#We are going for a cleaning with this one

[kaiser1ns]

#. 매니저님, 감사합니다 !

featuring 𝘀𝗮𝗷𝗮 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

fluff. equal parts of chaotic, cute, and crackhead energy and you alongside the mix as the babysitter manager of the boys.

JOINING THE PRIDE at first, no one knew who you were. you looked more like a crazy fangirl or someone who got in with sheer pretty privilege. people online were confused. who’s is she and why is she fixing abby’s shirt? why is romance letting her touch his hair? why is she carrying baby’s backpack like a mom on a field trip? why did they listen to you?

people assumed you were a saesang, until the company confirmed you were, in fact, their manager.

yes, their official manager. the person responsible for their schedule, performances, social media coordination, and not letting them accidentally create a scandal or make you lose your sanity. the last one it’s not going well.

you even had your own tag: #SajaHunter but fans quickly turned it into #SajaPrincess because somehow you became the bias, the bias wrecker and the ultimate bias. fan edits? everywhere. fanfics? people want you, literally. someone made a fancam of you sneezing and it hit 2M views for the first eight hours.

THE LIONESS WHO RULED your popularity exploded overnight. fans started asking for your autograph at meet & greets. they begged you to join the group and perform. the boys had no say in this. why? because if the fans want something, they get it.

sure, maybe it helps their corruption plans. maybe corrupted souls taste better when people adore the whole group. you're a better marketing strategy than they ever expected, but they won't tell you that.

your own schedule just got a hell of a lot longer, because now you have to learn choreography and lyrics under twenty-four hours. congrats, you are the 6th unofficial member!

THE SODA POP CIRCUS their debut song became a number one hit. “soda pop” took over charts, and so did you… unintentionally. during a performance, you accidentally wandered into the camera frame, because you were just checking the mic levels, okay? we don't want to have any technical issues, and boom, you were given the centre position.

jinu noticed you looked a little overwhelmed, so he calmly walked you through the choreo in front of thousands of fans like it was nothing. abby joined, then romance and before you knew it, it was “manager-nim meet & dance”.

and of course… the shipping tags started. the fandom loves you and jinu. no, abby is better? you have to be joking, romance is right there! but mystery is so calm around you, and baby even freestyles for you!

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THE SAJA BOYS, or your babysitting shift that no one pays you for.

JINU is one cocky, smirking, definitely suspicious, extremely good looking man. he acts like he doesn’t want you interfering in his plans, whatever those are, but deep down, he’s the first to notice when you’re tired or stressed.

one time you tripped backstage, and he caught you in his arms like a literal k-drama moment. you swear time slowed down, the lighting was perfect, the atmosphere was unrealistically romantic and there was music coming from who knows where. his smile? blinding.

then he dropped you.

like right on the floor after he stared right into your soul. you assigned him to night duty after that. studio lockup, cleaning everything alone. no complaints from him, though. he just smirked and wished you a good night.

“you keep falling for me.” “i’ll fall on you next time, jinu.”

ABBY is a shirtless menace, even worse he is a walking thirst trap. probably allergic to buttons. you’ve tried to make him dress appropriately, but does he listen? no. instead, he stands shirtless in front of you asking,

“this one or this one? can’t decide, wanna style me?”

he’s built like a greek statue and knows it. he flirts with his eyes, lips, abs, his entire existence. steals your phone, takes normal selfies, then mirror ones and cherry on the top is when he fills your gallery with thirst traps. now 99% of your storage is abby, and the other 1% is screenshots of your to-do list.

still, he’s protective: carries your bags, shields you in crowds, even throws an arm around you when paparazzi swarm.

“don’t worry, princess. i will be your sanctuary.”

ROMANCE lives up to his name. heartthrob, gentleman, professional flirt. somehow always knows where you are in a room and always finds a way to be close enough to brush your shoulder.

he makes hearts appear from thin air. you hope it’s cgi or some special effects. probably not, but you won't question it.

he constantly asks your opinion on fashion, only to wear whatever you say makes him look “most kissable.” his excuse? “the fans like it.”

he winks at you during interviews. throws air kisses during rehearsals. and when you get flustered?

“aww, manager-nim, blushing again? you’re so cute when you try to be professional.”

this boy flirts without even speaking. one way or another he will always keep you close, especially when it's a crowded space, he will hold your hand, because he doesn't want to lose you.

MYSTERY with his face usually covered, speaks in hums and nods. you suspect he’s either an introvert… or plotting global domination, possibly both.

he’s usually calm, soft, and sweet until he isn't.

one time, a male fan got way too close to you and the next thing you knew, mystery was growling and biting the guy’s arm like a possessive and territorial lion. you had to spray him with water ... no, you are not joking, you had to.

“bad. bad mystery. sit.”

poor boy looked guilty afterward. quietly said sorry, as you forgave him, gave him a hug… and he melted. behind you, the other members stared daggers, he just smirked.

mystery: 1

everyone else: should have been me

BABY has the maknae privilege at max level. he does something wrong? it’s okay, happens to the best of us. he wants extra snacks? sure. needs a nap? go ahead. wants cuddles? of course.

you baby him more than the group does. he knows it and abuses it.

until the day he crossed the line.

he added demonic hellfire hot sauce to your lunch ramen. not spicy, not even buldak. no, this was 4th dimension inferno level. maybe if you drank lava it wouldn't cause such an effect. you took one bite and transformed into a dragon with a hot steam coming from your ears, face bright red, tears streaming.

and baby? had the audacity to laugh ... right in your face.

so you sprayed him with the emergency water bottle too.

“i didn’t mean it.” “you literally labeled the sauce ‘hellfire.’”

he apologized… eventually, when he found out you stopped spoiling him or giving him the extra attention. you forgave him, after he promised he wouldn't do it again. 

oops, he did it again.

FINAL RESULT AND SHIFT REPORT you’re definitely the human holding this group together, while also being the main character in a demon-infested boy band that came straight from nowhere.

the most fun part is you don’t know they’re demons. just suspect things like superhuman strength, suspicious magic, teleporting, glowing eyes, strange skin patterns. but as long as they don’t cause trouble, which they are every good at, you let it slide. you love them anyway.

even if you're starting to wonder why your soul feels slightly strange every time jinu smiles at you or abby takes his shirt off again.

but remember, you signed the contract. and ... you didn’t read the fine print though, did you?

taglist: @seneon @y2kuromi @maruflix

©2025 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Poppy~!! I saw that you're taking requests now and I wanted to know, if reader had to pretend to be the spouse of a 141 member for a brief undercover mission, how do you think that would go? 🤭 I'm thinking maybe someone has a love they think is unrequited until they discover it isn't, someone else was indifferent to the act but ended up enjoying the scenario too much, another one maybe was just waiting for a chance to pin you down and this is a prime opportunity, and maybe someone else was already involved in a secret relationship and now they're "married", so it works out perfectly? Idk idk, this is my first time requesting anything from you and I am just so excited to see where you would take this idea! Thank you so much for your time, love ya!! 💖

Anon, I know you asked for this forever ago, but I never forgot about it! I certainly went the naughty route with this one. I hope that's okay! These men are thirsty, and they're salivating over the opportunity to be flirty and forward. Enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x 141!fem!reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, brief alcohol use, flirting, vaginal fingering, piv penetration, sex club, fake relationships, mutual pining, dirty talk, voyeurism

Word Count: 2.4k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“You clean up nice.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

Captain Price’s smile is sultry and glowing, his gaze hungrily devouring every inch of you. This is a mission. This man is your superior. And yet he’s always John to you. Your John. The man you love and secretly meet when others aren’t around.

Over his shoulder the setting sun bathes the ocean in a beautiful orange, almost as if the water is on fire. The two of you linger on a balcony overlooking the ocean, pretending that the two of you are married and in simple conversation. Within is a party. Live music. An open bar with flowing liquor. Waiters with hor d'oeuvres.

Malta is beautiful. It might be summer, but the air is surprisingly cool. The salty breeze sticks to your skin. John reaches out, brushes away a few salty flecks with the pad of his thumb. He brings it to his mouth, moaning softly.

“Be professional,” you scold with a teasing smile.

“I am,” he croons. “To them, you’re my wife.” He leans in, brushing his lips along your ear. “And my wife deserves attention.”

As his lips land on your throat, licking up the bit of wayward ocean salt, John’s hand delicately grasps your ass, squeezing.

“We have a job to do,” you murmur, grasping his arm, giving him more of your throat.

“We have the whole week. Target isn’t going anywhere. Not when he’s the honored guest.”

“Champagne?”

John draws back, shifting his stance to block your view of the waiter. “Thanks, mate,” grins John, snagging two flutes. He offers you one.

“This isn’t a vacation,” you chide, taking the flute. The bubbly liquid bursts and fizzes on your tongue.

“We’re in Malta. Staying in a castle. And I get to spend the week referring to you as my wife.” John takes your hand, his thumb brushing over the gold band on your finger. “Think I like this.”

“You think?”

John glances up, and your heart stops. “Would you like that? Wearing a band that marks you as mine?”

“John,” you breathe.

“Say yes,” he murmurs. “And we’ll go back to the room right now.”

“You’d risk the mission just to fuck me?”

“No question, love.”

John’s hand descends again, cupping your ass, squeezing roughly. “If you don’t want to go back to the room and fuck—”

“Oh, stop,” you giggle, smacking his chest.

“—then how about we have a dance.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Your cheeks flame as you turn away from the faces in the room.

It’s not that any of them are really looking at you, or where Johnny’s hand is, or what he’s doing with his fingers. Nearly everyone else in the room is doing something lecherous—something dirty. Johnny is simply fitting in, pushing the agenda, making those around him believe that he’s fingering his wife and not his fucking teammate.

“You’re a fucking lucky man.”

You roll your eyes, and then stifle a moan as Soap pinches your clit between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, aye,” croons Johnny, nipping your earlobe. “The luckiest.”

Burying your face in Soap’s neck, your breathing quickens, nails digging into his shoulder. A little moan escapes you, but it’s eclipsed by others who are much louder.

This wasn’t part of the mission. The mission was to attend this gathering, for Soap to be nothing more than a businessman seeking a lucrative deal, and you nothing more than his pretty arm candy. What wasn’t supposed to happen was a fucking orgy.

The target in question is sitting in a lounge chair next to Johnny, his mistress in his lap, legs spread open so the whole room can see her bouncing on his cock. They aren’t the only ones engaged in sexual activity. Most of the room is doing something, or they’re watching.

Noticing the shift, Johnny had dragged you into his lap, situating you so that he could easily finger-fuck you but no one would be receiving a show. For that, you’re thankful, but fuck, you weren’t expecting this, let alone enjoying it as much as you are.

With perfect precision, Soap rocks two fingers in and out of your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit in tandem with his movements. The orgasm sprouts, blooms, explodes in color. You bite down on Soap’s shoulder to muffle the cry.

“She’s a lovely thing,” the target groans, and the blissful mood dissipates.

“Careful,” growls Soap. “That’s my wife you’re talking about.”

You’re fake wife, you mentally correct. But you smile, preening with the way Soap stakes a claim.

Johnny’s hand starts up again, and you shiver.

