already have due to your size. As much as Bucky’s always appreciated your similar sense of humor and self-deprecating jokes, this one’s a step too far for him.  Now, it's no longer just about getting to have sex with you and show you how good it can feel - it’s about proving how hot you are and how incredibly lucky anyone would be to be in your bed. Luckily, it doesn’t take much convincing - a surprise kiss under mistletoe the next day and your trust in Bucky has you believing this isn’t just some weird favor he’s offering out of pity. Every step of the way, he's convincing you of his desire for you, never once letting your insecurities grow - “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he says while he slowly undresses you, his lips touching every part of you he reveals. "You're so perfect, better than anything I could've imagined," he groans once he finally has you naked, his hands exploring your bountiful curves. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans right along with you when you allow his hand to wander between your soft thighs, his fingers slick with your arousal. “Is this what you do when you’re alone?” he’s desperate to know, your pussy clenching around his finger as he learns what makes you feel good, paying attention to all the spots that have you trembling underneath him.  Your bold confession that you usually use a toy has him groaning, his resolve crumbling when you explain, in glorious detail, how you fuck yourself with it. And as soon as he makes you come, he’s climbing off the bed in search of your toy, begging to watch, promising to fuck you after you give him a show.

Day 28 | Imagine… Masterlist | Day 30

Banners by @cafekitsune - Divider by @saradika-graphics

[assaultmystic]

ive shared this essay on tranmisogyny and nihilism with a few friends, and then realised u might as well all have it. circa 3k words. enjoy x

Apology

The complete and systematic account of transmisogyny is, of necessity, a hopeless exercise. Abjection is the mother of the totality after all. We are talking about the constitutive incompleteness of the world, the necessary impotence, the weeping lacuna of artifice that begets all things! If we theorised the whole world, we would not speak of transmisogyny once, because it is a condition on the possibility of theory, and so must be forever excepted

So, what little that follows is a betrayal. Partial by design (to let the light in) and necessity (I am tired. I am weak.), it is a betrayal nonetheless. Nothing could fail to be. So let's be honest. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to draw borders around its extent and its diffusion. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to construct and fortify its privileged subject -who is and is not transmisogynised. To theorise transmisogyny in full would be to tell "the transmisogynised" what to do about it. I don't want to do any of these things, and I will fail. There is no conversational path into discussion of what's possible that does not foreclose some options. We, the disinherited, conduct our peculiar miracle by fleeing down paths others cannot even see. So, take what you like and laugh when I give away my limits. Have fun.

Preliminaries

All of this is play, everything is. Nothing really matters. The real, in fact, is a mesh of overlapping consensuses that have been built not merely incidentally, but structurally, on our expulsion. There is no serious, real, or proper way to be a tranny. In fact, it remains integral to the notion of consensus as such, and reality by extension, that we are delusional in our self-articulation, paranoid in our recognisance of our exclusion, and dangerous at the point at which we express any of this. We are thus freed to recognise everything as play, for though those involved in playing out the real have their stakes in us (though they are loathe to admit it) we are disbarred from ever really holding stakes in the real. Because that's what real means.

The enshrinement of this exclusion as unreal is both necessary for the sustaining of the real as really important, but is also absolutely critical to facilitating the social character of transmisogynisation. All affordances granted to us allow us to play, however temporarily, at admission to reality. Those on the inside know we ought to be grateful for this mercy. It is particularly advisable for those who would like more sway over consensus (those who do not see themselves as having that sway already) to let us play inside sometimes. We get cold out here. Some of us get so cold we become frozen, we forget we are playing, we become unable to move, so keen on coming in that we harden into fixed things, like those inside are. But we will know no benefit for it. Even if they wanted to, they could offer us no rewards. Whether they know it or not, it is just a game.

Each magic circle that defines with its border the games of the real is drawn in our blood. Each empire and every banner they flew. Every flag. Every cause. All of it, all of it had its stakes in us. All had to eject us. We were understood to stand for nothing. For annihilation, for nullification, for endings. The family line ends here. The revolutionary project will see no children. In fact, there only was a "we" insofar as we were taken to stand for nothing. We are unified in that we are constituted by resistance to that which ejects us from the social, every social. We are unified in this alone. The trappings of inheritance, family, reproduction, legacy, futurity. What world that is, or was, or is being built could truly love the tranny? At best they'll have us die in the shadow so that their gleaming future would shine more brightly for contrast. No. We have each other. There never was a world for us, because wherever a future was believed in we threatened it in our nihilising impotence. This keeps us vital. Keeps us dangerous. Keeps us laughing.

Strategy, or, how to play

We have no interest in talking about identity independent of conversations about strategy. The way we constitute ourselves is conversationally liquid. To rebuke a tranny for their identificatory strategy is to reproduce transmisogyny, to think you know what living her circumstances might take better than she does. We call ourselves what we need to to survive the imposition of gender upon us. Recalling our movements through the social this becomes trivially obvious. Confronted each with your boss, your local tboy callout artisan, the police, a John, your mother, your ex, the gender clinic, who wouldn't call herself what she did only as an attempt to get what she wanted? When we meet others like us then, we cannot presume they know that we would love them whatever they called themselves. They might see a cop in front of them, might see a John, might worry this'll come back around - the local scene might shun a girl for calling herself a crossdresser, even as a joke (let alone for 'real'). So can they trust you? Do you intend to make that clear? But between us, once we know we are among friends, identification is about options, about imaginative flight, about the proliferation of lifeworlds bleeding from the critical harm done to us. Because what could we stand to gain by insisting that girls cannot be faggots? That boys cannot be trannies? Every should've-been-man of us has run, by herself, the labyrinthine complex of gender as domestication. Are you going to begrudge him calling himself a sissy now, after a lifetime of living in the word's shadow? Get over it! You are being invited to play, to walk through walls! Fool that you are, you cannot see the smile on the face of the trannies you claim to love while they call themselves the things you promised yourself it was really unacceptable to be. You have lost sight of the game, and now you come back to your sisters and you ask them to sober up, to get real. After all, we have cisgenders to convince, don't you know? Real people. Why, if they heard you talking like that we'd all befucked! But they are not here. Or at least, they were not here until you started doing their work for them.

There is after all, no real identity. Or, rather, the claim to a real identity is one move among others, and holds no special weight. It is special only in that it invokes the game of the real, the inside of the magic circle, to push others out. This can be great when you are having sex and a tranny tells you that you're not a real woman like her and that you should [do what she wants] about it. Otherwise it's quite fucking boring. If it happens that the world has fallen at your feet in such a way that you find labels more personal to you, that is, they feel like more than social tools for communicating how you would like to occur to others in the world, we're glad for you. Just don't expect us to feel the same. There is nothing we really are underneath this, in fact there is no need for an underneath. What good has the legitimate, the true, the valid done for any of us?

Transmisogynisation, or, how to draw a circle

A popular school of thought sees transfemininity as intentionally performed through a succession of discrete speech acts through which one establishes a relationship with womanhood while cAMAB. More simply - we identify as trans women, or as transfeminine, and so become subject to transmisogyny. This is a hangover from a history of "born this way" queer sloganeering. That we must always have been settled on the inside, and our targetting is a matter of some transfeminine essence. It's bullshit, which is no problem, but the trouble is that it's bullshit with extremely low explanatory power.

More to the point, transmisogynisation describes a matrix of concrete social and institutional processes, through which cAMAB people may become (forcibly) disidentified with masculinity, and become a part of the gendered abject. What the prevailing model correctly understands, is that some of these transmisogynising processes can be willingly submitted to. We might choose self identification as trans woman or other locally prevailing transfemininity, working “as a woman”, engagement with legal or medical apparatus of gender. However, none of these social affordances (that are deployed by social institutions to effect the circumscription of transfemininity) are free from the potential for coercion. If we want access to any of the processes described we experience pressure to present a legible transfeminine gender identity. If you do not call yourself by the terms of the locally prevailing models of transfemininity your access to social, legal or medical affordances is immediately threatened. There is immediately a pressure to be a certain kind of tranny - the institutionally respectable kind, and this pressure weighs on our self descriptions whether we know it or not. Identity, then, is always already under pressure. What would I have called myself, if I had never had to call myself anything for the sake of estrogen, or for a job, or for community? I will never know. Neither will you. What the position outlined fails to account for at all, is that many processes of transfeminisation are straightforwardly coercive, have no choice element because they are inductive abuse. We did not choose our subjection to social practices of violent harassment and exclusion based on perceived difference, for example. Did not choose to be called faggots, sissies, or retards because of the position we were being forced into of not-a-real-man. Did not choose the rape, the beating, the manipulation that othered us from manhood, carried out in sacred silent complicity over a whole lifetime. Every cis woman ex who forced you into a feminised position of permanent care is in cahoots with your dad who hit you is in cahoots with the tboys you gave a bad vibe are in cahoots with the boys in your high school changing room are in cahoots with your rapists. There was, in fact, a conspiracy to forcibly feminise you. It just wasn't glamorous, sexy, or conscious. It doesn't make sense to speak of our transmisogynisation, then, as a matter of our personal identity so much as it does of our being identified. Target lock, y'know? Maybe something gave you away, maybe it didn't. But identifying a boy who's never gonna make it is socially critical, and you were picked. Picked so other boys could differentiate themselves from you, so girls could have you and know you weren't like other boys - they could hurt you and get away with it. So your ejection from your family could be justified. Even if none of them ever once called you a tranny, they were making one of you.

All this to say, the representational force of specific visions of transfeminity cannot be substitute for solidarity along the lines of that we are transmisogynised. Personal identification, pronouns, these things are secondary - and are no substitute for attending to the specifics of our oppression. We can call ourselves what we want, but falling behind the banner of a fixed identity category just limits our solidarity, makes us rigid, makes us easier to kill.

Theory, or, giving the game away

Transmisogyny is itself transmisogynised. Like us, our oppression is always novel, always ready finallyfor a good welcoming into the fold, always unmapped, always a great way to sell a book. Yours could be the first real, definitive, proper text on transmisogyny! Imagine! Over the past decade alone (say nothing of techniques perfected in milennia gone), round after round of coordinated harassment campaign and social media clean up have left us with a legacy of articulating ourselves over and over, hashing out the same points for each new spawning. A neotenised theory, in a forced state of arrested development. Our place in history continues to be the damnatio memoriae.

