#I can't sleep without knowing the answer to this one

[txniesha]

Complication SylusxNon!MC reader pt.6

Synopsis: Some relationships are doomed to fail from the start. After all, how can a man destined to be someone else's, truly ever be yours?

CW: angst, cursing, typos

Word count: 1,138

A/N: This chapter is short but i feel like it really hits. It'll be a couple of more chapters after this before I wrap it up in a nice little boy of sadness!

He just stared at you, his eyes unreadable, not giving anything away. You hated when he did this, when you confronted him, and he just shuts down. You sigh frustrated and pull out of his grasp “I knew it, i knew i should've stayed in Linkon. You...you don't love me. You don't know what you want but you feel as if you're entitled to me, like no one else can have me while you do whatever the fuck you want” You look up at him  tears in your eyes “I can’t do this anymore Sylus and I know I say this all the time but I’m serious. I'm tired of being hurt by you, crying over you, letting you drag me back into this bullshit. And the blame isn't only on you as i keep allowing you to treat me this way, but I can't anymore” stray tears stained your cheeks as you spoke, and your throat felt tighter with each word. 

He shakes his head and grabs your face wiping the tears away “Don't” he says his voice hoarse “Don't say you're done with me. I can't let you leave; let you walk away. You're the only thing in my life that feels real, not prewritten, predestined, controlled.” he rests his forehead on yours and looks down into your eyes “[name] i need you. I want to show you off, love you without shame, i just don't know how to go against fate”  

 He leans down and brings his lips towards yours and kisses you, and you let him. You don't pull away, you lean into it. ‘I'm a fucking dumbass’ you say in your mind as he takes over your mouth. His tongue slipped into your mouth and rolls against yours. His kiss that started off gentle grew into a messy desperate and frantic one. He pushed you up against the wall his hand making its way up your shirt and cupping your breast. You pull away and look at you “Don't think you can fuck your way out of this conversation Sylus” you say shakily, slightly out of breath. His lips find their way to your neck and pressed soft kisses along it. “I’m not fucking may way out of anything, I'm showing you my choice” he murmurs into your neck, his finger now flicking your sensitive bud of your breast. You wondered if sleeping with him would just make you fall back in his trap and so you made up your mind.  

You pulled away from Sylus and shook your head “I can't Sylus, you can't keep fucking your way back into my life. If you want me you must prove it, and the first step is telling her that you don't want anything to do with her” He looks at you and shakes his head “I cant just not have her in my life, that's not how this works” he says his jaw clenching. “Sylus these bullshit ass answers you keep giving me aren't working anymore. Tell me the truth, the whole truth of why you can't let her go” You say looking at him. He turns and walks away from you causing you to turn your arms up in confusion and huff. You followed him into the living room where he poured a glass of scotch and sat down on the couch. “Her and I are connected in ways that are incomprehensible” 

He looks up at you, his brows furrowed “Shes the only one that can bring my suffering to an end. Our souls are bound and connected.” 

You look at him confused and bewildered “what fucking bull shit are you spewing to me right now” He sighs and runs his hands down his face frustrated. “See, i knew you wouldn't believe me. I'm not making this up, [name] this is a lot deeper than you know. Our bond goes back centuries and every lifetime I spend with her is a tragic one. I just wanted it to all end” he says, his voice strained and eyes desperate.  

He looks up at you and smiles softly even though it looks like it hurt to do the action “but then I met you. You gave me fire, passion, something I had never felt before” he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto the couch with him putting you two at the same eye level. He grabs your face gently and makes you look at him. Your eyes were glassy, and your throat felt itchy with every word he said. “[Name] you gave me the passion to fight for what i want against that damned curse and that damned bond. I’m cursed to be with her and cursed to be away from you and that hurts me. So, I fight it and fight it and no matter how much I try to forget about her and be with you, it won't let me. I want you so bad it kills me to be away from you” he had your hand in his now, his face pressed against them as he spoke those last words, his voice breaking with each word.  

“Sylus” Your voice breaks as you look down at him. You had never once seen him this vulnerable. This un put together and broken. “How can you be with me if you're destined to be with her” tears flow down your cheek and drops onto his “How can you say you want to be with me if you were never meant to be mines to begin with?" He looks up at you, the bottom of his eyes red as if he was on the verge of completely breaking “please, don't do this to me. Please I need you, I can't” he gulps mid-sentence tightening his grip on your hands “I can't lose you, youre the most important thing to me”  

You pull your hands away from him and look away “I don't know.... if I can trust what youre saying” you stand and he stands with you, his forming towering over you easily and intimidatingly. “I need some time, alone, away from here, to think” you say turning away from him.

He doesn't reach out for you, doesn't try to stop you, he just stands there. “Will you come back” he asks silently, his voice raw with something you'd never heard. You don't turn to look at him. “It depends on what I find when I’m away” you then walk away and down to his bedroom to put on some clothes. You grab your things quickly and head towards the elevator.  

“[name]” Sylus calls from behind you, this time you turn to see the broken shell of a man standing there “I promise ill make sure what you find...is worth returning to” You don't answer, you just enter the elevator doors and leave.  

tags: @sillyfreakfanparty @crimsonmarabou @z3vl @96jnie @perqbeth @justpassingdontworry @malleus-draconias-rose @sleepykittyenergy @aboobie @syluslittlecrows @scrambledhuevos79 @madam8 @fandomenbylover@insidious-innocence @etherealsoul90 @xsammijoanneex @acasualattempt  @sylusgirlie7 @jasperjokester @animegamerfox @jae48 @goldenbirdiee @zoezhive @rxelarailuj @huuvu @simphoursonly  @athanasia-day @asakiyu @thirstblogforaparchedgirl @eolivy @caramelizedpopcirn @auraficial @dilf-destroyer-04@hebreeee@noxus123@satansdaughter123

[dakusan]

📁 ASK DUMP 𓆩🩸𓆪 26 JUNE 2025

HELLOOOO EVERYONE yes yes I KNOW I missed Wreck Me Wednesday, yes I rage-deleted my Sims 4 CC folder out of spite, yes I spiralled over grey sweatpants and forgot to drink water BUT!!! I return bearing GIFTS. This is the official feral ask flood and all of you being absolute MENACES in the best way.

You sent asks. I short-circuited. Now we suffer together.

Let’s rot. 🩸🖤✨

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👻 ANON LOGGED: "What if someone went for Chan’s blood doll instead—lies, forged receipts, fake scandals, until she breaks and pulls away from him?"

OH 👻 ANON YOU MONSTER. you broke channie's doll. you wounded the empire boy. you planted a lie in a palace of blood and now the whole thing is cracking.

but fine. let’s answer. sharp pain first, then the sugar—just how Chan likes it.

⸺⟡⸺

Chan doesn’t flinch at threats. He’s had fangs to his throat before. He built this empire from ashes and rage, and he’s watched men far bigger than you crawl. But they didn’t go for the king. They went for the girl in silk sheets and stolen glances. They went for the soft thing he keeps in his arms like a rosary.

The threats? He handed them to Changbin with a yawn.

The letters? Had Minho do a scent check. All dead ends. He figured they gave up.

But then… You flinch when he touches you. You stop calling him “my sun” and starts asking for space. You won’t look him in the eye when he drinks from you.

He doesn’t understand at first. He assumes it’s stress. Overwork. Hormonal instability.

Until he finds the manila envelope under your pillow. Photos. Screenshots. Lies, doctored messages, faked receipts, twisted stories. Actors claiming to be former dolls. Accusations of cruelty. Of abandonment. Of “burning them out.”

All false. But just true enough to hurt you.

You stop sleeping in his bed. You start crying after feeding. You ask for termination papers.

Not because you hate him. But because you think you've been protecting a monster. Because you can't tell what's true anymore. And because you think if he ever really loved you, he'll let you go.

Chan is powerful. Commanding. Unshakable. But he is not cruel, hurt yes, but not cruel. So he says nothing. Just nods. Folds his hands. And says: “If that’s what you want, you’re free. You always were.”

But dolls don’t thrive without their keepers. And soul-bonded ones? They wither.

You lose color. Stop eating. Wake up cold and aching with phantom pressure where his hand used to rest. And then the truth surfaces.

The actors get sloppy. The scheme leaks. Minho finds one. Changbin traces the wire. Jisung decrypts the audio.

You hear it. All of it.

One night, you're standing outside Luke Health. No pass. No warning. Just eyes rimmed red and fingers trembling. He sensed you here, so of course he walks out to find you already crying. Falling to your knees. Not for forgiveness — but because the bond hurts too much. Being apart ripped you open.

And Chan? He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. He just kneels with you. Takes your hands. Kisses each wrist.

“You never needed to beg. You were always mine. And I was always yours.”

You are being guided inside, to his office, where he pulls you into his lap and tells you the truth. Everything. Lets you cry until your sobs go silent.

And when you finally, finally, move back in with him. Share the same bed again. Sleep together, Chan's arm stays wrapped around your waist, firm, just to be sure you're not leaving him again. Not ever again.

⸺⟡⸺

now go apologize to channie for hurting him 💋🦇

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🧊 ANON LOGGED: "What happens if an asexual soulmate tries to bond with vampire!SKZ, even though PIV is off the table?"

Hi my darling,

First off — thank you so much for the ask, and I want to offer a gentle apology in advance. This answer might not be what you hoped for, but I want to be honest and respectful with you, always.

Sadly, it won’t work. And that’s okay. Not every universe is built for every body.

This isn't a "representation fail" thing. This is a biological incompatibility in a feral, bloodborn system where intimacy = sustenance = survival = anchoring = sex. Not because vampires are horny for the hell of it (though… they absolutely are), but because Abnormal biology requires a deep, carnal, penetrative ritual to:

seal bonds,

regulate magical overload,

and safely transfer volatile power.

Think less romance novel, more blood-coded circuitry.

❌ Asexuality vs Abnormal Vampire Lore

Asexuality = completely valid. Always.

But Abnormal vampirism is a different beast:

Magic-triggered reproductive chaos.

Biochemical heatstorms.

Soul-deep regulation through penetrative feeding and sex.

There’s no “skip” button. There’s no “just cuddling” workaround. There’s only burn or bind.

If someone’s hard limit is no penetration ever, then it becomes a biological mismatch in this world. The vampire would:

enter looping hunger states,

suffer rage feedback and ferality,

and the bond would never stabilize.

You’d both suffer. Or worse — implode the tether trying to force something that this universe physically doesn’t allow.

💔 What Happens If You Try?

The vampire stays starving, no matter how sweet you are.

The bond stays fractured. Unsealed.

You become a flickering blood ghost — close enough to ache, never enough to satisfy.

Eventually, the vampire either detonates, or is forced to sever the connection.

Some vampires might try to resist. Might try to find workarounds. But even the softest boys burn in the end. Because this world? It’s not built for denial. It’s built on visceral surrender.

I’ll be honest with you too — I don’t write ace stories. I don’t live that experience, I’m not surrounded by people who do and I haven’t studied the nuances of the identity. I don’t want to speak on something I don’t live or deeply understand. I’m not the writer for that, and I won’t fake it just to check a box.

What I can do is protect the rules of this world — and keep it honest.

This isn’t about exclusion — it’s about worldbuilding integrity. I want every reader to feel safe and respected, even if this particular universe isn’t a match for them. If you're ace and still enjoy reading from the outside, watching the fire from a safe distance — you are so welcome here. Just know the fire burns hot, and it doesn’t change its nature.

🩸 With love, always — and fangs bared 💋🦇

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🧎🏼‍♀️ ANON LOGGED: "Will you be doing the Bang Chan tattoo artist fic? Because I am on my knees for it."

OH BABES 😭💘 HE'S COMING—but he’s the grand finale.

i've done minho now, so next in line is:

🥀 changbinnie ☁️ felix 🔥 channie

🧎🏻‍♀️ so yes. yes i plan on it. but i am SAVING that man for last because when he comes?? you will not be left standing.

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🐈‍⬛ ANON LOGGED: "What if vampire!SKZ had an easily overstimulated soulmate?"

OH 🐈‍⬛ ANON. YOU GET IT. YOU GET THE SOULMATE WHO’S JUST BUILT DELICATE. like their nervous system was spun from lace and static. they were made to tremble. made to sob. made to overload.

⸺⟡⸺

👥 FAMILY GATHERING VERSION:

you step into the vampire family’s private estate and it’s just—

🩸 too many new scents 🩸 too many sharp glances 🩸 too many ancient creatures asking “is this the one?”

you're already sweating. blinking too hard. trying to hold a wine glass with shaking fingers.

and then you catch sight of him across the room— your vampire. your anchor. and you BOLT.

“I don’t know who they are, I don’t know where I am, you weren’t looking at me—”

he just catches you. pulls you into his lap. fangs brushing your ear. hands around your waist.

“Shh, baby. You don’t have to know anyone. You just have to stay with me.”

you melt. bite goes in to regulate you. eyes flutter. brain goes fuzzy. now you're just blinking prettily while the family laughs knowingly.