“You’re doing so well, lass,” he whispers against your ear. “So fucking tight.” Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and Soap groans.

With his other hand, Johnny tugs at the front of his pants, opening the fly. Reaching down, you slip your hand underneath, grasping his cock. Johnny’s eyelids flutter, and when he looks at you, you understand the silent communication. Like everyone else in this room, the two of you will be expected to fuck.

Better him than a stranger.

Johnny helps, bringing you into his lap as your stroke him to hardness. This will never leave this room. You will never mention this to the rest of the team. As you sink down on him, Soap adjusts your dress, covering what’s happening beneath. You grasp the back of his neck, using it as leverage to come down on him as he pumps up into you.

You press your forehead against his, exchanging breaths.

“Making a proper wife of you,” he teases.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” you smile.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“We look good together.”

Kyle’s comment catches you off-guard. “What?” you laugh, pressing your hand to your fluttering stomach.

He saunters up beside you, lowering his head in an intimate familiarity. “Captain made the right call. Putting us together.”

You giggle, lightly pushing him with a carefully placed hand to the middle of his chest. “It’s pretend, Kyle. We’re bugging the place and then we’re leaving.”

“We can have a bit of fun,” he smiles, tapping the tip of your nose. “We’re married.”

His teasing and playful smile is warming something low in your belly. You’ve always had a soft spot for Garrick, but you’ve never pushed it any further than some light teasing.

“Fake married, sergeant.”

Kyle drapes his arm around your back and over your hip, pulling you in close. “Need to act like we love each other.” Slowly, and with such affection your heart skips a beat, Kyle presses his lips to your throat.

You twist out of his grasp, flustered and overwhelmed by the attention. But Kyle is all smiles, reaching for you again as the two of you walk up to the house. An “Open House” sign with an array of balloons is out front. Several groups of couples and realtors in suits linger out front chatting about the lawn. The house itself is large, bordering on mansion.

But you and Kyle aren’t there to house shop.

This home is owned by a wealthy businessman. He used to make his money on real estate, but now he’s shifted into drugs and weaponry. More lucrative. Under the table. This home is just one of many targets. The goal is to bug it.

There might be a “for sale” sign out front, but it’s for show. The property already has a buyer. This is just to make it look legit.

“Welcome. I’m Heather.”

Heather, the realtor, extends her hand. Kyle accepts it, keeping his other hand attached to your lower back.

“It’s a beautiful home,” replies Kyle. “Eager for a look.”

Heather beams. “It really is stunning, isn’t it?”

“How big are the bedrooms?” asks Kyle. “Plan on growing our family. Space is important.”

“You’ll love the master. Lots of room,” replies Heather, gesturing toward the open front door. “The rest of the bedrooms have a good range in size to be used as bedrooms for children. Office space. A nursery.”

“Hear that, love,” smiles Kyle. “Lots of options.”

“Sounds like we need to take a look,” you say with an easy smile, leaning into Kyle’s arm.

“Grab a refreshment and explore. Let me know if you have any questions.”

“Thank you,” nods Kyle, urging you further into the house.

When the two of you are out of earshot, you pinch his arm. “You’re having far too much fun.”

Kyle chuckles. “Don’t like the idea of me knocking you up?”

“Kyle,” you hiss, smacking his arm.

“They’d be cute little buggers.”

You smack him again.

“Could start now.”

You playfully dart away. “We have a house to bug,” you hiss.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“He likes a show.”

“I know,” you murmur, pressing closer to Simon’s chest.

He’s being a gentleman about the whole fucking thing, and for that, you’re thankful, but neither of you expected this when you agreed.

“Won’t come otherwise. Need him alone.”

You sigh, tapping your forehead against Simon’s bare chest repeatedly. “Why did he have to be a voyeur.” Simon’s rumbling chuckle is soothing.

He runs his hands up and down your back. “Promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Gentleness isn’t what I’m worried about,” you murmur. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Simon’s arms tighten around you, his tone dropping to a teasing tone. “Think I won’t make you come?”

You bark a laugh, and then stifle it by smothering your face into his chest. “You’re not funny.”

“It’s only for a bit.” Simon grasps the back of your neck, drawing you back so he can gaze into your eyes. “All they know is that we’re married and we like it when people watch. Which is why the target is interested. We need him to watch us. To get comfortable. Let his guard down. The team will swoop in and take care of the rest.”

You inhale deeply. “I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

You nod, and Simon draws your mouth to his. It’s tender. Soft. A ghost of a touch. You open for him, and Simon dives in, tongue meeting tongue. You grow dizzy. Light-headed. When he breaks the kiss, you almost stumble.

Simon smirks. “You can pretend that you like me.”

“Let’s get this over with.”

You grasp his hand, pushing back the black curtain, revealing the dimly lit room. The edges of the room are all in shadow, but in the center, where the lone light illuminates, is an elevated platform. It’s covered in plush black velvet and pillows. An altar. You lead Simon to it, swaying your hips in a slow dance.

Just as you turn toward Simon, you glimpse the target seated in the corner. Most of his face is obscured, but you recognize the shape. If Simon notices him, he doesn’t show it. His attention is fully on you, his dark eyes burning behind the half-skull mask. You have a matching one, also in black to pair with the lace bralette and panties.

Simon’s hands are everywhere, grasping, touching. His lips find yours, and you sink into him, trying to focus only on him. That is the point after all, to pretend that he’s your husband, that you’re here for him to fuck you in front of others.

And that’s exactly what he does.

The intensity in which Simon puts you on your back, strokes your legs, and opens you wide is more than a job. He is worshiping you, lips traversing over every inch, hands touching everything. You groan and gasp, arching into his embrace, crying out when his tongue finds your sensitive clit.

You don’t care that there are others in the room. That you’re being watched. It’s nice, actually, to be desired in both ways.

“Taste so good,” groans Simon, running his tongue over your pussy.

You’re lost in him, and when Simon ascends to slot is cock at your entrance, your legs fall wider. Hooking his arms around your legs, Simon thrusts relentlessly, each connection pushing bright bursts of air from your lungs.

The pleasure of him inside you is so profound, that you don’t realize the room is being stormed by men in tactical gear until Simon throws himself atop you, shielding your body from view. He acts protective, and in moments the room clears, and the target is dragged away. You cling to him, unmoving, both of you breathing heavy.

“We should go, shouldn’t we?” you ask after a few lengthy seconds. Simon remains where he is, unmoving. His cock is still inside you. “Simon?”

His lips find yours again, and then he’s thrusting, lifting you against him. “Need to finish pleasing my wife.”

“Simon. I’m not your wife,” you whimper as he grinds his hips against you.

“Oh, love. You could be.”

[gojoest]

a shape that could be ours — gojo satoru

synopsis: newlyweds are always asked the same question: “when will the babies come?” sometimes, the questions are harmless. other times, they get under your skin. you start to think and you start to imagine. maybe you tuck a pillow under your shirt one time, just to see. and maybe… your husband, gojo satoru, sees it too.

warnings: f!reader (she/her), established relationship (you are newly married), pregnancy/baby talk, pet names (pretty, baby), domestic fluff, not proofread, wc: 2.6k, dividers by @/cursed-carmine

“what? don’t you want a baby with me?” satoru asks as he sets the plates down on the counter and walks over to you. his voice is low and teasing. but not teasing in the usual carefree way; there’s something softer threaded through it, something almost serious. like it isn’t really a question he’s asking at all, but a quiet hope. a request. one he’s afraid to say out loud too often.

you blink up at him, unsure whether to be flustered or frustrated.

dinner had just ended. it was the first time you invited family over since the wedding. a small gathering, really, that still somehow managed to feel like a full-blown event. everything had to be perfect. you spent the whole day cleaning, organizing, cooking. and not just because you’re a perfectionist, but because…

…his clan is, well, intense.

polished and traditional in all the wrong ways where every smile hides a critique, every compliment is laced with a condition. you knew it wouldn’t be easy to deal with them tonight but it mattered to you for the dinner to go well.

and in many ways, it did. except for that constant baby talk. family pressure.

“so, when are we going to hear the pitter-patter of little feet?”

“you two are married now. it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“i give it three months.”

‘three months? i’m hoping to get good news by the end of this month. the gojo blood is impatient.”

the laughter at the table was warm and lighthearted on the surface. but all of it made you want to disappear into your bowl of rice. every eye was on you and satoru — some amused, others expectant. as if you two were a machine that could be activated at any moment to start producing the next generation.

throughout the entire dinner you could barely take a sip of your drink without actually chocking on it.

meanwhile, satoru was just grinning like the menace he is — relaxed, smug and completely unfazed as always.

“we’ve been practicing”, he said brightly, “when the time comes, you will all know. it will show”, while caressing your belly shamelessly.

you nearly dropped your chopsticks. that idiot.

no matter how many times you jabbed his elbow, perhaps at times hard enough to leave a bruise, he kept chuckling, leaning over to kiss your temple like the world’s most supportive husband, and carried on with his antics. entertaining everyone with far too much confidence and far too many innuendos. not embarrassed at all, not for a second trying to avoid the topic when it was brought up. in fact, he kept leaning into it. perhaps because he enjoyed the idea a little bit too much and loved making it known since it involved the two of you becoming even closer. or perhaps as a subtle way of signaling you that he’s ready even if you aren’t. either way, he was absolutely in his element.

you, however, were ready to crawl under the table and stay there until the end of time, embarrassed.

by the time everyone was finally saying goodbye, you could barely fake another smile. several relatives winked on their way out, whispering things like “go work on that baby now” as if they didn’t already do enough damage to your nervous system, but now this too.

hours later, you’re standing in the kitchen rinsing plates, trying to scrub both the dishes and your embarrassment clean.

satoru is still watching you. he tilts his head, eyes a little softer now, like he’s peeling back the layer of jokes he wears so well. he steps closer to you and reaches out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. then his hand tilts your chin upward, coaxing you to meet his gaze.

“i mean it”, he says quietly. “don’t you want a baby with me?”

as a reflex, you try to turn away, but his hand holds you steady. not forceful, but firm enough, like he’s not ready to let you run from the question again.

“i…” you mumble. “i never said i didn’t want that.”

and that’s all he needs. a slow smile spreads across his lips. not a cocky one, but soft. almost relieved. he lets you go, brushing his fingers along your jaw as he pulls back. “good”, he says. “because i already think about it way too much.”

indeed, satoru has been imagining this, fantasizing even, for far too long, before you even got married. and all of his earlier teasing wasn’t just for show.

but on your end, it starts slowly. quietly. like how you start noticing flowers blooming only after winter has begun to fade.

a toddler’s giggle catches your attention in the park. you weren’t even really looking, just sipping on your coffee and scrolling mindlessly on your phone. but the sound draws your eyes up. a little girl in pink overalls is running after bubbles, squealing with laughter. her parents sit nearby on a bench, watching with contentment.

you don’t even realize you’re standing until the bubble pops and the girl turns to look at you, grinning. you smile back.

and just like that, you find yourself looking more often. at playgrounds. at babies wrapped in slings. at tiny shoes lined up in store windows. at couples who walk slowly because they’re pacing themselves with the unsteady toddle of their child between them.

you tell yourself it’s just because everyone keeps bringing it up. that your brain is on autopilot, stuck on a topic you never gave much thought before.

but then, you catch yourself lingering in the baby aisle at the store. just a second too long and just enough to picture what it might be like… a tiny hoodie with a little bear face. a pair of miniature sneakers that could fit in your palm. but alas, you shake your head and move on like that’ll erase the softness creeping in.

of course, satoru doesn’t help.

in fact, he seems to notice the shift in you immediately, even if you haven’t admitted it to yourself yet. one night, while you’re brushing your teeth, he appears in the mirror behind you, eyes sleepy but still, mischievous.

