#I GET IT NOW. WHY HE'S CALLED THAT WAY. I REALLY DO

[yan-randomfandom]

Heyyy! I was wondering if you could do yandere saja boys x reader where the reader hangs out with a guy and they get very jealous

Yandere!Saja Boys x GN!Reader

a/n; the day im satisfied with writing a yan!saja boys and/or yan!huntrix one shot is the day i'll retire because this is still lacking 💔

warnings; uncomfortable, stalking, possessive behavior, more spotlight on Abby! no Jinu here, sry!

— 🌇

That's weird.

You're not anywhere in your house. You haven't responded to their messages yet.

"Think they finally had enough of us?" Baby mutters, looking through your snack drawer—nothing of interest—before closing it harsher than intended. The loud bang echoes in the empty kitchen.

Abby narrows his eyes as he looks through the window. The sun is going to set soon. "That can't be right. Maybe they went to buy something."

"Without telling us?" Mystery growls, his fingers fidgeting together. Well, it's not like you need to tell them every action you'll do. He's not even sure himself why he's so irritated.

After all, they were already planning to take your soul after the whole thing is over. But now that he's thinking of it again, the idea doesn't feel so good anymore...

The front door suddenly squeals open. All of them turn, expecting you, but instead meet Romance's face.

"Don't look so disappointed," Romance scoffs with an eyebrow raise. "I found the human. Come on."

— 🫧

First, they felt relief, then anger, then sadness, then nothing.

They found you alone, as Romance said you were, but then you started laughing. Your gentle laughter stopped them from getting any closer. A smile curls on your lips as your eyes consistently follow something.

"What?" Romance mutters, confusion scrunching his face. They can't see well from this angle—but they can't move either without being seen.

"I told you it's slippery," you snicker, walking over and extending your hand. Ah. So you weren't alone. "Come on. I'll help you up, I guess."

"Thanks," a voice replies, matching your energy, causing all of the boys to glance at each other. They watch as a hand takes yours. "I guess."

The person gets up—a man. Not a demon, but a human. Standing too close to you and still holding your hand. Or maybe it was just a normal distance, and time felt like forever watching you touch that thing—but, oh, Gwi-Ma. They feel like boiling their human forms.

You finally let go of him, using your hand to fish your phone out of your pocket. A frown snakes across your lips after a while. "Oh, no."

"Oh no?" your friend asks, tilting his head. "Is something wrong?"

You begin chewing your bottom lip, looking around. "No, uh, not really. But I have to go now. Nice catching up with you, man!"

"Aw, really?" he says, glancing at his phone. "Oh. It is pretty late. Isn't your apartment like right over there? I can—"

"There you are!"

You and your friend turn your heads, both of your eyes widening for entirely different reasons.

Abby approaches you with a charming smile, settling an arm over your shoulders. He hums as he takes a good, innocent look at your companion. "Who's this?"

"Saja— Abs—Abby? From Saja Boys?! Uh, I mean— Hi! So nice to meet you!" An unexpected blush blooms over your friend's face. He glances at you with nervousness and fascination before bowing his head.

Your friend shows off a crooked grin. He's a big fan already; he told you moments ago how he had Soda Pop on loop. You huff and remove Abby's arm from your shoulder, barely able to hold your flinch at the way he looked offended.

You gaze at Abby in anticipation.

Abby immediately gets the hint and masks himself. "Oh, a fan! Thank you for your support!"

They took a picture, Abby did his autograph, all the while giving him fanservice with his abs. Your friend giggles cheerfully as they shake their hands goodbye. You didn't miss the way Abby wiped his hand on his shirt when your friend wasn't looking.

"Take care!" you call to him, waving a hand before turning to a blank-faced Abby.

He stares at you humorlessly.

You blink, avoiding his eyes. "Uh, hey. Sorry about... not replying. I ran out of—"

Abby chuckles, smiles like he wasn't just judging your entire being, and shakes his head. He returns to draping his arm around your shoulder protectively. "No need to explain. We're glad you're safe. Let's go home."

Your brows furrow as Abby guides your walk. We're? We?

It's an obvious thing that once a member is involved, all of them are. Just... where are the others? Abby is the only one here.

You stray your eyes, landing on a window.

In the dim reflection, three pairs of glowing, golden eyes point at you in the distance. Ah. There they are. Watching, waiting.

Ugh. You look away. Jinu's never this level of creepy. He's not present again, as always.

You don't notice Abby nodding his head curtly next to you.

— need .. need to include more horrors..... ngl I'm stuck between funny or horrific yan!saja boys ,,

— also if you're wondering why Jinu isn't here, I just prefer not to include him in general! yeah my bad, in my other fics he's just kinda hanging around

— why's it so hard for me to write yandere (says the yandere blog)

[sugxto]

brutalizer(s) - eddie/volt/reader

⋆syn: You decide to "challengers" your new boyfriends. It, uh, doesn't go as planned.

⋆wc: 3.3k

⋆cw: m/m/f threesome, light dom/sub undertones, erotic electrostimulation, some very very minor dacryphilia, spit sharing, choking.

⋆notes: takes place immediately after the love route, but can be read independently. g/n pronouns for reader, called "good girl" and afab genitalia. other e/v one shots.

⋆snippet:

“Thought you did something there, huh?” Eddie’s voice is low, it hits you somewhere deeper in your belly than it has before. The whiskey sours earlier certainly aren’t helping. “It’s cute, but, come on.”

Volt chuckles, his lips against Eddie’s cheek, and his white hot stare locks on to you too. “Very cute, indeed. Really, spark,” his lips curl into what you can only describe as something dastardly, “did you honestly think I don’t already know his lips better than my own?”

“We could do a Volt and Eddie sandwich.”

The corner of Volt’s smile twitches, and he turns to Eddie with raised brows, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. Eddie’s face is uncharacteristically pink, and he casts a knowing glance at Volt, and pushes himself off the bar. 

“Well, seeing as how we’re… closed for the evening,” Volt starts, his eyes traveling back to yours, “I think, something to that effect, can be arranged. Eddie?”

The ice that you’ve come to know in Eddie’s stare is gone, the new spark glittering in it instead. He looks more lively, more excited, more… confident?

“I… wouldn’t be opposed.” His eyes rake over your body, as if finally allowing himself to fully drink you in the same way he drinks his whiskey sours. “It’s been a while since I’ve been up to… enjoying myself.”

Oh, they’re serious. 

I mean, you were serious too, but, right now? Right after they’ve just, essentially, come back to life?

But, who were you to turn down a good time?

You clear your throat. “Uh, here? In the club?”

Eddie scoffs, because you already knew the answer. “Absolutely not. No sex in the bar, that’s the one rule.”

“It’s not really a rule -”

“Volt.”

“Fine, fine, not here. Not tonight, at least.”

“Volt -”

“We live upstairs, a flat sort of thing.” Volt holds out his hand to you, want apparent in his gaze. “Shall I lead us there?”

You take his hand, that same spark from the first night surging up your arm, and you feel a second hand, strong and rough, at the small of your back as you head up the stairs. 

You realize, when you get to the bedroom, that you’ve… never done this before. Two. At once? Separately? How… exactly does this work. 

A thought sparks in your memory, of a movie you watched with Sam, where a girl swindled the two boys interested in her to kiss each other, and ya know, that’s something you might be interested in seeing. 

You’re all in the bedroom now, both of them eyeing you, expectantly, though not hurriedly. You giggle nervously, holding your hands to your heart. 

“I’ve uh, never done this before,” you admit. “Maybe, can I kiss you? And we can go from there?”

“Of course, darling. Whatever you want,” Volt cocks his head in Eddie’s direction. “I’ve already had the pleasure, so why not give Eddie a taste, hm?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and sighs. “Ignore him, he can’t help it.” He holds out his hand, and pulls you closer when you take it. “But, I wouldn’t say no.”

Eddie’s lips are different from Volt’s, more hesitant, but soft, and gentle as he learns your pace and the shape of your mouth. He tastes like a whiskey sour, and you just want to drink him down. 

Volt’s lips find your neck, and you notice he’s slipped off his shirt, and the air hums with the charge emanating off him. You lean into him, his strong arms, and Eddie pulls away to take off his own shirt as Volt smoothly whips off your dress. Eddie takes his turn at your neck, and the double dose of pleasure pulses like a current under your skin. 

You raise your hands, find their cheeks, and gently, oh so gently, you bring their lips towards each other, hoping they don’t notice it’s no longer you. You’ll only watch for a moment, you tell yourself, before you insert yourself back in. No one will be the wiser. As their lips touch, their eyes stay closed, and you step back to quietly sit on the edge of the bed. 

You watch their lips met with rapt attention, the ends of Volt’s hair sparking with each swipe of tongue you catch. Eddie’s teeth find the softness of Volt’s bottom lip, and a small sound escapes the back of your throat at the sight. 

You expected them to pull apart at the unexpected sound, to open their eyes and realize what they’d done (and, not a small part of you hoped, punish you for it).

So it’s a bit odd, you think, when their kiss deepens. When Volt’s large hand, his silver nails, find Eddie’s jaw, and swipe acros his stubble. When Eddie, in turn, half opens his eye, and a titanium stare finds you past Volt’s cheekbone.

Your heart hammers in your chest. This is either going to go better than you expected, or much, much worse for you.

You’re not sure which you’re hoping for more. 

Volt’s lips move to Eddie’s cheek, his jaw, exposing more of Eddie’s face to you - both his eyes, boring into yours. He’s barely hiding a smirk. 

“Thought you did something there, huh?” Eddie’s voice is low, it hits you somewhere deeper in your belly than it has before. The whiskey sours earlier certainly aren’t helping. “It’s cute, but, come on.”

Volt chuckles, his lips against Eddie’s cheek, and his white hot stare locks on to you too. “Very cute, indeed. Really, spark,” his lips curl into what you can only describe as something dastardly, “did you honestly think I don’t already know his lips better than my own?”

Oh.

Oh for amps sake. 

Because, actually, no. That thought hadn’t occurred to you. Why hadn’t that thought occurred to you? I mean, come on, there’s only one bed!

Your mouth goes dry, your jaw goes slack, your eyes zinging back and forth between pure white and pure steel. You’re caught. You’re so caught. 

“I, uh,” you start, but you’ve lost that bravado. “I never want to assume.”

Eddie huffs out a laugh, Volt’s thumb rubbing over his bottom lip. He pecks it softly. “Right. How thoughtful.”

“This is what you were wanting, though, was it not, live wire?” Volt purrs as he extricates himself from Eddie’s side, taking a step towards you in a way that reminds of that tiger feeding you once saw at the zoo. Like a predator. Stalking. Possessive. 

Oh fuck, you think. You’ve just fed yourself to the tigers. 

Volt’s hands are on either side of the bed next to your hips. Caging you. You can feel the sparks from his hair, the charge in his skin. “You wanted all three of us to enjoy ourselves, yes?”

You nod, and you see a flash of his canine teeth as he smiles.

“Exactly. And we most certainly will. But,” his jagged eyebrows lift, “you thought you could have an upper hand. And, it absolutely delights me to say, you won’t be having that.”

Rough hands are on your shoulders, and you’re shoved down onto the bed, Eddie’s unruly coils dangling over you. 

“Eddie, where did you -” you breathe, but one of those calloused hands is on your throat, squeezing just enough to silence you. Eddie’s grey eyes have darkened. Hunger, you think, he’s hungry.

Familiar sparks singe your inner thighs, but you can't lift your head to see what else Volt is doing - you can only feel the currents under your skin as his fingers find the crotch of your panties, pulling them only a little. Eddie only watches your face, how your brows furrow at the teasing, your eyes pleading for something he can’t give. Your hand comes to his wrist, not pushing him away, but needing to touch him more. 

“Eddie,” you breathe, feeling the weight of his hand on your neck. “Eddie please -”

“Do I look like the one you should be talkin to?” His brows lift, his stare curious. “Ya know, I don’t even really think you’re in a position to be talkin, period. Volt?”

You feel the man in question hum over the cloth of your panties, already hot, and the literal electricity isn’t helping. “I think I can occupy them, if you can keep them quiet.”

Keep them quiet?? Your eyes widen, but Eddie only chuckles. “My pleasure.”

With limited movement, you’re only acutely aware of what Eddie does with his other hand, until you hear the zip of his fly, the rustle of fabric, and -

Oh, fuck. 

Eddie’s cock is gorgeous, veiny in a way that reminds you of the wires he adorns, the head already leaking with pre. You lick your lips, staring at just a few inches over your face, and god, Eddie’s not the only hungry one. 

“Fuuuck, Eddie,” you moan, bringing your hand up to try and touch it, but the hand around your throat moves faster, leaving its mark to grab at your wrist this time. 

Eddie tsks his tongue. “Not so fast, live wire. Volt wants me to keep you quiet.” His other hand finds your cheek, stroking softly. “So, open your mouth, hm?”

The heat between your legs is getting unbearable, and you whimper when you feel Volt move the scrap of fabric to the side. “Yes, Eddie,” you manage, opening wide and offering your tongue. 

His cock is so hot as it finds your mouth, the soft tip and drops of pre languishing over your tongue, you can’t stop your lips from wrapping around his length as he presses in further, further -

A zap to your clitoris makes your hips buck in surprise, and your eyes shoot open - you see nothing save Eddie’s balls above your nose, and another zap elicits a squeak from your full mouth. 

Volt’s laugh is feral, his breath burning on your thighs. “Liked that, my little spark? Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty of charge for us.” His thumb presses almost delicately to your bud, making the smallest of circles, testing, learning. “Gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” His thumb dips lower, finding your entrance already wet, waiting. “I simply must have a taste.”