💀 BEDROOM VERSION:

you think round one is over. you think he’ll give you time to recover. you’re wrong.

you’re already sobbing into the sheets. hips twitching. thighs quivering. and he’s still hard, still hungry, still purring filth into your neck like:

“Don’t crawl away from me, baby. You’re mine. You said you could take it.”

you didn’t say that. you moaned it. with a bite mark already on your collarbone. so now you’re crying. not because it hurts—because it’s too much. but it’s the good kind. the soulbond kind. the “i love you so much i’m going dumb” kind.

and when he bites again—mid-thrust? your brain short-circuits. you scream his name like a spell. and your last coherent thought is:

“i’m gonna die loving him like this.”

and maybe you do. but he brings you back with a kiss and a cold cloth.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you for the ask, you sinful genius 🐈‍⬛ come back anytime 💋🦇

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🖤 ANON LOGGED: “I’ve read half your filth, I’m feral over grey sweatpants, and I will not be elaborating.”

🖤🖤🖤 ANON MY LOVE!!! YOU’RE HERE!!!!! 🖤🖤🖤

the 🌙 slot may be taken, but listen… the black heart? it suits you. you’re dark. mysterious. you belong here. welcome to the blood-slick, thirst-ridden inbox family.

also YOU’VE READ HALF THE MASTERLIST?? I AM SCREAMING.

the fact that you “have thoughts” about the grey sweatpants and chose to withhold them like a menace?? ICONIC. POWERFUL. YOU SCARE ME. I WANT MORE.

thank you for being here. for reading. for being soft and sexy and lovely. i’m so so glad to have you as 🖤 anon and i promise to keep feeding you unholy content until we both pass out from overstimulation and plot twists.

sending u forehead kisses w consent 💋🦇

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🧋 ANON LOGGED: “I reread your smut like it’s gospel and asked how fast SKZ would fold over a little skin.”

welcome to the unholy circle, sweet boba baby 😭💖. you are now officially on the roster as 🧋 anon, bringer of praise, thirst, and dangerous questions.

ALSO?? THE COMPLIMENTS??? my heart is punching holes in my ribcage.

AND THIS QUESTION??? oh. oh we’re gonna be so evil. tight shirts. short skirts. roommate tension. hands twitching. filthy, repressed SKZ energy. i’m feral just THINKING about it. LET'S GO

⸺⟡⸺

❤️‍🔥 SKZ REACTING TO YOU WEARING SOMETHING JUST A LITTLE TOO REVEALING… AS THEIR ROOMMATE / SECRET CRUSH.

BANG CHAN

He's doing everything in his power not to stare—but then you reach for the top shelf and your shirt lifts just enough. His jaw clenches. His knuckles go white around his coffee mug. “Are you trying to kill me?” he mutters, barely audible. And when you blink innocently at him? Oh no. He's clearing his throat, adjusting his sweatpants, avoiding eye contact like it's a full-time job. Will not act on it… unless you sit on the couch beside him with a blanket, and his hand accidentally grazes your thigh. Then it’s over. “...We should talk,” he whispers—right before kissing you like he’s been dying for it.

LEE KNOW

He notices. Of course he does. That little black skirt you’re wearing? It’s short. Dangerous. And he’s watching like a hawk while pretending he isn’t. “Did you lose your pants or is this a new strategy?” he asks dryly, but his ears are pink. You cross your legs on the couch and his eyes drop—for half a second. And that’s all it takes. He gets up and leaves the room. But he comes back. Leaning over the back of the couch, voice low: “You wore that on purpose, didn’t you?” And suddenly you’re pinned to the cushions and his hand is sliding up your thigh like it’s always belonged there.

CHANGBIN

One look at your outfit and he forgets how to function. Wide eyes. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied disaster. “Uh—th-that’s… that’s a nice shirt,” he stammers. “Is it… new?” It’s not. He’s just never seen that much of your cleavage at once and now he’s spiralling. When you bend over to grab something, he audibly chokes. And when you come over and sit next to him like nothing’s happening??? His inner monologue is SCREAMING. Eventually he blurts out, “You can’t wear stuff like that around me, I’m not strong enough.” And then—quietly, almost desperately— “…Do you want me to touch you?” (He hopes the answer is yes. It is.)

HYUNJIN

You walk out of your room in that tiny little skirt, half a tank top, and he stops breathing. Literally. Forgets how. “You going somewhere?” he asks, but he’s not even pretending to be casual. He's leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping water like it’ll save him, jaw tight, eyes burning holes in your thighs. And when you lean over to grab something? He inhales through his nose like a man trying to resist the devil. “…You really shouldn’t wear that around me.” Your laugh makes it worse. “Unless you want me to do something about it,” he adds—and then waits. Waits to see if you’ll bite back. You do. The water bottle hits the floor and so do your morals.

HAN JISUNG

You come in wearing that tiny crop top and a skirt that’s clearly illegal. He stares for a second too long, then looks away like he’s been caught looking at porn in church. “Wow! Haha! That’s a… cool outfit!” he squeaks. He’s so red you’re worried he’ll combust. But when you bend over? Oh. Now he’s chewing his thumb, fidgeting, pretending to be chill. You sit next to him on the couch and he whispers, “You’re playing a dangerous game.” You: “What game?” Him: “The one where I lose control and ruin our friendship in 0.5 seconds.” (He does. You both love it.)

FELIX

Felix adores you. Would never touch you without permission. But then you walk into the kitchen in a soft little off-the-shoulder shirt with no bra. And it’s like someone flipped a switch. He stares. Silently. Lip between his teeth. You ask if something’s wrong and he just… hums. Then, softly: “Do you know what you’re doing to me right now?” When you pretend not to, he steps closer. “Maybe you want me to lose it.” Oh, he loses it. You end up pressed against the fridge with his hands under your shirt and his breath hot in your ear.

SEUNGMIN

He’s so fucking smug when you enter the room, like, “Really? That’s what you’re wearing?” Raises an eyebrow. Makes a sarcastic comment. Pretends to be unbothered. He is bothered. So. Bothered. He can’t stop glancing. His fingers twitch when you sit close. Then you laugh and his eyes drop straight to your lips, to your thighs, back up. You cross your legs. He crosses a line. “You keep testing me like this,” he murmurs, “and you’ll find out exactly how good I am at making you beg.” And oh, you find out.

JEONGIN

He starts off innocent. Flustered. Giggly. “Whoa… you look cute.” Can’t make eye contact. Doesn’t know where to look. But then you stretch, and the shirt rides up. The skirt shifts. His eyes lock in. He swallows. And he does not look away this time. You giggle. Call him out. “What? I’m just admiring,” he says, voice low. “You shouldn’t tease your roommate, you know. That’s how you end up in my lap.” And suddenly… that’s exactly where you are.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you, my sweet lil boba menace 😭🖤 for this question, for your praise, for being insane in the exact way i like. welcome to the chaos. you are now fully initiated. there’s no way out.

love you 💋🦇

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🩺 ANON LOGGED: “What if getting better meant letting him taste the trust in your bloodstream?”

HELLO MY BELOVED BLOOD-BASED ROMANTIC 🩸😭. thank you for this ask. THANK YOU for this concept. it’s so gentle and so devastating and so hot and i want to chew on it like a sacrament.

you’re getting added to the Sunday Softdrop request queue IMMEDIATELY. you said: “hey what if soulmate vamp!chan felt their healing in the flavor of their blood,” and my soul folded like origami.

you want him to taste trust. you want him to know they believe in him now. that’s so intimate i want to cry and also write it 4 times in a row.

your brain is beautiful. your vibes are immaculate.

thank you for reading, for working so hard, and for coming here to rest your heart and thirst. you’re safe here. you’re welcome here 💋🦇

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🧨🩸 ANON LOGGED: “What if I gave a vampire a jealousy arc and watched the world burn?”

OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH ANON. YOU’VE OPENED THE BLOOD-GATES.

you think they’d be patient. but you are WRONG. you think they’d respect boundaries. but they’re vampires. born, bred, and blood-bonded to you. and now you’re out here kissing someone who isn’t them?? they feel it. they taste it. your body is bonded to the wrong hands, the wrong scent, the wrong mouth. and they’re going to lose their goddamn minds.

so here’s what happens:

⸺⟡⸺

Bang Chan – goes feral with a smile.

he’ll act polite. he’ll pretend to be calm. he’ll offer to “meet them.” but he’s already rewritten your future. he doesn’t need to get physical—he’ll win with words. one conversation. one look. one soft, “you don’t even see them the way I do, do you?” you’ll leave that relationship and crawl to him willingly, already marked.

Minho – dangerous. precise. inevitable.

he won’t say anything at first. but he’s always there. watching. calculating. the first time you flinch when your partner raises their voice? he’ll be in your doorway that night, silent, calm, hand on your cheek. “you deserve worship,” he’ll say. “not that.” and he’ll make you feel it.

Changbin – physically aches with jealousy.

he tries. he really tries. but his fists are curling into his palms, and his jaw is locked so tight it creaks. he’ll tell you straight: “i can’t pretend this doesn’t drive me insane. i need you. you’re mine.” and if you hesitate—just for a moment—he’ll be at your throat. softly. reverently. “i’ll wait,” he says, but the hunger will never stop.

Hyunjin – tragic, romantic, and apocalyptic.

he writes poetry about you. burns it. rewrites it with blood. he cries over you. but that doesn’t mean he’ll let you go. you’ll feel him in dreams. in mirrors. in the tug behind your heart. when your partner touches you, it feels wrong now. because he’s already inside you—mind, soul, bond. “you’ll come to me,” he whispers.

Jisung – turns manic. obsessive. unstable in the prettiest way.

he spirals. talks to himself. laughs when he sees you kiss someone else and then punches the wall. but he waits. he waits for the moment your lover slips, messes up, lets you down. and then he’s there. arms open. fangs bared. “it’s me. it’s always been me. just say the word.” you do.

Felix – sunshine gone unhinged.

he smiles. he hugs you. he congratulates you. but he can’t touch you without growling. he dreams about draining them dry and bottling your moans instead. his light dims. until one night, he snaps. “don’t you get it? i was made for you. and i’m not letting you go.” his bite is the softest thing you’ve ever felt. you never want anyone else again.

Seungmin – strategic. terrifying. terminally calm.

he doesn’t interfere. he lets the relationship rot from within. all he does is wait. observe. whispers in your ear when you're half-asleep, “he doesn’t know how to love you. i do.” and one day, you believe him. you show up at his door. he lets you in. “took you long enough,” he mutters. then he ruins you, permanently, perfectly.

Jeongin – youngest but scariest when provoked.

at first he’s heartbroken. confused. but when he sees the one you’ve chosen over him? the rage sets in. not loud. not violent. just cold. sharp. precise. he won’t say a word. just look at you with those molten eyes and whisper, “you know it’s supposed to be me.” and eventually, you can’t resist him anymore. he drinks you slow. and marks you so no one else ever can again.

⸺⟡⸺

anon… thank you for this unhinged, delicious, emotionally violent question 🥀🩸. welcome to the chaos 💋🦇

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🦄 ANON LOGGED: “If I must perish in a heatwave, I want to do it on a vampire’s silk bedsheets with a cold drink and fangs in my neck.”

AAAAA 🦄 ANON YOU BEAUTIFUL DELULU ANGEL 😭🩷 you’re melting, I’m melting, we’re all melting—but at least we’re doing it in vampire luxury.

⸺⟡⸺

🔥 “How would vamp!SKZ care for their blood doll during an extreme heat wave?”

Bang Chan – “Babe, you’re gonna combust—get in the damn fridge.”

He’s the responsible one™ who tried to warn you. You: “I’m fine.” Chan, staring at your sweaty forehead and limp tank top: “You are NOT.” He turns his entire walk-in freezer into a cuddle den. Throws a mattress in. A playlist. Cold drinks. You sleep there now. Also he keeps pressing his freezing hand to your inner thighs and going “better?” like he’s not trying to kill you.

Lee Know – pretends not to care, is secretly plotting your cryogenic salvation.

You’re sprawled on the floor in a sports bra. “You look like microwaved sin,” he deadpans. Meanwhile, he’s brewing iced tea and silently adjusting the AC to arctic tundra. Later that night? You wake up to find him spooning you shirtless with a literal frozen pack of blood bags pressed to your neck. “Shut up and go back to sleep,” he mumbles, already half hard from how warm you are.

Changbin – panics and over-cares like a gym rat in a crisis.

He’s googling “how to cool down a human” like you’re a broken laptop. Brings you seventeen electrolyte drinks. Lays you on your stomach and fans you with a protein bag. “You need shade,” he says, dragging the blackout curtains shut like a vampire cave dad. Also? Carries you everywhere. Absolutely refuses to let you walk. “You’ll die,” he insists, hoisting you bridal style while sweating more than you.

Hyunjin – delirious romantic who turns heatstroke into a gothic monologue.

You: “Hyun, I think I’m gonna faint.” Hyunjin: “Then collapse in my arms, beloved. Let the heat take you like a tragic poem.” He fans you dramatically with a vintage art magazine. Kisses your temple like he’s blessing you before battle. Also paints ice cubes and places them on your back like cursed little art installations. “You are my masterpiece, even in decay.” Sir. Please. I need a popsicle.