The kinds of theorisation that tend to stick around share a basic structure - they are outreach oriented, interested in engaging with a "broader" feminist or queer or historical or marxist tradition. Of course the subsumption of transmisogyny as a mere articulation, a phenomena within this or that more important, more material, more real tendency follows.Theory looks to place transmisogyny on terms that others might recognise, fixing some points of reference in order to reach a presumed shared audience. The trouble of course is that now you are looking to share points of reference, an audience, with a cisfeminist, a twerf, a "transandrophobia" spewing tboy. You might tell yourself that this is only in order that you might convince the undecided, to win new people round, so they see the natural integration of the theorisation of transmisogyny into your school of thinking.

These institutionalising desires exact costs. Foremost amongst which is the need to identify a positive transfeminine subject. The identification of this subject (presently, the sID'd transgender woman) ensures that the framework shares identifiable points of reference with rival theories of gender that emerge within hegemony, in order to more legibly engage with them. Put more simply, it makes it easier to argue with the tmra, the cisfeminist, the twerf, if everybody arguing presumes themselves to already know what we’re talking about, but to just differ in attitude. Whether she's valid, whether she's more or less privileged, whether she's really a woman. Such fun!This is the process of theorisation as marketisation - an audience after all is just a cipher for a market. All debate is in fact spectacle, safely ensconced within its academic home. Irrecognisance is complicity.

By entering into the bloodsport of theory we can endlessly defer the practicalities of articulating relations between the transmisogynised that are aware of the endless hatred the real holds for us, and avoid responding to that weaponised reality lucidly. We can foreclose the conversation about what we do, so that we can settle, once and for all who we are. Of course, whoever finds themselves on the outside of our shining new identity (once we've settled it - won't take long) will perhaps lack our enthusiasm for whatever solidarity we seek to build without them after the fact.

I'll concede that I only speak in these terms (not my own) because you are my kin, and I want to reach you. I am a hypocrite. I made my apology already. I believe in you more than I ever believed in anything real, so I'm going to let you make a hypocrite of me.

For the road, or, from the sickbed

I am tired now, and quite sick. I caught what might be the flu, or might be covid the other day. Things occur to me through a thicker haze than usual. So I am going to be presumptive and pass on some things I have learned talking with my friends, as though you’ve any need.

Pay attention to the way that transmisogynisation picks at and worries received views of agency. When girls tell you that their transness is something they affirmed, they are of course right. The same girls are also right when they talk about how this was done to them. Histories are mobile, histories are strategic. Stories we tell about ourselves are social technologies. We never have to be one thing, never have to resolve (scorn anyone who tells you otherwise), we exist with contradictions of coercion and choice. We have to. What does this mean for the possibility of the transmisogynised historical “subject”? What might we have to say about the necessary diffusion of subjectivity experienced by many like us- what kinds of politics is it incompatible with?

Pay attention to the lines along which people draw their politics. What kind of insults do they use? They are telling you who is other to them. They are telling you who they do not feel they need to answer to, and so in whom the stakes of their real will be placed, alongside you. If they speak of lazy stoners wasting their time in queer organisation instead of joining this or that political project - in my opinion, they have told you more than enough. Anarchist or otherwise. These are the lines that need to be drawn so that a politics can be defined. Those who speak this way, our kin not least, hurt themselves. They do this for a cause.

Kindness is never, ever, called for. Will never be called for. It is not politically substantial. People will tell you that kindness is radical and they are wrong. People will tell you that kindness is no part of a coherent politics - not something you ever owe and they are right. You need never be kind. This is because kindness is an excess. Kindness is an inherently unjustified and unjustifiable gesture, an overabundance of care that no politics invested in its own reproduction could ask for. When you meet trannies, I would really appreciate it if you could be kind to them.

[dreadsuitsamus]

Bleach Men Taking Your Baby to the Grocery Store Headcanons

author's note: yes the premise is random but it's also very cute and perfectly in line with my recent onslaught of baby fever. also, the banners in this post were created by the always amazing @actuallysaiyan!! thank you for the gorgeous banners, babe! 🩷🩷🩷

pairings: kensei muguruma x reader, byakuya kuchiki x reader, grimmjow jaegerjaquez x reader, renji abarai x reader, ichigo kurosaki x reader

warnings: children ages 5 and younger and grimmjow's parenting lmao this is mostly fluff and some mischief mixed in from the babies

Kensei is definitely the tough parent of the two of you, and he relishes in that fact

But goddammit do those baby eyes make him waver

As he carries little Mila into the store, he tells her they're only there for necessities

No candy, no sugary cereals, only what you've tasked him to buy for dinner

Despite being only three and a half, however, Mila has a pretty good idea of how to get her way with Kensei

It's gotten slightly less effective since the pacifiers have been removed from her arsenal, but anything that cracks her dad's tough exterior is remarkable as is

It starts off innocently enough, though soon the way she sings her little song and bops her head around becomes rife with intent

"Daddy, can has hug?" She blinks up at him, holding her arms up

Either he's willfully choosing to fall into the trap, or Kensei is merely blind in the face of his precious girl

"Of course, baby." Kensei picks her up from the cart and kisses her wonderfully chubby cheek, leading the cart behind him as he continues through the store with Mila hooked on his hip

Mila curls up, humming as her eyes scan the shelves for something she wants

"Hold Momma's list for Daddy, okay?"

Mila's little fingers hold the list carefully, and soon Kensei is at a crossroad

"Broth. What kind of broth?" He mutters, fishing his cell phone from his pocket to call you

As usual, it turns into a bit of a squabbling match. He thinks remembering every little detail is silly, and you think you've made this dish so many times he should know you need chicken broth

Kensei is sufficiently annoyed by the time the phone call ends, and Mila strikes then

"Daddy, can has kiss?"

"Yes, baby." She gets a kiss on either cheek, and the kiss she gives his cheek right back is just about the final nail in the coffin

With Kensei holding her, she's able to reach the shelf and snag a little box of animal crackers

"Daddy, can has this?"

Played by the fucking toddler again!! That's three times this week!

"... Don't tell your brothers." Kensei sighs, hanging his head in shame

It's not all bad though; he does get another sweet kiss from his princess

Byakuya is a strict but ultimately fair father

Little Jasmine has grown up under his watchful eye, though through that she's certainly learned just how many of his limits she can press and how to get around them

Going to the grocery store is rare, and even more so if you're not present for the journey

But it's vacation time, and you're busy setting up the cabin for your family's stay, so Byakuya has been tasked with gathering enough groceries to make it through dinner and the morning's breakfast

Byakuya holds Jasmine’s hand and they walk inside together, Byakuya using a tissue to pick up one of the small hand baskets. There's no telling the last time this thing has been sanitized!

“What would you like for dinner tonight?” Byakuya asks the five year old, and Jasmine hums thoughtfully

How can she end the first day of this vacation with a delicious banana split?

Appealing to her father's tastes will increase the likelihood of success, and her father is quite fond of spicy foods…

“Can we have curry?”

The light in his eyes isn't missed by the girl, and she can practically taste an ice cream sundae with a waffle bowl already

“You're becoming more accustomed to spices, I see.” Byakuya hums and begins to survey the store's offerings, whereas Jasmine is mentally preparing her list for dessert

“Daddy?” Jasmine dials up the sweetness in her tone while Byakuya examines the various cuts of chicken on display

“Yes?” He hums

“Can we have a treat tonight?”

“What sort of treat?”

“A surprise treat. Please, Daddy?”

Byakuya pauses. He's no fan of sweets, and in general sugar is limited in the Kuchiki household

But she did say please

“Mm… I suppose.”

Byakuya doesn't meet your eyes when he and Jasmine return from the store with more ingredients for ice cream sundaes than dinner and breakfast combined

He is such a sucker, but he's happy to be played when he receives his banana split with a chocolate syrup drawing of his beloved Wakame Taishi from his darling daughter

Renji tries his best to be a strict father, but his determination wavers frequently. He wanted for many things as a child, and as a parent he doesn't wish to push that same feeling on his child as long as he's capable of providing a warm, loving home

Not to mention, that damn two year is old is just so cute it makes his heart melt at the mere sight of the toddler

“C’mon, honey, gotta get some soup for Mommy.” Renji murmurs as he carefully takes little Rin from his car seat, carrying him into the store on his hip

“Why?” is Rin’s favorite question right now, and Renji’s eye twitches a bit

“Because her tummy is upset.”

“Why?”

“... I don't know.”

“Why?”

“I don't know!”

“Why?”

Renji gently pinches his son's lips between his fingers. “Shhh… Quiet time.”

But of course, the moment he lets go, Rin is back at it again

“Why?”

“Because now Daddy has a headache.”

Rin, as gently as he can while simultaneously not managing much grace in the act, pats his father's sunglasses that sit atop his head

“All bedder?”

Renji's lip practically wobbles at the sweetness. “Yes, Daddy's all better. Thank you, sweetie.”

Rin rests his head against his father, playing with the Renji’s chain while he surveys all of the varieties of soup, Renji occasionally pulling the chain away from the baby's open mouth

Rin whines after his third attempt to eat the necklace, so Renji quickly grabs the first can of chicken noodle soup he sees and makes a dash for the checkout. No baby meltdowns in public, for the love of God

Renji gently bounces the baby, pleading softly with him to calm down. It's not working very well, however, and these damn checkout lines aren't moving at all!

Desperation wins and Renji's grabbing a lollipop before he knows it, tearing the wrapping off and popping the sucker into Rin’s teeny mouth

His plan to calm the baby works, and by the time he's actually able to check out and purchase the soup, the small pop is already gone and the tantrum is starting to blossom again

And just as Renji gets the baby strapped back into his carseat, he checks his phone to see a text you sent twenty minutes ago that practically sends his eyes popping out of his skull

Can you pick up a pregnancy test too?

He glances over at the toddler, and can practically see the boy as a big brother already

Even with a fussy baby in round two of the long lines, Renji's smile doesn't waver and he just kisses and coos at the hopefully soon-to-be big brother

Grimmjow is an interesting parent. Much like how every day with a four year old is a mystery, every day with Grimmjow is a deep dive into the unknown

So when sending the man and his mini-me to the grocery store, you're not quite sure what they're going to come home with. Hopefully it at least includes the items on the list, otherwise dinner is going to be very different from what you've planned

“Oi, keep up!” Grimm looks over his shoulder, the four year old having been distracted by a vending machine

“Want snack.”

“Too bad. Let's go.”

The toddler’s stare is a little too lead paint-y for Grimmjow's liking

“Zen.” Grimmjow looks on, unimpressed as he fishes a coin from his pocket. “Fine, brat. You win, you get a snack. I win, I get a snack.”

