#main control flow

[lady-tortilla-chip]

For the sake of storytelling and NOT failing Chuuya’s arc it fit better for his humanity to have remained intact. If he REALLY had been vampire-ized it would have HAD to be addressed exactly because he struggled with his humanity so much through his arc.

[7fff00]

so i’m friends on strava with Baby Sister’s extremely sweet, extremely earnest nerd-jock boyfriend, right, because i’m trying to Behave Welcomingly towards the partners of important women in my life despite being, if we’re being honest, the world’s most defensively shriveled social prune, and today that normally-very-incidental fact rubbed my nose hard in how much sexism i still gotta unlearn—

so i went for my stupid dinky little run, right, and dutifully logged it, and found myself looking at my dash or activity feed or whatever they call it over there, and realized Baby Sister’s bf had also just been for a run, which had taken him about the same amount of time; but the thing was, i’d actually run, like, 15% longer than he had, it was just that my pace per mile had also been, like, a minute and a half faster than his. which was really startling to me, because i absolutely reflexively assumed that a tall mid-twenties cis guy, who i know for a fact cycles and rock-climbs on the reg, was going to be a faster runner than me, a medium-height estrogenized couch potato!

and like, obviously i have no idea what relationship this kid's pace today had to his actual capacity, and also quite frankly in my experience running is a sport where, sure, your fitness matters or whatever, but it’s also just radically easier the less you weigh?? so i’m not particularly priding myself on a (decidedly non-elite) pace that has a lot less to do with my current fitness level (rusty) and a lot more to do with currently being underweight bc i’m bad at feeding myself bc adhd. but it just feels like. pretty fuckin telling that i was so taken aback!!

[csial]

‘I have no need to forgive you. you cannot offend me.’ (cheating and sending this one here too, from neuvillette)

There is silence in the wake of the words that leave the sovereign's lips bar the wash of the waves that folds against his ankles, the gentle shift a reminder of all that has been divulged. Eyes cast down to their linked hands, head bowed in deference perhaps, grip loosening on instinct though not yet letting go entirely.

The second apology sits on his tongue but he swallows it for he has been told his words bear no offence, that his apologies are unnecessary. He ought know this; truly do they not wear each other's tokens and share this connection of fingers entwined? Has it not all but been said without words when they share these moments of time together? Yet it is hard for him to fathom, to consider that the sudden divulgence of all his emotions at once was not somewhat intense for Neuvillette and this is why the apology jumped forth without hesitation.

There is something different after all in taking that small step into the waters and allowing the vastness of his emotions to be seen by he who knows all emotion and memory. To feel the depths beneath the surface, to know the ferocity of what existed there. He had forgotten himself in their wanders, teased about diving into the depths and swimming together as they have done in the past, and let his foot dip into the water without remembering that doing so would render him little more than glass and expose Neuvillette to all that he does not say.

Now his heart thumps in his chest, the apology blurted off his tongue in an instant in hope that he has not overwhelmed Neuvillette with how much he feels, how deep his emotions run. He is not used to giving so much so quickly, but it has been done now and he cannot undo it. Instead he lifts his gaze again, swallowing once more and boldly lays his free hand upon Neuvillette's cheek.

"Nothing changes that you do not want to..." he insists, before anything more can be said. There is a deep need there to have that known, to have it spoken plain. At the same time, he studies Neuvillette's visage, chasing any reaction to the depths of his emotions, the weight of his affection, selfishly, and hoping he does not see panic. "It is there, and now you know it, you have seen it all. But there is no need for obligations to act upon it if you do not want to."

Amusingly, he contradicts himself in the little pep talks he has shared with his sovereign, one who insists that if something is wanted it should be taken, that if there is something to be changed it ought be, sitting instead on all this feeling and allowing a natural course to be followed, but there is reason in his actions. Perhaps the most reason he has reached for in a long time.

"It is there and has been for some time. It can remain unsaid for as long as you need. I ask nothing more of you than this." His hand squeezes, tightening that grip of joined fingers again, his hand slipping from Neuvillette's cheek to curl around the pendant that sits about his own neck. He's waited so many years to find some sort of direction in this world, to be free of his prisons, to feel a sense of peace, he is not inclined to rush Neuvillette either to find the same page. Some things are worth the wait.

[bismuthburnsblue]

idk if anyone is following specific projects ive talked about/mentioned but. i just want to say i know this year (especially the last couple months) has been chaotic and scattered and ive kept starting things and then they just. disappear from existence. i wanna semi apologise for that & tell you that i will be trying to do a lot less of that from this point- i wont always succeed, in very whim prone ':) but. i will be trying to keep a stable focus. i think i have plans to help with that.

i hate to treat my craft as content, but i hope whatever you signed up for will be better next year. i love talking about what i do & figuring out problems with you guys, and im looking forward to more of it in the future.

[vhstown]

i feel like such a pretentious dickhead whenever i think of giving writing advice 😭 and also i have no idea how to explain anything i write either

[shywhumpauthor]

What is your favourite Whump trope? And! Follow up, what is your favourite Whump scene to write??

Hmmmm

It changes by the day haha

I’m really into scars right now, especially visible ones. Like facial, neck, hands, etc. Constant reminders of the trauma and torture the Whumpee had to face, not just to themself but to everyone else. Especially if this Whumpee is in some leadership position, like in a team situation, and everyone else is just constantly wary around them. The Whumpee has learned to avoid long conversations or any non essential contact, isolating and only making the dynamics worse.

That or a Whumpee who is in some sort of situation with a caretaker that’s unable to really help them, particularly if they’re from the other side. Like a Hero Whumpee in a villain’s lair, and a henchman wants to help but they can’t actually do much of anything.

Also I love your typical power imbalance tropes, a Whumpee who used to be powerful/influential reduced to nothing (particularly with royalty dynamics paired with public humiliation), your good old fashioned whipping and torture, branding, there’s so many lmao

To write? Now that’s harder. While I love all of these tropes, some of them are just difficult for me to write in terms of complex dynamics or just plot. If I were to start one with say, the royal/powerful Whumpee, I would need to go so much deeper than just “they used to be royal”, and I’d get caught up on that for so long I wouldn’t end up writing it. So I guess I’ll just say power imbalances in any context really, because that’s always so much fun to exploit (as you can see with Noah and Declan, Kaden and Mathias, etc lmao)

[dreadseadreams]

tag drop for lysander

[softboyscully]

tattoos in magic systems/world building is something that can be so personal

[aleksatia]

Don't know if you will accept this one because not everyone is comfortable with writing for pregnancy trope. But i will try. 😭

Imagine the reader is pregnant, and for some reason, she can't get to the hospital or opted for giving birth at home, and the labor starts with just the reader and the boys, how would they react? (Zayne would go well, I guess lol)

Anyway, I gotta say I am obsessed with your writing ✍️ 🤤🥰

It honestly took me forever to get this request done, but here it is—finally! I ended up splitting it into two parts, including a bit of my own experience with childbirth.

The main challenge was that, even when extreme, birth tends to follow a similar pattern. I didn’t want to lean into unnecessary drama, so I approached it differently: wrote one complete mini-fic and turned the rest into short drabble-style sketches, which I’ll be posting here.

You can read more about Xavier/MC’s story here. I chose him simply because I hadn’t written anything focused on him in a while—and it just flowed (from pen... well, keyboard) that way.

CT/WT: birth scene, childbirth, emergency birth, home birth, water birth, airplane birth, snowstorm birth, intense emotional content, partner support, soft!men, vulnerable!men, protective partner, found family, twins, hurt/comfort, emotional intimacy, fatherhood, new dad energy, birth fic, drabble collection, first-time dad, emotional whump, soft smutless intimacy, love confession, trauma comfort, birth complications, raw vulnerability, medical emergency, no smut just feelings, domestic intensity. Headcanon!!!