Han Jisung – you’re dying and he thinks it’s hilarious.

“Babe,” he snorts, watching you crawl across the tiles like a corpse, “you look like expired cheese.” Hands you a frozen Capri Sun and says, “Here, hydrate or die-drate.” But then?? He lays on the kitchen floor with you, puts his cold feet on your thighs, and whispers, “I could bite you and cool you down from the inside out… just saying…” You: “That’s not how thermodynamics works—” Him: “Let me be your sexy ice pack.”

Felix – sunshine vampire turned aircon sugar daddy.

He literally BUYS YOU A PORTABLE AC UNIT. Brings you frozen fruit in a crystal bowl. Wears nothing but silk shorts. “Want me to press my cold hands on your chest?” he asks, eyes big and innocent. Spoiler: he does it anyway. Also insists on cuddling because “your heat makes me feel more alive 🥺” You: “Felix I’m gonna die.” Him: “But you’ll die loved and moisturized.”

Seungmin – dry, sarcastic, literally a vampire Yeti.

He’s fine. He’s cold. He looks amazing. “You look like a damp sock,” he says, sipping cold blood. Watches you melt with zero emotion. Then tosses you a frozen towel and goes, “Here. Try not to perish before dinner.” But later? You wake up to him silently pressing popsicles against the back of your knees like some weird vampire ritual. “It’s effective,” he mutters. “Shut up.”

Jeongin – baby vamp who doesn’t know how to help so he just gives you ice and panic.

“You’re melting! Should I bite you?? Will that help?? Should I call someone???” He tries putting you in the bathtub. Forgets to add cold water. Genuinely looks like he might combust until you let him lie on top of you like a human ice blanket. He’s freezing. He smells amazing. You survive. Barely. “Next time,” he murmurs, “we move to Alaska.”

⸺⟡⸺

thank you 🦄 anon for this ✨deliriously sweaty✨ vision. i hope you're still hydrated. and if not—someone call Chan and tell him to fridge you immediately🩸🧊🖤

love ya , use sunscreen 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍀 ANON LOGGED: “I asked to be bitten nicely and ruined emotionally, is that too much?”

OH 🍀 ANON. OH YOU FERAL, DELECTABLE LUCKY CHARM. you said: “what if I looked into my vampire lover’s eyes and said 'bite me' with my whole chest and my whole throat” and now I’m the one short-circuiting.

⸺⟡⸺

“Vampire!SKZ reacting to you begging to be bitten.”

Bang Chan – The Control Snaps™

You whisper, “Pretty please... bite me?” Voice soft. Neck tilted. Pupils blown. He pauses—completely still—fangs already itching. “You don’t mean that,” he murmurs, voice rough like gravel. But you nod. Eyes wide. Voice smaller now. “I do. I want you to... I need you to.” He’s across the room in a second. Hands in your hair. Breath scorching. He doesn’t ask again. He just sinks in, deep and slow, groaning like he’s starving—because he is. Your blood hits his tongue and his hips stutter into yours. “You have no idea,” he growls, licking over the punctures, “what you just started.”

Lee Know – Silent. Deadly. Feral underneath.

You tug his sleeve. Whine softly. “Bite me?” He stares at you like you’ve just offered to hand him the universe. Eyes black. Still as a statue. Then he hums. Low. Threatening. “You really want it?” he asks, voice low enough to make you shiver. You nod. Bare your neck. Breathe his name. He pins you against the wall in one motion. No words. Just teeth. He bites you with precision. Slowly. Possessively. Fangs drag longer than necessary, just to hear your moan break. “You beg pretty,” he whispers, licking the blood from your skin. “I’ll make you beg again.”

Changbin – Panics. Then destroys you.

Your hands are on his chest. Your voice? Breathless. “Changbin, please. Bite me.” He freezes. Entire system crashes. “Wh–what? You want... me to—?” You nod. Pupils dilated. Clinging to him. His restraint snaps. He groans, low and wrecked, presses his forehead to yours. “Fuck, baby, don’t ask for that if you don’t mean it,” he warns—then bites you mid-sentence. Growls into your throat like it’s the only thing grounding him. Blood rushes into his mouth and so does your moan. You both see stars. After? He holds you like you’re made of glass.

Hyunjin – Gets spiritual about it. Still ruins you.

You crawl into his lap, voice sweet and shaky. “Please... I want you to bite me. Want you to drink from me.” He gasps like you just confessed love. His hand trembles as it cups your jaw. “You’re sure?” he breathes. “You know what this means?” You: “I want to be yours.” His eyes roll back. His fangs drop. He kisses your wrist like a prayer and bites it, gently—like you’re a miracle. Your blood coats his lips like wine and he licks it off slow. Worshipful. He moans your name. “You taste like devotion,” he whispers. “Don’t take that back.”

Han Jisung – Turns insane. Like immediately.

You whisper it in his ear, soft and teasing: “Jisung... will you bite me? Please?” He short-circuits. Like visibly. Falls off the couch. Stares at you like you’re a glitch in his fantasy. “Say it again.” You do. And then you’re pinned to the bed, his fangs grazing your skin, hands shaking. “I’ve been trying to be good,” he whimpers. “But you’re not making it easy.” He bites. Hard. Messy. Breathless. He drinks like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. When he pulls back, your blood on his lips, he’s whispering, “Say it again. Beg again. I’m not done.”

Felix – Sunshine cracks. Fully wrecked.

You brush his curls back. Nuzzle into his cold neck. “Lixie... please bite me. I want to feel you.” His eyes go wide. Like anime protagonist realizing he’s in love. “You... you what?” “I want it,” you whisper. “Want you.” He whimpers. Bites his own lip. Pulls you close like he’s scared you’ll vanish. Then he very gently sinks his fangs in—while whispering, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” His breath hitches. His hips roll against yours. He’s gasping into your neck. “Can’t believe you’d offer yourself to me,” he says between licks, “I’ll never forget this. Never.”

Seungmin – Laughs. Then makes you scream.

You say it casually—like it’s a favoir. “Please bite me, Min. I need it.” He blinks. Smirks. “Oh?” he says. “You need me now?” You nod. His pupils expand instantly. He leans in. “Then ask properly.” You beg again. Sweeter. Desperate. Eyes fluttering. And that’s when he loses it. Bites you like punishment. Like payoff. Drinks slow, precise, with a wicked curl to his mouth. “You asked for this,” he growls, licking the blood off your clavicle. “Hope you’re ready to handle it.” Spoiler: You are not.

Jeongin – Breaks. Rebuilds. Bites again.

You pull him close by the shirt. Whisper, “Please bite me, Innie.” He dies. “Wh–you… are you serious?” You nod. He stares. You whisper it again. “Please, Jeongin.” He leans in, voice shaking: “...Since you asked so sweetly.” But he’s gentle. Tender. He kisses your shoulder. Sinks in slow. And moans. Loud. Choked. Honest. You whimper and he shudders. “You taste like mine,” he whispers. Then he bites again.

⸺⟡⸺

🍀 anon… YOU’VE RUINED THEM. AND ME. thank you for this soft-depraved masterpiece of an ask. i hope you’re happy knowing that 8 powerful vampire men are now feral because you blinked at them and said “bite me.” 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐚 ANON LOGGED: “Lotus was taken so I embraced the sea and claimed the shell—glub glub bitch.”

you are OFFICIALLY ON THE ROSTER and you are SO powerful for the 🐚 pick—soft ocean mystique meets secret fang-thirst?? YES.

and babyyyyy don’t worry 🥺🩵 i would love to see your Chan fan art if you ever feel ready to share. NO pressure, no face reveal needed, just vibes and glub glub magic.

welcome to the blood ocean, darling shell creature. love u 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

if you made it to the end of this ask dump: CONGRATULATIONS YOU ABSOLUTE BEAST. you get a 🪙 GOLD STAR, a shot of vampire venom, and a forehead kiss from your fave.

thank you for the chaos, the thirst, the love, and the INSANE BRAINROT — keep sending asks!! I love them, I hoard them, I read them at 2AM and giggle like a Victorian ghost texting her crush via candlelight.

NOW IF YOU’LL EXCUSE ME… I am off to go write Changbin’s smut fic 🫣💦. and also think about what kind of mental illness I’ll unleash for Filthy Friday tomorrow.

ALSO. watch KPOP HUNTERS on Netflix. SAURRR GOOD. Your Idol and How It’s Done are on loop on my Apple Music.

until next time… Daku loves u 💋🦇

[phantombegruvia]

SFTH MURDER MYSTERY - PART 4 [Ethel POV]

part 3 << part 4 >> part 5 MASTERPOST

*CW for description of blood and gore.. and Ethel.

[WAYNE MANOR DRAWING ROOM - 17:09]

Brriiingg

The old woman who is probably fine with being called old steps forward - but Ethel takes swift, long strides across the large room, and picks up the phone in one quick swoop.

She was about to answer, but the person on the other end of the phone was somehow faster than she was.

“Hellllllooooo, Brucie!” The man's voice was enthusiastic, with some sort of accent.

She knew the voice. She had met him before, several times. She knew him. Knew him. Knew him. Knew him. Ethel was hungry. She was craving-

“Beetroots!” She shouted into the phone.

“Ah! A fan,” the man on the other phone said, “but not Brucie, can you put him on?”

“You owe me £10.”

The man fell silent for a moment, “who is this?”

“Who is this?” She repeated the man's words.

“Nu uh, I asked you first.”

“Did you?” She asked, because did he?

“Ooh,” the man began, “I don't like you.”

“You owe me £10,” Ethel could do with the money, she could do.. something with it. She turned around and found eleven other ‘people’ (they may not be, not everybody is a person). Where did they come from? They weren't always there, were they?

The old-ish man in glasses mouthed something about margaritas to her. She didn't think this was neither the time nor place because people are dying - or just sleeping. Probably just sleeping. Snoring away like-

“Can you get Bruce Wayne, please?” The man sounded annoyed and desperate, which is certainly not a good tone for him. He can't host with that sort of attitude can he?

“What do you need him for?”

The man coughed, “personal.. matters.”

“Ethel, What's going on?” the old woman called from the other side of the room.

“André Beetroot wants to have sex with Bruce Wayne,” Ethel said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, because it was.

“Wait,” the small man who was dressed for cold weather tilted his head ever so slightly, “André Beetroot?”

“Who's that?” Ethel asked.

The small cold man looked taken aback, for reasons she didn't understand, “but you just said-”

“He owes me £20.”

The man on the phone scoffed, “what? But you said £10! Why do I even owe you money? I don't even know who you are!”

“You said I couldn't sink the Titanic, we bet on it.”

“We- you did what?”

“Ate a squirrel.”

“No, no, not-” there was a sigh, “Wait I go on the Titanic? Did you just spoil that for me? I swear if you spoiled that for me-”

“You were, I was there, I saw you, I was there. You were there to host an ice carving competition.”

“An.. ice carving competition on the.. Titanic?”

“You owe me £30.”

“Okay, shut up. Put Bruce on the phone.”

“Can't.”

“Can't?”

“He's resting his eyes,” Ethel shrugged, the other eleven (when did they get there?) looked at her with pride. Definitely pride.

“Can you wake-”

“Nope.”

“Right, why not?”

“You owe me £40.”

The man made a grunt of annoyance, “listen, lady, I'm on a time crunch here and it would be really appreciated if-”

The lights went out, and the man stopped talking.

“Hello?” She called into the phone, “helllloooooo? I'm still listening, helloooooooo.”

“What's happening?” Another voice said, a woman's voice, “is everybody okay?”

“The man's stopped responding, he owed me £20,” Ethel pouted in the dark.

And, not a moment later, the lights came back on without warning. It didn't take Ethel long to notice that one of the old-timey women had laid herself down on one of the velvet sofas, the one without a back. Her white blanket-thing she wore as a dress had been stained red, the red coming from her chest where a broken wine glass had embedded itself - how clumsy.

Ethel tutted as she realised she had probably choked on the grapes in her mouth, what a waste. She walked over to the old-timey woman and plucked a grape from the stem and popped it in her mouth.

[silverynight]

The dark side of a hero

<--Previous

Chapter 4

Inko

21 years ago

She has gradually changed her mind about Katsuki; sure, he always tries to hide Izuku whenever Inko goes to the Bakugos to pick him up after a sleepover, hoping the woman forgets about her son and doesn't take him back, but he hasn't done anything concerning around her little green bean.

However, even though she understands that's the behavior of a child, she still doesn't find endearing at all when Mitsuki sends her pictures of Katsuki completely wrapped around Izuku even in his sleep.

I can't move him when he's with Izuku, it's like he doesn't want to let your kid go.

Inko sends a smiling emoji back, even though she's not that happy with the situation.

Despite that, she can recognize that Katsuki is not a bad kid at all; after everyone in their classroom found out Izuku was quirkless, the little explosive boy was ready to defend him against the whole class, and he kept hanging out with Inko's heartbroken son like nothing had happened.

Now they're inseparable. Izuku still loves heroes and knows a lot about them and their quirks, but he doesn't mind trying something else in the future. He's still too young to decide what he'll do with his life, but at least he's more kind to himself.

