#and a couple from Mask of Shadows

[canis-constellate]

psst systems and plurals of all kinds, if you have fictives from books please say hi. we have, quite literally, only met a single system other than ourselves who had more than one fictive sourced from a book. well over 90% of our fictives (which make up 85% of our known collective of 550+ people) are sourced from books. please

[crazymecjc]

look at yourself… you’re the true puppet.

[phantasm-ae]

cw: fluff, cowgirl afab reader x ghost, grumpy x sunshine, clumsy reader

HEADCANON: the team meets Ghost’s little bird

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

It all started when Soap, half-joking -- not really -- asked over a pint of that terrible guinness that one of the recruits mentioned that he voiced out a lingering thought out loud,

"So, Ghost. Ye ever gonna introduce us to yer missus? Or is she just some hallucination ye made up tae wind us up aye?"

Ghost, who had never confirmed nor denied anything about his personal life, simply shrugged. "Pub. Friday. Seven."

Soap thought he was joking.

At exactly Friday, seven-fucking-pm though. Soap. Soap realized he was wrong.

They met at a grimy pub near base. Price was wary. Gaz looked openly curious. Soap just looked excited, because how normal could Ghost’s wife possibly be? Some goth lady with a death glare? A sniper with a scar over her eye? A shadow in human form?

None of the above.

What actually walked in was—

A tiny woman in a beat-up leather jacket, dusty denim jeans, a battered cowboy hat tilted low over her messy braid. Coupled with a pair of cracked leather boots that clomped across the floor like she owned the place.

Holy shit

She looked like she could ride a bull, shoot a rifle, and kiss you breathless — not necessarily in that order.

She waved frantically the moment she spotted them though — knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over her own boots as she did.

"HEY, SI" she yelled across the entire bar.

Ghost — stoic, terrifying, 6'4" Ghost — immediately straightened in his seat like a teenager seeing his crush. He actually moved. Stood up. Went to meet her halfway like she was the only thing that existed.

Soap’s jaw was physically on the table.

This tiny woman. Small. Wiry. Sun-kissed and with the greatest pair of tits Soap has ever seen immediately launched herself into Ghost’s arms like a missile. He caught her easily -- of course -- one hand on her lower back, the other ruffling her tousled brown hair with ridiculous tenderness.

Leaning down to let her smack a kiss right onto the cloth of his mask like she couldn’t give a single shit about what people thought.

She yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes — wait! when had he gotten a hat?? — and laughed that big, reckless, wild West laugh that turned every head in the pub.

The team stared in horror and awe.

"This can’t be real," Gaz muttered. "I’m dreaming. I died in Syria."

"She's so small," Soap whispered back, scandalized. "And she’s—she’s—hot??"

They made it back to the table, Ghost’s hand resting casually on her hip like a leash.

When they made it back to the table, she shoved Ghost into a chair, plopped herself onto his lap without ceremony, and grinned at the rest of them.

"Howdy, boys," she said, tipping her hat.

Soap almost cried.

She was absolute chaos. Stole the darts right out of the wall and challenged Soap to a game ("loser buys shots, city boy" "'m from Scotland, lass" "Cattle country ain't like sheep country, sugar" "we have cows. They moo too").

Gaz: "You're so fucking stupid mate"

Soap: "Shut it aye?"

Flirted shamelessly with Ghost across the table — calling him "sugar," "cowboy," and "my big strong man" with zero shame in her Southern-twanged voice. Told Price he looked like a "sheriff with a broken heart."

Somehow wrangled Ghost into a pool match where she used him as her pool cue guide — pressed up against him, his huge hands guiding hers, while she winked at the others over her shoulder.

Ghost never smiled. Never joked. Never talked much. But with her? He was... different.

Softer. More human. Maybe even a little helpless, the poor bastard.

Price, to his credit, kept a straight face. Barely.

Soap, meanwhile -- after losing to her on those stupid darts and took on the challenge of guzzling down the said shots -- was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

She was chaos. Pure, distilled chaos — loud, funny, mean, fun, but also wildly affectionate. She stole a chip off Gaz and a stranger's plate without asking. Shooed off two creeps with a death glare who wouldn’t stop pestering the girls at the counter. Challenged the bouncer -- a hulking and massive bloke -- to arm wrestle and actually fucking won! Spent half an hour helping to take pictures of an old couple on a vacation to send to their grandkids. And started a chant for Price to shotgun a beer (he declined, though grimly but... endeared).

And through all of it, Ghost just... watched her. Silent. Steady. The same way he’d scan a perimeter — except more devoted. Soap swearing that he could even see him smile behind the mask.

At one point, she tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear that made him let out a genuine, low chuckle. An actual laugh. Gaz's drink came out of his nose at that and Soap almost passed out from the shock.

By the end of the night, they were all completely obsessed with her.

(And slightly terrified. She challenged another guy twice her size to a pull-up contest and won.)

As they stumbled out of the pub, she looped an arm around Ghost’s waist and shouted, "THIS IS MY HUSBAND! HE’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND!" at absolutely no one.

Ghost didn’t even blink. Just tugged her closer and murmured, "Alright, birdie. Inside voice yeah?."

"YOU LOVE ME BABY," she hollered back.

"Yeah," he said simply, not caring who heard. "I do."

And if anyone at the pub dared to stare — well, nobody wanted to make eye contact with a man wearing a skull mask who looked like he could bench-press a car and the woman who looked like she could drive said car through you and still smile while doing it.

Soap later: "Lass is unhinged aye?." Gaz: "You’re just mad she drank you under the table, mate." Price: "I like her. She’s good for him." Soap: "Naw, like... she’s pure mental. He’s just as daft. It’s a match made in hell, I’m tellin' ye.

Ghost, hearing them gossip: (Just shrugs.) "I like her loud. Makes it easier to find her."

masterlist

[marvelstoriesepic]

Five days, Five bouquets

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Prompt: "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talk of a fake marriage for the sake of a mission; fluffff

Author’s Note: This is written for the writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I wasn’t planning on writing something so soon because I’ve still got a project going on right now, but your prompts and everything were just so alluring, I couldn’t help myself. I hope you enjoy this, my dearest. And I am almost entirely certain that this won’t be my only entry to your writing challenge, because I've got some more ideas lol. Here is a small continuation to this story: A Home for Now

Divider by @saradika-graphics ♡

Masterlist

“Again, Bucky?”

You don’t even try to mask your breathless laughter, the warmth of it slipping through as you rise from your seat.

The front door clicks shut behind Bucky and he scuffs off his boots half-heartedly on the door mat. There is a bouquet of flowers in his hand. And an even larger grin on his face.

The table before you is still cluttered with the remnants of your cover - documents, notes, a meticulously crafted facade of a life together.

A life that isn’t real, except for moments like these, when the borders become smudged just enough to make you wonder.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” he says, still smiling so wide, but his tone does not hold a trace of irony. “What kinda guy d’you think I am? Four days in a row and I just stop?” He scoffs as if the mere thought offends him. His voice is honeyed.

He stalks over to you standing at the table and holds the bouquet out for you. It is an understatedly beautiful arrangement of dusky pink roses, fluffy ruffled carnations, ivory lilies with petals curling slightly at the edges. Wisps of silvery foliage peek through, adding a breath of frost to the warmth. And then there are the deep inky leaves interwoven among the blooms, like something divine pulled from the shadows.

You take them with fingers that begin to tremble just slightly. His hand brushes over yours. A blush makes its way up your face just like every time.

You have been undercover for five days, posing as a married couple by orders from Nick Fury. And every day, even though it’s not at all necessary for you both to keep your cover, Bucky brings you a bouquet when he gets ‘home’ from his fake job.

He is embedded in a high-profile consulting firm, shadowing a suspect deeply tangled in covert operations, while you take a closer look at his wife. She’s not at all innocent. She manages high-stakes charity galas, the kind that funnel money into places they shouldn’t be. You play the devoted wife, hosting brunches, attending yoga classes she goes to, letting cautious friendships lead you to the information you need.

Five days. Five bouquets.

Each one different, but all of them hold some unspoken thing. Something that makes you shiver.

The choking in your throat is disguised with a roll of your eyes. “You do know we’re supposed to be laying low, right? Kinda hard when you’re single-handedly funding the local florist,” you tease rather lightly.

Bucky chuckles, low but bright, and you swear you feel the sound more than you hear it. “Oh c’mon, doll. Long as we’re playin’ house, I gotta keep my wife happy.”