🖤 SYLUS — The Moment He Realizes It’s Up to Him (Home Birth, Unprepared Conditions)

The Second It Clicks: You gasp. Double over. He’s at your side in a heartbeat. “Is it time?” You nod. Pain. Panic. Wet warmth. His blood freezes — then boils. No hospital. No doctor. No help. Just him.

His First Thought? “Fuck. No. Not like this. You deserve better.” Not chaos. Not uncertainty. Not cold floors and towels that aren’t sterile. He’s Sylus — he controls everything. But this? This is the one thing he can’t delay, buy, or dominate. It’s coming. Now.

Terror?Not for himself. For you. For the pain in your eyes, the grip of your hand, the sheer fragility of the moment. His entire being rallies like a war horn blaring inside his chest. “If the universe put this in my hands, then it’s getting the best fucking performance of my life.”

What he does first:He lowers you carefully to the bed. Kisses your knuckles, even as he’s barking quiet orders into a phone no one picks up. His voice is deep, steady. But his heart is galloping. He never lets you see it. Never lets his fear break through. You deserve certainty, and he’ll give it to you — even if he’s unraveling at the seams.

What He Says:“Kitten. Look at me.” You do. Eyes wide. Brave. Terrified. “You trust me?” You nod. “Then breathe. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. I always have.”

What He Feels:You’re vulnerable. And you’re still the strongest creature he’s ever seen. He wishes he could take the pain. Rip it from you and carry it in his own bones. But this is your war. And all he can do is be the sword and the shield. “Don’t you dare break on me, baby. You’re almost there. We’re almost there.”

And when you cry out —Something inside him shatters. Not weakness. Not panic. Love. The kind that could burn cities. The kind that makes gods kneel. He wipes your brow with trembling fingers, and for the first time in years, he whispers: “Please. Just let me do this right.”

The First Push:Your nails dig into his forearm. Hard. He doesn't flinch. He leans in, forehead almost touching yours. “That’s it. Breathe through it. I’ve got you.” Your body trembles. He sees it — the pain, the fear, the fight. And God, he’s never loved you more than in this bloody, imperfect, holy moment.

The Next Contractions Hit:They're relentless. And so is he. He’s on his knees beside the bed now, sleeves rolled, jaw locked, hands steady but heart breaking. “You're doing so good, kitten. So fucking good. I'm right here. Ride it. Ride it out. You're the strongest thing I've ever seen.” He keeps talking because your cries are the sound of his soul ripping open. He wants to scream with you — but he doesn’t. He can’t. You need him iron-clad.

When the Baby Crowns:For a split second, he freezes. The sight undoes him. It's real. His voice catches. He swallows hard. Then acts. Fast. He speaks softly but firmly. “Almost there. Just one more, baby. Give me everything you’ve got.”And when you do — when you scream and bear down and sob his name — the world shifts.

The Birth:The baby slips into his hands. Warm. Fragile. Alive. He catches it like it’s made of light. For a moment, he just stares. His lips part, but no words come. This. This is his child. His hands are shaking now. Bloody, trembling. But when the baby cries? He lets out the most ragged breath of his life. “You did it,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours. “You fucking did it.” He ties and cuts the cord. Precise. Careful. Reverent. Wraps the baby in a soft towel and places it in your arms. And then? He just watches. Like the world cracked open to show him something he never thought he was worthy of.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He doesn’t move from your side. Doesn’t let go of your hand. The men in white bark questions. He answers in clipped growls, still on alert. They try to move in too fast, and he snaps, “She’s fine. You move when she says so.” The room is full now — but all he sees is you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:He sits beside you, one hand on your leg, the other gently stroking the baby's tiny back. His shirt is soaked, his knuckles still stained, his eyes rimmed red. He doesn’t speak for a long time. Just breathes in the shape of you. Watches you like you might disappear.

