#when it's mostly 'barely an adult' young people?

[maschinen-mensch]

me @ male celebs that suddenly get a young, mostly female fanbase out of the blue:

keep it cool, keep it chill, keep it public (no DMs) and keep a healthy distance. don’t let it get to your head and be aware of your new position of power that you have over your enthusiastic young fans. don’t abuse it, don't be a creep, god damn it!!!

Jason Spisak has announced he's recorded lines for Arcane Season 2.

(TW: SA, Grooming)

He also has numerous sexual misconduct allegations against him dating as far back 2017.

And has had a pattern of behavior of DMing young women who were fans of his - specifically...Jinx cosplayers.

He's admitted to dating one, a 22-year-old Jinx cosplayer, who was a fan of his (he's 49.)

If you know anything about Jason Spisak, he loves the Jinx and Silco relationship. It's all he talks about in interviews.

So for him to have a pattern of behavior DMing young girls, soliciting sexual relationships from them, via their attachment and interest in the Silco character, and Jinx herself - is very. Very. Scary.

Evidence in screenshots listed below, including an audio recording.

It's obvious he fetishizes the Jinx and Silco relationship and grooms young girls on that basis.

Be informed. He's still getting work, in the very show he's utilized to find victims.

The bits of evidence presented can be found here, but there's a lot more I've left out: https://twitter.com/i__am_the_truth/status/1554959726672322560

[brucedefender4eva]

Alfred felt as though it was incredibly inappropriate for a butler to accompany his young master to any sort of gala or gathering so Bruce had to get used to being by himself very quickly at a young age

Due to being left all alone when he would usually be with his parents, Bruce was put in increasingly unsafe situations over and over. Most of the time, there was no safe adult for him to feel comfortable enough telling. And if there was, how would he know they were safe?

He could tell Alfred, but what good would that do? Alfred has told him time and time again that he is his employee, nothing more and nothing less. Alfred cannot help him. Alfred cannot save him

Alfred doesn’t want to

I believe that at a very early age, due to how most of the socialites and rich people are in Gotham, Bruce had to get used to unwanted stares, touches, and advances

And he’s so pretty. He’s been so pretty ever since he was small, even with his parents alive they had to work hard to keep him safe. To keep others away. To draw a hard line in the sand for what is acceptable and what is not. But now they’re gone and he’s trying to keep himself safe. But people always want to touch, take, possess, and destroy pretty things

But all of his children are pretty too.

With all of his kids he makes sure that they’re as safe as can be, unlike how it was with him

The first time that he brings Dick to a gala, he holds the boy the entire time. Dick’s face is mostly tucking into Bruce’s suit jacket, shielding him from the flashes of the paparazzi and unwanted stares. Especially with his ‘exotic’ heritage of being Romani… it’s a recipe for disaster in Gotham

Bruce refuses to let a single person touch Dick, even socialites that he trusts. He knows how quickly someone you trust can turn on you once they realize you’re vulnerable.

He keeps Jason by his side as well. Gotham high society hates anyone who didn’t grow up rich. If he’s not by Jason’s side, he makes sure Dick is. Dick can now fend for himself, but Bruce always makes sure they’re in his line of sight.

Tim has been to these parties before, and considering how negligent his parents were… Bruce makes sure to tell Tim that he would never be mad at him for anything that happened and he is not to blame. That adults should have protected him and saved him. He tells Tim all the things he wished someone had told him when he was younger. They hug and cry about it.

He’s always so thankful that Stephanie never wanted to go to galas as mean as it makes him sound. She never had to be subjected to the cruelties of adults who had no business leering after young girls. Now that she’s older and sometimes pops in if Tim’s going, Bruce knows that they’ll protect each other.

Cass is strong and smart, but she’s also very very new to this life and more vulnerable than the rest of his kids. Bruce wishes he could give her a sense of normalcy. It’s just another thing that’s he failed at.

He knows that if push came to shove, like the rest of his children, she would not hesitate to defend herself. But there should be no shove. She shouldn’t have to. Bruce dances with her all through the night every time she decides to grace a gala with her magnificent presence. It keeps her happy, it keeps her away from harm

His youngest baby is a fire cracker, ready to take on anyone and anything that could possibly be perceived as a threat to him and his family. As much as his other babies joke that he keeps Damian nearby to stop him from stabbing people, he doesn’t want anyone to look at Damian.

Damian is barely older than he was when he returned back to Gotham high society. The only difference is that Damian now has him and all of his siblings. It’s still hard to let go, even if he knows his children are there to keep an eye on everything

Duke is very similar to Jason in more ways than one, epically since he was also born on the ‘poorer’ side of Gotham that most elites loathe unjustly. He’s seen it before, even with high standing black families. Being suddenly accused of stealing a watch or pickpocketing an expensive pearl necklace. Lives ruined simply because of the color of their skin

Nothing like that will ever happen to Duke in his presence. Bruce knows he can’t protect Duke from all the racism in the world, but man if he doesn’t want to try

Bruce has never let his family deal with his issues. He believes he’s simply not worth the trouble. So whenever he gets hit on at galas in ways that make him uncomfortable he just fakes a smile. When he feels unfamiliar hands touching him and grabbing at his body, he fakes more smiles and leans into if there are too many people watching.

Just as he’s about to make an excuse, any kind of excuse to finally get away and take a breather, Dick suddenly pops up in front of him while he feels Jason and Duke slide up behind him, pushing away the elites that had circled him

Bruce makes a soft confused sound, trying to figure out what was happening, but then Damian’s tugging on his sleeve and he already has his baby in his arms. The whirlwind that is Tim and Steph together sweep him away from the confused group of elites.

The group makes their way back over to where Cassandra is smiling expectantly, giggling softly at the confused expression on Bruce’s face.

“Dance with me?” She requested softly, knowing that Bruce would never refuse her. Bruce squeezes Damian to his chest before handing him over to Tim, which Damian surprisingly doesn’t protest

Bruce takes Cassandra’s hand and they dance around the ballroom floor with ease, over and over one of Bruce’s children came and swept him away before anyone else could get the chance

“Don’t worry, we got you Dad.” Dick smiled softly as Bruce spun him around before being passed over to Stephanie and Damian.

“I know.” Bruce chuckled, feeling so safe for the first time in a long time. “I know.”

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny commits to the Bit a bit too hard...

So! For the first few weeks after his accident, whenever Danny would try to help the people of Amity Park, he would be treated as a Villain.

No matter if he had just defeated the Big Bad of the Week or saved a Cat from a tree, everybody in town only saw him as a Monster or Villain to he feared and hunted down. Danny was really getting sick of trying to get them on his side, until Sam made a suggestion.

"Why not just...play into it?" She said, barely looking up from painting her nails.

It was just an offhand suggestion, but it stuck with Danny. Why shouldn't he lean into it? The people of Amity Park already saw Ghosts as Evil, and they already assumed he was in cahoots with the Ghosts attacking the town. Why shouldn't he just...play into it?

So he does just that.

From that day on, whenever Phantom was spotted he would dramatically monologue about his Evil Plans, or claim that another Rogues attack on the City was his own act of terror.

Box Ghost destroys the towns Warehouses? It was on his orders.

Ember mind controls masses of Teenagers? All part of his Plans somehow.

Every Adult in Town is kidnapped by Young Blood? Danny gave them over to a friend as a Gift.

He crafts an identity for himself as the most Vile and Horrible Ghost that has ever attacked the City, using his own infamy to cement his legend even more firmly. The town only sees a Monsterous Villain, who has eveded capture near effortlessly for months on end, who constantly attacks their City and gets away with it.

Of course he still needs an excuse for how his plans keep getting stopped, and he gets it when his girlfriend Valerie becomes the Red Huntress. Before that, he just claimed infighting or the Fentons getting lucky, but Valerie becoming the Town's Hero meant he had a plausible excuse for how he kept getting "Foiled".

Val was suspicious, because she was not as involved as Phantom painted her to be, but in the end she had no proof of him faking his defeats. And she couldn't come up with any explanations for why he would do that in the first place. I mean, who would fake being a Supervillain? It had to he something else.

This did come back to bite him a while later, when the Justice League decided that enough was enough, and dispatched Justice League Dark to recruit Red Huntress and help Deal with him.

Coincidentally, that was the same day Pariah Dark attacked the Mortal Realm and sucked Amity Park into the Ghost Zone.

And honestly? Danny had spent over a Year proclaiming himself as a Villain who commanded Ghosts to attack the Human Realm, and he had heard about the Right of Conquest being Absolute in the Ghost Zone, so why not make it official? Why not overthrow the Ghost King, become the Ghost King, and cement his identity as a Villain while also forbidding Ghosts from entering the Human Realm without his permission?

He may have gotten a bit carried away and forgotten that the Villain thing was a disguise...but hey! He was still preventing Ghost Attacks! ...mostly. That's got to count for something right?

He may have let the Bit run a bit too far...

...

Check the tags for more context!

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[quarterlifekitty]

König and Domestic Silk Moth Hybrid!Reader

Due to popular demand (about 4 people)

Context: in this one, I’m having König stay human and having hybrids in a pet role. As an insect hybrid, I’m making her small AF (like 2-3 ft tall). I did consider making her Barbie sized tho 👀. So this is gonna have size kink bordering on micro/macro just so you know!

König is stuck on medical leave, and pretty damned miserable. He sustained a break that’s put him out of commission for a while. He’s never spent so long in his empty home, and it’s driving him insane. He’s spent basically his entire adult life married to his work, so he’s woefully unprepared to keep himself entertained.

And despite being something of a loner most times, he misses the noise. He misses the bodies and conversation. He and Horangi have a phone call every so often, and text as frequently as the work allows, but that only takes up so much time in the day.

And it’s Horangi that suggests a hybrid.

That’s something that he could throw himself into to keep occupied, as well as giving company. And unlike a pet, a hybrid would be able to be mostly self sufficient whenever he returned to work.

(Horangi doesn’t want to say if he returns. But König is not a young man, and has sustained a serious injury. There’s a chance that even if he heals, he won’t be the same as before. Combined with his rank, it won’t be huge surprise if he’s pressured or forced into retirement if his utility is limited.)

König is apprehensive— so he doesn’t want something quite as needy as a cat or dog hybrid, where he’d have to deal with heats and noise. And Horangi happens to have an old friend, retired, who raises domestic silk moth hybrids with his newfound free time. You’re picked to be offered up, freshly cut from your thick silk cocoon.

And for König, it’s love at first sight.

You’re very pretty. Fluffy white fur, big, dark, eyes. And so small. You barely come up to his hip, and raise your arms, asking to be lifted. It’s only then that he learns domesticated silk moths are flightless, their wings are pretty but unable to fly. It makes him feel a little bit of kinship with you. Restricted movement, denied purpose.

And basically his life revolves around you from that point. König doesn’t have many involved or expensive hobbies, so he has a lot of time and resources to devote to your care. You’re something of a niche pet, so it’s a little difficult to find things made for you. He resorts to commissions. Don’t fucking look at his Etsy purchase history.

You live your life perched on his shoulders or in his arms (you’re much too small to keep up with him). He’s a little afraid of letting you in his bed at night, he doesn’t want to roll over and crush you by accident, but you keep crawling under his covers anyways. You can’t help having cocooning behavior.

He’s constantly sitting you on ledges. On the sink while he shaves, on the counter when he cooks, on his desk when he works. You’ve always gotta be within arms reach for petting purposes.

And the petting, the kissing… he’s so addicted to the contact. He’s been alone for so long, and you’re so soft.

And that just leads to him getting more and more curious about your body. You don’t mind— you love him! And he loves his little Seidenmotte.

He’s beyond delicate with you. You’re so small— he has to work you up quite a bit before he can even fit a finger into your cute little pussy.

God it makes him hard how he can pin you down by the stomach with just one hand. And you make these little pips and squeaks when he fingers you— it’s just too cute for words. He totally shares some pictures with Horangi as thanks. (Which might lead to a couple of other colorful character asking to see pictures of you).

Usually he fucks your soft, fuzzy thighs to get off. He’s so warm and heavy against your clit, his cockhead practically reaching your chest. He paints your tits with white, pearly ribbons that glisten against the fuzz of your chest.