This is a joke. It is all a joke. But your pulse is not laughing, only speeding up, tripping at the way he puts emphasis on wife. As if the word fits too well in his mouth, as if he could get used to it.

Bucky has always been a gentleman to you. Even outside of missions. But since you started this one, moving into the same house on the outskirts of town for the sake of your cover, the grumpiness and stoicism that usually surround his aura at the compound are completely lost here with you. You’ve never seen him smile as much as you have in the last five days.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter, take a closer look, and take in the many appealing colors and scents. “Thank you, Bucky. I love those,” you say warmly.

His expression falters just a fraction like it does every time, not quite knowing what to do with genuine gratitude when it’s meant for him. Although you show it to him all the time. A flicker of something unguarded passes over his features before he covers it with a scoff that only makes it out halfway. He looks off to the side, shifting his weight. “Well, can’t have my wife thinkin’ I'm slipping already now, can I?” he laughs a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, the tips of his ears just the slightest bit of pink.

You turn with a huffed laugh and perform the task of putting away the flowers. Shaking your head, you start to get highly aware of the wedding band around your finger, a piece of fiction Tony gave you to wear. It looks so real, yet it is a lie. And you hate it.

“Do I need to remind you that we’re not actually married?” The words fall with amusement but they sit heavier in the air than they should.

The ring fits perfectly, Tony made sure of that. But it still somehow presses against your skin. As if to remind you that Bucky is not truly yours.

Bucky doesn’t miss a beat. You see him tilting his head from your peripherals as you reach for a vase. His smile is softened. “Don’t matter, sweetheart. Might as well treat you like my wife.” His voice is quieter now, less teasing. But sure.

The kitchen and living room are already brimming with the past four days of his affections.

One arrangement graces the coffee table, another stands by the window, and two more are carefully nestled between books on the shelf at the wall to your left. A home suffused with color, with life, with something neither of you dares to call by name.

You feel the warmth of his gaze on you. He doesn’t say anything, standing there relaxed, still with that proud and fond smile on his face, watching you as if he is engraving in his memory the way you fuss over where to place this latest offering.

And maybe you take just a little longer than necessary because if you turn too soon, you’ll have to meet his eyes.

And you don’t know if you can right now.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to look away.

But you know you should. Because this is not real.

But maybe - and this is the hope speaking - it could be someday.

“Imagine someone thinking of you and buying you flowers.”

- sleepyurl

[yeahxsurexokay13]

wrong guy, lando norris

summary: fans think yn is dating max, but they've got the wrong guy [bsf!reader]

been a min since i posted! honestly, these just take me way too long and i usually end up abandoning them because i start hating them halfway through from overthinking lol. hope you enjoy this one though (: xx

y/n.y/l 📍 Ibiza, Spain

Liked by riabish, carlossainz55 and 159.870 others

y/n.y/l we only argued 3 times, cried 2, and got lost 1 (personal record)

view all 579 comments

user9 right so who argued? who cried? and most importantly whO IS THE SHADOW?

user14 can we talk about how u're LITERALLY glowing in that first pic? u look so happy, girl!!

user20 the vibes on this dump… rich people's holidays just hit different.

iamrebeccad ✓ Beautiful girl 😍

y/n.y/l 🫶🏼 miss youu!!

user4 “cried 2 times” is actually impressive ♥︎ by author

user55 lando and max just casually being brothers in the fourth pic 😩❤️

user81 that shot is just *chef’s kiss*!!!! Glad we can always count on this queen for hq content

user63 Okay so I’ve been staring at this shadow pic for like 10 minutes, and I can’t figure it out…

user33 my money’s on max bc that hug pic of them earlier too… feels very coupley.

user63 idk friends to lovers agenda thriving tho

user3 Max and Lando with the face masks are killing me 😂 ♥︎ by author

user6 max or lando? place your bets now. i’m team max but i’ll die on this hill if i'm wrong

user2 which you are, because it’s definitely Lando

user8 guys they’ve literally known each other since forever and go on these friends holidays all the time lmao this is just FRIENDSHIP GOALS. stop romanticising everything!!!

user24 then explain the head kiss?

user8 friendly head kisses???

user24 friendly kisses?? in this economy? be serious. that’s couple behaviour

user12 smells like a third wheel in here…

y/n.y/l sorry, that's just me. i am the third wheel🙋��‍♀️

user13 she really said 'stop shipping me with my best friends' lol

user44 max and lando with the face masks in the water might be my new favourite photo of all time

user16 ngl that's not bad statistics for a week long trip ♥︎ by author

user11 If it’s Max, I’ll cry. If it’s Lando, I’ll cry harder. If it’s neither, I don’t know what I’ll do.

user18 i’ve been following these three for years and i’m still trying to figure out if that last slide is supposed to be romantic or not….? HELP I AM SO CONFUSED

user22 what book is that? i need recommendations!!

y/n.y/l just for the summer!!! LOVED it x

user10 i can’t believe she was so chill about posting thAT LAST PIC!??!! miss y/l!!! SPILL NOW

maxfewtrell ✓ Why are you saying 'we'? Pretty sure you were the one who did all of those

landonorris ✓ classic move, shifting the blame

y/n.y/l @/landonorris @/maxfewtrell the getting lost part was definitely a team effort

user1 I need to go on a trip with friends like this ♥︎ by author

user5 being that close to lando AND max and surviving the friendship without catching feelings was too good to be true let's be honest

pietra.pilao 😍😍

y/n.y/l 💞💞

user7 so when’s the next ‘friends holiday'? asking for a friend (me)

15 August 2024

maxfewtrell ✓

Liked by landonorris, y/n.y/l and 98.982 others

maxfewtrell The real girlfriend reveal, for the record 🫡

👤 pietra.pilao

view all 398 comments

user1 WAIT WHAT

user6 so it really wasn’t Y/n??

pietra.pilao ❤️❤️ ♥︎ by author

user4 omg she's the girl who commented on yn's holiday dump!!!

user3 We owe Max and his gf an apology 😭 She’s stunning, btw

user2 omg u two are so cuteeeeeeee! happy for u max :)

user5 your gf is so pretty 😭😭😭

y/n.y/l P!!!! 💕💕

y/n.y/l you two make a better couple than you and I ever would anyway 😂 ♥︎ by author

user9 WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THIS EARLIER?! we’ve been spiralling for WEEKS

user12 actually he's been saying it from the beginning. we just didn't want to listen 😂😂

user8 max: “here’s my gf. leave me out of y/n’s business”

user12 OK but pietra is STUNNING!! Max, you’ve been hiding her for how long?!

user7 the way he had to clarify this because of us is actually hilarious. sorry, Max.

user11 OMG I feel so dumb now we really had y/n in a whole relationship she wasn’t even in 😭

29 August 2024

y/n.y/l

Liked by oscarpiastri, sophiaaemelia and 289.034 others

y/n.y/l outtakes from ai·bee·thuh

view all 930 comments

user1 AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!?? MYSTERY SOLVED IG

user12 I THINK THIS MIGHT BE THE GREATEST THING TO HAPPEN TO MY FEED THIS YEAR I AM NOT EVEN JOKING

maxfewtrell ✓ So Lando gets the cute video and I get the passed out in the car pic? Playing favourites, I see. Noted.

user8 Max calling out Y/n for favoritism is peak sibling energy

user33 i can't believe we were full on shipping them not even a week ago omg

maxfewtrell ✓ Also, can everyone stop tagging me in that shadow pic now? Like, I’m good, it’s definitely not me 😅 ♥︎ by author

user11 pietra honestly deserves a medal for surviving this holiday with these three omg

user17 GUYS I WAS ALREADY PRETTY SHOCKED AT LANDO'S VIDEO BLOWING A KISS I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I HAD COMING

pietra.pilao Special week 🤍 ♥︎ by author

user81 the lift photo with the McDonald’s bag is so relatable. even on a fancy holiday, you gotta have your nuggets ♥︎ by author

user25 turns out Max wasn't lying when he said y/n wasn’t his headache... lando’s the lucky one 😂

user10 and y/n and pietra? they do ✨besties ✨ better than anyone ♥︎ by author

user19 can we get a ‘whoops, my bad’ from the ppl who saw them in Ibiza and STILL missed the fact that Pietra was there?

user2 they literally had a front row seat to the full gossip and still didn’t catch on !!!!! like hELLO? u had one job

user14 THE SOFT LAUNCH TURNED INTO A HARD LAUNCH REAL QUICK I AM SHOOK

alexandrasaintmleux ✓ Ahhh loveeee 🩷🩷 ♥︎ by author

user26 both boys punching above their weight fr. i said what i said.