Her little one has told her many times that Katsuki has promised to become the number one pro hero for the both of them. They even talk about Katsuki's future agency; the blond boy assures Izuku he'll get him a job there.

That promise makes Izuku happier and Inko silently thanks the Bakugos' kid for that.

And just when she thinks she can forget about her bad feeling, Izuku comes back with a mark of teeth on his left cheek.

"What happened, Izuku?" Inko kneels in front of him, worriedly checking the mark.

When the little boy touches his cheek, he smiles.

"It's okay, Mom!" Sweet Izuku chuckles. "It doesn't hurt. Kacchan was very gentle."

"But why did he bite you?" Inko asks, trying not to narrow her eyes too much in front of the little one. She wonders if she should call Mitsuki and tell her about her son's inappropriate behavior.

"He says that way the others will know I'm his," Izuku mumbles calmly, taking his shoes off, like it's completely normal.

Inko takes a deep breath, telling herself Katsuki is just a kid, a five-year-old boy who doesn't know any better. And yet, it worries her that her son's best friend is behaving way too possessive for his age.

"That's not right, Izuku. People are not things, they don't belong to other people," Inko says gently, trying to explain the situation to her child. "Please tell him not to do that again."

"Oh, alright," he nods, like the good boy he's always been. She smiles back and presses a soft kiss on his forehead.

If Katsuki doesn't stop, she'll talk to his parents, but Inko already knows he will, because even though he's quite stubborn and aggressive to other kids, he doesn't seem to want to upset Izuku.

She knows he'll listen to him.

The next day, when Izuku comes back without scratches, but a very distinctive plastic bracelet that says "Kacchan" Inko looks up at the ceiling to calm herself down. Well, at least it's not a bite, and she's sure that Katsuki will get over his fixation with her son like kids get over old toys.

Then, a few weeks later, something happens.

She rushes to the principal's office; good thing that her employer has always been kind to her and lets her leave whenever there's an emergency.

The secretary opens the door for her, not bothering to answer any of her questions. The principal didn't give her any details over the phone so she let her anxiety run wild and was already imagining Izuku seriously injured.

But then she sees him inside, perfectly fine.

"Mom!" He's a bit upset, but otherwise okay.

Only after she's completely sure Izuku is not hurt, she notices the other kid with bandages around his hand, looking a bit scared as his father keeps glaring at the Bakugos.

Then there's Katsuki, ignoring his mother's harsh words and staring at Izuku like he's absolutely devastated.

That's when Inko notices that her son is frowning at his best friend. He's mad at him.

"What happened?" Inko asks, feeling completely lost.

"One of the teachers saw Katsuki hurt Daisuke with a sharp pencil." The principal explains calmly, looking from the sobbing kid to the blond boy.

"But why is my Izuku here?" Inko presses, even more worried now. No, her son will never hurt another child.

"He was involved in the incident."

Before she can ask even more questions, Mitsuki starts scolding her son again, hitting him on the back of his head once.

"He took Izuku's hand!" Katsuki hisses, still glaring at the other kid.

"That's not a reason to hit another kid, brat!"

"But Izuku is mine!"

The principal rolls her eyes, probably thinking that's just a normal behavior among kids like the other adults in the room do, except for Inko. She seems to be the only one who thinks that Katsuki's behavior is rather concerning.

"That wasn't nice, Kacchan!" Izuku frowns at the blond boy before turning around to check on Daisuke.

That seems to be more effective than Mitsuki's scolding, because Katsuki stops yelling and watches, almost devastated, as Izuku moves closer to another kid that's not him.

If he hadn't hurt someone else, Inko would have felt sorry for him.

Katsuki's eyes fill with tears.

"See?" Mitsuki tells the other parent. "He regrets it."

Inko watches as her husband shakes his head behind the blond woman; Masaru seems to realize that his son is not upset because of what he did.

He just doesn't want Izuku to be mad at him.

"I'm sorry," Katsuki mumbles, tearing up, shocking his own parents in the process.

Even Daisuke's father looks pleased now, probably thinking that the kid's words are directed to his own son.

It's not only him, but everyone in the room who thinks Katsuki is apologizing to the other boy, but now that Inko has learned to read the signs, she can't be fooled. Katsuki is only apologizing to Izuku.

And he gets exactly what he wants, because her kindhearted son turns around to smile at him again.

"It's okay, Kacchan. Everyone deserves a second chance."

Katsuki nods, eyes glimmering with hope before he manages to escape from his mother's grip and walk towards Izuku before puling him into his arms.

He looks like he doesn't want to let go of Inko's son, but he eventually does, smiling back at the boy with pretty freckles.

After that, the principal decides Katsuki deserves a suspension; it's only a few days, but it seems like it doesn't affect the boy in the slightest.

At least until he realizes the complete extent of his punishment.

His expression turns devastated after he realizes no school means no more Izuku because his mother also grounded him and the little green bean is not allowed to visit him.

Perhaps that'll make him understand that it's not okay to hurt other people.

However, instead of walking out relieved, like the other parents do, Inko leaves even more worried.

But what can she possibly do about this?

***

You can read Chapter 5, Chapter 6 and Chapter 7 on my patreon already!

Patreon

[corseque]

WIP whenever day tagged by @sky-kiss (;o;) I'm too shy to tag anyone back, so if you want to share a wip, please take this as your excuse my wip snippet is Renoir fic, so 100% SPOILERS for everything that happens in Clair Obscur. You can't write fic about this character without spoiling the whole game, unfortunately. So please refrain from reading it if you haven't played.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, fair Lumière knew only peace.

Aline Dessendre lived there in those days, together with her husband and three children. Famed Madame Dessendre, the former ballerina and shining star of the city of light, who led them all to victory through the siege, the famine, the war against… 

…their world had never known war, and nothing but joy had ever happened to their city, never mind the Grandis who claimed their city had not always been there, or the elders who felt a shadow on their hearts. Whatever the shadow may have been, it was too long ago to remember, in a world far away from their fair Lumière.

For Lumière was the only city in the world, and in the heart of the city rested Madame Dessendre’s beautiful manor house, glowing with light from every window. And the streets of the city of light were always strewn with the white flowers of peace, and no one there had ever starved.

And there was once a man named Renoir Dessendre who lived in fair Lumière with his wife and his three children, but all was not well in his heart because he knew his wife was ill.

Her illness was not obvious to others, but Renoir knew his wife with a precious intimacy. He was a careful student of her graceful movements, the sound of her voice and the light of her eyes, the curve of her cheek. This study had filled the years of his life with beauty and love. Now that very study made worry grow in his heart.

“Aline,” he said from the doorway.

Stillness from their bed was his only answer. It was midday, and for all their lives, she had woken in his arms each dawn. This morning, nothing he had tried could stir her to real movement. 

The light was terrible, the hues muddy. The dark quagmire shades would be difficult to mix using his usual bright oil colors, and nor would he want to.

When he opened the curtains, she still did not stir.

A hesitation took him, looking down at her in sleep, disturbed by the thought that he did not know what he would do if she never decided to get up again. He knelt by her side and measured her temperature with his palm, her skin so soft. She did not react to his touch. She had no fever or chill, at least.

Renoir wished he knew how to help her.

“The day is running away from you,” he said softly. 

This time, her eyes opened, but they did not reflect the light from the window with joy. They were dull and focused somewhere beyond him.

He stroked his fingers through her hair. In the new light, it was now a soft brown he might mix from perhaps alizarin crimson and chrome yellow, muted by cobalt.

“I will fetch the doctor,” he murmured.

Aline’s hand caught his. She only shook her head, still not looking at him.

Renoir knew that no stranger may ever come inside their home, not even a doctor.

“Aline,” he repeated, becoming frustrated. 

“You push me even here,” she finally said. “Even you.”

Though her voice was a weak void, she was at least speaking to him. She was touching his hand. His frustration ebbed.

“I am trying to tempt you, not push you. Clea wanted to show you her latest work. She claims you can have nothing to critique.” 

Aline closed her eyes again, removing her touch. 

He cast about for something more to say.

“Alicia…” Well, there was never much to report about Alicia. “I heard her up late last night, typing away. She is making good use of the typewriter.”

Aline turned her face away from him. “Go away, Renoir.”

He retreated by one surprised, hurt step. A full stubborn minute passed. For lack of anything else, Renoir finally said, “I see Verso in the yard.”

That, strangely, did the trick.

“Verso?” Aline asked, her head even lifting from the pillow.

Renoir’s heart stirred with hope. “He is throwing a ball for Monoco.”

Aline rose from her bed and flew to Renoir’s side. “Oh, he is. He is. I thought… but I must have dreamt it. It was a nightmare.”

In the light of the window, his wife was gaunt, but Renoir felt a profoundly grateful inspiration to paint her, to capture her focused, clear eyes and her viridian robe against her throat.

Aline turned to him, and this time, she truly looked at him, tears of joy in her eyes. “But he should stay in the manor. Outside is too… you must make sure he is safe.”

“Of course.”

Verso was a grown man, old enough to marry, who could defend himself and even help defend their family if something happened to their peaceful city, and yet… Renoir knew that his wife was right. 

Renoir knew, above all else, that he must protect his wife and his children, and allow no one to come inside their home. He guarded their door as the statue of the lion in their garden did, unyielding as stone and ever watchful. He must never put down his guard, never relax, and never trust anyone outside their family. He must never be far away from Aline.

He must never break her heart.

Then his beautiful wife reached for him and pulled him down for a long kiss. Her lips were salty from tears, but she was smiling and bright again.

---

Once upon a time, Renoir Dessendre lived in Paris in the shell of the house that still remained standing after the murder of his only son.

He lived there with his two still-living children, his youngest a broken ghost and his eldest consumed by revenge. His wife remained in their house in body, but not spirit. She had stopped speaking to him, and finally abandoned him completely, and her children as well, to drown herself in madness.

And Renoir lived, and he knew greater pain than he ever knew existed.

The longer the madness went on, the more difficult it would be to extricate Aline. A gentle terror ruled his days, a silent roar incrementally gaining volume with every passing hour. It would be different if he were as skilled or powerful as his wife. If he could simply pluck her from danger the way she had once done for him, how much simpler life would be.

(end of excerpt.... it is just a wip.....)

[mailinsblogofstuff]

I'm going to weigh in here:

Especially in the books, Mildred is incredibly ADHD coded.

She is forever trying her best with everything, but her best is just not enough. She will hyperfocus on stuff that interests her but fall short of following through a lot of the time.

She struggles with sleep a lot and always sleeps in, and can't sleep without having Tabby there, which I think is too cute. And then predictably can't get up in the mornings, gets dressed in a hurry and never manages to look neat. I love how in the book illustrations, one of her boots is usually half untied. Such a mood. Except for her hair, the braiding must take absolutely forever!

She has very low impulse control and when she gets the urge to do something, she usually goes ahead with it which forever lands her in trouble. She also doesn't have the foresight of how things might turn out, and it's easy to talk her into stuff she shouldn't be doing (Enid is a main offender here, love her so much).

Most of all, Mildred knows that she is different from the others. She is clumsier than most, has a very hard time learning to fly on a broom, her motor skills just aren't the same as a neurotypical, and she beats herself up so badly over her failures. I just need someone to tell her that it's ok, she is different from the others and that's fine, and with patience and the right strategies she can get far. She gets far even without all that, but the price is high.

A lot of these could definitely be AuDHD, but I think we would do her a disservice by saying that she's just autistic, there is more to the picture.

Don't quote me on this, but I think Jill Murphy said in an interview somewhere that she based Mildred on her own school experience, with all the struggles associated with Mildred being her own struggles, so I headcannon Jill Murphy as ADHD too (I probably wouldn't write this if she was still alive) and it just brings so much to the books in my opinion. I wonder how many young girls read this, saw themselves and decided that someone out there understands them and that the fight is worth fighting. I needed this book when I was young, tearing up as I'm reading this 🤣

Sidenote: I've only recently realised my own struggles are due to neurodiversity and then my mum casually hit me with 'it's because of your ADHD', and I see an awful lot of myself in Mildred. I've always wanted to go to a boarding school in the hopes that it would fix my struggles and it probably would have gone very similarly to Mildred. Struggles are amplified when you can't run away from them, and I wonder how things would have turned out. I'm just glad that I'm getting some answers now in my mid-thirties and I know I'm not completely crazy 🤣

The Worst Witch Headcanons! #2

Today’s head canon applies to both the ‘98 show and ‘17 show.

Mildred Hubble is autistic

I’m pretty sure a lot of people in the fandom have already headcanoned this, but im going to list my reasons as to why i think both versions are autistic.

-in the ‘17 it’s a lot more easier to identify than the ‘98 show, Mildred isn’t seen to as mask as much in the ‘17 (Bella Ramsey is autistic themselves so maybe this is why it’s clearer).

-Both versions have a strong sense of justice and what’s wrong and right. Both feel the need to take all the problems on themselves and fix it.