If you’re on top, he likes watching your useless wings beat while you slide your wet little cunt over him, the ridge of his head making you shiver when it bumps against your clit. You usually end up making yourself cum once or twice, and when you’re too tired and sensitive to move yourself he’ll grab your waist and grind you against him, using you like a toy to get himself off.

You don’t spread your wings often, but when you do, it leaves a little bit of moth dust behind from the tiny scales you shed. König thinks it’s so cute to see it against his bedsheets— it’s like glittery fresh snow, proof of how excited he made you.

[emacrow]

Alfred's day off came as he went for a visit that cause suspicious in the batfam.

Alfred was looking rather energetic and enthusiastic as he was fixing himself up in the mirror, cleaning any lint and dust on his casual clothes.

The batfam has been noticing he is getting more excited that he even made everyone's favorite lunch in record time as today was one of alfred rarest day off.

Tim on the other hand is thinking that alfred might be dating someone, because he saw alfred bring light blue letters that had a soft jasmine smell.

Bruce believes Tim finally lost his marble because when does alfred had the time to date around.?

Until Dick mentioned that even old people get lonely and tend to matchmake in the form of letters like the good old days..

Which right now the batfam and Bruce leading them are currently spying on Alfred far enough where they think he wouldn't noticed them stalk- observating him.

Alfred was picking up a couple of presents, one that had plants, another had old Techno theme, one with birds, a fire theme one and a space theme present that he loaded his car with along with a stuffie bear.

Steph thinks that he could be visiting relatives at that point..?

While Bruce was remaining quiet with a calculating glint in his eyes.

They follow alfred all the ways to the one of the barely remaining clean parks, where a another young man sat with a orange hair little girl in a light greenish blue dress, a sleeping baby girl in a bassinet on a picnic blanket with a purple clock theme pattern, as he watches 4 toddlers playing and squealing around a oddly colored puppy.

Two toddlers look like a bait-adoptable bait even if both has stripes of white in their hair and one had red eyes, one toddler had blonde hair with the tips being black with purple eyes and a lightest greenish skin tone, and the remaining toddler was Egyptian African American looking with how he playing with a odd toy phone that look Egyptian theme before being dragged along to play by the green dog snatching his toy phone.

Alfred brought the presents along sitting down with the now seemingly much older man..

Jason seemed to noticed that nobody else is noticing that that guy holding the clock like staff is literally shifting from young, to adolescent, to young adult, and elderly man beside himself when he voiced his concerns.

They weren't close enough to hear what the two were saying, but the little girl with the orange hair was speaking mostly before looking up with tearful green teal eyes at alfred who went to comfort the girl.

[monzamash]

★ bargain bin — lando norris

how the other half lives lando norris x older!reader rating — 18+ (sex, coarse language, age gap) —requested by lovely anon, thank you for the wonderful idea.

"merry christmas… hello!" lando sang as he guided you through the wide open front door of his parents' home. 

the holiday festivities had already begun by the echo of christmas tunes filtering through the open plan along with the rich smell of a delicious home-cooked lunch inviting you in. 

“we’re in here, love!” his mum sang back from down the hallway, every step getting you closer to all the cheerful voices melding into a sound of pure joy. 

that sound truly summed up lando’s family. they were joy personified. you had met them a couple of times in passing, mostly at races or whenever lando had a formal event to attend. they were always by his side, supporting and cheering him on and you adored how much they loved their son. 

you hadn’t been to their home, lando's childhood home. of course you wondered what it would look like, curious to know how the man you had fallen in love with grew up. the two of you were from vastly different backgrounds but all was fair in love and war, no preconceived notions or judgements — only mutual respect and a connection that couldn't be ignored. but you were curious to know how the other half lived, failing to suppress a giggle when you bypassed the study. 

"golden boy," you whispered, pointing to the small shrine dedicated to lando and his career that was set up in what looked to be his father’s office, earning yourself a gentle shove.

"oh god… that's embarrassing," he muttered quietly with a smirk as you took a couple of strides in, running your fingers over the karting trophies all lined up in a perfect row.

“it’s cute. they’re so proud of you.”

all lando could do was smile and hide his blush. he was the twinkle in their eye and all you wanted was for them to like you. 

your relationship with lando was somewhat untraditional, being five years his senior. age is nothing but a number, he had said when you first met through mutual friends on a holiday in mallorca, the connection between the two of you growing instantaneously. he was the charming brit that your friends had warned you about, single and destined to fall head over heels for you — and he did. lando couldn’t believe his luck when you waltzed into the villa, a sight for sore eyes and a smile that made his heart clench with something resembling love. 

the age difference wasn’t a problem at first, most of his friends were older so it made sense that he would blend into the group without a second glance. it wasn’t until the perfect spanish bubble burst and you found yourself cuddled up in his arms, reuniting after a couple of weeks apart and feeling the weight of it all on your shoulders. his life was chaotic, an excuse to be perpetually young — adrenaline filled and without real life responsibilities. 

“i just don’t want you to get sick of me because i have a 9-5 job and a mortgage. it’s boring adult stuff that gets me down and you're doing what every kid dreams of. we’re from very different worlds — god, what would your parents think of you dating a 30 year old…” you’d barely taken a breath when lando rested his hand on your cheek with a sigh. 

“there’s a reason why our worlds collided and i wanna know where it takes us. i'm falling in love with you and i think you are too so let’s see what happens, yeah? plus, you’re like a dream girl to take him to the parents — they’re gonna love you.”

and from day forth, you put those fears behind you and focused on the beautiful moments happening right before your eyes. spending the holidays with lando and his family was a dream, all of the sleepless nights worrying about what they thought was wasted when all you needed to do was trust the man you loved.

“ah, my two favourite people,” lando’s father greeted as he bundled lando up in a hug and pulled you in next with a grin the size of the moon, “so uncle rodney is making cocktails and you can pop any presents under the tree in the living room — lando can show you.”

“thanks so much again for inviting me, adam,” you whispered, earning a reassuring squeeze to the shoulder, “of course, love — we’re glad you were able to join us.” 

lando clasped your hand and showed you the way. the house seemed to go on forever until finally spotting the biggest christmas tree you had ever seen, “wow.” 

“we go big in the norris household — not just with the tree,” he motioned towards the tower of presents, mostly labelled with his sweet niece's names.

"it’s so beautiful," you admired before kneeling down and carefully placing the presents you two bought under the tree, spending a little extra time inspecting the one that had a little card hanging off the side with your name scribbled in lando’s distinctive handwriting.

"oi, behave yourself," lando scolded playfully, catching you red-handed shaking the small box with a guilty smirk.

"what are you gonna do? tell on me?" you teased, peering up at him with puppy dog eyes and playfully poking at his hip. lando gently captured your wrist and helped you up from the floor before dragging you in close for a hug, "maybe you won't get your present from me now. how would you like that?" 

your face fell into a pout as he pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, "okay fine," you surrendered, rolling your eyes at lando’s triumphant grin. 

"hmm, that's what i thought, darling."

—

the norris clan were an absolute riot and lando was spot on with his prediction about everyone being too drunk to take any notice of the two of you. once everyone got their chance to chat to lando about racing and what was in store for the off-season, they went back to telling hysterical family stories and reminiscing about the old days. 

every time someone new told a story, you were blessed with a glimpse into the person lando was before you met him — all the little stories from his childhood and teen years really enriched the emotional side of your relationship and for the first time, it felt like both the physical and emotional sides had caught up with one another. you’d never felt emotionally closer and it solidified all of the feelings and conversations the two of you had been having lately. what did the future hold? where did you see yourselves in five years? so many of those questions fumbling around in your head were answered just by sitting and listening to his family. 

all you wanted was to feel like you and lando could happily spend the rest of your lives together and for the people closest to him to approve of that decision. the car ride home was quiet — lando humming the christmas song stuck in his head while you watched the twinkling city lights of london off in the distance.

"my parents really love you.”

you smiled to yourself while hanging your coat over the back of a kitchen stool, heart pumping a little fast than it was before.

“you think?”

lando nodded, smiling as he leaned against the counter in your shared apartment and admired the way your nose scrunched up, unsure of his genuinity. you were glowing under the warm christmas tree lights stretching up the walls, eyes sparkling with a glimmer of hope that his words were true. 

“i know they do. so do my sisters. and my brother… everyone loves you,” lando stepped forward and pressed your hips against the kitchen counter, sliding you easily up onto the surface. “—but i love you the most.” 

“love you the most too, baby.” you whispered before wrapping your legs and arms loosely around his body, pulling him in for a long awaited kiss. 

the two of you had been on your best behaviour all day, but seeing lando playing chasey with his nieces and making them laugh until their little faces were red made it really hard not to drag him to a quiet corner and beg for him to give you one of your own. he knew what you wanted, what you needed, making quick work of your underwear and skirting the thin material down your legs while you tugged on the buckle of his black belt. 

“so ready for me,” lando teased as his fingertips glided between your shaky thighs, embarrassingly easy if it weren’t for the fact he always had you like that. he fucking lived for having you dripping for him.

“mmm, need you to be ready for me too,” you played with a couple of quick strokes of his cock, earning a loud, raspy moan in your ear. it sent chills down your spine as he grasped your hand and took over, haphazardly lining himself up and nudging forward with a grunt.

“yes,” you whimpered, tightening your grip around lando’s shoulders as he lifted you slightly, guiding your hips in time with his, desperately chasing his high. 

“feels so fucking good,” he groaned into your mouth, as your head tilted back in pleasure. 

“lando?” you half moaned, half asked as his eyes squared with yours. “yeah?” 

“when do you think we should tell your parents that we’re trying to have a baby?” 

lando’s eyebrows furrowed as he continued to slide into you with a pace quicker than any fast lap he’d ever clocked, “fuck, baby,” he groaned, trying to hold his composure, “um, that’d be a long conversation about responsibility and marriage probably — they would want to meet your parents…” 

“are they super religious?” you were panting, lips only centimetres from his. 

“we have to stop talking about my parents while we’re… while this is happening,” lando groaned, face screwed up as he picked up the pace again —hips snapping deliciously in sync. 

“god, yeah, sorry, sorry!” you muttered, stifling a laugh as his hot breath washed over you in a chuckle. 

“lemme try and give you one before we start telling people, yeah?” he breathlessly whispered into your ear, pressing kisses along your collarbone with a smile, “you’re so bad…” 

you sighed, “i’m definitely on the naughty list this year.” 

“absolutely,” lando chuckled and gave you a soft kiss before getting to work on your ultimate christmas gift.

a/n — soooo keen to keep adding to this little story. let me know what you think!! and thank you all so much for getting involved in the end of (f1) season sale. it has been so fun writing for you guys this past month and hopefully i will be able to finish it off over the next couple of weeks but this fic felt like the best way to say goodbye to the formula one season ✨

[p-erse-phone]

Losing Focus - Nishimura Riki

Pairing fckboy!riki x good girl fem!reader

✶Genre: smau & written(sometimes), university au, angst, slight slow burn ✶Synopsis: Decelis University of the Arts is a very exclusive university mostly saved for the talented kids of influential, rich, and/or famous families, OR young adults with a good amount of influence themselves. Needless to say it’s an unobtainable dream for most, without the money or means it’s almost impossible. Except for the lucky few gifted people who are offered scholarships to be able to try to fight for the chance without the backing of family or fame.  Choi Y/N is one of the fortunate few scholarship students. Known for her big heart, Y/N has always poured her all into everything she’s ever done, especially piano. Considered a prodigy she always thought this was only a dream that she could have while asleep, but now it's real. Nishimura Riki comes from the well-known Nishimura family influential in the dance world, talented, and handsome he seems as he has it all. Graduating early from highschool and accepted into Decelis with barely an application process he’s loved by most, and the pillar of envy for many. Focusing mostly almost all his attention to dancing he doesn’t have the time for an established relationship, but that doesn’t stop him from messing around with whoever he feels like. No-strings-attached. …But when he needs to collab with one of the performing arts students in the instrument department, he finds that Y/N might be just enough to sway his mind. As they become closer and her soft demeanor begins to infiltrate most of his thoughts will he be able to make enough room to let her in, or can he not let go of his current life.  ✶Featuring: ENHYPEN, Some TXT, Le Sserafim(Kazuha), Katseye (Sophia), New Jeans(Minji), tba… ✶Warnings: swearing, sexual jokes and implied themes, situationship, playing with emotions, love triangle(?), angst, making fun of socioeconomic status, more tba…

Taglist: Open

Start: 11/05/2024 

End: Tba

Profiles : Thot Pocket | Losers | Group b | Group G

Chapters !