francisca.cgomes ✓ ❤️❤️😍 ♥︎ by author

user16 The way Max is sleeping in that last pic has me wheezing ♥︎ by author

user3 lando is literally holding y/n like he’s never letting her go boy is WHIPPED

user29 WE'RE GOING TO SEE "LANDO NORRIS' PARTNER" UNDER YN'S NAME NOW WHEN SHE WATCHES FROM THE GARAGE what a time to be alive

user7 not the way y/n is casually posting a McDonald’s bag in a robe and THEN dropping the most beautiful couple pic with lando

user5 waIT SO THE BOY KISSING HER HEAD IN THE SHADOW PIC WAS LANDO??? WE WERE ALL WRONG. I NEED TO LIE DOWN.

maxfewtrell you know, it truly baffles me how this was barely even considered

y/n.y/l no one believed in me enough to be able to pull f1 race winner lando norris. humbling.

user20 YN I - 😭😭😭😭💀💀

user38 it was a couple’s holiday the whole time 😭😭 I need a moment to recover

user9 this fandom’s clownery knows no bounds istg.........

user21 not me crying over the hard launch of the year when I was just admiring Max’s sleeping face 5 seconds ago

user24 Ibiza really gave us everything: friendship goals, couple goals, and max in a food coma

user18 IT WAS LANDO KISSING HER HEAD. I feel so betrayed by my own theories and also pretty disappointed in myself i couldn't tell it was his shadow

landonorris ✓ I see you saved the best for last 🖤

y/n.y/l ☺️☺️

y/n.y/l omg guys i wasn’t being dry i just don’t know what else to say with all you watching 😭😭

1 September 2024

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yandere Shapeshifter x Reader

AN: I spent the last couple of days going through my drafts. I've fully edited about five of them :D

In the soft glow of twilight, the city looked like it was bleeding light—orange pooling in cracked asphalt, violet bruises swelling against brick walls. The air was thick with late summer heat, pressing against skin like a too-familiar hand. You walked home through the half-lit streets with your shoulders hunched, steps fast and decisive. You didn’t notice the man watching you from the other side of the road. He was tall, with broad shoulders and an indistinct face, half-shadowed beneath the flickering streetlight. He smiled when you passed, though you never saw it.

He’d worn another face yesterday. The barista. The one with the soft brown eyes and lopsided smile, who remembered your order even though you'd never given it more than twice. Before that, he was the man who bumped into you at the library. The girl in your dance class. The old woman on the bus who gripped your wrist too tightly when you offered her your seat. He was no one. He was everyone.

And he loved you.

You were beautiful. Not in the loud, obvious way others were—he hated those kinds of people. Their beauty was showy, performative. Yours was quiet, haunting. Something that sank under his skin and made him ache. You were all softness and edges, warmth and distance, always just out of reach, and it drove him insane.

He didn’t have a name anymore. He’d given it up long ago. Names tied you down, anchored you to one life. He didn’t want that. All he wanted was to be what you needed. Whoever you wanted. Whoever you would let in.

It started small. He made friends with your friends. Slipped into their lives with gentle lies and careful mimicry. He watched the way they spoke to you, the words they used, the nicknames they called you. He repeated them to himself like scripture. He became your classmate, your coworker, the stranger who handed you your dropped wallet and brushed his fingers a little too long against yours.

And you smiled. Just a little. Just enough to make his heart stutter.

He was careful. He could wait. He could change. He had changed so many times already.

You never saw his real form. No one did. Sometimes he forgot it himself. He remembered dark skin, an empty mouth, too many eyes. A body that bent in impossible ways. But he didn’t need that. Not when he could be perfect for you.

You had a crush on your neighbor once—he saw it in the way you lingered at your door, the way your voice softened when you greeted the man across the hall. So he killed him.

Not messily. Not dramatically. A little poison in his tea, a body that disappeared. Then, a week later, the same face moved back in. You never suspected a thing. The new version of your neighbor smiled more, cooked better. Helped carry your groceries.

You were grateful.

And he was patient.

But you didn’t fall for him.

It hurt. You saw him every day, and still your eyes wandered. Still you touched other people, confided in other people. He didn’t understand. Why wasn’t he enough?

One night, he watched you kiss someone else. A gentle kiss, soft and sweet, given to someone who didn’t know you like he did. He watched from the other side of the street, fingers curling into claws he didn’t know he still had. His form flickered—skin bubbling, bones cracking beneath a mask of flesh—and he had to press himself against the wall to keep from changing right then and there.

He killed that person too. Quietly. Efficiently.

The next day, he wore their face.

He touched you the same way, said the same things, but sweeter. Better. More attentive. When you looked confused, he lied. Said he was tired yesterday. Said he wasn’t himself.

He meant it.

And finally, finally, you started to fall. You let him hold you. Let him inside. You cried into his chest one night when things became too much. He held you so tightly he thought he might break your ribs. He wanted to bury himself in your skin. Crawl beneath it. Become you.

But there was still something wrong. He could feel it. Your eyes wandered. You dreamed of people he hadn’t killed yet. You talked about places you wanted to go—places he couldn’t follow. And worse: you talked about being alone.

“You ever think about just... disappearing?” you asked him once, as you lay together in the quiet, your head on his chest. “Going somewhere no one knows you? Starting over?”

He went still beneath you.

“No,” he said softly. “I only want to be where you are.”

You laughed. Not unkindly. But like you didn’t know what you were saying. Like you didn’t know him.

He had to fix it. Had to make you see.

So he started showing up again in other forms. The coworker. The friend. The stranger on the bus. All of them saying the same thing: how wonderful he was. How lucky you were to have him. He wove stories around you like a cocoon. Made it so that no matter where you turned, someone was gently reminding you that this was love. That he was good for you.

You started to believe it. You started to stay.

And still, still it wasn’t enough.

So he showed you a piece of himself. Not all. Just a sliver. One night, when the moon was full and you looked particularly sad, he let his arm shift—just a little. Just enough that you saw his skin shimmer, saw the suggestion of something not quite human beneath.

You recoiled. He didn’t blame you.

“I didn’t want to lie to you,” he whispered. “But I needed you to love me first.”

You didn’t speak to him for days.

It shattered him.

In your absence, he unraveled. Took a thousand forms in the mirror, screaming in voices not his own. The walls of his apartment became a collage of your photos. He slept in your old clothes, curled into your scent like a feral thing. He wore your face and kissed his reflection. He whispered your name into the mouths of strangers he consumed.

When you finally came back—shaking, scared, but curious—he wept.

“I don’t care what you are,” you told him, voice cracking. “Just stop lying to me.”

He swore he would. He swore on whatever name he used to have.

He showed you then. All of it. The writhing truth beneath the masks. The shifting, bleeding, endless change. He thought you might scream. You didn’t. You just cried.

And then you kissed him.

And for a moment, he believed you meant it.

But you didn’t. Not really. You were scared. You were trying to survive.

He could tell.

So now he watches you sleep. Watches the way your mouth twitches in dreams, the way your fingers curl like you’re holding onto something. He wonders if it’s him. He wonders what he has to be for you to love him fully.

He’ll find it. He’ll become it. Whether it’s the friend, the lover, the monster, the god. He’ll wear every face in the world if it means you’ll look at him like you mean it.

He’ll never let you go.

After all…

He’s whoever you want him to be.

Forever.

Masterlist

[vampzity]

1-800-hot & fun | BC

★ DAY TWELVE: PHONE SEX WITH BANGCHAN ★

pairing: best friend! bangchan x f! reader

after a long day of studio work, bangchan just wants to relax. except all he can think about is you. he tries to take care of it, only to get a call from you with complaints about the day you had. little did you know how much your voice turned him on.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+ !!!, smut, drabble, phone sex, masturbation, mentioning of circulation play, reader has no idea what chan’s doing, pet names (baby, babygirl)

word count: 1.4k

Bangchan sighed to himself as he leaned back in his chair, head thrown back with his eyes closed. He held his throbbing cock in his hand, jerking it softly as he scrolled through the countless photos he had of you.

They weren’t anything lewd, in fact it was far from that. Simply normal selfies you took and sent to him for his opinion on which to post.

He was beyond exhausted from today’s work in the studio, just wanting to wind down a bit before he took to the road. Though his mind was racing with sensual thoughts of you and it wouldn’t stop.