That gets the boy to smile, clapping his hands as he jumps in excitement

Grimmjow smirks. “Heads I win, tails you lose.”

The coin is flipped off of Grimmjow's thumb and he catches it easily, Zen waiting with bated breath for the results. Does Daddy win or does he lose??

Grimm sucks his teeth, shaking his head and tucking the quarter back into his pocket. “Heads I win. Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

Zen pouts, watching his father slip a dollar into the vending machine and press the buttons for a honey bun. “Aw man…”

“C’mon.” Grimmjow opens up the snack, taking a big bite and grabbing the front of Zen’s coat, carrying him inside of the store like a handbag

The boy can't help but giggle as he looks up at his father; he loves air jail!

“You're in jail. Stop laughing, fuckin’ psycho.” Grimm shakes his son a bit, hiding his own laughter into the next bite of his honey bun. He's a hardass, but that baby's laugh is precious and melts him like ice cream on a sunny day

Heads turn at the way Grimmjow carries Zen, but Grimm is highly unbothered by such judgment. His kid is happy and healthy, and anyone that thinks otherwise can kiss his ass, for all he cares

“You got the list?” Grimm looks down at Zen, the boy fishing out the neatly-folded post-it note you lovingly tucked into his jacket pocket

Grimmjow perks a brow as he reads off the ingredients you've listed. “Say, kid—” he looks down at his son. “Whaddya say we ditch the list and get some pizza instead?”

Zen claps happily at the idea and Grimm grins menacingly, crushing up the grocery list and tossing it on the floor as he hoists his boy over his shoulder, stuffing the last bite of the honey bun in his baby's mouth whilst flipping off a scandalized woman at the checkouts

Growing up with two younger sisters was good for something after all, Ichigo thinks as he wrangles his twin girls through the parking lot with relative ease

The three year olds are stubborn and independent, having insisted they walk instead of having daddy carry them! But they still want to hold his hands, of course

why no he is not melting like a lava cake, why do you ask?

The girls gasp at the sight of a shopping cart with a racecar on the end that's the perfect size for two little ones!

“We don't even need a cart.” Ichigo deadpans, though it's in one ear and out the other as the babies pile into the little racecar, turning the steering wheels and beeping the (thankfully noiseless) horns

He feels like an idiot but as the dutiful father he is, Ichigo complies with his girls’ wishes and pushes the cart into the store

Chubby fingers point as little voices call out for candies and trinkets, and Ichigo's quick with each of his responses

“No.”

“I said no.”

“No ma'am!”

He's definitely cleaning their ears out when they get home, because clearly they can't hear him! Why else would they ask for things a million times over, hm?

“Daddy always say no.” Indigo pouts, her sister nodding in agreement. All they want is some candy!! Why is Daddy so mean?

Ichigo sighs in frustration as the aisle he needs to go down is absolutely packed, and he's stuck with this behemoth of a shopping cart. Settling it at the end of the aisle, he kneels down to make eye contact with the girls

“Stay put; I’ll be right back.”

Ichigo quickly rushes down the aisle, weaving between people to get to the pasta section

Now… If only he could remember what shape of pasta you told him to buy

Indigo and Imani look at each other, covering their mouths to hide their mischievous giggles

Those Push Pops they were eyeing are still nearby, and Daddy isn't!

As the tag team they are, Indigo and Imani spring into action, Indigo rushing to get the candy while Imani (who turns up the cuteness to a ten!) rushes down the aisle to her father

Ichigo frowns and picks up Imani, scolding her for leaving the cart

It isn't exactly effective, however, as the baby eyes and the cooing let her off the hook easily

When they get back to the cart after Ichigo remembers which pasta you've requested, he sets Imani back into the racecar

Indigo slips a blue Push Pop into her twin's hand, the two of them sharing a conspiratorial smile

They almost get away with it too, though when Ichigo's strapping them into their car seats he notices the lollipops

“Stop stealing!!!!”

These girls will surely be the reason he takes medication for his blood pressure, and he dreads the day when they become teenagers!

[dominantslasherking]

The Butcher aka Cooper With Dominant Male S/o

Authors note: This Dilf is so fine...from the new movie "Trap".

Backstory: Seems like the serial killer the butcher is a big fan of you, a famous horror and thriller writer, who just so happens to be at the concert he was attending...He can't take his eyes off of you.

My Stories are meant for the much more mature audience, 18+

The thumping beat of the concert reverberated through the venue as Cooper Adams walked alongside his daughter, Riley, navigating through the crowds and masses of overly loud fans. The flashing lights and excited murmurs of the fans around them only made his steps quicken as he held his daughters hand giving Riley a small smile as he rushed through. He wasn’t particularly interested in the music, but this concert meant the world to Riley.

Still, something more exhilarating had caught his attention tonight—something far more important than the performer they had come to see, Riley had some fun, it was his turn, finally something that was worth while.

As they neared the merchandise stands, Cooper’s heart skipped a beat when he spotted the familiar logo of his favorite author—your logo.

A large banner of your name, [Your Name], hung proudly over a stand dedicated entirely to limited-edition merch from your latest horror novels. A wave of excitement surged through him. You were his obsession, his secret desire. Not only were you a celebrated horror and thriller writer, but you embodied everything that twisted his mind into dangerous knots.

Every dark corner of his soul came alive when he thought of you, admired you, studied you, his smile suddenly widened, Riley just akwardly looked at her father, giving a tilt to her head as she observed her father, not thinking much of it.

Cooper's stomach tightened with frustration when he noticed that the signing event had already ended. A young woman at the front of the stand, practically bouncing on her feet, was showing off her signed copy of your latest release to anyone who would listen. "I can’t believe I got his autograph! He’s even more handsome in person," she squealed, the fan was dripped in head to toe of yor merch, as she just gushed, showed off, what she had got.

Cooper’s fingers twitched, clenching into fists in his jacket pockets. His jaw set tight as jealousy simmered under his skin. That woman had your attention—even for a fleeting moment. He hated the idea of anyone having a piece of you that wasn’t his.

With a nonchalant glance toward his daughter; who was now scrolling mindlessly on her phone, Cooper let his foot slide out just enough for the gushing fan to trip.

The fan-girl stumbled, her body crashing into the merch stand. She hit the edge with a sickening thud, her head knocking against the hard surface, and a thin stream of blood began to trickle down her forehead.

People gasped and rushed to her aid some yelling out for help while others urgent to fingure out what happened. but Cooper’s expression remained impassive. He leaned down toward Riley, his voice soft and controlled. "We should go," he said calmly his hand suddenly snatching a keychain of one of the killers in one of your most famous novels. "The singer’s about to start."

Riley nodded, oblivious to the chaos Cooper her father had just caused. They left the scene behind, and Cooper took a steadying breath. Hurting the girl had been easy—too easy—but the satisfaction of it didn’t last long.

His thoughts were already spiraling back to you. He couldn’t stop wondering where you might be right now. Were you still here at the concert? Were you watching the performance like any other fan? Would you even notice him? The chances of that were unlikely, you probably left already. "You okay dad?" Riley piped up finally looking up from her phone, "Yeah kiddo, just your dad being a fan..." Cooper said giving his daughter a fake smile,she just nodded. "Yeah, I'm so excited to hear 'The Crow' singing, obviously he's not as good as Lady Raven but, he's my second fav." Riley had gushed with a big smile on her face. --- --- Meanwhile, seated in the far rows of the concert hall, you leaned back in your chair, trying to stay out of sight. A few fans had already recognized you and asked for autographs, but now your focus was on the performance. The lights on stage dimmed, and the crowd roared in excitement as The Crow was about to appear. You had come here as a brief escape from your writing, but a part of you enjoyed watching the excitement build, the way the energy of a crowd swelled in anticipation.

As the first chords of the music played, you felt the eyes of onlookers on you. Some discreet, others more obvious, but nothing that grabbed your attention for long—

Cooper Adams, accompanied by his daughter, found his seat a few rows away from you. But something in the way he carried himself caught your attention. You had no idea that this unassuming suburban dad, who appeared so attentive to his daughter, was secretly one of your biggest fans and a very famous murderer. Or that beneath that calm, composed exterior, Cooper’s mind was swirling with fantasies—dangerous, obsessive fantasies.

As his gaze swept the crowd, his eyes landed on you, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The flashing lights, the noise of the concert, even his daughter—it all faded as Cooper’s breath caught in his throat. You were still here. He hadn’t missed his chance after all.

His chest tightened, his heart pounding as thoughts of submission briefly flickered in his mind. Cooper clenched his jaw, pushing those thoughts away. No, he thought, mentally berating himself. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t some needy fool, desperate for your attention—except he was ready to kneel down open his mouth and!!---. His hands trembled as he tried to keep his composure, but every part of him ached to be noticed by you. He wanted you to see him, to acknowledge him, maybe even more than that.

'Control yourself', Cooper, he chastised in his mind. 'You’re not the kind of man to submit. You're the one in charge, the one who dominates.' Yet no matter how much he tried to convince himself, the thoughts of giving in to you—of letting you have power over him—kept creeping in, no matter how much he hated it. He stood next to his daughter, Riley, who was singing, jumping, dancing along to the music, lost in the excitement of the moment.

But Cooper’s mind wasn’t on the singer or the performance. It was on you—the man sitting just a few rows away, your sharp, smoky eyes fixed on the stage, oblivious to the man obsessing over you, a few feet from you. Cooper couldn’t help but stare. His heart hammered in his chest, and a thrill coursed through his veins as he took you in. The famous horror and thriller writer, [Your Name], in the flesh—right there. Every twisted story you’d ever written had fueled his darkest desires fuck he even jerked off to a few, and now you were close enough that he could almost reach out and touch you. He drank in every detail of you: the way you sat, the confident set of your jaw, the subtle intensity in your expression as you watched the concert.

And then, it happened. Your eyes shifted, tilting just slightly in his direction, as though you could feel his gaze drilling into you. Cooper’s breath hitched in his throat when your sharp eyes locked with his. For a brief moment, the world seemed to freeze around him. You were staring right back at him.

His pulse quickened, a hot surge of excitement coursing through him as a tightening sensation began to build in his pants. There was something primal, predatory, about the way your gaze lingered on him, as if you were sizing him up. It sent a shiver down his spine, a thrill he hadn’t felt in ages (Course he would feel some type of feeling with his kills but none like this). He could barely contain the flood of emotions rushing through him—admiration, obsession, lust.