-Sensory Issues: in the ‘17 show Mildred wears short sleeve shirts even when everyone else is wearing long sleeve (early season 1 mainly), she wears gloves at nights, most of the time when she wear long sleeves they cover her hands. In the ‘98 show, s1 ep 2, Mildred struggles to eat the food at the school. Although the other girls complain they do eat it but Mildred can’t.

-‘17 Mildred being fixated on finding her witching ancestry.

-Mildred struggles socially, all she wants to do is ‘fit in’. She latches onto the friends she makes, goes along with their plans (mainly Enid’s) even if she disagrees because she doesn’t want to lose them.

-She’s seen ‘fidgeting’ or stimming with her hands, she’s seen twirling her hair, although it’s not seen in the ‘98 show in both the books and ‘17 she has a ‘habit’ of chewing her hair.

-Although it can be explained by her non-magical background— Mildred not understanding some of what her peers say and also being literal at times could be autism.

-She doesn’t seem to like change; in the ‘98 show in s1 ep10 she doesn’t like the computers like everyone else. She’s reluctant to use them and would like class to go back to how it was. In wsc it’s mentioned by others that she’s struggling to adjust, she’s also seen to constantly be wishing to go back to Cackles.

[official-susie-deltarune]

on my hands and knees begging for my body to let me sleep. please. please. just let me fucking sleep what do you WANT FROM ME.

[free-fart-avenue]

Yay! Info dump! I am glad I had a pretty good guess. And thanks for not giving spoilers, am very excited for more fics! (Make me cry some more, please)

I have thought a little about Fate. This one doesn't seem to see him as a toy or someone to take the consequences from Ink, she just has him as a tool. My question is though, does she think he is doing good? He seems to get breaks, though, clearly he is mostly unaware of everything, so it may just be slight blips of a little less pain to him. But are there times he gets shocked anytime he slows down or Fate straight up controls him? I know both probably happen, but does that happen often?

Also, what would Error be like while controlled by Fate? Are his movements more mechanical? Brutal? Is he still awake and aware when she controls him or is he forced to sleep? Maybe he can just rest while she controls him body to destroy more. Would she start getting upset if she has to control him more often because he just can't keep up? Too much to destroy, too many wounds and too much pain to be able to do a good job.

Would she end up replacing Error? Say, someone with destruction powers, stronger and more willing comes along, would she cast Error aside? Or use him to keep destroying a little extra, no matter how small the amount? If she does end up throwing him aside, would he slowly run out of sedatives, or would she revoke everything she gave him? The legs, the respirator, the sceen. Would he lose all of it because she has no use for him anymore? (If nothing else, this paragraph is the main thing I want answered. Understandable if you don't reply to everything.)

And further, if the events in "Now they see my blood on their slippers" didn't happen, would they begin to think there is a reason behind the destruction if they see universes start to fall apart, and a not fully repaired destroyer comes and makes sure the universe falls quicker and without pulling others with it. Would they catch on when he keeps coming back clearly still broken. Maybe the events did happen and Fate controls his body to get back to the Anti-void after everything, but he is still needed to destroy afterwards. The next day, after everyone saw his face and his blood when they beat him to a broken pulp, he limps into another universe to destroy it. Maybe his respirator broke, so he is shaking and getting shocked everytime he slows down. Hmm yummy angst...

These are ramble thoughts added throughout my day when I had breaks from work, so it may be a lot, repetitive, or just not make sense. Sorry if that is the case. And if these are too many questions or questions you don't want everyone knowing the answers to just yet, we can slip over to dms. Up to you tho.

Reference sheet for my cyborg FGoD!Error! Bro's really going through it and he can barely comprehend it

[taraxacum-vulpes]

SCARY

[icharchivist]

I haven't played Dragon Age before btw but I think Veilguard looks really interesting. I hope I can get into it despite being a complete beginner

oh damn

I hope you can too.... from experiences while th DA games clearly follow heavily on one another, the fact each entry has it's own protagonist, they usually use it to really go "we can't assume you know what happened previously so here's a run down". I've seen people who never played the previous games get fully entranced by da2 or dai, and i have no doubt da4 will do the same on that regard, so if this is the way you want to go about it, i'm sure the game will be accomodating. and the game does look a hell of fun.

Personally i think it's a terrible idea but i'm also a person who has been living those past 8 years on the incredible high DAI's ending left me on with its major plot twist that literally changed everything, all while actually having been set up for all 3 games that going back to any of the prev game is a treat in term of treasure hunts of how "everything was there all along, we just didn't know any better" and genuinely i'd be saddened by people being introduced by the twist /first/ when the games have set this beauty up in 3 games.

The current promo cycle revealed also very early 20mins of the gameplay (not the very beginning and it skips around on a few scenes, but it's basically huge part of the prologue), and they will throw you into it right away (and there's no way it won't spoil the prev game, like, at all lmao), which is... so exciting as a long time fan, but is going to be a lot of biased exposition dump too.

("biased" bc the person who's going to fill you in on the situation has a history with the character it's about as well and the chara in question is so incredibly built through all of DAI and is such a nuanced, interresting character, that describing him in a few sentences is. very likely to get you the wrong idea about him. *mumbles* not like playing DAI has ever stopped people from being wrong about him, but,)

(Because yeah also 2 major characters/companions from da2 and DAI have been confirmed to coming back, as well as one of the most detailled secondary characters from DAI becoming a companion in DA4, so there's a lot of history there. The concept arts also teased a lot of returns from possible DAO, DA2 and DAI characters as well.

Not to mention they also confirmed the protagonist of DAI is coming back for a considerable portion of the game to "finish their story with [one of the major character of DAI (and possible romance option) that is going to be super important in DA4]" and has been mentioned to have a significant part to play/that sometimes you'll have to play them.)

But hey i'm talking from the place of someone who spent the last 8 years replaying the three games so often i have 700 hours on the first game, 600 on the second, and nearly 1500 hours on the third one (i've been replaying it those past few weeks, i'm 130 hours in and i am still "early" ish in the plot lmaoooo, and i already planned to replay the game when i'm done.), and have diven into everything the saga has to offer, from books to comics to movies to TV shows and webseries.

(speaking of TV shows, Dragon Age: Absolution on netflix was released a couple years ago and it was a great entry. It also has spoilers from DAI but if you decide to still going on with playing DA4 despite that, you can also watch DA:A to see if the universe compeels you to get deeper into. The show is short, 6/8 episodes? And the full cast (aside from Fairbanks being a big npc on dai and the cliffhanger refering to prev games as well) are new characters so the story can work as a stand alone thanks to that. and it's 2D animated, it's lovely)

point is i'm fully biased and the one thing that thrills me more than anything else about the game is really just rereading the pages of lore and seeing how they connect, so while to me the twist is 100% worth discovering in full, it's also just /my/ concern personally.

(and i can't even begin to touch on the specific high i've been on for the past month by the fact the trailer + gameplay showcase already went on to confirm theories i've been having for /years/ and there's a specific type of high that comes from "oh my god i picked that up!!! i did!!!! holy shit!!!" that would be lost on a new player who's introduced to it right away)

but it's MY way of experiencing DA and i think if you want to go into da4 first, esp since the other games are intimidating in some way (and god knows i've tried to drag ppl into DA and they all ditched early in DAO because DAO has some slow gameplay and some slow built before really hooking you in, so while i can't relate i know it's a deal breaker for some people when i say "no please start from the start"), i'm sure you'll still be on for a treat and everything.

If you end up getting into da4 without playing the other games, if you have questions my inbox is opened. I tend not to talk about DA much on main bc i can't stand the fandom esp on here and don't want them to find me at all (which is why every single of my completely unhinged rantings about DA have been confined to private conversation with friends and spamming my private twitter account i mostly have my IRLs on), but at least in term of lore clarification i should be able to help o7

anyway sorry lots of thoughts about it but i've been thinking about it a lot lately especially as i'm replaying DAI and i'm constantly crying just playing exploration phases because i'm just so enamoured with the way the game saga grew and rewards you for caring yaknow? and how as happy as i am people are interested in DA4 because i do want the game to do well and personally i feel in every fiber of my body that it's going to be a blast, but it saddens me to think the whole saga and the way the twists and turns affected one another will not be experienced fully by newcomers.

but again. ranting of a raving fan, and the game itself will surely ease you through it, so don't mind me too much about it.

I genuinely can't wait, my brain has been only DA for the past month.

happy it got your interest though <333

[attractthecrows]

man i'd really like for revallen to encounter the ghost of his father but with his skillset it's just not likely

[inkedbybarnes]

blind date

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: convinced that bucky will never like you back, you agree to a blind date arranged for you to forget about him.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: fluff. two idiots pining over each other (i know, i know. i love the trope). blind dates (they honestly scare me). boundaries being crossed. not so gentleman of a blind date. protective & grumpy bucky (yes, that's a warning!). pet names such as doll. lowercase writing. not proofread.

notes: happy 500 followers to us! hehe. sorry it took long, i waited until i reached that milestone and we finally did! we're growing in our small delulu home, and i love it. <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“come on! tell me more about this mystery guy.”

natasha plopped down the couch beside you while she held a pint of ice cream in her hand and a spoonful on its way to her mouth. you were talking about the blind date that sam arranged for you, and she hasn't stopped asking questions since you mentioned it.

“there's really nothing to tell besides that he's a guy looking for a date and that he's friends with sam. i'm actually surprised that sam set this all up, but i trust him, you know? maybe it'll be nice,” you answered, ignoring the fact that sam suggested this to help you get over your not-so-little crush on a super soldier.

your phone beeped, showing a message sent to you by your teammate. “speaking of the devil, sam just sent me the details but i'm really not sure if i should go. it doesn't feel right.”

“and leave the poor guy waiting? not happening." natasha stuck her spoon into her pint and set it down on the coffee table. “you feel that way because you like someone already, but nothing's going to happen if we'll sit here waiting. you're either giving this date a chance or ask bucky out. it's time you finally go out there and see someone. aren't you sick of us yet?"

“i'm quite sick of you, that's for sure.” you joked, having natasha as your room neighbour and basically your best friend. if you weren't spending your time sleeping in your room, you'd be spending it with her. “i just don't think i should be going on dates when i know i'm technically not emotionally available for others yet.”

“oh, you can't be sick of me. i'm great company." natasha replied confidently. “then why did you agree? we all know, besides barnes, that you've liked him for so long. plus, he's never been with anyone for ages. the two of you makes sense.”

you gnawed on your lower lip, hesitant to tell nat the reason why you agreed to this stupid date, but she was your best friend and also one hell of a spy to even try and hide it. “he told me that he found someone similar to bucky and that i might want to meet him. we agreed to let it be a blind date to avoid the mess of telling them that they're meeting an avenger.”

“i knew it. you're going on a rebound date!” she jumped on her seat, as if she'd solved the winning numbers to the lottery. “there was no way you'd suddenly go on a blind date without a catch. you're too hung up on bucky!”

“keep it down!” you pulled her back into the couch, nervously looking around the room to see if anyone was close by. “i'm pretty sure rebounds only apply to people i've dated. bucky's hardly a candidate for that list.”

“you've liked him for way too long that it basically feels like you had a relationship, and i'm pretty sure he likes you too,” natasha said. “trust me, my guts? golden.”

you winced at the thought. there had been zero signs that bucky liked you back. as much as you trusted natasha and her instincts, this was something you couldn't just assume.

“i don't think so, nat. i've given him enough hints. it's either he's too dense about it or he's just not interested. maybe it's just how it's supposed to be, and i can't keep myself stuck with maybes forever.” you sighed, deciding to finally go to the blind date. “help me pick an outfit?”

“like you even have to ask?” she smiled, dragging you to your room while you were still left with uncertainty in your heart.

the restaurant was one of those hole-in-the-wall places in downtown new york. it had a lot people dining inside, their noise easily heard from the outside, yet the ambiance already felt warm and welcoming. you wondered if sam suggested the place or the guy you were about to meet.

you sighed, giving your chest one last tap since it wouldn't stop beating so fast. it was a wonder how your heartbeat remained stable during a risky mission, while a harmless date had you this nervous. although with that, you felt human.

“okay, let's see where this goes,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch that had a tracking device in it, as requested (or ordered) by your best friend.

natasha initially opted to come with you and seat somewhere far, but you told her that you didn't need it. so, she settled with a tracking device, as if you weren't an avenger who could defend yourself. you couldn't find it in you to complain, since this was natasha's own way of showing that she cared.

you entered the restaurant, eyes wandering around the room despite not knowing exactly what to look for. the only details you were allowed to know was that “joseph” knew where to take you, so you assumed that person was one of the staff that you had to look for.

once you found a waitress that didn't look too occupied, you approached her with a smile. “excuse me, may i know where joseph is?”

the lady looked up at you, recognition evident on her face. you were slightly worried that she knew your identity, but she gave you a warm smile and held your arm gently. “oh, he's right there by the counter. let me take you to him!”

she escorted you towards the man handling the counter that seemed to be where the orders were taken. he was shouting various orders behind him while arranging the food on the counter. by the looks of it, he could be the manager or the owner of the place.

“she's here!” the lady beside you exclaimed, catching the full attention of joseph.