You two weren’t together— in fact he wasn’t even sure if you liked him, but he knew one thing for sure. Bangchan had the biggest crush on you, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure if he was being obvious about it, though one may say so with how possessive he was about you when the rest of the boys were around.

He scrolled through every photo of you, landing on a couple of pictures from your modeling gig. You had on light pink lingerie, lace that sat nicely upon your curves. The positions the camera caught you in were vulnerable, unlike anything he’s ever seen before. It was everything he imagined you to be.

Innocent and sexy.

Your doe eyes stared into his as he worked his angry cock, groaning at the thought of your plump lips around his tip. The way it would feel for you to suck him off as cum leaked out of him. How well he would train you to take his size into your mouth, the tears that would run down your cheek from his tip hitting the back of your throat.

He scrolled to the side, seeing a close up of your body in the lace outside. His eyes widened, heart racing as your tits sat nicely in the cupped bra, your cunt making a small pint in the fabric. The way the babydoll casted a slight shadow of your silhouette.

Bangchan was practically in heaven, his hand fastening its pace around his cock. He could feel himself about to burst at any moment, until he felt his phone buzz in his hand. Startled he quickly shoved his member into his pants and answered, clearing his throat to mask his previous situation.

“Hello?”

“Channie! You wouldn’t believe the type of day I’ve been having.”

Chan smiled at hearing your voice, as it’s been a while since you two have talked at all from your mix of busy schedules.

“Hey babygirl, what’s up?”

You scoffed on your side of the phone, rolling your eyes at his personal nickname for you.

“Well I got to the studio for my modeling gig and my coffee just fell!! It tasted perfect too like how upsetting is that,”

He listened to you ramble on, feeling his dick twitch in his pants as his mind started to race with thoughts of you once again. He thought about you in different types of lingerie, imagining how nicely your body must fit into them this time around.

He pulled his member from his pants, his tip leaking as it ached to be touched. He stroked it softly, throwing his head back in pleasure as he tried his best not to be heard.

“And if that wasn’t enough, my makeup is so splotchy. I think i’ll have to redo it too!”

Bangchan tightened his grip on his cock, fastening his strokes as he listened to your complaining whines. He tried his best to focus to what you were saying, but his mind was fogged with dirty thoughts of you. Dirty thoughts of you all over him, of him ripping that little lingerie off of you.

“Mmm, I’m sorry to hear that baby.”

A soft moan escaped him, making him freeze up in hopes that you didn’t hear him.

“Everything ok, Channie? Was it a rough day in the studio?”

He chuckled to himself slightly, his thumb rubbing across his leaky opening. He began stroking his cock again, twisting his hand with the motion.

“Yeah, yeah.” he panted heavily, watching as his cock leaked some more. “But hearing your voice made it better.”

You blushed softly, taking your phone and posing in the mirror. You took a picture of today’s outfit— one of many that you’d be wearing and sent it to Bangchan, eager for his reaction.

“What do you think? Too slutty?”

His jaw practically dropped at seeing you. His ears grew red, feeling as if the room was heating up from seeing you in such an outfit. The black polkadots weren’t nearly enough to cover how see through it was as your nipples still peeked through.

Bangchan stopped himself from groaning outloud, struggling to keep his composure toward you.

“You look beautiful as always.” He leaned over his desk, spotting your hair tie next to his computer.

He grabbed it, closing his eyes as he vowed to never give it back to you again. Especially not after what he was about to do. He placed the hair tie on his cock, a long sigh leaving his lips as it tightened around his length.

“Should model for me, yeah?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” you raised your eyebrow, unaware of what he meant. Chan quickly caught himself, trying to cover up the sultry meaning behind his sentence.

“My company, I mean you should model for my company.”

You laughed, going on a tangent about all the things wrong with his entertainment. As much as he’d like to listen, he just couldn’t. He was too drunk on the thought of you and your body in this newfound picture. Your pussy barely covertly the small piece of fabric, your tits practically spilling out of your bra.

He stroked faster, quicker, not stopping his movement as his cock throbbed in his hand. With every throb, every time it tried to swell, he could feel himself getting closer as your hair tie held him back.

And of course, you were still as oblivious to what was going on.

Bangchan quickly muted himself, setting his phone down as he groaned out in pleasure. His precum drooled down the side of his cock as he thrusted into his hand.

“Fuck, fuck baby.” he admired your picture once more before throwing his head back.

“Gotta cum all over that pretty face of yours one day.”

His groans soon fell into whimpers as he stroked faster. Your hair tie was suffocating him, making it harder for him to hold himself back. He imagined you in his head; thinking of you riding his cock while your tits bounced in front of his eyes.

He imagined how it would feel for your cunt to suffocate his dick in the same way while it pounded your sweet spot. He wondered how your sweet sounds would be, how much you’d beg as his tongue toyed with your swollen clit.

“Fuck, I would stuff you so good.”

That was all it took.

Within seconds his hand was covered in cum, dripping onto the chair as he slowed his strokes. His breath was staggered, heart racing and shaking ad he tried to bring himself back to reality.

“Channie?”

Oh fuck.

He quickly cleaned himself off, picking up the phone to answer you.

“I’m sorry.. I was trying to focus on this track we’ve been working on.”

He heard a small laugh come from the other end of the phone, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion as he tried to figure out what you could be laughing for.

“Yeah, and I bet you didn’t notice you were unmuted either, huh?”

His heart sank and his face flushed red. He froze, unsure of what to say to you as he was beyond embarrassed. You had no idea— maybe not even a thought of Bangchan ever liking you, as you always thought he’d seen you as a close friend.

Funny, since he had thought the same.

“You don’t have to apologize Channie.” you looked at the time on your phone, realizing you had to start your shoot soon.

“Maybe when I’m done here,” You bit your lip, thinking of the lewd sounds you heard coming from his end of the phone.

“I can stop by your place and give you what you want.”

Bangchan instantly agreed, his cock itching at the thought of being able to feel you, be in you. You giggled, sending him a farewell and hanging up the phone. His phone lit up with the precious picture of you in your lingerie, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He was about to see you dressed like this in person, right before his eyes and it would take everything in him not to rip it off of you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: day 12, this is a short one! if you haven’t noticed a change in the masterlist…. i’m planning some bonus days as a thank you to those who showed so much support to my series! :3

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @h4untedgrl @rvereri @scarfac3 @jjongibears @kittykat-25 @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @tiredlittlevirgo @joonezra @honeyhwaaa @evidive @potentialgay @dollywoo @losrpark @motherseonghwa23 @inniesfanblog @stephanieeeyang @galaxy4489 @nickgurl4life @fangirljas929 @desirehorizon @channiesluvrclub @bluesungology @katsukis1wife @unbel1ve4ble

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill the detailed form here!

[tojisun]

I would like to humbly more soup

(The one with detached reader and traumatized Simon that blurb was so tasty and ONLY only if you have the spoons for it ♡)

i have a ladle so have this

they share a cig together; it’s not even from simon. he found it in the drawers in their bedroom, stashed underneath a couple of CD’s that are only encased in paper folders. it’s an old pack with only four sticks left and they’re not even the potent kind, and simon realizes, then, that they have been hidden so carefully.

he purposefully lays them on the kitchen table, after dinner, to watch how she’ll react. it is, after all, still a breach of her privacy; that, sure, she opened her home to him but he knows, all too well, that there are certain corners in every house that are never meant to be prodded — apparitions made from memories live along too, and simon knows to be careful lest he rouses a nightmare from its burrow. he knows. he knows. still, he thinks about what he can coax from her, and chances it with the shadows.

but she just blinks at it, her eyes flicking between simon and the pack, slowly and cat-like, before heaving a sigh and reaching for her lighter in her pockets. simon hums, something low and curling with a quiet wash of disappointment at her impassivity, and moves to take a stick out from the pack, only—

a twitch in her fingers. a slight pause in her movements. a crack in the facade; a blip in her silence.

simon smells the blood in the water and pounces on it with snapping maws. he grins, careful, and utters, “y’don’t like it that i found them.”

he doesn’t need to ask when it is obvious that it is true.

she licks her lips, eyes meeting his, and simon wants to commend the way she was quick to gather her spillage and force it back in her mask, but her hands are still quaking, and her fingertips have turned light with how hard they are pinching the lighter, and simon knows that he’s won this one.

she knows it too. he sees it in the way she takes a ragged breath in; in her continued silence.