And then he says it, raw and low:“I’ve killed for less than the pain you just went through.”“You scare me,” he adds, almost smiling. “Because I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did.”A pause. His voice softens. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

How He Is With You After: He won’t leave the room for the first 24 hours. Won’t sleep unless you sleep. Won’t speak unless it’s to you. Every time you shift, he’s there. Water. Blankets. Warm palms. He touches you like you’re made of fire and stardust. And maybe you are. You brought life into the world — and now he’s a man who’s seen a goddess bleed and survive.

What’s Changed? Everything. You’re no longer just the woman he worships. You’re the mother of his child. And he’s never been more dangerous, more devoted, or more in awe. And when he finally holds the baby in his arms, whispering something in a voice only the stars can hear, you catch the look on his face — as if the king of the underworld just met the one soul that could make him believe in heaven.

🎨 RAFAYEL — Water Birth Gone Off-Script (But You're Still His Masterpiece)

The Second It Clicks:You gasp. A real one. Water shifts behind the door. He hears it — not the splash, but the silence that follows. Brush mid-stroke, he freezes in the studio. Palette still in hand. Then he hears you call his name. Soft. Urgent. Different. His heart misses a beat. Oh. Oh, fuck. It’s time.

His First Thought?“Cutie, not yet — where’s the damn midwife?” This was supposed to be smooth. Music, candles, soft towels, help. He practiced. Took notes. Learned everything. But you’re contracting, you’re gripping his arm like a lifeline, and that carefully prepared plan just drowned.

Terror?Only for a split second. Then? It turns into motion. His version of war. No armor. Just bare skin, water, and wild love. He tears off his silk shirt, drops to his knees beside the tub, and cups your face. Eyes blazing. Smile trembling. “You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Let’s be legends, sweetheart.”

What He Does First:Lights dimmed. Calm playlist turned off. That’s not helping. He speaks instead. Constant stream of velvet and madness — anything to keep you in your body. He checks your breath, strokes your arms, pours warm water down your back. He holds your thighs when the cramping gets too much. “Breathe, Cutie. Moan if you need to. Scream. I’ll scream with you.”

What He Says:“You’re the most divine creature I’ve ever painted and you’re not even trying right now.” “Do you know what it does to me — to see you bring life into the world? I’m ruined.” “I love you. You’re terrifying. It’s magnificent.” “I’m not ready, but I’m so ready. Are you ready, sweetheart?” He laughs and cries all at once. Classic Raf.

What He Feels:Absolute awe. Like watching a volcano give birth to the moon. You’re in pain, and he’d trade his soul to take it away —

But you’re also gorgeous. Power and surrender. Fury and grace. He watches you like a living epic, memorizing every second. And somewhere deep down: terror. Because he���s about to meet a little soul that already feels like the most important thing he’s ever waited for.

And When You Cry Out —He flinches like someone hit his body. Then kisses your forehead. Then your shoulder. Then your fingers. “I know, I know, my love. You can hate me right now. But when it’s over, you’re going to be a fucking goddess in my arms again.”

The First Push:He holds you. Literally. Behind you in the tub, your back pressed to his chest. Whispers in your ear like poetry, nonsense, love confessions. His hands steady your belly. His cheek presses to yours. “Push. With me. Right now. Pretend the stars are watching.”

The Next Contractions Hit:You sob. Scream. Curse. He laughs through tears. “That’s my girl. Go feral, baby.” He doesn't pretend it's easy. He matches the chaos. You scream louder? He screams louder. You sob? He hums a lullaby in broken Lemurian. And when you break? He stitches you back together with every ridiculous, poetic, stupidly beautiful word.

When the Baby Crowns:He feels it before he sees it — the shift in your breath, the way your body tenses like a storm breaking. “Cutie — he’s here. He’s really here.” He helps you lean forward, moves behind and then lower, one arm steadying you as he shifts to kneel in the water. And then he sees it — the beginning of everything. His voice is gone. His hands shake. But he stays.