“ah, there's our special guest for tonight!” joseph walked around the counter to hug you, as if you knew each other for a long time. “come, come! we have the best spot reserved for you. it's right outside where you can enjoy the view while also having some privacy, eh? your date already arrived, but no worries. he wasn't waiting for too long.”

you were rendered speechless as he took you to the patio, not expecting your date to arrive first, and most importantly not expecting to see him right away. you thought you were early enough, but it seems that your date was an earlier bird than you were.

once outside, all you could see was an empty patio with one man sitting not so far from where you were standing. you hated how you could only see his back and not his face, since he was facing the opposite direction. although, you immediately noticed how he was dressed similarly to bucky.

similar haircut, black boots, and a black jacket. while you weren't sure if they actually looked alike, sam wasn't kidding about them having some similarities.

“how come it's empty out here?” you asked with genuine curiosity. the restaurant was oozing with customers tonight, and they could surely use the extra space outdoors.

“well, uh...” joseph scratched his head, smiling awkwardly as he looked for an answer. “oh, well, stop worrying about that! you're here to go on a date and nothing more! let us worry about that ourselves, hm? come, let's not make your date wait for too long.”

you both walked towards the only table occupied, taking a deep breath before joseph announced, “your date has arrived!”

the man turned around, eyes widened at the sudden noise, but he eventually smiled once he looked at you.

“hey, nice to finally meet you.” he stood up, extending his hand. “i'm martin.”

one look at him and you knew that your heart stubbornly stayed with someone you shouldn't be thinking about.

“i still can't believe that i'm on a date with an avenger.”

you were barely done with your meal despite being here for more than an hour, and martin hasn't been able to stop gushing about your whole avenger sideline. while you understood his excitement, this wasn't the type of date that you hoped for.

“you think i could tell my friends?” he asked, suddenly nudging his chair closer to you that he was basically sitting beside you. “they probably won't believe me, so will it be okay if we took a picture?”

oh, so that's why he moved closer.

“sure.” you forced a smile. “but don't get too close, maybe? i'm.. i'm not that comfortable yet.”

as if you said nothing, he placed an arm over your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. you've been through worse situations than this, but you were highly uncomfortable having your boundaries crossed.

bucky wouldn't do something like this. how did sam think that any of his behaviour was similar to him?

martin already had his phone out, capturing pictures and squeezing your arm, when you decided that this isn't what you wanted, but before you could open your mouth, you felt someone pulling his arm off of you, causing martin to scream.

“what is wrong with you!?” martin shouted, standing up and stepping away while he held his aching arm. when you turned around, you felt your heart stop to find the person you least expected to be here, but wanted the most to be with.

“bucky?”

he did not look at you, his eyes still fixated on martin, nostrils flaring as he took a step closer, standing in front of you as if he was shielding you, while martin took the same amount of steps backwards. “she clearly said no. what the fuck was so hard about understanding that?”

“look, man, i don't know what you're doing here, but i think this is between me and her,” he said, his eyes showing fear as he watched the ex-assassin approach him, hearing the gears of his metal arm whirring.

“give me your phone.” bucky ordered. “now.”

martin immediately fished for his phone, nearly dropping it, and gave it to bucky. “w-what are you going to do?”

“no, this is what you're gonna do,” bucky started, crashing martin's phone with ease and carelessly throwing it to the side. “this date never happened, your friends will hear nothing about tonight, and you will get out of here before i finish counting to three. one...”

in a snap, martin was already out of your sight. if you hadn't known martin before this, you would think he idolised pietro with the way he ran so fast.

“are you okay?”

forgetting about bucky for a split second, his voice jolted you out of your thoughts. you looked up, your heart racing, to find him right in front you.

“what are you doing here?”

“that doesn't really answer my question, doll. answer mine first, will ya? then i'll answer yours.”

“i'm okay, but i can take care of myself. you didn't have to scare the guy.” you sighed, trying your best to look displeased when in fact this has been the happiest you've been tonight. “so? why are you here?”

“well, it's really hard to explain...”

“you better try, barnes, because i am very confused right now,” you said. “one moment i'm on a date with someone, then suddenly my teammate, who i told nothing about said date, appears and crushes the phone of the guy i'm with?”

“natasha told me about it.”

you frowned, not surprised with natasha's gossipy nature, but confused about what she could've said that made him go all the way here.

“i was looking for you since you're always with us during dinner, and nat told me that you were on a date. i couldn't help but ask where and with whom, but she said that she had no idea, that it was a blind date. she was more than glad to tell me where you were, so i came here looking for you.”

“why?” you asked, confused and suddenly hopeful at the same time. although, you tried to keep your hopes down, not wanting to set yourself up for a heartbreak.

“what do you mean why? that's it. i was just worried, and now you're okay. can we go home?”

he turned his back on you and walked away, you were quick enough follow him, still unsatisfied with his answer.

once you've reached a dark alley where he had his motorcycle parked, you sighed and decided to ask one more time.

“what are you actually doing here, barnes?” you asked. “i want an actual answer or i'm walking home.”

“it doesn't matter,” bucky answered shortly, frustration. written on his face. “why did you agree to this anyway? doesn't feel like something you'd do.”

“you have no idea about what i feel and what i want to do,” you answered. “and you still haven't answered my question.”

“i don't know, okay? i don't know. i just..” he sighed. “i heard the word date and everything didn't make sense. all i knew was that i wanted to follow you here and stop whatever you were doing. i didn't like it.”

“what gives you the right to stop me from going on a date?” you asked, your head jerked back in disbelief. “and why would it even bother you? this is the first time someone went on a date in the team. so what makes mine so different?”

“what do you think?” he asked, his gaze challenging and curious, waiting for your response.

you stood in silence, his question causing a sudden drift in the conversation. you could feel the tension in the air.

“sam made me go to a blind date as well,” he spoke again. “i just remembered that he was asking me where i'd take someone on a date. days after that, he said he found a girl that i might like, and that i should go on a date with her, he suggested that it should be a blind date, knowing that i'm an avenger and all.”

“why didn't you go?”

“i couldn't. i wasn't interested. i knew it wouldn't work.”

“why?”

“because i already like someone.”

your heart sank, a lump forming in your throat as the reality set in that the person you've been pining for was already interested in someone else.

so much for going on a date to forget about him.

“what about you?” he asked. “why did you go?”

because of you, you idiot.

“trying to get over someone,” you simply answered.

“you were seeing someone?” he asked, completely clueless, but suddenly looking uneasy. “i never knew you were in a relationship. i guess, we're not that close, but i thought i'd at least know abou—”

“what? no!” you replied, voice rising as you spoke. "god, i agreed to this date because i wanted to get over you!"

the words slipped out of your mouth, your eyes widening in surprise as you accidentally reveal the feelings you had kept hidden.

bucky blinked, silence hanging in the air. the confession felt heavy between you as you waited for his response.

“i didn't agree to going on a blind date because i have feelings you,” bucky finally spoke, taking a deep breath before continuing, “because i knew i wouldn't enjoy it knowing i'd be thinking of you anyway, because as convinced as i was that you had no interest in me, i'd rather keep my eyes on you than on anybody else.”

“wait, wait, what? you like me?” you repeated in a slightly disbelieving tone, searching his face for confirmation.

“why would i follow you all the way here if i didn't?”

“because you care? and it might be dangerous to go on a date with someone i've never met?” you guessed. “i mean, i think you'd also do it for everybody else, as grumpy as you look like on the outside, you can be a softie sometimes.”

“if i had no feelings for you, i wouldn't be here. you're an avenger for christ's sake. some random guy would be like a training dummy for you,” he answered. “and no, i wouldn't be doing this for anybody else. if the situation's that dangerous, maybe, but a date? you're all adults. you know what you're doing.”

you couldn't help but giggle at his answer, which earned you a glare from him. “what?”

“nothing.” you shook your head. “you sound like an old man lecturing the younger generation.”

“are we completely ignoring the fact that we like each other?”

“that's the only thing on my mind right now.” you admitted. “are you sure about what you just said? it could be the hunger talking.”

instead of answering, bucky took his phone out of his pocket, swiping and tapping on it a few times before taking your hand and placing it on your palm.

“what am i supposed to—”

“just read it.”

choosing not to argue with him, you grabbed the phone with a frown. his messages with natasha were on the screen, starting from their messages from nearly four months ago. you scrolled through their messages, and while they lasted for months, they were all short and straightforward.

three months ago

bucky:

did you arrive safely?

romanoff:

since when did you start asking?

bucky:

?

romanoff:

yes, we arrived safely.

bucky:

👍🏻

romanoff:

really???

two months ago

bucky:

is she okay?

romanoff:

ohhh, that's why you keep texting.

bucky:

answer

romanoff:

geez, barnes.

yeah, she's okay.

bucky:

ok

one month ago

bucky:

she's sick?

romanoff:

yeah, wanna visit her?

you're basically immune.

bucky:

i have a mission

romanoff:

oh yeah

oops

bucky:

are you busy?

romanoff:

nope

why?

bucky:

take my place

romanoff:

no thanks, barnes.

bucky:

i'll take your next task

and the next one as well

romanoff:

why can't you just take this one?

bucky:

nothing

romanoff:

a reason or i'm not doing it.

bucky:

she's sick

i want to stay

romanoff:

oh my god

you're such a sap

fine i'll talk to steve

bucky:

ty

romanoff:

you're using abbreviations now???

bucky:

👍🏻

one week ago

romanoff:

movie night later, don't ditch us again

bucky:

busy

romanoff:

she planned this one

she's worried you won't come

bucky:

i'll bring snacks

romanoff:

i love knowing your weakness

bring popcorn!

bucky:

she prefers pizza over popcorn

does she like popcorn?

romanoff:

nope, but some of us do.

bucky:

ok

romanoff:

so you're bringing popcorn?

bucky:

no

once you were done reading, you returned his phone back to his hand. “you do like me,” you said, the confession finally sinking in.

bucky nodded. “and you like me too.”

“where does that leave us?” you asked, hoping. “are we.. dating now?”

“no,” he answered quickly.

you felt that ache returning in your chest, but before you could say something, bucky already sensed your worries and he wasn't letting you slip away that easily.

“no because i want to do this right. i want to take you out on a date first, bring you flowers, play music and ask you for a dance, all that stuff that you deserve,” he explained, bringing his warm hand to your cheek. “but trust me that it won't take long before i call you mine. i don't think i have the patience for it at this point.”

“you promise?” you rose to your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around him. “i don't want to wait that long either.”

“you won't,” he replied, leaning into you, his lips brushing against your nose before pulling you in a kiss. “i promise.”

this was supposed to have a lil bonus when they got back to the tower, revealing the team's true involvement with the blind date, buttt i might just do it some other time as a snippet/part 2 instead. i still have a few to write anyway, woops.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[moon-fics]

Pool Day

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

A/n: Ugh! I love a good beach/pool episode! But this time, the relationship is established.

When Valentina asked if there was anything the team wanted in the tower, she meant like a training simulator or a chef. So, when Yelena spoke up, saying she wanted a pool, everyone backed her up. No one expected Valentina to actually go through with it because she didn't like them.

So, when Valentine announced the pool was done, everyone was flabbergasted. They were most astonished by the fact that she built it outside where the sun could be enjoyed. However, she said that was the last unnecessary request she'd be entertaining.

Of course, when the first day of summer rolled around, the pool was not forgotten.

---

You sit at the edge of the pool with your legs under the water. You're thankful you had time to buy a new swimsuit. It wasn't the best one you could find, but it'll do.

Yelena has found interest in sleeping on one of the floats. She's knocked out as the float hits one of the walls of the pool. Meanwhile, John is in the shallow area drinking a fruity smoothie. For the most part, everyone is relaxing for the first time in a while.

You sense a presence behind you and immediately turn. You're far too late, as two pairs of hands shove you into the chilly water. Your entire body is submerged, and water enters your nose. You pop out of the water, coughing and wiping your nose.

When you finally look up, you see Alexei and Bob standing where you were sitting. Alexei is hands on knees laughing and pointing at you as if he's pulled off a master prank.

"Is the water nice?" Bob asks. He holds out his hand for you to take. Even after shoving you into the pool, he's still kind enough to pull you back out. You should just take his hand and be thankful for the refreshing dunk. You aren't that type of person.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" You grip his forearm and yank as hard as possible. He doesn't take a lot of effort to pull. The splash from his fall wakes up Yelena, who lifts her sunglasses as Bob pops up from the water.

"'Ey, I don't want any rough housing," She points at you and Bob with a raised eyebrow. "Don't wake me again," She warns and puts her sunglasses back on.

The moment Yelena is back to resting, Bob's arms wrap around your waist. His head rests on top of yours, and water drips from his chin to your nose. He creates a sort of shade over your face to block out the sun.

"I could get used to this," You keep your voice down. Bob hums in response. He sways both of you carefully while he enjoys the closeness. "Did you swim a lot in Florida?"

"Oh yeah, like, every day." He nods without hitting your head. He relinquishes his hold on you and spins you around to face him. "It was either the pool or the beach. I preferred the beach because when the wind is strong enough, the waves get super high."