He shifted his attention briefly to Riley, who was still lost in the performance, her attention fully on the stage. Cooper cleared his throat, forcing his voice to remain casual. “I’ll be back in a minute, sweetheart,” he said, a little too quickly.

Riley waved him off without a second glance, too absorbed in the music to care as she went back to dancing and jumpin.

This was the opening Cooper had been waiting for. He smoothed his jacket, trying to appear composed, but the surge of adrenaline racing through him told a different story. 'This is it,' he thought, 'I’m going to meet him.' Stretching lips into a smile. As Cooper made his way through the crowd, each step felt heavier, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts. A part of him felt ridiculous—'What am I doing?'—but the other part, the darker side, was elated. This was his chance. His fantasies about you had been building for years, and now, finally, he was going to be face to face with the man who consumed his every waking thought.

When he finally stood before you, his breath hitched again. Up close, you were even more striking—confident, aloof, as if you were completely aware of the effect you had on others but didn’t care.

You looked at him, amusement flickering across your face, your sharp gaze studying him like you were dissecting a character in one of your novels.

“Big fan, huh?” Your voice was smooth, low, teasing. It sent a jolt through Cooper, making him feel exposed, vulnerable, and that made him hate the feeling. But at the same time, he wanted more of it. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to suppress the sudden urge to submit—to give in to the pull you had over him.

“I—yeah,” Cooper stammered, feeling heat creep up his neck as he spoke. He cleared his throat, trying to recover. “I’ve been following your work for years.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Oh? For years?” You leaned back in your seat, eyeing him up and down, your gaze lingering on his well-built frame. Cooper could feel your eyes raking over him, and for a moment, he felt like he was one of your characters—trapped under the scrutiny of a killer, waiting for his fate. He shifted on his feet, the thrill mixing with a tinge of nervousness.

“You don’t strike me as a horror fan,” you continued, your tone teasing, like you were already playing a game Cooper didn’t fully understand yet. “Most dads like you are into, I don’t know, football or action movies.” Your gaze lingered a little too long on his broad chest and strong arms, making it clear you noticed his physique. “But you… you’re different, aren’t you?” The husky voice of your whispered into his ear, as it was really hard to hear over all the fans screaming.

Cooper swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. The way you spoke, the way you looked at him—it was making it difficult for him to think straight. His mind flashed with images of giving in, of submitting to you, of being at your mercy, but he quickly shoved those thoughts away. 'No,' he told himself. 'You’re in control, Cooper.'

But that didn’t stop his pulse from quickening, or the heat spreading through his body as he stood before you, trying to come up with something, anything, to say that wouldn’t make him sound like a complete fool.

“I’ve always appreciated the darker side of things,” Cooper finally managed, his voice steadier now. “Your work—it resonates with me.” He said his body slightly leaning to also whisper into your ear. His eyes flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, the primal intensity in your gaze still making his heart race.

You chuckled softly, leaning in slightly. “Is that so? Well, let’s hope you don’t resonate too much with the killers in my stories.” The teasing edge in your voice was unmistakable, but there was something more behind it—something intrigued. You could tell this wasn’t just another fan. There was something off about Cooper, something familiar, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it yet.

Cooper felt a surge of both excitement and unease. He was standing in front of the man who had unknowingly shaped his darkest fantasies, and now he was being teased by him. It was everything Cooper had ever wanted, and yet it was terrifying. His thoughts began to spiral again—submissive urges flickering at the edges of his mind—but he quickly shoved them aside. He wasn’t weak. He wasn’t here to submit.

But the way you looked at him… God, it made him question everything. fuck, he's getting hard again.

[cherrychilli]

18+

AFAB reader, soft dom Steve, cockwarming, clit play, multiple orgasms

A/N: He's a menace.

Banner by cafekitsune

"Steve, this isn't fair", you whine, a pitiful sound that only widens the smirk pulling at his lips.

"Why's that honey?", he asks all too pleased and irritatingly knowing, tone dripping thick with condescension.

"Y-you said I could have your cock"

"and?"

"That you'd make me cum", you add, tone shying into a whisper.

"But I didn't say that I'd fuck you, did I?", he tutted as if it were the most obvious thing ever, pinching your waist to pry another whine out of you.

Steve Harrington was a fucking menace when he wanted to be and today, he proved it beyond any doubt.

It was near impossible to predict when he'd fall into a mood like this - equal parts sticky sweet chafing against cruel. You thought yourself safe when you'd cuddled up next to him on the couch after work, too wrapped up in his scent and warmth to realize the spider's web you'd just nestled yourself into.

You were very nearly lulled to sleep like that, cheek resting on his chest, the pleasant rise and fall accompanied by the sound of his heartbeat making your eyelids feel heavy.

But his hands kept you awake when they began to meander with some subtle grazing at first, seeking out the soft skin that peeked from underneath your skirt before those touches began to linger.

A quick squeeze here, a gentle nudge there and your thighs came apart just for him, making room for his fingers to rub at your clothed clit. It's a slow, leisurely drag with which he runs his fingertips over the bump, the kind of deliberate teasing that made you tilt your hips forward and chase his fingers for more.

And he was just as good at edging you with his words too - promising you release after release as your cotton underwear turned damp under his touch, his lips pressed against your heated skin with whispers of how badly he wanted to unravel you.

Most times he got you there just as promised. Falling into a rhythm that made your spine tingle and curve with his cock plunging into the wet heat between your legs until he overwhelmed you with a string of orgasms.

But at times like this you feel you ought to have known better.

You should have surveyed that glint in his eye when he pulled your sticky panties aside because it flashed different than the rest. And you should have tried to read between the lines when he said he needed to feel you around his cock, his tone no longer matching the sugary promises he kissed into your neck.

Maybe then you might have realized what you were in for.

But it's too late now. Your clothes lay discarded in a heap on the floor while Steve's left half dressed, pants undone, shirt unbuttoned and his chest hair tickling you from how it grazes against your bare back, now sheened with a light sweat.

There's no way to unstick yourself from the web.

There's barely enough room inside your head to think as it is. He's got you so full - trapped in his lap with his cock worked inside of you up to the base.

"Stevie, you promised you'd be nice", you try to counter but it comes out too weak and tremulous for your liking, made so by the way he's stretched you to your limit.

The way he's basking in your predicament is obvious, grin wide and breath fanning over your shoulder with a dark chuckle. His left hand slips away from where he'd been swiping his thumb lazily over your nipple, making a path down over your ribs and belly to tap his fingers gently on your mound when he reaches it.

"I did. And I'm going to treat you so good, darling", he coos, all smug and sacharine.

You don't doubt it when he places the pads of his fingers on your clit again, rubbing the needy bundle so tenderly that you're almost willing to forgive him.

"Oh...", your lips part with a contented sigh when sparks begin to crackle beneath your skin.

It's always different when there isn't a layer of cloth or lace in the way - so much warmer and more sensitive to his touch this way. Your walls pulse from the stimulation, wrapping tighter around the throbbing length he's inched inside of you carefully.

"Fuck, she must have missed me. Your pussy's hugging me so fucking tight", he chuckles again, this time noticeably less smooth than the first when he lets a soft groan slip through at the end of it. "Gonna play with this pretty little clit and feel you clench around me"

The need to lift your hips and drive his cock against every spot inside you that cries out for his attention is nearing unbearable but you're barred from doing so by the hand he's clamped over on your hip. Thankfully the other helps make up for withholding that much needed motion from you as he toys with your sensitive bud, making you stir and squirm in his lap.

"You're getting close already aren't you? I can feel how much you're enjoying this", he laughs, fingers circling your clit faster.

"Look at that sweetheart, she's crying for it"

Having him draw attention to it out only made you burn that much more fiercely. You've soaked him in the messiest way, creamy slick dripping down to his balls just from having you stuffed and played with. - not even fucked, as he so snidely pointed out earlier.

"Shit - I'm gonna cum - please Steve, can I?", breath hitching as you sought his permission.

You knew he liked it when you begged like this, the thought of him pulling his fingers away to teach you a lesson making your eyes burn with the beginnings of tears.

"That's my good girl. Go on, show me how good I'm making this sweet pussy feel"

Muscle memory kicks in quicker than conscious thought when you wrap a hand around the wrist he's wedged between your quivering thighs, hips quaking when the tension pooling in your abdomen winds tight and snaps.

His name lifts off your tongue like a prayer, cried out over and over as your cunt squeezes his cock tight in a flurry of rippling spasms. Your thighs grow tacky with your pouring emissions, the man inside you groaning heavy and deeply from the way your hot, silky walls pull and pulse around him.

The afterglow is a hazy, dreamy fog of bliss - like waking up to sunlight spilling on cold, bare feet slipping out from under rumpled sheets on a Sunday morning. He's kind enough to give you some time to recuperate, lips busy, telling you how good you did for him but as the fog clears, tendrils of disappointment creep in silently when you realize he hasn't cum yet.

Tipping your chin down to eye the sticky wetness evident between your legs, you recognize the mess as all your own, that satisfying crescendo of having him fill you up and empty himself inside you still out of your reach.

"Are you going to fuck me now?", you ask once you've gathered your breath, hope welling inside your throat.

"Not tonight, angel", he answers almost sympathetically but you know there's no real sadness there when his fingers glide over your swollen clit once more.

"Gonna make you milk me like this - gotta see how long you can take it"

[cerastes]

Was Wisadel's backlash at all comparable to the Chalter incident and do you think it would be enough to make them ignore her for a bit, or do you expect them to give her a skin on the more normal schedule for limiteds? I know there are a lot of complaints that even went beyond gameplay stuff (like being a limited alter of a limited) but I generally shut out the community when it gets super annoying so have no clue how big the stink actually got.

As far as I know, there was no backlash for Wisadel, but I’ve also not had my finger on the Arknights pulse as of late, so maybe I missed it, but, again, as far as I know, there wasn’t anything like with Chung the Hung, which makes sense, all things considered, because Chung didn’t get her backlash due to being overpowered, it was a molotov cocktail of factors which included being overpowered. Wisadel had some complaints, such as what you mentioned — limited alternate of a limited — but nothing much beyond what limiteds get.

Wisadel as a while evades the Chung trappings:

Regardless of your opinion on her actual design, Wisadel’s artwork is of good quality. It’s proportionate, well drawn, stylish, the whole deal. Ch’en the Holungday famously had really awful E2 art.