The Birth:The baby slides into the water. Raf catches him like he’s catching a star falling into the sea. He brings him up gently, lets him cry, and then stares — completely undone. He places the baby on your chest with reverence. Then breaks. Just breaks. Weeps silently as he holds you both.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He answers the door shirtless, soaked, with red-rimmed eyes and a feral look. “Too late,” he snaps. “She did it herself. I just got to be lucky enough to watch.” Then walks past them, back to the bathroom, because he’s not done looking at you.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again:You’re in bed. Baby asleep. Candles flickering low. Raf’s lying next to you, propped on an elbow, fingers lightly tracing invisible constellations on your arm. His voice is almost a whisper. “You made something I could never paint. Not with all the colors in the universe.”

Confession:“I used to think love was chaos. Fire. Tragedy.” He swallows. “But you — carrying him, birthing him — you made me believe in something bigger than all that. Something gentle.” Beat. “Still chaos. But now… now I want to live in it.”

How He Is With You After:He won’t stop touching you. Ever. Cheek pressed to your stomach. Hand around your ankle. Lips to your collarbone. He calls you his ocean, his cathedral, his everything. Gets jealous when the baby gets more attention, then sulks dramatically — only to melt the moment the baby yawns.

What’s Changed? He didn’t think he could love more than he already did. But now he’s ruined. Completely, gloriously yours. He paints you every day. He stares at the baby like a spell. And every night, he murmurs: “Cutie, I would live a thousand lifetimes just to land in this one with you.”

🛩️ CALEB — 35,000 Feet Up, When the World Falls Apart (And You’re the Only Thing That Matters)

The Second It Clicks:Your breath hitches. You shift. Then freeze. He knows your body too well — something is off. You whisper, "Caleb…" He looks at you. And in that one heartbeat, he knows. It’s happening. Here. Now. Too early.

His First Thought?“No.”Not like this. Not at cruising altitude. Not without equipment, backup, time. You were supposed to have two more weeks. He had a plan. A perfect one. And the baby just threw it out the emergency exit.

Terror?It brushes him. A ghost against the back of his mind. There’s a moment — sharp, almost blinding — where every instinct screams: get to the cockpit, take the controls, force the descent, get her to a hospital, make it stop. Not the birth — your pain. The helplessness. But Caleb is a fortress — fear doesn’t get through the walls. Not when you need him solid. Not when your breathing goes shallow and your fingers dig into his thigh. He shuts it out. Cold. Calculated. He stays. Right where you are. “Handle it.”

What He Does First: Turns to the nearest flight attendant — she’s pale, shaking. “Get blankets. Towels. Water. First aid kit. Everything. Now.”Then he takes your hand. Squeezes once. He shifts the cabin — clears seats, turns it into a command zone. Straps you in, kneels in front of you like you’re his entire mission.

What He Says:“Breathe.” “Look at me, not the chaos. Me.”“You're safe. I'm here. I’ll get you through this.”“No one’s going to touch you but me. You hear me?”Low, controlled. The voice of command — but laced with something raw. The kind of voice that means he’d rip this plane open and land it with his bare hands if he had to.

What He Feels:Failure. Because this wasn’t the plan. Because he let you on this plane, knowing the risks.  Because you’re in pain and there’s nothing he can shoot or order or carry to fix it.  But above that — something bigger. Something anchoring. You’re about to give him a child. His child. And he’s never been more terrified or more in love.

And When You Cry Out —He stops breathing. Just for a moment. Then grabs a wet cloth, wipes your forehead, presses his mouth to your knuckles. “It’s okay. I know. I know it hurts. Just hold on, love.” He doesn’t flinch when you scream. He braces for you. Becomes your wall.