“if it’s a girl”, he says softly, “i want her to have your eyes.”

you pause, toothbrush still in your mouth. you look at his reflection in the mirror, he’s smiling. he says it so casually, like you’d been in the middle of that conversation all along.

pulling the toothbrush out, you gasp. “…what?”

“i mean it, pretty”, he says, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “your eyes. she’ll have me wrapped around her tiny little finger, obviously. but if she takes your eyes? i’m done for.”

you blink at him, unsure if your heart is skipping a beat from his words or because you brushed a little too hard… “satoru—”

“and i want to teach her how to fight”, he adds, grinning now. “so i can pretend i’m cool and strong before she decides i’m not.”

you stare at him. “looks like you’ve put way too much thought into this”

he shrugs, utterly unbothered. “of course i have. i think about it all the time.”

you turn away, rinsing your mouth, pretending your hands aren’t a little shaky from how serious he sounded underneath all the teasing.

another time, you’re curled on the couch, scrolling, when he flops next to you and plops a tiny onesie in your lap. it says: strongest baby alive!

“what— how— why do you even have this?” you ask, holding it up like it might detonate.

he grins. “came across it online. couldn’t resist. look, it’s perfect!”

“satoru.”

“what? just prepping for greatness”, he chuckles. but there’s something in the way he watches you after. like he’s waiting. measuring your reaction. seeing if your fingers linger on the fabric. and when they do — just a second too long — his smile falters. softens and turns quiet.

he doesn’t push it, though. doesn’t mention it again. instead, the next morning, you find your favorite mug already filled with coffee, and beside it… a baby spoon.

you roll your eyes. but you also don’t throw it away.

and that night, while helping your friend babysit her toddler, you let the little boy climb into your lap. he has chubby fingers and impossibly soft hair, and he tugs at your necklace while babbling nonsense. at one point, he rests his head against your chest and sighs. you feel something in your chest flutter, crack open…

when satoru comes to pick you up, the boy doesn’t want to let go of your hand. satoru says nothing on the ride home. but he doesn’t let go of your hand, either. one hand on the wheel, the other resting gently on yours, warm against your thigh.

a few days later, satoru was abruptly called by the higher-ups about something last minute. nothing new. he kissed your cheek, told you not to wait up and vanished with a sweet little wink before putting on his blindfold.

now hours later, the silence he left behind still lingers. there’s no hum of his laughter, no echo of his dramatic commentary from the hallway, no footsteps chasing you down for one more kiss. just you.

you’re folding the laundry — a pile of shirts, a few of his socks that somehow always get lost in pairs, and then… a pillow. an extra cushion from the couch that ended up in the wrong basket.

you pick it up absently, ready to toss it aside, but… your hands hesitate. your eyes lower, thumb smoothing across the fabric. your heartbeat shifts a little and almost without thinking, you press the pillow against your stomach. a little too high at first, then you adjust it lower. tuck it in and pull your shirt over it.

just to see, to feel.

you walk to the mirror, barefoot, and look at your reflection. the shape is awkward and lumpy. not real. but the illusion is enough. your hand rests on the makeshift bump and then, slowly, one starts to move, caressing lightly over the curve.

you know it’s silly, but something within you responds. your face warms. you start to imagine satoru’s hand covering yours. you imagine him kneeling in front of you, placing a kiss against your stomach, whispering some ridiculous name idea he’s already picked out. you imagine tiny clothes, sleepless nights, holding something small and warm that’s half you and half him… you let yourself smile.

fingers brush gently over the fabric again. this could happen — you think — it’s possible. it’s real — and for the first time, the idea doesn’t make you want to run and hide. in fact, it makes your eyes sting a little. you lose yourself so deeply in the fantasy that your ears don’t catch on the sound of the front door open.

satoru didn’t mean to get home this quietly. usually, he makes a noise on purpose — jingles the keys, sings something stupid in the hallway, says something lovesick as soon as he opens the door just to hear you laugh.

but tonight, something stops him. he’s got that feeling. a pull.

the house is dim, soft with the kind of stillness that suggests you’re somewhere in thought. then he hears the faint shuffle of feet — yours — and he follows the sound like a thread, guiding him toward a barely cracked bedroom door.

he’s halfway through taking off his blindfold when he sees it through the narrow crack. you, in front of the mirror. a pillow under your shirt. your hands on it like it’s real.

he doesn’t move at first. his eyes track the curve of your body with something close to awe and he forgets how to breathe, or perhaps he’s afraid that if he breathes the moment will vanish. something primal and visceral hitting him all at once. you’re not smiling in the mirror like it’s a joke. you’re dreaming. touching the false belly like you’re already connected to someone that doesn’t exist — but could…

he thinks he might die on the spot. this is the future he’s been aching for in silence. this is the image that’s kept him up at night, one hand over his eyes, the other gripping the sheets, wondering when (if) you’d want the same…

and then, you see him. in the mirror just beyond your shoulder. startled, you turn. your hands fumble the pillow, cheeks heating up from embarrassment. “i— i was just… you know—it’s nothing. i was just being silly—”

he opens the door fully now and steps in slowly as if he’s approaching a dream he doesn’t want to wake from.

“stop”, he says, his voice barely above a whisper. he walks over to you like he’s being pulled by something magnetic. his hands are warm when he places one over the bump. even if it’s fake, it doesn’t matter. his fingers tremble anyway.

“you look beautiful. so beautiful, baby”, he murmurs, eyes not leaving you. “like it’s already real”, he swallows hard.

god, what i wouldn’t give to make it real, he thinks. to watch you grow round and soft with his child. to see the way your body would change — carry the weight of something made by both of you. to feel your skin stretch under his palms, life blooming inside you because of him.

he would worship you. he already does. but like that? pregnant with his child? he wouldn’t survive it.

he plants a soft kiss to your temple, hand curling protectively around your back, the pillow pressing between you. “i want to give you everything, you know that?” he whispers, but his voice sounds strained like he’s holding back too much all at once.

you nod against him. but, it’s not enough. not when you’ve looked at yourself in the mirror like that, not when you’ve imagined it too…

“say it”, he breathes against your hair. “tell me you want it too”

you look up at him, eyes vulnerable. that same look you gave your reflection.

“i want it”, you whisper. “i want a baby with you”

…and that’s it. that’s the thing that unravels him. letting out a shaky breath, he presses his forehead to yours. eyes fluttering closed as he cradles your face in both hands. he’s barely holding himself from dropping to his knees and pressing his mouth to your stomach, kissing it until you forget every reason you ever hesitated.

“let me give you a baby”, he says it now. clearly. openly. reverently. “let me make you a mother”, his thumb stroking your cheeks as his voice falls like a prayer and a plea all at once. “i’ll take care of everything”, he promises. “you’ll never lift a finger. just be mine. just carry ours.”

his lips find yours into a kiss, slow and aching, full of thousand nights he spent dreaming of this exact moment. and in the back of his mind, there’s only one thought echoing over and over.

she wants it. she wants this. she wants me. she wants us.

…and that’s enough to break him, rebuild him, and start everything new.

he gently scoops you into his arms, carefully — like you’re already carrying something precious inside you. your hands fly to his shoulders, your face closer to his. and it’s one of those rare moments where there’s no teasing on his features. only something quiet, something tender. something that longs.

he carries you to the bed like he’s bringing you home, and when he lays you down, he takes a moment. just a moment, to look at you. the fake curve of the pillow under your shirt, the way your hands settle over it instinctively. the way your eyes never leave his.

satoru sinks to his knees beside the bed, presses a kiss low on the fabric over your belly. one hand slides over the curve gently, and then, looking up at you through his lashes, he murmurs,

“i’m going to make this real now.”

[st3f13ily]

Encore Of Obsession

Pairing: Yandere Saja Boys x Reader

Genre: Kpop, Demon, Yandere, Supernatural Obsession

Summary : But the tour is over. You planned to leave. They have… other plans. Because of the SA'JA, love isn't a feeling. It's a possession.

You close the dressing room door.

The crowd's roars still echo through the venue, but you're already halfway through zipping your travel bag. You're quitting. This job was meant to be temporary. You weren't supposed to feel watched all the time. You weren't supposed to find roses and other types of flowers every night in every corner of your house.

You weren't supposed to be followed home every night.

But now, you know. The SA'JA boys weren't human idols. They were demon sirens in designer leather, creatures wrapped in flawless visuals and sharpened smiles.

And now… they're behind you.

Five shadows. Five sets of eyes. Five obsessions.

The door behind you slams shut.

The light flickered.

It was Jinu, staring at you with his Demon eyes, staring at you like he was about to take your soul any moment. But he can't, because you were the only one that they can't seem to control, to take, to surrender everything you've got. You were immune to them, you are immune to them, to these Demon Sirens.

You're trapped. In a room with five beautiful monsters who love you far, far too much.

He steps forward first, slow and calm. Always calm.

"Leaving?" Jinu murmurs, eyes unreadable. "Without telling us goodbye?"

Abby then stepped forward, chuckling as he says "Pft, you can't leave, we even packed the snacks you like, we even wrote you a song. Wanna hear?"

He starts humming.

You feel nothing. As always.

He stares at you, then at his own trembling hands.

"I… I killed that stylist you didn't like." he whispers, voice cracking. "I listened. Doesn't that count for something?"

"Abs, move." Baby says, voice low. He looks at you like he's dissecting you.

He calls out your name and then he murmurs, walking in a slow circle around you, "Do you even know what your real memories are?"

You go cold.

"I could erase them," his voice is deep but it has some gentleness. "Make you love me. Make you hate them. Make you forget that you ever tried to leave."

His fingers brush your temple.

"Want me to?"

"Enough," Jinu's voice echoed, then Romance stepped in front of Baby with a smirk. "She doesn't need force. She needs to feel."

He takes your hand.

"I remember every time you looked at me. Every half-smile. Every time you didn't run when we were alone."

His grip tightens.

"You wanted me too. Didn't you?"

Your voice shakes. "No."

He laughs. "Lie to me again. I dare you."

Mystery skips in, barefoot, lips stained red.

"I brought you a gift." he finally spoke, holding out something small and velvet.

You open it.

It's the different types of flowers that kept haunting you every night, every night when you thought you were alone in your house but different types flowers kept appearing in every corner.

"I cleaned your apartment. I burned your trash. I made everything perfect for when you come home—to us."

His smile turns glassy.

"You're not leaving," he whispers. "Are you?"

Their voices rise in perfect harmony—an unsung encore only you can hear.

Your ears ring.

Your body trembles.

But your soul stays yours.

Still immune.

Still resisting.

And that… only makes them want you more.

