#FORCE I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU

[joongdunking]

ASJDHDKSBSMSB AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[dethmetalmutt]

New year new neothans !! (c: @z0mbugs )

[jane-the-good]

CALEB: reunited

WORD COUNT: 3.8K

SUMMARY: What happened right after you finally reunited, when you truly believed Caleb was dead

NOTE: If I reunited with my lover after I thought he was dead!!!! I would be a wreck!!!!

WARNING: smut, they're both crybabies (understandably), unprotected sex, oral, fingering, emo/angst, Caleb loves youuuuuuuu

AO3 caleb masterlist

I also made a CALEB sweater if that’s your thing ♡

“So, this is my place.” He holds the door open for you to step in first, when you’re ready. “This is where I’ve been.”

It’s strange…surreal. Even his voice hits you like a memory that never aged. This is Caleb. His tone, his rhythm, the tiny movements he makes when he talks. It’s all exactly the same. Like no time passed. Like he never died.

Except you know he did.

You held the grief like a second spine. You felt it twist and ache under your dead weight. You barely made it out with your breath intact. He was gone. You mourned him in pieces. The old voicemails, through pictures you couldn’t delete, through dreams that ended with you waking up sobbing into your hands.

But now, standing here with him in this ordinary, cozy space. It’s like none of that happened. Someone reached into your chest and pressed the undo button on the worst thing that ever happened to you.

It’s messing with your sense of reality.

You remember that you were in pain, but are no longer able to access the sharpness of it. Just a dull echo. A bruise of a memory.

The room around you smells faintly of cedar and the remnant of a bread or something baked. He must have made breakfast for himself this morning. It’s warm in the way places are when someone actually lives there. The space itself is sleek and almost too clean, but he’s turned it into a his own, effortlessly. There’s a rhythm to the dust and the clutter. A worn blanket is tossed over the back of a couch that looks like it’s hosted a thousand naps. Books on his side table, open to different pages, mid-thought.

“This doesn’t really look like a place you would like,” you say, trying to ground yourself in something, anything, normal.

He shrugs, like he knows exactly what you mean. “That’s not true. You know money has always been what I care most about. Everything I do is for material gain.”

You laugh, just a little. Because of course. That biting humor. That’s him. That was him. Still is.

“Yes, yeah. How could I forget.”

But you did forget. Or maybe you tried to. Maybe that was the only way to survive losing him in the first place.

And now here he is, in front of you again. Real. Breathing. Joking.

You’re not sure what hurts more. His death or this impossible return?

Your eyes catch on something small, something that doesn’t fit with the rest of this altered version of him. Something that doesn’t belong to this sterile, sarcastic, maybe half-stranger standing in front of you.

A music box.

It’s tucked on a shelf, almost like an afterthought, but your gaze locks onto it instantly. Carved wood, edges smoothed by time and touch. The finish is chipped at one corner, just slightly. You remember when that happened. A summer storm, a mad dash indoors, and Caleb had dropped it in the wet grass. You’d both cried.

You step toward it, drawn to it’s magnetic force. It’s calling your name in a language only the two of you spoke.

Delicately, you reach out and twist the knob.

The soft click of the mechanism turning awakens it’s heartbeat.

A tiny airplane, its wings worn at the tips, begins to spin slowly. And then the melody starts, thin and clear. So familiar. It burns.

The tune coils around your ribs, winding tighter with every note. You can feel it. In your history.

That was your life. That was him.

And now it’s here. In this room. In this house where he supposedly rebuilt himself without you.

Your Caleb, the one you loved, the one you lost…he lived here. Not some ghost wearing his skin. Not some cruel imitation.

He sat here. He touched this box. He listened to this melody. He was here, breathing, while you were somewhere else, cracking apart under the weight of his absence.

The realization doesn’t ask permission.

It surges forward and steals another moment from you.

A silent sob punches through you, breaking your wave of ache against the sharpest rock. Your knees buckle, and before you can catch yourself, you're sinking, into the sound, into the past, into everything you never got to say.

He was here.

And you weren’t.

You cover your mouth, the emotion too much, too sudden. The ache of mourning, the sheer weight of what you lost, and didn’t really lose, floods you into a storm you can’t outrun.

Then he’s there. No hesitation, no questions. Just arms around you, pulling you in. He holds you and tries to find every shattered piece of you lost the moment he left.

He pulls you in, arms strong and sure, cradling your body like something sacred, if he lets go for even a second, you’ll vanish again. His grip trembles, not from weakness but from the unbearable relief of holding what he thought he lost forever.

You cling to him just as tightly, fists curled into the fabric of his shirt like anchors. Your tears soak into him, silent and shaking, and he doesn't flinch. Instead, he buries his face in your hair, breathing you in like it’s the first breath he’s taken in years.

“I’m here,” he whispers, the words breaking over your skin. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m so sorry, God, I’m so sorry.”

His apologies melt into the curve of your neck, whispered like prayers he doesn’t expect to be answered. You feel the heat of him, the trembling restraint in the way he holds you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice catching. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, trying to speak, trying to form words that don’t exist yet. But he goes on, because he has to. Because if he stops now, maybe it’ll swallow him whole.

“I tried to find safe ways to get word to you,” he says. You feel the tremor in his chest, the regret dragging his words down.

You pull back slightly, enough to see his face. His eyes are glassy, like he’s been holding it in for years. Maybe he has.

“I thought you were dead,” you say, your voice cracking. “I grieved you. I buried you. I didn’t just miss you, I lost you.”

“I know,” Caleb says, like the words physically wound him. “And I should’ve died. I should’ve. But I didn’t. And every day I was alive and not with you… I was living someone else’s life.”

You blink fast, trying to stay grounded, but your hands are shaking. “Why didn’t you tell me once you were safe? You could’ve found a way. You had to know what it was doing to me.”

“I thought I was keeping you safe.” His voice is so hoarse. “I thought if I stayed away, you could heal, move on, build a life that wasn’t tangled up in everything I’d ruined.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you snap, voice sharp through the tears. “You were everything. You still are. You don’t get to decide for me what I can handle.”

Caleb swallows hard, looking away like it hurts to hold your gaze. “I know. I know now. Back then… I wasn’t strong enough to face you.” He kisses your forehead. “I didn’t even want the strength to leave you behind. I still don’t.”

You’re both quiet for a long beat, just breathing each other in.

Then softly, “You’re here now.”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m here. And if you’ll let me… I’ll never disappear again.”

His hand lifts to your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye with a tenderness that draws your gaze. The pain is still there in both of you, mangled with want.

You close your eyes, forehead pressed to his, the soft warmth of his breath brushing your lips. It’s too much, his return, the way his hands tremble just slightly on your knees This lingering heaviness

He draws back, just far enough to see your face. There’s a stunned silence that settles. in the air.

When his lips finally find yours, It’s not gentle. Not hesitant. It's a collision. The time of silence and sorrow and longing crash into you, pouring out in a kiss that’s too full of feeling to be quiet.

It’s everything you couldn’t say, everything he couldn’t send. The ache of loss. The fury. The desperate joy of finding each other again.

You press into him with that same hunger, matching the urgency in the way his hands fist in your shirt, pulling you closer, like he's still not convinced this is real. You taste the salt of your own tears on his lips, feel the way his breath stutters against your mouth.

There’s no logic here. No plan. Just heat, emotion, and the fragile sound of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again.

He breaks the kiss only to look at you. His forehead resting against yours, eyes searching like he needs confirmation that this is still happening.

“I thought I’d never get this back,” he murmurs, his voice frayed and low. “Not even a piece of you.”

You tilt into him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer like you’re afraid he’ll vanish again if you let go. His breath stutters when you pull, a low, helpless sound slipping from his throat as he kisses you deeper, hungrier. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he holds you, like he’s rediscovering a language he once forgot how to speak. You’re the only word that matters.

His hands splay wide across your back, palms warm and firm as he presses you fully against him. It’s familiar but heavier this time, threaded with all the ache of everything unsaid, every second you thought he was gone. You feel it in the way your mouths move together, in the way your bodies don’t just touch, they cling. breath returning after years underwater.