His tongue is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before - Ben-Hwa’s vibrations are incomparable to the literal electricity that is swiping over your lips, your hole, your clit - it’s mind-blowing. It’s explosive. Volt works you almost too expertly to be believed, and your brain short circuits when a finger slips inside. 

Eddie groans as he feels you moan around him, your hips wanting to buck, but one of Volt’s forearms keeps your hips pressed to the bed. You’re pinned, caged, at the whims of these two men, and it’s making you ache. 

Faster than you can remember happening before, your belly coils with tension, your climax growing completely outside your control. Volt feels it too, he must, because he devours you with fervor, two fingers moving at an impossible pace inside you. It builds and builds and -

You see sparks as you cum, as your hips fight against Volt’s hold, as you struggle for something solid to hold to. Your skin tingles, you’re absolutely buzzing, you’re a -

“Mm, live wire,” you hear Volt’s smile as he says it, and he presses a kiss to your clit - it makes your leg shake unconsciously. “You are just too fun.”

You whimper, your body jello, your focus on keeping Eddie’s cock inside your mouth, but you feel him retreat, and whimper again at the loss. 

Eddie strokes your cheek again, and you feel Volt climb onto the bed, sitting by your side. His touch slinks up your torso, the side of your breast, your bicep, trailing sparks the whole way. 

He hums contentedly. “Good girl for taking Eddie so well, he says, and you flush, and watch him glance up at Eddie, who's sitting back on his knees. “And good boy keeping them quiet, Eddie.”

Eddie’s sigh sounds a bit amused. “You haven’t said that shit in a while.”

“Well, I mean it.”

“Uh huh.” Eddie’s hands reach for the back of Volt’s neck, pulling him closer. “Lemme taste, yeah?”

Volt’s chuckle is cut off by Eddie’s tongue swiping over his lips before pushing inside his mouth, and god, what a sight for sore eyes. The men pull at each other, teeth clashing, and in your blissed out state, you can’t stop the moan that leaves your lips. 

Two sets of eyes stare down at you, two sets of lips curling into grins. “Oh, darling,” Volt purrs, “you want a taste too?”

You can only nod, and you will your body to lift yourself onto your elbows to meet them halfway. You watch them share a look, and your arms tremble. 

“Open, then.”

You cock your head. “What?”

“Open. Your mouth,” Volt repeats, and you do, tentatively. 

“Very good.” Volt turns back to Eddie, pulling his jaw with his thumb, and Eddie’s mouth drops for him. Volt positions his lips above him, and a line of spit trails from his lips onto Eddie’s waiting tongue. 

These men. These men were going to kill you. 

Eddie hums, and as he bends down to you, his hand trails down Volt’s stomach. You press your legs together, the anticipation sparking back inside you. Your nails claw at the sheets when Eddie hovers a few inches above your head, and you press your tongue even further out. The spit travels from his lips and lands, cold, on your tongue, and your legs twitch, your fists clench.

“Swallow,” Eddie says, voice thick and gruff with lust. 

You do. 

And they pounce. 

You’re dragged up the bed, two sets of hands pulling and pawing. Somehow your bra is off, your panties are gone, you hear their pants hit the floor, and the temperature raises as more skin is exposed. You find yourself propped against the pillows, your back against Eddie’s stomach, Volt stomachs against yours, utterly pressed between them. 

“Feel good, spark?” Volt says, his hand at your waist. “Your sandwich living up to expectations?”

You giggle, realizing this was, in fact, exactly what you’d asked for. “Absolutely.”

“Good,” Eddie grunts, his lips on your earlobe. 

“We do aim to please.” Volt squeezes your side, grinding his hips against you, his length hard, pressing insistently at where your thighs press together. 

“I’ll make sure to leave a -“ you gasp when Eddie’s teeth graze your neck, “a, fuck, glowing Breaker Box review.”

Volt’s grin is back to dastardly, and he grinds his hips harder against you. “Let’s ensure five stars, shall we?” 

His hand moves from your hip to your thigh, a spark running down your leg as he lifts it and throws it over his thigh. His cock is pressed against your stomach, and another pair of hands reach around to cup your breasts, and now Eddie’s cock slots between your cheeks. 

“Now, spark,” Volt’s voice is low, honeyed, and Eddie’s bites to your neck aren’t helping the buzz in your head. “Who do you want first?”

Best sandwich you’ve ever had. 

“I, I have to choose?” You mumble out, barely able to form a sentence as Volt’s eyes study your face. Eddie groans, pinching your nipple to elicit a gasp from your lips. 

“Mm, darling, we’ll work our way to not having to.” His fingers dance along your thigh, and Eddie’s cock slides along your skin. “Patience, for now, however. We wouldn’t want to break you on our first outing.”

Oh, but maybe you did. 

You swallow, the wires of your mind completely disconnected. “Volt, I, I can’t. I can’t choose.” How could you? Between two perfect, adoring, electrifying men, that wanted you more than the currents in their bodies? It wasn’t fair, surely. They were one, they were yours, but you couldn’t choose.

Volt’s lips turn to a pout, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Oh, poor wire. Feeling frayed?” He tsks his tongue when you nod. “Alright, no more choosing tonight. Let us take care of you, hm? Just close your eyes.”

You do, and he again lifts your leg, granting full access to anyone wanting your hole. You ache, the air charged and your lips dripping with want. You feel both of them pull away from you slightly, no longer able to feel their lengths, and you whimper from the loss of -

An intrusion of your entrance makes you cry out in surprise, and slowly, terribly, intensely, you’re being filled, and it’s like a fire has been lit inside your cunt, under your skin, in your heart. It burns, deliciously, beautifully. You eyelids flutter when the cock bottoms out, and a familiar, rough hand is suddenly covering your eyes. 

“You,” Eddie groans in your ear, “you, fuck me, feel perfect, spark.” His breath is ragged, and you curse when he thrusts, once, twice. “Oh fuck, oh, baby.” He says it reverently, lovingly. Your heart is going to burst out of your chest. 

A new hand finds your nipple, a zap bringing it to attention. “How does he feel, our spark? Doesn't his cock feel like it’s going to split you in two?”

In another state of mind, you might want to linger on the implications of that question. But yes, in fact, as Eddie’s thrusts became more frantic, the possibility of you splitting at the center did seem more likely. If Volt holding up your leg was the only thing centering yourself. 

Just as soon as you feel your climax building inside you, you’re empty, Eddie sliding out of you, and you grip around nothing, moaning at the emptiness. 

“No, no, Eddie, please!” You manage out before the hand on your eyes slips down to cover your mouth. The callouses on his hands are harsh against your lips, and you barely manage out a moan of protest before something new slips inside you, long and hot and slipping in so nicely. Moans of protest quickly turn to acceptance, and Volt’s cock is just so easy to accept. 

“Oh sweet amp.” Volt’s usually collected voice is shaky as he works his way inside you, taking his time much to your distress. “Live wire, I - we -”

“You,” Eddie breathes in your ear, “you might’ve been made for us.”

Ah. 

That’ll do it, then. 

You hardly even feel the build up, the spiringing coil, all you know if you’re cumming, you’re gushing without abandon on Volt’s cock, and tears spring to your eyes when they both curse, and Volt’s pace quickens. Eddie’s hand leaves your mouth, finding your neck again, controlling your air like he controls the very power of your home. Your body is slack, offering neither of them resistance, given over to the fire inside your belly, the weight of their hands, their control of your cunt. 

You feel Volt slip out, and now Eddie is back inside you. The tears spill over your cheeks, and an electric tongue licks them up. Almost as quickly as you adjust to Eddie, he’s gone, and Volt is back, then Eddie, then Volt, until you’re no longer cognizant of the difference. 

Eddie’s breath is erratic. “I’m, fuck, I -”

“Me too, darling,” Volt huffs. “Where -”

“S, stomach,” you moan. “Both, both, please.”

You’re on your back, your body liquid, but you open your eyes enough to watch their hands find each other’s lengths, pump once, twice, and then groan together as their cum lands on your skin, singeing like the flame of a candle. 

It’s a haze, what comes after. They’re kissing your cheeks, tucking your hair, singing what you guess are your praises in your ear. Volt’s voice is distant, but you hear how he calls you a good girl, while Eddie wipes away their spend with a towel from his discarded pants. 

You’re between them again when you return to earth, kisses peppered on your shoulder, tingles along your arms. It’s better than any dream, but somehow, you know it won’t disappear. 

“Back with us, spark?” Eddie whispers when your eyes flutter open. 

You smile softly, hum contentedly. “Always.”

“Very good,” Volt’s lips press to your collarbone. “You took everything beautifully, live wire. Our good girl. Our spark.”

You sigh, rolling onto your back, and find their cheeks with your hands. “You boys,” you smile, gaze flicking between them. “I love you.”

Steel meets white, then both meet you. “We love you too, little wire.”

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ old habits

➤ summary: you call Rafe out when he acts disrespectfully

➤ w/c: 1.5k.

➤ warnings: themes of toxic masculinity, emotional confrontation

➤ a/n: really wanted to be a part of @zyafics campaign, and I hope that other writers will consider doing it too <3

masterlist

The thing between you and Rafe was still new and fresh—only a few times going out on dates, lingering touches, and way too many moments that were more than just friendly.

Since the first time you had met him, you thought that he had grown to be a better person. He tried to change some of his old habits to become more mature. And you truly saw that, and it was a reason why you even started to catch feelings. But there were still times when he struggled, when some of the traits of that old toxic Rafe were slipping through, either because it was too hard to control things that he had been taught from a young age or because he truly didn’t see himself being in the wrong. 

That day he invited you to the new cafe near the beach on the mainland, saying that it was the best one. For you, Rafe was a gentleman. He picked you up, helped you to get in and out of his truck, complimented your dress and your hair, and let you hold his upper arm when he was leading you to the entrance.

He opened the door for you, and the place was dimly lit with yellow tones and just radiated warmth. It was a little bit too loud with people sitting everywhere, but if the place was good, you didn’t mind that one bit. You looked back at Rafe, sharing a smile, until the young hostess stepped in front of you. 

“I’m so sorry, but as you may see, we’re full right now. You may sit here until one of the tables is free.” With a polite smile, she gestured to the side. “The waiting time will be around fifteen to twenty minutes, if that’s okay with you.” 

You nodded to her words without hesitation. “That’s totally fine.” 

But beside you, Rafe let out a small breath. Not quite a sigh, more like a scoff. He raised an eyebrow and looked the girl up and down with something colder in his expression than you would’ve preferred.

“You’re telling me you can’t fit two people in? It’s not even full in here.” She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, briefly looking at you to figure out how to react. Rafe’s voice wasn’t loud, but you knew how intimidating and cold he might be, especially to people who were not used to it.

“Rafe.” You said his name sharply, tugging his bicep once in hope that he would let it go. 

He glanced at you, then back at the hostess, not getting the problem that you seemed to have. “We’re literally standing here, dressed nicely, just asking for a table. I’m not trying to be a dick. I'm just saying, you could make it work if you actually wanted to.” You didn’t wait for her to respond. You took a step back, slowly removing your hand from his arm.

“I’ll be outside.” You said. No emotion in your voice, hands already folded across your chest. 

You sat at the bench outside, one leg thrown over another, looking at the ocean and debating just simply going back home. Rafe walked out a few minutes later, with hands buried in the pockets of his pants, looking at you like he genuinely could not understand your behavior. 

“Are you seriously mad at me?”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.” You said calmly, not even sparing him a glance. 

“For what? I didn’t even say anything bad. She was the one who couldn’t do her job properly.”

Your head snapped towards him with eyebrows raised in surprise. “No.” You said sharply, taking him aback. “You were being an asshole because you didn’t get what you wanted. She was doing her job, Rafe.” 

His brows knit. “Jesus, I wasn’t an asshole—I was just calling her out.”

“Calling her out for what, Rafe? For not breaking policy? For not giving you special treatment?” He looked away, jaw clenching. His hand reached his head to rub over his buzzed hair in frustration, while you simply looked at him, seeing the conflict that he had. Part of him clearly knew you were being reasonable, that he might’ve stepped over the line, but the rest of him, the louder part, wanted to be right. Wanted to win.

“I’m not dating someone who thinks talking down to people makes him important.” You said firmly, your voice low and calm but hard to let him know how serious that situation was for you. “That’s not cute. That doesn’t make you look cooler or whatever. That’s not something I tolerate.”

Rafe exhaled hard through his nose, briefly throwing his head back in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I screamed at her or something. I was just—I don’t know—frustrated.”

“Yeah, and she was working. Probably scared of losing her job because of kooks who talk down to her every day. Probably already dealing with a bunch of other men who think that they are better than everyone and that other people owe them something.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t do that.”

You stood up, stepping closer with your heels softly clicking against the wood. You squinted your eyes slightly, tilting your head to the side now that you were almost the same height. “Do what?”

“Make me out to be some kind of monster.”

“I’m not.” You shot back. “But if you don’t like how I make you sound by just talking about your actions, maybe ask yourself why instead of getting defensive.”

The silence that followed stretched long between you. You crossed your arms tighter, mostly to keep yourself from softening, because, God, you wanted to. Because part of you knew that he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, but still addressing the problem was important to prove to him that the said problem existed. 

You watched the gears turning behind his eyes, jaw tight, hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked off toward the ocean like maybe the answer was out there, like it could help him to understand how to break the default settings that were engraved in his brain. 