01 : baby ass boy

02 : gatekeep

03 : contemporary

04 : busy (+written)

05 : who?

06 : commit

07 : lore

08 : agreed (written)

09 : RIP

10 : talented

11 : but platonically

12: say yes (+short written)

13: idrc

14: dog

15: party plans

16: goofy

17: forced

18: I know you (written)

19: Her choice

20: Shy

21: Our

22: left out

23: leave it pt. 1 (+written)

24: leave it pt. 2 (written)

25: chill

26: goo goo

27: cancel

28: whatever the fuck

29: delivered

30: lying

many more tba...

[kyseya]

Backstory - farm brothers

So it’s fairly clear that Weston and Lucas are not normal people. Surprise, surprise they’re killers. I wanted to have a little Texas chainsaw massacre slasher vibe but don’t know if that worked very well.

Basically they lure(or people just end up there by themselves) folk to their farm and kill them. Though there are instances where they let some walk away without a scratch, but that’s only if they’re needed, will definitely be missed and could potentially be traced back there, and haven’t the slightest clue what’s truly going on at the farm. The Callaghan brothers can’t have anyone running their mouth, you know.

Their parents were pieces of shit and only had kids to lessen the work load. The farm belonged to their fathers side of the family. their mother had never planned to marry their father but an unexpected pregnancy and pressure from others made them stay together. The two of them were miserable with each other, always fighting and blaming the other partner. The mother was mostly mad about having to spend the rest of her days on a ‘dirty farm’ and work. The father hated being married to a vile, selfish woman who barely helped with anything. His own parents were old and his siblings had quickly moved far away to prevent having anything to do with the farm, which meant everything landed on him.

It was the mother who began using her son as a helping tool. Tasks like sweeping, feeding the animals, collecting the eggs and cooking simple meals were passed to him. At first, when Weston’s dad found out he was furious. But not because it came at Weston’s expense, no, it was because he saw it as a sign of ultimate laziness.

The earliest memories Weston has is of his parents fighting over him. He remembers when his father would reprimand his mother about using him to do her labour(he wanted her to suffer the same tiring days he does) while she screamed back. But then it stopped and his father would no longer complain. Nearly a year after that his little brother was born, and of course he became the one taking care of him after he didn’t have to nurse anymore.

Lucas followed his older brother everywhere. He was his second shadow when he went around and did his chores. It was fine with weston, he wouldn’t admit it but it became a comfort knowing he was a hero to someone. It made life easier. Unfortunately their parents wanted to put Lucas to work too, the moment they considered him old enough. That wasn’t the worst part though. Their mood soured significantly over the years and they verbally abused them on a daily basis, a couple shoves and blows were hard to avoid. You’d think they’d be happier with the easier load.

Weston would have been able to take it ifd only been him, but seeing his younger sibling being treated as dirt too, that wouldn’t fly. The hatred grew stronger each day. When it had boiled over the edge, the older one had decided on a plan. They would kill their parents. Sadly, they were too young at the moment, there was no way they’d be able to overpower two adults as they currently were. They would have to wait until they were older. And so they did. Years they waited for the right opportunity. The abuse and work never stopped, in fact, the older they got the more take they had to preform. Eventually everything was done by them and nothing was done by their parents. They finally got what they wanted, total freedom from the harsh farm life.

The day Weston told Lucas the plan to kill their parents, he had expected a little pushback from him, but he was surprised when Lucas was totally in on it. One might say he was even excited.

It was really easy to murder them. You just had to corner each one when they were alone and then slice their neck. The kids had far outgrown the adults, they were no match for them anymore.

After their mother and fathers death the brothers took over the farm. Despite all the bad memories they still liked it there. It was rather peaceful(especially when no one criticised you on how to feed the pigs), plus, they didn’t have much of an education beyond reading and writing. Where would they even go? At least on the farm they had food and shelter.

The killing didn’t stop though. It appeared the first murder had awakened something in the both of them. They both had found out they enjoyed it. The power and pleasure in seeing their parents fear stricken faces was too good of a high not to experience again.

Although, they might make one exception to the killing if you’re cute enough~

[bettelaboure]

⊹Backstage⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x The Reader

⊹Summary: amid the chaotic final show of a world tour, a stylist and K-pop idol finally surrender to the slow-burning desire that’s been simmering between them for months, caught between professionalism and passion

⊹Warnings: sexual tension, emotionally charged interactions, and adult themes involving consensual but suggestive physical intimacy in a professional setting

⊹Author's note: hello, i'm alive <3 it's gonna be a 3 part short series that i hope you'll like

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

The dressing room is alive with its usual controlled chaos. Makeup cases, racks of glittering outfits, half-finished iced americanos, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting something vintage and funky — probably picked by Daesung. You're weaving between scattered costume bags, a hair curler in one hand and a lint roller in the other, trying to find the godforsaken studded jacket Young-bae insisted he needed before soundcheck.

From across the room, loud laughter erupts — unmistakably Seung-Hyun’s rich, bassy voice, deep and unrestrained. You look up just in time to see a shirtless Young-bae scream something in Korean before hurling a towel at Seung-Hyun, who is cackling like the devil himself. Of course, he’s pulled another prank — probably turned off the hot water mid-shower again.

You sigh. “You’re incorrigible,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“I’m what?” Seung-Hyun calls out, eyes gleaming like a misbehaving cat who’s proud of the destruction he’s caused.

“In-cor-ri-gi-ble,” you say louder, enunciating each syllable. “Look it up.”

“Oh, I will.” He winks. “I always like learning new words from my favorite firecracker.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “If I’m a firecracker, then you’re a Roman candle—loud, obnoxious, and you burn out fast.”

He places a hand on his chest in mock offense, sauntering over dramatically. “Ouch. And here I was, just admiring how fierce you look today. That ponytail’s doing dangerous things to my heart.”

You blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck before you can stop it. “You're full of it, Choi.”

He smirks. “Full of charm. Admit it.”

“Full of crap,” you retort, poking a finger at his bare chest. You’re painfully aware of the way your finger bounces off taut skin. God help you, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he leans down, bringing his face comically close to yours.

“You know what else you’re full of?” he whispers with that deep timbre that always gives you goosebumps.

You lift a brow, refusing to back down. “Enlighten me.”

“Full-sized attitude, fun-sized frame.”

You swat at him, and he jumps back, laughing. “You’re not still on that?”

“You know I can’t help it. You’re the only person here who can glare up at me and still make me nervous.”

“I’m not short,” you reply automatically, hands on your hips. “I’m concentrated awesome.”

“And I keep telling you—” He points at you, eyes twinkling. “Fun size. Like those candies that pretend to be small, but one bite and your whole day’s wrecked.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“I know I’m charming.” He grins. “You keep me around for that and the wardrobe critiques.”

You snort and turn your attention back to the garment rack, brushing past him. But he follows, of course. You can feel his presence behind you, warm and teasing. He’s always like this — like gravity. You’re used to his orbit by now.

“I saw how you fixed my collar during rehearsal,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s not meant for the room full of people. “You always get this little crease between your brows when you’re focused.”

You pause. “Observant today, are we?”

He leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Always observant when it comes to you.”

Your breath catches. This isn’t part of the usual banter.

“You flirt like it’s a competitive sport,” you murmur, trying to play it off, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“And you sass like it’s your survival instinct,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours. “But I see you.”

The chaos of the dressing room fades, somehow. Young-bae is grumbling to Daesung about shampoo, and Jiyong is yelling about someone stealing his eyeliner — but none of that matters. Not when Seung-Hyun is looking at you like that.

Like you're not just the stylist. Like you're something... more.

You break eye contact, your voice a whisper now. “Don’t look at me like that, Choi.”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

He steps in closer. You don’t step back.

“What if I do?”

You blink up at him. That damn height difference again. His tone is playful, but the look in his eyes—steady, serious, almost reverent—tells another story.

“You always joke,” you say. “I never know when you’re actually being real.”

He reaches out, fingertips grazing your wrist. “Then let me make it real.”

Your heart is doing cartwheels, and your brain is throwing red flags, but your body’s betraying you—leaning ever so slightly toward him.

“I don’t date idols,” you say, voice trembling.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I’m not asking you to date an idol. I’m asking you to take a chance on the guy who’s been looking at you like you hung the moon since Tokyo.”

You stare at him, stunned into silence. He’s never said that. Not once.

“What about the others?” you manage.

He chuckles. “They already think we’re secretly in love. Have you seen the way Jiyong watches us? That boy’s practically writing fanfiction.”

You laugh, the tension easing slightly, but your heart still pounds like a drum.

“Okay,” you say finally, letting out a breath. “One coffee. After the show. That’s all.”

His grin is slow and bright and full of triumph. “Make it two, and I’ll let you win the next height joke battle.”

“You’ll let me win?” you scoff.

“Let you think you won,” he corrects with a wink. “There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re perfect.”

You don’t answer that. But the flush in your cheeks and the tiny smile you can’t quite hide?

That’s answer enough.

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and thunderous applause. You barely remember how you got backstage — one moment you’re zipping up a pair of black leather pants on a frantic Daesung, the next, you’re dodging a shirt Young-bae throws at you with a wink and a “Noona, tell me I was sexy!”

And then there’s him.

Seung-Hyun.

Leaning against the wall by the mini fridge, a towel draped around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. He’s watching you.

Not obviously — that’s never his style — but in that quiet, sideways way he always does. You’ve learned to recognize the weight of it. The warmth of it.

He takes his time strolling over, every step somehow deliberate, but casual. Like he has nowhere better to be. Like you’re exactly where he wants to end up.

“Guess I owe you that coffee,” he says, voice low, smooth. A thread of mischief still tucked in there somewhere.

You glance up. “Technically, you owe me a jacket first. I nearly froze to death during that encore outfit change.”

He grins, tugging the towel off his shoulders and tossing it at you. It smells like shampoo and cologne and sweat and him. “There. Vintage Seung-Hyun. Limited edition.”

You wrinkle your nose but don’t throw it back. “Gross.”

“And yet,” he says, slowly lowering himself onto the couch beside you, “you’re still holding it.”

“Only because it’s warmer than your personality.”

“See? There she is.” He nudges your knee with his. “Concentrated awesome, in all her post-show glory.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips. He has that effect on you — like he knows exactly where to poke to pull out a grin, a groan, a glare. And somehow, it always feels like flirting, even when it shouldn’t.

“You’re unusually calm tonight,” you note, sipping your coffee. “No water bombs. No fake spiders. No traumatizing the staff.”

“I used all my pranks on Young-bae,” he says. “I’m rationing my chaos now. Becoming mature. Sophisticated.”

“Choi Seung-Hyun? Sophisticated?” you say, feigning disbelief. “What’s next? Emotional vulnerability?”

He hums, quiet for a moment, like the joke didn’t quite land. Or maybe it did — too well.

Then, with a small shrug, he says, “I’m saving that for someone worth it.”

You freeze.

Not obviously. You keep your posture relaxed, eyes on your cup. But your pulse kicks just slightly.

You glance sideways at him. “Are we still joking?”

He meets your eyes — not smiling now. Just... watching.

“Depends,” he says softly. “Are you still deflecting?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, the air between you both feels heavier than it should.

“I’m not deflecting,” you say after a beat, your voice quieter. “I just know how this goes. Idol flirts with stylist. Stylist doesn’t take the bait. Life moves on.”

“Except I’m not trying to bait you.”

“No?” you ask, lifting a brow. “Then what are you doing?”