When the kiss finally breaks, your foreheads stay pressed together, panting softly in the dark hush. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone, lingering as though your skin might vanish if he looks away.

“You’re still the same,” he says, wonder thick in his voice. “Still my person. Even after all this time.”

His hands slide lower, palms sifting under the hem of your shirt, his touch dragging like warm static over your spine. The room shifts around you, distant and quiet, the only things that matter are the points where your bodies meet.

The stars stretch wide through the high windows, Skyhaven glittering below like a city made of memories. And somewhere in those clouds and the weightless quiet of space, you’re suspended together, still, yet undone.

Caleb trails his fingers over the small of your back, drawing slow, searching shapes, then dips lower. His grip tightens on you, possessive and sure, and the soft growl that hums from his throat makes you shiver.

His mouth finds your neck, kissing and grazing until his teeth brush the delicate skin. You gasp, your head tipping back into his hands as he lingers there, just long enough to leave a memory on your skin.

“How did you miss me?” he murmurs, voice low and rough. His lips brush your pulse. “Did you miss me… or how I made you feel?”

Your breath shakes. “What kind of question is that?”

“A dangerous one,” he says, chuckling softly against your throat. “Because I already know the answer.”

You arch into him, fingers gripping his shirt, needing something to hold onto. He drags his mouth up to your ear, his breath a slow exhale that sends a tremble through your spine.

“Did thinking of me do this to you?” he whispers, hand sliding down to grip your thigh, your hip, pulling you even closer. “Tell me.”

He trails kisses down your chest and down your stomach, occasionally his gaze locks with yours, and in it, there’s devotion. You don’t intend for him to silence you like this. He’s in awe. Like he’s watching a dream move beneath his hands and is terrified it’ll dissolve. Even when he pulls your underwear down, his expression softens. And when pulling your knees over his shoulders, lthe tension sparks dangerously. 

He kisses your heat gentle at first, savoring the fact that you’re real and his and here. You breathe his name, voice wrecked and unraveling, and his smile at the sound is everything. Lazy, knowing, devastating.

He looks up at you with fire and wonder in his eyes.

“I’m going to make up for every second I was gone,” he promises, voice a quiet vow against your skin.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, sending shivers up your spine, racing down a fuse. His shoulders, once always held too tightly, now loosened. Like he can finally breathe again. Like you are the breath he’s been holding for far too long.

Your hands slide up into his hair, fingers twisting at the roots, tugging until he groans. Deep and needy. The vibration of it floods straight into your core. You’re trembling, heat pooling in your belly, legs already unsteady from the way his mouth moves over you, each deliberate stroke of his tongue dragging you closer to the edge until he slows, just when you need more.

"Caleb," you whisper, your voice cracking open around his name, desperate and soft and wrecked.

He lifts his head just enough to let your name fall from his lips in return, voice thick and unsteady. “You have no idea how much I missed hearing you say my name like that.”

His breath, warm and teasing, ghosts across your skin. There’s that smirk again, cocky and confident, but tinged with something deeper. Something in love. His tounghe dips just enough to make your breath catch, teasing your entrance before pulling away again. You sob softly in frustration.

But Caleb only smiles against you, the curve of his lips making your skin burn. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He always did.

With maddening slowness, he slides his thumb to your bundle of nerves to tease you, pressing just the barest pressure. Your body jolts, muscles tightening around him. You whimper, thighs clenching around his head as your hips grind into him.

“and all this time you haven’t been with anyone else?” he murmurs, almost smug, almost reverent. “God, how lucky I am.”

And then he presses harder. His tongue flickers and lingers, alternating between kissing you softly and licking you with purpose, until your back arches off the floor, your whole body trembling in his hold. Every nerve is alight. Every sound you make fuels him.

His eyes, dark with want, are shining with something else too. Wonder. Like he’s still not convinced this isn’t a dream. Like he’s afraid if he blinks, you’ll vanish all over again.

“I almost lost this,” he says, voice rough, aching. “I almost lost you.”

“Come for me, love. I need you.”

You let go with a gasp that splits the silence, pleasure ripping through you in waves so strong they shake you through your core. You dissolve under his hands, under his mouth, under the weight of being seen, of being wanted with such intensity. Caleb holds you through every second, grounding you as your body shudders, your chest heaving with each breathless moan.

Before the aftershocks have even faded, he’s already kissing you, slow, tender, full of awe. He drinks in every sound you make, every tiny shiver, his mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your soul.

His fingers remain between your thighs, now soaked with your release, drawing lazy, featherlight circles that make your legs twitch from the oversensitivity. He’s savoring this. Every inch of you, every reaction.

You barely get the chance to breathe before he shifts, steady hands gripping your thighs as he slots his hips between them. He works at his pants with a smooth efficiency, kissing you when he can because he can’t bear to stop, and before you know it, he’s guiding you onto his lap.

Your knees slide to either side of him, bracketing his hips. The heat of him, thick and hard against your slick folds, makes you shiver. You gasp, startled, overwhelmed all over again.

Caleb groans, deep and broken. His hands grip your waist, fingers digging in as if anchoring himself to the moment. “God, I missed this. Missed you.”

He grinds your hips down, slow and deliberate, dragging your body against his, letting you feel just how badly he needs you. His forehead falls against yours, and he breathes you in.

“I’m never leaving you again,” he murmurs. “Not after this. Not after knowing what it’s like to go without you.”

And then, with a look of complete heat and worship, he sinks you onto him.

The roughness of the carpet brushes against your knees, a faint burn you barely register. All you can focus on is the way he draws you close, grounding you in the quiet rhythm of his body, the soft gasp that escapes your lips as he wraps you in his warmth. His breath catches too, his hands strong at your waist, steadying, anchoring.

He groans low, lips pressed against yours, swallowing the trembling sounds you make, and your forehead falls gently to his, breaths mingling. His fingers flex at your side, trying to memorize the shape of you, and when he brushes his mouth over yours again, slow, tender, it’s a delicious contrast to the weight of his grip, he’s afraid to let go.

You hear him laugh softly, the sound vibrating in your chest where your heart beats wildly against his. One hand finds the back of your neck, tilting your head back so your eyes meet his.

Your chest aches in the best way. You cradle his face in your hands, guiding his lips to yours. The kiss that follows is unhurried and deep, filled with all the words you don’t need to say.

"Goodness," you whisper against his mouth, teasing again.

He only grins, then gently lifts your leg higher around him, deepening the angle between you both. You gasp, your head tipping back, his name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he murmurs, watching you with quiet intensity.

His rhythm is deliberate, drawing pleasure from you like a melody he knows by heart. The windows blur behind you, starlight scattered across the sky, but none of it compares to the warmth shared with you, the connection humming through every nerve.

Suddenly he moves, sitting up and sweeping you beneath him in one fluid motion. You gasp, startled, but he’s already leaning over you, his weight settling into you in his controlled gravity. His gaze is fire and softness all at once, his lips brushing yours as his rhythm shifts, slower but deeper, as though he’s searching for the very center of you.

You hold onto him, your arms around his shoulders, hands clutching at his back like you might fall apart without him. When you say his name again, it breaks something open in him, a sound torn from his throat as he presses his forehead to yours, his voice rough with emotion.

"God, please never stop," he breathes, reverent.

His lips find your skin, tasting each moment like a promise, while his hand finds yours again, grounding you both in that steady connection. His touch is sure, guiding you to the edge and catching you when you fall, because you do, unraveling beneath him, every part of you undone by the depth of what you feel.

He follows with a low groan, his body shuddering with release, and for a moment everything stills, your breath, your thoughts, the world itself.

You cling to him as the wave passes, hands clutching fabric, breaths catching. His arms stay around you, firm, desperate to hold on.

And you let him.

You both stay, hearts racing, bodies trembling, until the world returns, slower, softer, together. The world feels quieter.