Wisadel is overpowered, but she’s a character that’s been ingrained in the narrative since day one and this “upgrade” is tied to her actual growth and role in the main story. Ch’en was overpowered, but while you can make an argument her growth is part of it (since it’s offhandedly mentioned in her Files, I guess), it’s tied to an overall filler summer event, has her in a literal swimsuit, firing a jury rigged Super Soaker for more damage than several of her contemporaries could manage combined per shot, all while having three Skills that were all basically the same and S3 being the best one by far, which also used the Ammo mechanic so you could have insane practical upkeep on it. Comparatively, Wisadel actually has three distinct Skills, which leads to the next point:

Wisadel is actually entertaining and satisfying to look at: The bombardment S2, the huge death beam explosion of S3, the graphics, the sound effects, the sprite animations, Wisadel has actual flair. Ch’en the Holungday is painfully boring to play and look at, all Skills have the same animations, the same dull sound effect, no variation or flair. Her skin definitely helped on the flair department, like 3 years later.

Though you could (correctly) argue that Wisadel might also be doing this for limited alts of limiteds, Ch’en was setting a very awful precedent: Overpowered Summer Units, maybe even Overpowered Seasonal Units, a hallmark of trashy gacha design. Hypergryph had tested the waters with other scummy strategies before — the period of time in which Thorns and Surtr, AKA stupid strong characters, among others, were rapid fire releases with no accompanying lore or event to give them a place in the world the way others have, which haunts them to this day as ‘lorelets’ — so Ch’en In A Bikini Godtier didn’t sit well either.

Wisadel wasn’t the only good unit out of her banner; regardless of your personal take on Mizuki as a unit, he was widely agreed to be, and thus, perceived as a nothingburger of a 6*, and La Pluma, who is definitely a good unit but was a new archetype at that time, so people were cautious with her, so there was a clear winning roll and losing roll. Wisadel was joined by 6* Logos, who could easily be the limited 6* in any other banner, and 5* Fang, a highly anticipated character. Overall, the perception of these banners could not have been more different.

The overtuning of Ch’en is but one in a cocktail of complaints people had for her, basically. Any complaints there were over Wisadel were a fraction of what Ch’en got.

[potatomountain]

Prey

🩸Pairing: Vampire!JongSang x fem human reader 🩸Summary: After the death of dracula, humans still weren't safe but even you tried to fight where you could. Unfortunately that piqued the interest of a vampire who attacked your village, and decided to make a different kind of prey out of you 🩸WC: 4.9k 🩸AU: Castlevania au, vampires, medieval 🩸Genre: horror, pwp 🩸Warning(s): 18+ rating, dark themes, death of minor characters, mxm, mxfxm, blood play, biting, marking, predator/prey dynamics. mean dom!Jongho, dom!Yeosang, slight degradation, rough handling 🩸Nets: @pirateeznet | @mirohs-aurora-society 🩸AN: A Castlevania collab with @flurrys-creativity , @daddyfordaeddy : me devorer, tremee dans le sang, @mingsolo : Attempt Etude and @sanjoongie : 𝔐𝔢𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢 𝔞 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔦𝔰 || this honestly didn't turn out as dark as i expected but thats okay i still loved it. Might do a second part? 🩸dividers and Banner by me! Ageless blogs that interact with this piece, even a like, will be blocked INSTANTLY, no exceptions.

Main Masterlist

Red eyes, bloody lips and protruding fangs. That's what you noticed the most about the man- no creature- in front of you. He was certainly dressed like a man, like a noble, but the fact he had just ripped up your dearest neighbor, a man twice your size, in half with his bare hands proved he was not human.

The way he crushed Mr. Johnson’s head like a grape was just unnecessary in your opinion, but it was intimidating. Did you run like he no doubt intended? Like the many others of your small village? The woman screaming, children crying, and the men having rushed in to try and protect what they could- all before running in hopes to spare their lives.

It never worked with the night creatures, the crops around the humble buildings were long burned to a crisp to try and protect themselves, the men weak from the limited rations to try and survive this winter. They all still had better self preservation instincts than you did, staring down this being as if you weren't afraid in the slightest.

He laughed darkly, the sound somehow the loudest in your ears drums over the screams and death of all you had known. Mrs. Johnson had been his meal before her husband had poorly attempted to rescue her. 

So what were you doing? Lifting your sword to chin level as if you were going to attack this creature and play hero to your dying village? 

He seemed to find your heroism amusing, circling you like he was trapping you in, or appraising you, but you were nothing more than prey.

“Where did you learn to fight?” He called out, momentarily distracting you. He was in front of you in an instant, grabbing your wrist and twisting it enough the sword fell from your hands.

You bit back the cry of pain, not wanting to show too much weakness. Why he didn't just break your wrist was beyond you, considering he had the strength. “My father. He was the village guard.” A position you had tried to fill, but there was little to protect alone. So you just became one of the many who fought off the bandits and night creatures.

“Did he teach you to be so dumb?” He asked curiously, licking the blood from his lips and eyeing your neck.

“No- he taught me to be realistic.” And fearless apparently, your knee connecting with his groin before you dipped out of range, grabbing your sword and swinging without hesitation. You didn't think you could win, not against a vampire, but you were determined to go down fighting and not like cattle to the slaughter.

He grabbed your sword with his bare hands, blood spurting from the wound as he ripped it out of your grip and sent you flying face first into the dirt.

“You think you can win against me?” He snarled out, foot connecting to your side to send you flying several meters, rolling around in the dirt in the process. It was an effort not to eat any of it, or groan in pain. Still, nothing felt broken, just bruised.

He was toying with you.

“No.” You pushed yourself onto your knees, coughing as you tried to catch your breath. “But this way someone gets away.” You stood up, ready to charge at him, at your death, when he was behind you suddenly. Before you could react, the world went dark.

~~ 

Coming back to consciousness was the last thing you expected. You should be dead. Why didn't he kill you? 

Apprehensive you didn't open your eyes or move a muscle, instead listening to your surroundings and taking in what you could feel. Oddly enough, it felt like a bed. A nice bed. With silken covers and soft pillows under your head.

There was a crackling fire to your right, close enough you could feel the heat on your bare calf- you were naked.

The realization had your heart rate picking up, just to hear something stir to the left of you. The bed shifted, something was climbing onto it, holding itself up on either side of you if the dips of the bed were any tell. Was it human? No, maybe shaped like one, but you doubted the vampire had just left you there to rot.

“I can tell you are awake.” A deep voice rumbled above you, close enough you could feel their words hit your cheek. “Stop faking.”

Hesitantly you opened one eye, then both in shock at the ethereal man before you. Black hair as silky smooth as raven feathers, pale skin, and features that were the epitome of beauty. The visage was marred by a beauty mark by his left eye, but it made him seem less like an apparition from your deepest dreams and more tangible and human.

But he wasn't human, the flecks of yellows and greens in his dark eyes telling of the being that he was- as well as the fangs he showed off with his parted lips.

“Are you not afraid? Why are you looking at me like that?” The man pulled away, sitting on the edge of the bed dressed in a white silk shirt that was left open and simple black breeches, something about the way he sat was almost feminine. “Well? Answer me human!”

“Thought I was dead and you were an angel. Angel of death seems accurate.” You mumbled, glancing around the room to try and get your bearings about you. It was lavish, warm, but the decor was almost dark. You spotted the fireplace, above it a portrait of the man next to you- but also who you assumed was the vampire that attacked your village. He was staring at the other with a hint of a smile on his face, while the beautiful one looked carved out of marble but happy. The clothing they wore was much older than you were familiar with though.

“Angel of death? Ha! Jongho was right, you do have a few screws loose for a human.” The man stood up, garnering your attention once more. “Get dressed, I have already bathed you. You shall be fed before Jongho's ‘game' begins. Whatever that is.” He motioned to a sheer chemise on the end of the bed, heading for the door to give you privacy despite his words.

You were clean, cleaner than you could get with your well water and home made soaps back at home. Even your hair felt silky and strong, lacking the oils you were used to. Your body was nearly hairless, even between your legs lacking its natural fur. He had done all this, while you were unconscious, but was giving you privacy to put on clothes? 

“Odd…”

One vampire had attacked and killed most of your village- if not all- and another had cleaned you while you were unconscious to such a state you hardly recognized yourself. You did weigh your options as you dressed, marveling at the material and how it felt on your bare skin. These were luxuries you could never afford no matter how much you worked and saved as a peasant guard. 

You wished you could just enjoy it, but you were well aware he had mentioned a ‘game’. So you would be toyed with more, and then probably killed once it was over. Mentally you noted to ask why you should even play along for the game, especially if it required your active participation like you suspected.

Once dressed a mask servant brought you a tray of dinner. You ate it by the fireplace, letting the warmth soak into your bones as a form of comfort. The food was better than anything you could have made, or that could have been made in the village no doubt, and you wanted to savor every bite. Easier said than done since you had practically been starving yourself so the rations would last longer. Therefore the food was gone before you knew it.

Meaning the game was going to begin.

It hadn’t been explained to you, aside from a note on your tray. Once you were finished with your food, you were supposed to set your tray out; then when you heard a knock on the door you were to leave the room and would remain so until the sun rose. You had no idea what time it was, nor where you would go once you left the room… you just knew you were prey. Really, it was unfortunate you were left in the dark, hoping for some answer to what you were surviving for. With no time to try and figure it out before the knock was heard, you looked around the room for something to be useful, but only the fire would be. With a bit of hesitance you stepped out into a dark stone hallway that seemed to stretch neverending in either direction. There was a bit of light on the wall in glass lanterns connected by what appeared to be string, but you didn’t think that was the case. It fascinated you for a moment, like it was magic, but a chill passing down the hall reminded you of just where you were.

Bare feet on the cold stone, you chose a direction and followed the string connecting the lanterns. The hall did end, splitting off in two more directions: one appeared to head upstairs while the other headed outside where it looked like a thunderstorm was raging out there. A loud crack through the air as the hall lit up from lightning to reveal a figure just inside the doors.

Your breath caught in your throat, a split second of fear rushing up your spine just before the adrenaline kicked in. You ran for the stairs like your life depended on it- because it did. You didn’t even know if the figure you saw was a danger, though your gut said it was. The stairs weren’t the best idea in hindsight, you just thought of putting as much distance between you and the figure as you could.

The endless maze of stone and lanterns was no help though. Your heavy breaths and the pounding of your feet on the stone are the only sounds you could hear. No other life. 

The storm flashed through the windows on your right, doors on your left as you turned another corner. Your heart was in your throat, sparing a glance to find that you were being followed: it was the other vampire, Jongho. He was casually following your steps, heels clicking on the stone as he hummed a lullaby tune you recognized over the rain. A hunter’s lullaby.