[rafesgreasycurtainbangs]

Hey I have a request! What do you think about Girlfriend reader hanging up on rafe multiple times during an argument and then he comes over w smut? 🫶🏽xx

THE ARGUMENT . . .

the argument starts over something dumb—rafe’s pissed because you left a couple of coffee mugs in the sink at his place, and you’re firing back that he’s got no right to lecture you about messes when his truck’s a disaster zone of empty beer cans and gym clothes.

it’s one of those fights that’s more about being annoyed than anything real, but you’re in a mood, all bratty and sharp-tongued, and rafe’s not backing down, his voice loud and clipped over the phone. “you’re actin’ like a damn kid,” he snaps, that outer banks drawl thick with frustration. “just clean up your shit, it ain’t that hard.”

“oh, please,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you pace your apartment, phone pressed to your ear. “you’re not my dad, rafe. maybe if you weren’t such a slob yourself, i’d listen.”

you’re being extra, you know it, but you’re not in the mood to play nice, so you hang up on him, thumb jabbing the red button with a little too much satisfaction.

your phone buzzes almost immediately, his name lighting up the screen, and you let it ring a few times before picking up, just to make him wait. “what?” you say, voice all attitude, and he’s already heated, you can hear it in the way he’s breathing hard.

“don’t fuckin’ hang up on me,” he says, low and tight, like he’s trying to keep it together. “we’re talkin’ this out.”

“are we?” you shoot back, smirking even though he can’t see it. “’cause it sounds like you’re just yelling. i’m not in the mood, rafe.” and you hang up again, tossing your phone on the couch, feeling that petty thrill run through you. it’s childish, sure, but he’s been on your nerves all day, and you’re not about to let him win this one.

he calls back, of course, and this time you let it go to voicemail, watching the screen flash until it stops. a text comes through a second later:

you’re bein’ a real brat, you know that?

you ignore it, flipping on the tv, trying to distract yourself, but there’s a tiny part of you that’s waiting, knowing he’s not gonna let this slide.

later that night, you’re curled up with a glass of wine when there’s a knock at your door, hard and insistent. you don’t even need to check to know it’s him, and when you open it, rafe’s standing there, looking like a kicked puppy. his hair’s a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his eyes are softer than you’ve seen in a while, all red-rimmed and desperate.

“baby,” he starts, voice low, almost broken, and it’s so unlike him it throws you off. “i’m sorry, aight? i fucked up. i shouldn’t’a yelled about the damn mugs, it’s stupid.”

he steps closer, hands twitching like he wants to reach for you but isn’t sure he’s allowed. “been sittin’ at home, and it’s… it’s fuckin’ empty without you. i hate this shit. i need you, okay? i’m losin’ it.”

you cross your arms, still holding onto that bratty edge, chin tilted up. “you didn’t seem sorry when you were yelling at me,” you say, voice sharp, but you’re already softening, the way he’s looking at you—like you’re his whole world—chipping away at your resolve.

“i know,” he says, stepping into your space, his hands finally landing on your hips, tentative at first, then tighter when you don’t pull away. “i was bein’ a dick. i just… i miss you when you’re not there, and i got all fucked up thinkin’ about you bein’ mad at me.”

he’s practically begging now, his voice rough, needy, and it’s so pathetic, so unlike the usual cocky rafe, that you almost feel bad for him. almost.

“you should be sorry,” you say, but your voice is softer now, and he catches it, his eyes lighting up with a glimmer of hope. “i don’t like fighting over stupid shit.”

“me neither,” he murmurs, pulling you closer, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your skin. “lemme make it up to you, baby. please.” his hands slide up your sides, and he’s so close you can feel how much he means it, how desperate he is to fix this. “i’ll do whatever you want, just… don’t shut me out.”

you let him kiss you then, soft at first, like he’s afraid you’ll push him away, but when you kiss him back, it’s like a dam breaks. his hands are everywhere, pulling you against him, and he’s murmuring apologies between kisses, his voice thick with that drawl.

all “i’m sorry, baby” and “love you so fuckin’ much.” you’re still a little mad, but it’s hard to stay bratty when he’s like this, all needy and pathetic, like he’d fall apart without you.

he backs you toward the couch, and you let him, your hands in his hair as he kneels between your legs, tugging your shorts down with a kind of reverence that makes your heart skip. “gonna make you feel so good,” he says, voice low, almost a growl, but it’s not cocky now—it’s desperate, like he’s proving something. “my girl deserves everythin’.”

you’re still a little huffy, arms crossed as you look down at him, but the way he’s kissing up your thighs, soft and slow, makes it hard to keep up the act. “you better,” you say, voice sharp, but he just nods, like he’s agreeing with everything you’re saying.

“i will,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin, and when his mouth finally finds you, it’s slow, deliberate, like he’s worshipping you.

his tongue moves in lazy circles, teasing, drawing out every sound you try to hold back, and you can feel him watching you, gauging every reaction. “fuck, you taste so good,” he says, voice muffled, and it’s not his usual dirty talk—it’s raw, like he’s pouring himself into every word.

you’re trying to stay composed, but he’s too good, too focused, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you in place as he works you, slow and deep, until you’re squirming, your brattiness melting into something softer, needier. “rafe,” you whimper, and he groans, like hearing his name is enough to push him over the edge.

“that’s it, baby,” he says, lips brushing against you as he speaks, his tongue never stopping. “let me take care of you. my perfect fuckin’ girl.” he’s relentless but gentle, building you up until you’re trembling, your hands fisting his hair, your breaths coming fast and shaky.

when you finally come, it’s with a soft cry, your body shaking as he keeps going, drawing it out until you’re oversensitive, pushing at his head. he pulls back, kissing your thighs, your stomach, murmuring, “so good f’me, always so good,” and when he crawls up to kiss you, his lips are wet, his eyes soft and desperate still, like he’s not done proving himself.

“forgive me?” he asks, voice low, his forehead pressed to yours, and you can feel how much he means it, how lonely he must’ve been sitting in that big house without you.

you sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “maybe,” you tease, but your voice is soft, and he smiles, kissing you again, like he’s never letting you go.

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

𓂅 taglist ― @littlelamy @dollyfiles @drewstarkeyswife0 @icaqttt @urcoolgf @camercns @pointocean @dsfault @rafestoothbrush @huhidontknowstuff @drewssgirl

[nekonaps0]

The mood is gone pt2

✦part1 part3 part4

✦gn!reader

✦characters: Cater, Jade, Vil, Malleus

✦slightly smut

✦how the boys would react when things are just about to get heated with their beloved… and then bam! someone barges in, killing the mood.

Cater Diamond

Things had been flirty all day, photos with heart filters, little brushes of fingers, and just enough lip-biting to make your knees weak.

Now classes are over and everyone went back to their dorms, and you were straddling Cater’s lap in the empty classroom he’d dragged you into “for couple time.”

His hands trailed your thighs. His voice, breathless and smooth

“Babe… you look way too hot~ Should I take photos of us and post it on my private story?”

His lips just barely brushed yours, his hand sliding under your top—

SLAM.

“CATER!? ARE YOU IN—OH GREAT SEVENS—”


Deuce stood frozen in the doorway like he’d just walked in on a crime scene.

Cater slowly turned, one hand still on your hip, the other pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Yo, Duecey. Maybe try knocking next time?”

You sighed, climbing off his lap.

“Yeah… mood’s gone.”

And you left.

Cater blinked after you, then looked at Deuce.

“You just cockblocked the best moment of my week. I’m not gonna cover you next when you break a rule.”

That night, he showed up with a heart-shaped lollipop at your door

“Let’s try again... but this time, no witnesses~”

Jade Leech

The lounge was empty. Closed. And you? Pressed up against the bar with Jade’s long fingers wrapped firmly around your hips and his lips ghosting over your throat.

“You really shouldn’t tempt me like this,” he purred, voice dangerously soft. “I don’t have much self-control when you beg like that…”

You whimpered softly, fingers clutching his uniform. His mouth hovered over your collarbone—

CLICK.

“Jade? I forgot my pen on the counter—OH FOR THE LOVE OF—”

Azul stood, horrified, in the doorway, eyes wide as his soul visibly tried to escape his body.

Jade didn’t even blink.

“Ah, Azul. A touch late, wouldn’t you?”

You groaned, pulling away, flushed and flustered.

“Mood’s gone Jade.”

And you left. Jade exhaled slowly, turning to Azul.

“Well, this has been deeply inconvenient.”

Later at night in your dorm, Jade brought you tea, pulled you gently into his lap, and whispered against your ear:

“I’m deeply sorry about what’s happened, shall I pick up where we left off, my pearl? The tension has only… intensified~”

Vil Schoenheit

You were in Vil’s room, sitting on the vanity table back pressed against his mirror, while he pressed kisses along your collarbone, undoing the first buttons of your shirt with a grace that should’ve been illegal.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmured. “Every time I look at you, I forget the whole world.”

He pushed your hair aside, teeth grazing your shoulder—when—

BANG.

“Vil! I can’t find the hair—AH!!”


Epel stopped mid-sprint through the door, immediately turning bright red.

“WHAT IN—SWEET APPLE SAUCE I’M OUT—!”

He bolted. The door slammed.

You stared at Vil. Vil stared at the ceiling with the expression of someone trying very hard not to break something.

You cleared your throat and stepped off the vanity.

“Yeah… the mood’s gone. I think I should go.”

You left before Vil could respond.

He was silent for a long moment. Then:

“Epel. You are on cleaning duty for six months.”

That night, he returned to you with roses and your favorite chocolates.

“No more interruptions. I promise.”

Malleus Draconia

You were curled in Malleus’s lap beneath the stars, tucked in the garden. The night air was warm. His hand caressed your waist. His voice was low and thick with desire.

“You’re… dangerous to me, my love.”

His eyes glowed as he leaned in slowly, reverently, lips just brushing yours—

CRASH.

“WAHH—WAKASAMA!!! I HEARD—ARE YOU UNDER ATTACK—OH SEVENS—!!”

Sebek exploded from the bushes like a gremlin on fire.

Malleus froze mid-kiss. You choked on a squeak. Sebek’s eyes were wide in horror as he turned full crimson.

“I—I—IT WAS FOR YOUR SAFETY, MY LORD— I DIDN’T MEAN TO—”

You pulled away, wiping your lips.

“Thanks Sebek… the mood is gone.”

And with a blush and sigh, you walked off.

Malleus blinked once.

Then twice.

“Sebek.”

“YES WAKASAMA!?”

“You are forbidden from speaking for the next forty-eight hours.”

Later, Malleus appeared in your window with glowing green eyes and a velvet box.

“Shall I make the stars sing for you tonight? No interruptions this time, I promise…”

..............................................................................................................................

HERE IS THE PART 2!!! Now back I said!!!

[bmwiid]

let me tell you this - being asked for things is great.

Better when its just kinda assumed that you'll help in a nice way.

For example- work events. Everyone knows I hate em. Everyone knows I don't drink and I'll leave early. Everyone knows I'm not shy in saying "I'm done with everything here, am out."