Light spills through the windows in long, golden beams that stretch across the floor like warm ribbons, casting gentle shadows that sway with the breeze. There’s a stillness in the air, not empty, but full. The breath you take after crying.

The plane carousel creaks as it turns lazily. Its chipped red paint glints faintly in the light, worn and weathered, but still beautiful in its resilience. You watch it spin, a slow, stubborn circle, wobbly and imperfect, and your heart swells for it. For everything it is, and everything it still tries to be.

You reach out and give the plane a gentle push. It spins a little faster, and you smile to yourself.

Caleb eases down beside you with a low, familiar groan, his body’s trying to keep up with his heart. His knee bumps yours, and he lets it rest there, anchoring you, grounding you both in the present.

He exhales, quiet. Then, in that smooth, unhurried voice of his, he says, “You know… I used to think moments like this weren’t meant for me.”

You glance over.

He’s not looking at the carousel anymore. He’s looking at you.

“That real peace…” he continues, his tone honey-warm, low and steady, “real love… always felt like something for other people. Something I could look at, maybe touch, but never keep.”

There’s something in his gaze that hits you deep,  he’s looking through you, past everything you’ve built to protect yourself, and still chooses you anyway.

“But I get to have my this,” he says, the words like velvet, soft and sure. “I get to have you.”

You swallow hard, throat tight with emotion. Before you can reply, he leans in, brushing a kiss against your temple, slow, lingering, like he’s imprinting the shape of you into his memory. Like he’s telling you, wordlessly, that he never wants to forget this.

“I’m just…” he breathes, still close, his lips barely grazing your skin, “so thankful. For all of it. Even when we’re just sitting here… watching this old, wobbly carousel try its best to keep turnin.”

You smile, soft and amused. “It’s not broken,” you murmur. “It’s just… loved.”

A quiet laugh shakes through his chest, and he wraps his arms around you from the side, pulling you against him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His embrace is gentle, sure, with a kind of protective softness that says he never wants to let go.

He leans in again, voice brushing your ear like silk. “Yeah”

For a while, you don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

Because the way his fingers trace idle shapes along your arm, the way his breath syncs with yours, the way his presence wraps around you like a favorite blanket, this is everything.

[lazy-sushi]

Addicted to the devil (Ronin x Reader)

Author's Note: I was forced to upload this by @6feathered6siren6, (who also helps me doing this post rn thank youuuuuuuu, bro literally gave me title and banner) help me, save me.

Trigger warning: Ronin's route (his last name), death, gore, insanity

Word count: 2335

You hear his breath, slow and steady as it hits your hair, swirling your loose hair strands up and down. His heartbeat pumping in rhythm, hitting your ear each second. He laid there, eyes closed, arm around your back, holding you tightly. One of his arms loosened and leaned over the bed, the exposed skin pale. To you, this creature looked beautiful, peaceful even. It was a force of nature, having you in its hands, pulling the strings when it wanted too. Your personal devil, your butcher, your everything.

You described it as a bliss and when he slept like this, so content and so…. peaceful. You almost wondered if you were the crazy one.

You love him. The devil. The butcher. Ronin Beaufort.

But he's a psychopath. A killer. Ronin Beaufort. 

He's that type of guy that goes out in the middle of the night, crowbar clutched in hand, heavy steps halling through the streets. He'd wait for his victim, slowly stalking behind them and smashing the crowbar across their head. One blow, two blows, maybe a third. The victims would fall, blood pooling from their heads. Then the devil would proceed to do his work. It would vary, but everything ended in a grotesque scene. Slit throats, ripped guts, cut of limbs, carved symbols. He's a picture book serial killer. Whoever you'd ask to describe a serial killer, Ronin’s imagery would be the answer. A psycho that kills for pure pleasure, for the thrill, for his own sense of happiness. 

Yet, was he really the bad guy? Of course he was! He had corrupted you, had threatened you, controlled you. He was the killer.

You were the saint, he was the sinner.

A saint. The same saint that played along. The same saint that has done as he pleased. You were an angel. The angel that shot the next person if the devil would ask too. The same angel that has awaited every single command. The story wasn’t over there, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want to admit it, but Ronin didn’t do a thing towards you.

No, he didn’t tell you to join the server, he didn’t tell you to make your proof real, he didn’t tell you to meet him, not ever and not in HIS alley. It was you who wanted it. You desired it.

Life had been tough, surely that was the fault. Friends had ignored you. You were lonely and that loneliness Ronin fulfilled fully. He gave you all that you needed. The attention, the love, the advice. Fuck he was what you had been longing for so long, something you desperately searched for. So what if he was a supposed killer? How can HE be yet more understanding than anyone you knew? You don’t need to fix him; He fixed you. He cured what you despised in your body. Saved you from your own feelings. Pulled you up when no one else could. Only he could do it. Only the devil.

Ronin Beaufort

Maybe you were insane, but wasn’t that worth it?

The thoughts you just clung onto like a lifeline disappeared as you heard a grunt. Eyes meeting one another and you saw almost a concerned expression on Ronin. His arm clutched you closer, the other that had been hanging down, now pulled up as his hand touched your cheek. The soft texture of his fingers swiped over your eyes. Had you been…crying? You feel the wet spots on your face. Not just tears, but sweat. For once you saw the devil, THE Ronin beaufort losing his smirk. For once you saw him wondering what may have gotten into your head. It was almost overwhelming. Everything felt overwhelming. 

You couldn’t remember what happened. Suddenly everything crashed. Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. Everything spinned in your head. Everything was so loud in your head. The images of what you read, of what you knew Ronin committed. You laid there with him, saw everything, witnessed it all. Yet you weren’t concerned about that. You were concerned about what HE thinks of you. Pathetic, alone, you barely meant a thing in the world. He was known. Hated, yes. But known. He meant something, even if that was for all the bad reasons. But you? What did you offer to him? Nothing. You could’ve been swapped out with anyone else. It wouldn’t have changed anything. 

And once again, the thoughts, gone. You felt his lips. Felt his touch. The overwhelming feeling, gone. You held him close, if not the other way around being enough. His lips tasted like iron, you knew why, you simply couldn’t care less though. Arm so tight on your back, squeezing those thoughts away as if he knew what they were. Everything burned in your body, clothes clutched against you. Yet, him being there? It made these feelings lessen. Once again you ask yourself, why you? What was it within you that made him cling to you? Was it just a game to him? Maybe it was to humiliate you? 

And there it was again. That feeling. That feeling that clutched into you, ripping your skin apart. That feeling that burns your insides, making them feel heavy. That feeling that made you twist and turn mentally. The feeling that made you breath heavy. 

You held your body close, tears streaming freely now. You simply couldn't take it anymore. It was all so loud in your head. As if something was banging your head from the inside, slowly scratching your brain until it was bleeding, and now that noise was incarnated in you. His touch wouldn't do it anymore. It didn’t get you out of that space. It didn’t satisfy that lonely heart anymore. It desired more than that. It desired his love, his attention, his devotion to you and you only. If you could you would rip out your aorta by yourself and hand it to him, just so he could kiss it better. You needed him. You wanted him. You desired him and him only.

Ronin spoke up. It didn’t make the feeling stop like before, but it made you share your attention to him. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” His voice was rough, raspy and filled with sleep. The slightest hint of worry and curiosity mixed within his words. You didn't believe him. His sudden kindness, his humain posture, his gentle smile. 

This isn't Ronin Beaufort.

Not the Ronin Beaufort. 

No, it was just some stranger. An imposer to what you didn't need. The pity. What pity do you want from the devil? Truly spoken sarcasm you could call it. And you hated yourself for it. The fact you couldn't trust him being nice. Like you needed his attitude. Like you needed his….hate? No, it wasn't hate. The word you searched for just didn't find itself. It was his…his control you need. When he breaks you so deeply. When he tells you to watch out, to be aware, to be….

“Darling?” The voice snapped you back, this time it wasn't as calm anymore, a sweet sound of impatience ran across it. That is what you wanted to hear. 

Ronin Beaufort.