The game was cat and mouse, and he was still toying with you.

Frustrated, you ran down the hall with the stained glass, the sound of the rain pelting against it almost as loud as you were. You were no hunter, you couldn’t silence your racing heart or heavy pants- you could only run.

Maybe you could dip into a room, hide, and backtrack. You just knew you couldn’t keep running all night, especially if you couldn’t even tell when the sun would rise with the storm still ongoing with no signs of it stopping.

Yet could you outsmart a vampire in his own home? At his own game? Was it just him or was his lover involved? The image of the vampire who had bathed you flashed through your mind, recalling a sadness to his features that had you second guessing that thought. He almost seemed as if he was tired down to his bones, like there was no fight in him. Except when he laughed.

Now was not the time to be intrigued by the beings that held you captive while one of them was chasing you like cattle. The need to clear your head and attempt a game blame had you slipping into one of the rooms around a corner, softly shutting the door as well as you could without making any noise. Surprisingly there was no click of the handle or creak of the hinges, and there was a fire going in the room that would hopefully swollen up the sounds anyways. Taking a deep breath you backed away from the door, looking for any signs he was on the other side. You couldn’t hear the lullaby through the thick oak and the pounding of your own heart in your ear drums, but that just made you more alert. Not enough it seemed, as a throat clearing from behind you had you jumping, a hand over your mouth to muffle the scream that wanted to come out. A glance behind you and you had to fight off the urge to run right out the door once more.

The other vampire was sitting on the other side of the room in a tall deep velvet chair, a book in his hand as he sat in front of a fire. The room seemed to be a library of sorts, a small and private one, with two chairs in front of the fire and a chaise lounge among the stacks further to your right. He seemed confused by your presence, setting the book aside and standing up slowly. “What are you- did you just shush me?” Why yes, yes you did. Your eyes flickered back at the door, hand over your mouth now as you could what the lullaby. Quickly you looked around the room, hoping for a hiding place, but you knew it was futile. So a weapon? There were a pair of swords above the fireplace but you would have to climb up there and also get past the other vampire.

You didn’t have time to decide, only to act, as the door creaked open and there was the vampire from the village: Jongho you presumed. He tilted his head, eyes red as he stared you down before glancing at the other. You noticed the way he visibly softened when he saw him, and you took that as your chance, throwing the nearest book at his head. Just as he caught it you were rushing forward to dip out of the way and circle back the way you came. Outside you had a better chance to get away than in here with limited space anyways. Who knew just how big this place was and you had already covered quite a bit of distance already. Your quick thinking was quicker than your feet however, as you didn’t make it past him before his hand wwas around your throat and he tossed you back onto the floor, arms flailing out and knocking over one of the nearby stacks of books on top of you. You grunted in pain, head dizzy but nothing was broken. “Jongho, not in here please.” The angelic vampire sighed, his words halting the one advancing on you. “I don’t want to risk the books you know. Blood stains the pages too easily.” “I apologize Darling, I had hoped she wouldn’t run in here.” Something about the way he smiled told you that was entirely his intention. Something else was going on that you just weren’t privy to knowing about apparently. “Would you like to join me?” Fear sparked in your heart, knowing damned well there was no way you could outrun two vampires in these halls especially if they got serious. In another effort to escape, you rolled out from under the books, throwing a few more but in other directions to cause some havoc: knock over a few more books, one hit Jongho, and the other went flying towards the fire yet the other vampire caught it. You didn’t stick around to see how he reacted, this time escaping through the open door and backtracking the way you had come. A second rush of adrenaline was pumping through your veins, your chest pounding with each step you took. You had to think, find a weapon, something.

One glance behind you and you were ready to give in. It caused you to stumble and roll, bashing your knee on the stone beneath you in the process. It wasn’t the only place you were now bleeding you realized, feeling a bit of the liquid warmth on your neck. 

The way Jongho was licking his fingers had you shivering, well aware it was your blood that had him now grinning like an excited maniac. The fact his lover was now walking with him, hand in hand, a tension in his jaw that was concerning, just frightened you even more.

You weren’t above being afraid, well aware what this situation meant for you. They taunted you by just staying in view, with enough distance that you could feel like you were shaking them off, but you knew that wasn’t the case.

Running for minutes, back down the stairs, the doors you had seen before to the outdoors were just in sight. In sight and suddenly blocked off by the nameless vampire. “You’ll get sick out there.” He growled out, attempting to sound concerned. Like you could believe him.

Quickly you turned to run elsewhere, just to run face first into a chest. Jongho’s hands stabilized you by your biceps when you stumbled back, once more with a strength that didn’t hurt you. “Ah, your heart is racing little mouse, can’t have you exhausting yourself before we get to the fun part. I tell you what, we’ll end the game early- tsk tsk, you’re going to hurt yourself if you keep hitting me.” He didn’t even flinch as you kicked and punched at him, trying to squirm free out of his grasp. “What do you want?” You hissed out, just to be turned roughly in his arms and pulled back against his chest. He forced you to look at the other vampire who was watching you like a predator. The tension in his jaw, the furrowed brow, chest heaving with controlled breaths- but it was the fangs he barred that reminded you of just what he was. “I want my Darling to feel alive again. Your little struggle in the library worked wonders. Chasing you, despite the fact you knew you weren’t winning… so entertaining.” He licked up your neck, then released you. “Yeosang, Darling, let’s give her a head start to the bedroom. If you catch her first, you can do anything you want with her- tell the little mouse what that is.” You stood frozen, eyes locked on the now named vampire as he licked his lips. “Want to taste her…” “Her blood?” Jongho prompted, holding your forearm to keep you from running. “That too.” Yeosang adjusted his breeches, indicating he was excited in another way. Jongho laughed, grabbing your attention as he yoinked you closer. “Back up the stairs, past the library, two double doors. If you make it there before Yeosang grabs you… well then maybe you’ll have a say in how we fuck you.” Well… that was a twist you weren’t expecting. He waited until you nodded to let you go, laughing as you booked it in the direction you had come. Despite how vast the halls were, you remembered your path pretty well. Part of you wondered why you were running at all, excited at the idea of what the two vampires could do to you. Maybe dying right after wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

Your village was gone, and if it wasn’t well- it might as well be. Your parents were long gone, no other family that you could think of, no other experience you had to really survive out in the current state of the world. You were a mere human, a peasant with no skills to protect yourself from the dangers Dracula had unleashed onto the world. It was sheer spite that kept you going up those stairs. Your knee ached, your lungs were struggling to take in oxygen, but you pushed on. Still it was no surprise when you did collide with a stone wall, pushed up against it hard enough the wind was knocked out of you. It was by your own quick thinking that you had braced yourself enough your face didn’t smack into the stone.

Yeosang was pressed up against you, panting like he was the one who just ran like his life depended on it. His hands gripped your hips, running his nose against your neck where Jongho had nicked you with his claws earlier. “I didn’t think you would be much more than food when he brought you to us.” He admitted in your ear, pulling your hips back until they were pressed against the hard on in his breeches. “Hearing your heart racing, smelling your fear, all while you feebly attempted to run from him- but it was what he told me that ignited the fire I have missed.” He grinded himself against you, the chemise you wore getting pushed up around your waist. You weren’t a virgin, but you knew no peasant man would touch you like this normally. As if his need for you was eating him alive. It was turning you on. In fact… the chase itself had been exhilarating to an extent. If you had known this was their intent from the beginning you were sure the chemise would have been stained with your arousal. “He told me he got so turned on fighting you that I’d surely enjoy it. Seeing my lover enjoy a chase, I was so curious. Then the more you ran from us, the more excited I got. I even thought you enjoyed it.” He murmured so deeply against your ear, his voice practically a drug that had you wetter by the second. The drag of his fingers against your pussy had you biting back a whimper but he groaned so sinfully the sound escaped you anyways. “I was right. Crazy little human, do you still think I’m an Angel now?” “Ye-AH!” Your reply twisted into a moan as he pushed his fingers in, spreading your walls a bit roughly. “Angel of death.”

You could feel him smirk against your neck, licking up the drying blood there while he pumped his fingers inside. Nothing about his behavior was angelic, and last you saw of his expression it was twisted with predatory intent.

“Crazy crazy human. I could kill you right now, like I've killed hundreds before, and yet you're fucking yourself on my fingers in the empty halls of my castle.” You hadn't realized it until he whispered it in your ear but you were pushing yourself back on his fingers, even spreading your legs to be inviting. “I've wanted to eat you up since I cleaned you up; but that was his intent you know. Dangle you in front of me as if I'm prepping his meal. Clean and trim you up to serve you on his platter. Unfortunate I'll be eating you instead right here-”

“Yeosang Darling.” Jongho called down the hall in a singsong voice just as you felt Yeosang’s fangs scrap your neck. “Don't you know it's not nice to play with your food.” There was a teasing lilt that even you could hear despite being so turned on you could hardly think. Everything Yeosang said just had you dripping around his fingers more, eager for the impending climax his expertise was pushing you towards.

So when he pulled them out, you glared at the other vampire, verbally protesting with a hiss. He laughed, closing the distance in a flash to lean against the wall with his shoulder. “In a rush to be devoured, little mouse?”

“When it feels this good… yes I am.” You deadpanned, gasping out at a sudden intrusion to your hole that had your head rolling back. Oh he was thick, his two fingers barely prepared you for his girth. “Fuck!”

Yeosang's deep groan against the shell of your ear had goosebumps rising down your back. “Been so long since I've fucked a good pussy. Forgotten how amazing it feels.”

“Oh am I not enough?” Jongho teased with a chuckle.

You didn't care for the banter, pulsating around the dick buried inside you and it was the only thing in your head. You just wanted it to move, wanted more, so you started squirming.

The groan falling from the lips of the vampire behind you almost had you smiling in triumph. Almost. If not for the widening smirk on Jongho’s features and his hand reaching out to grab your throat. “Easy little mouse, you don’t get to do anything but take what we give you. That’s your punishment for losing the race. Though I had expected Yeosang to take you to the bed- you’re usually more proper with these things my Darling.” Yeosang shifted you, twisting you sideways and pulling one of your legs straight up and holding it to his chest; you didn’t think you were so flexible, but the angle pushed him a bit deeper and showed off your conjoined privates to his lover. “I must have lost my edge then.” The next sounds were the slapping of skin as he started pounding into you at such a brutal pace it echoed through the hall. You were held perfectly still by the nails digging into your thigh and hip, while Jongho kept your head still with his hand on your throat, his gaze glued to the way his lover’s cock slammed into your tight cunt over and over again with reckless abandon. 