“I didn’t think it was that bad.” Rafe admitted finally, his voice quieter now, and you could hear the edge of hesitation. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it. That I was acting like…” He trailed off, and you knew what he meant. Like Ward.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.” You said softer now, but still steady. “You don’t even notice when you slip. I know that you’re trying to be better. I see it, but I also need you to acknowledge that sometimes you can still be mean, that sometimes you’re in the wrong. Otherwise we won’t work out.”

He looked at you then, as if hurt for a second, because for the part of him, it sounded like a threat or like a challenge that he didn’t want to accept.

“I don’t want to be that guy.” He said after a moment. “I’ve been trying. You know I have.”

“I know. That’s why I’m still standing here and not leaving.” You stepped closer, but you didn’t reach for him.

“But I’m not going to coach you through being a decent person every time you slip. You have to want it for yourself, not just to keep me happy, because I’m telling you right now, Rafe…” You met his eyes, staying your ground. “If that’s the man you choose to be, I will walk away. Even if I don’t want to.”

His throat bobbed in a nervous swallow, his eyes darted away, then back to yours, as if he was trying to measure if you were bluffing. And when a few seconds passed, when you looked at him steadily, waiting for an answer, he turned and walked back toward the café.

You watched him through the front windows when he hesitated near the hostess stand, tugging awkwardly at the expensive watch on his wrist, and then leaned in to speak to the girl. Her face was surprised at first, then softened as he continued to talk, before she nodded a few times, still slightly hesitant, and said something back to him. 

When Rafe returned back to you, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease a little bit, though his jaw clenched when he rubbed the back of his neck and stopped in front of you like he wasn’t sure where to begin.

“I apologized. Told her I was out of line.”

You gave him a small nod. “Thank you.”

He shifted on his feet, nervous. “She said the table will be ready in ten.” You nodded again, waiting for him to continue. “You still wanna eat with me?” He asked, almost hesitant, like a boy who'd just been scolded.

“I do.” His lips stretched in a small smile, eyes glimmering with something like surprise and maybe a bit of shyness that you caught every once in a while. Rafe stepped closer, offering you his hand, and you playfully rolled your eyes, smiling back and interlacing your fingers. “Now I’m about to order the whole damn menu, Cameron. And it better be good.” 

[lexiputellas]

The Real Victory

You’re horny. Like, dangerously horny.

Alexia is on the pitch, locked into the Champions League match against Manchester City. She lost the last game, and you know how badly she wants this one. You should be focused too. Supportive. Cheering.

But you're six months pregnant and your entire body is buzzing.

And all you can think about is her.

Not the game. Not the score.

Just her

The way her thighs flex when she sprints, thick and powerful. The way her brow furrows when she’s concentrating, that sharp little frown. The way her hands settle on her hips when something doesn’t go her way, fuck.That posture alone sends a direct electric shock to your clit, like a livewire.

It’s unbearable.

You can’t hear the crowd. You barely notice the plays. It’s just her, her, her.

“Oh, that ref is shit. He should’ve called that a foul,” Alba mutters beside you, snapping you out of your haze.

“What?” you blink.

“The ref,” she says, nodding at the pitch.

“Oh. Right. Yeah,” you say, pretending to care. She’s already turned back to the game.

But you? You’re dying.

This feeling is consuming you, melting you from the inside out. You feel like you’re going to burst. Your hands are clenched in your lap, trying to behave, but your legs keep pressing together. You're sweating under your dress, soaked through your underwear, every shift in your seat making you want to whimper.

You can't take it anymore.

You grab your phone and open Alexia’s contact, fingers trembling as you type:

— if after 30 minutes of the game you don’t fuck me and give me at least 2 orgasms i will expose you to the internet. i’m not joking. i’m feral.

You hit send.

She won’t read it now, obviously. But when she gets back to the locker room, when she finally checks her phone, you want her to know what she did to you.

You type again:

— i’m a mess. i’m so wet it’s probably running through my dress and dripping onto the fucking seats. this is 100% your fault.

You stare at the screen, your heart pounding harder than the crowd’s chants.

Final whistle.

Barça wins.

The stadium erupts. People are screaming, waving flags. Fireworks. Hugs. Applause.

You don't care.

Finale. They’re going to the goddamn finale.

And all you want is her.

All you want is home

All you want is to be touched.

You turn to Alba. “Let’s go.”

She glances at you, a little surprised. “Already?”

“Help me up.”

She does, and you wobble a bit, pregnant belly leading the way. You make your way to the VIP lounge and ask for a bottle of water. Your heart is racing like you played 90 minutes.

“You having dinner with us?” you ask Alba casually, your brain screaming please say no please say no please say no—

“I don’t think so, actually. I promised Julia I’d have dinner with her tonight. Been a while.”

YES.

“Oh, okay,” you say, masking the desperate joy clawing at your throat. “I just thought—”

“I’m sorry!” she smiles. “We can have dinner later this week.”

You nod, but your mind is elsewhere. All you can think is: Where the fuck is Alexia?

Why is she not here yet? Is she still giving interviews? Talking to people? Laughing with teammates while you’re over here throbbing?

Then, finally, she walks through the doors.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Your entire body clenches. She looks so fucking good. Post-game glow, loose ponytail, jersey stuck to her skin, thighs still tense from running. She’s flushed. Confident. Unreal.

You bite your lip. Hard. Press your thighs together again.

You love her. You hate her. You want to murder her and climb her at the same time.

“Oi, bebé,” she murmurs, kissing your cheek, arms wrapping around you.

You give her a dry peck back, but your eyes are blazing. She hugs Alba next.

“Hey, you coming to dinner?”

“Oh, can’t. Was just waiting for you to show up. I’ve got plans.”

“Okay,” Alexia nods. Alba leaves.

“Dinner out or do you want to order in?” she asks, turning to you with that too-casual tone.

“Order,” you narrow your eyes. She was really about to take you to a restaurant like she didn’t just read those texts? Is she insane?

Then again, she is insane. She's mean. She's hot. She’s yours. So so yours.

“Okay, let’s go,” she says, grabbing your purse and holding out her hand.

You walk with her, past a few teammates. She says her goodbyes. Opens the car door for you. Puts her gear in the trunk. Starts the engine.

She’s humming along to the song on the radio. Calm. Collected.

You look at her. Really look.

What kind of monster leaves their pregnant, needy, drenched wife like this?

The way her fingers grip the wheel. The muscles in her forearms. The little furrow of concentration on her brow.

It’s criminal.

“What?” she says suddenly, catching your stare.

“You’re so mean,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“What? How am I mean?”

“You read the messages. And you chose to ignore me. You ignored your pregnant, unholy, unsatisfied wife”

“I didn’t ignore you,” she smirks. “I just wanted to see when you’d break.”

“When I’d— WHAT KIND OF MONSTER SAYS THAT? I hate you!” you yell, dramatic and breathless.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes I do! I hate you so much!”

She looks at you sideways, eyes dark and smug, and then slowly lets one hand slide off the wheel, straight to your thigh.

You gasp.

Her fingers press into your skin, spreading a little warmth, a little promise.

“You don’t hate me,” she says, low and certain.

And god help you, she’s right.

Her hand stays there hot, firm, steady on your thigh. Not moving. Just existing. Like a warning. Like a fucking claim.

And you're trembling.

“You don't hate me,” she says again, softer this time, almost teasing, like she already knows you're seconds from falling apart. “You’re just mad I made you wait.”

You twist toward her in your seat, glaring. “I wasn’t mad. I was dying. There’s a difference. You left me like that for ninety minutes. In public.”

“In a stadium,” she corrects, her thumb now rubbing slow, maddening circles over your skin. “While my team fought for the Champions League.”

“I fought for my life. ”

She laughs, actually laughs, and you nearly claw at her. “You think this is funny?”

“I think it’s adorable.”

“Adorable?” you nearly shriek. “I threatened you. I explicitly said two orgasms and you acted like I said two cappuccinos,”

“I saw that,” she says, grinning wider. “And the one after. The part about your dress. And the seats.”

Your mouth goes dry.

“And?” you snap, voice shaky.

She hums, dragging the tip of her fingernail up and down your thigh now. You shiver. “And I guess we’ll see if you were exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t.”

“I hope not.”

You make a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a growl. Your hands are fisted in your lap again, trying not to beg her in traffic.

The city blurs outside the window, but all you see is her profile, focused, gorgeous, unfazed. Your whole body is throbbing and she’s just…driving. Calmly. Like you’re not about to crawl into her lap.

You glance down at her hand on your leg. Her thumb is drifting closer to the inside of your thigh now. Dangerous territory. Too close. You spread your legs slightly without thinking.

She doesn’t say anything. Just flicks her eyes toward you with a slow smirk.

You clench your fists tighter.

“You’re a menace,” you mutter.

“You married me.”

“I was tricked.”

She chuckles again, completely in control, and your pulse is in your ears. She's wearing that smug, satisfied post-match look, jersey still sticking to her skin, and all you can think about is how much you need her on you, in you, now now now.

“Alexia,” you whisper, desperate.

She exhales through her nose, leans forward to turn down the music, then returns her hand to your thighs, this time higher, much higher.

“Shhh, bebé. Almost home.”

Your hips twitch toward her.

“No, not shhh. I’m going to die,” you say breathlessly. “You’re going to have to explain to the paramedics that you edged your pregnant wife into a cardiac event.”

She grins. “I’ll just say it was hormones.”

You whimper. Actually whimper.

“You’re evil.”

“You’re so dramatic,” she says, but her voice is lower now, quieter, slipping into that tone you know means trouble.

Then she turns onto your street.

Your breathing stutters.

You’re seconds away from sobbing, from tearing the fabric of your dress apart, from climbing her while the engine’s still on. She parks the car and the moment it clicks into place, you undo your seatbelt and twist to her.

She hasn’t even opened her door yet.

You lean toward her, breath warm, hands shaking.

“I swear to God,” you whisper, “if you make me wait one more second,”

But she’s already moving. Turning to you. Hand slipping behind your neck and pulling you in for a deep, hot kiss. It hits you like fireneedy, claiming, hungry. Her tongue sweeps over yours and her fingers dig into your skin and just like that, you’re gone.

Your moan gets swallowed in her mouth.

She reaches down, pulls the lever, and shoves the driver’s seat all the way back.

Your breath catches.

“Come here,” she says, low.

“What?”

“You heard me. Come here.”

You scramble over the center console, breathless, messy, belly in the way, everything awkward and unhinged. But she helps you, strong arms around you, guiding you to straddle her lap. Her hands slide under your thighs, lifting you so you’re not too heavy, easing you down until you're sitting right against her.

The moment you're seated, your soaked center pressed against the firm muscle of her thigh, your arms around her neck, she kisses you.

Hard.

Messy.

Open-mouthed and fucking relentless.

You moan into her, rocking instinctively, already rolling your hips against her. Her hands slip up under your dress, grabbing the back of your thighs, your ass, your hips, tugging you closer until you're gasping into her mouth.

“Ale, fuck, I’m gonna explode”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, lips wet, eyes glassy.

Her hand slides between your legs. Straight under your underwear.

And when she feels how wet you are?

Her jaw clenches.

“You’re soaked.”

“I told you,” you gasp.

“Sit up,” she orders, and you barely register what she’s doing before she slides her fingers inside: slow, deep, no warning.

Your whole body jerks.

“FUCK”

Her other hand grips your hip, grounding you, holding you in place.

“You gonna ride me like you threatened to?” she breathes into your neck. “Or do I have to make you beg for it?”

You’re already moving. Hips grinding down, your belly tight against her chest, your thighs trembling with the effort.

“God, yes, yes, please, Alexia”

“You’re so desperate,” she whispers. “So messy. You wanted to come in my car so bad? Do it.”

Her fingers are already soaked, dripping, knuckles buried in your cunt as you grind against her like you’ve forgotten how to breathe. She’s letting you do the work, just watching, controlling the rhythm with the slow flex of her hand.

“You’re so fucking perfect like this,” she mutters, voice low, forehead pressed to yours. “Dripping all over me. Can you feel how wet you are?“

Your jaw drops. You moan, raw, desperate and she doesn't give you space to recover.

Her fingers curl inside you, deep and mean, rubbing against that swollen, electric spot that sends sparks flying up your spine. Her palm drags hard over your clit. Again and again and again.

You fall apart.

Your back arches, your belly tight and shaking, and then your cunt clenches down so hard on her fingers it hurts. You don’t just moan, you wail, the sound tearing from your throat like a sob. Your head tips back, body locking, thighs trembling uncontrollably.

She’s right there, whispering filth into your skin.

“That's it. Give it to me, bebé. Let me feel it. Let me feel all of it.”

You try to breathe, but your lungs won’t work. Your whole body is twitching, seized by the orgasm, soaking her wrist, her palm, the fucking seat. You’re gushing, crying, shaking in her lap like your body’s been possessed.

She holds you there through it gripping your ass with one hand, still inside you with the other, riding it out until you're limp and clinging to her.

When you finally collapse forward, she’s panting against your ear, voice rough with praise.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You came so hard for me. Fuck.”

Your whole body buzzes. You’re not sure if you’re still crying or just breathless, but her jersey is wet with sweat, and your thighs are shaking.

“That’s one,” she says, slowly pulling her fingers out, wet, slick, obscene. She lifts them to her mouth and licks them clean while you just stare, wrecked and speechless.

Then, with a grin that’s all teeth:

“You still owe me another.”

“And I haven’t even ripped your fucking dress yet.”