He exhales a laugh, almost sheepish, and looks down at his hands for a moment. He taps a rhythm on his coffee lid. When he looks back up, his voice is careful — not hesitant, just... intentional.

“Trying to have a real conversation with the only person on this tour who actually talks to me like I’m a human and not a brand.”

That hits harder than it should.

You study him — really study him. The slight slump in his shoulders now that the performance is over. The raw edge still left in his voice. The way his walls are down, but only just.

It strikes you how much effort it must take for him to always be “T.O.P.” out there, when all he wants in here is to be Seung-Hyun.

“You have a way of surprising me,” you say finally.

He turns to you, lips quirking. “Good surprises or bad ones?”

You hesitate.

“Confusing ones,” you admit. “You throw out all this charm, all these lines, but then you say things like that and... it feels different.”

He nods, slowly. “It is different.”

You glance down, then back up, your voice careful. “I don’t know what to do with different.”

He smiles again — not teasing this time, but gentle. Understanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Not yet.”

The word yet lingers in the space between you like a dare, soft and waiting.

You nod once, more to yourself than to him.

He leans back on the couch, stretching, his arm brushing behind you without actually touching. His fingers hover just a little too close to your shoulder. And you feel it — that tension. That humming buzz of something just barely held back.

But neither of you cross it.

Not tonight.

“You ever think about how weird it is,” he murmurs suddenly, “that in rooms full of thousands, some people still make you feel the most seen?”

You glance over. He’s not looking at you now, but you know the words are meant for you.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a little rough. “I think about that a lot.”

And even though the room is still buzzing around you — voices, movement, life — you both sit in that silence, in that almost-touch, in that slow-burn space where something real is beginning to smolder.

Another night, the bass from the stage still pulses through the walls like a second heartbeat. The lights back here are dimmer, buzzing faintly above you, casting long, narrow shadows. The energy after a performance is always strange — raw and electric — but tonight, it’s different. He’s different.

You’re crouched near a rack of performance coats, checking for a loose button on Daesung’s backup jacket when you feel him before you hear him.

Seung-Hyun.

He doesn’t walk so much as glide — lazy, quiet steps in those custom boots that cost more than your entire wardrobe. His shirt’s half-unbuttoned, collarbone damp from sweat, and his hair’s messy in that deliberate, sinfully sexy way that makes him look like he just walked off a runway and into your peripheral vision like a problem you didn’t ask for.

“Need a hand?” he asks, voice like velvet and cigarette smoke, low enough that it’s meant for your ears only.

You don’t look up right away. “Only if your hands come with a tailoring certification.”

He crouches beside you anyway, far too close for backstage propriety. His knee presses against yours — casual, unbothered — but it steals your breath just the same.

“You always get like this after shows?” he asks, watching you work. “All focused and bossy?”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re dark with something that flickers between curiosity and something else. Something thicker.

You smirk. “Someone’s got to keep you boys from looking like bedazzled clowns.”

“Is that what I am?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “A clown in your hands?”

Your breath hitches.

“No,” you say, voice lower now, the energy shifting between you. “You’re a problem.”

“And you like problems.”

“I like solving problems.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, linger, then flick back up.

“So solve me.”

There it is — the moment. The flick of the switch.

You should laugh. You should deflect. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean just slightly closer, fingers pausing on the jacket’s seam. You speak barely above a whisper. “You really think I haven’t already figured you out?”

His gaze sharpens, playful, but taut — like a wire pulled tight.

“I think you’re still trying,” he says, his hand brushing yours — just a graze, but deliberate. “And I think... you want to keep trying.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of how narrow the space is between the two of you. The hallway is empty. The others are still changing, laughing somewhere down the corridor.

It’s just the two of you here.

Breath and heat and too many things left unsaid.

He shifts slightly, not closer — just enough that you feel the pull, the gravitational tug of his presence.

You narrow your eyes. “You think you can flirt your way into getting your jacket fixed faster?”

“I think I could flirt my way into worse decisions,” he says, his voice a rasp now.

“Like what?” you challenge.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then:

“Like kissing you in this hallway and not caring who walks by.”

The silence cracks between you.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The tension coils tight — breath, heartbeat, heat — until it’s almost unbearable.

Then he leans in, so close his mouth is a ghost along your ear, and whispers:

“But not tonight.”

You swallow, hard.

He pulls back slowly, eyes lingering on you like he’s memorizing every piece, every flicker of restraint.

Then he stands, adjusts his shirt, and offers a hand — not teasing this time, just there, solid.

You take it. Of course you do.

And when you rise, brushing imaginary dust off your thighs to avoid meeting his eyes, he smirks — that slow, dangerous kind.

“Soon, though,” he murmurs. “Very soon.”

Then he walks away, leaving you there — pulse racing, knees weak, and absolutely ruined for anything else.

Final night, the corridors hum with energy, staff and crew zipping past in a controlled frenzy. It’s the final show — Seoul — the one that means everything. Emotions are high. Nerves tighter than usual. Your clipboard is tucked under your arm, headset pulled off one ear as you pace the hallway with practiced focus. That is, until a hand grabs your wrist.

A familiar hand.

Before you can protest, you're tugged through a door and pulled into a private dressing room — his dressing room. The door shuts behind you with a decisive click. You barely have time to breathe before you're pressed gently but firmly back against it.

Seung-Hyun stands in front of you, tall and radiating heat, his stage outfit half-on — jacket unzipped, black shirt clinging to his chest, jaw sharp and set. His eyes are molten.

"We need to talk," he says.

Your brows shoot up. "Now? You go on in twenty."

He leans in, close enough that his scent — leather, musk, and something inherently him — curls around your senses. "Exactly. Twenty minutes, and then I’m on stage pretending I’m not losing my mind thinking about you."

You laugh, breathless. "You’ve been dramatic since Tokyo."

His lips brush your ear. "And you’ve been running since Berlin."

The room is too quiet. The air between you is charged, hot. He doesn’t touch you — not really — but the space between your bodies is thin enough to feel the burn.

You meet his eyes. “So what, this is your grand confession?”

“No,” he says, voice low. “This is me losing patience.”

He leans in — not kissing, not touching — just hovering. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His breath is warm on your mouth.

“I think about you every night,” he murmurs. “I hear your voice when I’m alone. I taste your name every time I’m quiet too long.”

Your pulse slams against your ribs. “Seung-Hyun—”

He groans your name like it’s already been sinfully whispered in his bed. His hand lifts, fingers tracing your jaw, soft and slow. He’s still not kissing you. And somehow, it’s worse.

You breathe out. “Do it, or let me go.”

His eyes flash, that dangerous, beautiful glint. “You think I won’t?”

“No,” you whisper. “I think you will. And I think I’ll like it too much.”

His lips press just below your jaw, a kiss so soft it barely registers — but it unravels everything. Your hands fist the front of his jacket, tugging him closer without meaning to. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I want you,” he says. “But not in a way I can rush. Not like a backstage fling.”

You blink, breath catching.

“I want to know what makes you lose control,” he says. “What makes you loud. What makes you shake.”

You exhale, shaky. “We’re running out of time.”

He smirks. “Then you’d better tell me what to do. Or walk away now.”

You don’t walk away.

Instead, you push off the door and into him, your mouth barely brushing his. He growls low, hands gripping your waist, body tight with restraint. You can feel it in him — the tension, the way he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

His mouth finds yours. At first tentative, then deeper — hungry, warm, desperate. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the sound into him like a man starved. His hands skim down your back, pulling you flush against him.

Every inch of your body buzzes. Your hands are in his hair, tugging, needing. He presses you harder into the wall, mouth hot at your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees wobble.

"You drive me insane," he murmurs. "Every look, every smart little comment. You know exactly what you do to me."

You whisper his name like a plea.

His hands are everywhere — at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He lifts you slightly, your back thudding softly against the door, his mouth tracing fire down your neck.

"Tell me to stop," he pants against your skin.

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again — deep, open-mouthed, messy — and he groans into it, his restraint starting to fray. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other still gripping your hip, grounding you both.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"If we start this," he breathes, "I won’t stop until I know everything. How you taste. How you sound. How you fall apart."

Your answer is simple.

You pull him back in.

And then — a knock. A voice. “Hyung! Two minutes!”

This time, he doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls against yours, rapid.

"Damn it," he mutters.

You close your eyes. You’re both trembling slightly.

He finally pulls back, smoothing your hair, brushing a kiss to your temple. "This isn't over. It never was."

You nod, lips swollen, breath shaky.

He smiles — dark and promising — then turns and disappears down the hall, toward the stage.

You let the door close, your back against it again, heart thudding. Tonight might be the final show.

But something between you and Seung-Hyun is just beginning.

And it’s not waiting much longer.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[esotericflame]

On the elephant in the room.

I know my two cents might not matter to most, but I feel the need to share my thoughts on this situation. As an older fan I am really disappointed and disgusted with what has happened on twitter.

As many of you know by now, Justin Taylor (aka Swiss) is officially off the band’s current tour. I won’t rehash every detail—I’m sure if you’ve spent any time online, you’ve seen the accusations flying around. Justin was accused of inappropriately touching an underage fan and “grooming” two others.

As a victim of sexual assault and grooming myself, I always want to believe victims first. But this situation? It never sat right with me. And this isn’t coming from a place of idolizing Justin or putting him on a pedestal. I don’t do that with celebrities. Justin is just a man. A talented one but he is still a human.

First, I want to address the photo incident: this was investigated by the police, and nothing came of it. I’ve also heard reports that the person in the photo wasn’t even the one making the accusation. There are so many holes and versions of this story it feels more like a smear campaign than anything solid. And maybe accidents happen. I’m a short person; I know what it’s like when someone accidentally brushes against me in a crowded space. It doesn’t mean intent. If Justin was regularly “touching fans,” wouldn’t we have heard more from others by now? Use your brain.

Second, the grooming claims. Grooming is the act of forming a relationship with a child with the intention of sexual exploitation. The people accusing him were 18 or a bit older. Now, is an older man flirting with an 18-year-old gross? Sure. But it’s not illegal. It’s not grooming. Look at our culture—18-year-olds can work in strip clubs, sell explicit content online, and there are entire genres of porn centered around barely-legal themes. I’m not saying that’s right—but in the eyes of the law, 18 is an adult.

I say this from experience: I was groomed at 16 by a man ten years older who waited until I was “legal” to make his move. That’s grooming. Not some flirty messages exchanged between adults.

Third, let’s talk about the crowd pushing these accusations. They’re mostly young, extremely online individuals. These are the same people who preach tolerance but are the first to send death threats the moment someone disagrees with them. And death threats? That’s disgusting. (I’m looking at the ones who threatened TF’s kids)

This insane behavior is never okay. You think you’re doing good, but if Justin were to hurt himself over this, that blood would be on your hands.

I am all for justice when it is done correctly. Let a band handle their internal affairs. But this rise of online justice has devolved into mob rule, where accusations alone are enough to condemn someone. Facts no longer matter—only public outrage does. Innocent until proven guilty? That’s dead. The internet now plays judge, jury, and executioner.

Instead of wasting energy tearing down someone you’ve never met, maybe channel that passion into something real—volunteer at a survivor’s shelter, support real victims. Get off the site run by a literal Nazi and go do something good for your community.

Finally people need to stop going after Per, Randy, Cos, Olivia, Hayden, and Tobias. These people are Justin’s friends—they’ve spent years touring, rehearsing, and performing together. Don’t you think they know Justin better than strangers on the internet? They’ve chosen to stand by him for a reason.

I’ve been a Ghost fan for 13 years—since the early days when they played Maryland Deathfest. And honestly? I’m disappointed and embarrassed by the behavior of so many fans today. Since MOAC blew up, it feels like there’s this new wave of fans who have made Ghost their entire personality, turning the band into some toxic obsession.

I do hope Justin gets a lawyer and holds every person who spread hate and lies accountable. But if it comes out that I am wrong about everything then I’ll eat my words. Period.

[jamiedc-they-them]

I heard you were taking Thunderbolts* requests? You can refuse there's absolutely no pressure!