“they’re my mom’s.”

her voice doesn’t waver, it doesn’t break. it rings clear, like he just asked her what the weather was and she knows it is raining outside because when does the rain ever stop? but she is no longer looking at him, and simon—

he knows enough about the apparitions made from memories and pulls his hand away.

“i see.”

simon wonders if it’ll look too much like he’s licking the wound of his shame if he offers his pack instead, but in the silence of his words, as his own memories unfurl like miasma, she lights up one.

he devours the image she makes — the quiet ember flickering across her face, now smoothed off any storm — when she takes a puff. he doesn’t look away even when she passes the stick to him; doesn’t look away even when it is his turn to breathe it in, and for his patience, he is rewarded the sweet image of the smoke spilling from her lips as she collapses back to her seat with a soft upturning of her lips.

and, somehow, the night isn’t over even when they’ve finished the pack.

simon knows that this is the true victory.

[cod-indulgences]

Simon Riley x female!reader, neighbor!Simon, cheating, revenge fucking, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, oral, fingering

Your boyfriend was a jerk. Your ex boyfriend, now, since you'd found him balls deep in your best friend in your bed. The bed you'd paid for, supporting him while he worked to "network" and "make connections."

You hadn't even said anything, just shut the door on them and left. Now you were sobbing in the stairwell, feeling like a loser, stupid, how did you not see it? How did this slip past you?

A big, black-gloved hand dangles in front of you, a white handkerchief waving. You take it and sniffle.

The owner of the hand and handkerchief sits next to you. Your neighbor, mostly glimpsed as he rounded a corner, the edge of his huge shoulders blocking the light through a doorway for a moment as he left. You'd joked about him being the apartment cryptid.

Right now he's realer than anything else, a silent black shadow in jeans, hoodie, balaclava. You blow your nose. Gross.

He tilts toward you a little, and you answer, "my boyfriend. And best friend." He nods, and leans in, letting you rest your head against his shoulder. You sniffle. "I just- I should have seen it, she's always wanted what she can't have, he's never happy with me, I just..." A couple more tears leak down your cheeks. "I feel so stupid. And so angry, about feeling stupid! He's cheating! I shouldn't feel bad!"

Cryptid neighbor is silent still, but not like he's bored. He's just thinking it over, and you have time to blow your nose again and wipe your eyes before he speaks.

"They're at your place now?"

"mmhm. Fucking in my bed."

"Pretty girls shouldn't cry over guys like that," he offers, and you gape at him. Worn out work scrubs and face all mottled and swollen, he's calling you pretty? He's just seen you blow snot into his handkerchief, twice.

He looks down at you, dark brown eyes under pale lashes, the end of a scar visible through the eye-slit of the balaclava. The skull print is old and faded, soft, like he's on vacation from whatever scary job keeps him gone for weeks.

"Want to get revenge?"

".....sure."

-

He's got you folded in half, knees to your chest, and his cock is so big and hard, so deep in your belly, that you're losing your mind. You've never been fucked like this, never come on someone's hands and tongue so easily.

You make sure to be as loud as possible telling him how good it is, how big his cock is, stretching out your pussy until it'll never get back. You'll be gaping open for him, pussy drooling, begging for him to come back and let you keep him warm. You'd do anything for another chance at this cock and the man attached to it.

He'd made you ride his face first- made you, held you down with those huge hands and mask shoved up to his nose, kept your pussy on his mouth until you sobbed and begged for a break, and then he'd rolled you off and shoved two fingers into your pussy. Thick fingers, a thumb merciless on your clit, already sucked hard and throbbing, you came in seconds. That was the third orgasm.

A fourth, on three fingers, aching when he stretched you open, finding your g-spot and hammering it until you sobbed and squirted down his wrist. He'd fucking licked his hand clean, and you'd moaned at the sight, thighs open and your body thrumming with pleasure.

And now, knees up in what you knew was called the mating press, rearranging your guts and making you scream. Fuck, so fucking good, deep and heavy, his cockhead bouncing off your cervix as he bottoms out. Your mind is a liquid mess, you don't even need him to touch your clit, you're just coming for him over and over, waves of it crashing through you.

He pulls out and puts you on your belly, lifts your ass up to fuck back into you, and spanks you, making your ass cheek bounce. You clamp down and squirt a little again, and he goes again, fucking into you and spanking you on each thrust, slick and precome dripping on the bed, that's banging so hard against the wall the windows rattle.

You're still louder.

"Fuck, fuck please, please yes aaah, fuck! So good, so fucking, Simon, Simon please, again- ah! Again! More, again, don't stop, God please don't stop, I'm coming, coming, Simon fuuuuu k~!!" Your tongue hangs out, drooling, limp as you're fucked blind into the mattress. Each spank lights you up and sends you over, so oversensitive it's a continuous wave, and when he finally, fucking finally, groans and grinds deep into you, pouring hot come into your belly, you quiver and melt down, overcooked, blown out. You're vaguely aware of Simon moving you to lie on your side, cradled against him, a soft cloth wiping off your thighs. Gentle hands sooth the heat on your ass, caressing up and down your back, and you feel him kiss your forehead through the mask, softly.

It's the most special, most treasured you'd never felt with your boyfriend, and you wrap your noodly arms around him and cuddle close.

He rumbles in your ear, "Think we got the message across?"

You consider the way the wall is dented and how your screaming left your throat hoarse. How the apartment layouts mean Simon's room is directly opposite yours, with a shared wall, too thin for what you pay in rent.

".....not sure. Might have to try again in the morning."

-

You do try again in the morning, actually- you had no idea you could be so loud with a cock down your throat, but then Simon is a very determined person, just like you.

[yzur02]

Superman is asked in an interview if he walks around without his costume in the streets, he says yes, that he has perfected the way to disguise has a regular human, they ask for an example of one of his costumes so he grabs a black jacket and puts it on before slouching, warping himself in his cape and using his fingers to make little ears*

Superman (in grave voice): "I'm the night. *stretching the i* people think I live in the shadows, but I'M the shadows. I'm Batman *this continues for a couple of minutes, after that, the interview ends without problems*

...

Next morning all signs of Superman in Metropolis have been vandalized, either by painting bats as moustaches or by painting Batman's suit and cowl over Clark's faces

Later, he realizes all his suits have been replaced with Bat-suits bought from a Halloween costume shop, the Planet's windows were covered with photos of Batman and his kids wearing the suits they stole (plus masks), the internet is full of Superman memes and there's a viral video of Batman seemingly flying like Superman, in Superman's suit, while still wearing the Bat-cowl, only for the image to pull back and show Batman strapped to the Bat-mobile's roof, that's being driven by Spoiler, who is cackling like an Arkham inmate.

[athenalvss]

TOMORROW? ( Bruce wayne! )

requested!

summary: On his first patrol as Robin, Dick can't keep his mouth shut and tries to set his mentor up with Detective Gordon's assistant, but there are things the boy doesn't know.

pairing: Bruce wayne x fem reader

open request - dc masterlist

The rain was barely felt from the roof of the building, but the lights of Gotham City flickered as if they were also afraid. You adjusted your coat, watching the Bat-signal projected onto the clouds. Gordon hadn't arrived yet, but you were there, as always, ready.

You didn't wait long for it to arrive.

The dark figure emerged from the edge of the building without a sound. Imposing, wrapped in his black cape, Batman strode toward you with a presence that commanded even without saying a word.

You'd been working for the police department for almost three years, Commissioner Gordon's right-hand man since he handpicked you for the position. You were no ordinary officer. Your reports were accurate, your deductions sharp, and, most importantly, you weren't intimidated by the city... or the shadows that loomed over it.

That was one of the reasons Batman started trusting you.

At first, there were only short, dry exchanges. He wasn't exactly the life of the party. But over time, the conversations lengthened. There was a silent understanding between you. Gordon had even started sending you in his place to some meetings with the Dark Knight, fully trusting your judgment.

And that night was one of those.

You didn't have to wait long until he appeared.

The dark figure emerged from the edge of the building without a sound. Imposing, wrapped in his black cape, Batman walked toward you with a presence that commanded even without saying a word.

"At time as always" you said with a slight smile, breaking the silence as if it were an old habit among you. "Gordon's stuck in a scene across town. He asked me to deliver this to you."

You handed him an envelope. It was open, revealing a deck of poker cards inside: two hearts, two Jacks, and a two, all stained with red ink.

Batman watched them closely. "Did this arrive today?"

"Earlier today, it was left at the station, addressed to you, and I dared to open it early."