[yunalinwrites]

one of my fav kdramas (called youre beautiful) is abt a girl joining a boy band and pretending to be a boy ohshc style except her fellow members dont know and she has to somehow live with them while hiding it 😭 it's so wattpad i love

so imagine being fem!reader sharing a dorm with the saja boys while trying not to get found out

of course u cant hide forever tho so this is how i think you'd get found out and how they'd react:

❓ mystery knew from the start. you didnt realize he was scrutinizing you so closely bc of them fuck ass bangs but from the day you met he could tell just by looking at you. but, much like he does about everything, he kept quiet because he didnt want to freak you out. he found it cute though, every time you'd slip up and get all flustered trying to cover up why you were staring at the dresses at the mall or why you were caught buying pads. so, he'd just smile, pat your head, and calmly help you make excuses. if you walk into the wrong room at the wrong time he'll quietly direct you to a gender neutral bathroom or drape a towel over your eyes whenever the guys got too... carefree in the locker room. lowk helps you hide it from the other members bc he likes it being his little secret

🍼 baby also found out pretty early but also like not really? he walked in on you in the bathroom once and was like "mb" and then he thought about it and was like "wait a sec..." but then he just shrugged it off. and since then for a while in the back of his head he would catch the way you walk or the way you sit or the way your eyelashes look against your cheek and for a split second would think like "is he a chick?" but he never really came to a conclusion bc he just dont gaf. dude or not he treats you pretty much the same. once everyone else starts figuring it out tho thats when he starts acknowledging it. now that everyone else seems to treat you differently as a girl, he starts questioning how to feel or act around you...

💪 abby started rough housing with the other boys and tried to pull you in. lifted you up and not only were you lighter than he expected, your bodies were right up against each other. you did your best to bind your tits down but when you were chest to chest like this it was still noticeable. he awkwardly puts you down and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling an apology. for the next few days his brain is fried thinking about it. he never verbally acknowledges it but he starts being super gentle around you and treating you like you're fragile. feels the need to protect you physically, even if its against the other boys. always keeping watch to make sure they're gentle with you as well.

✨ jinu overhears you out yourself on the phone somehow and is so mad and so flustered at the same time. he's afraid you're going to be a liability if the fans find out and its gonna be a pain to hide but behind all that anger he's just scared of women fr. blushes every time he remembers you're a girl. every time you end up together alone in the living room or catch each other in the hallway, brushing each others shoulders in the slightest, he turns bright red and freaks tf out. somehow though he finds it easier to connect with you emotionally as a girl. with other guys it sometimes feels weird to be vulnerable, but you don't seem to have that shame at all. he admires it. gwi ma probably forced you into this situation so he empathizes with you.

🫶 romance liked to ask you all the time about your love life. asking what your type is, ideal date, dream wedding, do you want kids, etc. you figured it would be safest to just pretend you were a straight dude who liked girls. he wouldnt have cared though. he was starting to feel a little something for you even before you revealed yourself as a girl but refrained from going down that route to stay professional. but when you do reveal yourself as a girl it starts to get even harder to keep that boundary.

🥤 overall once they figure it out none of them tell each other or really say it aloud bc of the implications it has. but they all show it through actions like making sure you're fed and hydrated, letting you use the shower first, asking you if you need a break during rehearsal, etc. but trust, once they all start offering to help you at the same time--like all of them reaching to lend you their marker during fan signings when yours goes dry or surrounding you with 5 different choices of hoodie when you mention you're cold--they start getting real jealous and possessive real soon; they all want to be the one and only you rely on.

eventually though when they all reveal that they all know and everyone's on the same page, they start working together to protect you. all 5 of them wrapped around ur finger 😋 but still fighting for your attention

a/n: ugh i wish i had time/energy to do this properly along w all my other fics for kpdh (this movie has taken over my life) but idk i prob wont LOLL if anyone else wants to build off of this plz go ahead and tag me

[sillygoose067]

hi!! is it possible for you to write one for lewis pullman in general or bob floyd inspired by this

Hi! Yes of COURSE it’s possible, I’m so glad you asked :) I chose to do Lewis for this one, but maybe in the future I’ll do a Bob Floyd version… 🤔💭

Also the tweet itself is so funny I swear I’ve seen it like 50 other times and still laughed at it. Thanks for bringing it back!

———————————————————————————-

Plus One, Minus Me

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You were halfway through another spreadsheet, fingers stiff from typing, when your phone started to buzz across the desk. The screen lit up with a name that made the corners of your mouth soften—Lew💞.

You tucked the phone between your shoulder and ear, already grateful for the break. “Hey, you,” you said, brushing a crumb from your lap. “What’s up?”

His voice came through, winded. “Quick question—where are you?”

You frowned faintly, clicking away from the screen. “Um. At work? Still chained to the desk. Why?”

There was a shuffle on the other end. Distant laughter. A thud, like someone had dropped something nearby. And then—faintly—a child's voice calling for someone named "Captain Lewis."

“…Wait,” you said, straightening up. “Where are you?”

“I’m at your family’s place?” he replied, like it was obvious. “The cookout. The one you told me about last week?”

Your brain did a somersault. You yanked open your calendar. June 25th — Family cookout, 3 PM — backyard, bring something sweet?

Oh god. You had told him.

“Oh my god,” you whispered. “I completely forgot.”

“I thought you were just running late,” he said, unbothered. “Your mom texted me the address this morning, so I just showed up. Figured it'd be polite to shake some hands and make a quiet exit.”

You groaned, already burying your face in one hand. “I had back-to-back reports this morning. I didn’t even think—I’m so sorry—wait, how are you even surviving out there? My family’s like, full-contact socializing.”

There was a brief silence, and then a huff of laughter.

“Yeah, I didn’t really get a choice. Your aunt handed me a pair of tongs before I even finished saying hello. I’ve grilled, stacked chairs, lost a round of trivia, and now I’m being roped into a scavenger hunt by your cousin? I think I’m her team captain now?”

You could almost see him: sleeves rolled up, awkwardly trying to blend in, probably blushing his way through small talk while balancing a paper plate.

“Lewis,” you sighed, equal parts charmed and horrified.

But he didn’t hear it. His voice had shifted, distracted again. “Wait—someone’s calling me—uh, hey, sorry, I can’t really talk right now, I’m being drafted into backyard dodgeball. Your dad’s on the opposing team and he’s been warming up for ten minutes—I think he’s taking this personally—okay, gotta go—bye!”

Click.

You blinked.

He hung up.

He actually hung up on you.

To play dodgeball.

At your family’s cookout.

That you forgot about.

A scoff caught in your throat—half disbelieving, half amazed. You shook your head and stared at the phone like it had betrayed you. Moments later, a message came in.

A photo. Blurry but full of motion. Lewis in the foreground, red-cheeked and triumphant, clutching a foam ball like a prize. Behind him: your dad mid-sprint, your cousin ducking for cover. Someone had stuck a makeshift nametag on Lewis’s shirt. It read: “TEAM MVP.”

Then came the text:

Lew💞: “Tell me this counts as cardio. Also tell your mom I’m winning? Sort of.”

You felt a smile start somewhere deep and involuntary. A quiet warmth that spread beneath your ribs.

You: “I can’t believe you’re just out there bonding with my entire family without me:(”

Lew💞: “Yeah, well. Someone had to represent you. I’m doing my best. Now if you’ll excuse me, your uncle just pulled out the water balloons.”

Pause.

Lew💞(follow-up): “P.S. Tell your boss you’re missing a great pasta salad.”

———

You managed to finish up your shift a little after sunset, eyes heavy and brain gelatinous from too many hours of spreadsheets and fluorescent lights. But as soon as you clocked out, your feet moved on instinct. You barely thought about it—just turned the wheel and pointed your car in the direction of home. Or at least, the temporary version of it: your parents’ house, backyard still glowing with string lights and the leftover echo of laughter.

By the time you pulled up, most of the chaos had thinned. The crowd had quieted to clusters of folding chairs and flickering citronella candles. A few cousins darted around with glow sticks; someone had put on an old playlist, the kind that lived in your family’s blood more than memory.

You stepped into the yard with a breath held like a confession.

Your parents were at the patio table, sipping something warm, plates scraped mostly clean. Your mom saw you first. Her eyes lit up, though she didn’t rise—just waved you over with a small smile.

“I’m so sorry,” you said as soon as you reached them. “I completely spaced. Work swallowed me whole.”

Your dad waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. We figured you’d show up when you could.”

“Besides,” your mom said, patting your arm. “Lewis made up for both of you.”

You blinked. “He did?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she said, grinning. “He’s been playing referee, grill assistant, magician, babysitter, and apparently—”

Your dad cut in. “—the reigning water balloon dodge champion.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Where is he now?”

Your mom stood, nodding for you to follow her through the side of the yard. “He wore himself out. The little ones ran him into the ground.”

You passed the garden hose, a collapsed beach ball, and a pair of soaked sneakers—evidence of earlier warfare—and then turned the corner into the screened-in sunroom.

There he was. Sprawled on the old futon like a crime scene outline, one arm thrown dramatically over his eyes. His shirt was damp, hair tousled, and someone had draped a beach towel over him like a blanket. Your youngest cousin had left a juice box balanced precariously on his chest.

You stood in the doorway and just stared for a second. He looked so comfortable. Like he belonged there. Like your family had absorbed him fully, and he’d let it happen.

“He kept saying he wasn’t tired,” your mom said quietly behind you. “Then he sat down for one second and passed out like a light.”

You glanced at her, grateful.

“Thanks for looking after him.”

She touched your back, light as a whisper. “He fits, sweetheart. Good one, that boy.”

You smiled, then stepped forward to kneel by the futon. You gently moved the juice box, then brushed a hand along his arm. “Hey,” you murmured. “Ready to head home?”

He stirred, blinking slowly, smile groggy and crooked. “Did we win?”

“You definitely lost consciousness, so… sort of.”

He laughed under his breath, voice husky with sleep. “Your cousin is terrifying. I think I work for her now.”

“Come on,” you said, nudging him upright. “Let’s get you out of here before she demands overtime.”

You guided him to the car, waving your goodbyes over your shoulder as he leaned sleepily against you, still radiating warmth from all the attention and adrenaline. And as you drove, his head tipped gently against the window, you couldn’t help but marvel at it all.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, the stars were out and the air had that summer hush to it—cool against your skin, the kind of quiet that only arrives after a long, noisy day.

Lewis was half-asleep again in the passenger seat, arms folded, head resting against the window like he might be dreaming something sweet. You hated to wake him, but the porch light flickered on as the car door opened, and he stirred on his own, rubbing at his eyes.

“Home?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Just about.”

Inside, you helped him kick off his shoes while he yawned like a cartoon character. He dropped his keys twice, then muttered something about how your cousins had “the combined energy of a nuclear plant.” You snorted as you tossed the spare blanket from the couch over his shoulders and went to fetch a glass of water.

When you came back, he was standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes soft and half-lidded, just watching you.

“You’re staring,” you said, offering him the glass.

He took it with both hands, sipped, then said, “Your mom likes me.”

“She does.”

“Your dad said I throw like a ‘real man,’ which I think was a compliment.”

You laughed and leaned your hip against the counter. “You made quite the impression.”

He gave a sleepy smile. “I just didn’t want them to miss you too much.”

That made you pause. Then step forward.

And tuck a hand into the curve of his elbow.

“I think you distracted them just fine.”

You guided him to the couch and sat down beside him, legs curled under you, shoulder brushing his. He exhaled, deep and slow, like he was finally letting go of the day.

After a moment, you reached over, gently pulling a stray blade of grass from his hair.

He watched you with that look of his—soft, a little amused, all affection.

“Thanks for showing up,” you said quietly.

He blinked. “Of course.”

“No, I mean… not just for me. For them. For being there, even when I wasn’t. You didn’t have to.”

He leaned back, head tilted, eyes studying you in that unassuming way of his. Then: “Yeah, but you love them. And I love you. It’s not that complicated.”

Your breath caught a little. Because of how easy, how logical he made it sound.

And how right it felt, hearing it here, in this quiet pocket of the night, after everything.

You didn’t say anything right away. Just reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

Outside, a cricket chirped somewhere in the dark. The kind of sound that only made silence feel more full, not less.

Eventually, he sank sideways into the cushions and pulled you gently with him.

And there, tangled together on the couch, your fingers still warm in his, you revelled in this love you'd found.

[themathomhouse]

I have to assume you're deliberately misunderstanding prev at this point, but on the off chance you're not I will repeat what they have explicitly said one more time, with some of my own emphasis because tbh Lucas isn't an especially bad example of what I was talking about. He's just the best known on tumblr. He is, however, awful at acknowledging the work his first wife did on Star Wars and how much that contributed to the success of the trilogy, and, exactly like prev said, has tried to take the reins himself in the subsequent years and demonstrated exactly why she was needed in the first place.

George Lucas isn't a bad film editor. He's also the person who wrote the script and directed (the first) Star Wars. I think it's fair and accurate to say that the (first three) Star Wars films are a product of his vision - and where he was inspired and helped by other directors and collaborators, he's actually great at acknowledging their contribution!

With one exception.

Marcia Lucas is an excellent film editor. She isn't the only editor who worked on Star Wars at all, but, as prev said, the team who worked on the films overall win awards for being particularly good - and Lucas himself acknowledges that he's not the best editor or director! He didn't direct episodes V or VI because he is actually capable of understanding where his strengths lie. This is why he hired other people to edit his films!

One of those people was his then-wife. They are now divorced. Likely because of this divorce, and also because the divorce was partly caused by Star Wars, he now fails to tell the story of how the Star Wars films were kind of a mess when they arrived at the editing suite. Marcia (who had also edited his previous films, because she is a professional film editor and an excellent one) understood his vision and also made several changes without which most people who worked on the film say it would not have come together. George had great ideas, the effects would have been great, but it just wouldn't have sparked a phenomenon the way it did without her work. And he himself used to acknowledge this!