Neither grip, or the force of his thrusts, were enough to truly harm you. Bruises were going to be left behind, their claws breaking skin to draw blood, but no muscles torn or bones broken. This knowledge was at the forefront of your mind very briefly before it was dashed away by the pleasure they were giving you now that Jongho had a finger rubbing your clit, egging on his lover. “Can’t even make her cum with just your dick, you have gotten too rusty my love-” “Shut it.” Yeosang growled out, snarling his teeth at the other who just grew even more cocky. “You’re even too blissed out to give a proper response. So cute. I missed seeing you like this. Come on Darling, you know she’ll taste the best with an orgasm pulsing through those pretty veins of hers.” Jongho taunted more, twisting your neck to expose the small punctures from his nails, displaying it for Yeosang.

Their energy seemed to be contagious, the muffled moans and whimpers that had been falling from your lips turned to pleas. “Please bite me- want it. Wanna come too. Please please Yeosang- AH!” The feeling of his teeth sinking into your neck had your pussy clenching down on his cock, legs trembling as your climax assaulted your senses. Through hooded eyes you could make out an almost proud look on Jongho’s features: proud of you.

Cotton filled your head with a thousand buzzing flies, just the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain wrapping your mind and body and diluting all other thoughts and senses. You could barely register being filled with Yeosang’s own climax, his deep groan vibrating down your neck as he sucked greedily.

It was Jongho that pulled him away, now holding both your heads by the hair. His eyes flickered between the both of you before forcing you both to look at each other. Yeosang looked just as blissfully fucked out as you felt, and if it wasn’t for their grip on you your legs would have given out beneath you.

As Jongho captured Yeosang’s lips on his own, their grips did fail and you slumped against the wall, whining as you slipped down the stone, Yeosang’s cum slipping out of you now that he was no longer inside. You didn’t entirely mind, staring up at the two as Jongho pulled his lover against him. He was licking your blood off his lips, groaning in pleasure while he pulled the shirt off Yeosang. He was truly a sight to see, toned muscles, thin waist, his softening dick now growing once more.

The flashes of lightning behind them through the windows illuminated their features in an eerie but beautiful way, Jongho just as breathtaking as he climbed to his knees and cleaned your cum off the hardening member.

You would have never found such a tantalizing sight living as a human peasant, and even if you died tonight you swore you could consider this a good way to go. You were eager to get a taste as well, sitting up and reaching out before you knew it. Jongho slapped your hand away, pulling his lips off Yeosang’s cock to smirk at you coldly. “Seems like our little pet wants some more Darling. What do you say? One more chase to the bedroom?” Your heart lurched in excitement at the idea, nodding even before the vampire agreed. “Y-yes. Want you to catch her now, my Bear. You always look so gorgeous in a chase.” With a finger under his chin, he guided Jongho onto his feet, stealing a kiss. “Run little mouse, the night has just begun.” Despite your trembling legs, your throbbing pussy, and how lightheaded you were from the blood loss: you stood up and began to stumble down the hall. You remembered Jongho’s directions, and while your speed was greatly effected from your exhaustion, the bedroom was in sight before you heard them.

You dared to glance back, both walking hand in hand at a steady pace, sadistic grins on their features, and cocks standing tall.

Whether you died by the morning or not, it didn’t matter. Being prey had never felt so good.

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[heliads]

Hello!! So excited that your requests are open! Would you do a Peter Pevensie X reader where they get trapped after battle (maybe in a cave waiting for the other pevensies to reach them) and the reader is injured so Peter has to care for her and some fluff and comfort?? Thank you! 💗💗💗 If you don't choose to write it thats ok!

masterlist

There are two soldiers in a cave, waiting for rescue. One is a king; the other, one of his subjects. He is sitting upright, alternating between anxiously scanning the mouth of the cave for intruders and staring back down at the girl. She is less active, but that is due in part to the ever growing pool of blood underneath her ribs. 

They have been here for quite some time already, and although the king will not admit it, he fears that it will be quite some time again before they are rescued. He must have faith, though, for both of them. It is hard not to worry. Not when Peter Pevensie can picture so plainly how they got here, and why they were forced into the cave to begin with. 

They were not supposed to be attacked, but it happened anyway. Narnia is a kingdom, and kingdoms fall. Rival kings lust for power that isn’t theirs, and peaceful homelands must rally to protect themselves. Soldiers turn to bitter struggles, cowards turn to run. You had two choices when the banner of war was lifted:  stay and fight, or leave and live.

You chose to stay. Will that be what kills you, wanting to be there for your friends? No one can tell for certain, but your blood is darkening the stones beneath you with a deeper stain than you’d like, and the thought of rescue is quite far off. There is no guarantee that anyone will reach you in time, regardless of what Peter is trying to whisper to you. There is no guarantee that you can hear him at all anymore.

Instead, you can hear him yesterday morning, strangely strong despite the early hour of the morning. Narnian spies had come back around dawn bearing news of an approaching army, one that didn’t look friendly. The Pevensies had been carefully monitoring threats to their kingdom for years, but no one could tell for sure that one would attack until they were already on horseback with hands on weapons.

There had been limited time for defense. Peter had rallied his army and their allies, and his siblings frantically evacuated the surrounding townspeople to a safer location, all the while battening down the hatches at home so that Cair Paravel would not be taken. Battle plans were drafted long ago, but it is one thing to write them up in the safety of peace, and something else entirely to have to use them.

The attackers didn’t arrive until midday. They gave an announcement that Narnia was to surrender peacefully or fall violently. Standing on the ramparts of the castle, looking down on the swarms of soldiers, you could feel anger burning in your chest at the insult of it all. As if Narnia would fall to a paltry foe like some neighboring king. As if there was any among your ranks that would not fight to their last breath to defend their kingdom.

Peter had given an answer somewhat along those lines, although, as coached by Susan, with a little more tact. You could tell he was fighting to keep his rage in check, though, if the red crescents imprinted into his palms from where his fingernails had bit into his palms were any sort of warning sign.

After that, the only thing left was to go to war. Before the fighting started, Peter had pulled you aside and asked if you really wanted to do this. You were a soldier of Narnia, a force fighting for good, but more than that, you were his friend, and Peter did not want to lose anyone if he could avoid it.

Tucked into a quiet alcove of Cair Paravel, golden hair rusted over with the shadows of the dark corner, Peter’s hands had tightened around yours as he said, “You can leave now, Y/N. If you want to. I want you to be safe.”

You had shaken your head. “Absolutely not. Narnia is my home, Peter. I can’t leave when she needs me.”

Peter had sighed ruefully, but the spark of pride behind his worried expression had told you what you wanted to know the most:  having you there with him meant more than he could possibly describe. The two of you are friends, just friends, but sometimes, you think that the sort of friendship you have with him has long outstripped any sort of bond of camaraderie either of you have held with anyone else. If you die, you will do it by his side. If he falls, he wants you there to see it.

Thus the battle was waged. You donned your armor as quickly as you could, grabbing your weapons before helping the other soldiers. It was time to defend your homeland. No cause could be more important. No risk could be as worthy.

The sun is setting over the hills; Peter cannot see much of it, tucked into the cave as the two of you are, but the loss of light is enough to cause him significant worry. The attackers, although arrived around noon the previous day, had waited until the dark of night to close their ranks and begin the fight. It had added a deadly edge of danger to an already perilous battle, what with the reduced visibility. 

The battle had been fought well through the night and into the next dawn, but Peter is not sure that another midnight spent in this stone refuge will prove a good idea for either of you. Mainly for you; Peter looks down again, noticing that your eyes flutter closed more than they stay open, and your skin looks dull and tired even without the loss of light. He pulls you closer to him, shuts his eyes, and prays to anyone who will hear, anyone worthwhile listening, that someone will save you. Not even him. It just has to be you.

Night falls and you hear the clang of steel against steel reverberating around you. Your soldiers, though kept in rigorous practice, have not been to war in a while. They do not exercise the cruelty that the enemy fighters seem to have in spades. What you do have is heart, though, and Narnia has taught you that even the most formidable of odds can be overturned in time.

Slowly, surely, light begins to creep over the sky, and the Narnians manage to push their attackers back from Cair Paravel, over the uneven, rocky ground and towards the mountains once more. Smooth ground twists itself with stone outcroppings, making the fight even trickier than it was before. You step over bodies on the ground, unable to tell whether they are friend or foe, but you force yourself to keep your head. It would not do to lose control now.

Dawn is upon you at last, touching rosy fingers over scarlet blood and pearlescent bone. There is no such thing as a good fight, an honorable war, and if you return home, the lingering knowledge of what has been done upon this land will sit with you for a long time to come. When you come home, that is. After all of this, you must survive. Narnia must survive.

A shout, a scream; soldiers pour over the hills again, and you realize with a chill that your enemies had reinforcements in line, waiting for something like this to happen. You managed to get yourself stuck on the outskirts of the battle in an attempt to go after some higher ranking officials in the enemy army, and now you’re lost in the downstream current of dozens of opposing soldiers flooding towards you. 

Too many for you to fight by yourself, that much is certain, but you have no choice now. They encircle you, and even as you manage to take down some, there are too many of them. One raises his sword as you parry another soldier, and when you blink, it has pierced your armor, threading your ribs. It doesn’t hurt and then it does, an agony like lightning rattling through your entire body.

You might scream, you’re not sure of it. You wait for them to kill you, but strangely enough, the death blow does not come. Someone catches you before you fall, and the early morning sun shines on golden curls. Peter. He’s found you, somehow, in the tumult of the battle. You can just hear him shouting to his men that he’s going to take you to cover, and then he’s picked you up, cradling you in his arms like a bride, and running for shelter.

There’s a cave not far from here. Peter stumbles in, twisting past boulders and turns in the tunnel before he gently puts you down behind the cover of a rocky outcropping. There are too many of them out there, running past the mouth of the cave, so Peter does not dare leave you even when you tell him that you’ll be fine. It is a lie. He knows it. He stays.

Peter tells you that, despite the arrival of the enemy reinforcements, he believes the battle will be settled in favor of the Narnians. The enemy fighters were desperate, they knew they were going to lose, which was why they called in more men. They’re still being forced past the Narnian borders, though, even with a king and a soldier pulled out of the fight like this.

Peter won’t risk leaving you, not with the precarious shape you’re in. Besides, the landscape is so messed up with rocks that he is not sure that he could find this particular cave if he steps outside of it to fight again. You can hear the shouts of men, but neither of you can tell whether they’re Narnian or not. To shout back is to risk death.

Instead, the two of you stay there in the cave, feeling the hours tick by, unable to do a thing about it. Peter grows more restless as you grow more still. He tells you that his siblings will look for the two of you, that when they come, you will be safe.

“We’ll be fine,” he says, voice unnaturally slow, like a schoolboy repeating a lesson he’s learned by heart, “We’ll be fine.” You’re not entirely sure if he believes it.

And then it is dark again, and there is still no one here. Peter does not know if you are alive. He is telling himself that you are, because to keep up desperate hope is far better than giving in to the fear that he has lost you like this. There is a chance you have survived; the enemy soldier who hit you had slashed you across the front instead of stabbing you directly, which is what Peter did when he stumbled upon the scene and realized that he was about to lose the only person that matters to him more than anything else. We all have our demons, our secrets.

A scratching sound at the mouth of the cave, somewhat like a mouse but heavier, too, more purposeful. Could an enemy soldier have come back to finish the job? They may not have been able to take Cair Paravel, but they could at least slaughter the High King while they were running away.

Peter feels his entire body tense, his hand resting on his sword. He dares not draw it, too afraid of risking the noise. He’ll fight for both of them if he has to. He’ll keep them alive a little longer. Y/N does not stir by his side.

And then– a voice, just a few meters away. “Peter?”

It’s his sister. It’s Susan. Peter lets out a gasp of relief that could be a sob and calls back as loudly as he dares, “Susan?”

A clattering of footsteps and three siblings descend into the cave. Edmund’s eyes are wide and scared, but the fear starts to go away when Peter carefully gets to his feet and pulls his younger brother into an embrace. Ed starts to say something about how he thought– he thought– but Peter says it’s okay, he is not hurt, but then the words roll back on his tongue because Y/N is not okay, and therefore he cannot be, either.

Lucy has already found her friend lying motionless on the ground and hurriedly rummages through the small red bag on her side, reaching for the healing cordial she received so long ago. She carefully lets a few drops fall onto Y/N’s mouth, and the entirety of several millennia passes before Y/N coughs quietly and starts to sit up.

Peter falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around her. Distantly, he hears Susan ushering his siblings away, something about wanting to give them space, but he does not care, he does not care because she is alright, Y/N is alright, and that means he is, too, very much alright.

Y/N whispers in his ear, voice still hoarse but healing, slowly. It’s okay, they have time. “You stayed?”

“Yes,” Peter says back, choking on some unnameable emotion, “I did. I would never leave you, Y/N. I– I love you. You know that.”

She does. “I love you too,” she says, and Peter can find it within himself to smile at last, to help her up, to walk back with her to the castle. They have time. It is okay. They will all, somehow, be alright after this, and that means that far fewer worries crown Peter’s head tonight and all nights after that.

requested by @ajwild220, i hope you enjoy!

narnia tag list: empty for now, message me to be added!

[floq]

• I was born a choker •

cliquetober day 3 & 4 // TV & trapped

[ID under the cut]

[Image ID: Video showing a digital drawing of Clancy from the Twenty One Pilots lore during the beginning of the Twenty One Pilots Livestream Experience, he’s sat down on the set of Good Day Dema with a blank expression on his face looking slightly to the side, his hair is dyed bubblegum pink and is seen wearing a brow plaid patterned coat with a white polo shirt underneath. A muffled version of the song Choker by Twenty One Pilots is playing in the background. The camera slowly zooms on Clancy’s dissociated face until the music cuts off and the transmission is interrupted by a glitched image of Clancy imprisoned sitting in a dark room with his head down while being surrounded by three of the nine bishops. The image is sporadically interpreted by a red banner from DMAORG that reads: “Sacred Municipality of Dema - United Vialists. DMAORG - RESTRICTED CONTENT. Violation Code: DMA-8325. This video is classified and intended exclusively for authorized personnel of DMAORG. Unauthorized viewing, possession, or dissemination of the material within The Sacred Municipality of Demais a violation of municipal law and will result in severe penalties, including but not limited to permanent banishment. All earthly honor onto The Glorious Gone”. The transmission returns to Clancy sitting at the set of Good Day Dema and Choker resumes, he’s now looking to the front while the lyric “nobody is coming for me” are repeated in the background. The scene cuts to black and text that reads “Art and editing by Floq. Music by Twenty One Pilots” followed by more text listing my socials (Instagram: @floq_art | Tumblr: @floq | Twitter: @floqq__). End of ID]

[dreamofjoys]

GOODBYE TO ALL XAVIER STANS OR JUST LADs fandom IN GENERAL

YOU HAVE XAVIER NEW PROMISE EVENT CARD (need to be purchased)

HE LOOKS SO IRRESISTIBLE AND THE COLOURS ARE SO NICE? ITS JUST SCREAMING XAVIER

NEW OUTFITS TO MATCH WITH HIM (needs to be purchased)

MC’s outfit can be exchanged in chocolate shop. Imagine taking photos with him in matching academy

LASTLY, LIMITED 5 STAR CARDS AGAIN- (banner last for 13 days)

Do we even have enough gems after drunken intimacy, zayne’s medical card, Rafayel’s birthday and oracle?

New event is giving us 10 free pulls. In addition to maintenance, probably another additional 10 pulls + 500 gems? Total 23 pulls. Sounds very generous but it’s not enough for top rank players (I’m level 70 and already struggling to earn gems) Earning 50 gems a day from daily quest. Maybe a little more if you play open trial (that’s if you can even clear it) 💀

But you know what, they look handsome so let me just fall into this pit trap willingly

This game is such a gold digger

[yoomiwrites]

Salty Rush

Summary: Some time ago, Reader was a partner of Akainu, a comrade he could rely on. Reader betrayed the navy, became part of a pirate crew...And finally the two face each other again.

Note: Yes, you'll get thrown right into it. It may confuse you, but I think most of it will be explained later on.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an ominous orange hue over the chaos of the Marine stronghold. Sounds of clashing steel and distant gunfire echoed through the air as I crouched behind a crumbling wall, my heart racing. The mission had spiraled out of control—ambushed by Sakazuki’s forces, my crew had scattered like leaves in a storm.

Once, I had walked these halls with pride, training alongside Sakazuki, my unwavering partner in those brutal sessions. We had pushed each other to our limits, but I could no longer deny that I was now a traitor to the very system we had once vowed to uphold.

“Stay low and keep moving!” a voice hissed from behind me, jolting me from my thoughts. It was Jax, my crewmate, his eyes wide with panic. “We need to regroup and find a way out!”

I nodded, scanning the area for a way through the chaos. Just as we prepared to escape, the ground beneath us trembled ominously. A nearby building began to collapse, debris raining down like hellfire. “Run!” I shouted, grabbing Jax’s arm and dashing toward the alley.

But it was too late. The structure gave way, and a wall of bricks and steel crashed down behind us, sealing our only escape.

“Go!” I urged Jax. “I’ll hold them off!”

“Are you crazy?” he shouted, his voice rising over the din. “We can’t leave you here!”

“Just go! I’ll be right behind you!”

With a reluctant glance, he turned and fled, leaving me to face the chaos alone. I drew my sword, ready to fight, but as more Marines poured into the area, I realized I was outnumbered. My heart raced, not from fear of death, but from the very real possibility of capture.

A sudden explosion nearby knocked me off my feet. The world spun around me, and as I struggled to regain my balance, I felt flames licking at my skin. Instinctively, I rolled to the side, seeking shelter. But as I looked up, my heart dropped.

There, framed in the flames, stood Sakazuki, his crimson cloak billowing like a banner of war. His expression was hard and unyielding, a mask of authority that sent a shiver down my spine. He was a force of nature, and I was nothing more than a traitor.

“(Y/N)!” he barked, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m here to expose the truth, Sakazuki.” I shot back, my heart pounding.

His gaze darkened, and I could see the flicker of anger in his eyes. “You think running with pirates will change anything? You’re a fool, and you’ll pay for your treachery.”

“I’m not the one who needs to pay!” I spat, my grip tightening on my sword. “You’re the one who’s blind to the suffering you’ve caused!”

The tension between us was electric, crackling with unspoken history and pain. The flames reflected our fiery words, and I felt the ground beneath us tremble again, this time more violently.

Sakazuki glared at me, the weight of his anger palpable. “You think you can stand in my way?” His voice was low and dangerous, filled with the promise of retribution. “You’ll get no mercy from me.”

Before I could retort, the ground shook violently, and I stumbled, trying to regain my footing. “Sakazuki!” I shouted, but it was too late. The earth beneath us cracked wide open, and with a deafening roar, we plummeted into darkness.

My stomach dropped as the world spun, debris swirling around us. We landed hard, the impact jarring my bones. As I gasped for breath, the dust settled, and I found myself staring at Sakazuki, who was now mere feet away, his eyes blazing with fury.

We were trapped, isolated in this dark abyss, surrounded by the remnants of what had once been a stronghold of the Marines. The sound of distant chaos faded, replaced by the pounding of my heart and the heavy silence between us.

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Sakazuki growled, his voice laced with rage. “This is your fault!”

I pushed myself to my feet, brushing off the dirt and debris. “This was bound to happen! The Marines can’t keep pretending everything is fine while they crush dissent!”

“Dissent? You mean treachery!” he shot back, his fury palpable. “You abandoned your duty! You’ve become a parasite feeding on the chaos you helped create.”

I glared back, refusing to back down. “And you’ve become a puppet of a system that’s rotting from the inside. I won’t let you drag me back into it, Sakazuki!”

The air between us crackled, two forces colliding in a battle of wills. Neither of us was willing to yield, and the chasm of betrayal and unresolved feelings threatened to swallow us whole.

“Then we’ll see how far your ideals get you,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes burning with intensity. “You think you can fight me? You’ve always been weak, (Y/N). You were never fit to stand beside me.”

Before I could respond, the ground shook again, and I felt the world shift beneath our feet. It was a reminder that we were not just fighting each other; we were fighting against the very foundation that had once united us.

“Enough!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the darkness. “We need to find a way out of here before it’s too late.”

Sakazuki paused, his expression shifting momentarily as the reality of our situation settled in. The heat between us simmered, but the fight remained in his eyes. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice cold and resolute. “But don’t think for a second that I’ll forget what you’ve done.”