What about Bucky with an adopted child, young adult? I don't really have a scenario, just some context that popped when I watched the movie yesterday :')

Like, Bucky can take care of himself, sure, but his child always makes sure he's not living on the bare minimum. During the happenings of the movie, they followed Bucky without his permission but ended up being useful in their own way (because Bucky taught them how to fight, of course).

I know it's a bit abstract, but I've always liked your blog, and the last request I gave you did not disappoint (probably a year ago or something), so I trust your brain can make up something wonderful!

(If you wanna get a little crazy, totally optional, you can make his child a mutant, with wings. Thought it could be funny :'D)

Own it (Platonic)

Summary: Being Bucky Barnes' adopted child comes with challenges. Challenges that boil over in ways that almost make you lose each other, both to your memories, and physically.

Requested by @len-psychofr

Warnings: Swearing, depression, self-hatred, violence, dead parents, Valentina.

Marvel Masterlist 1

Marvel Masterlist 2

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

"How was the party?" You asked, sitting curled near the window, eating some leftover takeout that Bucky had left out for you to have when you got back in from work.

This was actual work. Not hired gun work, not Black Widow work. Work-work. A job.

Mind you, it didn't exactly pay the bills.

Bucky did that. He was an elected official. You were happy for him, the pair of you making new names for yourselves after pasts you'd rather forget.

You, a shit mum who sold you to some research programme that Yelena Belova found you in. She wasn't in a great headspace, so she asked the Winter Soldier of all people to keep an eye on you.

Yelena had then disappeared, but Bucky had stayed.

A butterfly came through the window, landing on your finger.

"Met Valentina's assistant," he said as he shut the door behind him, "trying to scope me out."

"In what way?" you teased. You knew how people had a crush on Bucky. The way he made people swoon with the simple phrase of doll.

It was harmless...mostly.

He rolled his eyes, "you got a broken mind, kid. Sometimes wonder why I took you in if all you're gonna do is talk shit."

He meant it in a light-hearted way. It had the opposite effect.

You were good at hiding how things felt, though.

You laughed. He didn't read into it.

A proper dad would, you told yourself. Your brain told itself.

It told you a lot of things. Most of them are not nice.

Yet, here you stood still, with a man who was seemingly getting bored of you.

Bucky looked at you, waiting for the dishwasher to be done; you were looking at the butterfly still, smiling at it.

You didn’t get much of that in your youth, he guessed. Time to just slow down and appreciate your life and the life around you. Just survive constantly until the next day.

You heard his phone go. The butterfly flew away.

You finished your "meal" before clearing your throat, "your arm is done."

He nodded to you in thanks, pulling it from the dishwasher, the one he wore to the party being a dud.

You laid on your bed, staring up at the ceiling.

He didn't mean it. He didn't mean it. He didn't --

"You don't touch them," Bucky sneered into his phone.

You poked your head out of the doorway, "Kid may be 'weak' but they're my kid. You don't go after them."

Oh. That was...mixed.

He slammed the phone down, accidentally crushing it with his arm that he had just cleaned.

You left the room, clearing your throat, "Everything ok?"

He let out a sigh, before turning around, “Yeah…no,” he was honest, at least, growth, “how much of that did you hear?”

You shook your head, “not much,” you lied, “just decided to come out when the phone got…you know…”

He nodded, both of you deciding to believe the lie. This was something serious.

“Take it trying to impeach the bitch isn’t going well.”

“Language,” you rolled your eyes, “but, no. But, there may be a way to find some people who can help.”

“I can help,” you said, arm going up.

“And, how is that?”

“Because it’s who my mum sold me to.”

“What?!” Bucky was walking towards you. 

You took a step back. He paused.

“Sorry…” he sounded apologetic.

He isn’t, a voice said in your mind, he’s just like her.

You cleared your throat, “it’s ok.”

“This is serious, (your name).”

“I can help,” you promised.

Bucky saw it in your eyes, a look that was in his long ago - though it still lingered, the past never fully went away: Redemption.

A want to make it right.

He knew you’d just follow anyway.

“You’re a pain in my arse, you know that?”

“So I’ve gathered.”

You had an attitude today. He just put it up to age. He remembered being in his mid-teen years as well. Anti-authority and all that.

He once got called a communist for it.

He nodded, “But you do exactly as I say, ok?”

“Aye aye,” you said, giving him a mock salute.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He took you to the garage, where he had a bike. He even donned a new outfit, and shades for some reason.

“You look like a cliche biker,” you said, waiting for him.

“And you look like a hipster.”

You gawked at him.

He got on the bike, you got on behind him.

He held something to you: A helmet.

“Really?”

“Safety first.”

You parroted what he said as you put it on, making sure it was secure.

“Hold on, I ain’t obeying traffic laws.”

“Wow, you’re so cool,” you said, dryly.

He shook his head, with you behind him, meaning you missed the smile on his face.

You set off, tearing through the mean streets and only almost dying several thousand times due to not obeying the traffic laws.

You even got pulled over at one point:

“Do you know who I am?” Bucky asked.

“Senator Barnes,” the officer looked at you, “and here’s your little scrap.”

“Walk off,” you said, the cop obeying.

Oh yeah, did I forget to mention that you had powers? We’ll get more into them later.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, starting the journey again.

“Uh-huh,” you said, not biting.

You drove on, and you did enjoy this part about America, the amount of diverse landscapes there were. From concrete jungles to more empty areas with deserts all around.

“So, who are we chasing, exactly?”

“Some people like us: fuck ups. One of them is the same girl who gave you to me.”

“Yelena?” You asked, wanting to see the woman who saved your life.

“That’s the one. We also got John Walker –”

“Fuck up Captain America, right?”

He snorted at the name, “That’s the one.”

“And the last one?”

“Ava Starr, The Ghost.”

“Cool name.”

“You said that about my name.”

“Well, I was lying then; that, and you didn’t like it.”

He looked at you from the mirror on the bike, you were a kind soul. He always admired that. You were traumatised and sarcastic, but deeply kind to others.

Just not yourself.

You made it. He held out his hand, and you placed a grenade launcher into it. He fired it, and you both rode through the smoke.

You leant to the side, “you got a plan?” he asked.

“Trust me?” 

He nodded: of course, he did, he just sometimes wasn’t great at showing it.

You zoomed off, carrying some bombs with you. You placed each of them on the trucks. 

All but one went off –

“Oh for fu–”

He fired his launcher at it, it did the job – doubly so when the grenade you had planted went off as well.

“It’s alright,” he said, “you’ll get them next time.”

You won’t, he had to clean up for you.

“You wanna do this one?” Bucky asked, holding out the last one.

He still trusted you.

You hesitated before taking it and zooming off once again.

It worked. The limousine flipped.

You just hoped Yelena survived.

She did. They all had. Even her dad.

You had read up on her ages ago, Bucky had given you her files.

You wanted to know about the friend who saved you.

She didn’t look too different, sans the blue eyeliner.

“You did good,” Bucky said. He’d said it before, but this time he sounded different. 

He doesn’t believe it.

“I mean it.”

You just hummed, looking back at the group of misfits.

Bucky called you kind, your therapist called you someone who got attached too quickly.

Maybe it was why, as everyone started to wake up, you hugged Yelena.

What? You only had two friends.

“(Your name)?” she asked, blinking a few times.

“Hi,” you said, backing away.

She smiled, “it’s good to see you again. Even if the circumstances aren’t great. You did blow up our car.”

You smiled, looking from friend to friend.

You felt good. You felt worth something. Not discarded.

You had helped.

Even your brain didn’t retort to that.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“That car was priceless,” her father said.

“Sorry…” you apologised.

“Never apologise, little America,” he said, “your technique was flawless.”

“Uh…”

“That’s Alexei,” Bucky said, “Yelena’s father.”

You waved, he nodded.

You listened to your father’s proposed plan: Impeach Valentina.

“That’s why you’ll go with (Your name) and –”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa –” You shot up, finger waving, “uh-uh.”

You had shifted back quickly.

Bucky sighed, turning back to you.

“So, I told you all that about where my mum sold me too and tell you this and the first thing you think about is impeaching Valentina?”

“She’s a threat.”

“So were - are - we!”

“So we are –”

“Don’t fucking correct me!” he flinched at your words. They had affected him.

“Don’t. Talk.” He didn’t open his mouth. Your powers had worked again.

“They care about this Bob dude, ok? Valentina hurt him. What was it you said to me once?”

He didn’t talk.

“Say it!” your voice had a deep rumble to it.

“That you don’t let those who can’t defend themselves get hurt.”

“Exactly,” you pointed at them, “we’re the best shot he’s got, ok? We go there, we find him and we stop Valentina.”

He agreed. Alexei cheered.

Your ragtag team was born.

You sat in the back of the van with Yelena, Ava and John. 

It was a battered truck, with small little holes in it. You looked out of one, seeing an old friend: The Butterfly from before.

“What’s the weirdo looking at?” John asked.

“Knock it off,” Ava warned.

“What is it?” Yelena asked, looking at you.

“It’s a butterfly,” you answered.

She turned, finding a hole to look out of with you.

“It’s very pretty.”

You smiled, “it’s a reminder of what we’re fighting for in this capitalistic hellscape of ours.”

“Sounds a bit commie to me.”

You spun round to John, “Why? You do know that like, not liking capitalism isn’t a hot fucking idea, right? You gonna go all-new Captain America, gonna crush my head in with your shield as well?”

“What, no. How do you even –”

“I live with Bucky, we’re friends. He told me.”

“What are you? Twelve?” 

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, and looking at butterflies still.”

“God forbid someone has a hobby, John.” Ava said.

“Look – all I’m saying is, you don’t like my helmet, but you don’t mind them looking at butterflies.”

“How are those two things related?”

“They – they aren’t. I just – I just want someone to like my helmet.”

You hated that you felt yourself tear up a small amount.

Yelena put a hand on your shoulder, “Ignore him.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said, rubbing your eyes, “I’m used to people like him. Besides, he’s right –”

“No,” both Ava and Yelena said.

“World we live in, we just fight to get ourselves through it, until we die,” you looked at him, eyes still glassy, “Thank you for reminding me of that.” You were sincere.

John loathed that you were sincere with your thanks. He didn’t mean to accidentally dig. From the look in your eyes, you didn’t mean to throw it so harshly back at him, either.

You’re not kind, you're nasty and cruel. You deserved what happened to you. You hurt him. Look, look at him. Damaged but not broken. Then there’s you, you cu–

“That’s – that’s not what I –” 

The truck smashed through the wall before he could finish.

You were brutal with your fighting: Just like you were told. 

Bucky and you even made a team.

Hell, you did with everyone: John launched you up with his shield, Yelena and you went back to back, you flung one person up and Ava appeared to slam them into the ground, and you threw someone at Alexei for him to hook. 

You made it up to Valentina after being invited.

“Oh, you,” she said, looking at you in disgust, “I thought I got rid of you a long time ago.”

“Oops.”

“You know,” Valentina said, walking towards you. Yelena took a step forward, Valentina didn’t clock her as she leant down close to you, “When your mother left you in my…care –”

“Don’t believe her, (your name),” John said.

Bucky went forward, but Alexei put a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head: Trust your child.

“She only asked that your name get changed. The rest of it could do what I wanted with you. She took the money and left.”

Ava went to use her ability.

“Uh-uh,” Valentina said, “look, whatever weird protection squad you’ve assembled here for little old (nickname), when - truthfully - I thought you were here for Bob, is all very cute and all. But, guys, let’s not forget here, I’m the one with all the cards on the table.”

She looked to Yelena, “You really do just pick up strays, don’t you,” she cocked her head to the side, “Bob, the little brother; (your name) the little sib. God, you learnt how to do that from Nat, didn’t you.”

Yelena pursed her lips at the words.

Valentina wasn’t digging her grave further, she was just digging the knife deeper into you all.

Bob appeared, in an outfit with his hair slicked back.

“I heard it all,” he proclaimed, “you’ve replaced me already.”

“Bob, no –” Yelena tried to dissuade her friend, but Valentina spoke before she could finish.

“They did, that’s right,” she said, putting a hand on his chest in what you hoped was meant to be a maternal gesture, “they’re criminals, Bob. It’s what they do: They lie, they cheat, they betray.”