Until they got divorced. Which was right as Episode VI came out. And now he doesn't acknowledge her as much as he really should - and if I remember correctly, Spielberg has called him out on this!

Like I said, I actually don't think he's a particularly egregious example. He's someone who usually is great at acknowledging his collaborators and he's often good at acknowledging where he needs someone else to do something because they are better at it. He hasn't made a film that's anywhere near as good or interesting as the original Star Wars honestly in no small part because he actually has taken a producer role or co-writes or generally just doesn't want to be the director as much since Star Wars. Where he has done, like prev said with the tinkering with the original trilogy, and like EVEN HE says about episodes I - III, the result is just not as good as it could have been.

I'm basically commenting here because your misunderstanding of prev comes off as incredibly bad-faith, especially as this post is constantly just tagged as George Lucas in a way that honestly? I don't think is fair. But prev was actually very specific as to what they were referring to with him, and they're right! Like. Famously right. But I'm hoping that I'm wrong about the bad-faith and this will help both you and others see where prev was coming from, as well as tbh maybe people could tag this as F Scott Fitzgerald because that man literally stole segments out of his wife's diaries without telling her until she read it in his published works, that's more what I was getting at.

I've also just spent all these paragraphs giving context to Lucas mostly because of other posts, when what you're saying is that not only do accolades mean nothing, but it apparently also means nothing that he is not actually a professional film editor. The editing team, of which Marcia was part, was composed of people whose entire job is to edit films. That is why he hired them instead of doing it himself.

okay but if you ever see a male creative who had a string of great work and then everything else he did was dogshit, go to the "personal life" part of his wikipedia and look at his relationships. you'll either find a major tragedy he didn't recover from (completely understandable) or, more likely, there was a woman in his life doing uncredited shit editing his stuff or contributing generally and she's not there anymore.

I told a friend about this phenomenon in literature and he called me weeks later like, I remembered what you said about women doing uncredited work when tim burton came up. he made a string of bangers then everything else just was nowhere near as good. the timeline matches perfectly to when he was with this german visual artist (lena gieseke). he's done some good work in collaboration, but if things were dug into I suspect we would find she did a lot more than people realise.

so yeah whenever you look around like wow women didn't work in history, or, women aren't auteurs, or, there just aren't as many great female writers - societal reasons for that aside, half the time they absolutely did.

[demie90s]

Can you write a reader x UConn team and reader has like no filter like they could be in the most serious moment and reader would say something out of pocket

Why she got a mic?

UConn WBB Team x Fem!Reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Me. The team’s walking HR violation. No matter the mood, you will say something that has the whole team side-eyeing, laughing, or questioning reality.

Word Count: ~ 0.5k

Genre: Comedy, Team Fluff, Mild Crack

Warnings: Cussing, chaos, suggestiveness, mentions of thirst, reader being out of pocket at all times

The mic wasn’t even all the way clipped to your jersey before you started talking.

“So like…y’all gon’ feed us after this right? ‘Cause I don’t wanna sound ungrateful but that little fruit tray y’all gave us pregame made me feel like a parrot.”

You were dead serious. Meanwhile, the rest of the UConn team was already doing synchronized neck turns to Geno, who stared ahead like maybe if he focused hard enough he could astral project into retirement.

The reporter chuckled awkwardly. “Right, well—uh—let’s talk about the game. You had a breakout performance in the third quarter. What clicked?”

You nodded solemnly. “I had to pee real bad so I was tryna hurry up and get off the court. Y’all saw me running? That was urgency. It’s called motivation.”

Laughter broke out across the room. Aubrey dropped her head into her hands. Nika was crying silently.

Someone else raised their hand—braver than most.

“You guys really shut down USC’s offense tonight. What went into that defensive game plan?”

You tilted your head. “I mean, yeah. I saw that. USC good and all…but not as good as us so like…I don’t really care. Sorry.”

Caroline leaned in with a PR-smile. “What she means is we watched a lot of film and trusted each other—”

“No,” you cut in. “That’s not what I meant. I said what I said.”

The reporter blinked. “A-And uh—Aubrey, you had a great night on the boards…”

You slouched in your chair. “Yeah, and yet still no date.”

Aubrey snapped her head toward you. “Yo—”

“I told her, I said, ‘If God see fit and we win tonight, you gon’ say yes’—and we did. We won. And she still didn’t say yes. So she fake but that’s between her and the Lord.”

KK was wheezing. “You need help.”

You turned to her calmly. “Nah I need a girlfriend. Two different things.”

The reporter next to the stage was beet red now, trying not to laugh into their notes. “Okay, uh…next question—what was going through your mind during that final play?”

You crossed one leg over the other like this was Oprah. “I was thinking, if the world ended right then, we’d all go with it, so I might as well go out with a win. That’s real.”

Geno rubbed his temples. “Jesus Christ.”

You leaned into the mic again, like a closing statement. “Thank you. And please remember to feed athletes. We is hungry.”

The PR rep jumped in so fast her paper nearly flew off the table. “That’s it! Thanks so much, everyone!”

The moment y’all stepped backstage, Geno turned slowly.

“You know they record those, right?”

“Yeah Coach.”

“And they post them.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re going to get us sued.”

You gave him your most sincere expression. “It’s okay. I got a lil savings.”

He looked like he aged ten years in five seconds.

Behind you, Aubrey shoved your shoulder, laughing. “Yo are you alright.”

You shrugged. “I’m just honest. And single. And hungry. Somebody gone address it.”

Just like that, you were back in the locker room, already hyping yourself up for post-game food and probably more chaos. Because filters are for water—not for you.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264 @yorubagirlsworld @daffodil-darlings @h4untedghOul @followthesvn @hibiscusblu @sevikasleftbicep @swiftie4evr @babyphatbrat @sivensblog @beeop223 @huntedghOul @tpwkrosalinda @lightsgore @em-nems @salemsuccss @villain-ryuk @ihrtsarahstrOng @liyahh037 @sillystarv @somedetailsinthefabric @essence-134340 @mochelisgf @soph1asticated @heheievidbri @unvswrld @breezybellab @planet-ghoulborne @art-ofmusic @toorealrai

[mona-risms]

hear me out.. polytrix x reader where fem!reader doesn't know about the whole demon hunter thing and is still under the hypnosis from the saja boys and the girls try their hardest to snap her out of it. 🫦

◆ MAIN COURSE: poly!HUNTR/X x fem!Reader

◆ TYPE: SFW, romantic

◆ ALLERGEN WARNINGS: None

◆ NOTES: This might've SLIGHTLY teeny tinily missed the point but I hope you still like it!! I can't make a full-blown fic without getting paid bc I'm broke as hell and I'm lazy so the most you're getting is the usual hcs and snippets I fear 💔. But anyway I LOVELOVELOVE POLYTRIX 😩😩😩😩😩 I think they should all kiss together and kiss me too

This is the funniest shit ever and no one can tell me otherwise bc you've got three ninja popstars and one perfectly normal human being who just really really loves K-Pop. And you all LOVE each other????? #holyfcknairball no one would believe you until you show full proof that yes you do in fact kiss those celebrities on the mouth! Every day actually! Unless they're on tour but still! Yes you are a girls only poly couple! You couldn't be happier!

Unfortunately bc of the fact that you're normal, you won't even know that the hot new boy band, Saja Boys, are all drawing people in via brainwashing to sacrifice your souls to a Demon King named Gwi-Ma that looks like an oversized wildfire. Said people includes you I fear 💔💔. Imagine you were out coincidentally and you got to witness their debut performance and you were so drawn to them!! Why wouldn't you be??

They hear your voice before they see you—right there, right near the front row, right in front of them.

"What's she doing here?" Mira hissed, though despite her tone, the concern was glaringly obvious.

"I think she wanted to buy something? She said about baking," Zoey answered, her own concern matching up with Mira as she bounced on the balls of her feet in an attempt to both alleviate her sudden restlessness and to see you from the crowd. "But-- But what if they try to grab her? [Y/N]'s at a very grabbable distance! And the worst thing is I won't even blame them—she's really grabbable in general!"

Zoey doesn't even finish before Rumi's weaving through the crowd in an attempt to reach you, "Either way, no one is getting grabbed, least of all our girlfriend."

When Rumi does reach you, she taps your shoulder to gain your attention. Without fail, you turn around and smile widely in recognition, "Ru-- Ahem, babe! Did you see how good this new band was? They're called the Saja Boys!"

"Yeah. I heard."

Usually, you would've noticed her sudden deadpan, but you were buzzing too much under your skin from the sudden excitement of this new debut so you barrelled on, "Maybe you and them'll even collab one day! Wouldn't that be awesome?!"

"Yeah, awesome, now c'mon, we need to get out of the crowd," she effortlessly twines her fingers in yours, which you reciprocate happily as you follow her while still going on about the Saja Boys. But when she dares to look back at the boy band, she noticed the black-haired demon in disguise's eyes on you.. and then on her, as if he knew very well what was going on.

When you finally get out of the crowd, you rejoin your other two loves of your life with a cheek kiss for Mira and then a squealing hug with Zoey.

Mira doesn't hesitate to ask as you and the shortest HUNTR/X member basically wrapped yourselves on each other, "Are you okay? They didn't do anything to you, did they?"

"Yeah, like, did they ever, I dunno.. suck your soul out or something?" Zoey asked, and then quietly winced as Mira and Rumi both signalled not to say anything with exaggerated expressions and hand gestures behind you.

You giggled at the line of questioning, "What? No? My soul definitely felt like it ascended while watching them, though! You guys are funny."

While you and Zoey were busy clinging onto each other, Rumi pulled Mira in to whisper to her, "They know."

"Know what?"

"That we're linked together in some way? That she's a normal human? I don't know, but they know and I don't want to risk her to find out. Do you?"

And their gazes drift to you as you spoke animatedly with Zoey, equally rambling to you and matching your energy in turn—probably both invested in the situation and also well-aware of the much-needed secret debriefing.

And Mira shook her head with furrowed brows, "Absolutely not."

"Good."

Whenever the girls are all "DON'T FALL FOR THEM" you're so confused bc like. Why?? What's up with them recently???? Ever since the Saja Boys popped up, they've been so weirdly pressed about them every time you brought them up. Like, sure, rivalry's one thing, but you've seen them with rivalries before!!!!! It's not like the Saja Boys have like killed people or smth lmfao it's okay the world's not gonna end if you stan them too (cue the scene with them and Bobby looking at the same city and seeing Two Completely Different Views)

Every time you're ever with them one way or another and the Saja Boys are around/involved they are LOCKING THE FUCK IN. Constantly trying to redirect your attention and theirs like "Do Not Look At Her" and if you ever get too close they'll be all "back the FUCK up actually". And whenever thry try to pull all that hypnotising shit on you they are DRAGGING YOU AWAY and kissing you until you run out of air and forget what you were even thinking about like a min ago 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

They're so much more attentive towards you, and during the two weeks of the Saja Boys being there, you are NOT allowed to be without at LEAST one of them. Why?? Ohhhh yk cuz they just really really miss you, that's all!!!!! They did just come out of a world tour so like they wanna be with you for as much as possible ahahahaha definitely bc the boy band you're fawning over rn are actually demons that want to consume your soul!!! Especially yours!!!!!! Bc they know you're special to them all ahahahahaahahahahahahaahahhaa

Oh but it'd be devastating if Mira and Zoey saw you with the crowd after Rumi's breakdown. Not only Bobby was brainwashed, but so are you, mindlessly following the masses. And as much as they want you to fight it, to remember, they can't even blame you or find the strength; they failed, Rumi hid she was part-demon the entire time, it's over

You'd be one of the people closest to Gwi-Ma's flames on purpose I think—a twisted way for Jinu to make your sacrifice quick and painless. But when Rumi and then Zoey and Mira both clock it? Absolutely the fuck not dude Gwi-Ma just made them even fucking MADDER

At the end of it they know they'll definitely have to explain everything to you, considering. From the Saja boys to Rumi explaining herself properly ALLLLL the way to how they're Hunters and what they do. But at the very least you're not dead thank GOD

"You guys know I don't actually know how to feel right now, right? Finding out that my girlfriends have been constantly getting into near-death experiences as, like, idol ninjas with magic weapons isn't really for the faint of heart—let alone finding out demons and supernatural whatevers are real."

The four of you migrated to Rumi's bed after that whole ordeal at the Tower, tired and exhausted and in need of a good cuddle pile. Right now, you and Rumi were cuddled up against each other, her patterns casting a soft glow on your skin, while Mira was spooning you with her tall frame and Zoey clung onto Rumi like a koala.

The trio had the decency to wince a little, and Mira spoke first in defence, "To be fair, we did get trained for, like, years not to give anything away, including our Hunter profession."

"And I'm your girlfriend," you sighed as your hand traced the jagged glowing lines across Rumi's skin, "I thought we weren't going to hide anything. No wonder sometimes you lot disappear without any explanation—this whole time, you've been.. slaying demons?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You hummed.. before putting your attention on Rumi, "And you. You really think we were going to love you any less because of what you're mixed with?"

"Um. Kinda?" Rumi looked to the side, averting your gazes, "It's-- I was raised to think that I should be ashamed of it, that I need to hide. It's--"

"Why you always have a separate green room?"

"Why you don't go into the batthouse with us?"

Rumi nodded, though not without a flush on her cheeks, "..yeah."