Your eyes fixated on his. They were small, looking sharply at you like the knife's he cut his victims open with. His smile turned slowly into a frown. He couldn't keep up his nice side for much longer than a small timespan and you already overstepped it. But you didn't mind. You wanted him, not them. Those who laugh in your face, cheer you up just to spit on it in the end. It made you realize something.

Shots, blood, screaming, laughing, death. You didn't think of him here. No. Your mind got it all wrong once again. You think of their words, how they shot you directly in your heart, letting it bleed out. Your screams at night for anything. For hope, for love, for a better life. Their laughter as they stare at you, judge you, hate you. You wished them to be dead. Dead in your head, dead in your life. Oh how much you would sacrifice to the devil for it. 

But you didn't need to.

You gave him his proof already. You ended it on your own. You did it. You and you alone killed them. 

It wasn't for you. It was for him. For him and him only. The devil, The butcher.

Ronin Beaufort.

You felt his hand tightly in between your neck and your back, scruffing you up like a vet with a cat to paralyze it. It worked a charm on you because there was no movement in your body any longer. Your body was stiff, hanging there like dead meat, your breathing temporarily stopped as he pressed tighter before releasing your skin ever so slightly again. His impatience ran out and you couldn't be happier. Yet, the thought crossed your mind. The thought that made you stand still. The thought that terrorizes you every day since you're the devil's helper. Your mouth was dry, burning even, unable to let out real words. But you needed to share it. Your ideas, your visuals. It's what he asked, no, what he demanded from you. It took a deep breath and all your strength to hit out a single tone. Soon it was followed by a letter, then a word.

“Why?”

It wasn't much. Three letters. One word. But the question was heavy. For Ronin it didn't take long to understand the context of his long awaited response. He remembered when you two got together right in his favorite alley. Him pinning you down, having expected to get stabbed the minute he started getting explicit. Instead you followed the dare, kissing him like the world dependent on it. It's been a week since then and you stayed with him. Stayed in his room, stayed in his clothes, stayed in his mind. Yet it appears to be that even the most messed up ‘normal’ human still gets damaged by the initial thought of staying together and especially close to a psychotic killer. The full question his favorite little helper wanted to ask was ‘Why did you pick me? Why not everyone else?’. He would remain silent every single time. There was nothing to say for him. The most obvious reason already laid there, pouty face, small eyes. But after an entire week all he could let out was a chuckle. It sounded so cocky, sarcastic even, as if you had answered with ‘3’ when he asked you what 1+1 equals to. Humiliation, that’s what it felt like, but you didn’t even know for what. You tried to leave his grasp only for him to tighten it back up, giving you no space to react. Like a dog he chewed tightly onto your body, teeth sinking in. The metaphor worked greatly since you can feel his fingernails practically poking into you, making you almost tear up from the pain. He stared at you with such an intense stare you’d swear he was gonna eat you alive here and now.

"Why not, Darling? You were given an apple, but it was you to bite it. Tasting the forbidden fruit.” (This came from @6feathered6siren6 btw)

His voice was low, filled with an undefined tone. Was it rage or was it reassurance? Love or despise? You were never sure but that’s what you loved in him, needed in him, wanted from him. Your devil, your butcher.

Ronin Beaufort

“I gave you a fucking place, gave you all the love and took you in, you took the devil's hand without any hesitation.”

He wasn't entirely wrong and you get what he was trying to say. Although you were just another human, you still were far from being the same. Who would willingly date a serial killer? Who would willingly stay in his house? Willingly shared his clothes, the same that he had covered in his victims blood? Who willingly ate the devil's meals without a care in the world about what it contained? No one but you. No one but his darling. No one but the devil's little helper. No one but someone as psychotic as you. 

He wanted you, because you desired him like no other ever could. You and you only let yourself drop into his arms. Only someone like you trusted him fully. Only you sacrificed everything for him. 

It made you feel comfortable, safe even. Every problem you had, just gone, as the devil pulled you back down, holding you against his body. He was warm, reassuring. It was something you missed out the entire time. His behaviour, his reactions, his breath. They were for you. Everything was for you, just like you were everything for him.

After all, he was your devil, your butcher.

Your Ronin Beaufort

Tears clinged onto your face as you held him back, the same way he used to do earlier. He was right, as always. Your hands grabbed his hair, feeling the soft texture. It always surprised you how this man kept his hair so soft with how much blood he tangled in it. Arms shaking so badly as you let yourself drop, practically naked right in front of the devil's eyes. You hated looking weak, it made you look pathetic, but he loved it. He loved when you let go, even if he’d never tell you the truth. It wasn’t the power he loved, it was the trust he had truly desired. His hands caressed your back slowly. No words were needed, he had you right here. Times passed by slowly for him, but he would wait. Wait till the thoughts disappear, wait till you can finally rest. He could feel your breath slowing down, your body slumbing as you started to drift off to sleep. Once he was sure you were fully asleep he leaned his head over, giving you a kiss on your forehead before laying back down, closing his own eyes again.

He loved you. Forever and always.

Ronin Beaufort

[ducktracy]

Screaming crying punching the floor cause I won't be able to see the Porky 'n Daffy movie until the 27th (movie release schedules in Australia tend to be a week or more behind the US) but I gotta thank-you for doing the lords work in hyping this movie. I honestly thought it just got a limited release and I'd never lay eyes on it. Warner Brothers should be paying you an advertisers fee for your excellent promos (also wanna say, love your art and classic episode reviews! Adore them! Every time I see your stuff it puts a smile on my face)

THIS IS SUCHHHHH A SWEET ASK OH MY GOODNESS!! THANK YOUUUUUUUU!! 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 i'm genuinely so happy to hear i've helped drum up a little bit of attention on it and have convinced people to get tix--please keep it coming, as this film needs all the support it can get!! as evidenced by my one-man-marching-band-salesman-isms the past few days HAHA. BUT YES, when it comes to the pig and duck, heck i'd pay WB to let me market for them!! i can be persistent when i need to be, especially about these two 🐖🦆

AND THANK YOUUUU!! MY GOODNESS this is so kind!! i'm so glad you enjoy them, genuinely, this is so sweet and encouraging!! thank you for making my evening!!

here's hoping the 27th just breezes by for ya--and to my UK friends as well!! i'll force Daffy to march over there and give you guys a release date if it's the last thing i do 😤

[hummingjay]

Hey Jay! First of all, Nice OC! (Kassandra). Secondly, was her backstory partially inspired by Aimo Koivunen?

HAIIIII Sosaaaa thank youuuuuuuu and yess she was! At least partially. At the moment I had in my head just the concept of overdosing, but I always knew (and adored the story) of Aimo Koivunen, so I think she was inspired by him kinda more subconsciously and I later reread his story and it was an “ohhhhh. So THATS where I got it from. Huh.” Situation. Very much inspired by him, I just didn’t know it at the moment.

A tad of a tangent here, she’s also inspired by 40k kriegers! I never did play or get into WH40K, but I read about kriegers on the wiki, and I LOVED them. (Partially an inspo for the gas mask too.)

The Königensarmee’s the quickly-made and badly-thought out idea for a military for Corpse. I made her, then the army. It translates to “Queen’s Army” from German (at least I’m pretty sure it does) and it’s an infantry-based army of mostly humans and droids supported by man (or droid) operated vehicles.

the humans are mostly conscripts. They’re recruited from wherever, trained, given gear, and sent to die. The vehicles, such as tanks, APCs, IFVs, trucks, and various Air Force and navy ships, support said humans.

then there’s the droids. Humanoid robots specifically created to fight. They work in-tandem with their human counterparts and function as androids, with thoughts, feelings, learning capacity, and eventually forms of individuality. They are not androids, since they do not mimic humans, just their nature and basic structure (like replikas kinda do). It’s more apt to classify them as robots.