So when they roll around I'll have a couple people ask for a lift there. Why? So they can also leave at the same time. They don't ask me to be an out, they just assume at some point in the night I'll say "I'm leaving" and they can be like "oh no, Robyn is my ride home! I have to leave too, I'm so sad... byeee"

My boss (also one of my best friends) will say in a meeting - Robyn will be driving so anyone who needs a lift can go with them. Does she ask me if its okay? No. Because she (and others in the room) know me. I drive to events.

They know that if its a work event I can't leave (we have one every year thats like a big event with food and drinks and they put busses on for everyone to get there and back) that at one point in the night I will find a wee quite place and sit with a snack and headphones or play on my phone. I end up with a few people also chillin beside me because its a lot less pressure to join me than strike out on your own.

We might chat, I will always trade my drinks tokens for food tokens (last year you could only use drink tokens for alcohol, which was fucked up but they also had an icecream van and a churro van so... fair) so people will pop over for trades and quiet times.

Work friend needed help with cleaning the house she just bought. She asked if I could help. It was great. I felt awesome that she felt comfortable enough to ask me.

Let people ask you for help. Let people know you well enough so they don't have to even ASK.

“Oh boo hoo you shouldn’t ask your friends for favors we’re all adults”

I just spent three hours pulling up carpet and staples for a friend’s home renovation and we all did nothing but chat and joke and have wonderful conversation the whole time.

Helping somebody move or renovate or giving them a ride to the airport is functionally the same as going mini-golfing or playing a board game: it’s an activity that you do that is made more fun by having good company, and which provides something to talk about when the conversation lulls.

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[bunsim]

Did you know you can modify your game files to start with custom lots in the lot bin? Did you know you can add your favorite lots to the program files and you'll never have to import them ever again? I sure didn't. Here's how.

Part 1: Freshen Up That Lot!

Locate the lot you want to freshen up. If it's in your Documents > LotCatalog, it'll be named something like cx_00000001.package. [Hint: you can use CleanInstaller to browse your LotCatalog with pictures!]

Clean it up using LotCleaner and LotCompressor (and Magic Wand, if you want). Here's a tutorial. Do NOT skip this step, or you risk contaminating future save files with old sim references.

Make it a spiffy new picture. Personally I like to lump my similar lots together with a similar title/street name. And I color-code using CatherineTCJD's color-coding format. If you want to match me, you can download my template psd here.

Open your lot in Simpe and replace that old preview. Click 'jpg/png image'. Right click the property > Replace. Change file format to 'all files' to see your image. Click either 'yes' or 'no' on the 'resource changed' popup (it doesn't matter--one updates the image preview immediately, the other doesn't). Click save.

Part 2: Relocation Time! *MAIN LOT BIN*

You cleaned up your lot, right? No sim references left? Don't skip this step or you risk messing up future hoods. Clean up that lot!

Select your lot file and rename it to the cx_00000000.package format. You can use any numbers but it must be in that format and have 8 digits. The number denotes the order so get creative with your categories. (ex: lots cx_00000100-150: modern houses / cx_00000200-250: beachy, etc.). You can use any bulk renamer to rename files in order without having to manually number each one.

Pick an Expansion for your files. Mansion and Garden comes first in the lot bin, Base Game last. The expansion you select will denote the location of your lots within the catalog. The file location is the same in every expansion, so you can even spread your lots around for max organization.

Move your cx_#.package lot file to Program Files > The Sims 2 > [expansion of your choice (ex. Nightlife)] > TSData > Res > UserData > LotCatalog. You will already see some files here. These are the maxis lots that fill the lot bin every new game. You can delete them if you really want to, or just change the extension to something else to make them go away. (Catherine has a backup if you need them back.)

Done! Now your custom lots will prefill the lot bin every time you generate a new The Sims 2 save file in your documents!

This will not pre-fill existing games. If you want to put your new clean lots into your current file, rename your main The Sims 2 save file (in your Documents folder) something else. Launch Sims 2 so it regenerates a clean copy. Create a new Hood, let the game load, and check out the LotCatalog. It will be now filled with your brand-new lots. Copy them over to your main file's LotCatalog. [Check your main LotCatalog in game to make sure you won't be deleting/overwriting anything you want to keep (make a backup just in case!) Check it again with CleanInstaller. Do not delete/overwrite occupied homes! And delete your old and crusty lots in game if you want to be extra safe.]

Part 3: Relocation Time... 2! *SPECIALTY LOT BIN*

You cleaned up your lot, right? No sim references left? Don't skip this step or you risk messing up future hoods. Clean up that lot.

We will now populate the second tab in the lot catalog, the Specialty lot bin that holds Hotels and Apartments. You can put whatever you want in here; it doesn't have to be hotels or apts. You can move lots from the main catalog to this one, if you want. These lots do not appear in the LotCatalog of your main save file, in case you try to look for them there later. They only exist in the program files.

Rename your files. Unlike the previous lots, you can name these lots anything you want, as long as it ends in _Permanent.package. stinky_Permanent.package is perfectly fine. Name it something descriptive.

Pick an Expansion for your files. You can put them in any Expansion folder, but personally I keep my apts in Apartment Life to stay organized.

Move your files. Take your stinky_Permanent.package and move it to Program Files > The Sims 2 > [expansion of your choice (ex. Nightlife)] > TSData > Res > LotTemplates. You'll see some other files here already. These are blank lots and hotels/apts (if you're in Apt Life or Bon Voyage). Don't touch the blank lots, but you can remove the hotels/apartments if you don't want them. (You can move them to the main lot bin by renaming the files to the cx_# format and moving to the location in part 2). You can open them in SimPe to check what they are, but Catherine has a visual list here.

Done! These lots will appear in the Specialty lot bin every time you boot up the game, even in your current saved game.

Have fun and enjoy organizing!

[PS: did you know you can not only delete or relocate existing bin lots, but replace them with better, and cooler lots by simply overwriting the existing cx_0000000 files in your UserData > LotCatalog folders? Catherine has a visual guide which file is which, if you want to reinvent them all. The lot bin is your oyster!]

credits: CatherineTCJD for the Lot Refresh project that made me learn this. Bluerubberbear for the majority of the lots in my thumbnails and the lot in the psd file. Plumbtales for the other lots in the thumbnails and for the beautiful lot makeovers that I replaced maxis's community lots with.

[charmedreincarnation]

MOAB subliminal challenge

(Click links)

The Mother of All Boosters, commonly known as MOAB, is a high-potency subliminal booster originally created by the user ItsaKid (also known as Synergeticboy). Developed over the course of nine months and upgraded in three, MOAB is engineered to serve as the foundational accelerator for any subliminal system, built with both speed and complexity in mind. While multiple versions exist, MOAB 1.0 remains the go-to for those prioritizing rapid, concentrated results. It activates deep neural, energetic, and subconscious layers, effectively removing resistance, integrating affirmations faster, and collapsing the delay between intention and manifestation.

MOAB is structured around a modular design system—each formula is written in code-like expressions, such as {B} = {Topic} or {S} = {Topic[Submaker (Formula)] × Topic[Submaker (Formula)]}. These modules allow users to target specific goals (like confidence, wealth, or void state access) and fuse them together to multiply their effects. The booster works in tandem with these scripts, interpreting them like psychic commands. MOAB 1.0 is optimized for velocity: it initiates a kind of subliminal combustion that prioritizes speed over subtlety, making it ideal for users who are mentally stable and spiritually prepared for rapid transformations.

We will be using 1.0 rather than 2.0 because it focuses on speed. In essence, MOAB 1.0 acts like a raw psychic amplifier. It does not hold back. It is especially compatible with other generative subliminals, morphic fields, or void-based systems. When paired with clean scripting and a clear mental field, MOAB doesn’t just boost results—it warps time around them, often collapsing what would take weeks into hours or days. Due to its sheer intensity, scripting clarity, hydration, and intentionality are strongly recommended. This is not a casual track—it is the Paragon Core for speedrunners of the subconscious realm.

If you’d rather use your own subliminals instead of the ones I picked, you’ll need to learn and research how the module system works on your own. Direct any specific questions to the original creator on Reddit or to ishteham. I just don’t have time to build individual module setups for everyone. :)

The challenge

This challenge is extremely simple and honestly, you don’t even need to overthink it or do deep research unless you want to. I’ve already done the work for you. Everything is set up. The subs are chosen, the formula is written. All you have to do is follow the steps below and stay consistent.

1. Every morning, listen to the MOAB Booster. (Download here)

It’s about 45 minutes long. If you’re short on time, just set an alarm for an hour before you need to wake up, play it, and go back to sleep. That’s it. One listen per day.

Then, throughout the day (and overnight if you’d like), listen to the two subliminals I’ve assigned for this challenge. You can loop them while you work, study, sleep—whatever works for you.

2. Make a playlist called: MOAB Challenge

Add these two subliminals to it:

Infinite abundance by moza mroph

Problem solving by slade

These are your daily subs. Listen whenever you feel called, or just keep them looping gently in the background during the day or while you sleep.

3.important (!!!)

Save this in your Notes, Google Docs, or wherever you track subliminals. DO NOT CHANGE ANYTHING. This is your energetic formula. Just copy and paste it lol.

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[Submaker (Formula)]}

{S}= {infinite abundance[Moza morph (C.O.D)]} X{Problem solving[slade (thestral wings)]}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{B} = {Manifesting}

{B} = {Reality Shifting}

{B} = {Self Concept}

{B} = {Luck}

{B} = {Wealth Building}

{B} = {Mental Health}

{B} = {Void State}

{B} = {Lucid Dreaming(G)}

{B} = {Manifesting(G)}

{B} = {Reality Shifting(G)}

{B} = {Self Concept(G)}

{B} = {Luck(G)}

{B} = {Wealth Building(G)}

{B} = {Mental Health(G)}

{B} = {Void State(G)}

{R}= {Infinite Abundance [Moza Morph (C.O.D)]}

{R}= {Problem Solving [Slade (Thestral Wings)]}

{C} = {MOAB Challenge}

{H} = {Lucid Dreaming}

{H} = {Manifesting}

{H} = {Reality Shifting}

{H} = {Self Concept}

{H} = {Luck}

{H} = {Wealth Building}

{H} = {Mental Health}

{H} = {Void State}

If you’re using your own subliminals instead of the ones I provided, you’ll need to create your own formula and module sheet. If you have questions about how to structure them, I recommend reaching out to the creator directly—@Itsakid has a Reddit community and can explain everything way better than I can. He built the system, so you’ll get the most accurate answers there. But here’s the module explanation.

Final words

The subliminals used in this challenge also work perfectly with the Lucid Dreaming Challenge so if you want to combine both, go for it.

That’s it. I lucid dreamt immediately using this method. It’s simple but powerful especially if you’ve struggled with manifestation, resistance, or stagnancy. The booster handles integration.

[chronic-conjuring]

I think the term/acronym for OCD has become way too overused (like a frighteningly large amount of clinical, psychological terms tbh) and too many people have a fundamental misunderstanding of what the fuck OCD actually is and looks like.

Too often do we see distasteful, harmful jokes and representations of OCD as just a “clean freak germaphobe” or someone being overly obsessive about the placement of every single thing in their house and then you get the overused (and frankly fucking stupid) “haha I need things to be in a specific order or else it drives me CRAZY!! 🤪🤪 iM sO OcD!! 🤪🤪🤪” kinda lines and it’s absolute bullshit. Sure, those first two are very common symptoms we see in people with OCD but that’s literally not what’s going on??? They aren’t just bothered by the placement of things because it annoys them on some level, they have irrational fears.

So now when we see people genuinely discussing the reality of dealing with OCD, having compulsions to do certain things due to fear of certain consequences if they happen to do/not do it properly and excessive, irrational anxieties, we get shit like this where people are wholeheartedly ignorant of what that even means. Like, people w OCD aren’t necessarily clean freaks because messes and germs give them The Ick™️ (like what many people without this disorder experience) they’re genuinely, extremely irrationally afraid of what could happen should they not keep things in a certain order or wash their hands three times in a row etc.

For example, someone could have an irrational fear that their clothes not being organized in a specific way will in some way cause a loved one to die unexpectedly, if they don’t excessively sanitize the counter after making a sandwich themselves or someone else will get severely, life-threateningly sick, or if they interact with a certain number in any way something bad will happen (“if I eat 5 cookies instead of 4 [something bad] will happen”). These all sound a little ridiculous, right? THATS THE POINT. THEYRE IRRATIONAL FEARS. THATS WHY THIS IS A DISORDER. ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO MAKE SENSE TO PEOPLE OUTSIDE THE PERSON WHO HAS OCD’S BRAIN!!!!

You CAN see how someone might come to some conclusions, the thought process of “germs make people sick, if I leave things dirty people might get sick” is a fairly rational one, the irrational part comes with the thought continuing with something like “I have just made a sandwich on a clean plate and not gotten anything on the countertop, but if I leave this countertop without wiping it down with disinfectant I could’ve possibly left some kind of contamination and now whoever uses this countertop next will get salmonella/ food poisoning/ an allergic reaction. I MUST wipe it down several times until it is Clean Enough” that sounds just a little ridiculous right? But you can see how someone might come to that conclusion. Which is probably why the most commonly thought of aspects of OCD get boiled down to germophobia and excessive cleanliness, it’s closer to something other people can relate to or understand on some level.

And then there’s other fears that make no sense with little to no logic for others to follow such as “if I don’t lock this door PERFECTLY CORRECTLY someone will break into my house and kill me. I must unlock and re-lock this door until It Is Perfect” logically, a locked door is a locked door. Whether or not you turned it slowly, quickly or whatever, the door is properly locked by the time you’re done with it. That doesn’t matter to someone with OCD. Somehow, someway, locking it too slowly or too quickly will lead to some catastrophic failure and suddenly in their head they are then vulnerable, so they will stand there and lock the door as many times it’s takes for their brain to say “that’s perfect, I’m safe now”.

By reducing OCD into just some quirky thing some people experience, we are doing a major disservice to everyone suffering from this disorder and we allow stuff like this, where people are equating being afraid of something happening to mean they must actually secretly want that thing to happen or to do that thing, to happen and actively harm people with OCD. Too many people misunderstand that it is irrational thinking and fears that drive OCD behaviors, not some hidden internal want for it to happen. Do better

[lambiconic]

simon's finally got that date with the barista

if you havent, can i interest you in reading the first six: simon , gaz , johnny , price , the aftermath , the confrontation

(18+ you being angry at simon gets him the tiniest bit excited)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

After cleaning up the coffee beans you’d spilled on the floor in anger, you finally felt calm enough to try to talk things out with the four men.

Unfortunately, while you’d been crashing out in the back room they had leaving behind just a test message:

“This is Simon. Talk later.”

Despite your previous anger you couldn’t help but smile, its really cute that he somehow texts exactly how he speaks. 

…

The men spent the better part of a week debating (honestly arguing) over how to even bring up the idea of… sharing you.

Though.. the longer they talked about it, the worse it sounded. Not because they didn’t want you. God, they did. So badly. 

But, well, asking the same woman they’d all but cornered in her place of work and interrogated like you’d been married for 20 years with 3 children if she’d be open to dating all of them?

“Feels a bit... predatory, yeah?” Price had said at one point, frowning as he paced with uncharacteristic nervousness. 

“We already ganged up on her once,” Gaz muttered. “Now we’re coming back to say ‘erm actually we’d like to take turns, thanks’? Bit dodgy.”

“We could ease her into it!” Johnny proposed, “One date each. Give her time to realize we’re all *cough* mostly me *cough* amazing.”

 “So your plan is emotional whiplash in four acts??”

Simon, of course, offered nothing besides something about how if you laughed them out of that café, not a single word would leave his lips for weeks on end. Still, none of them backed down.

They just had to figure out how to say “Would you consider going out with all of us?” without sounding like a cult.

Easy. Right?

They came to the conclusion that Johnny was right, they needed to take you out. Try to woo you! Hopefully, that would make up for their ambush as well.

But who would go first? 

Johnny concluded that because he was the only one who had actually asked you out on a date, he should be first!

But, no no, Price should go first! He was the most mature! You need a sexy, mature, older man to lead you into this.

Gaz didn’t care, he was convinced you’d fall for him the fastest no matter where he stood in line.

And Simon— wait where the hell is Simon?

Simon wasted no time slipping out of the room. He had somewhere to be. 

And, like clockwork, Simon showed up at noon on Tuesday. He didn’t say much, just leaned against the counter like always, watching you work in silence. But this time, you were silent too.

Not the calm, flirty kind that matched his silent he was used to. No. You were giving him the silent treatment.

And he definitely deserved it. And he kind of liked it.

Your narrowed eyes. The dramatic scoff when he handed you a full $50 bill for a tip instead of his usual $10. The way you didn’t even try to mask your irritation with your usual sweet smile.

It wasn’t your customer service charm… it was all you, properly pissed off.

And strangely? That made him feel closer to you. At least this meant he still mattered enough to you to be met with something real. 

And there was something about that slight look of disgust in your eyes that had heat pooling low in his stomach and him forced to drop a hand to his crotch in hopes no one could see his growing… problem.

“Can I…” he started quietly, just as you slid the cup across the counter. 

Unfortunately for him, you turned right back around. He cleared his throat, his eyes locked on your back. “Y/N..?”

You didn’t stop what you were doing., offering a dry little ‘hm?”

He swallowed hard. “Can I… can I take you out?”

There was a pause. Then, slowly, you glared at him over your shoulder. “Pardon?”

He blinked. Panic hit (and there was that warm feeling in his groin again). Then, like it was rehearsed, he reached behind his back and held something out.

A wildflower. Well, a weed. Obviously tugged from the sidewalk out front, roots still dirty. But somehow, in his trembling hands, it looked about as pretty as the large bouquets Johnny kept offering you.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

His voice was tight, and you noticed now how his fingers were shaking. Like he was expecting you to laugh in his face. “I… we can do whatever you’d like. If you’ll give me a chance.”

The weed was already wilting in his hand but he kept it cradled in his palm like it was worth his weight in gold. 

His head stayed bowed, jaw clenched, and the other hand curled into a fist behind his back, nails digging into his palm to keep from shaking.

After what felt like an eternity he saw your hand reaching out and carefully taking the small flower from his palm. “When are you free?”

His head shot up, eyes wide as they locked with yours. “I–I’ll have to check! I can text you. Just… I will text you.”

He continued to ramble, promising again and again that you'd hear from him as he stumbled backwards toward the door, his now-cold coffee clutched in hand.

He’d done it. He asked you out. He’s going on a date. With you.

Outside, he let out a breathless laugh and gave himself a small, victorious pat on the back, his thumb brushing over his name on the cup. His small personal treasure. A symbol of this joyous moment.

But then he paused.

Squinted.

“She spelled my name wrong..”

You may have an attitude problem.

…

Simon was a pretty blunt texter, you’d learned. He also started every single text message by stating it was him.

‘This is Simon. Would you like to go for dinner?’

‘This is Simon. I’ll send a list of restaurants. Pick what interests you.’

‘This is Simon. Don’t look at any prices. Leave your wallet at home.’

‘This is Simon. Eight sound good?’

‘This is Simon. Leaving out now. Excited to see you. Leave your wallet at home.’

‘This is Simon. At the entrance.’

You watched him for a couple seconds from your car, partially to feel out the situation and partially because you drove over in flip flops and needed to switch to heels.

Simon looked.. Nervous. A side of him you’d seen a lot of in the past few weeks but now it was at an all time high. It was like he didn’t know where to put his hands.

He tugged at his collar, checked his watch, ran his fingers through his slicked back blonde locks over and over. 

He seemed to perk up like a dog as he saw you approach, his jaw slack and his hands now suddenly folded in front of him. “Y/N.. you look—you look…you are—”

“Hi..” You interrupt as you come to a stop in front of him, “Were you out here long?”

“No! He said, quickly offering you a hand. “Been here for two minutes at the most..” 

He opened the door for you, his hand on the small of your back. “You’ll like it here..”

Once seated, Simon stared at the menu blankly, sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

“You good?” you asked, raising your eyes from your own menu. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, setting the menu down. “Just… tryin’ to figure out how to talk to you. I really like you. We all do.”

“We..?” You repeat, non committedly as you run your finger over the menu.

“Yknow.. Johnny, Gaz–suppose you call him Kyle, and uhh Price–John..” He stutters out. “We all really like you.”

You didn’t look up right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch just long enough for Simon to start shifting in his seat. His fingers tapped nervously against the edge of the table, like he was bracing for you to stand and walk out. He always seems prepared for the worst around you.

Finally, you looked up from menu. “You all talk about this together?”

He nodded slowly. “Not at first, per our.. ambush. But… yeah. Eventually. It wasn’t exactly avoidable.”

You let out a quiet breath, straightening in your chair. “So what is this, then? A group interview?”

He snorted, caught off guard, and the tension in his shoulders eased. “More like… an application process.”

“And you’re the first brave soul to show up?”

“Might not be the brave one. Might just be the most desperate.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That supposed to impress me?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “But I was hoping this would.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out something small, setting it gently in front of you on the table.

A little wildflower. This one wasn’t wilted. Still clumsy, still a little dirt clinging to the roots, but fresher. Something he clearly went out and searched for.

You stared at it for a moment before your lips stretched out into a grin so wide your cheeks started to hurt. “Oh.. you are ridiculous.”

He smiled. “Yeah. But you haven’t told me no.”

You reached out, taking the flower. “…What night are the others taking me out?”

Simon grinned. “I’ll let ‘em know you asked.”

[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — prologue

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. I just jumped into a full on series fr, i can't stay on wattpad anymore. I really hope you all can enjoy this, message or comment be if you wanna be added on the taglist. and also I will appreciate feedbacks.

chapters. Materialist - Chapter 01.

It’s easy to disappear when the whole world already thinks you’re dead.

That’s what he tells himself as he sinks into the leather chair, the skyline flickering like a heart monitor flatlining in the distance. There’s a storm on the horizon, city lights warping against the glass like they’re underwater, like they’re drowning — and Sukuna wonders, idly, if that’s what it feels like to be alive.

No one calls him Ryomen Sukuna antymore. That name’s been buried in blood and bureaucracy.

He’s been six different men in three different countries in the last year alone. Sometimes he remembers their names. Sometimes he doesn’t. But the weight never leaves.