Your gaze softened as you lightly bit your lip before cupping her face for a short but tender kiss, "You think that's gonna really scare me—us—away? Mira and Zoey came back to you after the shock, and I sure as hell don't care if you were part-turtle or whatever--"

"Being part-turtle would be cool! ..Or super slow, depends--"

"My point being," you interrupted Zoey with an affectionate chuckle, "we love you because you're our Rumi. Not an idol, not a demon, just our Rumi—the one that overthinks, overworks and gets so into her head that we'd have to shut it for her. ..No more hiding, yeah?"

Rumi doesn't respond, not for a long while, and thre three of you are content in just laying there in silence, with her patterns casting a brighter yet softer glow on all of you. But eventually she buries her head in your chest, muffling her eventual answer, "..Mhm. Thank you."

Zoey's hold on Rumi tightened as she practically nuzzled into the latter's back, all while Mira reached over to hold Rumi's hand, now back to its human shape compared to the claws she had briefly before. No one else says anything, and that's perfectly fine for the four of you.

"..So I guess I'm retiring from stanning anyone but you guys."

"Obviously!" "Duh." "You are."

[kxsagi]

Bllk boys with an s/o who somehow manages to make them fall asleep just by blasting sleepy phonk like they'd be wide awake and then sleepy phonk and they're knocked out cold and they question why every time ( kaiser, rin, shidou and anyone else you wanna add )

“𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐤 𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐥”

a/n: I THOUGHT THIS REQ WAS FUNNY

but i’m not really sure what sleepy phonk counts as, is it like the instrumental of roi by videoclub or the lost soul down by NBSPLV??? 

ft. kaiser michael, itoshi rin, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru

kaiser michael

you play one of those slow, mellow phonk songs with the deep bass and hazy loops, and he doesn’t think anything of it. he’s literally in the middle of dramatically trash-talking isagi when his body just… starts betraying him. 

his voice fades. eyelids droop. his upper body sways. 

“what the f– … why am i…” BONK. slumped sideways on the couch, dead asleep. 

you didn’t even notice, you were too busy wiping crumbs off your shirt. when you turn around he looks like someone hit him with a dart tranquilizer. 

wakes up four hours later like “who drugged me?” and you’re like “uh. the speaker?” 

absolutely refuses to believe it's the music. keeps blaming it on bad sleep or low blood sugar. 

tries to fight it like it’s a challenge. he’ll stare at you dead in the eye and go, “i won’t fall asleep this time.” cue you playing it again. three minutes later he’s dozing off mid-smirk. 

one time he got so mad he threatened to destroy your speaker. (he tripped over his own feet on the way and knocked himself out before he could.) 

itoshi rin

rin is fully convinced this is psychological warfare. 

he’ll be standing, talking to you normally, then you press play and suddenly he’s blinking slow as hell like he got rebooted. 

“wait. no. you’re doing it again.” 

tries to leave the room. doesn’t make it past the hallway. collapses dramatically like a fainting goat. 

once fell asleep in the middle of washing dishes. the faucet was still on. 

absolutely hates it. thinks it’s “unnatural.” starts researching “subliminal music control” and asks if you’re brainwashing him with some kind of audio hypnosis. 

he once accused you of trying to assassinate him with music. 

“turn that off. turn it off. my nervous system is shutting down.” 

refuses to let you have aux ever again in the car because last time he woke up in a parking lot two hours from home with a blanket on him and no memory of how he got there. 

shidou ryusei

cackles the first time it happened, he thought you laced his food. 

“you’re telling me you just played this… and my brain factory reset?” 

every single time he hears that beat drop, he immediately yells “NOPE NOPE NOPE. NOT THIS DRUGGED UP COWBOY MUSIC AGAIN–” then collapses mid-sentence like a tranquilized bear. 

literally wakes up mad. throws your speaker across the room while still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes like a grumpy toddler. 

tries to act like he’s too wild to be affected, then you catch him sleeping with the same sleepy phonk playlist under his pillow like it’s a bedtime lullaby. 

“listen i don’t need it, it’s just a vibe. you wouldn’t get it.” 

will absolutely start calling it your "sleepy black magic tape" and pretends he's scared of you. fake shivers and all. 

“my body associates your music taste with comas now. thanks, babe.” 

itoshi sae

you start playing it during a late-night drive, and within five minutes he’s gone. head slumped against the window. breathing soft. soul left his body. 

wakes up all confused like he just took a power nap in another dimension. 

“how long was i out? …why do i feel like i’ve been asleep for twelve years?” 

every time you play it again he tries to stay awake out of pure ego, but he gets so annoyed at how heavy his limbs feel. 

mutters a whole paragraph of insults under his breath before slipping into REM. 

eventually starts using it intentionally but won’t admit it. like he’ll go “i guess it wouldn’t kill me if you played that stupid zombie song again” right before bed. 

“i’m not addicted. i’m just being efficient.” 

pretends it’s annoying but secretly has the playlist saved on his phone under the name "🤨" 

karasu tabito

BRO STARTS DANCING TO IT AT FIRST. 

you’re like “karasu no” and he’s like “karasu YES.” 

and then two mins later he’s laying face-down on the floor like a body outline at a crime scene. 

wakes up, rolls over, and goes “yo did i die for a second orrrr…?” 

loves it though. finds it hilarious. he’ll literally set it as his own alarm so he wakes up and falls back asleep in a loop. 

“you don’t get it, babe. this music is laced. this is phonk fentanyl.” 

sometimes just asks you to play it to prove to people that it works. like he’ll invite bachira over and go, “watch this,” then collapse 60 seconds in like it’s a magic trick. 

he becomes the #1 believer that you’re a sleep witch. 

“this woman is dangerous. protect her. or let her drop a mixtape. either way we all win.” 

isagi yoichi 

isagi thought it was a coincidence the first time. “oh maybe i was just tired.” 

second time? “okay maybe i’m still tired.” 

third time? “wait a damn minute.” 

he gets so serious about it. starts journaling his sleep patterns. literally charts the timestamps of when the music plays and when he loses consciousness. 

“this is a phenomenon. i need answers.” 

he keeps trying to test it under different conditions like it’s a science project. “okay play it while i’m exercising.” falls asleep doing jumping jacks. 

one time he tried to fight it by drinking three energy drinks beforehand. the music still knocked him out. woke up with a headache and heartburn. 

“what is this sorcery?? this is stronger than melatonin AND ASMR combined.” 

eventually surrenders and asks you to play it when he has trouble sleeping. but only if you’re there. otherwise he gets paranoid and thinks he’ll wake up in an alternate timeline. 

nagi seishiro

honestly? he was already halfway to unconsciousness when it first happened. 

but the moment you played that dreamy, floaty phonk beat? instant deep slumber. like you enhanced his default settings. 

he didn’t even say anything. no reaction. he blinked slowly like a sleepy cat and just laid down right where he was standing. 

you were like “bro you good?” and he mumbled “yeh…” then snored 0.5 seconds later. 

he now refers to your playlist as the “ultimate sleep cheat code.” 

uses it on nights when even he feels too lazy to fall asleep naturally. 

“just play the thing. the lo-fi cowboy drug one.” 

weirdly enough, he becomes your personal sleep ambassador. 

you bring it up once around the blue lock team and he goes “it’s like being gently sedated by cloud ninjas. 10/10 experience. would die again.” 

if you’re gone and he can’t sleep, he’ll text: nagi: can you send the playlist nagi: the one that knocks me out nagi: i’m twitching like a windows xp shutdown screen over here 

has lowkey gotten emotionally attached to it. if someone else tries to play sleepy phonk, he gets offended. “no. only she can do that. it’s different.” 

bachira meguru

bachira thinks it’s funny as hell. 

“i’m like a dog with a whistle. only this one is a sleepy cowboy beat.” 

the first time he heard it, he got weirdly invested. like “oohh this is a vibe! what’s it called?” proceeds to pass out mid-groove like a light. 

you turn around and he’s in the fetal position under the table. 

he wakes up grinning like “that was so fun!! what happened?? do it again!!” 

he starts treating it like a carnival ride. asks you to “put him to sleep” like it’s a magic trick. 

“close the curtains, bring me a snack, and hit me with that sleep sauce 🛌🧃✨” 

you accidentally make him fall asleep in public once (you were just playing it on your phone during a train ride) and he collapses onto a stranger’s shoulder. 

you’re mortified. he wakes up three stops later, bows and goes “thank you for being my pillow today :)” 

he names the playlist. something like: “cowboy dream juice vol. 1 💀🐴✨” 

sometimes tries to rap over it and see how long he can stay awake. his record is one minute and 14 seconds. 

“this music is like a lullaby made by sleepy ghosts on synths. i love it.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[julessuretries]

Seeing people call Ragatha an "abuser" post episode 5 is actually insane to me because for me, episode 5 singlehandedly sold me on her character, whereas before I was kind of apathetic.

She's not "toxically positive" - she's just got some sort of fawn response given her mommy issues and feels like she needs to be "well-behaved and proper" in order for people to like her.

One of my closest friends from college was exactly like this and it was hard to see them go through the recurring issue of being unable to break past surface-level acquaintanceships with people precisely because they were "too nice". Like, do you know how uncomfortable it is to have to explain to someone they'd probably have an easier time connecting with people if they, just, stopped being overly helpful? It's a really weird conversation to have: like, am I actually encouraging this person to be worse? I kid you not at one point I think I actually said "you'd be better of if you were meaner", but, like, no one else was willing to say it and he was desperate so I guess I had to.

But unfortunately the only person who'd ever be bold enough to do that in the show is Jax (because he's literally already done it) but it's hard for Ragatha, or anyone, for that matter, to take any advice he gives sincerely even if he's kind of right because he's already such a jerk (and might be projecting some of his own mommy issues if we're being honest).

Looking back at the pilot, Ragatha's behavior towards Pomni seems all the more depressing. She literally pounced on the opportunity to befriend Pomni from minute one because newcomers are rare and I imagine she's been lonely for a very long time. Which is why seeing Jax do a better job bonding with Pomni gets under her skin because from her perspective she's put in way more effort and therefore deserves her friendship more. That's obviously a very transactional and problematic way of viewing relationships, but isn't surprising given what we've learned about her upbringing. She's likely been taught that love is something that can be earned with enough effort and is now reaching her limit having to come to terms with that not being the case.

The best things in life come free. Genuine connections have to form naturally. While I'm not totally convinced that Jax is being fully honest in his attempts to befriend Pomni, I do think he understands something that Ragatha doesn't. People want to be friends with people they can relate to and trust. And even if Pomni isn't a jerk like Jax, she at the least can rest assured she's seen the worst of him, whereas Ragatha could reveal her "real self" at any time. It's about taking a calculated risk - even if Ragatha deep down is still a nice person (which I personally think she is), there's no way for anyone else to know that for sure. It's less risky to be friends with people who are more open about their flaws than with someone who feels like they could crack at any moment and you'd have no idea what would spill out.

Ragatha is a really tragic character but also so incredibly real. Unfortunately even if she did decide to be more "genuine" with who she was as a person she'd still have a long journey ahead of her, since I'm not very convinced she even knows who she is.

Wow this episode was good.

“We need more complex female characters”

YALL COULDNT HANDLE HER

It’s crazy that her character flaw is thinking that if she ever expresses a negative emotion everyone will dislike her and yall immediately proved her right. Goddamn.

[hyacinth-in-a-haze]

Evening routine- Yandere kidnapper! x fem reader!

The day goes by slowly with him gone. Even if it is out of the necessity for socialisation you still find yourself missing his presence when he goes to work, waiting four hours for his phone call at lunch, and then another four hours for his phone call to say he is on his way. It is as though your clock has now become wired to cycle around his presence in your life. When the door opens to the sound of his tired groan you really do hate the way your head turns to look for him.

He is quick to collapse into your bundle of blankets on the couch, resting his head in the crook of your neck. Breathing in deeply trying to ground himself with you, as though he could become rooted to your body.

“I missed you so much today,” his voice is breathy, hair tousled, suit crumpled. As though eight hours of separation is a war he has to bear. Kissing the space under your ear as he complains about the mindless inconveniences within his day. It takes near ten minutes for him to separate his body from you, begrudgingly. Making his way to the kitchen and calling out his suggestions for dinner, with the expectation of a response from you now that whatever you've taken earlier has long since worn off. And contrary to what it appears he does adore your voice, he just hates it being misused to curse him out.

He takes one of your mumbles as confirmation and begins to take out the pots and pans. He never wants to rely on takeout, it's a treat for once a week at most if you're deserving of a treat. So far you've been doing well, finally adjusting to your new home. You stumble into the kitchen quietly, holding onto the counter for balance as you watch him silently. He clucks about, practically a mother hen as he gestures to the barstool at the counter.

You don't even understand why you seek him out now, but maybe it'd because in the absence and instability of everything you once had outside these locked windows and doors, you grasp onto the only constant you are offered.

In very little time there is a fresh plate of pasta in front of you. He steps off the pour himself a glass of wine and places a diluted cup of juice beside you. This is good. It is better than before, when you fought him off until hunger made you forget your pride, pride doesn't do anything for you here. It does nothing but cause you more trouble to stand up for yourself when he can bring you down so quickly to a begging mess on the cold floor. Meanwhile swallowing yourself down makes sure he treats you like a spoiled pet than a disobedient one. You open up without a word when he begins to lift your fork.

Your cup only gets topped up with more and more water until its clear, while he drinks until the bottle empties. The only notice he's indulged being the faint flush of pink across his cheeks. He gets affectionate when he drinks, in a clumsy way, stroking your hair like it's the most enamouring thing to exist. It would be cute if this was a first date rather than dinner with the man who plucked you from your life because he's the only one who can look after you properly.

The dishes get left to soak as he practically drags you to your bedroom. Dropping you down delicately, as your hair splays out over the pillows and your chest rises with each breath.