Kassandra herself worked on a farm with her sister and father before she was recruited. (She was also really happy before then)

now, the Königensarmee is the military of the Königenreich (Queendom), a nation run by a (you guessed it) Queen, who’s mostly surrounded in mystery and an odd religiosity. (Think of the empress or revolutionary from signalis) I haven’t given much thought to an enemy, but the Königenreich is a heavy-surveillance nation priding itself on its military might. I haven’t yet decided if it’s set across numerous planets or a single fantasy earth.

now, Corpse is very patriotic. Not to say she isn’t sympathetic, but she’s wholly willing to sacrifice her body and mind for the benefit of her nation. she expects the same of her allies, and if she hears bad speech about the queen, she’ll gently remind whoever it is (allies and civilians in Königenreich-held areas alike) that their talk is treason, before eventually resorting to highly effective threats. If the civilians (smartly) do not insult the queen or her rule, Corpse is (in contrast to her patriotism) very kind to them. She shares her rations and even helps heal their wounds. She does this mostly to absolve the guilt of killing their soldiers.

But yeah! That’s the corpse and her Königenreich!

[gemharvest]

as the #1 bf fnf fan in my circle of tumblr, i am deeply fascinated by rgbfverse and wanna join in and make my own bf, but i'm very nervous about new social spaces. :(

also, i love your goretober art, it makes me insane (positive)

I totally get that, I can get super bad anxiety trying to talk to new people/ being in new spaces. You don't gotta force yourself if you're worried it may be more stress than you want, but none of us bite, I promise !! If you make a BF and have him interact with YS/ any of ours, it's likely you'll get adopted immediately anyways njGNFJKNGBHF or even if you just. Show any interest at all. We are all very welcoming people and not a cult I swear Who said that.

AND THANK YOUUUUUUUU god I'm proud of that Goretober art. I'm sad I gave up on it early again but alas, just got too swamped earlier in this month that I just lost the energy. I'll finish a month prompt one of these days.

[i-love-dopamine]

"buck from 911 is so hot i love him" -my ex today

"wait doesn't he have a boyfriend??" -me, forced to sit in the same room as her

"yeah but its ok i can fix him"

disgust.jpeg

i DONT CARE IF YOU THINK BUCK IS HOTTTTT OH MY FUCKING GODDDDDDDDDDD LEAVE ME ALONEEEEEEE I DIDN'T ASKKKKKKKKKK YOU FUCKING "i cant be homophobic my friend is a lesbian and i think (person we both know)'s mom is hot!!" FUCK YOU OH MY GODDDDDDD THIS IS THE SAME WHORE WHO SAID SHE COULD FIX ALASTOR FROM HAZBIN AND GOT ALL PISSY WHEN I CALLED HER HOMOPHOBIC WHAT THE HELLLLLLLLLLLLL EAT FUCKING WOODSHAVINGS FLAT ASS BITCHHHHHHH I CANT BELIEVE I USED TO DATE YOU THE FUCKKKKKK I LITERALLY GET GAYER EVERY TIME YOU TALK TO MEEEEE I FUCKING HATE ALL OF YOUUUUUUUU HES LITERALLY BI AND HAS A BOYFRIEND????? YOU WOULDN'T 'FIX' HIM BY SEDUCING HIM HES ALREADY BI??????????? PLUS HE WOULDN'T CHEAT ON HIS BOYFRIEND UNLIKE SOMEONE IM TALKING TO???????????? LITERALLY FUCK ALL THE WAY OFFFFF TO SUPERHELL WITH YOUUUUU JACK IS NOT LETTING YOU INTO HEAVENNNNNNNNN BURN IN HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL YOU FUCKING NASTY BITCHHHH AND YOU WONDER WHY ALL YOUR RELATIONSHIPS HAVE ENDED POORLYYYYYYYYYY WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOUUUUU GET THERAPYYYYYYYYYY

[snnynatural]

NAME lumi

PRONOUNS she/her

MOST ACTIVE MUSES sonny always on both her blogs (this and @snnydcys), second would be kate ( @greatcstarcher ), third is minah considering i am trying to keep her active with her being my very first spn oc and she deserves all da love! ( @antiqsvchotic ), my spn multi is very low ( @thel0re ).

EXPERIENCE / HOW MANY YEARS i don't even know. i will tell you one thing...i should not have been rping in the beginning stages since i was 13. how does one rp on youtube at that time?? ALL THE QUESTIONS!

FLUFF, ANGST, OR SMUT ooof.... depends on the mood. i would say with angst you will get longer replies from me cause OOOP. with fluff, i cry cause like... it is so nice to have fluffy shit and cry about it. now smut... i have to be comfy with the mun. otherwise i'm more eh.

LONG OR SHORT REPLIES always depends on my mood. i prefer medium to long replies because it gives me something to work with. now when it comes to starters? i always start with one liners because i can never think of anything with my dumb dumb brain.

PET PEEVES oh boy.. prepare for a rant! god modding. don't do it, please just don't. superiority. i'm sorry, but we are all here to write our silly little muses. especially with canon characters.. yes, there will be many same characters but each one should be treated with love. no one is better than the other. allow people to write freely. don't make each other feel like you can't be on this hellsite or force them out. it genuinely stresses me out whenever i see it. ship hating. just because you are not a fan of the ship doesn't mean you're allowed to make others feel bad about it. let people ship who they want to ship and let them write their little characters. (unless it's any form of incest or stepcest then i will nope out of this conversation). spamming. i've been in a scenario where i was pressured to respond fast, being spammed every single second, and it was non stop to the point i didn't want to write. allow people to breathe and to get to you on their own time. whitewashing. as a poc, please don't do it. if you are unsure, never be afraid to ask! but don't belittle someone for reaching out to you to tell you that it is whitewashing. as long as both parties are being respectful. if someone is whitewashing, do not attack immediately. just give a little nudge and let them know. ignoring female muses. as writer of only female muses, it gets disheartening. especially when the female muse is oc and poc. love your female muses like you love your male muses. they deserve recognition. fc collecting/muse collecting. my friends have fallen victim to this and watching them feel crushed?? not okay with me. no one is a collection. everyone deserves to have fun. not having a conversation. with this hellsite, it's hard to tell certain tones. it's childish to not have a conversation. as much as it's scary, have it. you never know how freeing it could be. --- i can go on and on but we don't have all day

ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE honestly? i think in a way. we both tend to spread ourselves too thin and give our all to everyone. if we're also adding canon sonny, same applies along with being treated poorly while also expecting things to be done for everyone. even when we're tired or in the worst possible mood, we still try to help in any way we can. idk other similarities, but sonny is def my comfort character and i can see some of myself in her.

TIME TO WRITE currently, it's been hard with how my mental health is going. when i write, it's usually because i'm in the mood. i do not force myself to write if i genuinely can't. so i write when i want and not when i don't want.

tagged by @kindofuneven <3

tagging youuuuuuuu

[robo-writing]

If you are still taking requests for FFXVI stories, could I request one of Cid in Waloed with one of the ladies of the court there? ; v ; <3 You're free to characterize her as you wish, tho I am partial to him being a loveable rogue and she's much more prim and proper. QvQ Thank youuuuuuuu

Hey anon, I'm a chronic overwriter. I could've had this done within an hour, but guess what? I have no self control. I loved the idea so much that, well, I made this. Pairing: Cidolfus Telamon/Reader (female pronouns) Word count: 2.4k Rating: 18+ Warnings: fingering, cunnilingus

Cidolfus Telamon, Lord Commander of Waloed; A man far beyond your reach, and yet he still admires you from across the hall.

His eyes burn a hole into you from across the room. Dark clothes and even darker hair, he watches, a coy smile stretched across his face as you tend to your mistress’ needs. 

You want to look, but you don’t. You force your eyes forward instead. It would be inappropriate for a lady to lust after a man such as him. 

But then again, your thoughts of him are anything but appropriate.

“Your mind is far away,” your mother admonishes. “I can see it in your eyes.” You bow, mumble an apology as she walks away. You follow faithfully, and know in your heart that as you leave, his eyes follow you with every step.

“What is your name, my lady?” he asks, a rare moment where your mother is nowhere to be found.