The weight of being watched, being hunted. The kind of life where silence is sacred and attachment is lethal. Where waking up means checking for red dots on the windows, where every knock could be a gun to the temple or a dagger to the spine. Where even in dreams, he’s still fighting.

He left the organization months ago. Technically.

But you don’t just leave something like that. You don’t leave an empire built on unsanctioned kills, whispered contracts, blood-soaked diplomacy. You slip away, like smoke. Like sin.

And even that’s a luxury.

His hands are still red, even when they’re clean. His heart still beats, even when it doesn’t want to. And lately, he’s started to wonder if there’s anything left of him that isn’t sharp or broken or hollowed out to make room for more violence.

What is a man supposed to become when he’s spent his whole life being a monster?

That question lingers in the room as he stares out over the neon skyline of Jujutsu City. Somewhere down there, people are living lives they don’t need to lie about. Laughing without checking who’s listening. Kissing someone they’re allowed to love. Sukuna wouldn’t know what to do with a life like that.

He’s always been good at one thing: killing without being seen.

But he’s tired.

Not the kind of tired sleep fixes — no, this is bone-deep. The kind of exhaustion that makes your soul feel like it’s been scraped raw. The kind of tired that turns even silence into something deafening.

He closes his eyes. Thinks about the last mission. Thinks about the look on the boy’s face when Sukuna let him go. Thinks about how stupid it was — how human it was — to hesitate.

That’s why they summoned him again.

A black envelope lies unopened on the table, marked with the symbol of the organization. Simple, final. No return address, because it doesn’t need one.

He knows what’s inside. And he knows it isn’t optional.

But the voice that speaks from the shadows of the room — cold, robotic, almost bored — still slices through the silence like a knife.

“You’ve been compromised,” it says. “You want a new identity? You want to live long enough to use it?”

“Then bury the killer. Burn the name.”

Sukuna doesn’t respond.

His jaw ticks. His eyes stay on the city, pretending to look at something that isn’t slipping away from him again.

“We need foundation,” the voice continues. “You need to blend in. Be normal. Be forgettable.”

It pauses — and then delivers the final order with surgical precision.

Like it’s not the most ridiculous thing they’ve ever asked of him.

“Start a family.”

— Chapter 01. — Materialist —

[misspantymime]

Bat x Family ("A Family Meeting...Sort Of")

a/n: Once again, I forgot to update within the week. I'm ready for any punishment you have for me! Also, did the Batfam seem awkward? I usually don't right all of them together. (///￣ ￣///)

TW: Slight mention of starvation of children (no deaths though!)

Taglist: @c4xcocoa, @shinning-stars, @whognuthis, @dkddkdkdkdkdkdk, @nisarelle, @tree-ag, @welpthisisboringing, @sugary-strawberry-shortcake, @thatoneraeder, @celesteelysia, @scentedwombatarcade, @nxdxsworld, @lonely-entity, @jsprien213, @cocobally229, @kokazuu, @alishii, @misdollface, @charlenexoxo1, @wendee-go, @lunoorbonoor, @rainschnael, @punkandnerdy9, @mintynilla, @nervousalpacalady, @mallowryblog, @sirenetheblogger, @cupid73

Anya Forger! Child! Reader x Yandere! Platonic! Batfam

When Bruce called for a “family meeting”, Dick only had half an idea of what it was about.

More than likely, it had something to do with the trafficking bust that happened less than a week ago. The one that Jason seemed to fumble, despite his protests that the place had been cleared out before he even reached the location. Supposedly, the “product” had been left without food or water for an undisclosed amount of time before the GCPD had gotten a lead, but there had miraculously been no deaths.

That being said, Red Hood wasn’t the only one to drop the ball.

The breakout from Arkham had involved more major threats and the consensus had been that resources would be better allocated to that issue, above everything else. Or, to put more bluntly, the trafficking business, while urgent, just wasn’t to be prioritized at the moment. Which would eventually bite them in the butts later.

Through police contacts, the grapevine, and the ravenous media, Dick had heard less than stellar remarks on the poor handling of it all. Many papers and news outlets were questioning the lack of urgency from the GCPD and the Bats, seeing as some of the most vulnerable people of society’s lives had been put at stake yet appeared to not be on they’re radar. Not to mention the main perpetrators had slinked away unscathed.

So, if Bruce was going to ream them over the poor handling of the case, Dick was more than ready to take it on the chin. Even if the others weren’t.

Which is why when he reached the parlor, Dick was met, not unsurprisingly, with chaotic arguing.

“-admit it, Todd, you failed.” Damian’s resolute assertion was the first thing Dick heard but it was soon followed by–

“Listen, you damn demon brat, I told you already–” Jason was cut off, by Duke trying to placate them all.

“Look, guys, no one expected this, alright? You can’t blame him for that.”

“Incompetence doesn’t justify failure. It was in his territory, so it was his responsibility.” Damian argued just as Tim added his two cents.

“Yeah, but why are we all here, anyway? If he has something to say, he can just say it to Jay, right?” He groaned, rubbing his temple while nursing a cup of coffee. No steam, so they must have been at it for a while.

“Maybe he needs all hands on deck for it or something?” Steph chimed in, lounging on one of many seats, back leaning on one armrest while her legs hung over the other.

Cass simply observed the carnage from the side.

“Hey, hey, look we all messed up, alright?” Dick chided gently, with his trademarked golden boy smile as he stepped fully into the parlor, ”Let’s just see what Bruce wants, okay?”

Someone had to play peacemaker, since it looked like Duke was fighting for his life and Alfred was nowhere to be seen. 

“I hardly see where I–” Daminan started.

“Listen, we all could’ve done better,” Dick reiterated, “We’ll just hear him out and see how we can make this better.”

“I kind of doubt that’s possible” Barbara spoke up, on her laptop and scanning the various pages scrolling across the screen. “This is a bit of a–”

“Shitshow?” Jason prompted.

“Yes,” She sighed, before adding on, “No perps, and the place was, apparently, cleaned out before they got there. The GCPD is still scanning for anything, to be honest, but it’s not looking good.”

Barabara’s olive green eyes soon grew darker as she continued,

“Some of the kids were in critical condition.”

A hush fell over the room, smothering any irritation under a somber atmosphere. 

Just then, the door opened once again and Alfred, proper as ever, strolled in amidst the cold tension, seemingly none the wiser. If anything, the butler almost looked…amused?

“Master Wayne would like to apologize, but it seems he is…preoccupied at the moment.”

“The hell? He’s the one who called us” Jason grouched, flopping down on an armchair. 

 “Yes, but something of utmost importance has come to his attention.”

A sort of sharpness tinged the atmosphere, as they all tensed in anticipation. 

‘What could be so important?’, They all thought.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Bruce was not prepared for this.

He was not prepared for any of this.

 Bruce was ready to leave you to your show– a loud sort of spy cartoon? –but you had other plans, charging him as soon as the words “I have an errand to run” left his lips.

“An adventure!” You cried excitedly, latching onto his suit’s pant leg. “Lemme come!”

“Wha–? No, it’s an errand.” He repeated, trying to slip from your grasp. However, it proved to be far stronger than he expected, as you clung onto his leg even when he swung it to-and-fro rather inelegantly. 

‘I need to get to the cave with the others. Alfred can probably keep her away long enough for me to give them the rundown.’ Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I wanna go with Papa!” You cheered once again, your small hands leaving wrinkles in his pant leg.

“You’ll be bored” Bruce tried to reason with you, “Just stay and watch your show.”

‘She can’t get anywhere near the Batcave.’

And he failed. Spectacularly.

“No, no, no!” You exclaimed, climbing higher up his leg to cling off his waist, “I wanna be with Papa!”

‘This is illogical. Why is she so attached to me right when she got here?’  

You beamed up at him, shamelessly hanging off him like a juvenile monkey from a less than willing tree, “Please?”

“(Name)–” Bruce sighed again.

“Pretty please?” You emphasized in a drawn out whine.

While he was far from a master negotiator, Bruce fully believed he could hold his own in terms of brokering a deal. The social minefield of Gotham’s elite proved to be a formidable challenge time and time again, while the overt battleground of it’s underbelly remained default even for the most hardened of individuals. 

That being said, Bruce Wayne would not fold to a six year-old.

“Papa!”

He would not fold.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Dick stared at him.

Bruce stared past him, through the open doorway.

The parlor remained quiet, but the it’s inhabitants faces spoke volumes:

Alfred contained a chuckle behind a cough and his fist.

Tim raised an eyebrow over his cup of coffee, frozen just before taking a sip.

Jason, faced away from the door itself, did a double take upon shooting a glance over his shoulder. 

Duke’s face seemed to be caught between a gawking expression of shock and a nervous laugh.

Cass–stoic and steely eyed Cass– betrayed the slightest widening of her eyes.

Steph hid a bemused and bewildered sort of smirk behind her hand.

Damian looked aghast, bordering on disgusted.

And Barbara? She simply looked at him over the rim of her glasses.

All the while, you grinned quite triumphantly in his arms, balanced on his hip.

“Uh, B? You got a little–” Dick pointed and Bruce immediately cut him off.

“Yes, I know.” He asserted.

You grinned mischievously as a satisfied giggle escaped you.

“Everyone… this is (Name).”

a/n: Start of the Batfam shenanigans! Hope you stick around to see more! (´｡• ᵕ •｡) ♡

[alisonsfics]

calm in my storm

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: carmy berzatto loves his girl. like it’s his whole personality. and he makes sure you and everyone else know it. this specific time, it’s buying a chain with your name engraved on it.

word count: 1.3k

You glanced down at your watch and then back at the front door.

Carmy was supposed to be here by now.

Today was The Bear’s monthly deep cleaning day where the whole team came in super early to deep clean the kitchen and dining room. It was notoriously the most stressful day of the month.

Cleaning day always made Carmy’s perfectionist tendencies come out, which was lethal when mixed with Richie’s desire to get under Carmy’s skin.

As Carmy’s girlfriend and one of the only people Richie listened to, it became your job to keep them from jumping at each other’s throats.

So, you were just hoping to survive the day and make it out in one piece.

“Guess I’ll give out the cleaning assignments since Carmy’s not here yet.” You said, grabbing the clipboard and getting everyone’s attention.

“Cousin expects us to clean while he’s probably still at home sleeping?” Richie complained. You agreed that it was abnormal that Carmy was late, but you wanted to prevent a big fight between Richie and Carmy.

“He’ll be here, Richie.” You assured him.

Richie groaned, taking a swig of his coffee. “I think you’re the one to blame if Carmy isn’t getting enough sleep.” Richie teased, winking at you.

You jokingly swatted his arm with the clipboard. “Stop being a child or I’ll make you do Carmy’s chores too.” You threatened. He quickly held his arms up in surrender.

“I’m sorry. I should be thanking you. He’s so much more tolerable when he’s getting laid.” Richie said with a deep chuckle. The whole team sighed, shaking off Richie’s comment.

It was too early for the mental image of two of their friends fucking.

You flicked Richie’s forehead, earning a wince from him. “Richie, can we please just get this over with? We’re all tired, and we want to go home as soon as possible.” You complained.

He nodded his head, gesturing for you to continue speaking.

You had warned Carmy that it was risky letting Richie know about your relationship— but Carmy couldn’t bare to keep his hands off you long enough to maintain a secret.

Carmy’s love language was definitely physical touch. He loved showing you off as his to everyone he could.

He always had at least one hand touching you, and if he didn’t, he had that lovestruck expression and was staring at you.

You gave everyone their assignments for the day. Just as everyone was standing up and about to start working, the front door was tugged open and revealed Carmy.

“He lives!” Richie sarcastically cheered as he walked towards the kitchen.

Carmy caught your gaze. He stared back at you with an apologetic expression. He gave you a soft smile— ignoring everyone else in the room.

He crossed the room towards you. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He greeted, giving you a quick kiss.

You noticed the extra chain around his neck, tucked securely into his shirt. You were going to ask, but you were worried if you kept Carmy from starting his chores any longer that Richie would riot.

“I got these for you.” Carmy said, pulling out a bouquet of flowers from behind his back.

It was a beautiful arrangement— wrapped in brown paper with gold ribbon tied into a bow. “Carmy, it’s six in the morning. You didn’t have to stop to get me flowers.” You told him.

He shrugged. It was second nature for him at this point. “But I walked by this farmer’s market that was setting up, and I saw this bouquet. The colors reminded me of your eyes.” He told you.

“You’re so sweet. I love you. Thank you so much.” You said, smiling up at him.

“Of course. You deserve the best.” He said, giving you one last kiss before you both got to work.

As the whole team cleaned all morning, Carmy would always find your gaze and smile at you or blow kisses your way.

It was finally lunch time, and the team had finished all the cleaning that needed to be done.

Carmy finished putting away some of the cleaning supplies. It was an understatement to say he was ready for lunch. Richie had complained all day about the fact that Carmy had been late.

Carmy was ready to have some time without the chaos of Richie screaming.

He snuck into the office, knowing you’d be in there. He quietly closed the door behind him. When he turned around, he saw you sitting down on the couch.

A smile was instantly on his face as his eyes locked with yours.

“You needed some peace and quiet too?” You asked him, patting the space beside you on the couch.

“I just needed to see you.” He said, collapsing next to you and practically melting into your touch. He rested his head on your shoulder, letting you scratch your nails through his hair.

“You make me feel so calm despite all the chaos out there. Being with you is the only time it’s quiet in my brain. God, I’m so fucking broken.” He said, chuckling as he wrapped his arms snugly around your waist.

You were speechless. The words flowed from his mouth like poetry. Praising you was like a language Carmy was fluent in.

“Carmen Berzatto, that is the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You said, shifting yourself onto his lap.

His eyes focused on you, watching to see what your next move was. When you leaned in and connected your lips to his, he didn’t waste any time kissing you back.

His palms pressed up against your back— staking you as his with every touch.

Your fingers slipped under his shirt, exploring and memorizing how his skin felt under your fingertips.

Before you both knew it, you were tugging his shirt off over his head.

He buried his face in your neck, kissing the skin. It was sloppy, but also methodical. He knew how much you loved it.

Out of the corner of your eye, a glint caught your eye— the sun reflected off his chain. It caught your attention.

It wasn’t just an extra chain that he was wearing. It was a new chain with a heart pendant. Your heart warmed at the gesture.

Then, it flipped against his skin. The delicate engraving caught your eye, and you realized it was your initials.

Carmy felt you freeze and stopped working on the hickey he was giving you. “You feelin’ okay?” He asked, letting his hands land on your hips.

He gave your hips a squeeze— the reassuring squeeze that he often gave you when he checked in with you.

He grew more concerned as you sat there speechless.

Finally, you reached out and took the pendant between your fingers. “You got a necklace with my initials?” You asked as you admired the details.

He kissed your cheek. “Of course I did. You’re my everything.” He said, simply.

There was never any doubt in his words.

Carmy wasn’t like the other guys you’d dated that had skated around the idea of commitment. Carmy let you know that he was yours and he would continue to be for as long as you allowed him.

“That reminds me,” he said, tugging a small box out of his pocket. His eyes lit up as he handed you the box— so genuinely excited to see your reaction.

You popped the box open and saw a simple bracelet, then noticed the engraving on the inside of the band.

You’re the calm in my storm ~ Love you, Bear

“I love you so fucking much.” You said, cupping his face and kissing him. You both smiled into the kiss— smiles so big that it almost made you both laugh.

He grabbed the bracelet from the box and delicately clasped it around your wrist.

“You’re so perfect. I don’t know how I got so lucky.” You said, studying his face as you raked your fingers through his hair.

“The feeling is mutual.” He said, kissing your forehead.

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[opiumwings]

prank’d — megan skiendiel

– you prank megan by pretending to hide somebody when she comes home – word count: 1361 words

you’d been waiting for the perfect moment to get megan back for some of the pranks she had pulled on you, and today felt right. she always swore she couldn’t be pranked. she was just too good and would see it coming, but after spending so much time with her, you’ve learned ways to catch her off guard.

you checked the time. she’d be home any minute now.

the living room was way too clean, on purpose. you left a second pair of sneakers by the door, a hoodie that wasn’t hers was draped over the couch, and an empty glass on the table with lipstick that wasn’t her shade.

you saw her pull up through the window. perfect timing.

you dashed down the hall, made a loud thump in one of the rooms, then sprinted back to the kitchen just in time to open the fridge and pretend you were doing something completely normal.

the front door creaked open.

“babe?” megan called out.

“hey! you’re back early,” you answered nervously to play the part.

she stepped in and paused. you could hear the slight hesitation in her footsteps as her eyes scanned the shoes, the hoodie, and then the rest of the room.

“do you have people over?” megan asked slowly, eyeing you suspiciously.

“what? no one’s here,” you replied, glancing around the room like you were trying to find someone too.

she squinted at you for a second longer before shaking her head. choosing to believe you—because really, why wouldn’t she? you’d never given her a reason not to trust you.

“i’m actually so tired,” she sighed, tossing her keys on the table. “they drained me today.”

“you wanna talk about it?” you asked, moving toward her.

“i just wanna cuddle and be with my girlfriend for the rest of the day,” megan said, wrapping her arms around you.

“i can do that for you,” you murmured, hugging her tight, guilt already tugging at your chest.

“let me just freshen up,” she said, pulling away slightly. “i’m a little sweaty.”

that was perfect, right where you’re dummy was set up.

“you don’t need to go in there,” you blurted, stepping in front of her.

“i kinda do, though,” she replied.

“can’t we just chill down here for a sec?” you tried to steer her back toward the couch.

“why are you being so weird today?” megan tilted her head. 

“i’m not weird. you’re weird.”

“i just want a quick shower. then we can do whatever you want.”

“it’s fine, i love you exactly how you are,” you smiled.

“okay but i want to shower for me,” she said, stepping toward the door again.

you instinctively blocked her with your arm, gently but firm enough to stop her.

“what the fuck?” she muttered, frowning.

“sorry! i didn’t mean to,” you said quickly, trying to recover.

“y/n, what the hell is going on?” megan ran a hand through her hair, clearly trying to stay calm.

“nothing,” you said, voice low. “i just don’t want you to leave me…” 

the way you said it gave her pause, like there was something more behind it.

“we can shower together, if that’s what you’re really trying to say,” megan softened a little. 

“uhh… yes. but can you grab us some towels and a change of clothes first?”

“okay. be right back,” she sighed in relief, believing you were just being clingy. 

as soon as she turned the corner, you clasped your hands together in prayer toward the hidden camera. you needed this footage to be worth it.

you quickly opened the bathroom door to check on the dummy. still there, seated just right on the counter.

when megan returned, you made it look like you were whispering to someone inside, then jumped when she appeared behind you.

“okay,” she said slowly. “i’ve been trying so hard not to assume anything because i trust you. but you’re making it really hard right now.”

“there’s nothing happening,” you insisted, trying to flash your most innocent smile. “i’m just happy you’re home, my love.”

“then let me in the bathroom so we can be even happier.”

“i would love that, but... could i trouble you to grab one more thing?”

“seriously?” megan narrowed her eyes. 

“just my slippers,” you said.

“fine,” she sighed, clearly running out of patience. 

you quickly took the towels and clothes she brought, tossing them in the bathroom next to the dummy. then, just loud enough, you whispered, “you have to go before she comes back!”

and of course, megan sprinted back into the hallway.

“i knew i wasn’t fucking trippin’!” she shouted. “i knew it!”

“why were you so fast?” you asked, trying not to laugh.

“so we’re just gonna act like you weren’t whispering to someone just now?” she said, eyes wide.

“i wasn’t!” you said, voice high-pitched like you were lying.

“y/n, be honest right now.”

“i am being honest! do you not trust me?” you said, already regretting the question.

megan looked like she was trying not to cry. her eyes began to get glossy, but she kept blinking them away. “i know you’re joking. i have to believe you’re joking. because you’d never do that to me.”

your heart dropped; it wasn’t funny anymore.

“don’t be mad,” you said softly. “please. you know i love you, and i would never purposely hurt you.”

she didn’t say anything, just stared, face unreadable.

“say something,” you whispered.

“just open the fucking door, y/n,” megan said her voice coming out sharp.

you hesitated a second longer, then slowly turned the knob and stepped aside.

megan stormed in, ready to confront whoever she thought was in there—only to be met with… a lifeless dummy slouched on the toilet in a hoodie and sunglasses.

she froze, and it went dead silent.

“are you serious right now?!” megan yelled, frozen in the doorway, staring down at the dummy slouched on the toilet.

“not really my type, but he was perfect for the role,” you said casually from behind her.

“i can’t believe you,” megan slowly turned to face you, hands dragging down her face in complete disbelief. 

“guess you can get pranked, megan.” you grinned, barely able to hold in your laughter. 

“oh, don’t get cocky,” she said, pointing at you as she walked out of the bathroom. “because i trusted you. i came home tired, wanted to cuddle, and this is how you treat me?”

“okay, to be fair, i was just getting my get back,” you bit your lip, holding up both hands. 

“you sure did,” she muttered.

“you have to admit, though…” you smirked, stepping closer. “i did good.”

megan rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. “i was ready to fight someone. i had a whole dramatic breakup speech ready in my head, too.”

“you were gonna leave me over a mannequin?” you gasped, placing a hand on your chest. 

“i thought it was a real person!” she shouted, hitting you lightly on the arm.

you wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling her close before she could storm off. “i’m sorry,” you said, smiling into her shoulder. “but that reaction was so worth it.”

“you’re lucky i didn’t punch you,” megan mumbled into your neck, even as she let you hold her.

“you know you still love me,” you whispered.

“unfortunately.”

she pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smirk already forming on her face. “you know what this means, though, right?”

“that you’ll let it go and never bring it up again?” you tilted your head.

she just laughed in response, and that was so much scarier then anything else she could’ve done.

“oh, baby,” she said, patting your cheek like the sweet girlfriend she is. “you’re gonna wish you never did that to me.”

“wait, hold—what does that mean?” your smile faltered. 

“it means sleep with one eye open,” she said sweetly.

and with that, she got ready for her shower like she didn’t just declare psychological warfare. you stood frozen in your spot. you might’ve just made one of the biggest mistakes by starting a prank war with someone who never loses.