You fought for your lives. You were the last one standing.

Bob picked you up by your throat. He looked to Yelena, “So this is who you’re replacing me with.”

“Bob, (brother), no. No, I didn’t –”

He looked at you, “I’ve seen that look before, that want to die. I can do that for you.”

“Let them run,” Valentina ordered.

You barely remembered getting outside. 

Yelena was tearing into everyone. You were out of your mind doing this, even attempting it.

She then turned to you, “and you…you deserve so much better, (your name). Better than us –”

“Hey –”

“No, Bucky, look,” Yelena pointed at you, “look at them. They’re a mess. They deserve stability.”

“I know!” Bucky lost control for a second. Yelena backed away. He put his hands up in an apology, taking a step back, “I know,” he said in a softer tone.

Bucky turned towards you, reaching an arm out, “What did he –”

“Fuck off.”

“Language,” the three males said.

“Don’t act all parental to me now Bucky, just because we got our arses kicked.”

“Where’s this coming from –”

“You,” you pushed him, “what was it, huh? ‘Sometimes wonder why I took you in if all you're gonna do is talk shit.’? Or, or was it ‘Kid may be 'weak'’?”

“I also said you don’t go after them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” you spat, “you agreed with her.”

“Who says that about their own child?!” Alexei was angered on your behalf.

“A tired dad who didn't mean it,” Bucky defended.

“Oh no,” you pointed a finger in his face, “you said it. Own it.” 

“Own it! You shouted, but this time you didn’t use your power.

“I did – I did say those things…and I can’t excuse them.”

There was a pause. Before:

“If I - if I can have a go.”

“Sure, John, join happy hour.”

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky,” John then softened his tone as he looked at you, “Look, I screwed up with my kid, alright? I was a lousy dad,” he waited to be made a punchline; when no one did, he continued, “I’d do anything to take it back. But, I’d burn the whole world down just to see my kid and wife again and try and pick up the pieces.

It might be too late for me, I don’t think it is for you guys.”

You and Bucky just looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

“Sometimes it is for some,” was what Yelena said, looking at Alexei before walking away. Alexei followed.

You looked to Ava, “So, what are you going to do now?” 

She let out a breath, “to be honest, I don’t entirely know. I guess, do what I’m best at: run.”

“You?” she asked.

You lifted your arms before letting them hit your sides. You were burnt out, at this point.

Why did you think you could do this? Help? Look at how that’s gone.

Screams, you heard screams next.

People were disappearing.

Someone was in the sky…Bob.

You moved without thinking. Instinct took over.

You helped zip someone out of the way. You were thanked. 

You were thanked a few more times, and someone even shook your hand when in relative safety.

Together, you all lifted a wall. 

You were cheered.

Maybe you weren’t complete fuck ups after all.

Yelena stood at the edge of darkness…she walked into it.

Alexei broke down.

You all took cover, John comforting Alexei as he wept.

You looked out at the darkness.

You felt a pull to it.

It was calling to you and –

A hand went on your shoulder. A metallic one.

“If you’re going into it to help her,” he said, “I’m going with you.”

You looked from him to Bob in the sky, to the darkness engulfing New York.

“I don’t fucking care for New York,” you said, starting to walk, “but I ain’t leaving Yelena to fend for herself.”

“We’re coming too,” Ava said.

“If there is even a chance that my Yelena is alive in there,” Alexei said, choked, “then I will fight with all I have.” 

So, as a united front, you ran into it…

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dad,” you called out, looking around.

You were alone in a void.

Then, you heard voices, “Just, change their name. Pull whatever strings you need,” your mother said to Valentina. You were shaking in the corner of a room.

“Done and done,” Valentina said, shaking her hand, “take her out.”

You learnt that she meant that in two ways when you saw your mother be escorted out, and then when you heard a gunshot ring out.

Valentina crouched by your younger self, “Now, what are we going to call you?”

Valentina, or your mind's version of…well, it wasn’t a warped version, but still, looked up at the real you: “You shouldn’t have made it. But, to be honest, I’m kind of glad you did. Bob would likely have been harder to turn on them if you weren’t here.”

You shut your eyes, trying not to well up.

“Oh,” Valentina cooed, “You gonna cry? Is your…protection squad not here to help you anymore?” 

“You’re not real…”

“Oh, honey, no I’m not. But, I must have fucked you up badly to even be here in the first place and talking to the real you. To be honest, I forgot you as soon as I left. Figured that the trash would just take itself out.

“Oh well, adjustments and all –”

“You grabbed her throat, slamming her into the wall.

“There it is. There they are. There’s the monster I wanted.”

“You’re not real.”

“We’ve established that.”

You took your hands off of her throat. You looked around. It was this void that was showing you this. 

You shut your eyes and took some deep breaths. 

You heard a flutter. Opening them, you saw the butterfly again.

It landed on your hand.

“Show me the way, buddy,” you whispered to it.

When it left your hand, the scene shifted.

You were in the apartment that you shared with Bucky, your home. The only place you have felt safe in.

Bucky rushed you, “You were the runt. You ruined me! All you had to do, was keep your mouth shut, and I wouldn’t have had to be re-elected!”

You were being choked on the table. 

Even without his metal arm, he was strong.

You could feel your vision fading when –

“Get. Off!” He was whacked across the room.

…Bucky? Appeared in your vision again.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me, buddy. It’s me,” he rushed out the words, helping you sit up as you caught your breath back.

“How the – how the hell are you here?” You coughed.

“Dad power.”

You chuckled, being down to only small coughs now, “You’re weird.”

“I’m also sorry,” he said, hand on your shoulder, “I didn’t mean for the broken mind comment to come across how it did.”

You waved it off, “No, I’m serious, (your name). It hurt you, it matters.”

You nodded, he meant it.

“Talk about it later? I promise.”

He nodded, he could do that.

You made your way to Bob and Yelena, helping them not get hit by the debris.

Yelena nodded to you, you nodded back.

She then took Bob’s hands, promising that they were there and made him take them to the darkest parts.

He did, he trusted you.

John punched his dad, not using his nickname of ‘Bobby’ anymore. 

Bucky punched the high version of Bob before you all moved through the cellar door.

There, you were in a lab. Yelena recognised it.

There he stood: The void. The part of Bob that internalised all the self-hatred.

It moved on you, pinning you all and splitting the ground to create more distance.

Bob declared himself not alone, running and tackling this part of him, throwing punches.

It wasn’t working. It was doing the opposite.

Yelena got out first, using her acrobatics to reach him. She didn’t do any fancy moves, she just hugged him.

John was next. 

Bucky looked at you, “You go, I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

He pushed your rubble enough to let you get out.

You started running, about to zip when the ground shuddered and you stumbled. 

Ava grabbed you, “I’ve got you!” 

You zipped the pair of you to Bob, holding him in the hug.

“We have you,” you said. Given how he cried out, your voice and power had reached him.

Alexei and Bucky then joined, and together you pulled him out of his spiral and back to New York.

You and Yelena stayed with him. Yelena reached over, hand going into yours.

You squeezed.

Her newly found siblings were ok. 

Attached quickly? Sure, but sometimes love worked like that. She cared.

Alexei offered a hand, you took it and were hoisted up.

“I am glad you are ok, little American. Where is Big American?”

“Present,” Bucky said.

“Ah,” Alexei put a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, then yours, “you seem to have mended your problem?”

You looked at each other, “we’re getting there.”

“Progress is good, my friends!” He cheered, bringing you both into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t mind it, though, hugging him back.

“Now,” he put you both down, “what say you, we deal with Valentina?”

It didn’t work out like that. 

Instead, you now owned her.

The New Avengers were born.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were all broken people. Dented by the world and internalised it the wrong way. You knew that, but you couldn’t help when your brain spiralled.

You were all just existing after a mission, and you found yourself on the sofa, lying on it and looking at the ceiling.

You hated it, you thought after this journey you would be complete. Why weren’t you –

“Hey,” Yelena said as she crouched near you, “bad brain day?” 

You looked at her, nodding.

She smiled sympathetically, she kissed your head, “Silly brain.”

Bob entered the room, then, “Hey,” he was still unsure, but powered through, “I did most of the dishes,” you smiled at your friend, “but, I left some things…if you wanted to do them.”

Ah, so he knew.

You got up silently, walked over to your friend, and hugged him.

He hugged you back.

You nodded to each other, “proud of you,” you said to him, giving his arms a squeeze.

He squeezed back, “proud of you, too.”

It had been a mantra for you both.

You went to the kitchen, finding a few glasses left and Bucky’s arm.

You did the first few dishes fine, then found your way to the arm.

“Ah, was wondering where you were,” Bucky said, coming up to you and putting a hand on your back, “Yelena told me that today was a cloudy head day?” 

You nodded, not having the energy for words.

“That’s alright,” he assured. 

Then he looked at his arm, “You’re doing a great job.”

You hummed.

“You know,” he said, leaning against the counter, “when Yelena told me about keeping you, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. If I could be what you…needed.”

You looked to him, continuing your cleaning duties.

“But,” he continued, “I think…maybe it’s the other way around. Maybe I needed you. Something to fight for, rather than just an abstract concept of good. I was so scared I’d screw it up, and I have don’t get me wrong. 

“But…I’m never going to stop trying to be the parent you deserve. I’m even asking Alexei and - god help me - John.”

You silently chuckled. He smiled.

“I’m proud of you, on the good and bad days. I’m here for all of them.”

You held his arm to him. He picked it up and put it on.

He then kissed your hair.

You looked out the window.

You took in a breath. 

One day at a time.

[adorifyy]

︿ · CURSED DESIRE · ︿

SUMMARY ! ... reader got cursed with the desire for something, but she didn’t know what it was. Not until she got together with Sam Winchester, anyway.

WARNINGS ! ... S M U T, piv, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), size kink, first time tg, dom!sam (?) nicknames (sweetheart, baby, Sammy, Rapunzel), fingering, witch curse, overprotective parents, teasing, handsy!sam, sam sucking on your nipple, missionary (?) possessive!sam (but also gentle!sam), slight degrading, no use of Y/N

A/N ! ... omg first time writing a smut fic, scared first time nervous, kinda writing a smut fic. 3.3k wordcount

PAIRING ! ... sam winchester x reader

You were just a young adult when that witch that you and your parents were hunting cursed you. Even after your dad killed the witch, you had that weird, tingly feeling in your body that left you feeling dirty, and cursed.

You weren’t sure what the curse was, mostly because you had never been with anybody, well, you had, just before the curse. But since the curse had latched itself onto you, your parents didn’t let you date anyone. Hell, they barely let you do anything, because they feared what would happen.

So you were stuck for the next few years wondering what kind of curse the witch casted upon you. You had left your parents’ hold just three years after it all happened, so you were hunting alone, and you were trying to figure out what kind of curse the witch put on you, and you kept wondering, not knowing what to do.

That is, until you started dating Sam Winchester.

Ever since you and Sam had gotten together, you had this weird.. hunger and the feeling of.. intense need for something. Something that you didn’t know what the said thing was.

The only thing you knew is that you needed something concerning Sam.

You two had agreed to take things slow, and he understood that you wanted to take your time until you were ready to have sex with him. You’ve had sex with people, before the curse, but as mentioned before, your parents hadn’t let you date after the curse, so it’s not like you were a virgin.

You were sitting on your bed in the bedroom that belonged to you and Sam in the bunker, reading a book that sat on your lap, with your bent legs supporting it as your hair lay in a low, standard braid as you read the book.

You felt the bed dip beneath you as another person sat down on it, and the hunger and need started to flood your system again, but as usual — or as you’d learned to — you ignored it.

You looked up at the familiar, shaggy haired, giant of a man you’ve grown to love and adore, and saw that smirk on his stupid face that made you want to kiss it off his stupidly handsome face of his.

“Hey, sweetheart. Wanna have a movie night? Just us two. Dean went out to a bar and I doubt Cas would come to check up on us. He’s too busy with angel stuff.” He said, that level tone of his that seeped onto a hint of mischievousness.