"Cards, games. Could be Nigma or Two Face," he murmured, running his fingers over the ace.

"I thought the same thing. But there's no message, no threat. Just the letters."

I was about to make another observation when something landed with a thud on the roof of the parked patrol car. You instinctively turned, hand near your gun. But the one who appeared on top of the vehicle wasn't a threat. Or at least, not yet.

A teenager, or barely more. His black hair was tangled, his mask was worn, and his shiny suit stood in stark contrast to the darkness of Gotham City. He slid to the ground with an agility that reminded you of a circus acrobat.

"Am I interrupting something?! Are you receiving love letters at work?" he asked with a smile, his voice young and clear.

"And you are...?" you asked, eyebrows raised.

The boy stood proudly in front of you. "I'm Robin. First official night. Impressive, huh?"

"Robin," Batman chimed in with a small sigh. "She works with Gordon."

"Oh," Robin looked at you more closely. "Nice to meet you. I thought you'd be more... I don't know, old."

"Thanks... I think"

"one more question, I mean, ummm, are you single?"

Silence fell like a bomb. Batman turned slowly toward him, his jaw tense.

You raised an eyebrow, not moving. “Pardon?”

"I mean Br... Batman" Robin clarified, awkwardly jerking his thumb. "He's always alone, you're so cool, you know about crime... you two have chemistry. Just connecting the dots."

Batman turned to him very slowly. He said nothing. But that silence was worth a hundred warnings. "Robin," he finally murmured.

—What?! I'm just saying you two could make a great couple, you could solve crimes together all the time.

You crossed your arms and looked at the horizon, pretending to hold back a smile.

"Watch the perimeter, now," Batman ordered without raising his voice.

"Okay, okay, I'm going now," Robin spoke in a tone of resignation at the rejection of both adults to his great idea, and went jumping across the roofs.

"You didn't tell me he was so cute..." You turned to him, with a smile that was barely noticeable, but that shone in your eyes.

Batman barely turned his head, the shadow of a smile crossing his face, fleeting like everything that isn't made to last. "I wanted you to meet him for yourself."

In the distance, a small figure peeked out from behind a water tank. Robin. Peeking out with an expression somewhere between curiosity and confusion.

"He's watching us," you murmured, not moving.

"I know, I trained him" he replied calmly.

You adjusted your coat and spoke without looking at him: "Same place tomorrow for lunch?"

"If you make it in time this time," he replied, still maintaining his neutral tone, although his eyes shone a second brighter than usual.

"This time you won't have to wait for me"

"We'll see, I can call Alfred to pick you up."

Your smile barely grew, showing a hint of indignation. "See you tomorrow, bats, be careful please."

And you walked away into the shadows, letting him watch you as you went down the stairs to enter the station again.

[trans-emet-selch]

I have always found it interesting that the WoL refers to Emet-Selch as not Emet-Selch but as Hades.

Sure, the journal entry is named Emet-Selch. But the first thing written there is that his true name was Hades. You also see this when you describe him to the Minstrel for his extreme trial.

Additionally, the description of the trial alludes to this as well. As when we talk about those we have faced in the First. We talk and refer to him as Hades. Which is also written similarly to the journal. Both of which were described/written by the WoL.

"Hearken unto a requiem for a hero fallen. A man who lived a thousand thousand of our lives clinging desperately to faint hope, never shirking his sworn duty to his long-lost brethren. A man who stood proud and did avow his true name on the threshold of the battle that would see him fall to his rival—the light to quench his shadow. Borrowing liberally from the funereal rites of the Night's Blessed, the minstreling wanderer weaves an elegy in that hero's honor—the tragic-yet-triumphant tale of a man and a battle that ne'er shall be forgotten."

You can also see this in the quest dialogue and while we cannot know the exact words the WoL used (as it is your own intrepretation of it) it is still clear that the WoL didn't refer to Emet-Selch as Emet-Selch they call him Hades.

For the WoL, this is about honoring the man who held steadfast to his ideas. Who fought for his loved ones just as much as the WoL does. Not the Ascian Emet-Selch. To honor and remember Hades as he once lived.

There is however, the matter brought up by the Minstrel: Why did Emet-Selch reveal his name to the Wol?

We do have a simple meta reason why: Hades is a recurring Summon across the Final Fantasy games. Using the name Hades is just natural to do so.

However, let's look at this from an in-lore perspective as well. For which we can look to what he says and speculate.

In the quest, Return to Eulmore, before leaving to Wright you can question Emet-Selch over the information he gives in the cutscene before. Revealing to us that Emet-Selch, along with the rest of the ascians encountered, is merely a title inherited. Their true names are hidden to take up the name and position of their seat.

You can, upon hearing this, ask him for his true name:

His reply to this is rather interesting:

There are a couple of things to note from his response. Firstly, he doesn't outright dismiss telling you his name, only says that eventually he'll reveal it. Of course, this hinges upon you living through your trials in putting down the Lightwardens and containing the light within, or simply dying from other matters.

But this would be disappointing for him. This dialogue ties into what he proposes to you later in The View From Above. To stand with him as allies. He doesn't propose this to the rest of the Scions, just the WoL. He dangles these threads because he wants them to reach back as Azem would. The WoL dying would be disappointing, and he would have to begin his search anew for Azem's soul.

We don't know if Emet-Selch has encountered Azem's shards before the WoL. Maybe he had or maybe he didn't. But it wouldn't change the fact that the WoL's death would have him searching again.

Even as he hurls insults upon the WoL for once more disappointing him, that is still Azem's soul in there. After all, his invitation to seek him out in the Tempest allows you to die with dignity. Everything he ever does is not let himself be alone and reach out to an old friend.

He wants someone else to remember it all. Who is more worthy of remembering it all than Azem?

Emet-Selch is a man of many masks. It is true, and his emotions are ever cloaked, but there are ever glimpses of them throughout Shadowbringers. Especially if it's Azem's soul prodding at him to reveal the layers underneath.

So in his final confrontation, when either the WoL dies or he, wouldn't it not be disappointing to leave the question of who the man underneath is all truly is? Perhaps even this even the last-ditch attempt to have the bearer of Azem's soul remember before either of you dies.

Emet-Selch yearns for his old friend to come back to him and remember. Just as much as he wishes shoulder the burden of remembering all of those that lived before. The WoL bears that last wish and remembers the man who fought for it all underneath as Hades. A man who once lived.

[ageingfangirl2]

Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 2: MAIL SERVICE WITH A SMILE

ONE THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN

A week has passed since you first started working for Bonten. It was safe to say this wasn't your regular 9-5 office job, and the people you worked for were ‘rumoured’ criminals, but as long as you got paid and did your job, that’s all that mattered to you. Your last receptionist job had been pretty shitty, no one acknowledged you unless they had a complaint or some post that needed sending, so you kept to yourself and got by without so much as a smile or pleasant greeting in the morning. If they were going to ignore you, you could ignore them back.

But working for Bonten seemed like a fresh slate, a new start, and you were going to make a good impression every morning, even if they were a ‘rumoured’ criminal organistaion you wanted to bring some normality to the whole situation. 

The week had flown by, and you were looking forward to having the weekend off, but today you had a bunch of mail that needed handing out, and you were going to do it with your friendly smile.

Manjiro Sano was the first into the office, which was a rare occurrence since he usually showed up a couple of hours after everyone else, did some work, delegated tasks and took a nap for the rest of the day. You pick up the parcel that had been delivered to him and smile brightly, ‘Good morning, sir, I have a package for you.’

He barely reacts at first. He walks in like a ghost - unreadable, silent. He pauses for a heartbeat as you hold out the package to him, takes the package from you without a single word uttered. The next day, the same thing. By the fifth time, he gives you the tiniest of nods. That’s a breakthrough, and it made you feel good.

If Manjiro was in the office, he would be swiftly followed by his shadow, Haruchiyo Sanzu, but unlike Mikey, Sanzu acknowledged you when you held out his post to him with an unwavering smile, ‘These came for you.’

He bursts out laughing the first time, ‘What the hell is this? Mail delivery service now?’ he takes the envelopes and leans in close and asks, ‘You know who you’re smiling at, sweetheart?’

You simply nod, and he walks off laughing to himself. He’s kind of low-key obsessed at how you were able to keep your smile around him despite everything he’s ‘alleged’ to have done.. The next time mail arrives, he shows up grinning ear to ear, ‘Where’s my fan mail, huh?’