"That sounds fun," You say. "We should have asked for a wave pool, too." You laugh. Maybe you can suggest it to Valentina as a way to train for water-based threats. Though you doubt she'd accept that answer.

"The last time I was in a wave pool, I got kicked in the head three times," Bob chuckles. His hands move to rest on your waist to keep you near him. "I'm pretty sure they should be banned for how dangerous they are." His face becomes serious as he thinks.

"Oh, you can't handle some waves?" You tease. You already have something in mind and begin floating away from him. His brows furrow, and he watches you get a few feet away. You wind up your arm and roughly glide it across the surface to create a small wave.

It drenches Bob once again, but once the splash clears, he's gone. Before you can react, his hands are on your legs. He efficiently drags you under, but cradles your head before it hits the floor.

You open your eyes, but the water makes everything blurry. All you can see is Bob's outline as it gets closer. His hands cup your face, and his lips press against yours as gently as possible. The kiss only lasts a few seconds due to a lack of air, but those seconds are like a treasure. His lips are all you can feel as your senses are blocked by the water.

When you emerge, you gasp for air, but he doesn't. You chalk it up to him having more experience in bodies of water than you.

Once you catch your breath, he calls your name. You look towards him only to be hit in the face by water. He forgets how strong he is and gets Yelena and John wet.

"Oh, come on!" John groans. He holds up his half drank smoothie that now has chlorine water in it.

"Ok, that's it! No more pool for you two!" Yelena shouts.

[mandoalorian]

ride to you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

synopsis: seperated by miles, bucky barnes is out on a mission when he gets a late-night text message from you, and suddenly, he just can't do distance anymore.

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, fem receiving oral, fingering, breast play, sexting, mutual masturbation over video call, praise kink, bucky is all rough and desperate, and he struggles a bit with tech lol, …dog tags, motorcycle this smut has it all.

w/c: 3,885

masterlist | submit a request

The glow of your phone screen is the only light in your bedroom, casting soft shadows across the empty sheets. It’s 11:47 PM, and your desire for Bucky has you restless, your body aching with the need for him. He’s been gone three weeks, on some mission with Yelena and John keeping him a whole state away, and the distance is a cruel tease. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, then type out a message, heart already picking up speed.

You: Can’t sleep, soldier. Bed feels too damn big without you.

His reply pings almost instantly, like he’s been staring at his phone, waiting.

Bucky: Doll, you’re killing me already. Missing you so bad, I can’t think straight.

You smile, warmth curling in your chest. Bucky’s always been a little slow with tech—his texts are short, sometimes autocorrect mangles them—but the effort he puts in makes it sweeter. You can picture him, brow furrowed, big fingers fumbling on the tiny keyboard in some nondescript motel room.

You: What’s keeping you up, huh? Thinking about me?

Bucky: Every damn second. You in that little tank top you wear to bed? Or… less?

Your breath catches, a flush creeping up your neck. He’s bold tonight, and you love it.

You: Just a tank top. Barely. Wish you were here to see it.

There’s a longer pause, and you can almost hear the low groan he’d make.

Bucky: Sweetheart, you’re gonna make me break this phone. Tell me what you’d do if I was there.

Heat pools low in your belly, and you shift on the bed, thighs pressing together. You type slowly, savouring the anticipation.

You: I’d climb into your lap, kiss that spot on your jaw that makes you growl. Slide my hands under your shirt, feel those muscles… you’d be begging me to keep going.

His reply takes a minute, and when it comes, it’s a little messy, like he’s typing too fast.

Bucky: Fuck, doll. I’d pin you to that bed before you could tease me. Kiss you till you’re dizzy, hands all over you. That tank top wouldn’t last five seconds.

You bite your lip, pulse racing. The image of Bucky—broad shoulders, dog tags dangling, blue eyes blazing—has you squirming.

You: Oh, you think you’d have control? I’d have you groaning my name first, Barnes. Bet I could make you lose it just by grinding against you.

Bucky: You’d feel how hard you’re makin’ me already. I’d rip those panties off, make you scream for me.

Your fingers tremble as you type, the words coming faster now, dirtier.

You: I’d let you, Buck. Want your hands on me, your mouth… want you to fuck me till I can’t walk.

His next text is a single word, raw and desperate.

Bucky: Fuck.

Then, a follow-up.

Bucky: Call me. Now. Need to see you.

You hesitate, heart pounding. A call means FaceTime, and the thought of seeing him, hearing him, sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

You: FaceTime? You sure you know how to work that, old man?

Bucky: Shut up, doll. I figured out the damn button. Answer when I call, or I’m ridin’ to you tonight.

The threat—or promise—makes you grin, your body buzzing with anticipation. You adjust your tank top, letting one strap slip off your shoulder, and wait for the call.

Your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call, and your heart leaps into your throat. You swipe to answer, and there’s Bucky, filling the screen, looking like sin itself. He’s shirtless, sprawled on a motel bed, the dim light catching the glint of his dog tags and the sheen of sweat on his chest. His hair’s a mess, falling into his eyes, and those blue eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on you. 

But there’s a flicker of frustration on his face as he fumbles with the phone, tilting it at an awkward angle.

“Damn it,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “This thing keeps—hold on, doll, I think I got it.” He props the phone against something, probably a pillow, and the view steadies, giving you a full shot of his broad shoulders and the taut muscles of his stomach. He squints at the screen, like he’s not sure it’s working. “You seein’ me okay? Or did I break this already?”

You laugh, the sound breathy with nerves and desire. “I see you, Buck. Looking like a damn dream.” You shift on your bed, letting the silky camisole slip further down your shoulder, the thin fabric barely covering you. You angle the phone to give him a teasing view of your collarbone, the curve of your chest. “Like what you see?”

His groan is instant, low and guttural. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He shifts, and you catch the way his hand moves off-screen, adjusting himself. “That top’s barely holdin’ on. Show me more.”

Heat floods your body, and you oblige, sliding the camisole down to reveal the tops of your breasts, your fingers lingering there. “Better?” you tease, voice husky.

Bucky’s jaw tightens, his metal hand flexing on the bed. “You’re playin’ dirty, doll. Keep goin’. Wanna see all of you.” He’s trying to sound commanding, but there’s a plea in his tone, raw and desperate.

You bite your lip, emboldened by his reaction. “Only if you give me something too, soldier.” You nod toward his lap, where his hand is resting just out of frame. “Show me what those texts were doing to you.”

He huffs a laugh, half-embarrassed, half-turned on. “Demanding much? Alright.” He adjusts, sliding his hand into his sweatpants, and you catch a glimpse of the bulge there before he eases them down just enough. He’s hard, and the sight of him touching himself, slow and deliberate, sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Touch yourself for me.”

Your breath hitches, and you don’t hesitate. You slip a hand under the hem of your camisole, pushing it up to expose your stomach, then lower, dipping into your panties. The first brush of your fingers against yourself makes you gasp, and Bucky’s eyes darken, his own hand moving faster.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” he groans, voice thick. “So damn pretty. Keep goin’. Imagine it’s me touchin’ you.”

You do, your fingers circling as you picture his hands—rough, warm, and relentless. “Bucky,” you whimper, your hips shifting on the bed. “Wish it was you. Want your fingers, your mouth…”

He curses under his breath, his strokes growing rougher. “God, I’d devour you right now. Lick every inch of you till you’re screamin’ my name. Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so good,” you moan, your free hand gripping the sheets. “But not enough. Need you here, Buck. Need you inside me.” The words spill out, unfiltered, and you see the effect they have—his head tips back, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna lose it,” he warns, but his hand doesn’t stop, and neither does yours. You’re both chasing the same high, the phone screen a cruel barrier between you. “Tell me what you’d do if I was there. Right now.”

You’re panting now, the pleasure building fast. “I’d climb on top of you,” you say, voice shaky. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name. Kiss you till you can’t breathe.”

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, his eyes locked on you, intense and wild. “I’d flip you over, fuck you into the mattress. Make you come so many times you’d beg me to stop.”

The filthy promises push you closer to the edge, your fingers moving faster, chasing the release. 

“Bucky, I’m—” you gasp, unable to finish the sentence as the pleasure crests.

“Me too, doll,” he grits out, his voice breaking. “Come for me. Let me see you.”

It hits you like a wave, your body arching as you cry out his name, trembling under your own touch. Bucky follows, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills over his hand, his chest heaving. For a moment, you’re both silent, just breathing, the intimacy of the moment hanging heavy between you.

Then he laughs, rough and a little sheepish. “Well, damn. Never thought this phone thing could be that good.” He grabs a tissue, cleaning up, and you giggle, pulling your camisole back into place.

“Still hate technology?” you tease, your voice soft, sated.

He smirks, but his eyes are serious. “Not when it’s you on the other end. But this ain’t enough, sweetheart.” He leans closer to the screen, voice dropping. “I’m comin’ to you. Tonight.”

You blink, still hazy from the high. “Buck, you’re in—wherever you are. You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he says, and you see him grab his leather jacket, tossing it over his shoulder. “Got my bike. I’m ridin’ to you. Be there by dawn.”

Your jaw drops, but the determination in his eyes tells you he’s not kidding. “You’re insane,” you whisper, but your heart’s racing again, thrilled.

“Insane for you,” he shoots back, already moving. “Get some rest, doll. You’re gonna need it when I get there.”

The call ends, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your body buzzing with anticipation and disbelief.

Bucky’s breath is still uneven as he ends the FaceTime call, the image of you—hot, panting, whispering his name—burned into his mind. His body’s buzzing, sated but nowhere near satisfied. 

The phone’s screen goes dark, but it doesn’t matter; he can still see you, feel the ghost of your voice in his ear, your words pulling him apart. “Need you inside me.” Fuck. He’s done waiting.

He’s on his feet in seconds, the motel room’s stale air doing nothing to cool the heat coursing through him. His leather jacket is slung over his shoulder, but he shrugs it on, the familiar weight grounding him. His duffel’s already packed—a habit from decades of moving fast, never settling. He grabs it, slings it across his chest, and heads for the door. The keys to his Harley jingle in his pocket, a promise of freedom, of you.

Outside, the night’s crisp, the motel’s neon sign buzzing faintly. His bike’s parked under a flickering streetlight, all black chrome and raw power, just like him. He swings a leg over, the leather seat creaking under his weight, and kicks the engine to life. The roar tears through the silence, vibrating in his chest, matching the thrum of his pulse. He’s in Pennsylvania, but you’re in New York, a good five-hour ride if he pushes it. He’s pushing it.

The highway stretches out, a dark ribbon under a sky smeared with stars. Bucky leans into the wind, the speedometer climbing as the bike eats up the miles. His mind’s a tangle of you—your teasing texts, the way you looked on that call, your body arching as you came for him. He grips the handlebars tighter, the metal of his left hand glinting in the moonlight. He’s not built for distance, not when it comes to you. Every mile feels like a taunt, every second a reminder of how bad he needs to touch you, taste you, feel you under him.

He replays the call in his head, your voice a siren song. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name.” His jaw clenches, a low growl escaping his throat, lost in the wind. He’s half-hard again just thinking about it, the memory of your fingers slipping into your panties, the soft moans you made. He shifts on the seat, trying to focus on the road, but it’s no use. You’re in his blood, and no amount of miles or cold air can shake you out.

A gas station looms ahead, the only light for miles. He pulls in, the bike’s rumble dropping to a low purr as he cuts the engine. His boots hit the gravel, and he stretches, rolling his shoulders. The attendant, a kid barely out of his teens, eyes the metal arm warily but says nothing as Bucky fills the tank. He checks his phone—2:37 AM. A text from you, sent just after the call.

You: You’re really coming? Be safe, soldier. I’ll be waiting…

He smirks, typing back with one hand, still clumsy with the touchscreen. Bucky: Damn right I’m comin’. Don’t sleep too deep, doll. Gonna need you awake.

He sends it, pockets the phone, and swings back onto the bike. The kid mutters something about “crazy night riders,” but Bucky’s already gone, the Harley roaring back to life. The road’s emptier now, just him and the hum of the engine, the world blurring past. He thinks about what’s waiting—your apartment, your bed, you in that flimsy camisole or maybe nothing at all. His foot presses harder on the throttle, the needle pushing past 90.

Dawn’s starting to bleed into the horizon when he hits the outskirts of New York, the city’s glow a faint promise. His body aches from the ride, but it’s nothing compared to the ache for you. He weaves through early traffic, the bike’s growl turning heads, but he doesn’t care. Your address is burned into his brain, every turn taking him closer. The thought of you, warm and waiting, maybe still flushed from earlier, has his heart pounding harder than the engine.

He pulls up to your building as the sky turns pink, the Harley’s rumble echoing off the brick. He cuts the engine, the silence sudden and heavy. His boots hit the pavement, and he takes a moment, catching his breath, running a hand through his wind-messed hair. The duffel slung over his shoulder, but all he can think about is you—steps away, behind that door, real and his.

He’s here. And he’s not leaving until you’re screaming his name.