The thought of silence crosses your mind, perhaps if you ignore these feelings, ignore him, then maybe he would no longer haunt your mind. A single look at his charming face tells you no, that he would still find a way.

You tell him your name, and he repeats it back, grins through each syllable.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Your face heats up, and you turn to watch the flowers sway in the breeze.

He chuckles softly at that. “You’re even prettier when you’re shy.”

You turn back to him, not quite sure what to say at that. “Thank you, Lord Commander.” A shake of his head, flashing you an almost boyish grin. “Only my men call me that. I would much rather you call me Cid.” Cid. It’s informal, personal. You move to argue, but a hand at your shoulder stops you.

He leans in and your eyes dart around nervously. You’re in the garden, anyone could see the two of you, if the mistress knew-

His fingers squeeze at your shoulder, and your mind is silenced. For a moment, it’s just the two of you.

His voice cuts through the silence, deep, heady. “I insist, my lady.”

You nod wordlessly, and he moves away, satisfied. “Good. I think we’ll get along just fine.”

A final pat and he leaves you to your flowers. A part of you wishes he didn’t.

When you return to your chambers and find a bouquet of flowers, the same ones from the garden, you’re quick to stash them away. When your mother returns and asks about them you lie and say a suitor sent them to her, but you know the truth.

Your feet move with a practiced ease to the sound of music.

One step, then another, co-ordinated. You move across the floor gracefully, your mistress’ instruction in the back of your mind.

Back straight, arms extended, chest forward. Keep your head high, be confident.

Hand in hand, you move in tandem with another nobleman, absentminded. It’s for formality more than anything, but it doesn’t mean it’s not important.

Back and forth, side by side. It’s stiff, formal, businesslike. He speaks, something about his fortune or his estate, you’re not quite sure. After enough Gala’s they all sound the same, and it wouldn’t matter anyway, since your mind is occupied by another. Boredom possesses your very being. A bow, and the dance is finished, the nobleman leaving to dance with one of many fair ladies in the room. You bow in turn, and sigh internally. Remember, you are a lady. Behave as how ladies should behave.

You watch him walk away, and for a while it’s peaceful. Stood by the way, you wait with the other women hoping to catch the eye of a fine gentleman. They gossip among each other, idle chatter of whatever bachelor of the day has caught their eye. You half-heartedly reply, not truly paying attention until a hushed whisper moves through the crowd, everyone looking at the entrance.

You turn, and your eyes widen.

Stood by the doorway is none other than Cid. His head on a swivel, he searches the crowd for something, the crowd slowly moving aside for him with each step. 

His verdant eyes catch your own, mischief on his face. A quick stride, the ocean of people parting for him, and he stops in front of you, watching you up and down.

You forget yourself for a moment, speaking without a thought. “You’re not supposed to be here.” “Am I not?” He smirks, adjusting his tunic. 

The motion brings your eyes to his exposed chest before you correct yourself. “I didn’t-” You pause, considering your words carefully. “Why have you graced us with your presence, Lord Commander?” He tilts his head, looks at the crowd of people that watch you two, and grins. “I came to see you.” You can hear several women gasp behind you.

“Me, sir?” You question. 

A nod of his head. “Yes, you.” “Have I offended you in some way?” “Quite the opposite, I’m afraid.” He says upbeat. Everyone is listening in at this point, and there is a visible change in atmosphere when he holds your hand between his leather-clad fingers.

Back bent, he bows before you. “May I have this dance?” Your heart stops for a moment, unable to believe anything that has happened in the last minute. You ask, meekly, “I beg your pardon, sir?” “Oh, did I say it wrong?” He looks up at you, curious. “I would very much like to share a dance.” It’s hard enough to believe, much less see. Even as his thumb rubs against your skin you have trouble believing it yourself.

“Y-Yes.” You answer, stammering before remembering your mistress’s training. “Yes, I should like to have this dance.” “Wonderful then,” He pulls you closer, whispering into your ear when your hands hold his own. “Be gentle with me now, I’m out of practice.” A wink, and your knees nearly buckle.

He moves not with practice but with confidence, unlike you, who’s been taught a routine from the day you were born. Dancing with Cid is unlike anything you’ve done. It’s as if he moves with you, not alongside you.

The crowd has fully separated for the two of you, everyone halting their own dances to watch the Lord Commander waltz with a lady-in-waiting.

They chatter away and you hear not a single word, too lost in the feeling of him. 

“We seem to be drawing quite the attention dear,” he speaks lowly.

You bite back a laugh, whispering in turn. “That tends to happen when you interrupt a formal event.”

“Interrupt?” He says confused. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding.“

A spin, and you’re pulled right back to him, far too close to be anything but intimate. His breath fans against your face, eyes falling to your lips, and back to your eyes.

“I’m not interrupting, I’m courting you.”

The words rattle in your brain. You understand what he says, but you don’t, not in the slightest. Amusement is written on his face, just as disbelief is written on yours.

“That’s—that’s impossible.”

“Is it?” He chuckles, moves your body against his own. “I’m doing it right now, I would say it’s pretty possible.”

“You’re second in command to the king!” You whisper through your teeth. “You have your choice of any woman in the land!”

“I do. And I choose you.”

The song ends, but he still holds you close. This kind of embrace is improper, but he couldn’t care less.

Slowly, he lets you go, but not before leaving you with a final message.

“I hope we can do this again.”

Your mother is a cruel woman, sharp gaze and an even sharper tongue. Word has reached her ears of what happened, and she is less than pleased.

You feel the anger before you enter the room, and when you do her brow is already furrowed.

“The Lord Commander?” She scoffs. “A mercenary, only afforded a position in the castle due to his Eikon.”

She spits venom, tongue lashing. “You would do well to ignore his advances. A nobleman is much better suited for a lady of your ranking.”

“Of course ma’am.” You nod, apologize, anything to placate her. You know she speaks the truth but a nobleman is not what you want. What you want is far more untamed than any nobleman could provide.

As punishment you are to stay in your room. This doesn’t deter Cid, if anything it only spurs him further. A flower sent to your door, then two, then a whole bouquet. A comb, modest but still decorated finely. A bracelet, with a note attached. You smile when you read the reason behind the purchase; it reminded him of your eyes.

He sends more gifts, and you deny them all. Boxes of chocolate, flowers, even a dress. That one hurt to turn away, the fabric attractive and soft against your hands, but your mothers orders were clear. 

Still, he doesn’t stop. He sends more to replace them, and when your mother isn’t looking, you chance a taste of the chocolates he’s sent you now, delighting in the sweet taste before noticing a note hidden beneath the lid.

Meet me at the castle rooftop tonight, at midnight.

You shouldn’t. But your heart tugs at the sight of it, your fingers snatch the small piece of paper before throwing the box in the trash, rubbing circles against it as you go about your day. It feels heavy in your hand, a reminder.

The sun hangs low in the sky, shades of gold and red that fall into darkness. You tug at your nightgown, slip into your shoes and leave once your mother is fast asleep.

You shouldn’t. But you do anyway.

Just as he said he would, he stands on the roof, waiting. He notices you before you speak, voice calling out in the darkness.

“You’re here.”

“I am…” you say. “How did you know I would come?”

He strokes his chin in thought. “I didn’t, the same way I didn’t know you would dance with me.”

He tilts his head, and smiles. “I tend to take gambles like this often.”

“But I denied every one of your gifts…”

“You did, but a gift means nothing.”

He walks towards you and you don’t move. “You danced with this old sack of bones, and that means more to me than any gift.”

“Unless you mean to reject me in person,” he sighs dramatically, hand over his heart in a pious gesture. “Then you’d really break this old man's heart.”

He says it with a smile, but there’s still a lingering emotion in his eyes. Doubt?

It’s gone the moment you shake your head. “My mother does not want us to be together.”

“And what do you want?”

The question throws you for a loop, eyebrows raising. “No one’s ever bothered to ask.”

“That’s a damn shame now, isn’t it?” He clicks his tongue. “But that’s what I’m here for.”