The Haitani brothers were two completely different personalities. Ran was amused and skeptical, smirking when you greeted him holding a letter. He simply leans on your desk and teases you, ‘You always this nice, or only to criminals?’ you laugh it off, ‘only when it pays my bills.’

Ran tries to make you slip up, drop your friendly mask, but it never slips, and he is resigned to the fact that you were going to be a tough cookie to crack. His brother, on the other hand, Rindou, well he was awkward, didn’t know how to respond. He simply takes the mail and utters a quiet thank you on the first day, avoiding eye contact at all costs. After a while, though, you slowly start to notice him arriving early so he can enjoy the way you say good morning to him with a smile. You made him feel normal for a criminal, and he kind of liked that.

Kakucho was a sweetie, Polite, reserved. He nods and accepts the mail with a quiet ‘Thanks.’ He’s wary, but he can tell she’s genuine. She starts remembering small things — like his preferred coffee or that he doesn't like loud noises. He respects her calm and starts trusting her a little faster than the others. You saw him like a puppy dog, scary, but would happily roll over on his belly to get his tummy rubbed. Out of all of the members, you felt more comfortable with him, and if you had any future issues, he’d probably be the one you went to for sound advice and a quiet shoulder to lean on.

Hajime Kokonoi, the one who hired you and gave you the lovely flowers that you kept alive as long as you could, looks you up and down suspiciously the first time you hand him his mail already organised with a friendly greeting. He’s used to manipulation, so your kindness does throw him off, even though he had a feeling you would be like this during the hiring process. 

If there was one word he used to describe you, it would be consistent. And soon after, he starts dropping off his invoices and banking letters without comment, almost like you’re becoming part of the system he depends on. It also helped that you were one of the few people in the office who took organising seriously.

Takeomi Akashi was annoyed at first. ‘This isn’t a damn law office.’ he huffed and took his mail like it personally insulted him, even though mail had done nothing to him. But you are stubbornly nice; your smile could warm the coldest of hearts, and he felt his starting to thaw after a long time of being frozen. Eventually, he sighs and starts grumbling back at her greetings like an old man — ‘Yeah, yeah, good morning, whatever.’ It becomes their little routine. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but you quickly become the main reason he makes an effort to come into the office. You were a ray of light in the darkness that was Bonten, and he liked the fact that you seemingly kept him grounded in the real world.

Kanji Mochizuki, or Mochi as he asked you to call him, thinks you are hilarious. ‘You’re way too sweet for this place, you know that?’ He tries joking with you or even startling you when you’re focused on the computer screen, but you never flinch in his presence. Over time, he gets weirdly protective — doesn’t like seeing her stressed or upset. If anyone yells at her, he steps in, and he makes sure to keep an eye on those sneaky Haitani brothers and even Sanzu because he doesn’t want anyone scaring you off. This place needs you, and he will become your shadow if that’s what it takes.

[shotmrmiller]

When Johnny takes Simon to his home, and you open the door, Simon's heart stops beating. You direct that lovely smile he's fallen in love with at Johnny as you hug him and usher him inside. Simon's frozen in place, his body refusing to move, because gods, you're a fucking dream.

And then you turn your attention towards him, with ruddy cheeks and pink lips and a delicate neck he could easily wrap his hand around—

"You must be Simon!" and his cock starts to stir. All you said was his name, in that angelic voice of yours, and his blood started to rush to his groin.

When you move to wrap your arms around him in an embrace, he finally breaks from his trance and returns it. Barely. It's awkward— one arm coming up to inelegantly pat your upper back a little too hard, and the other stiff at his side. But you seem completely unbothered, just giving him one last squeeze and step back, holding both of his arms in your dainty hands, and you say, "It's great to meet the one that keeps my Johnny safe. Now, come on in, make yourself at home!"

Simon timidly walks inside, and closes the door behind him, and utters, "Thank you for lettin' me stay here."

The joyful laughter you let out sends exquisite prickles up his spine. "He actually speaks! I'm surprised, Johnny said it took a bit for you to warm up to others," and you give another stomach-fluttering giggle. "You're welcome here any time, Simon. Now let me take you to the room you'll be staying in."

Simon has to carry his duffle bag in front of him as you lead him to the guest room to cover the throbbing erection he's got. When you leave him to freshen up, he wastes no time in pulling his jeans down and taking himself in his hand, stroking firmly. When his imagination paints a picture of you wearing an apron while cooking a meal for him, his vision blurs as he climaxes.

--

Simon knows he's atypical. He has no real decorum. He tells piss-poor dark jokes, inadvertently stares at people when he's lost in thought— and since he's been here, Simon likes to shadow you.

But you don't seem to mind any of it. You laugh at his jokes, the ones Johnny never fails to scoff in disgust at, you tilt your head innocently towards him, silently questioning his intense gaze — and it's so fucking adorable that he's come to that look 8 times in the last 3 days— and you always ask him to reach for things that are out of your reach because you know he's around. (Johnny made a joke once, said that you're being haunted by a ghost, and the quip you replied with as you came to his defense had him dizzy.)

His favorite thing about you though, is how unafraid you are of him. You had rounded a corner and saw his skull mask for the first time, and had you been like any other woman, you would've been startled. But you hadn't been— If anything, you asked him if he wanted it fixed.

"I can see a couple of tears here, Simon. I can patch it up if you like."

It was so deliciously domiciliary that he counted each stitch of his mended mask with his thumb as he touched himself that night.

And then, through the thin walls of the home, he suddenly heard your dulcet moans. He quickly got up and put his skills to use— silently crossing the living room and leaning against the wall closest to your bedroom door.

The bed repeatedly creaked and every choked moan that left you, Simon heard clearly. He hastily took out his achingly hard cock, spit on his palm, and stroked himself to the rhythm of the slapping of skin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fucked himself to the thought of him being the one in there with you.

He has no doubt that you'd feel heavenly. Your slick cunt swallowing his turgid length, walls almost painfully tight around him. You'd beg for him to hammer into you, relentlessly, mercilessly. You'd tell him to bite the crook of your shoulder once you were about to come around his cock, and when he actually hears you reach your peak, he rhythmically tightens and loosens his grip, imitating your fluttering walls. His toes are curling inside his socks, he's so bloody close—

And then Simon hears your lascivious voice murmur, "Come in me."

He bites his lip so hard it splits under the pressure as he comes. Tiny, hushed whimpers seeped from behind his mouth, as hot cum spilled onto his fingers, and trickled onto the floor.

The only noise Simon can hear now is his own shaky breath— the fun's over on both sides, it seems. He looks down, gives his softening cock one more stroke, wringing out the last of his seed, before tucking himself away, and sluggishly wiping his mess off the floor with his foot.

He quietly moves, heading back to his room, when he spots your laundry basket in the utility room.

Simon has never believed in luck until now when he's sniffing your knickers in the privacy of the guest room, and he realizes they've been worn. And by how strong the smell of you is, they've been used very recently. He felt like he won the goddamn lottery.

Wrapping it around his cock, he touches himself. Again. And when he comes, he makes sure to spurt his cum directly onto the gusset of the undergarment.

Come morning, when they're all stiff and crusted, he laments that he didn't lick them first, in a pitiful bid to experience a taste of you, before stowing them into a secret compartment in his bag. He makes a mental note to remember to do just that when he takes another pair.

Simon wordlessly makes a cup of tea later, hissing as the hot liquid comes in contact with the small wound on his lip, when Johnny approaches him.

"Mornin' LT."

A grunt is his only reply.

Johnny then shoots him a sly grin.

"Last night, ye weren't as wheesht, as quiet, as ye thought. But dinnae worry, Bonnie doesn't ken a thing."

He claps a hand on Simon's petrified shoulders. "If ye wanted a slice of the cake, ye could've just asked. I dinnae mind sharin'."

Simon gives him a borderline-demented look, puts his tea down on the counter, and clears his throat.

"When?"

[baby-yongbok]

Partition

Kim Seungmin x afab!Reader

⤷ Smut - dom!Seungmin x sub!Reader [MDNI]

⤷ WC - 1.4k

⤷ CW - public tension, car sex, possessiveness, power play, creampie, unprotected sex, fingering (f.rec)

 Every spotlight has a shadow. You two just happen to fuck in it.

⤷ Partition by Beyonce + This Seungmin from the Chaumet event that lives in my mind rent free... yeah... anyway, enjoy! + reader is depicted as chubby/plus size and is a POC ♡ [i didn't proof read this one bit..haha]

⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

The gala ended with a standing ovation. You smiled like you meant it, fingers wrapped around Seungmin’s arm like a perfect, polished accessory. His hand on your waist was steady, his jaw sharp under soft lighting, not a hair out of place.

You’d kissed cheeks, waved politely, complimented outfits you’d mentally berated. You played the part. Both of you did. Seungmin smiles, starts engaging conversations and listening with bright and perfect smiles.

 And maybe that’s what gnaws at you most - how good he is at it. How he can charm the room and still ignore the way your thighs press together under the table. You wanted to ruin that mask, even if just a crack. You wanted to remind him - remind yourself - what happens when the curtain falls.

You can already feel the tension in his fingers where they rest on your waist - just the faintest tremble. Like he’s holding something back. Like if you press even slightly, he’ll crack down the middle and take you with him.

You test the theory.

Under the table - when the cameras weren’t looking - you let your fingers drift up the inside of his thigh, just enough to make his fork freeze mid-cut. Just enough to make him turn his head slowly toward you with a look that promised you’d regret it.

And now?

Now you were in the back of a black car, sealed away from the flashing lights trying to capture the slightest slip up. The city lights flashing across the tinted windows is all that witnesses you now as Seungmin presses the sleek black button next to him. The partition slides up with a smooth click, concealing you.

You left the venue five minutes ago, that’s five minutes of your mask as the prim and proper ‘it’ couple being tucked away, but Seungmin still hasn’t spoken.

Not until you reached for his tie, playful, half-drunk on boldness.

That’s when his hand caught your wrist.

Hard.

"You play too much, you know that?” he says, voice a low growl that sounded like it came from somewhere deep in his chest. “You love starting things that you can never finish.”

You barely have time to process the change in him before he’s tugging you into his lap, dress riding up your thighs, panties soaked and sticking. His hands are rough, not like the Seungmin the world knows - these aren't careful touches. They’re claims.

“Was that the plan? Get me worked up in front of everyone just so I’d lose it the second we were alone?” he mutters, lips brushing your ear as he pulls your hips flush to his. 

“You didn’t lose it,” you breathe.

He chuckles. Dark. Dangerous. “No. But I will.”

He’s quick, your back hits the leather seat with a shift that has him hovering over your buzzing body. He doesn’t undress you - just shoves your dress higher and hooks your panties to the side. The cool air hits your soaked cunt and you keen. That makes him smile. The type of smile that means trouble.

“You’re soaked,” he says, almost amused. “You get off on being watched, baby?”

His fingers slide through your folds like he’d done it a thousand times, precise and merciless. You moan, try to reach for him - he doesn’t like that.

Seungmin grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, “Look in the mirror.”

“What?”

He nods at the small black mirror above the partition window. “That’s what I see when I look at you. That’s what they’d see, too, if I opened this window.”

You whimper.

“I said look.”

You obey.

And what you see is a version of yourself that only he awakens - makeup smudged, mouth open, thighs spread. Seungmin’s hand teasing where you drip for him while he whispers filth against your skin.

“You think you’re in control when you tease me,” his teeth graze your collarbone. “But look at you now. Dripping all over my hand just because I told you to.” He slips two fingers in, sinking them deep before curling them right where he knows it melts you. 

“Where’s that bold attitude now, baby? Where’d my brave girl go?” He pumps his fingers deep, fast, hitting your sweet spot and then some until your panting, gasping - begging.

“Please,” You don’t even know what you’re asking for.

He pulls his fingers out. You almost sob.

“You want it?” he asked, voice suddenly cool again. “Then earn it.”

He unzips his pants, letting his cock spring free - long, flushed, leaking at the tip. And fuck, the look in his eyes - feral and focused. It makes you ache. He shifts, takes your hand, guiding you to hover over him and sink down without hesitation. You sink down slowly, the stretch making you tremble and whine.

“Fuck, yes,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Just like that, baby. Take it.”

His hands grip your waist, controlling the pace, the depth, you. When you try to speed up, he holds you still. When you try to slow down, he bucks up hard, making you cry out. 

“You feel what I let you,” he pants, his voice broken with heavy breath. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your cunt drips, swallowing him whole and clenching with each and every ragged drag of his cock. Seungmin leans forward, his lips press against the exposed skin of your neck messily, it’s all tongue and teeth, nipping and soothing over and over. 

“Is this what you wanted so badly?” his words break with pleasure and you answer with a moan, you’re sure the driver heard you. “Wanted to feel me in your fucking stomach? Fucking that pretty polite smile off your face.”

Your nails sink into his shoulders, holding you steady while your head spins with all he’s giving. Your breath feels thin, your crash building higher and higher low in your stomach until you feel it start to sway. Seungmin notices. 

He snaps his hips up, making sure that you know what this is - punishment, a display of control, his control.

“Please, please,” this time you’re asking for release. Permission to shatter in his arms. “Seungmin, please.”

He pulls back, eyes on your and one of your hands moves up to his neck. One of his hands moves to cup your cheek, steering your lips to his in a kiss too tender for the moment you're wrapped in. 

“Do it.” he mumbles, “I’ll do it with you, cum, baby.”

You tremble around him with a scream muffled against his shoulder, body quaking and cunt fluttering with a gush that’s matched with his flood. He spills into you with a low, guttural groan, burying his face in your neck, hips jerking through it. Then silence.

Only your ragged breaths. Your heartbeat in your ears. And then he feels the car stop, you’re at the next venue, the afterparty.

Seungmin doesn’t speak, just a kiss to your forehead while he pulls out, a gentle squeeze to your hip while he helps you pull your panties into place, keeping his load from leaking, for now.  He straightens your dress and then he fixes himself - silent, controlled, masking slipping back into place, like you hadn’t just ridden him like a madwoman in the back of a moving car.

He adjusts his cuffs. Smooths back his hair. Then wipes your ruined lipstick off with his thumb.

“Smile when we get out,” he says casually. “Don’t let them know you just came all over my cock.”

And with that, the partition slides back down.

Seungmin gives the driver the green light.

And he sounds the part - perfect and composed. As if he hadn’t just ruined you behind the glass.

You step out first, heels steady despite the aftershocks still rippling through your thighs. Seungmin follows, hand on the small of your back like a man who owns everything he touches.

The crowd roars. The lights blind.

You smile like nothing happened.

Like he isn’t still inside you, seeping into the cotton of your panties.

His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow, deliberate. A warning masked as affection.

No one sees the way his touch lingers, like a silent reminder.

No one hears him murmur under his breath, lips not moving:

“Next time you tease me in public, I won’t wait for the car.”

And just like that, the cameras capture perfection.

Not the mess just beneath.

The perfect couple.

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[starw0man]

Astro observations

☯︎ People with Saturn ruling their 3rd, 7th, and 11th houses could experience someone else trying to control their communication or ways of expressing themselves. It might feel like you need to break free from power and social structures that are preventing you from being who you fully are

☯︎ Lunar dominant women and Saturn dominant men are one of the best couple pairings. It reminds me of sailor moon and tuxedo mask man.

☯︎ Venus sextile Jupiter and Venus-Jupiter conjunction represents wife coming from a religious/spiritual family

☯︎ 9H placements are likely to be born into religious or scholarly families who value laws and institutions a lot

☯︎ 8H synastry can represent a deep level of intimacy and trust. It can also represent knowing each other’s shadow self and sharing each other’s secrets

☯︎ Having a 9H Saturn can represent a strict father or it can signal a father who has different religious and philosophical beliefs

☯︎ Virgo risings can deal with a lot of anxiety and stomach issues. They might struggle with self-criticism when it comes to their personality and expressing themselves to others

☯︎ Virgo moons are also prone to anxiety, stomach issues, and perfectionism. They can also struggle with self-criticism, especially pertaining to their emotions

☯︎ Having a malefic planet in your 12H (mars, Saturn, Ketu, or Rahu) can negatively impact your sleep and make it hard for you to fall or stay asleep, or you could have nightmares

☯︎ People with mars in the 9th house are likely to have a daddy kink, while those with mars in the 4th house are likely to have a mommy kink.

☯︎ People with Venus in the 4th house might like to be the mommy and those with Venus in the 9th house or in Capricorn, Aries, or Sagittarius might prefer to be the daddy

☯︎ Let me know if you want more astrology observations from the sidereal perspective because that’s what I focus on. Also, check out my Patreon (@starw0man4) where I make daily astrological posts, I do weekly tarot and oracle pulls, I analyze celebrity birth charts, and talk about Hellenic polytheism