“You are so perfect like this.” He murmurs it like a prayer as he falls to his knees on the bed, hands clasped around your thighs as he kisses his way up them. He opens your legs without resistance, his head diving onto your clothed cunt like a man starved. Pulling your underwear off with animosity at its separation from your skin. It doesn't take you long to begin to buck against his tongue as he works his way around your clit. Hands clamped on your mouth as though that counts do anything to bury the sounds you are making back to where they were dragged out from you. When he presses his tongue flat against your hole you practically thrust upwards, hand embedded in his hair trying to pull him off as you cry its too much

He groans at the contact, taking it only as a sign to keep pushing through despite your pretty little whines of mercy. Which become more and more frantic as you find yourself getting close. With a cry more animal than human something shatters inside you, as you soak his sheets and face when you squirt. Collapsing into a puddle of embarrassment and shame for how easily he managed to wrap you around to his tongue. He finally lifts his face from your cunt, chin slick and glistening as you try to avoid looking at the tent in his slacks. Pretending to be so spent you can only nod off to sleep.

If only the world was so kind to alow you that.

“No no my love, you can't fall asleep just yet, what happened to brushing your teeth and cleaning off your face?”

He places a hand cool in comparison to the raiging flush across your cheeks.

“sweet little thing, did I tire you out so quickly? I think tonight we may be able to go without your little prescriptions so long as you continue to prove that that it can be managed by us?”

He leaves the discarded panties on the bedroom floor while he carries your strung out state to the bathroom, carefully repeating what he already done once before this morning. Only now there a new intensity within his eyes as he pulls the toothbrush in and our of your pretty pink lips. You are exhausted properly by the time you find yourself in some nightgown more suited to a period piece than your bedroom.

You let your head lol to the side as he hovers above you, pressing open kisses on any exposed skin in front of him as he pistons his hips in and out of you. With a desperation that if he fucks you enough then you'll be too cock drunk to ever have any animosity for him ever again. Mumbling in your ear about the future children you'll hand over to him, how they will have your eyes and his hair. That your firstborn will be a doctor or maybe a teacher, even a chef, he'd be happy with anything that could ground his greatest fantasy into reality.

When he cums he stays inside you, not wanting anything to go to waste. Crooning in your ear that his heart will break for how hard he loves you. As you slip into sleep, head upon his chest with his heartbeat echoing in your ears. His cum dripping down your thighs, you realise something.

He's no longer using that handcuff. Still glinting in the moonlight as it dangles above on the bedframe.

[corpscs]

summer’s for the girls ⧗ yelena x new avenger!reader

♡ minors and men dni , no use of y/n , wlw , team bickering , everyone is annoyed and sweaty , smut 18+ , ice cubes , stonetop!yelena , yelena and reader are girlfriends , reader has unspecified electrokinesis ability , images are from pinterest , divider , this was edited by my cat so ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes i will probably find them later , russian is from google/reddit

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ detka - babe , lyubimaya - my love

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ masterlist , word count: 3.5k

bones’ now playing ▶︎ for the girls - hayley kiyoko

the watchtower was hot.

a heatwave was currently rolling across the east coast and caused a black out. the power was back on now, but the hvac system got fried in the power surge. oscillating fans could only do so much and the windows of the watchtower barely opened for safety purposes. all the team could do was sit and try not to move too much.

bucky walked into the room, his phone call interrupting the rare, natural peace the team had achieved all on their own, or maybe you all were just overheating. when bucky cursed under his breath, you decided to looked up from your book.

you and bob started your own book club after you got benched for a failed mission due to an electrical explosion, which totally could have not been because of you, but who knows? this week you decided to play some kind of sick joke and choose stephen king’s under the dome, 1,080 something pages. poor bob nearly had a heart attack, but you promised him way more than a week to read and marathon run of the show they made about it before he hesitantly agreed.

“alright.” bucky gruffed into his phone’s receiver. his hair was pulled into a haphazard bun, the shorter fringe pieces sticking to the sides of his sweat slicked face. “thanks, you too.” he hung up the phone with a sigh.

“so… what’s the verdict?” ava asked.

“two days.” and the entire room erupted into groans.

“why can’t we get a hotel?” john suggested. his shirt had been discarded long ago, now only wearing a pair of gym shorts. he was laying flat on the tile floor, the coldest place to be. it was also where ava chose to sit and hog one of three fans set up in the room.

“why? you offering to pay for it, taco bell?” you snorted. the nickname appeared after the sentry folded his shield.

“why should i? barnes’ got a bigger salary than all of us.”

“no hotels!” bucky’s commanding tone was enough to silence them all. “you’re avengers. if a little east coast heatwave can take you all out then we really are doomed.” he paused, feeling a slight draft behind him. “close the freezer, yelena.” bucky warned. even with his back to the bar he could see the russian draped over the bar’s freezer. she groaned before complying with his order, but slamming the cooler door in retaliation.

“you sure you can’t fix it, sparky?” john asked.

“i’m not a fucking engineer.” you rolled your eyes as yelena wandered back to the couch.

the blonde was clad in a grey tank top and black lounge shorts. flopping down to take up the remaining space of the two-seater, head on the arm rest and laying her legs across your thighs. you lifted your book to accommodate her legs before lowering your arms back down to her shins and continuing to read.

“eugh,” she made a face, throwing her head back in disgust. both of you were instantly aware of the slickness of your combined sweat, but didn’t care enough to move. “this is the worst!” yelena complained, yet she made no attempt to change her position.

“we’re all hot yelena.” bucky reminded her as he finished off his nth water of the day.

“yes, but my girlfriend is next to me. and she is sticky and wet, but not in the good ways.” she spoke to the ceiling before lolling her head to the side and locking eyes with bucky.

the others groaned in disgust while you laughed at bucky trying to downplay choking on his last sip of water. now deciding to neglect your book, you watched her laugh falter and then you watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed. the exposed skin of her upper chest and shoulders glimmered with sweat under the bright studio lighting of the tower ceiling. you decided to turn back to your book because it was way too hot to be allowing your mind wander in that direction right now.

“why do we even have leather couches?” yelena moved slightly feeling the stick of the material.

“easy to clean?” john suggested.

“john, i’ve never seen you clean one thing in this entire room before.” ava pointed out.

“yeah, well, i didn’t mean me.” he snapped before silence enveloped the group for a minute or two. the air is so humid and hostile you almost feared the next person who opened their mouth was gonna get themselves tossed out one of the open sliding doors.

“has anyone seen alexei?” ava blurted. they hadn’t spotted the man in a few hours.

“maybe he’s at the pool.” bob suggested. he’d been so quiet reading with his back against the cold stone of the wall you forgot he was there

“isn’t that pool like 80 degrees?” john asked.

“that’s colder than the air, right?”

yelena chose to ignore bob’s question, the last thing she wanted was to lash out at someone who didn’t deserve it. she reminded herself that she was just irritated and that bob was bob.

“he’s probably off drinking to forget about the heat. i don’t know.” she shrugged her outward shoulder slightly. a pause and suddenly yelena was sitting up like you had electrocuted her. the sound of her skin peeling off the material of the couch made you internally cringe.

“yelena, no.” you derailed her train of thought before she could even suggest something.

“oh c’mon, lyubimaya” she whined. “you did not even hear my idea.”

“i don’t need to.” you ignore whatever she grumbled under her breath as she continued to stare at the side of your face.

“you have been reading that same page for six minutes.” her eyes dropped to the page open in your lap.

“i’m distracted.” you side eyed her flipping the page. not because you finished reading it, but to prove a point.

“am i distracting you?” you made the mistake of fully looking at her. whisps of her bangs had fallen out of her headband and stuck to her brow. you could see a small bead of sweat dripping down her left temple.

“the team is distracting.” you lied.

“if i have to watch you two flirt in this heat i may actually stroke out.” john jokingly gagged.

“keep it up you guys.” ava feigned a cheer.

“i think you all got heat stroke.” bucky muttered before leaving the team with one final order, “drink some water.”

it wasn’t a moment later before alexei appeared in the room like a summoned spirit.

“and where have you been?” yelena asked her father in an accusing tone.

“cold shower.” he held up both hands closing his thumb and pointer fingers into a double okay sign. the rest of the team made sounds acknowledgment, but you could only imagine the future lecture from bucky about the water bill. you opened you book back up and attempted to read once more.

you managed to get two pages in before yelena was leaning close to your face,

“detka, i have a new idea.”

“of course you do.” you turned to your left, your faces now no more than two inches apart. her breath didn’t even feel warm against your already heated skin. her eyes moved to your lips before she jerked back, catching the half empty water bottle that walker just hucked in your direction. that action alone had some deprived part of your brain clicking to life.

“hey!” she scolded him.

“get a room.” he hollered. yelena huffed, and threw her legs off your lap, both of you releasing small twin ow’s at the sweat stuck skin ripping apart. you opened your mouth to complain but she leaned down and ordered you to wait ten minutes before following her, “you never heard my idea.”

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

while you had tried to think up the possibilities of yelena’s idea, you actually did not think of this. but here you were, laying on one of her bleach stained towels, back against your mattress. yelena straddled one of your legs, sitting comfortably despite the temperature of the room. the hum of that fan that’s been running for thirty-some odd hours straight drowned out whatever playlist yelena had playing. it was pointed towards the bed and softly blew around the lose wisps of her hair.

beside her was a metal bowl full of ice cubes.

“ready?” she asked reaching her hand into the bowl. she took a single ice cube into her hand as she adjusted her knees to straddle your hips.

“go for it.” you gave her a lazy ‘okay’. she grinned and placed the ice cube between your collar bones. you gasped from the cold sensation spreading across your skin, goosebumps prickling down your shoulders and arms.

she dragged the ice between your collar bones and chest, avoiding the hem of your tank top. but the ice melted quickly on your heated skin, some soaking your tank and the rest slipping down around your neck. she dragged the cube to the center of your sternum, under the tank top before holding her hand over the material. it didn’t take long for the ice cube to melt completely through the warmth of your chest.

although the ice was startling, the minor relief from the hot air was good enough.

yelena unceremoniously yanked your tank top down below your breasts. and when you heard the threads of the fabric snapping, you scolded her with a gasp of her name.

“relax, i’m pretty sure this one was mine anyways.” was.

“i don’t think so.” your voice pitched upwards into a shriek as she pinched your nipple with cold fingers. “you said you don’t like spaghetti straps.” you recalled catching your breath back.

“i don’t.” yelena agreed. she didn’t like them. she remembers the conversation you two had about waking up tits out because that type of tank top tends to travel in any given direction while sleeping. it was one of the first times yelena was fully honest with you about something. she didn’t like that vulnerability, being exposed. and you were so understanding, you always were.

so no, she would never tell you that the real reason why she gave you all her spaghetti straps a few weeks after that was the very same reason she hated them. you’d probably call her some sort of pervert.

dipping her hand back into the bowl, yelena picked out a new ice cube placing it on the same spot between your collar bones. she dragged the cube in the same path as the first one before sliding it to the opposite nipple she had pinched before. it didn’t feel bad, but it felt strange. like your brain couldn’t figure out if it hurt with all much sensory input against the air in the room.

you gasped loudly, your hand instinctively moving to grab at her wrist. yelena was obviously faster than you and she grabbed a hold of your wrist with her free hand instead. heat flooded your core when she laughed in your face at your attempt to push away. but she held it there until the ice cube was too small to hold in her fingers anymore so she let it melt against your heaving chest.

“c’mon, it must feel nice.” she moved her soaked hand to rub the water across your chest.

“it’s cold.” you wined.

“but it is so hot in here.” she countered. “and you are sweaty. i bet you smell horrible.”

“yelena!” you gasped in embarrassment. now trying to wiggle yourself out from under her.

“i am no better!” she laughed, squeezing her thighs around your hips. “it is, like, 40 degrees in here.” your physical strength was almost infantilizing compared to yelena, and it was too hot to keep up a fight you can’t win.

“i don’t know the metric system, babe.” maybe your delivery was more snarky than you had intended because yelena yanked up her your tank top before dropping an ice cube directly to your belly button. you shrieked loudly, your free hand now going for her wrist. she decided to let you grab her, knowing your physical strength alone isn’t enough to move her hand.

“be careful with your hands detka. you do not want not shock me, again.” you instinctively bucked up against yelena, your hips twisting to avoid the cold sensation. she only followed and controlled your movements.

by the time the ice cube on your stomach melted, her your tank was nearly soaked through with the combined back sweat against the fitted sheet. she allowed you to sit up and wiggle the material off your arms fully.

yelena paused briefly, only allowing herself time to admire her girlfriend, but not really allowing you a full chance to recover. her ice cold hand slipped from it’s spot on your middle and down the below the waistband of your shorts. the cold digits ghosted over your panties and you squealed once again reaching for her.