He repeats himself, his hand reaching to hold your face. “What do you want, my lady?”

A bird in a gilded cage, and the man offering her freedom. He makes you feel seen, for the first time in your life. 

You nod, wordless, the smell of tobacco and leather overtaking your senses. “I want you.”

His eyes light up, and he meets you in a scalding kiss, cradling your head between his hands. 

He sneaks into your room when no one notices, hushes your protests with a press of his lips.

“What if the guards catch you?” you sigh. He laughs at the notion, moves you with him as he caresses you. “Then we’ll have to give them a show, won't we?” “Cid!” 

He expects the swat to his chest, but it doesn’t make his statement any less true. He could not give a damn if he was caught, because any punishment is worth seeing you.

The bed sinks with your combined weight, his legs straddling your own. You bite your lip at the view, his eyes darkening as they pass over your form.

“You haven’t been waiting too long, have you?”

He’s teasing you, and you know it. You don’t need to answer, he can see how desperate you are, he just wants to hear you say it.

“You’re incorrigible,” you whisper. 

Your skirt is hiked up, exposing your underwear. Without warning his fingers trace against your clothes heat, a wicked look on his face as his fingertips find your wetness staining the fabric.

“Evidently, you love it.” he muses, your hips rising as he rubs circles against your pussy. Slow, sensual, he makes no move to give you more.

He looks at you, waiting. “Come now, don’t be shy.”

It’s embarrassing how quickly he can take control over you, and how easily you let him. 

A low whine, your hand holding his wrist. “Please.” His fingers press harder, but it’s not enough. “I don’t know darling, you’re not very convincing.” A sharp intake of air, and then you moan for him. “Please, Cid.” In a flash your underwear is pulled down your legs, a single finger entering you as you gasp. 

He visibly shudders at the sigh, kissing you as his finger moves inside you. Your lips part for him gratefully, his tongue moving against your own.

There’s a faint squelch, the sound of your wetness as he pumps in and out. He adds another finger and you moan into his mouth. 

Faster and faster, they move inside you. Your hands hold onto his jacket, closing your eyes and surrendering yourself to his deft fingers. When he finds that spongy part you cry out, bring your hand to your mouth as he watches your juices run down his hand.

“Keep going, that’s it,” He murmurs into your neck, kissing the expanse of skin offered. “I’ve got you.”

He doesn’t stop, not until he’s certain he’s wrung out every drop of pleasure from your body. His thumb meets your clit and you keen for him, his name leaving your lips helplessly.

You look so sweet, so depraved for him. Anyone would have a hard time believing you were a noblewoman, not with the way you beg for him, tears rimming your eyes. You tremble against his hand as you come and the image nearly drives him mad.

He pulls his fingers free, spreads your cunt with two fingers and watches mesmerized as the mess you’ve made. So tantalizing, a single finger gathering your essence. 

He decides then and there that he can’t help himself, lowering himself to press a sloppy kiss against your cunt. You plead for him, a moment of reprieve, but he just can’t stop himself.

“One more time darling,” he grunts between your legs, holding them down in a strong grip. “One more time, promise—”

In a way, he got his wish. This is a dance, just not the kind you perform in front of others.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

You're very level-headed. I can tell when you're passionate about a discussion, but you keep things very fair and rooted in what you know (rather than forcing speculation). I think speculation can be fun, but I appreciate having your perspective to add balance. Your gif sets and song mashups are beautiful and creative. I always look forward to seeing what you will create next. Also you're very nice! All together 10/10 person to follow.

Thank youuuuuuuu this is so lovely 💕💕💕 Especially for shouting out the mashups, they are so fun to think up 🫶🏻

[limerlove]

THIS THEMEEEE RAYBEAR!!!!!!! SO WHAT I ALREADY SAW HALF OF IT IM CUMMING CRYING ITS SO PRETTY!!!!! u and photoshop against the world fr :P

ENNABABYYYYYYYY THANK YOUUUUUUUU I LOVE YOUUU SO BADDDDDDD. truly me and photoshop against the world, even if it makes me wanna pull my hair out sometimes. but my raynussy was in full force while making this frfr ♡

[juniperss]

I love the little moodboard you made Sunny 😭 I'm so ready for more fics / HCs about her!

THANK YOUUUUUUUU!!!!!!!! I had a ton of fun putting it together along with her playlist (that’s always gonna be getting songs added to it lol)

I’ve got a few new headcanons that @a-libra-writes and I chatted about; lemme share some 😌

Me: i'm not taking requests so I can make sure I don't get burned out

also me: posts more headcanons

More Sunshine Headcanons!

Sunshine doesn’t drink often and she doesn’t smoke. She’s not a fan of the way beer tastes so she seldom drinks more than a few sips when she's out with her friends. She’d prefer a mixed drink but living in Tulsa doesn’t leave many options. As for smoking she just doesn’t understand the appeal. After the deaths of her parents she kept imagining the accident involving fire and smoke, so she tries to avoid the smell of smoke as much as possible. She gets on Ponyboy’s ass about how much he smokes lmao

Sunny’s name was inspired by the song “Keeping on the Sunny Side”, an old country classic. There’s so many great versions of it but my two favorites are this one and this one!

She calls all the Gang by their full names when she gets upset or annoyed, even her brothers. She rarely uses Johnny’s full name or Darry’s if that tells you anything at all about their relationships, and Dallas is hardly ever Dally to her. 

Dallas calls her by a myriad of wrong names to mess with her. Sandy, Sammy, Susie, etc. She retaliates with Houston, Austen, etc. But his most common nickname for her is Squeaks and no one else is allowed to call her that. She earned it one night when he was crashing on the couch and she didn’t know he was in the house, he was just lurking in the dark on the sofa and she squeaked so loud. He gets smacked whenever he calls her that.

She’s got the amazing Curtis hair and it’s probably one of her biggest sources of pride in terms of her appearance! Her mom loved to brush and braid it in the evenings. When her parents passed, she couldn’t bring herself to take care of her hair and it got really tangled and the Boys didn’t know what to do to help. Soda eventually sat her down in the bathroom and started brushing it a bit each day and Darry asked Two Bit to help (thank god someone else has sisters). Ponyboy definitely asked if they could just grease her hair and call it good lmao. 

Sunshine is closest to Darry and has been since she was a baby. Their parents were always big on teaching the kids to look out for another, but Darry (and the others) took it really seriously once they had a little sister. He was always who Sunny went to when she fell off her bike or got scared by the thunderstorms. 

The Curtis Brothers love to hear Sunshine laugh. She has a couple types of laughs: the silent and full body one that makes her lean sideways or forward with the sheer force of it, the loud and almost shrill laugh that comes out when she’s roughhousing with the Gang or her brothers, and the laugh so hard she snorts. All three are contagious and if you can hear and/or see her laughing AND NOT laugh or at least smile, I’m amazed by you. 

She was a pretty happy baby and no one remembers her crying very often unless she was sick or very tired. Even then she was more fussy than anything and if someone held her, she’d settle down. 

When she was smaller Darry used to swing her over his shoulder and run around while she was dangling upside down until she was laughing so hard Mrs. Curtis made him stop because she thought Sunshine was gonna be sick. He doesn’t do this much anymore cause she’s too big so instead he’ll wrap both arms around her and spin in a circle, practically lifting her off the ground. 

[mysteriawrites]

Hi bestie~ matchup request lets gooooooooooo

Im a very happy person most of the time. One of those immature but still mature people. I would quite literally do almost anything for those I love and I'm always planning for when I can next hang out with my friends. However, I still do like my alone time and have a flucuating social battery (somedays ill do a lot and want to do more, other days i do one thing and i dont want to do anything else lol)

I like trying new drinks or foods, playing video games, doing sports, singing, drawing, reading and generally learning about stories, no matter what form they come in!

I dislike the ocean, jerks, flakey people (despite having several as my friends 😔), being forced to socalize, and spiders.

Also idk if it matters too much but im also pan and genderfluid! Thank youuuuuuuu <3

Hihi Lexi chan! Thx for the request let’s see who your match is…DRUMROLL PLEASE!!!