The stairwell to your apartment is a blur as Bucky bounds up, boots thudding on the creaking wood, his pulse a war drum in his ears. The five-hour ride on his Harley—wind tearing at him, miles bleeding into the night—has only sharpened his need. Your door looms at the end of the hall, and he’s there in seconds, fist hovering for a soft knock. It’s 6:13 AM; he won’t wake your neighbours. The rap is quiet but urgent, his metal hand twitching, impatient.

The door flies open, and you’re a vision that stops his heart. That silky camisole clings to you, one strap slipped off your shoulder, barely containing the curves he’s been dreaming of. Your hair’s tousled, eyes wide with shock and want, lips parted like you’re about to speak. But Bucky doesn’t give you the chance. His duffel hits the floor, and he’s on you, hands cradling your face as he crashes his mouth to yours. The kiss is raw, all-consuming, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, weeks of pent-up longing spilling out. He tastes you—mint toothpaste and something sweeter, something you—and it’s better than any fantasy.

“Bucky,” you gasp when he pulls back for air, your fingers knotting in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl. He kicks the door shut, the slam echoing, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist, thighs tight against his hips, and he groans as your heat presses through his jeans. The leather jacket’s cool against your bare arms, but his body’s a furnace, searing where he holds you.

“Told you I’d come, doll,” he rasps, voice rough from the road and desire.

He carries you to the bedroom, lips trailing fire down your jaw, nipping the pulse point on your neck that makes you shudder. Your nails rake his shoulders, shoving at his jacket, and he shrugs it off mid-stride, dog tags jangling as it hits the floor. You’re clawing at his shirt now, and he yanks it over his head, tossing it aside, leaving him in just those damn tags and jeans slung low on his hips.

He sets you on the bed, stepping back to drink you in. The camisole’s riding up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, your thighs parted just enough to make his mouth water. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown, and the way you’re looking at him—like he’s everything—has his chest tight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, voice thick with praise, the words wrapping around you like a caress. He crawls over you, caging you with his body, his flesh hand snagging both your wrists and pinning them above your head. The restraint sends a spark through you, and he feels it, sees it in the way you arch. “Gonna make you scream for me, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

The possessiveness laces his tone, and you shiver, lips curving into a defiant smirk. “Prove it, soldier.”

That’s all he needs. His mouth claims yours again, deep and filthy, tongue stroking in a way that promises what’s coming. His metal hand slides under your camisole, cold against your fevered skin, and he doesn’t bother with finesse—just rips the fabric down the middle, the tear loud in the quiet room. You gasp, but his lips are there, soothing, kissing the sting away as the scraps fall. “I’ll buy you another one,” he murmurs, but you’re too far gone to care, your hands straining against his grip, wanting to touch him.

His mouth moves lower, hot and deliberate, sucking at the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple until you whine. He laves it with his tongue, then moves to the other, leaving marks you’ll feel tomorrow. “So fuckin’ responsive,” he growls, voice vibrating against your skin. He trails kisses down your stomach, each one slower, teasing, until he’s settled between your thighs. His hands—flesh and metal—grip your hips, spreading you open, and he just stares, eyes black with hunger. “Look at you, doll. So wet for me. Been like this since our call, haven’t you?”

You nod, breathless, and he chuckles, dark and dirty. “Good girl.” The praise hits like a drug, and then his mouth’s on you, no warning, just a slow, devastating lick through your folds. You cry out, hips bucking, but his metal arm pins you down, unrelenting. He groans, the sound rumbling through you, and it’s like he’s starving, tongue circling your clit, sucking hard, then dipping lower to taste you deeper. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever had,” he says, voice muffled, and you’re already trembling, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

His flesh hand joins in, fingers teasing your entrance, circling until you’re begging, voice broken. 

“Bucky, please, need you—” He doesn’t make you wait, sliding two fingers inside, thick and curling just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision white out.

You moan, loud and shameless, as he pumps them slow, then faster, his tongue never stopping, sucking your clit like it’s his mission to ruin you. “That’s it, doll,” he says, lifting his head just enough to watch you writhe. “Love those sounds. Keep makin’ ‘em for me.”

You’re close, too close, the coil tightening with every thrust of his fingers, every flick of his tongue. He senses it, doubles down, sucking hard as his fingers twist, and you’re gone, screaming his name as you come, body arching off the bed. He doesn’t stop, working you through it, licking every shudder until you’re gasping, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him up.

He crawls over you, kissing you deep, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy making you dizzy. “So damn beautiful when you come,” he whispers, and the praise sinks into you, warm and perfect. His jeans are still on, tented painfully, and you reach for him, fingers clumsy with need as you pop the button, drag the zipper down. He helps, kicking them off with his boxers, and you pause, just looking—his cock’s thick, hard, leaking at the tip, and the sight makes your mouth water.

“Need you, Bucky,” you say, voice raw, reaching for him. “Now.”

He smirks, but his eyes are soft, reverent. “Gonna give you everything, sweetheart.” He settles between your thighs, teasing your entrance with his tip, dragging it through your slick until you’re whining. “You want me to fuck you, doll? Want me to make you mine?”

“Yes,” you breathe, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer. “Please, Bucky.”

He doesn’t tease anymore. He pushes in, slow and relentless, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the feeling overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and he stills, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out, voice strained, his dog tags dangling, brushing your chest. “Feel so damn perfect, doll. Like you were made for me.”

You clench around him, and he curses, low and filthy. “Keep doin’ that, and I won’t last,” he warns, but you just smirk, rolling your hips to take him deeper. He growls, pinning your wrists again, the restraint making you burn. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.”

He starts moving, and it’s everything—deep, powerful thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking under the force. You meet him thrust for thrust, arching up, the friction perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every stroke. “Fuck, Bucky,” you moan, and he leans down, sucking a bruise into your neck, marking you as his.

“Mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a thrust, his metal hand gripping your hip, anchoring you. “Say it, doll. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, the word a prayer, and he rewards you, angling his hips to hit even deeper, the pleasure blinding. His pace quickens, relentless, and you’re both panting, sweat-slick and desperate. 

“Love how you feel,” he groans, voice rough. “So wet, so tight, takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The dirty talk pushes you higher, and you claw at his back, nails digging in, making him hiss. 

“Harder,” you beg, and he delivers, fucking you into the mattress, the headboard rattling. His flesh hand releases your wrists, sliding between you to rub tight circles on your clit, and you cry out, the added sensation too much. “Bucky, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he commands, possessive and fierce. “Wanna feel you, doll. Let go.”

It hits like a freight train, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you scream his name, pleasure tearing through you. He groans, thrusts growing erratic, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants, and then he’s coming, spilling inside you, hot and deep, his hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt.

You’re both trembling, locked together, and he doesn’t pull out, staying close, kissing you slow and deep, tongues lazy now, sated. His weight is grounding, his tags cool against your chest, and you feel every shudder of his breath. “No more distance,” he murmurs, voice a vow, his lips brushing yours. “I’m not leavin’ you again, sweetheart.”

You smile, fingers tracing his jaw, his stubble rough under your touch. “Better not, soldier. I’m keeping you forever.”

He chuckles, soft and warm, rolling to his side and pulling you with him, still inside you, like he can’t bear to break the connection. “Forever sounds good, doll.”

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! <3

[robinvomit]

[ moonlight. ]

you don't mean to stare but it's the only time you can admire him without a comment thrown your way.

the room is quiet and he's so rarely unguarded.

damian is asleep on his stomach with one arm tucked under the pillow, the other settled next to him, fingers curled slightly into the bed. the sheets have slipped dangerously low, settling just above the curve below his waist, his spine a smooth line.

you've seldom seen him like this. not fully this relaxed. not without the weight of the day clinging into his shoulders or the usual mask over his face.

the curtains are half open, shadows dancing across the room as the wind blows through the cracked window.

moonlight spills in in soft beams, stretching across the bed and resting against the length of his back. his skin - god, his skin - warm bronze kissed silver. the kind of color no paint could catch just right. deep, rich. not the kind you find in magazines. the kind that comes from sun and blood and history; from a lineage that stretches farther than most people remember to look.

you watch his back rise with each breath. slow. even. safe.

your eyes linger on the small dip at the base of his spine, ignoring the urge to trace along it's length. watching the way the muscles shift under his skin when he moves. restless, even now.

his hairs a mess, lips parted slightly. he looks young; peaceful. not like the weapon he was formed into. just like a man. a man with soft hands and calloused knuckles and a body that carries a legacy like a second skin.

you want to press your lips to the small of his back, to move along his back. whisper something into his skin. not a prayer. not a compliment. perhaps, worship. just something true. like a promise to always admire him just like this.

you don't, you don't touch him. not yet. you just look and adore. breathe in the quiet knowing that you get to see him like this.

you linger on the thought to reach but he stirs before you move.

just a breath. the smallest shift. his brow twitches, lashes flicker, shoulders tensing like instinct is waking faster than thought. he doesn't sit up. doesn't startle. doesn't even open his eyes. his hand reaches out; blind, unsure, sleep heavy and guided by nothing but the pull of someone he loves.

he finds your thigh and his fingers curl, grounding himself in the plush warmth. his voice is rough with sleep, barely more than breath. "still there?"

you nod, even though he can't see. "always, love," you whisper, fingers brushing over his knuckles.

he hums. something soft and ancient. maybe a lullaby, maybe a memory. he says something in arabic, voice muffled by the pillow.

"what was that?" you ask, head tilting.

he doesn't answer, not at first. just shifts closer. the sheets slide even lower. his skin is warm under your palm now as you finally rest your palm against his back, golden and moonlit as his body curls around yours with the kind of trust he doesn't speak aloud.

"i dreamt of home," he mumbles, almost lost to sleep again. "but you were there."

you press your lips to his shoulder and he breathes like he never knew peace until now.

[captainpriceslilwife]

something silly with our boy simon because i don't write anything for him literally ever heehee! (Also I saw a work abt Price and a djungelskog that probably inspired this wrinkle in my brain, but i cannot for the life of me find it - pls let me know if you know it so i can tag for inspo!!!)

"The fuck is tha'?"

He just wanted to lie down with his girl. That's all he wanted.

Familiarity. After being gone for over a month, he's been craving a moment of peace with his sweet girlfriend. In his bed. With his sheets. And his pillow that's got his head practically etched into it from how long he's had it.

But there it is - a new fixture - right smack in the middle of his bed.

A bloody teddy bear. And a big one, at that.

"Djungelskog" You say with a proud smile, placing your hands on your hips like you haven't been completely betraying him for the past five weeks.

"Gasundheit. Now answer my question."

"His name is djungelskog."

Simon's eyebrows raise to his forehead as he glances between you and the brown blob taking up nearly half of his bed. "His? It's a bloody he?"

And you - you seem absolutely chuffed at his displeased expression. "Are you jealous?"

"Of an obese teddy bear? Please. His head is too small for his body." He punctuates his words by smacking the bear's head back unceremoniously, pulling a discontented squeak from you as you move to fix it. "Looks like a fuckin' idiot."

"He does not!"

"Stupid fuckin' name, too."

"Cut it out!" Your defense of the thing only makes him brood even more - and he's starting to look more and more like the bear himself with his hunched shoulders and bowed head - not that you'd ever tell him that. Not out loud anyway. "He is the only reason I haven't absolutely lost my mind from loneliness while you're halfway across the world, so I'm sure he would appreciate a thank you."

"Thanks." He mumbles coldly as he picks it up out of your hands and tosses him on the floor - leaving you slack-jawed and horrified. He just shrugs his shoulders, trying to steer you back towards the bed as he steps over the flaccid bear that's now sprawled out on the carpet. "Don't need 'im anymore, love. I'm here now."

"...Djungy..." You murmur quietly - a soft coo that makes Simon roll his eyes in annoyance. You came up with a bloody nickname for him, too? While he was off fighting terrorists? He can't help but scoff softly as you shimmy out of his grip to bend down and pick it back up again, giving him a disapproving look before you begin dusting him off carefully. "Don't put him on the floor, Simon."

"Fuck's sake, love. I want to lie down in my own bed."

"We can all fit!"

And now here he is - spooning you from behind while you cuddled up to junglesmog or whatever his name was.

You're sound asleep, sandwiched between your two boys without a worry in the world to ruin your peace. But Simon? Simon is glaring daggers over at that overstuffed piece of Swedish fluff.

Was he being dramatic? Probably.

But the way you cling to it so tightly is making his chest ache. He understands that you were lonely without him - probably missing him more than he could ever imagine. But he's here now...so why the hell are you still snuggled up to that thing?

Ever so slowly, he loosens your grip on the bear as carefully as he can, but you still whimper softly in your sleep when he pushes it away (a bit more aggressively than he needed to, but hey, it's not like you're awake to see). You shift around uncomfortably - actively seeking out the comfort that Simon had so rudely taken away from you - and he decides to take his opportunity to flip you over gently to face him.

Your arms immediately circle around him, and he lets out a breath when you begin to nuzzle your face into his neck and settle back down. Fucking finally.

"There she is..." He whispers softly as he presses a gentle kiss to your hairline, making you hum quietly in your sleep. "...there's my girl."

And he can finally fall asleep now that he's gotten that damn bear out of the way and you safely tucked into him - wrapped up in his arms.

Where you belong.