“Sure. What movie are we thinking? Horror? Action? Disney cartoons that you so adore, Rapunzel?” You said as you closed the book, the sarcasm in your voice noticeable. You had often teased Sam about his love for the movie ‘Tangled’ and you often called him Rapunzel because of his long hair.

Oh how the hated that nickname.

“First off, I told you not to call me that nickname..” he paused as he climbed onto the bed next to you. “Second, I don’t mind which movie. Your pick. I don’t care.” He said as he kissed the top of your forehead.

“How ‘bout Star Wars? I know how much you love the movies, you big guy.” You said, discarding the book onto your nightstand as you flashed him a teasing smirk.

“Star Wars is a perfect choice, sweetheart.” He said, smiling at you.

As you and Sam we’re curled up in bed, watching Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, it felt like the perfect moment. You wanted to freeze time and be stuck here forever. With the way one of Sam’s hands was cradling your hip as you clinged onto his side, laying your hand on his shoulder.

And then, Sam started getting handsy, which fueled that craving and hunger that the witch had cursed you with. His hand drifted onto your ass, and squeezed it, which made you smirk knowingly at him as you raised your head from the screen, now focusing your vision onto his handsome face.

“Sammy, why’re you getting so handsy for, hm?” You say, trying to sound teasing but the hunger for him in your eyes showed him that you were just as needy as he was.

He leaned his face closer to yours, pecking yours lips once, twice, until you got impatient and pulled him in for a kiss, a kiss that was filled with passion, need and hunger.

You moved one of your legs to the other side of him, straddling his lap as he as up and made out with you, with your hands around his neck and his hands at your waist. You were both in that position, the room quiet except for the sounds of lip moving against lip.

You had moved your hands to unbutton his shirt, but then he pulled away and grabbed your wrist, smirking at you as he shook his head. “No way, sweetheart, m’taking over.” He said, his voice deep with passion and hunger as his dominant side of him was brought onto the surface.

He was about to ask you if you were sure about this, but the hunger in your eyes answered his unspoken question as his hands from your waist grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off. He started kissing and nibbling from your neck to the in-between of your breasts, which was mostly covered by your bra, but he made sure to kiss and nibble all over you.

He once again moved to your neck, sucking on the plain skin and then running his tongue over it, as if he wanted to soothe the marks.

He reached behind your back, in order to use his hand to unclasp your bra, which made you tilt your head back and arch your back towards his face as he used his hands to slip the straps off your shoulders as your hands flew to his hair, grasping at the strands of it.

He pulled his head away from your neck to admire your breasts. “S’beautiful for me, baby..” he said, returning his head to your neck, kissing over it, and then over your collarbone until he eventually kissed over your nipples. One of his hands moved from your waist to cup your other breast that wasn’t being worshiped by his mouth.

His mouth on your nipples made you moan, and the fact he made sure to cup your other breast and knead it was enough to make you roll your head back once more as you arched your back more towards his face.

He flipped you over, so that you were laying on your back, and so he could get better access to your body. He moved his kisses from your nipple to your stomach, trailing over in a straight line until he reached the waistband of your pants.

He looked up at you, as if asking permission. He may be a dominant man, but he wanted to make sure it was pleasuring for you, aswell.

When all you did was nod, he straightened up and gripped your chin. “Use your words f’me sweetheart.” He said as his hands sneaked around your waist.

“Yes, Sam.” You managed to say, if not moan. You were so deep in pleasure as you let the hunger that lingered in you ever since you got cursed get the better of you.

Your words was all it took for him to move his hands from your waist to unbutton your pants as he ducked his head to your neck one again, kissing and sucking at every inch possible.

You moved your hands from his hair and resumed unbuttoning his shirt, and this time he didn’t stop you from doing so.

As soon as he unbuttoned your pants, he tapped your hip bone with his fingers, and then gently said “Lift your hips f’me, sweetheart.” And when you did, he basically threw your jeans off and discarded them somewhere on the floor.

The Star Wars movie was long forgotten when he started helping you unbutton his shirt, since it seemed you were struggling.

The curse still pulsed under your skin, a lingering reminder of the witch’s cruel magic, but in Sam’s presence, the weight of it eased. He made you feel safe.

“I just need you.” you whispered, working open the first button, then another.

Sam let out a slow breath, his control razor-thin. His muscles tensed as you spread his shirt apart, revealing the hard lines of his chest. He caught your wrist, halting your movements.

“You’re shaking.” he murmured, his thumb stroking against your pulse point.

“I need to feel something real, I need to feel you, Sam.” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flashed, something primal flickering beneath his usual restraint. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he guided you back against the pillows, his weight settling over you. He was careful, keeping most of it off you, but his presence alone was enough to send shivers down your spine.

His fingers brushed your ribs, trailing down to your bare waist, just above the lace of your panties. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he rasped, his lips hovering just above yours. “Even cursed, you’re still the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

Heat pooled in your stomach, and you arched slightly beneath him, seeking more. He groaned, his restraint wavering as he pressed his hips against yours. Even with the fabric of his jeans between you, the pressure sent a delicious ache through your arching core.

Sam kissed you then — slow, deep, possessive but with a hint of need and hunger. His hands traced your body with purpose, mapping every inch, reminding you that you were his to take care of, to worship. He didn’t rush. He wanted to make sure your first time with him was pleasurable.

You whimpered against his lips, nails digging into his shoulders as he rolled his hips, teasing, torturing. “Sam…”

His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and uneven. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

His fingers trailed against the waistband of your red, lacy panties that has a wet patch in the middle of them. “Y’so wet for me, baby..” He said as he removed his forehead from yours, so he could see your beauty when he pulled down those panties.

You whined at his touch, needing more. “Sam, I need you, I need you to fuck me.. please, Sammy.” You moaned out, desperate for him.

His jaw clenched at your words, at the way you begged for him, voice trembling with need. Sam had always been careful with you—always put you first, always made sure you felt safe. But right now? Right now, you weren’t asking for careful. You were pleading for him, raw and desperate, and that was all it took to snap the last thread of his control.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, his lips dragging down your throat, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

His hand trailed lower, fingertips teasing along the edge of your panties, feeling the heat radiating from between your thighs. You squirmed beneath him, seeking more friction, but he pinned you in place with his weight, his free hand gripping your hip firmly.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “So needy. So perfect.”

His fingers slid beneath the lace, barely brushing against your soaked folds, and you gasped, your body arching into him.

“Sam—”

“I know, baby.” His voice was rough, breathless. “I know what you need.”

He pulled back just enough to watch you, his eyes dark, possessive. His fingers moved with slow, torturous precision, circling your clit, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted. The friction was enough to make your toes curl, but not enough to push you over the edge.

You whined, hips bucking against his hand, but he only smirked, pressing you down into the mattress. “You’re always so impatient,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “But I wanna take my time with you.”

You whimpered, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Sam, please—”

His fingers slid lower, slipping inside you with ease, stretching you in the most delicious way. You gasped, nails raking down his back as he set a slow, deliberate rhythm, his thumb circling your clit just enough to keep you on the edge.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised, watching the way you came undone beneath him. “So good f’me.”

Your breath hitched, thighs trembling, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you. He leaned down, lips brushing against your ear. “Cum f’me.”

And when he curled his fingers just right, you shattered, pleasure crashing through you in waves as you cried out his name.

He didn’t stop—he worked you through it, kissing you slow and deep, his free hand caressing your side, grounding you.

As the pleasure ebbed into something softer, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, lips ghosting over yours.

You exhaled shakily, hands reaching for his belt. “I need more, Sammy.”

His breath hitched, eyes darkening. And then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, his control unraveling completely.

“Then I’ll give you everything.” He said, unraveling his belt, revealing his rock hard cock, now even though you couldn’t see his length because he was still in his boxers, you knew he would be huge, just by the sheer size of his body.

The room felt hotter, the air thick with tension as Sam’s words settled over you like a promise.

Your breath hitched as he pushed his jeans down, the fabric sliding over his thighs. Even though he was still in his boxers, the sight of him made your stomach tighten. The thick outline of his cock strained against the fabric, the sheer size of it making your heart race.

You swallowed hard. He was big.

Sam caught the way your eyes widened, and a smirk ghosted across his lips. “You okay, sweetheart?” His voice was rough, but there was something tender in the way he spoke to you, the way his fingers brushed against your cheek.

You nodded, even though uncertainty flickered in your eyes. “You’re just… big.”

His smirk deepened, but the warmth in his gaze never faded. He leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand sliding down your side, fingers tracing the curve of your waist. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured against your mouth. “I’ll take care of you.”

A shiver ran through you at the weight of his words.

He hooked his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, tugging them down with agonizing slowness, his gaze never leaving yours. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but with Sam looking at you like that — like you were something precious — you weren’t scared.

His fingers ghosted over your bare thighs, then dipped between them, spreading you open. His touch was gentle, reverent, but the way his breath caught told you everything you needed to know. He wanted you. Badly.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, his thumb swiping over your clit, making you gasp. “S’fuckin’ perfect.”

Your body arched into him, desperate, aching. “Sam, please.”

His jaw clenched, restraint flickering in his eyes as he pushed his boxers down. And then you saw him. His rock hard cock.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Thick, long, intimidatingly big, the tip flushed, already leaking precum. You had suspected he would be large, but seeing him now? A mixture of anticipation and nervousness coiled in your stomach.

Sam must have noticed because he chuckled softly, gripping himself at the base, stroking slowly. “We’ll take it slow, baby” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “But I need you to relax f’me, okay?”

You nodded, spreading your thighs wider as he settled between them. His cock brushed against your entrance, teasing, stretching you slightly, and your breath hitched at the sheer size of him.

He groaned at the feeling of your slickness against him, his forehead pressing against yours. “You ready, sweetheart?”

You nodded, fingers digging into his biceps. “I want you, Sam.”

His breath shuddered, and then, with no warning, he pushed in.

The stretch was immediate, a sharp, almost overwhelming sensation as his thick head breached your entrance. You gasped, legs tensing around him. Sam cursed under his breath, his hands gripping your hips, holding himself back with everything he had.

“Jesus,” he ground out. “You’re so tight. So f’ckin tight.”

You whimpered, adjusting to the sheer size of him. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, so full, so deep, even though he had barely pushed in.

He kissed you slowly, his hands stroking your thighs, your waist, easing you into it. “Breathe for me, sweetheart. You’re doing s’good.”

You forced yourself to relax, exhaling shakily. Sam took that as his cue, pushing in deeper, stretching you inch by inch.

Your nails raked down his back, and he groaned at the sensation. His muscles trembled with restraint, his jaw clenched as he held himself back from thrusting into you all at once.

Finally, he was fully inside you, his cock buried to the hilt, filling you in a way that made your head spin. You felt impossibly full, stretched to your limit, but the burn was slowly melting into something more, something deliciously overwhelming.

Sam let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good. S’fuckin’ good.”

You whimpered, shifting slightly, and the movement sent a shockwave of pleasure through both of you. Sam sucked in a breath, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” he rasped, voice strained.

You nodded, a small moan escaping your lips. “Move, Sammy. Please.”

His restraint snapped.

He pulled back slowly, dragging his cock almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward, filling you again. You cried out, pleasure sparking through every nerve.

Sam groaned, his grip on you tightening as he set a slow but deep rhythm. “Fuck, baby. Y’feel so goddamn good.”

His lips crashed against yours, swallowing your moans as he rocked into you, his cock stretching you perfectly. He was big, thick, and every thrust sent a delicious pressure deep inside you, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed.

His hands roamed your body, one sliding up to cup your breast, the other gripping your hip, pulling you into each thrust. He was rough, dominant, but there was an underlying gentleness to every touch, every kiss.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin. “You were made for me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned, his pace faltering for a moment. “Shit, sweetheart—do that again.”

His thrusts grew rougher, deeper, his hips slamming into yours, skin meeting skin in a sinful rhythm. The pleasure built higher, hotter, a fire consuming you both.

Sam’s fingers found your clit, rubbing tight, desperate circles. “Cum for me,” he growled, his voice dark, commanding. “Cum all over my cock, baby.”