“ah-ah, please keep your hands to yourself this time. that was very rude.” yelena chided, though she understood it was your natural reflex to the cold. she took some sympathy on you and reached for the hem of her own sweat-soaked tank. she peeled it off, leaving her clad in a black sports bra, before she unceremoniously dropped the cotton onto your bare chest. “since you want something to hold on to.”

she grinned as you immediately gripped the grey article between your fingers. it was damp against your own sweaty palms and it smelt strongly of yelena.

she used the m distraction to sit up and pull your shorts and panties down. the sweat coating your thighs working extra hard against her, but winning the struggle with some extra effort from you.

yelena manhandled you back to where she wanted before straddling you once more. you watched her with wide eyes as she grabbed another ice cube. placing it back against your belly button. you gasped as she slowly brought it down your lower abdomen before holding just above your cunt.

your lips pressed into a thin line to keep your shrieking to a minimum. normally she would be against it, after that one time you accidentally bit through your lip hard enough that it bled for more than a few minutes. and yelena would rather drink bleach than sit through another meeting, where mortifying enough, she shared real reason behind the injury and not because they thought you two had some sort of physical dispute. after that incident yelena said no more and called the ego boost collateral.

her free hand reached to grip your jaw, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to hold you in place. “be careful.” she warned, feeling your unsteady breaths against her hand as you nodded.

the ice cube was about the size of nickel now and her fingers had long since lost their feeling. yelena originally was going to let this ice cube fully melt before she got another, but she decided that she was too eager to see your reaction to wait. after shuffling back just ever so slightly to brace for your reaction, she slipped the remains of the ice cube directly beside your clit.

your entire body seized up, your mouth finally opening in a dramatic gasp. “oh my god!” you shrieked, repeating the phrase like a mantra. “lena!” your legs jerked from under her but the weight of her hips held your knees firmly in place.

when you arched too far off the bed for her liking the hand that once gripped your jaw pushed your chest back down to the bed. her hand held just below where you still gripped her tank top. “i think you can handle it.” her voice carried a song to it’s tone.

you shook you head while crying out dramatically, “its cold!” your legs still tried working against her, but she didn’t budge an inch. her height made her seem unassuming, but she was 5 foot something of solid muscle.

what remained of the ice cube quickly disappeared with the heat from your folds, but yelena kept her hand there. only giving you a break from the cubes, her nearly ice cold fingers still sliding mindlessly through the added water in your arousal. she selfishly took this time to warm her own fingers back up. you called her name softly as she tucked her thumb around your clit, rolling the bundle around slowly.

“yes, lyubimaya?” she drawled, not really paying attention to you. she said something else in russian you couldn’t understand before her cold pointer finger was slipping inside of your heat. you gasped, walls fluttering around her digit. she pumped it slowly before adding her middle finger alongside it. she curled her fingers before slipping them out to toy with your clit. her finger pads moved in steady circles and figure-eights your breathing sped up and your grip on her tank top tightened.

fearing destruction of the garment, your right arm had reached to grip the nearest item of bedding, which happened to be the white top sheet yelena had pushed over. it didn’t take long for her to make you cum.

and while you were catching you breath, yelena brazenly pinched your clit between her knuckles. just because she can. your hips jerked, unsure if you wanted to run to or from the feeling. “see,” she said simply. “not so bad?” you wanted to protest. to bicker that yes, she was being mean. but her fingers were toying with your clit once more, and any protests died out into moans.

the ice cubes left in the bowl where nearly half melted now, their crystallized edges now smooth and rounded like well-worn sea glass.

you watched her grab the next one. the look in yelena’s eyes alone should have had you nervous, but your brain had yet to fully catch up.

without hesitation she slid the ice cube through your folds as your body tried to clench up. but her fingers still pushed through, the ice cube breaching your hole, her two fingers holding it inside you.

you had long since given up attempting to keep quiet. you squealed doing your very best to try and run from her. yelena chased your hips with her hand, lifting the pressure off your thighs ever so slightly. even when the ice melted and the water soaked her hand, she kept it in place, just pumping slowly.

yelena began to rub lazy circles on your clit with her thumb. you moaned loudly, eyes fluttering as your tired body practically hummed with the warm feeling after all of the cold. after she felt you were worked up enough, distracted enough, she effortlessly used a combat move to flip you onto your stomach. landing with and oof, you turned your face to the side to look back at her.

“watch it.” you grumbled as yelena pulled your hips up and back towards her.

“you’re fine.” was all she had to say. before she slotted her knee between your knees. your breath trembled as your clit slid down her thigh.

the feeling from the ice cubes had long left and now your body was warming by the second. “lena.” you gasped out as she pushed her fingers back through your entrance, using her free hand to help fuck you back into her hand. she used that thigh between your legs to help rock you forwards after the pull back, stimulating your clit.

you were now hot. too hot. you honestly might pass out. now you were no longer paying attention to anything anymore. only gasping out into the crumpled sheets below you.

you were so close. yelena knew it. she could feel it. you’re hips were squirming against her hold now, yet she tried her best to control your rhythm. when she felt it, felt your body seize. she kneed your thighs apart, as far as your hips would go. the hand that had been thrusting now rubbed your clit in short circles prolonging your orgasm. still cumming, you were so in your own head that you never noticed her pause to each her hand into that metal bowl.

yelena used her dry hand to push your hips down and open before she shoved the final ice cube inside. you attempted to close your legs, but she had you practically sitting in her lap face down. then when you tried to pull forward, she yanked you right back into place, keeping your hole plugged with her fingers until the cube melted down.

you’re certain that you had a momentary black out from shock and you almost couldn’t catch your breath. still yelena didn’t move. she was watching you and waiting for you to move first.

“i think i’m dead.” was the first thing you said, arms moving slowly to stretch forward above your head.

“i can confirm that you are not.” she rolled you off onto your side, putting the bowl of cold ice water on the night table.

“i think i saw God.”

“and what did she look like?” yelena’s voice was farther away as she reached around bedding and fished out a water bottle, she knew she had stored somewhere.

“you.” you said with a giggle.

“you are so flirty.” she laughed landing a playful slap on your sensitive cunt. you jolted, but stayed put until she yanked you back to a sitting position. she handed you the uncapped water bottle which you drank greedily.

“do you think bob would want to get ice cream with us?” yelena blurted. you blinked.

“since when did we decide to get ice cream?” yelena shrugged.

“i don’t know somewhere in the middle.” she made an obtuse gesture with her hands.

you huffed, “i need like twenty minutes and a cold shower.”

˖ . ݁𝜗☠︎︎𝜚. ݁₊

if you’re in hot temperatures wherever you are be sure check up on pals with no ac and remember to DRINK WATER!!!

this would have been up earlier today, but i was victimized by another nap. also this ended up being SO MUCH longer than i had intended. at some point i got way too high and kept on going and going,, also sorting out some sort of master list

𓉸 ♡ ,

bones

[onbearfeet]

This is something that genuinely fascinates me about certain storytellers.

If you've ever been in a real emergency situation — blood and screaming, people will die if someone doesn't do something NOW and probably some of them will die even then — then you know that a lot of people will instinctively run in to help. They'll do it whether they actually can help or not. It's hardwired into a lot of humans, especially if the people in danger are children. (No shade. Mammals are often protective of their young.)

But not everyone will do it. Some people won't be physically or psychologically able to ... but some will have the knowledge and ability, and they just won't. Do. Anything. I grew up in earthquake country, so I think of it in terms of earthquakes; when the walls start to crack, everybody runs for cover, but not everybody grabs a baby on the way.

I'm a runner-in, always have been, so I'm fascinated by the stayers-out. I'm not usually interested in judging them (I can't honestly say staying out of, say, a burning building is a bad idea), but I do want to know what's in their head where I have the voice of an ancient primate screaming at me to save the troop.

The only stayer-out I've ever gotten to study up close was my probably psychopathic sibling, and I don't consider him representative of anything much. But the presence of that trait in a storyteller — much less one who takes on Superman of all characters — is baffling. Is there some kind of lack of empathy at work? Certainly Snyder seems to pick and choose who gets to be fully human in his movies, but that's a strange trait to find in a professional storyteller. Does he see stayers-out as heroic in and of themselves, as makers of difficult choices? If so, Superman really isn't the character to explore that through, what with his literal comic-book levels of power that enable him to save almost everyone most of the time. Maybe he was trying to make the best of Superman after Christopher Nolan comprehensively claimed Batman for a solid decade, and transplanted a Batmanesque moral dilemma like "Should I save the Joker?" onto a character for whom it makes far less sense?

The best hypothesis I have so far is this: Superman is a fantasy of power and goodness. It's a story about an incredibly powerful man who uses his power for good, and whose problems mostly arise from his power, his goodness, or both. Maybe Lex Luthor opposes him out of jealousy or fear of his power; maybe his goodness forces him to take on burdens that damage him psychologically; regardless, the best Superman stories turn on that axis. Perhaps Snyder was trying to question the legitimacy of that premise, or criticize the idea of a power-and-goodness fantasy itself in the way that some really good superhero fiction engages with those sorts of abstract concepts.

But given how much of Snyder's work seems to glory in fantasies of power and cruelty (300) or power and corruption (Watchmen) or ... call it power-and-badness fantasies, I guess ... I do have to wonder why he chose that particular fantasy to aim at.

I want to study that man like a bug in a jar, and I'm not sure I'll like what I find there.

not to shit on zack snyder again but it's really funny that he tried to make a big, grand, complex moral quandary on where superman should stand when he saves people around the world and then james gunn is like "he wants to do it because he thinks it's the right thing to do". sometimes going simpler means you get to the crux of what the character is all about much more efficiently. like wow it's really that easy

[faramirsonofgondor]

Ok ok but Dick being like ~ 15 years older than Damian. When Damian shows up on Bruce’s doorstep, Bruce doesn’t really have a chance to announce it to the public before he gets lost in time. So now Dick, who’s 25 is stuck with this tiny 10 year old and has the job of integrating him into Gotham society.

Except because Bruce only adopts kids who look like him, and Damian and Dick are tanner than the rest of his kids, literally everyone assumes that Damian is Dick’s bio kid. Like Dick is like “oh yea this is Bruce’s biological son that I’m looking after” and everyone goes “uh huh sure” but when he’s not around they’re just like “oh that’s his kid for sure”. Both Dick and Damian are aware of it and offended by it, albeit for very different reasons. Dick is offended that they somehow think he would be a deadbeat dad even if he was a teen dad, and Damian is offended that nobody believes he’s Bruce’s kid.

But eventually Dick is just like fuck it that’s my kid, and Damian is extremely annoyed but somehow lets Dick convince him to go along with it. Dick walks around in a pink shirt that says “Your favorite DILF” in the most basic font ever, and buys Damian a matching shirt that says “The favorite child” which Damian refuses to wear unless one of the other Batkids (usually Steph since basically everyone else fucked off when Bruce was lost) is around.

It gets to the point where even Dick, Damian, and Alfred forget that Damian isn’t actually Dick’s bio kid. (In this AU, Bruce is lost in time for about 3 years) Dick decides to forget about Talia’s existence as well and just decides that Damian is a clone that he birthed. But then Bruce comes back and now they’re in a weird place. Damian lives with Bruce now and while nobody ever says anything directly, the entire public is giving them a huge side eye because both Dick and Damian look a little depressed with the predicament. People start to wonder if Bruce is blackmailing Dick or something.

Everything comes to a head when Bruce and Dick start fighting in front of the whole fam over something Bruce said to Damian on patrol. Bruce tells Dick that he needs to back off because Bruce is Damian’s father, not Dick. Nobody’s sure how Dick is going to respond, but they definitely weren’t expecting for Dick to say “Fuck you, I’m the one who birthed him!!!” There’s a stretch of silence and before anyone can respond to that, Damian just nods his head and goes “Grayson is right. Surely your memory is not so poor that you’ve forgotten?” Everyone is gaping when Alfred delivers the final blow “Master Bruce, I truly did not expect this behavior from you. Of course Master Dick is Damian’s parent. Perhaps it is best if you retire, since it is clear that your lack of sleep is getting the better of you.”

Everyone is shook and they’re like “wtf you cannot gaslight us into believing this shit.” Except they do indeed gaslight. And gaslight. And gaslight.

Jason tries to reason with them by talking about how he had met Damian in the League, had seen Damian with Talia, yada yada yada. Damian just goes “I think I would remember if I had played little league. Such foolish games are beneath me. Cease your nonsense, Todd.” Jason eventually calls Talia to make sure he’s not losing his memories or something. Talia is perplexed but Dick’s claim over her child does scare her just a little bit, considering she remembers how feral he was when he was younger and she’s heard whispers about him killing the Joker (not that she ever mentioned that to Jason).

Tim tries to go with logic but gets shut down every time. One time he asks “If you were raised by Dick then why is your English so proper?” He’s met with “Oh, so because English is not Richard’s first language, then he is incapable of speaking it properly? Tt.” When he questions why Damian fights the way he does if he wasn’t raised by the LoA, Dick brings out his Renegade training and shows off his skills. Tim keeps trying to find ways to prove that they’re lying, but somehow ends up losing the argument every time. It’s grating, especially considering Alfred is on their side.

Bruce is hesitant to try anything because Alfred is corroborating their story and he doesn’t want to cross Alfred. He only questions it once, asking Dick where Damian’s baby photos are. He does not anticipate Dick tearfully explaining that they were all destroyed when Blockbuster blew up his apartment. Bruce is so panicked and desperate to make sure Dick doesn’t cry again that he just never questions it again.

So now the entire family is kinda gaslight into believing it, and those who know the truth don’t actually say anything because they don’t think it’s worth the effort. After all, Dick is doing a great job of parenting Damian. But then comes the Justice League, which is much bigger than batfam. Everyone is kinda awkwardly glancing around when Dick introduces Damian as his kid, because they remember a few years back Bruce saying the same thing, but now Bruce is just going along with what Dick is saying. The OG Titans are like “wtf dude” but also immediately have his back whenever someone tries to question it. They talk about how they were there for Damian’s birth, about all the presents they’ve bought for their nephew and holidays spent together. Everyone gets the memo to not ask questions about it. The only one stupid enough to try is Hal, who is met with a feral Damian. He has a flashback of the many, many times Dick bit him as a child and decides that yea, that kid belongs to Dick.

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

© delilahsturniolo

💌: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT