#what IS it. why is it THERE. why does it SLAP

[baepsays]

cw: fluff, mention of wife a lot, fem reader.

Broody husband Sukuna, who always looks like he does not want to be there when he's beside you. He's scoffing, looking away, hand in his pockets, murmuring things to himself—probably cursing, people think—and showing no displays of affection towards you. No one has ever seen him kiss you, even on the forehead or your cheeks.

So everyone assumes there's tension in your marriage. That probably he is one of those husbands who casually joke about hating their wives like it's the most normal thing ever. Or that he is probably cheating on you with someone. Because why else would he act like being around his own wife would incinerate him?

What they probably don't notice is his fumbling hands, trying to discreetly and smoothly land on your shoulder or waist while you two are walking together. And he accidentally slaps his hand into a random pedestrian's face. Or when he is standing behind you at some random party your neighbors invited you to, and he is looking at you all awestruck, not listening to whatever the fuck his annoying white-haired neighbor is yapping about. One too many times when you two are taking a walk at the park, he has attempted to hold your hands and then backed away and pretended like he was checking his nails or something. Let's say he is sitting beside you on a couch, and you are talking to your friends, and he goes to put his arms around you, and then when you lean back into the sofa, he is suddenly stretching his arms.

It is all very silly. How whipped he is for his wife when he looks like he could not be bothered with anything to care about shit. The funniest part is that you are aware of it all, what people think, and his little attempts at trying to be more affectionate in public and failing miserably. You intentionally freeze up when you notice them so he would not get scared off. But it is also extremely hilarious when he frowns, gets all grumpy, and sulks the rest of the time when he fails to be more husbandly to you in public.

Because he also hears stuff, and he does not like it. If it were in his power, he would kiss the shit out of you in front of the entire world. But he is just a very big guy who happens to be a very big loser for his wife. 

FIND MORE OF MY WORKS HERE

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune

inspired by azeez's matz. aka hongjoon being a loser around seonghwa. what is hongjoon doing? ... he's doing his best. ):c

[darkbluekies]

Countryside getaway

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: Silas has decided that the two of you should spend some time together, far away from his world, and you get to experience each other's real sides. No fear, no worries.

Warnings: mentions of crimes, mentions of murder, Silas dirty minded humor, but overall a softer oneshot

Word count: 2.3k

No one knows where you're going. Not even you. He has one hand on the steeringwheel, the other one holds your thigh. 

He's wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the tattoos on his arms.

“Keep your eyes on the road, map reader, or we'll never get there”, Silas says, giving you a teasing look.

“You have a GPS”, you mutter and turn your head more comfortably against the pillow.

“My GPS does not have your voice.”

“I don't even know where we're going.”

“You don't have to. Just read the directions.”

“How much further do we have to go? We've been sitting here for hours …”

“I did not know I had brought a child with me. I've planned something romantic and you're just complaining.” He caresses your thigh with his thumb, chuckling. “One more hour, little thing. That good enough for you?”

You groan and hide your face in the pillow and he laughs. He's different like this, when he's not surrounded by his men. When he's not in that space. Here, in his sports car with just the two of you, he's different. Softer. Human. It loosens your walls too.

“So whiny”, he chuckles. “Slept bad?”

“Don't kid”, you mutter and make yourself comfortable against the pillow again.

“Maybe we both need this. I need a break and you need to be able to sleep. Can't do that at home, can you?”

No, you can't. Not when he comes home in the middle of the night, bloody and roughed up. At home, you wake to every little sound with your heart beating in your chest.

“You know”, Silas starts, “its important to do this. To get away. Especially in my industry. Otherwise you get consumed.”

“Will SIC be able to handle things?”

“He has no choice.”

“Are you really okay to go by yourself? You’re recognizable.”

“Darling, they can't do anything. Thankfully, the law is strict and as long as there is no evidence connecting me to something they can't actually take me. They can suspect me, but never catch me. I'm fine.” He smirks, glancing at you. “Why? You're worried?”

You give him a glare and turn your head out the window.

“I'll break that facade down, Y/N”, he smiles and leans back in his seat. “We have four days all to ourselves. And I'll make the most of it.” His smirk deepens. “With no one around … I can take you just however I want to, whenever. And if I'm not wrong, SIC said that the house is remote. You can be as loud as you want.”

You slap his shoulder.

“Ouch, I'm driving here”, he chuckles. “Mind your hands?”

“Focus on your driving then.”

“How can I when you're sitting right here?”

His free hand on your thigh squeezes ever so slightly. You stare at him, contemplating opening the door and throwing yourself out on the highway.

The car has since long ago pulled in on a gravel road with no cars. Red flowers cover the fields around you, and for a second you're sure he has orchestrated it. 

The house is smaller than Silas's house back in the city, less modern. 

“Jump out, little thing”, he says as he unbuckles himself. “We're here.”

You stretch, legs wobbly from hours of sitting down. Silas unlocks the trunk and carries your bags inside. You stand in the middle of the gravel driveway, looking around and listening to the absolute lack of noise.

“Are you coming or what?” Silas asks from the front door. “Don't be slow or I'll carry you too. No gentler than these bags.”

You hurry after him. He smirks.

It's not hard finding the bedroom. A note lay in the bedding. Silas picks it up and scoffs at the familiar handwriting.

“Be nice to the bed, it's old, you break if you pay for it — SIC.”

“That son of a bitch”, Silas chuckles and turns to you, showing the note. “Seems like he read my mind.”

“You are kind of predictable”, you say.

Silas starts to walk towards you, backing you up against the nearest wall, wearing a soft smirk. “Me? Predictable? If I was predictable I wouldn't be a crime organization leader, my dumb little Y/N.”

You shrug. “I’m just saying.”

“Yeah, you’re good at saying things.” His hand sneaks up to your jaw. “How about you put your poor mouth to other uses for once? I know a pair of lips that would die to meet them.”

His cheesiness makes you scoff out a small smile, enough for him to close the distance. Ever since you’ve forced him to start using lip balm, his mouth is soft when it moves against yours. You sigh out and he swallows the sound in a greedy inhale. He holds you close, one hand on your back, the other on your jaw. 

“Silas, you’ll bruise my lips”, you chuckle and try to turn your head away. 

“Let me”, he breathes and directs you right back to his mouth. 

And he does. He doesn’t half-ass things. He pulls back with proudness in his eyes. 

“Let’s go shopping now.”

“Shopping?”

“We need food. Can’t just live off each other, unfortunately.”

He grabs your hand and leads you back out to the black sports car and you’re once again put on map reader duty to find the nearest grocery store. You can’t remember the last time you’ve actually grocery shopped with him. Normally, he sends out someone to buy things, and if he can’t trust anyone, he sends SIC. Just because Silas can’t be arrested, doesn’t mean he’s a hundred percent safe. 

“Alright”, he mutters and grabs a cart. “Let’s pretend to be a normal couple.”

You can’t help but chuckle and he gives you a quick look. 

“Let’s get this shitshow on the road, let’s go”, he mutters and nods at you to follow. “Don’t start running around or I’ll place you in the cart like a three year old. Okay, what do we need?”

“You need steak”, you joke. 

“Damn right I do, but I get my steak from high quality butchers, I’ll get sick if I get it from a grocery store.”

“Aw, is your little tummy sensitive?” you ask, making sure it sounds more like “wittle”.

“Y/N, I’m warning you.”

His warning isn’t serious. Not now. Not like this. It only maks you smile. 

“Are you going to be a brat all vacation just because you think I won’t do anything?” Silas asks behind you, pushing the cart into your back. “I did tell you we are remote, didn’t I?”

“Don't touch me or I'll scream.”

“Oh, you'll scream alright.”

“Silas!”

He chuckles, eyes softening. “I couldn't help it. You played that into my hands a bit too good to pass up on.”

“You’re so childish. Maybe you should tone it down on the threatening part if you don’t want more people staring at you. You don’t need to give them a reason to recognise you.”

Silas scoffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. He enjoys this side of you way too much. He can only enjoy it in situations like this, far away from his world. When you're not scared of him.

“What's the budget?” you ask him.

“What?” 

“The budget? You said to pretend to be a normal couple. Normal couples don't have your credit card.”

Silas groans audibly.

“I'm not compromising my money”, he says. “Stop messing around, grab what you want.”

You handle the actual shopping part while he pushes the cart behind you. People glance at him, if not for recognising him, then for his tattoos, but he pretends to be unaware. 

“Little thing.”

“Hm?”

“Grab those.”

You follow where he nods. Chips. They fall into the cart. So do a lot of other things Silas usually doesn't buy.

“Might as well go for it now that SIC can't bully me”, he shrugs. 

The cashier seems to recognise Silas, but she doesn't say anything. Silas is polite and wishes her a good day, as if he wasn't who she thought he was, before turning to you and grabbing the plastic bags.

Back at the house, he puts everything into the fridge and starts to cook right away. 

“You’re not allowed to help”, he says and taps your forehead. “I want to actually eat tonight.”

“I can cook”, you insist. 

“Yeah. Sure. How about you go and set the table while I handle the knives and the stove?”

“Fine.”

You do as you’re told, searching the drawers for cutlery and plates. He glances at you from time to time and can’t help but smile. Maybe this was what he wanted all along? To play family.

“It’s not often we get to do this”, he says as he plates the food. “Domestic things, I mean. Should enjoy it while we can. Oh, I saw a pool out in the backyard, by the way. I think we should try it out after dinner. I brought alcohol from back home.”

“Drinking and swimming doesn’t sound very safe.”

“Then you’ll just have to rescue me. They didn’t teach you life guard duty in swimming class?”

“Yes, but they didn’t prepare me to drag a man that weighs enough to crush a car.”

“So my workouts are working?” His grin widens as he takes a sip of his water. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Conversation die out for a moment, but Silas won’t let the night pass. 

“So?” he says. “Don’t you have something to say?”

“What?” you ask. 

“We don’t often get to just talk. Spew something out. Anything.”

You think for a moment. You usually have a lot of thoughts, but when put on the spot all seem to vanish. 

“I like the food.”

Silas laughs. Actually laughs. You haven’t hard a genuine, carefree laugh from him in a long time. His back eyes curl into half moons. 

“What?” you ask. “What is it?”

“You can say a million things and that’s what you choose to say?” he says. “That the food is good? I didn’t think I cooked that good food, enough for that to be the only thing you think of.”

“You put me on the spot, I just said the first thing that came to mind!”

“Try again, then.”

“Well … I … could really go for some alcohol right now.”

Silas smiles and rises from his chair. He disappears out of the room and returns with two bottles. One brandy, one red wine.

“Okay, your majesty”, he says. “Which fancies your taste buds?”

“Wine, probably. Fits better with dinner. You'll get brandy, I suspect?”

“You know me well.” He opens both bottles and pours. “I'm responsible for you, so it's my duty to make sure you don't get absolutely decked.”

“I thought I was the one that had to make sure you didn't fall face down in the pool?”

“Yeah, but let's be realistic for a second. I can hold my alcohol … you? Please.”

“Rude.”

“It is not rude if I'm stating facts, you just want to deny your incapable alcohol consumption.”

You take a sip of your wine and glare at him.

Silas jokingly suggests you both skinny dip. You shoot down the idea. He's a predator, taking your whole arm if you foolishly give him a finger. You'd like your body working for your getaway.

You're not sure what prompts him, the alcohol or his childishness, to jump into the pool like a bomb. Water splashes everywhere, both on your dry form and your towels, and he breaks the surface with a wide grin. He pushes his black hair back and swims over to the edge. His tattoos warp under the water.

“I’m wet now”, you say in a ‘matter of fact’ tone. 

He looks up at you, squinting one eye full of water shut. “Yeah? Jump in then.”

You decide to get in slowly, but he has other plans. His hand grips your wrist and pulls you into the pool. You yelp, but never have a second to worry about inhaling water, because he holds you.

“So much drama for nothing”, Silas chuckles and wipes water out of your eyes. "I've got you.”

His tattooed arms half hug you, half cradle you as he sways back and forth in the water.

“Today”, you start, hesitant, “when we were at the grocery store, and people looked at you, and what you said before that … I started to think about something just now.”

“What?” he asks softly.

“What do I do if you're taken? Or killed?”

“That will never happen.”

“But what if it does?”

Silas sighs, arms around you tightening slightly.

“If I ever were to never come back home for whatever reasons”, he started slowly, “then SIC would follow the instructions I’ve told him.”

“What are those?”

“To get you far away from everything and everyone and keep you safe. You'd get a cute little house on the coast where you could live peacefully. You'd have my dog, and how many bodyguards it takes to replace me. SIC would be there too. He’d check up on you.”

“That sounds pretty lonely.”

“What? Are you planning to become the Great Gatsby after I disappear?”

He caresses your face with a wet hand.

“I have money put away for you in case anything happens”, he promises and rolls his eyes. “And I might have made a deal with the devil to get you new papers in case something happens.”

“Who?”

“The parasite I'm unfortunately to call brother.”

“Ares?”

“Don't say his name. Let's drop this now. I don't want to think about it. Especially since it won't happen.”

The entire wine bottle is empty once the two of you get out of the pool and head to bed. Silas wears a dark Grey hoodie and sweatpants, insisting you wear comfy clothes too. He thinks it is better for cuddles. You're wrapped in his hoodie covered arms, face pressed to his chest. You'll be damned if you try to get out of his arms any time before morning hours.

Somehow, you wish this little getaway could last forever. Life would be easier that way. Silas sighs out, unbeknownst thinking the exact same thing. 

[cat-mermaid]

Ok *cracks knuckles* lets do this party people

what am i saying here i'm saying THERES A FUCKING HAND/HANDS CRAWING AROUND OUT THERE

(i didn't want to go back and dig in the text dump for it, but the translation from the japanese prophecy window for the cage says "human soul and body parts")

Kris is pulling a fast one on us, remember this part here?

throws us into the cage then slowly and theatrically pulls out the knife for us to see? See they were gonna do a naughty no no? Yet so many times after that, they make a point of shoving us somewhere and then running off so we'd have no idea wat they were up to?

Kris has been keeping us (the Soul) focused on them with their shifty behavior while "their" appendage/appendages are scooting around out there creating dark fountains and doing god knows wat else

And just to be clear: when first i saw that cage prophecy window i did think that it was supposed to be metaphorical for Kris holding the SOUL captive, but now I think differently. And to also be clear: i'm not saying that Kris's actual hands are detaching, i'm saying they have control/are in cahoots with a second pair of hands that are "theirs". So, why oh why does this kid have one or two magic hands? i guess we just have to fucking wait and find out, but heres something to chew on....

....doesn't this look a little like a hand to you?

what if there was one hand in the dark world and one in the light?

(its shows up at the 2:07 point)

also somthing somthing theres a reference to Super Smash Brothers in like every chapter so far somthing somthing MASTER HAND CRAZY HAND

somthing somthing Master Hand symbolism of using the Nintendo game characters as literal toys/puppets for its personal games

and i reiterate, the knight ain't Dess or Carole. thats like the most transparently obvious hoodwink of a thing ever, especially wat with the antlers just slapped on there. Straight up Toby chicanery and the second i saw it i said uh huh no. Kris's fucking knife is the damn knight, in cahoots with those/that hand/hands. Thats not to say that its really fucking obvious mayor Holiday is part of this somehow. I just think her sudden appearance and the whole "katana aficionado" thing following our introduction to the knight is just waaaay too convenient and might even be another planned subterfuge by Kris and whoever else for our sakes

not convinced? creep a peep at this:

do my eyes deceive me or is that our pal the Knight/KNIFE with their two partners in crime the FUCKING HANDS

whom, since i first made this post, i'm starting to suspect really might be a "master hand" "crazy hand" situation because:

...the “mantel” (maybe?) and “friend” sure are shaped alike huh

anyways friends and neighbors, remember:

[balthazarslostlibrary]

I am one of these people who has vivid dreams and nightmares, often paired with sleep talking, and sometimes sleep shouting (especially embarrassing and alarming for others). I joke that it’s part of my family curse, because my father has the exact same troubles with sleep, and has since he was young, as have I

Sleeping near or around other people has always been a great source anxiety, doubly so sharing a bed with others because of this. I grind my teeth, toss and turn, whimper, shout, speak, and wake up hyperventilating from nightmares. I have, on more than one occasion, punched or slapped my partner in my sleep in an effort to get away from whatever was attacking me in my dreams.

Not to put her on blast, but my partner also has mad insomnia and sleep issues, and it has never ceased to amaze me how she has just stuck by me throughout my constant night terrors.

She wakes me up when its bad and cuddles me when I cant get back to sleep. She holds me close and tells me its okay. She makes sure I’m awake when I cant tell what’s real so I dont just slip back into the nightmare.

Lots of the terrors have ceased since I started regularly taking antipsychotics, but they still sometimes come back. And every time it happens, she’s still there, and she still gets me back to sleep.

I’ve thought a lot about why she does, because surely four fuckin years of this would get tiring, and the only thing I can think of, at the end of the day, is that basically love is real.

Love is real and it’s with me when I’m shaken awake.

My boyfriend has really vivid, elaborate dreams. He’ll often wake up and talk about some grand narrative- travel, exploration, politics, performances. I’ve always been a little jealous, he can hold really good plots together for them sometimes.

But anyway, this does have a downside; vivid, elaborate dreams make for vivid, elaborate nightmares. I can usually tell when it’s one of those nights, since he grinds his teeth pretty badly.

I was never quite sure what to do when I knew he was having a bad time of it, though the grinding alone was enough to worry me and push me towards intervening. I used to just shake him gently, hope to rouse him just enough to reset the dream or something, but it wasn’t too effective and anyway waking him up all the time isn’t good for rest.

I’m rather proud of the strategy I eventually settled on: gently, so as not to wake him up, I’d lay one arm across his hands, wrapping his fingers around me so that he was holding on. Nightmares being nightmares, I can usually count on a pretty tight grip when this happens.

It may seem a little odd, but consider that holding on to something with both hands is typically a very agentic frame of mind. We hold on to things that give us power, in one way or another, and possessing objects often makes us feel powerful in some respects. That has consequences, even for a dreaming mind.

I knew it was working when he woke up rather mystified from one such dream, and told me that he’d been running through the caverns of some dungeon or cave system, pursued by monsters, but then all of a sudden he was holding a giant anime sword and fought them off instead. So I got to be a sword for him that night, I was delighted.

I don’t usually get to know exactly what happened, since even for a very vivid dreamer like Ritter, nine tenths of these things get forgotten. But I know I’ve been things like door handles, steering wheels, stuff like that. And even when I don’t know what I am to him, he doesn’t grind his teeth nearly as much- the sleep is deeper and more peaceful, so I get plenty of feedback that it’s working.

It’s such a perfect encapsulation of love in microcosm, isn’t it? No matter how much you mean to them, and how much they mean to you, the gap between two conscious lives is fundamentally separating you. But fundamental does not mean insurmountable. There’s this whole world in him, full of dreams and perspectives that I’ll never truly experience. But I will be a part of those worlds all the same, finding little ways here and there to make sure that the dreams of me make him a better, stronger, and happier person.

Or at least, so one hopes. It’s a difficult challenge, and things often go awry. But usually you get at least a little lucky.

[faithsmadhouse]

Don’t touch||Max Verstappen x reader

Summary — during an interview max treats y/n like she doesn’t mean anything to him so she does something about it

Word count —880

Warning—mean reader. Thigh riding, maxs thighs (that deserves a warning)

The press conference was over, but the sting of it still burned under Y/N’s skin. His clipped tone. The way he wouldn’t even look at her just stared past her like she was nobody. Like she wasn’t the woman who knew every inch of him. The woman who let him fuck her senseless most nights.

By the time she stormed into the hotel suite, her heels were in her hand, jaw tight. Max followed, shutting the door behind him with a soft click.

“Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, tossing her heels aside. “Don’t Y/N me now. You treated me like I was just another fucking mic in your face. Like I was invisible.”

His eyes darkened, jaw working. “You know why I have to—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it.” She stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to act like I’m just some reporter? Fine. Let’s play that game.”

Max reached for her, but she slapped his hands away. Instead, she shoved him down onto the edge of the bed, climbing into his lap. She could feel the tension thrumming in his body, the way his hands flexed at his sides, desperate to grab her. But she didn’t let him.

She spread her thighs, settling onto his leg, her skirt riding up high on her hips. Her bare core pressed against the thick muscle of his thigh, no panties, not tonight and the friction made her gasp.

His nostrils flared when he felt how wet she was already.

“Fuck, baby—”

She cut him off, grinding down, slow and hard, dragging her clit along the line of his muscle. The heat of him burned through his jeans, the pressure exactly what she needed.

“You don’t get to fuck me tonight, Max.” Her voice was breathless, but firm. “You don’t even get to touch me.”

His eyes widened, pupils blown. “Y/N, come on—let me feel you. Let me have you.”

But she shook her head, hips rolling in tight, needy circles. “No. You don’t deserve it. Not after tonight. You want to act like I’m nothing? Fine. Watch me take what I want.”

Max groaned, fists clenching in the sheets beside him. His cock strained against his jeans, but she didn’t even glance at it. All she cared about was the steady drag of her slick pussy on his thigh, the way her body trembled with the effort to keep control.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he growled. “You think you can tease me like this? You think I won’t flip you over and fuck you until you can’t remember your own name?”

Y/N moaned, grinding harder, chasing the edge. “You can’t do shit. You don’t get to do anything but sit there and watch.”

Max’s breath came ragged now, sweat beading at his temples as he watched her ride him. “God, baby look at you. Making a mess on my leg. You’re gonna come just like this, huh? Fucking yourself on me?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “That’s all I need. Not your cock. Not your fingers. Just this.”

He growled low in his throat, but didn’t move. He couldn’t. She’d told him not to, and the last thing he wanted was to give her a reason to stop. His thigh flexed under her on instinct, giving her that extra pressure, that perfect angle.

“Fuck—Max—just like that—”

“Come for me, baby,” he rasped. “Show me how good you can make yourself feel. Show me what I’m missing.”

Her body shook, hips jerking as the orgasm tore through her, her moan raw and desperate as she kept grinding, riding out the wave. She collapsed against him, breathless, heart pounding against his chest.

Max’s hands hovered, aching to touch, but he didn’t he waited.

And when she finally looked up at him, eyes dark and sated, she smirked.

“Next time you want to treat me like a stranger on the grid,” she whispered, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dripping with satisfaction, “remember this.”

She drew back just enough to meet his gaze, smirking at the way his jaw clenched, the raw hunger in his eyes. Then, with maddening softness, she patted his cheek—mocking, tender, cruel all at once.

“Good boy,” she added, voice low, teasing.

Max’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling as he fought the urge to grab her, to flip her over and bury himself inside her until she couldn’t speak, until she begged him.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Y/N climbed off his lap, her thighs slick, leaving his jeans dark with the mess she’d made of him. His thigh glistened with her arousal, a stain of her victory. His cock strained against his zipper, painful and leaking, but she didn’t spare it a glance.

She smoothed her skirt down, legs still shaking faintly from the intensity of her release, and turned toward the bathroom, tossing him one last look over her shoulder.

“You can take care of that yourself tonight, champ.”

And then she was gone, leaving Max sitting there rock hard, soaked in her slick, fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white, desperate for a taste, a touch, anything.

But all he had was the memory of her, riding him like she didn’t need him at all.

[heartyluv]

—Click Here— for Camboy!Caleb masterlist!

Note: They’re so filthy, (I say as if I’m not the one writing it). I hope you enjoy, luvlys! ;)

Warning: Sub!Caleb, he’s begging, handjob, cock ring and brief attempt of pocket pussy use (you’ll see why), you kindaaa dom him (again, you’ll see why i said kinda), you have to be quiet 🤫, use of ‘good boy’, cum licking, brief mention of spit, you end up sitting on his cock (i think i got it all)

Word Count: 2.4K

Summary: You and your husband try out some new toys.

SubbyCamboy!Caleb/Reader

“She sleep?” Caleb asks once you enter your bedroom and silently shut the door with a gentle click of the lock to follow.

“Out like a light,” you grin. You would forever be thankful for your precious three year old daughter who made bedtime the easiest thing on the planet. Because of her simplicity and general love for sleep—since she gets to be surrounded by her dozens of plushies—, it allowed you and Caleb to almost always have some alone time when the sun set. Whether it be basking in comfortable silence together while watching a movie or silently indulging in each other’s bodies, it was a gift you never took for granted.

“You still up for tonight?”

He sets his phone down, shrugging with a faux nonchalant smile like he isn’t buzzing with the same level of excitement as you. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

Biting your lip, you scurry over to him and lean down to where he sits in the bed, kissing him deeply and squealing when he keeps you close in your efforts to try to pull away. Once you’re finally released with a generous slap to the ass by your husband, you go to your tall dresser and open the drawer to pull out the fresh bottle of lube and the new toys you cleaned when they arrived earlier.

“I remember when I used to watch you use something like this one.” You inspect the pocket pussy, the memories of gawking at Caleb on your phone screen when you were once strangers in a fan to content creator relationship, flooding your mind. He would spill his cum into the one he once owned as he cursed under his breath at the same time you’d rub your clit faster to catch up with him.

Good times. But they were even better, now. Now he was your man, the father of your beautiful Sloane Xia, and most importantly, your best friend.

“Mhm. And I remember it was one of your favorites,” he smirked. “I think you were one of the first to send in a request for a personal video of me using it.”

Your cheeks heated. It was a shot in the dark—or so you thought. It took all of you to drop the embarrassment and just send him the $100, along with asking for a video of him fucking the realistic enough vagina model. Not only did he do it and got to it quicker than you anticipated, but he consistently chanted out about how badly he wished it was you he was fucking and filling up.

That video fundamentally rewired your brain, and you still have it to this day.

At the time, you knew it was simply for the content and to ensure that his viewer get their moneys worth. But now that your life looks the way it does, you wondered if he unintentionally spoke his desires into the universe and was ultimately granted his wish.

Once on your side of the bed, you sit down on top of the covers that Caleb’s beneath, handing him the cock ring first.

You and Caleb rarely used toys when you officially got together. The only thing that would make an appearance in your sex life would be your trusty pink vibrating wand, but other than that—you two preferred to find ways to please each other with what you were equipped with. It was more fun that way—to try and find new positions, as well as other things to spice it up.

It was last week that you brought up wanting to try some out. After seeing a couple you two were friends with who created similar content use a cock ring in their video, you couldn’t resist showing Caleb. He was more than willing to do it, especially when he saw how turned on it made you.

“I’ve never seen you use one of these, though.”

He takes the little contraption, inspecting it with pursed lips. “I did once, but I never recorded it.”

Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped. “You used a cock ring and I never knew?!”

“You never asked, pretty. Besides, it didn’t do much for me.”

“No?” you tease. “Did it do this?”

You press the silver button, the gentle buzz of the ring sounding.

“It absolutely did not do that,” he said astounded with a deep chuckle. The vibrating in his hand immediately sent blood rushing to his cock.

“Are you hard?” you cooed, shutting off the ring and palming him through his boxers on top of the covers.

“A little, yeah.”

You open and close your other hand, gesturing for him to hand it over. “Let me see.”

Caleb groans when your hand slides away from him. Already shirtless, he throws the sheet off his body, sitting up more so he can inch his underwear down enough to release his semi-hard dick.

“Aht,” you scold flirtatiously. “All the way off.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Your pussy throbs at how quickly and well he listens without hesitation. You eye his thick length while he follows your instruction, and open the bottle of lube. Putting a little on your index and middle finger, you generously lather the inner part of the ring so that it can slide onto him with ease, similarly to how your cunt sucks him inside of you.

“Remember, babe,” you get closer, trying to remain stoic, but that nearly fails as you admire his twitching cock. “You gotta stay quiet. Get too loud, and I’ll have to stop.”

“I’ll stay quiet,” he nods, his hips already bucking for some kind of relief. “I promise.”

At the same time that you begin to kiss his lips, your work the vibrating device onto one of your favorite things in the world, smiling into it when his moans prettily pour into you mouth.

“Safe word?”

“A—apple,” he chokes out. “Fuck baby, p—please do something...”

“I know, I know.” You kiss his jaw and when his head tilts back to welcome your love, you press the button again to send shivers down his spine.

The whimpering and near cries erupt from him as if you’ve struck a gold a mine. Pulling back to get a full look at your husband, you can’t help but feel a different kind of love to see him so vulnerable and submissive with you. With his back against the headboard, his cheeks and nose bridge sport a perfect dusty pink.

“Tell me how you feel, baby.”

“S—so good…This feels so good—hah…I need you, pretty. I need you so bad…” He’s an absolute mess and it has you dripping in your panties.

“You want me?” You wrap your hand around the head of his cock, adding the slightest bit of pressure. To suppress his moans, he bites down on his lip so hard that you’re sure it hurts.

He nods vigorously, his hair tickling his forehead with each shake. “I want your pussy, baby…I need my wife. I—I want my wife so much…” Each intake of breath is sharp—needy.

Your heart rate increases the more he pleads for you. You bring your mouth just above his flushed tip and spit on it, working him in your hand slowly. Precum seeps out, adding to the mixture of fluids that you wish your slick was a part of.

But right now? This was all about him.

“If you want me to sit on your cock, I need you to be my good boy. Can you do that?”

He nearly combusts at your words and the way you pump him in your soft palm. Along with the delectable sensation of the ring at the base of his cock, he feels like he’s died and went to a heaven where this was nothing short of paradise.

“Y—yes…I’m gonna be good,” he promises pathetically. “I’ll be good. Anything. Tell me, a—and I’ll do it. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Awww, my sweet baby.” Your nipples strain beneath your tank top, reminding you that you’re far too dressed. But that only adds to your excitement.

“I want you to hold your cum. You think you can do that for me?”

Just as you say that, more dribbles out and trails down his length.

“I don’t know,” he shakes his head, sweat beading at his temple. He juts his hips up to try and make you jerk him off faster, but you tsk, reminding him that he must stay still. “B—baby, I don’t think I can. I’m gonna cum a—already.”

“Then you won’t get to fuck me, will you?”

“That’s not fair!” he cries. The wet sounds of you fisting him and the vibrations moving through his balls only brings him closer to his impending delightful doom. “Y—you have to take it off! I’m gonna…Fuck! I’m about to—”

Immediately, you stop. “Are you getting loud with me?”

His chest rises and falls with disappointment and desperation. But even when you stop, the cock ring is still on and giving him the pleasure you ceased. So without you needing to do a thing, he can’t hold back, nor does he want to. His cum shoots out abruptly, thick and pearly white streams landing on your shirt and the exposed upper area of your tits.

Growing far too loud, you place a hand over his mouth—despite how much you wish you could hear him. He mumbles incoherent words, his eyebrows knitting as his breath fans against your hand the more his composure dissipates. His abs flex with each uncontrollable convulsion and you keep your other hand wrapped around him, letting his hot load make a mess on your knuckles.

Even if he hadn’t done what you said, you could never deny the fact that he still looks so fucking ethereal.

You frown as you gently slide the ring off once he’s relaxed. “You didn’t listen.”

He hisses, cock still incredibly sensitive. “I tried, princess,” he defends himself through bated breath. “Don’t be mad at me. Let me make it up to you. ‘M sorry, I couldn’t help it…”

“No need to say sorry.” You take the now sticky dark blue ring, bringing it you your mouth to lick up some of his cum. He watches you with hooded eyes as your tongue laps up his spend like a delicacy, the need to go again stirring within him once more.

“But you shouldn’t be inside of me tonight, right? Since you can’t seem to follow directions.”

“Wait—”

“Safe word?” you interrupt.

“I know the word.”

“Good. Then say it like I told you to.”

Yeah, he’s hard again. “Apple.”

You grab the pocket pussy off the bed and hand it to him. He looks at you confused as he takes itwhile you stand and pull your clothes off.

“You’re gonna watch me touch myself while you fuck that. I want you to think about how better you’ll do in the future when you watch my fingers inside of me, taking your place.”

“No.” He says the word like you’ve given him the ultimate punishment.

Getting on top of the blankets once more, you rest on your elbows with your legs spread wide to give him the perfect view. It’s like he’s mated to you—like he can smell your desire—and it drives him mad to be separated from it. Your fingers go between your thighs and you gather the slick that’s already found its way to your aching clit.

“That wasn’t a question. I’ll come without you if I have to, baby,” you push out. Your lips part when you shove one of your fingers inside your tight hole, the heat consuming your slender digit. “Y—you’re still my good boy, aren’t you?”

Reluctantly, Caleb takes the pocket pussy, dramatically feeling a part of himself dwindle away the more he stares at your pretty, wet, and real one. He brings it down onto his cock, his cum helping him to enter without any restriction.

“I am.” He keeps his eyes on everything you’re doing. From the way you circle your clit to the way you fondle your tits.

The room echos with all the wet and obscene sounds the both of your bodies make. Caleb matches you, pleasing himself with the model the faster your fingers swirl against your sensitive nub. You ogle at what he’s doing too, but the more you watch, the more you grow impatient.

The facade you attempted to uphold cracks effortlessly at the seams. You try to resist, but you and him will forever be drawn together like magnets.

“I can’t…” you mumble, quickly sitting up and pulling the pocket pussy off of your husband like it’s insulting you. Straddling him, he eagerly accepts you and grabs your flesh hungrily. When you guide his dick into your quivering and soaked hole, the immediate connection is otherworldly.

The feeling of him in your walls will never fail to consume you. “I couldn’t help it…”

This is why you found it hard to take control. You weren’t disciplined enough and punishing him would always be far too punishing for you. But Caleb didn’t give a damn. He would let you try every single time if that’s what you wanted.

“Take what you need from me.” He looks at you with so much reverence. “I told you, I’m still your good boy…”

To keep your sounds at bay, you make out with him heatedly, and the teeth that slightly clattered didn’t deter you one bit.

A creamy ring quickly forms at his base and you bounce on his cock no more than five times before he’s flooding you with his seed and you’re squeezing him tightly the moment your orgasm claims you.

You grind against him lazily until you can no longer take anymore.

“I tried it, didn’t I?” you giggle, a string of saliva falling to your chin when you pull away from the intense exchange. He huffs out a laugh through his nose.

“Sex doesn’t have any rules. No matter what role we try to play, the ultimate goal?” He smiles when you look into his eyes. “To make each other feel good. I say we’ve done that successfully, no?”

“I guess. Next time, though,” you whisper. “I’m so gonna nail it.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Oh, shut up!” You quickly cover your mouth when you realize your volume.

“You getting loud with me?” he teases, using your words against you.

“Nu-uh, you better use that damn pocket pussy.”

“Until you use that safe word.” He moves your hips. “I’m staying right here.”

“You’re so lucky I love you,” you shake your head, tugging on your bottom lip.

“The luckiest man in the world.”

A/N: For the sake of the plot, I aged their daughter up, but I will still write some cute and fluffy stuff with her tiny and them navigating parenthood! I wrote this with the intention of thinking of how some people would be if they saw their fine ass partner using a pocket pussy when they’re sitting right there, hot and ready. I know I couldn’t hold out LOLLLL!!!

Creds to @/bbyg4rlhelps and @/enchanthings-a for the dividers!

Tags 🏷️: @innergardentoadpony @teacupwaifu @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @asiatic-apple @callads7 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @floatinginaer @meadowinthesky @floatinginaer @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @asiaticapple @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @sweetcalebb

[idolomantises]

TADC talk, will delete later

So am I like… the only one not understanding this whole “ragatha is too toxic and positive and her behavior pushes people away” arc? It’s very clearly planned out but it feels so sloppy. It feels weirdly slapped on. Like a “fuck we need conflict” moment

1) Nothing about Ragatha’s behavior feels unreasonable. They’re trapped in fucking purgatory not a shitty 9-5 job, I don’t really understand this push to portray her behavior as “too pushy”. I can’t be the only one who feels this way? In the pilot and episode 2 you did get this feeling that Ragatha was doing a bit too much but it felt like Pomni was the one not understanding that Ragatha had good intentions

2) am I…. The only person who feels like this arc feels like it’s written backwards?? Why does the story progress like this:

Pilot/Episode 2: Ragatha is overly friendly and supportive to the point of making Pomni uncomfortable -> Episode 2: Ragatha is reassured that she shouldn’t be so antsy about Pomni and should understand that Pomni is just adjusting to her new life -> Episode 3: Pomni shows appreciation for Ragatha’s kindness and thanks her for looking out for her -> Episode 4: Her overly positive attitude is pulled back for a bit and she starts behaving a little rude -> Episode 5: Pomni suddenly doesn’t like Ragatha’s overly positive mannerisms and barely sticks up for her when Jax aggravates her constantly

I didnt look at the ending as “wow Ragatha pushed Pomni away”. It felt more like “damn Pomni is… kind of a bad friend to be closer with Jax who’s been incredibly cruel and nasty to the crew the entire episode and barely sticking up for someone she was literally showing appreciation to 2 episodes prior”.

Like I see what they’re going for. The forced positive friend being less appealing than the stubborn jackass because he’s more “authentic” but it just made me sympathize with Jax less and gave me a significantly lower opinion of Pomni

Like idk if I was Ragatha and someone told me they appreciated that I was always looking out for them and then two days later was having conversations with my verbally abusive roommate about how I’m kind of annoying for doing the thing they literally thanked me for.. yeah I’d be fucking annoyed too. Because what the hell Pomni.

Feels like an intent vs execution problem

[goldenbrowns]

˳೫˚ BUCKY BARNES THOUGHT

summary: bucky barnes dives headfirst into the chaos of online dating, only to find himself completely lost in translation. When a particularly bold message from a girl on bumble leaves him more confused than turned on, he turns to you and sam for help. what starts as harmless advice quickly spirals into an impromptu crash course in modern-day sexting—because apparently, hydra's brainwashing didn't include a glossary in bdsm terms. word count: 2.9k warnings: dirty talking, just two idiots helping bucky barnes get laid (you're a little jealous tho, duh), cursing, mention of some kinks, and that's it.

The projector Tony had bought last month glowed in the dimly lit room, casting long shadows over the four of you sprawled across expensive furniture you definitely didn’t pay for. Steve's got his arms folded, brows furrowed like he's in a hostage situation. Sam’s half-asleep, chin on his fist. You’re curled up on the corner of the couch with a throw blanket over your legs, phone in hand.

And then there’s Bucky. Sitting on the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out. Arms crossed. Scowling at the screen like the movie had insulted him personally.

“I still don’t get it,” Bucky mutters, for the third time, cutting through a funny moment of White Chicks.

“You don’t get it?” Sam turns to him slowly. “It’s two FBI agents dressed as white women. What’s not to get?”

“No, I get that,” Bucky says, gesturing vaguely at the screen. “I just don’t understand why they talk like that. What’s a ‘yo shorty what it do’ supposed to mean?”

“It means ‘hello,’ grandpa,” you say without looking up from your phone.

Steve shifts on the other side of the 'L' shaped couch, expression pained. “This was a mistake. We should’ve watched The Great Escape or something.”

“I just think,” Steve continues patiently, adjusting the throw pillow behind his back like a man determined to find some comfort in this madness, “there are better ways to spend a night than watching Terry Crews do whatever that is.” He flails a hand in the air when the Terry's scene comes on.

Sam doesn’t even bother looking over to him. “Lies,” he mutters, voice muffled by his hoodie sleeve. “This movie’s a cultural reset. I wouldn't take advice from a hundred-year-old man either way.”

“You’d think that after seventy years on ice,” you say, nudging Steve’s foot with yours, “you’d be thrilled to catch up on modern cinematic masterpieces.”

“I don’t think this qualifies as a masterpiece,” Steve says, gesturing toward the screen just as one of the Wayans brothers screams something completely incomprehensible in heels and a blonde wig.

Bucky makes a low sound, like something between a sigh and a growl. “This isn’t a cultural gem. This is a war crime.”

“Coming from the guy who once wore a leather muzzle like he was the bassist for a German industrial punk band,” you shoot back, eyes flicking to him over the rim of your soda. “Glass houses, Barnes.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder and scoffed at you. Onscreen, the roast battle kicks off, and he looks back at the TV. The infamous “Your mama’s so old…” scene.

Bucky’s scowl deepens as he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, trying to make sense of the chaos.

“Wait—wait. Did she just say her mom’s breast milk is powdered?”

You nod slowly, trying not to laugh. “Yep. And she breastfeeds like this.” You mimic the ridiculous hand motion.

Bucky looks genuinely alarmed, like he’s witnessing a ritual that should’ve stayed buried. “What the hell does that even mean? Is that… supposed to be funny?”

Sam slaps the couch once, hard. “Yes, Barnes. It’s a yo mama joke. That’s the entire point.”

“I don’t know what that is either.”

You blink. “Oh my god. You don’t know what a yo mama joke is? Actually, no, that doesn't surprise me...”

Bucky’s voice is flat. “Should I?”

Steve sighs the sigh of a man who’s too old for this. “It’s… an insult. About someone’s mother. Usually completely absurd. Often loud. I also had trouble catching up on it.”

“On your terms, grandpa,” Sam adds, directing his gaze to Bucky. “If this were 1812, you'd be pistols at dawn by now.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Alright, come on, I’m not that old. I didn’t duel Hamilton, for Christ’s sake.”

Bucky rubbed his temple, clearly fighting off a headache from keeping up with the movie and its weird insults. Then, without warning, he grabbed his phone from the floor and unlocked it, scrolling through his messages with a weary sigh that immediately caught your attention.

“Uh-oh,” you muttered, nudging Sam, who instantly sat up straighter. Bucky didn’t say much, but the slump of his shoulders spoke volumes. He was dealing with some kind of text that was doing a number on him.

You leaned in over his shoulder, almost falling off the edge of the couch, as he finally muttered, “Natalie just messaged again.” Sam’s grin widened as he looked back at you, expecting some sort of detail, but Bucky didn’t look amused, not one bit.

He stared down at the screen for a few seconds more, eyes blinking dumbfounded at the screen. It was then that he regained composure and started reading the message out loud, which had left him visibly baffled:

“if you want, u can come over, i wanna see if u can keep me tied up and begging for more. don’t disappoint.👀"

The room went silent for a beat. Then you and Sam burst out laughing, while Steve froze mid-sip, the beer bottle halfway to his lips. Bucky, on the other hand, looked completely defeated. This poor man was being bombarded with unknown lingo over Bumble.

“I… don’t know what she means,” he said flatly, frustration lacing his voice. “Is this flirting? Or a declaration of war?”

Steve, ever the boy scout, cleared his throat like he was trying to physically clear the image from his brain. “That doesn’t sound safe.”

You shook your head, barely containing your grin. That was a full-on kink invitation—way out of Bucky’s league. You glanced at Sam and saw he was just as stunned. It was official: Bucky was drowning in the deep end of dating apps.

You would've probably blamed Sam for all of this. He had been the one to talk Bucky into downloading dating apps. And you realized, with a pang somewhere deep in your chest, that Bucky was willing to date this girl. Something that wouldn't've bothered anyone, if anything, it would make them happy to see Bucky settling nicely. But the thought of him with this girl made your stomach churn a little.

Bucky looked up as if he had read your mind, shooting Sam a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “You’re the one who convinced me to get on these blasted things,” he said, voice dry but laced with accusation. Sam just shrugged, still grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

“Hey! Wait, I didn’t sign him up for that,” Sam muttered, eyes still wide as he leaned over to reread the message. “I gave you Bumble, not a dominatrix hotline.”

Bucky just blinked, still holding the phone like it was a live grenade. “What am I supposed to say to that?” he asked genuinely. “Do I ask what kind of rope she prefers? Do I say I don’t have the proper permits?”

“Welcome to 2025,” Sam said, grinning.

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t argue further. Instead, he handed the phone over. “You two explain this ‘tied up and begging’ nonsense. I need a translator.” His deadpan expression made it clear he was serious—he had no idea how to respond to something so direct and intimidating.

You exchanged a quick glance with Sam, both trying not to laugh as you took the phone. “Okay, Buck,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “Um, how do I- It’s her way of saying she’s into… well, kinkier stuff. Like bondage, domination, that kind of scene.”

Sam nodded enthusiastically. “If you’re not into that, it’s better to be honest now. But if you are… well, good luck, man.”

You sat back up, eyes narrowed as the phone dinged. “She sent a second message.”

“Oh no,” Sam said, leaning forward like this was the climax of a thriller.

You looked down, squinting, then read slowly:

“I hope your hands work better on knots than they do on texting.”

Sam burst into laughter. You choked on your drink. Steve immediately stood up like he needed to physically leave the room.

“I need to be anywhere else,” Steve muttered, walking out with his half-finished beer.

“Bucky,” you said through giggles, “you’re getting bullied… sexually. She’s domming you through iMessage.”

Right after you had read the message, Bucky had shot up from the floor and had started pacing in front of the couch. He looked like he was about to wear out his temples from how hard he was rubbing them. Now, hands on his hips, a bewildered expression, and restless foot tapping furiously on the wooden floor, he spoke again:

“I don’t even know how to respond to that,” he muttered, throwing a hand in the air and turning around to try to distract himself with the movie again. “Do I say ‘yes, ma’am’? Do I salute? War was easier than this...” He says as he quickly turns his body around once again, his face contorted into an even deeper expression of confusion.

You leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “First question: Are you into it?”

That made him freeze. The foot that had been drilling a goddamn hole into the floor suddenly stopped and his hands fell from his waist slowly. His eyes flicked up to yours, then to Sam, then immediately away.

“I—” He hesitated. “I mean… I’ve never…” He cleared his throat, voice dropping. “No one talked like that in the '40s, okay? We just... held hands and died from diphtheria.”

Sam slapped his thigh, laughing. “C’mon, man. You’ve got the metal arm, the broody stare, the permanent five o’clock shadow—don’t tell me you’ve never had anyone ask if you wanted to be a little rough. You're the perfect stereotype.”

Bucky blinked, tilting his head forward, not knowing if he should feel insulted. “Well, it's not like ive had the chance to even go on a date with a girl lately, you know? Also, what the hell does that even mean?”

You grinned, biting back a small pang of jealousy you barely noticed until now. “It means this girl thinks you look like the kind of guy who could break her back and spit in her mouth.”

He made a face, somewhere between horrified and intrigued. “Jesus. Christ. We're taking this too seriously for a girl I know I'm not planning on dating.” When he said that, your heart faltered for a second, thank god.

“Shut up, Barnes, think of this as practice then,” Sam said, sliding over next to him and grabbing a throw pillow to get comfortable. “Let’s keep it classy but confident, just... flirt back. Keep the tension. Something like, ‘Guess you'll have to find out how good I am with my hands.’”

“That’s so cocky,” Bucky muttered shaking his head from side to side.

“Exactly,” you said. “That’s what she wants. Confidence. If she’s into this stuff, she wants someone who can match her energy, not apologize for existing.”

Bucky sat down between you two on the couch as he chewed on that for a moment, thumb still motionless over his phone.

“…Fine,” he grumbled, then typed slowly. Guess you’ll have to find out how good I am with my hands. He paused. “Do I put a winky face?”

“No,” you and Sam said in unison.

He hit send. Immediately, three dots popped up. Typing.

“Oh god,” Bucky muttered.

You leaned over his shoulder, already invested. “She’s fast. That’s a good sign.”

Sam quickly jumped over the couch's armrest and went to the fridge to grab a beer. “This is better than the movie.” He said, scurrying back into Bucky's side.

You stole a glance at Bucky, and he met your gaze, cheeks flushed and eyes darting nervously, and realized your heart was racing—not just from the absurdity of the situation, but from watching him, vulnerable and alive in a way you rarely saw.

The dots stopped. Then the reply came in.

if u leave me hanging, im tying u to my headboard and making u watch me take care of it myself.

Bucky's eyes scanned over the message and turned to stare at you both in complete, stunned silence. His lips parted, then closed again. He looked genuinely shell-shocked. The light from his phone screen made the growing flush on his cheeks even more obvious, highlighting the way it had crept up to his ears. He shifted on the couch like he couldn’t get comfortable, thumb hovering just above the screen but not tapping anything yet. There was a slight part to his lips, like he was about to say something — maybe a protest, maybe an excuse — but then he clamped his mouth shut again, tense.

Beside him, you were trying to act casual, like your heart hadn’t just skipped at that stupid smirk he gave for a second. There was something dangerous about watching Bucky Barnes go from confused and flustered to something closer to intrigued — something sharp.

Bucky’s brows furrowed deeper as he stared at the screen, the message glowing back at him like some kind of cryptic code. He lowered the phone slowly, almost like it was a foreign object, and muttered, “What does that even mean? Handle what? Like she’s got paperwork to do?”

Sam burst out laughing, nearly choking on his popcorn. “No, man, she means something else—” He glanced nervously down the hallway. “Wait, where’s Steve?”

All eyes darted to the empty hallway, realizing Cap had slipped away the moment the conversation took a more risqué turn. No doubt the poor guy had fled before any more ‘adult’ jokes could hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Good,” you said, smiling with a sly edge. “Because what we’re talking about now is definitely not suitable for the star-spangled virgin.”

You heard Bucky snort, and you turned back to him. You explained slowly, “She’s basically saying she’s going to make herself come while you’re tied up, and you’re watching it happen.”

Bucky blinked, a slow flush creeping up his neck. “Oh. Well, that's creative..."

Sam shrugged. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re walking around with a goddamn metal vibrator as an arm, can you blame the poor woman?”

You blinked, cheeks heating instantly, and you tried to hide your flush behind a quick sip of your drink. The thought of his arm even doubling as a vibrator was something you hadn't ever thought about, but was truthfully something you knew you wouldn't be able to get out of your brain. Bucky caught the flicker of pink in your cheeks and shot Sam a deadpan look, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If that thing’s a vibrator, I must’ve missed the manual.”

You guys hadn't noticed, but the typing dots blinked faster this time, urgent and insistent. Then the message popped up, bold and unapologetic:

"you really take your time texting back, don't you? anyways, how big are you? for... reasons😉"

Bucky’s breath hitched—a rare crack in his usually steady demeanor. For a moment, he looked like he might bolt. Then, without thinking, he spun his phone around, shielding the screen from Sam’s view. You caught the move but said nothing, watching quietly.

“What are you doing?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly as he typed an answer. His jaw clenched. Then he began typing. The words moved slowly, carefully—like he was walking a tightrope.

You couldn’t see the screen, but you saw everything else. The slight flush that spread from his neck to his cheeks. The way his eyes darted nervously, avoiding yours even though the phone wasn’t quite angled away from you. The tight grip on the edge of the couch cushion.

When he finally hit send, he let out a shaky breath and lowered the phone.

You swallowed hard, heart pounding. You were certain you were more flustered than he was. The thought of Bucky Barnes, all muscle and history and mystery, fumbling over a message like this had you both smirking and secretly wishing you could crawl under the couch.

Sam chuckled quietly. “Dude, you’re killin’ me.”

Bucky shot him a warning glance but said nothing.

You bit your lip and offered a small, teasing smile. “Wanna share what you wrote? Or is it classified?”

Bucky’s eyes flicked over to you, weighing his options, before he shook his head. “Some things are better left to the imagination. But let's just say I gave her a sincere answer...” He said as he shut down his phone, clearly not willing to answer any more messages.

You laughed quietly, heart still racing. Watching him navigate this strange new world with a mixture of awkwardness and unexpected charm was… disarming. It made you realize just how much those layers he carried hid the simple fact that he was human — fumbling, uncertain, and maybe a little bit hopeful.

The room settled into a quiet hum, the tension easing as Bucky leaned back against the couch, his shoulders loosening just a bit. He glanced over at you, and for a moment, the usual guarded expression softened into something quieter, almost shy. The faintest smile tugged at the corner of his lips, the kind that didn’t come often but felt genuine when it did.

“Honestly,” he said in a low voice, eyes meeting yours with a rare openness, “I wasn’t really planning on going out with her anyway, you guys know that, right? I don't want to dive into dating and for this to be my first experience.” He gave a small shrug, like he was brushing off more than just the conversation. “Got… other things on my mind.” The way he said it made it clear those other things weren’t trivial — they carried weight.

His gaze settled on you, softer now, like he was searching for something. “Maybe I’m not ready for all that.” A pause, then a faint half-smile. “Maybe what I want is a little more… simple.”

You smiled back, warmth blooming inside. That quiet hope between you made the space feel lighter. Because if Bucky Barnes had other things on his mind, you prayed that maybe, just maybe, they included you.

[kaiser1ns]

BUNNY IGLESIAS is casually strolling in the hotel grounds, holding his phone screen with your face shining brightly, even if it was getting late, he would never miss a chance to talk with his angel.

You're saying something, another piece of gossip or drama, teasing him while wearing his jersey again. He doesn't have much to say; he just wanted to see you before you go to sleep, since he's in a different time zone, a few hours behind, due to traveling for a Champions League match.

"They were caught during lunch, in his car, eventually someone took a photo of them…” You were in the middle of telling him about the new drama from work because he's the only one you can talk to about it. Why does he have to be so far away? Not that he won't be back in two days, but that's way too long. "And then his wife came and we were all in shock because she slapped him and it echoed throughout the office—”

“BUNNY~!” The boy flinches like someone smacked him with a boiling-hot seafood paella, shells and all. You freeze on screen, knowing he was outside walking alone, but neither of you expected anyone to talk to him.

“You little gloomy loverboy, what are you doing so late?”

Here comes Lavinho, in all his chaotic glory and full dramatic uncle energy, with arms wide, sunglasses on his head, dancing up the sidewalk like he’s in a music video. He claps a hand on Bunny’s shoulder and beams at his phone screen. “Who’s this? Awww, look at her!” he coos. “Are you the one he called mi vida y mi corazon?”

Bunny looks like he wants to die. “He is lying, I didn’t say that.”

“Sí, sí, he said it. Swear on my career,” Lavinho declares proudly, planting a dramatic hand on his chest. “That reminds me he once asked me for dating advice on how to make a woman happy. So romantic, no?”

You’re absolutely fangirling on the screen, and is it possible to have hearts instead of pupils in your eyes? “Do you really think that about me?” you ask sweetly.

“No,” Bunny refuses to tell you the truth, but also refuses to lie, until Lavinho shouts again, “Bunny said you are the only reason he’s still playing! The little liar pretends he doesn’t care, but he’s so soft. Just like his little cheeks, I pinch them sometimes...”

“Okay, that's enough,” Bunny announces flatly, turning the camera to show him walking, then speeding up to run away, while Lavinho is chasing him in the background as the elder yells after him, “You love her, wanna kiss her, write her name on your boots!”

You’re wheezing, “Baby, I’m screen recording this right now. Didn't know you loved me that much~” Bunny groans as if he’s in his last life, but he secretly enjoys it, not that he would tell you, but you see it in his smile. “I should’ve let my phone die.”

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

[missmadella]

“How they react when they kiss you out of anger” // Tokyo Revengers

Charakters: Mikey, Sanzu, Ran, Rindou, Hanma, Wakasa, Kokonoi, Izana

Synopsis: You never thought you’d find yourself tangled up with someone you couldn’t stand — but here you are, caught in a whirlwind of bickering, sharp words, and stolen moments that make your heart race. Every argument feels like a battlefield, every glare a challenge, and yet, somehow, all the hate is just a thin veil over something much deeper.

Mikey (Sano Manjiro):

The rooftop was drenched in silence except for the heavy breaths you both struggled to control. The night air was sharp against your skin, but neither of you noticed—your worlds had shrunk to this moment, to the tension bristling between you.

“You don’t get it, do you?” you snapped, hands clenched at your sides. “I’m not just some backup plan you pull out when things get tough. I’m not going to sit quietly while you risk everything like it’s a game!”

Mikey’s eyes darkened, jaw tightening as he took a slow step forward, closing the distance between you. “I’m doing this for us. For the people I care about. You think it’s easy? You think I want to be alone in this?”

“Then why do you shut me out every time it gets hard?” you spat back. “Why act like I’m the enemy when I’m the only one trying to keep you from breaking?”

His fists clenched at his sides, the tension coiling tight like a spring ready to snap. He inhaled sharply, voice low and harsh, “Maybe because you’re so damn annoying.”

The words hit you like a punch, but before you could say anything, Mikey grabbed your waist, yanking you forward with a desperate force that stole your breath.

His lips crushed against yours, rough and wild, like he was trying to erase all the anger and confusion with the heat of that kiss alone.

You barely had time to register the movement before he was speaking again, voice raw and urgent between gasps.

“You don’t know how much I hate that you get to me like this,” he murmured, teeth catching your lower lip as his hands tangled in your hair. “You rile me up, make me lose control, and I… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He kissed you harder, desperate, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I want you,” he confessed, breathless. “More than anything. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

His forehead pressed to yours, eyes wild and searching. “You drive me crazy. You’re the only one who ever does.”

He kissed you again, slow and deliberate this time, lips tracing yours as if memorizing every inch.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Scared I’ll screw it all up. But I can’t stay away. Not from you.”

His hands slid down your back, pulling you impossibly close. “You’re so annoying… but I don’t want anyone else.”

The fight, the frustration, everything that had weighed on you both slipped away in the heat of that moment—leaving only the undeniable truth burning between your bodies.

___________________________________________________________________________

Sanzu Haruchiyo:

The narrow alley seemed to close in around you, the night heavy with tension and frustration. Your voice echoed off the cold brick walls, sharp and unyielding.

“You don’t get it!” you snapped, stepping forward, anger flaring in your chest. “You think you can just do whatever you want, hurt whoever gets close, and then act like nothing happened? What about me? What about what I want?”

Sanzu’s dark eyes glinted with something fierce as he took a step toward you, his usual smirk twisting into something almost vulnerable. “You think I want this? Dragging you into all this chaos? I don’t. But I can’t stop it either.”

You shook your head, voice cracking. “Then why do you push me away? Why treat me like I’m some annoying problem instead of the only person who’s actually trying to be there?”

His grin turned wicked, biting, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Because you’re so damn annoying.”

The words hit you like a slap—but before you can respond, Sanzu’s hands are on your waist, yanking you close with a desperate urgency.

His lips slam onto yours, fierce and demanding, crushing away all the anger with the heat of the kiss. Your breath hitches as his hands roam your back, pulling you impossibly tight.

You wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his dark hair as the kiss deepens, messy and raw.

Between ragged breaths, Sanzu pulls back just enough to murmur, voice low and rough against your lips, “You don’t know how much you mess with my head... How every time we fight, it’s like you’re the only thing I can’t forget.”

His lips trail down your jawline, teeth grazing your skin before capturing your mouth again. “I hate how much I want you. How you drive me crazy every damn day.”

The kiss grows slower, more heated—full of all the frustration and longing he can’t put into words.

His hands slide lower, resting on your hips, holding you steady. “You’re the only one who gets under my skin this deep. The only one I want to fight for, even when I want to push you away.”

You feel the wild storm in his eyes as he kisses you again, soft and fierce all at once. “You’re annoying as hell... but I’m never letting you go.”

The world around you fades until there’s only the two of you, tangled in desperate, searing kisses, the fight replaced by something far more dangerous and real.

___________________________________________________________________________

Ran Haitani:

The rooftop air was warm and electric, the neon glow of the city casting soft light over the two of you. It wasn’t the first time you and Ran had ended up like this—too close, too angry, too aware. But this time? It had been brewing for weeks.

“You think everything’s a joke,” you hissed, stepping into his space, jabbing a finger into his chest. “People get hurt, Ran. You hurt people.”

His lips curled in that lazy, dangerous smirk. “And yet, here you are. Still chasing me around like you’re not obsessed.”

You scoffed. “You’re delusional.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to graze your nerves. “You talk like you don’t want me. But your eyes always tell on you.”

You shoved him lightly, but he didn’t move. He just tilted his head, watching you. Waiting.

“God, you’re so annoying,” you snapped.

That did it.

Ran’s smile twitched, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He took one step closer—then another—and then his hand was on your jaw, firm but not rough. He looked at you for a heartbeat longer. And then he kissed you.

Hard.

His lips crashed into yours, all smooth confidence stripped away and replaced with something messier—more real. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as his mouth moved against yours, urgent and unrelenting.

You kissed him back, just as hard, meeting fire with fire. Your hands tangled in his hair, your body arching toward him like you’d been waiting for this since the first time you laid eyes on him.

He broke away for just a second, breathless, eyes burning. “You think I don’t feel it?” he murmured against your mouth. “Every time you walk in a room, I feel it. This pull. And it pisses me off.”

Another kiss—hot, open-mouthed and intense, like he was trying to consume the very air you breathed.

“You get in my head,” he whispered, voice cracking as his lips traced your jaw. “You make me reckless.”

He kissed you again, rougher now, like the more he kissed you, the less he could hold himself back.

“You’re the only one who talks back to me like this. The only one who doesn’t care who I am.”

He pinned you gently against the wall, hands slipping under your jacket, grounding you there, while his mouth found yours again, slower this time—deep and consuming.

“I tell myself to stop,” he breathed between kisses. “To stay away from you. But then I see you again… looking at me like you see through all of it.”

He paused, forehead against yours, breathing hard, fingers tangled in your hair. “And I lose. Every time.”

You pulled him back in before he could say another word, and he met you with even more desperation—like he needed this, needed you, to feel something real.

The fight, the taunts, the arrogance—it had all been the buildup to this: the moment Ran Haitani let go of control for you.

___________________________________________________________________________

Rindou Haitani:

You shouldn’t have come to the club.

You told yourself you were done with him — with the constant games, the hot-and-cold stares, the things he never said and the way he always looked like he might say them. But you were there anyway. And of course, he noticed.

Rindou didn’t approach you at first. He just watched.

From across the room, leaning back in a booth, fingers drumming lazily against the table, his eyes locked on you like a storm just waiting to roll in.

You tried to ignore him. Tried to laugh, to dance, to act like he didn’t exist.

But when you slipped outside for air, he was already there—waiting in the alley, cigarette hanging from his lips, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said flatly, voice low, almost bored.

You crossed your arms, heart pounding. “You don’t own me.”

He let the cigarette drop, grinding it out with his heel. “Didn’t say I did.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then why does it feel like you think you do?”

He stepped forward—slow, deliberate—and suddenly the air between you was suffocating. His voice dropped lower. “Because you’re in my fucking head. All the time.”

You blinked. “Rindou—”

“You think I don’t notice when you disappear?” he said, voice sharper now, words cutting close. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me and pretend it means nothing?”

You backed up half a step, your spine hitting the alley wall. He followed, close but not touching. Not yet.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, eyes locked on yours. “You make everything complicated. You make me complicated.”

And then he kissed you.

No hesitation. No teasing. Just months of tension spilling over, crashing into your lips with raw, unspoken emotion.

His hands found your face, holding you still as his mouth claimed yours — rough, deep, and desperate. You kissed him back without thinking, your body moving with his like you’d been waiting for this just as long.

He pulled back for a breath, lips brushing yours, voice ragged. “I hate how much I want you.”

He kissed you again, slower now, like he needed to memorize every second.

“I try not to,” he whispered, biting your lower lip between kisses. “I tell myself it’s just tension, just something to shake off…”

Another kiss. This one longer, drawn-out. Hungry.

“But then I see you walk in a room, and it’s like—fuck. I lose everything.”

His fingers slid into your hair, his mouth finding yours again, pulling you deeper into him.

“You drive me insane,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to yours. “And I want you so much it actually hurts.”

You stared at him, stunned by the rawness in his voice. But he didn’t stop. He kissed you again, slower this time, as if every kiss was another truth he couldn’t say out loud.

___________________________________________________________________________

Hanma Shuji:

The warehouse was empty, echoing with the sound of your boots and the bite in your voice.

“I’m not one of your toys, Hanma,” you snapped, storming across the floor. “You don’t get to screw with people’s heads just because you’re bored.”

He stood by the railing on the upper level, arms spread out wide like he was enjoying a performance. “Oh, come on. Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just the loudest one when I poke.”

You climbed the stairs two at a time, fury rising in your throat. “You think this is fun for me? You showing up, starting shit, running your mouth like none of it means anything?”

Hanma’s grin twisted, and in the dim light, he looked like something wild barely kept on a leash.

“You like it,” he said flatly. “You like fighting with me. You like that I see through your little act.”

You reached the top and shoved him, hard. “Fuck you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at you, eyes glinting behind those purple lenses, that goddamn smile glued to his face.

“You’re so annoying,” you spat.

And that’s when it snapped.

Hanma surged forward and grabbed your face, smashing his lips against yours.

The kiss was violent — clashing teeth, panting breaths, a tangled mess of everything neither of you had the guts to say. His hands dug into your waist, dragging you flush against him, and you kissed back with equal heat, fists tightening in his shirt.

“God, you piss me off,” he growled against your mouth.

Another kiss — hot, biting, filled with years of tension. His hand slipped under your jacket, fingers gripping your side possessively.

“You walk into a room, and it’s like—bam. I can’t think straight.”

You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you again, tongue sliding over yours like he needed to consume you just to shut himself up.

“I try to ignore it,” he muttered between kisses, lips dragging down your neck. “Try to laugh it off. Pretend it’s nothing.”

He nipped at your skin, breathing hard. “But I look at you, and it’s fucking chaos in my head.”

Another kiss — desperate now, almost angry. You were both pressed against the metal railing, bodies colliding like sparks off gasoline.

“You’re the only one who doesn’t play by my rules,” he said, voice cracked. “And I fucking love it.”

His hand cradled the back of your neck, keeping you close as he kissed you again, longer this time, like he was trying to tell you everything he couldn’t put into words.

“You’re so annoying,” he whispered again. “And I can’t get enough of you.”

You didn’t respond — not with words. You just pulled him back in, devouring the rest of his confession from his lips.

His fingers tangled in your hair, and without another word, Hanma pulled you back in — crashing his mouth to yours like he’d starve if he didn’t.

The kiss was frantic. Messy. Teeth grazing lips, hands roaming, both of you losing yourselves in the fire you’d been fanning for far too long.

You gasped against his lips, and he swallowed the sound hungrily, pressing you harder against the railing. His body caged you in, all sharp edges and heat.

“Fuck,” he whispered between kisses, voice hoarse now. “You taste like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make.”

He kissed you again. Slower, deeper. This one burned less with rage and more with something he didn’t dare name. His hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he tilted your head and kissed you like he needed you — not just wanted you.

“You don’t leave my head,” he murmured, lips barely pulling away. “Even when I want you gone.”

Another kiss. Then another. Quick, hungry presses of his lips to yours like he couldn’t stop, like stopping would be worse than dying.

“You fight me,” he whispered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You challenge me. And god, it kills me how much I love it.”

Your hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt as he kissed down your jaw, trailing heat over your skin.

“I’ve kissed a lot of people,” he said lowly, lips brushing your neck now. “But I never needed it like this.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you — his usual smugness replaced by something raw. Bare. Like maybe, just maybe, you were the first person to ever knock him off balance.

But he didn’t let you answer. He was kissing you again. Softer this time. Lingering. Like he wasn’t sure when he’d get to do it again.

And the most dangerous part? You didn’t want him to stop either.

___________________________________________________________________________

Wakasa Imaushi:

It was late.

The shop was closed, the lights half off. Just the low amber glow of a single lamp over the workbench. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching Wakasa from across the room as he wiped his hands with a rag, jaw tight, shoulders tense.

The silence stretched between you like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

“You’re ignoring me again,” you said finally.

Wakasa didn’t look up. “I’m working.”

“No,” you shot back, voice sharp, “you’re avoiding. Like always.”

He sighed, setting the rag down with deliberate calm. “You came here just to pick a fight?”

You pushed off the counter, stepping toward him. “No. I came here because I’m sick of pretending this thing between us isn’t real. Because every time I get close, you back off like it’s a mistake.”

He turned slowly to face you. His expression was unreadable — cool, distant. Too still.

“I told you,” he said quietly, “this isn’t a good idea.”

“And I told you to stop acting like you don’t feel it too.”

His lip twitched — the only sign of the emotion simmering under his skin.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” he muttered, voice laced with frustration. “You always have to push. Always have to dig.”

You stepped right into his space, not backing down. “Because I know there’s more under that mask you wear.”

Wakasa’s eyes met yours — and whatever restraint he had left broke.

In one swift movement, he grabbed you by the collar and kissed you — hard. The workbench dug into your back as he pressed you against it, mouth claiming yours with weeks of pent-up silence, frustration, and something too raw to name.

You gasped into the kiss, but he didn’t give you space. His hands gripped your waist, holding you like he’d been denying himself this every single day.

“You think I don’t want you?” he whispered between kisses, lips brushing yours. “You think it’s easy for me to pretend?”

Another kiss — deeper now, slower. His mouth moved like he was trying to memorize the shape of yours, trying to make up for every moment he looked at you and said nothing.

“This shop…” he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth, “used to be a place I came to feel peace.”

Another kiss. His hands slid under your jacket, tracing your spine.

“Now all I feel here is you.”

You pulled him back in, kissing him like you were claiming him in the same space where he used to hide from his own heart.

“I hate this,” he whispered against your lips. “I hate how much I need this.”

But he didn’t stop. He kissed you again, slower now, lips softer but still trembling.

“You’re not supposed to matter this much.”

And yet, in that dim, dusty shop filled with memories of the past, he held you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel alive in the present.

___________________________________________________________________________

Kokonoi Hajime:

The penthouse was quiet except for the faint hum of the city lights below. The sleek marble and expensive furniture felt cold and distant—just like him. You stood across from Kokonoi, arms crossed, eyes sharp as you watched him pour a glass of whiskey with the slow, precise motions he always used to keep everything controlled.

“You think putting on that flawless act makes you untouchable?” you said, voice steady but laced with frustration. “That no one sees the cracks underneath?”

He glanced up at you, a slow, almost mocking smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “And you think yelling at me is going to fix that? How adorable.”

You took a step closer, refusing to back down. “I’m not yelling. I’m trying to get through. But you don’t make it easy.”

His smirk deepened, sharper this time. “Maybe because you don’t even know what you want from me.”

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly, voice dropping just enough to be dangerous. “You’re scared. Scared that I’ll see through your walls.”

He laughed, but it was cold and bitter, nothing like genuine amusement. “Scared? You don’t even understand the word.”

“You’re terrified,” you shot back, moving closer so that the space between you was thick with heat. “Terrified that I’ll find out what you really feel.”

His eyes flickered, the first crack in his perfect mask. He set the glass down hard on the table and grabbed your wrist, yanking you toward him with sudden force. Your breath hitched as his face hovered inches from yours.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “But you’re the only thing I can’t just walk away from.”

Before you could say anything, he pressed his lips to yours—urgent, demanding, nothing gentle about it. His hands tangled fiercely in your hair, pulling you flush against him. The kiss was fiery, raw, like years of frustration poured into a single moment.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding on as if you could stop the world spinning out of control just by being there.

When he finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his eyes dark with something more than annoyance.

“You push me to the edge,” he said hoarsely, voice cracked. “I hate it. I hate how you make me want things I’m supposed to forget.”

His hands slid down your back, pulling you impossibly closer. He kissed you again, slower this time, lips brushing yours with a desperate softness that made your heart twist.

“I hate how you’re the first thing I think about when I wake up,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “And the last thing I want to admit before I fall asleep.”

You smiled, small and shaky, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

“And yet here we are,” you whispered. “Neither of us able to walk away.”

He smiled back, a rare, genuine thing, and kissed you again—this time full of promise and surrender.

___________________________________________________________________________

Izana Kurokawa:

The warehouse was silent except for the faint drip of water somewhere far off. Dust motes floated in the shafts of moonlight cutting through broken windows, painting everything in cold silver.

You faced Izana Kurokawa, his pale eyes unreadable, fixed on you like you were a puzzle he’d been trying to solve — or maybe a problem he hated to admit he cared about.

“You really think you can just barge into my world and change anything?” His voice was low, steady, but there was an edge of something sharp underneath, like ice cracking.

You didn’t back down. “Maybe I don’t want to walk away.”

A flicker of something like frustration—or was it longing?—passed through his eyes. He stepped closer, deliberate and slow.

“You’re insufferable,” Izana said quietly, a ghost of a bitter smile curling his lips. “You keep pushing. You keep testing. You rile me more than anyone ever has.”

“And you hate it,” you said softly, “because you can’t admit what you really feel.”

His gaze darkened, the carefully constructed mask slipping just enough for you to see the storm beneath.

“You don’t understand what I’ve buried,” he whispered, voice thick with pain and something close to fear.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that shocked you—fragile, hesitant.

Then he closed the distance.

His lips were cold at first, barely brushing yours in a testing kiss. But when you didn’t pull away, when you leaned in, his kiss deepened — desperate, fierce, filled with years of silence and unsaid things.

His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him like he could hold the world steady if only he held you.

Between breaths, he murmured, “I’m tired of pretending. Tired of hiding behind control and coldness.”

His lips parted from yours only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, voice breaking just a little.

“You make me feel alive… and it terrifies me.”

You ran your fingers through his silken hair, feeling the tremor beneath his calm.

“Izana…” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He kissed you again — this time softer, slower, as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

The loneliness he carried wrapped around you both, fragile and aching. For a moment, the fierce leader was gone — just a man, afraid and vulnerable, reaching out.

“I don’t know how to be anything but this,” he confessed, voice raw. “But with you… I want to try.”

You smiled gently, heart pounding, knowing that in this quiet warehouse, surrounded by shadows and memories, something fragile and real was beginning.

[elodieunderglass]

Thoughts on "Are the Redwall Animals Monarchist"

I could see them being like, pro-monarchy but wanting to not have an actual monarch. Like identifying stuff as "the Queen's royal navy" or "the crown jewels" or celebrating "the kings birthday". But without having an actual person in that role. .

Maybe they're holding the spot for King Arthur to return? IDK

They're just singing "God save the King" very earnestly but aren't thinking about Charles at all

Reference here: https://www.tumblr.com/elodieunderglass/787508796589228032/i-think-the-thing-that-does-come-through-is-that

It would definitely be on-brand for the “abbey” concept to not align with a monarch’s desires (hence the irl dissolution of the monasteries) but be pro-monarchy where it suits them and Special Little Free Thinkers when it doesn’t.

I think their stance would be WHATEVER IS EASIEST FOR AUTHOR and their author was powerfully, admirably lazy.

Ultimately: while it’s fun to make jokes about, and have fun with, the Redwall texts are too insubstantial and weak to be politically serious about (and it’s unfair to them to expect more.) they’re good at exactly what they say on the tin: zippy little adventures for babies, with uneven politics and a very poorly articulated morality. very typical of that kind of author popular at that kind of time (yes, even the ones we still like.) whatever questions you ask are going to be answered: ultimately Brian Jacques was a nice-mannered pleasant old reactionary working in a time when an old white man sitting on his ass in England generating infinite samey mousey stories could literally pay the mortgage.

Even just by joking about it, we are putting infinite more thought and brainpower, and burning more calories, than Brian Jacques ever did when he sat down at his Mouse OC Generation Machine. Man was NOT operating at high gear, and why would he. He was not required to have a single complex thought in his pretty little baldy head in order to pay his bills, so he did NOT waste his TIME. Slap some meadowcream on it and send it off in an envelope, it’ll do well enough. His audience was KIDS who wanted NEW BOOK. Even by considering a single religious or political implication we are being more intellectual than he could bear.

So we should ONLY care about it for as long as it is FUN and we are having fun, because there are no answers, and the question I posed (“are Redwall animals monarchists?”) is a very low-value question and ONLY worth answering if it’s FUNNY.

In which case: they DO very intentionally uphold the Squirrelkingdom AND restore Gael Squirrelking to power after he is deposed in a coup. and their national security is dependent on the feudal militaristic nation of Salamandastron.

So whatever that is - upholding monarchy in other states because it secures their national borders and keeps their own hands clean, and their own political situation a pretense of ethical democracy? It’s certainly SOMETHING. And the author who penned it fully believing it to be politically neutral.

[theamberparadise]

what would your hcs be for tim/masky and/or toby with a silly reader who is reaaaaally inexperienced but desperately wants to try a bunch of freaky stuff out... what would be their first thing to try? do they like playing a certain role? just stuff like that!!

also your writing/headcanons are bomb. dont die ever

MASKY AND TOBY x SHY BUT FREAKY! READER

SYNPOSIS; when a shy little sweetheart makes a lewd statement, Masky and Toby are taken aback… how do they react?

TW; d3gr4d4t10n, b0nd4g3, embarrassment/humiliation k1nk, sp4nk1ng, sl4pp1ng, ch0k1ng, b1t1ng, bru1s1ng, m0ck1ng, mentions of using hatchets in s3x

A/N; i am going to assume that this was a fully nsfw request……….. To this anon, i genuinely am so sorry

MASKY

You were sweet. Sweet as candy.

You loved Masky fully for who he is. You never hesitated to embrace his rough edges ever so gently like cotton. And when he inches even just a step towards your face, or when his gaze lingers on your face a little longer than he usually does, the pink glow on your cheeks reveals itself and you shuffle a few steps back.

So when you said you wanted to be tied up and ruined by nobody but him, a force blocks his body from screaming into the air, like an animal chained by a leash shaped like silent victory.

The moment you tell him your dark little secret, he is grinning under his mask like a maniac, which he absolutely is one.

Masky wouldn’t waste any time dragging you by your forearm in the bedroom. He doesn’t care if he leaves a bruise. You wanted this.

First thing on his mind is to restrain you. By any means possible. Scraps of dirty clothes? Perfect. The handcuffs in his pocket? Thank fuck he didn’t leave it. Tough rope he brought home after a mission? It would leave scratches and rope burns, but he likes seeing you ruined.

He wants to see you regret everything you said. And he’s going to enjoy it all with a low scoff and a glint in his eye.

His second action would be putting you in a position wherein he’s making you watch everything he does to your body. Masky wants you ashamed, ridiculed. Everything to make you feel dirty, because in his eyes, that’s what you are now.

Third? He wants to see your innocent body swell in pain, marks of paddles used for spanking being imprinted on your hips and ass sets him on fire.

Because if you turn out to be in the same fucked-up things he is? You’re not getting praised. You’re being punished. And Masky? He’s going to make it hurt.

He likes playing this fucked-up version of a teacher that doesn’t tolerate shit. And you’re a rowdy, trouble-ridden student that needs a good session of discipline.

The moment he sees you crying out of pain, desperation, and overstimulation, he spares no mercy. He might even mock you. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, his imitation of a girl's voice sending strings of embarrassment up your spine. “Little bitch didn’t get what she thought she wanted all along? She wanna stop?” your sobs are like heaven to him. Your tears strayed along your cheeks while you frantically shook your head. “No? Don’t wanna stop?” he swears he can’t stop smiling when you nod. “Then stop fucking crying!” your face was met with a harsh slap before he continues fucking you at a mind-numbing pace.

Masky honestly feels betrayed. Why didn’t you tell him you were such a fucked-up whore in need of a filthy fuck session? 

That doesn’t matter now. You can tick off all the dirty little things you’ve always wanted to try, because there’s no stopping Masky from giving you all the experience you need– whether you like it or not.

TOBY

You were an angel to him. An angel who despite all his gnarly scars and unsettling jolts, you still wholeheartedly place a kiss right on his pale, cold face.

He loves the way you blush when he snakes his arm around your waist. He loves the way you almost whine at even the most mundane body contact. He loves the way your eyes water when you’re overstimulated by his affections.

He’s been through a lot of things multiple times and sometimes he can even predict what might happen during difficult situations. But when you admit all your filthy little fantasies to him on a random Friday night, time seems to freeze and the air gets a little too stuffy.

Next thing you know, you’re trapped under him like a caged animal.

Thank god it’s Friday.

As soon as you finish off your bucket list of… oddities. Toby’s body jolts once before turning away from the tea you asked him to make. His head twitches to the side while the gash in his face emanated gentle jittering.

He’s quiet. So quiet. You could hear the crickets croak.

Then Toby beams. He beams like never before.

“D-damn, baby. Di-didn’t know you were into sh-shit like that,” he giggles, a shiver running down your back. “You get under my skin just right, don’t you naughty girl?” and with that, he hauls your body on his shoulder, giggling at your pathetic little hits.

For all his life, he has always been treated a dumb little twitching bastard that doesn’t know how to do anything. And that has extended to his proxy life, with Masky trailing behind him like a leech, sucking out everything Toby has in his body.

So when you tell him you wanted to do the dirtiest things despite not even having your first makeout, it was like divine intervention. No longer was he the rut of the litter. Right now? He’s the rabid fucking menace that was gonna ruin you tonight.

Toby would be the kind of guy that will swear that he’s going to be gentle on you– yet he never is. He would let you take the lead at times, especially if you’re getting a little needy, and when he wants to see all of you.

He wants to try something that can instill fear in you first. Maybe it’s him growling in your ear to fucking behave when you squirm too much. Maybe it’s him threatening to take a chunk of meat off your skin. Maybe it’s him bringing his hatchet into the game.

Then he’d like for you to take the wheel, allowing you to choke him while you bounce on him vigorously, spitting in his face whenever he tries to keep your hips down. Toby hates being told what to do. But when it was you who’s telling him to lick your cunt faster? He’s on it.

And after all that, he would take his power back and leave disgraceful marks on your body, be it his bites, his hickeys, bruises caused by him. He would laugh at your pathetic-fucked out face, mocking at the way you plead for him to slow down and make you cum, only for him to go agonizingly slow and deny your orgasm. “Please Toby, please I’m sorry please go faster,” you babble, watered-down mascara trickling down your temples and staining the pillows.

“Pwease Toby pwease,” he mocks, giggling at your pleading. His hand was on your neck, squeezing so deliciously while your eyes rolled back both in pain and in pleasure while he took his sweet, sweet time on hitting your g-spot. “Come on, baby. I thought you wanted this– unless you’d like me to stop?” you shook your head, frantically saying no, no, no and faster, faster please. Toby snorted, snapping his hips so harshly against your cervic, the tip of his cock throbbing at the new and sudden pace.

In short, Toby is ecstatic. He loves how secretly filthy you are, and while you kept it hidden from him all this time, it makes it as an excuse to go even rougher on you.

[extinctlesspains]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 [ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ x ғᴇᴍ! ᴡɪғᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 18+, sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴘsʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʜʀɪʟʟᴇʀ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ—ᴇʟᴇɢᴀɴᴛ, ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢʟʏ ᴄᴀʟᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ… ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴀʀᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ. ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: sᴀᴅɪsᴍ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ, sᴇx, ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇs, ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, sǫᴜɪʀᴛɪɴɢ, ғɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ, ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ, ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ?, ɪɴᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀᴀᴛʜᴏɴ sᴇx, ᴠɪʙʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴜsᴇ. ᴀғᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The click of the front door was soft, elegant... just like him.

You stood by the window, staring at the glass without seeing your reflection. The city lights danced across the skyline, taunting you with a freedom you hadn’t felt in years. Behind you, the sound of polished shoes tapped across the marble floor. Heavy and loud.

He was home.

“Darling,” his voice called out, velvet and calm. “We have a guest.”

Guest? Your brows furrowed as you turned.

And then you saw her. You're eyes dropped slightly and your posture tensed.

She stepped in beside him, clutching his arm like he was some movie star. She was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with big, gleaming eyes and the kind of soft smile people wore before they learned what love really was.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Who is that?” you asked, voice steadier than the storm behind your ribs. A part of you was nervous for his reply.

He just smiled. That same tight, unreadable smile he wore when offering strangers the slap of their life for a few won.

“This is Ji-ah,” he said. “My second wife.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine. You could hear a pin drop. It was an eerie feeling.

“I didn’t agree to—”

“You didn’t have to.” He turned toward you, placing his hand gently on the small of her back. “You’re not being replaced, jagiya. Don’t be dramatic.” He chuckled, pulling her a tad bit closer.

Ji-ah gave you a small, awkward bow. “I’ve heard so much about you. He said you’re the perfect wife.”

Your jaw clenched. “Then why does he need another?”

Your fast reply made her flinch like you’d struck her. But he? He only chuckled softly, unbothered. Almost as if he was enjoying the pain you were experiencing.

“Love,” he said, walking past you and toward the parlor, “is not a pie. One slice doesn’t mean less for the other.”

You followed slowly, footsteps echoing behind his, like a shadow that refused to disappear. Your brows furrowed as you took in his words. His explanation made no sense.

He made no sense.

He poured Ji-ah a drink first. Of course. The same crystal decanter he used for your anniversary just three months ago. The scent of expensive bourbon filled the air.

“I thought you hated sharing,” you said, arms crossing.

“I do.” His eyes flicked up to you. “But she’s not you. She’s something else. This is... an experiment.” He expressed, his hand doing motions around him.

You laughed bitterly. “Is this another game to you?”

He tilted his head, eyes sharp with something cold, like he’d been waiting for you to ask that. With a soft smirk, he replied coldly.

“My entire life is a game,” he said. “You know that. And you? You’ve always played your part beautifully.” He whispered while stepping loser to push a loose strand of hair back.

Ji-ah looked between the two of you, clearly out of her depth, or pretending to be. You couldn’t decide which was worse.

“But why now?” you asked. “Why bring her into our home?”

“Because I can,” he replied simply. “And because I wanted to see what you'd do. Would you fight? Cry? Leave?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice low and intimate.

“Or would you stay, knowing that I will kiss her like I kissed you, touch her like I touched you… but never truly love her the way I loved you first?”

Your chest tightened. The way he said loved, past tense.

Ji-ah reached for his hand then, as if that would calm the room, but he didn’t flinch. He let her. You watched his fingers brush hers gently, then curl around them like a secret.

It was the kind of touch he hadn’t offered you in weeks.

Maybe months.

You stood there, frozen, the first wife in a kingdom that no longer crowned queens.

And then, he glanced at you again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “You’ll always be mine, jagi. You were just… first.”

Over time, you had learned to ignore them. Well, tried to.

It was hard to ignore the sound of laughter that echoed from the garden.

You stood in the hallway, hidden behind the frame of the door like some kind of ghost in your own home. Ji-ah’s giggle floated through the air, light, girlish, too sweet. It clung to your skin like syrup and bile.

Quite frankly, it made you sick to your stomach.

And his voice… deep, amused, affectionate.

You hadn't heard him laugh like that in weeks.

Your hand curled against the wall, nails biting into your palm. And knuckles turning white.

“She said I was funny,” he said over dinner last night. “You used to say that too. Before you got so… serious.”

You had wanted to scream. Instead, you nodded and swallowed the ache like wine: bitter, expensive, and aging poorly.

Now, Ji-ah sat on the garden bench with him, smiling up as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. That gesture used to be yours.

Your eyes straining as you attempted to decode what she was wearing,it looked familiar. That's when it hit you...she was wearing your old robe.

The ivory silk one he gave you when you moved into the house together. The one that had your initials stitched faintly on the collar. It looked better on you. You wanted to rip it off her like paper.

Your feet moved without thinking. Into the garden and toward the scene.

“Oh!” Ji-ah blinked when she saw you, scrambling to her feet like a child caught stealing.

He remained seated, eyes flicking up lazily. “You’re up early.”

It was nearly noon. His non-expressive tone made your jaw clench. How could he forget his own wife was an early bird?

You ignored her and looked directly at him. “We need to talk.”

He exhaled through his nose and stood, brushing imaginary dust off his slacks. “Ji-ah. Give us a moment.”

She hesitated, then bowed slightly before retreating inside. Her perfume lingered behind, something floral and young. You missed the days he liked your scent best.

He turned to you slowly. “Well?”

“What is this, really?” you whispered. “Is she a toy? A weapon? A test?”

His brows rose, lips twitching slightly. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m still your wife.”

“You are.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “She didn’t take your ring.”

“But she took everything else.”

You stepped closer. “She took your mornings. Your voice. Your hands. Your attention.”

His gaze darkened, just a shade.

“You’re angry,” he observed, almost pleased. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

“This isn’t a game,” you snapped.

“But it is. Everything’s a game. You just don’t like that you’re losing.”

You stared at him, blinking through the blur threatening your vision.

“I loved you,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

Then he stepped close, closer than he had in days, until his lips brushed your ear.

“But love, jagiya… has never stopped me before.”

And he walked past you.

That night, you lay in the cold silence of your shared bed, staring at the ceiling.

The wall was thin enough for you to hear her laugh again from down the hall.

Then her moan.

You turned your face into the pillow, biting down on the fabric so hard your teeth hurt. You wanted to scream. To claw. To bleed.

But all you did was lie there.

Still.

Forgotten.

Until the next morning.

When Ji-ah came to you, her voice low, her hands trembling, her lip split.

“He hurt me,” she whispered.

“I thought he was gentle.”

You stared at her. And for the first time…

You smiled.

That was the first time Ji-ah cried in front of you. And it was quiet.

A split lip, a faint tremble in her hands as she sat at the kitchen counter. She practically ran to you, like she knew instinctively where the safety was.

“He... he got upset,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I said something wrong.”

You said nothing at first.

You just passed her the ice.

And watched.

She held it to her face, fingers trembling like bird wings.

“He didn’t mean it,” she added quickly, with a nervous gulp “He said I talk too much, that I make the house too loud. But he didn’t mean it.”

You tilted your head, lips pursed.

“Of course not,” you said softly. “He gets overwhelmed. He’s very… particular.” A sigh escaped your lips, remembering the days he would slap you as if you were a contestant of the games.

The nights he gripped your arms and left bruises that stayed for days, maybe weeks.

She sniffled. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know,” you replied, laying your hand on hers. “I see how hard you try.” lies. All lies.

She looked at you then, eyes watery. “Does he… even love me?”

You paused.

This is it. This is the chance.

Then gave her a sad smile.

“No.”

That night, you brought her tea. Not poisoned, of course. God, no. It was just warm. Calming.

Even so, she hesitated before sipping.

“I used to think I could change him too,” you admitted softly, gazing at the steam. “Thought if I loved him enough, he’d soften. Become… normal.”

Ji-ah’s lips parted. “But he didn’t?”

You met her eyes.

“No. He loved how I broke for him.”

She swallowed. “He told me I was different from you.”

You nodded. “He said the same thing to me about the last one.”

Her brows furrowed. “The last—?”

You placed your teacup down carefully. “He always finds someone sweet. Gentle. Someone who thinks they can fix him.”

She went silent.

“He’ll love you hard,” you continued, voice low and careful. “Until you start cracking. Then he’ll blame you for the pieces.”

Ji-ah stared down at her tea like it might explain everything.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

You reached for her hand again. “You don’t deserve this.” A fake, but sweet, smile tugged at your lips. It showed Ji-ah comfort... But for you, it showed that you were winning.

She blinked. “But you… you stayed.”

A pause.

“Yes.” Because I love him.

But you don’t say that part aloud.

Instead, you lean in. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

The next morning, Ji-ah was packing.

You found her folding clothes with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

“He was sweet when I first met him,” she murmured. “Like something out of a novel. Charming. Perfect.”

You leaned on the doorway. “That’s how he traps you.”

She nodded. “But not you.”

You gave a sad smile. “I’m not trapped. I chose this.”

She looked at you, quiet. “Why?”

You shrugged gently. “Because I can take what you can’t.”

A silence passed between you.

And then she whispered, “Will he be mad I left?”

You stepped forward, brushing her hair behind her ear like he used to do to you.

“No,” you said softly. “He’ll miss you. But he’ll stay with me.”

That night, he came home to find you alone in the living room, curled up on the couch in your robe.

“She’s gone?” he asked, removing his coat.

You nodded.

He tilted his head, observing you carefully. “Why?”

You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper.

“She couldn’t handle you.”

You're eyes were dark, manipulative if you will.

A long pause. His eyes darkened just a touch. He stepped forward, and for the first time in weeks, he cupped your cheek.

“And you?” he murmured.

You smiled.

“I was always built to stay."

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, a flicker of something unrecognizable passing through them. He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze piercing and intense. Then, without warning, he reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"You think you can handle me?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you're strong enough to stay by my side, no matter what?"

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Prove it," he whispers, his eyes burning into yours. "Show me that you're not like the others. Show me that you can truly be mine."

His grip on your chin tightens slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"Or maybe," he says, his voice barely audible, "You're just like all the others. Weak. Fragile. Easily broken."

He releases your chin abruptly and turns away, walking towards the window. He stands with his back to you, his shoulders tense.

"I don't have time for games," he says coldly. "If you truly want to stay by my side, then you need to prove your worth. Show me that you can handle whatever I throw at you."

"How should I prove it to you?" A soft whisper escaped your lips.

He turns back to face you, his expression unreadable. He studies you for a long moment, his gaze piercing and intense. Then, without a word, he begins to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes widen slightly and you're body seems to have frozen.

"Come here," he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

As you hesitate, he raises an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his eyes.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, his tone mocking. "Or are you truly willing to do whatever it takes to prove yourself?"

He shrugs off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and abs. He's a work of art, sculpted by years of discipline and power.

"Show me that you can handle my touch," he says softly, holding out his hand. "Come here and touch me. Explore every inch of my body."

He waits, his hand outstretched, his eyes locked on yours. The challenge is clear: prove yourself worthy by accepting his touch and exploring his body.

"I don't bite," he says with a hint of a smirk, though the coldness in his eyes suggests otherwise. "Unless you want me to."

The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires and expectations. Your husbands offer is a test of your commitment, your willingness to submit to his dominance and explore the depths of your relationship.

"So," he prompts again, his hand still extended. "Are you ready to prove yourself? Or will you back down now?"

With hesitation, you walked over slowly, putting your hands out to caress his abdomen.

He watches you approach, his eyes never leaving yours. As your hands make contact with his abdomen, he sucks in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He's warm to the touch, his skin smooth and firm.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and approving. "Now explore. Touch every inch of me."

He stands still, allowing you to roam your hands over his chest and abs. You trace the lines with your fingertips.

As you continue to explore, his breathing grows heavier. He reaches out and grabs your wrists, stopping your movements. He pulls you closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

"Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice husky. His growing member was pressed against your thigh, making your breath hitch. "That's what you do to me. That's how much I want you."

He releases your wrists and reaches up to cup your face in his hands.

His hands are gentle as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, his pupils dilated. He leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

"You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "Only mine. And you're such h a good fucking girl for manipulating her to leave."

You flushed. How could he possibly know? He chuckled at your expression. "What? Thought I wouldn't find out?..." He teased.

"I created you. I know everything..."

Then he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It's demanding and possessive, claiming your mouth as his own. His tongue sweeps inside, exploring every inch of you.

One hand slides down to the small of your back, pulling you even closer. The other tangles in your hair, holding you in place as he devours you.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

"That's just the beginning," he murmurs. "I'm going to push you to your limits and beyond. I'm going to make you scream my name until it's the only thing you know."

"That's what I've been asking for since she got here" you spat,

His eyes flash with anger at your words. He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't you dare compare yourself to her," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "She was a mistake. A fleeting moment of weakness. You are my wife. My equal. My partner."

He releases your chin and steps back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I brought her here because I thought it would push you, challenge you," he admits, his tone softer but still tense. "I wanted to see if you truly loved me, if you were willing to fight for me."

He looks at you, his gaze intense and searching.

"And you have," he says quietly. "You've proven yourself time and again. You've shown me that you're strong, resilient, and fiercely loyal."

He reaches out and takes your hand in his, his touch gentle despite the tension in his body.

"Now let me show you how much I appreciate you, hm?" You gulped, nodding at his demanding words.

His expression softens at your nod. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his forehead against yours.

"Good," he murmurs. "I'm going to take care of you now. I'm going to worship every inch of your body and show you just how much you mean to me."

He kisses you deeply, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that belies the intensity in his eyes. His hands roam over your back, pulling you flush against him.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you upstairs to the bedroom, his steps sure and purposeful.

He lays you down on the bed gently, hovering over you. His eyes rake over your body hungrily.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So perfect."

He begins to undress you slowly, kissing each inch of skin he reveals. He takes his time, savoring every moment, every touch.

As he removes the last of your clothing, he sits back on his heels, admiring the sight of you spread out beneath him.

"I'm going to make love to you. Slowly and gently, until you're trembling with need. I want to bring you to the edge of pleasure again and again, until you're begging for release."

He leans down and captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands caress your body reverently, touching and exploring every curve and contour.

He trails kisses down your neck, pausing to suck gently at the pulse point. He continues downward, paying homage to your collarbone and the swell of your breasts.

As he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak, his hand slides down between your legs. He cups your mound possessively, his fingers stroking through your folds.

"You're already so wet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

"I love how responsive you are, how your body reacts to my every touch."

His fingers continue their explorations, teasing and stroking your most intimate places. He slips a finger inside you, curling it to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"That's it, baby," he encourages softly. "Relax and let me take care of you."

He adds another finger, pumping them in and out slowly. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive nub. He keeps up the dual assault, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue on your nipple.

All you could do was whimper, arching into his sensual touches.

He smiles against your skin at your whimper, pleased by your responsiveness. He increases the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper and faster inside you.

"That's right, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me know how much you want this."

He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His tongue swirls around the nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure.

His thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing firm circles. The combination of sensations is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he commands softly. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers."

His fingers pump faster, curling to hit that perfect spot inside you. His thumb presses down hard on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice low and husky. "Let go. Come for me."

With a cry of his name, you shatter. Your body convulses as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. His fingers slow their movements, gently bringing you down from your high.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs approvingly, kissing your neck softly. "You're so beautiful when you come."

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean.

He watches you with a hungry gaze as he sucks his fingers clean, savoring your taste. Once he's finished, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, sharing the flavor with you.

"You taste divine," he murmurs against your mouth. "I could eat you out all day and never get enough."

He starts trailing kisses down your body again, heading south. He settles between your legs, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs.

"But first," he says with a wicked grin, "I'm going to feast on this sweet pussy until you're begging me to stop."

He spreads your legs wider and dives in, his tongue parting your folds and delving inside. He laps at your sensitive flesh, his tongue flat and firm as it strokes along your length.

"Fuck, I just love the way you taste," he groans, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. With a gasp, your hands travel to his hair and tug at it.

He growls approvingly against your core as you tug at his hair, the slight pain only fueling his desire. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue delving deeper inside you as he feasts on your pussy like a man starved.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your flesh, "Use me. Take what you need."

He sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. One hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he devours you.

His other hand slides up your body, palming your breast and pinching your nipple. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel you getting close," he says, releasing your clit with a pop. "Come on my tongue. Flood my mouth with your juices."

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cry out his name as you come undone, your body convulsing with pleasure.

He doesn't let up, continuing to lap at your sensitive flesh as he rides out your orgasm.

You breathe heavily as your second orgasm washes over you. You blink slowly, looking up at him. Your vision is blurry but you can see him reaching over the night stand and taking out a tiny vibrator.

You gulp nervously as you stare at him. That's when you knew this would be a long night.

He smirks as he sees the nervous gulp in your throat. He holds up the tiny vibrator, letting you get a good look at it.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he says softly,

"I'll take good care of you."

[all-with-angel]

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

...by Artic Monkeys

❥ Suguru Geto x Reader

Lovely day to get manipulated by Suguru Geto, no?

Made for Angels Birthday Event!

You stood with your back to the open doors, sliding into the familiar weight of your jujutsu uniform. It felt heavier than usual tonight. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe shame. Maybe the lingering ghost of his hands on your skin.

“Slipping away so soon?” Suguru hummed, voice velvet - venom laced in silk. You didn't turn around, didn’t answer. But he continued to hover right behind you, shadow creeping up on you until a cold hand met yours, just before you could pull your sleeve over your shoulder. "You’re really going to pretend you didn’t enjoy it?" He sounded amused.

“This wasn’t about enjoyment,” you said coldly, slapping his hand away and closing your uniform. You had to report back soon. “I came here for intel.”

“Oh? And what’d you find?” he murmured, hands slipping around your waist. You flinched, hands ready to pry his arms away. But not yet. “That I kiss better than your precious higher-ups ever warned you?”

You turned sharply, shoving him back with a palm to his chest. He only stepped once, unbothered. Maybe even smug.

“You’re disgusting,” you spat. 

“Then what does that make you?” Suguru hummed, smirk only growing on his lips. Lips you kissed mere moments ago, lips that whispered promises of devotion on your skin as you both forgot about reputation and sides. “Hm? A traitor?”

“I am not a traitor–” You raise your voice, only to choke on your words when his veiny hand comes up to grab your jaw, tugging you towards him as he lowers his face to meet yours.

“Don’t act so self righteous, darling,” He whispered, tone suddenly darker. “Your orders were either to gather information or –” Suguru clicked his tongue as he tilted his head sharply to the side. “ - To kill me. Not to fuck me.”

With a harsh shove, you send him and yourself stumbling back. You're halfway out the door, shadow casted along the floor of the temple. “Fuck off.” You sneered.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Geto said softly, ignoring you. “That I used you. That I only let you crawl into my sheets because you’re a sorcerer.”

He tilted his head, and despite the blue of the moonlight, his eyes seemed to reflect red. “And you’d be half-right. I do use you. But I also want you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. 

“You want me to believe you care?” you asked, voice sharper now. You felt the hum of cursed energy at your fingertips, you could kill him right now - or die trying. “That this is about feelings?” You scoff. “Don’t take me for an idiot.”

“You think I don’t feel things just because I’ve grown past jujutsu society's flawed ideals?” he hissed, mask cracking ever so slightly. “You think obsession isn’t a feeling?”

You stared. The room tilted. His eyes - dark, held something manic. Insane. Broken.

“You fascinate me,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now. His demeanor changing in seconds. “You try to hate me, and yet you can’t. So what is it really?” He spread his arms wide, kimono falling softly past his shoulders to expose his toned chest. Scarred with an X. “Kill me, don’t kill me, make your choice why don’t you?”

Your breath hitches. It really would be so easy. Kill him and youd be praised as a hero, get a bonus, get recognition. Maybe earn the respect you deserve.

But you don't.

“Goodbye, Suguru.”

He lowers his arms, watching your back as you walk away from him, sneaking into the night and back to that school. “You’ll be back,” he called after you, his voice echoing down the long hallway. “You’ll come crawling back because deep down, you want this. You want me. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”

Maybe he was right.

[peachpopfizz]

so originally i was just doing a ref of the twins for the sake of my own memory. but then i realized "hey i can also make a blind felix au ref outta this"

i chose to dress the bfau boys as i did for specific reasons and i yap about it all under the cut so if you wanna see an autistic person lose their mind about character design uhhh open it ig

• Felix likes wearing thick, baggy clothing because it makes him feel more weighted and secure. also, he often runs into stuff during his first few months of blindness, and the thicker clothing helps reduce injury. it just kinda subconsciously became his preferred style of clothing after that. yes, he will wear a knitted sweater in 90° heat. no, he's not okay

• Felix's shoes are also noticeably thicker-soled than Ted's bc, again, he's scared he's gonna step on something on accident. his shoes are also velcro instead of lace so he doesn't struggle with putting them on by himself

• bc Felix Sr/Mr. Huxely is an Asshole who teaches his kids Assholish Values, Felix is very much ashamed of having to use a cane for a long, long time. he normally has Ted carry it around for him and only uses it when he absolutely has to. normally TED is his living cane so he doesn't need it much agdhagsgaha

• Felix replaces his bandages the start of every day, and every night before he goes to bed. ...or, Ted does it for him. a few nurses have tried before but Felix always complains about them 'not doing it right' or 'making it too tight' and even if they manage to get the bandages on, Felix would just rip them off and demand for Ted to do it afterwards (this is my way of subtly saying Felix only wants and trusts Ted to do his bandages and he's terrified of everyone else lol haha)

• He's still a little snobby asshole but he gets better every day, especially after meeting other disabled people. it's a slow process, but he's getting there. slowly. sooooo slowly.

• ong the whole time I was drawing bfau Ted the more details i added to him the louder that at one Markiplier audio played in my head. 'oh, it's adorable! ...oh, it has anxiety. oh, it's traumatized-'

• the only positive about this situation is that since Felix isn't on his ass about upholding a formal appearance for the family name anymore, Ted can dress more to his style, which is like. how any 5 year old would wanna dress ODGOSGAIG

• also, Ted not only primarily wears red bc it's like. His Color, it also hides bloodstains very well. and as I said in my first bfau post, blood comes out when Felix cries, Ted just.. doesn't mention that

• there's not much else to say about Ted's design other than that I slapped the top of that bad boy and saw how much guilt I could fit in em. spoiler: its a lot

• Ted doesn't get very good sleep a lot of the time, and when hes not with Felix, it's bc Felix Sr is dragging him to a business meeting so that he can 'learn the ropes'. Ted sleeps the best whenever Felix is in the same room as him, so thats why he has the eyebags. he doesn't get to, often

• as I said in my last post, Ted blames himself for what happened, even if it like. isn't at all his fault. he smiles a lot less and has lost a lot of his joyous whimsy. he still is the kinder and more positive twin, hes just. hes really Sad

• if someone makes fun of Felix for being blind Ted will beat them with the cane, fullstop. don't test him

• ...okay this isnt an au-specific thing its just how I draw the twins but every time I get to do it it makes me go 'teehee'. Felix's little hair part thing is shaped like an apple, and Ted's is a heart. teehee. I love details

okay that's it thank you for reading the rambles of an autistic maniac now shoo shoo sprays you with spray bottle

[earlgreylatte]

Her

(Spectre Hal Jordan x Reader) Your dead lover returns to you in a different form. Not that you really mind…

Tossing and turning for maybe the fiftieth time tonight, you kick your legs out in frustration. No matter how hard you tried to drift off, you were damned to stay awake.

You had thought that you were finally able to move past the many nights of dread and loneliness, knowing the man you once shared a bed with was irrevocably gone, but even with time, the hollow feeling of loss lingered.

Hero, traitor, murderer, and saviour at the very end, Hal left you and your image of him a mess of broken shards.

The only thing you could do was continue on without him, trying to bury the painful memories. But despite your best efforts, his presence continued to haunt you. Phantom touches grazing your face and illusions of him at every corner, he existed in your life as a ghost; cruel and unreachable.

Shaking your head, you slap a hand against your eyes, already aware sleep was a losing battle now that he’s evaded your mind.

“Hal…”

A murmur of his name leaves you, whether as a curse or evocation, you’re not sure, but the urge to call out for him emerged from somewhere deep into your chest.

You just hadn’t expected anyone to respond.

The syllables of your name intoned by a husky voice had you jolting up, searching the darkness of your room only to be met with a green clad figure, pale skin glowing.

A…woman?

You feel a small twinge of relief for a moment before reaffirming a home invader is in fact a home invader.

“Uh, could you…go?” You request.

That had you wincing in embarrassment.

She calls your name again, an amused cadence in her words, “You always have been nicer to ladies than men…”

You stare at her for a moment longer, observing her more closely. The way she said your name, familiar and slow, but not new. The longing but hesitant posture now more clear.

“Hal?”

She remains silent before moving closer, her presence heavy, but not unpleasant. Not unfamiliar.

“I didn’t think you would recognize me like this…”

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” You ask, accepting this was a dream, one where Hal appeared to you as a ghost lady. You didn’t want to think about what that says about your current state.

“I was, but then I was reborn again, as Spectre, arbitrator of retribution and vengeance,” she explains simply, as if you two were discussing groceries.

“So, that transitioned you into a woman?” You tilt your head, trying not to overtly stare at your dead lover’s chest.

She laughs, “I am an aspect of Hal Jordan. I embody the female energy that resides in his mind, heart, and spirit, in the same way it does for every individual.”

“Bet Oliver would pay to see this…” you trail off before startling, “Aspect? So, if you’re just one part of him, where’s…the whole Hal? Why hasn’t he come? Not that I mind you being here…!”

“He comes, every night really, watching you from afar, no matter how much it continues to pain him,” the spectre responds, weight now resting on your bed as she brings a hand to caress your face. It was surprisingly warm. Real.

“So, he gets to see me whenever he wants, but won’t even allow me to catch a glimpse of him, to know that he’s here?” You feel a stinging sensation in your eyes. How many more tears do you have to shed for him to return?

“I’m— he’s guilty. He doesn’t feel like he should subject you to anymore heartbreak.”

“He doesn’t get to decide that!” You retort hotly, “No, I shouldn’t take it out on you…or maybe I should?”

“I don’t mean to confuse you, I was selfish coming here knowing he was too preoccupied to visit tonight. I should leave you to finally rest.” The weight on your mattress shifts as she moves away, and in a panic you clumsily grab at her, frantically trying to make her stay.

She pauses. You stiffen.

You slowly remove your hands from Hal’s breasts.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s nothing you haven’t already felt…in another form, I suppose.”

“It just happened—“

“If you so desired, I’d be more than happy to let you explore me more thoroughly.” At that moment, you realized she really was all Hal.

You stutter for a moment, before resolutely reaching out to grasp her hand, smaller and more lithe than the larger ones you remember. But being able to touch Hal again, even if this was all just some fever dream, was something you’d always be grateful for, you realize.

She shifts closer, hands firmly moving you to rest on your back as she settles atop of you, her ghostly complexion and familiar green mask staring back at you, black lips twitching for a second before they meet yours. You grip her shoulders, desperately trying to get her closer as she devours you with a hunger you haven’t felt in ages.

Hal, Hal, Hal—

The fact a kiss was enough to have you feeling like this would have had Hal more than smug, but it seemed like she was just as starved of contact as you.

“I missed you,” she whispers, heavily, “This whole time I never stopped thinking about you, wanting to show myself—“

She exhales before burying her face against your neck, mouthing at your flesh.

You grip on her tightens, willing this moment to last longer, until she declared that she, Hal, was going to stay.

But just as quickly as it started, she pulled away with an irked expression.

“To be jealous of your own self…men,” she mutters, thumb brushing a tear from under your eye before she kisses you again. You hadn’t realized you were crying.

“Every part, aspect, and fibre of Hal Jordan’s being loves you, always. Remember that,” she whispers against your lips before tracing a finger across your forehead, and you felt yourself slipping away no matter how hard you tried to keep your eyes open.

When you awoke the next morning, groggily pulling yourself out of bed into the washroom, you screamed, noticing the red mark on your neck.

It wasn’t a dream…!

FIRST TO WRITE FOR FEM SPECTRE X READER!! I’m no coward (the same cannot be said for dc)!!

Edit: I did not realize it was Yuri Day😂

Masterlist