Your body obeyed, pleasure crashing over you in waves, your vision going white as you cried out his name. You clenched around him, and Sam cursed, his movements growing erratic.

With one final thrust, he buried himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, his cum slicking your walls as warmth filled your body, his body shuddering with release.

For a moment, neither of you moved, just tangled together, breathless, bodies still pulsing with aftershocks.

Sam finally lifted his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You okay?”

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “That was… incredible.”

He chuckled, his hand running soothing circles over your hip. “Yeah,” he murmured, kissing you again. “It really was.”

And as he pulled you against his chest, his warmth surrounding you, you knew—Sam had just given you everything.

And then, you felt the hunger and need from the spell begin to fall apart. You didn’t feel hungry for him, for his cock, you didn’t feel the need for sex.

Sam had cured the curse that the witch lay upon you all those years ago, and oh god were you thankful, no more having to ignore the need whenever Sam was close.

[annabelle--cane]

i wasn’t here when tma reached the height of its popularity (i only joined last year) so could you describe the Vibes (how bad the drama was, did it feel like there were too many people, etc.)

only if you want to :]

I've said this before, so this may be a familiar spiel to longer term followers, but 2020 tma fandom was honestly not the worst fandom I've ever been in, it was just by far the biggest thing I have ever been actively into at peak popularity and so the 1% of insane people that are found in every fan space were 1% of a much bigger total population. most people were fine and chill, but there were a vocal minority who Weren't.

major ingredients in the discourse pot:

from my observations, tma had a small but devoted listener base for its first few years, then it got a little bump in mid 2018, then a considerable bump in late 2019, then hit proper virality in early 2020, so there were a lot of people with hipster complexes about being Real Fans who were there first and weren't just part of the masses.

at this point I'm not even sure if this part was true, but the above was compounded by the perception that the earlier og listener base were mostly adults and the new wave of fans were mostly tweens and teens. whether the different waves actually fell along those age lines or not, a lot of people felt like the fandom was split into 80% Cringe Zoomers Who Are Here For Ships And Memes and 20% Millennials and Gen X'ers With Media Literacy Who Are Here For Horror. nice dichotomy, idiot, now what lies outside it, etc and such and such. our blessed fandom etiquette vs their barbarous dni lists.

which isn't to say that suddenly having a huge number of people, including young people, become interested in a single piece of media at a time of global stress where everyone had to be much more online and the content of the media itself was at its darkest and most socially relevant had no downsides. oh no. Oh No.

"my headcanon is not only objectively the best headcanon but it actually invalidates all of yours and if you hc something different then it's an act of bigotry against my Correct Headcanon." / "I have drawn up a list of Good Characters you have to like and aren't allowed to criticize and a list of Bad Characters you have to hate and can't acknowledge exist unless it's to make fun of and completely condemn them." / "I saw her username in the kudos of a jonelias fic" "girl what were YOU doing in the kudos of a jonelias fic" / "this latest episode handled a social issue unforgivably badly, I haven't experienced it myself but the vibes were off, everyone demand accountability and boycott the rest of the show" "hey that one was actually based on jonny's personal experiences" "ah fuck not again. well boys let's remember this for next time. this latest epis--"

honestly most of the discourse was down to like two or three friend groups. there was one group of people who you will probably remember if you were there at the time whom I have sometimes seen referred to as the Clown Gang. Clown Gang were ground zero for a good 90% of fan discourse ("hcing melanie as ace is ableist and lesbophobic" "fan content that focuses on jon's asexuality is biphobic. what's pansexuality I've never heard of it." "desolation tim aus are inherently ableist and racist"), but eventually they had a big falling out with Clown Prime and things calmed down. to be very clear I hold no ill will towards any of these people for four year old bad takes, hence why I'm not using any names, but god was it a time.

and this is only about the tumblr side of things. I was barely active of twitter so idk what it was like there but I was on tiktok for about a year during that time and the vibes were wildly different. iirc people there were less confrontational and there wasn't really a callout culture like on tumblr, but the extremes of the takes were FAR worse.

[raelemond]

Hi. I was wondering if you could point me to resources or forums that’ll help me explore kink. I’ve been holding myself back for a long time and now I don’t even know where to start or how to find community

hi anon, sorry it took so long for me to respond, I've been traveling!

there are a few things you can do. I'll start with what i did, but this is going to vary by country and location. I recommend you start by making a fetlife profile. fetlife is basically kinky facebook, but you don't have to put any information you don't want to on it - I'd just recommend not using a picture of your genitals as your profile picture, those tend to get autobanned from groups.

then, go look for "events" and filter by location - try nearby cities if your area doesn't turn up at first. what you really want is a "munch", which is going to be a group meeting in a public space for kinky people to mingle. you can also filter by education, but I recommend munches first, just to meet people so you can get an idea of what the community is like.

depending on your city, munches can differ by age (35 and under is typically called TNG/The Next Generation - I personally dislike what they stand for, but it's an option depending on your age), interests, gender/sexuality, and location. some are free, some ask you to purchase food from the venue, some ask for donations, and some cost money. the majority take place at bars, which can be an obstacle.

as someone new coming in, particularly if you're young and/or seem to be a woman at first glance, you might get a lot of attention. I'll just suggest that you do NOT play alone with anyone immediately, and people trying to encourage you to stay isolated from the community is a bad sign. anyone trying to say their way is the One True Way is a bad sign.

I played with someone at my first party, which I had been invited to via the munch. At the party, there were DMs who could help if anything went bad.

if searching like this doesn't get you results, I'd suggest going to a local sex toy store, or other adult store, and ask about local kink communities, if any exist. unfortunately my kinky student from Brazil stopped coming in, or I'd ask how to find a community there because she said it's much harder to find people.

I'd also think about what you're interested in and what your limits are. when I first showed up at 18, I freaked people out by saying "I'm up for anything" - in my head, that meant I was interested in discussing most things, or dipping a toe in, but I didn't know how deep kink could go. The boundaries of "anything" were spanking, flogging, and caning for me, along with D/s stuff I barely understood. so, to avoid my mistake, I definitely recommend having some specific things you want to try and ask questions about.

before the lacigreen weirdness happened, she was a really competent sex educator (if not the best for medical advice) so I'm going to point you to this video for a really brief overview. the only thing she gets wrong is that she misses one of the words in BDSM - it's an acronym that stands for six words: bondage, discipline, Dominance/submission, sadism, masochism.

the words kink and bdsm are often used interchangeably, and they mostly are, but you can be into kink without being into D/s, for example.

please feel free to send more specific questions if you want!

[fuck-customers]

The other day, these boys (they weren't even teenagers) cane in to the cinema the other day and were trying to buy Deadpool tickets. They obviously didn't have IDs, so they were trying to get other people to buy it for them.

First, they said the guy in line behind them was their uncle and he was gonna watch it with him, only for the guy to butt in with "I don't even know you guys"

Then they were just standing next to the line and letting people go ahead of them in line and asking every single one of them, and eventually, one of them said yes. So my boss sauntered over to the guy as he was trying to buy them tickets and had this conversation:

Boss: "So... you're the parental figure?"

Man: "Yes."

Boss: "You know these boys?"

Man: "Obviously."

Boss: "So the boys are going to sit right next to you? And you understand that if they misbehave and have to be asked to leave, you'll have to leave with them, since you're responsible for them?"

Man: "... sorry guys, never mind."

And then he gave them their money back and went to watch his movie. Like, based on past experience and the way the boys were acting, we're all pretty sure they weren't going to behave during the movie (mostly because they couldn't even behave in the lobby where there's a bunch of employees watching them because it was a very slow day and they were being loud.)

Oh, and the youngest boy could not have been older than 10, at the absolute most, and he had a fucking vape hanging on a lanyard around his neck. Like, kid, you don't need to be fucking up your lungs and developing an addiction when you haven't even started puberty yet. Okay, my grandfather was smoking by age 10, but they also thought cigarettes were good for treating asthma back then. These days, we know better. (Obviously, I don't care if adults smoke or vape, as long as they aren't doing it in the building or too close to me. I do have severe respiratory problems and I like being able to breathe as much clean air as my lungs will allow. But 10, or however old this kid, is waaaay too fucking young. I know laws don't actually determine morals, but smoking/vaping under the age of 18 is illegal here too).

Also, I had not one but two groups of parents argue and throw a fit because I had to tell them they couldn't bring their newborn babies into R rates movies. Like, one of them was just reaching the stage where she was starting to look like a proper baby, but the other one was so young that he was still in the stage where he looks more like an alien than a baby. Like, the girl was maybe a month old, but the boy was maaaaybe two weeks. Yes, I understand that your tiny, tiny infants are probably not going to be traumatized by the new Alien movie. Newborns are extremely nearsighted, so they probably couldn't even see the screen. But you know what babies *do* do? Cry. And people buy tickets to a movie that is Age Restricted (which is what the R in Rated R stands for: Age Restricted 17 and Up) buy tickets with the reasonable expectation that there isn't going to be a screaming child in there. That's why company policy is that we don't allow kids under 6 to Age Restricted films, even with parents. Because if your baby is crying the whole time, people want their money back and we have to give refunds. Corporate doesn't give a shit if you're bad parents or not for traumatizing your 4-year old by dragging him to a Saw movie or whatever (and no, he can't just "play on his iPad the whole time", you're not allowed to have those out either because it's also disruptive to other guests). This has been company policy since around the time the first Saw movie came out, actually. It's not new.

The parents of the little boy were even like "he won't cry, he loves loud noises!" Like, he's two weeks old, he's barely popped out of the womb, you cannot possibly know him well enough to know how he's going to react to being at the movies for the first time (I see parents bringing their 3 to 6 year olds in for their first movie at the cinema, like multiple times a week, and they don't even know how the kid will react most of the time), and frankly at this point, I'm not sure I trust you to make the decisions that are best for your child rather than yourself, since that's a newborn fucking baby, there's a massive COVID surge right now, and the theater is very crowded. I *just* got back to work after catching COVID at the fucking urgent care when I had a concussion, and they had hospital-grade ozone air filters, and both I and the person in the waiting room who had COVID were wearing masks (AND I'm fully up to date on my vaccines). Your baby can absolutely catch COVID if you're going to be sitting in a packed room with a hundred or more other people for several hours, especially since none of you are masking. He can't even have been vaccinated for chickenpox or whooping cough yet.

Your baby in no way benefits from being here, but he could easily catch an illness and die. You know how many toddlers I see that are constantly coughing and don't understand to cover their mouths yet? So fucking many. At least be honest; you're here because you want to watch the new movie, and you're not willing to wait until you can get a babysitter for a few hours. You're not here because your newborn baby "likes loud noises"; if that's really the case, you can take him for a walk near a construction site or something, which is free and less likely to give him a potentially fatal illness. Or, you know, put something on the phone or the TV on for him. I know that being cooped up at home sucks, I really do, but even if you're willing to risk the health of your baby that's still fresh out of the oven, we as a business still do not allow him to be in here for that movie. You can pick one that's not Adults-Only if you really really want to watch a movie right now. Or you could hire a babysitter, or leave him with Grandma for a few hours, or something.

Not to mention the fact that our sound system is good enough to shake things through the sound-dampening walls; it's got to be fucking torture on sensitive newborn eardrums. I have a video of a time when a specific movie was playing right next to the bathroom and some of the sound effects hit just the right pitch that the fucking stall doors were unlocking themselves from the vibrations. (And yes, the sound-dampening walls do work, and we do actually replace the panels when they wear out, but they can only do so much. They're sound dampening, not sound-proof, and audio mixing in films has been all over the place for the last however many years. Movies are often much louder, or at least have a wider range of volume levels across the whole feature, than they did when this place was built decades ago.)

Sorry to get preach-y but have some fucking sense and learn to accept that you can't just do anything and everything you want. I don't even make the fucking rules, but it's going to be on my head if I let you bring him in there and we have to give out hundreds of dollars in refunds because he's screaming.

Also, sorry that this is an Ask and not a Submission. I didn't notice until I was done typing, and it won't let me copy and paste the whole thing since I'm on mobile, only one paragraph at a time.

Posted by admin Rodney