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

DOPPIO DROPSCYTHE!!!

TW: mentions human trafficking in the beginning

I got Doppio in a matchup trade I did a few weeks ago so you and i are gonna have to share. Don’t worry he has two very big hands/j

You and Doppi mesh really well. You’re both active, full of energy, and down for anything. However you both know how to take things slow and appreciate the little things in life.

You and Doppio met when you were enrolled into XSOLIEL. The student council had been assigned a new mission: rescue and recruit a new student.

You were born with the power to shape shift. Similar to Kotoka Torahime, but instead of turning into people you turned into animals. You’re not quite sure how or why and you never questioned. You loved your ability it made you who you are, however sometimes you wished you were normal so you didn’t have to live in this hell hole…

You were an orphan. You never knew your “parents” were afraid of your ability. They thought you were some kind of monster or demon and sold you to the highest bidder. A rich businessman who made you shape shift and perform and treated you like an animal. You hated every single day of your life there, but you did make friends with the members of the troupe.

One day one the youngest members learned that you were to be sold to a rich man in the audience after the next night’s show. You didn’t want to leave your family and were worried on what would happen to the other performers.

That night you couldn’t sleep at all trying to think of a way out of your fate when you heard a commotion outside your quarters. You rushed out of your hammock to see what was going on.

You were faced with the sight of what looked to be two men in school uniforms single handedly beating up your master’s goons. You ran back before they could notice you and told everyone to hide. You didn’t know who they were or what they wanted but you weren’t willing to take the risk.

All of a sudden everything got quiet. You were practically holding your breath from where you were hiding in case they heard you. Suddenly you heard the crash of someone kicking down the door, and in walked a tall man with black, white and magenta hair.

He found where you were hiding and flashed a fanged smile. He introduced himself as Doppio Dropscythe the disciplinarian at XSOLIEL Institute of Infinity and that he was here to rescue you. He held his hand out to you, and despite not understanding what was going on or who this man was…you took his hand. (Aka author chan doesn’t wanna keep dwelling on this scene so we’re moving on)

6 months later and you’re loving your new life and new friends at XSOLIEL. Ever since they rescued you Doppio had done everything in his power to make you happy and love life again and you two were as thick as thieves. You were so close in fact that you had started to fall for him.

You had been confiding in your other best friend Kotoka (you two bonded really quickly over your similar powers) about your crush. She shipped you guys hard, and knew for a facf that Doppi wanted to ask you too but, too nervous.

However after a bit of hyping up from his friends he finally did. He showed up to your dorm in his 6’2 (187 cm) glory (he bumped his head on the way in), got on one knee with a bouquet of (insert favorite flower here), and asked you out in a very heart felt Doppio style monologue. And you said yes.

Since then you two have been the power couple of XSOLIEL. Him on student council and you on the basketball court. You two also team up for missions as well and dominate your enemies.

Dates usually consist of video games, playing sports outside, and cooking. You two love to hang out with your friends but Doppi can pick up when you’ve had enough and make up an excuse for you guys to leave. He also takes care of spiders for you although begrudgingly. (You’re on your own for cockroaches though)

Have fun with this big innocent goofball.

This one was fun and pretty easy to write. Hope you like it

Runners Up: Vox Akuma, Luca Kaneshiro

[cherry-bomb-ships]

🙈 :o) GUESS WHAT 🙈 MAKE THAT TWO

HI BEHE MY FRIEND BEHE!!! 💝💝💝 You cheeky devil, asking for two clips >w< I'll do you one better and give you THREE, since they're all real short ones, and all from the same episode. Once again, these clips are from the season 4 episode Forced Kin, and I was SO RIGHT when I said I should go back to this one cuz I felt like there's a lot of gold I didn't remember. Holy shit was I ever right 💀💖💖💖💖

Now when it comes to these first two, I feel like it should be obvious why they make me absolutely inSANE, but just in case: DEAR GODDDDD I love how confident he gets and how oh so boastful he is when his plan goes perfectly!! It is SOOOOOOOO CUTE AND I ADORE IT SO MUCH 💖💖💖💖💖💖 I really can't choose between the first and second clip in terms of which one is more adorable (althooouuugh I am leaning toward the second ehehe), he deserves to have his joyful celebration for being such a good evil genius!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

Also small thing but the way he says "shut up" is rly funny to me 💖💖💖💖

Now as for this second clip... HHHHHHHHHGH I CANNOT FUCKING HANDLE THE WAY THIS APE MAKES ME FEEL 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 The way he realized that he rhymed on accident and felt the NEED to point it out to himself was already silly enough, but then. THEN. The fact that he pauses for so long TO DELIBERATELY THINK OF ANOTHER RHYME, THUS KEEPING THE RHYMING SCHEME UP IS JUST. GOOD LORD THERE IS NO NEED FOR IT BUT HE STILL DID IT AND ITS SO CUTE!!!!!! I FUCKING LOVE YOUUUUUUUU AAAAAAAAH 💖🥺🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖🥺💖

💜 ask game here! 💜

[survivorofhellskitchen-a]

*    knowing  your  partner  well  can  potentially  make  writing  a  lot  easier,    repost,    do  not  reblog.

                                           meet the mun.  — basics

NAME:  Bella PRONOUNS:   she/her PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION:  IMs on here are a great way to get ahold of me. I do have discord and I'm much more active there than I used to be but I check tumblr way more often than discord. SINGLE / TAKEN: Single

— three facts

I played softball throughout my undergrad. I was the third baseman (though sometimes was the DH) and I'd been playing that position since I was 11 years old, and softball since I was like 5.

I have two horses that are my pride and joy and have been riding since I was a little girl.

I am ambidextrous and view it as my superpower. Eat it Superman.

— experience

I've been writing/roleplaying since I was 11. I started out on that Moviestarplanet place and created a whole world of characters on there and stories with a bunch of random people, but my mom supervised everything on there because she didn't trust chatrooms (rightfully so) but it was still fun and I got to decorate cool rooms and stuff so that really helped unleash my inner storyteller. I started writing on like weird vampire/werewolf rp sites when I was 15 but it was too much for my innocent 15 year old heart so I didn't do a lot of that then I started writing Gwen Stacy on kik before one of the people I wrote with mentioned Tumblr so I came here when I was 16. I've been canon characters and oc's in multiple different fandoms and I'm honestly so embarrassed by the way I used to write and even though I have my days of feeling super crappy as a writer I'm proud of the progress I've made. This place has absolutely helped me get through school with being as good of a writer as I am in school so I'm so grateful for that. I'm very new to the MCU fandom and even newer to the Netflix's Marvel fandom and sometimes I feel like I'm too late to the party, especially since I believe the height of Marvel was probably from 2014-2019 but I'm still very lucky to be here and have such good, creative, wonderful, and talented people to write and create stories with.

— sub-genres

I've only ever wrote in the realm of fiction and Marvel and Supernatural would be the two fandoms that I've ever wrote in. Deep diving in to now the Marvel genres I have now are Captain America's storyline and of course Daredevil. And inside that- angst always lol

— plots vs memes

Honestly I'm usually one to start out from a meme and dive from there. I'm not the best plotter at the very beginning. I think it's sometimes hard to get things lined up right away so I usually let the meme inspire me and go from there. Don't get me wrong, I love to plot, but I think sometimes it can almost feel forced or take away from the creativeness so memes are typically the way to go with me.

— long or short replies

Long. Even when I try to keep something short for the sake of a quick banter or whatever, I just struggle. I dive too much into description sometimes so short stuff is HARDDD. Plus sometimes I feel guilty that short stuff can spam the dash.

— best time to write

Oh gosh. Nights are usually when I write and on weekends, but summer is a free for all and sometimes that makes it worse because I can procrastinate because I have a "bunch of free time". I like being on a set schedule so then evenings and weekends can be my time to write.

Tagged by : @somewherebetweenrage

Tagging: Youuuuuuuu!