The First Push: He helps you brace your legs. Talks you through it. Counts your breaths. His voice doesn’t shake. You’re gripping his shoulder like you want to break him — and if it helps, he wants you to. “Push. Right now. You can do it. I know you can.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come fast. Brutal. You’re soaked in sweat, sobbing, slipping in and out of focus. He holds your gaze. Forces you to stay present. “Stay with me. Just me. Eyes on mine.” He’s not just commanding your body now. He’s anchoring your soul.

When the Baby Crowns:His jaw locks. There’s blood. Pain. A sound from you that breaks something in him forever. But then— “I see the head. One more. One big push, baby. Do it for me.”He’s never begged in his life. Until now.

The Birth:The baby slides into his hands — hot, wet, alive. He holds it like it’s a grenade and a prayer. He hesitates for a heartbeat, then moves on instinct drilled in from every medical video he obsessively watched in the weeks before. Wipes the face. Rubs the back. Hears that first cry. And his shoulders slump like he just survived a war. He lays the baby on your chest with military precision— But his hands are shaking. And his voice is gone.

When the Plane Lands:Paramedics are already waiting on the tarmac. The moment the wheels hit the ground, he’s on his feet, securing the baby, then lifting you into his arms — no hesitation, no discussion. Your body wrapped in his jacket, his grip unshakable. “She stays with me,” he tells them — low and final. He carries you down the stairs himself, eyes scanning every face like a soldier clearing a field. And when the medics move in, he doesn’t flinch — but he watches every hand. Every word. His eyes never leave you. He’s still on the battlefield.

Afterward, When It’s Quiet Again: The baby’s wrapped and asleep. You’re in a hospital bed now, monitors quiet, lights dim. Caleb sits beside you — still in his flight-worn clothes, hands resting on the edge of the mattress like he’s holding the line. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t blink. Just watches you breathe. As if any second, the universe might try to take you again.

Confession:“I don’t know how to do this part.” Soft. Almost a whisper. “I know war. I know strategy. I know how to keep you alive.”A pause. “But you just gave me everything, thirty-five thousand feet above the world. And I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

How He Is With You After: Hypervigilant. Keeps you warm. Fed. Rested. Checks the baby’s breath every ten minutes. Doesn’t leave your side — not even to sleep. Carries you to the bathroom if he has to. Barely talks. Just does.

What’s Changed? He always thought his job was to protect you. Now he knows — you are the reason he fights. You made life, in midair, with nothing but pain and instinct. He’s seen you soft. He’s seen you in love. Now he’s seen you divine. And no enemy will ever get close again. Not even turbulence. And definitely not labor at 35,000 feet — because he’s never letting you board a plane pregnant again. He’s already planning the next birth. Controlled environment. Ground-level. Walls. Doctors. No sky. No chaos. Just you, safe — the way you were always supposed to be.

🧊 ZAYNE — Snowcrest Emergency (Twins, a Storm, and You in His Hands)

The Second It Clicks:You’re at the stove, stirring a pot of mulled wine, the scent of cloves and orange peel curling through the wooden walls of the chalet. Snow presses against the windows like a soft white fist. Then something shifts. You freeze. One hand goes to the edge of the counter, the other to your belly. Your breath catches — once. Twice. Too sharp. Zayne looks up from the hearth, where he was stacking firewood. Sees your face. Sees your hands. His mind clicks into motion before you can speak. Contractions. Strong. Rhythmic. A month early. Twins. It’s happening. Now.

His First Thought?“No hospital. No OR. No neonatal equipment. Two infants. High-risk environment.” His mind races: What’s missing? What can he improvise? What matters most? You. He recalibrates in milliseconds. The plan has changed. You’re the plan now.

Terror?He doesn’t let it register. But for the first time in a decade, he feels his pulse spike without choosing it. This is not a patient. Not a clinical environment. This is you. And his hands — hands that saved hundreds — suddenly feel too slow, too human.

What He Does First:Takes control. Quietly, precisely. “Lie down. Left side. Pillows under your knees.” Gets gloves. Clean cloths. Lantern light. Wipes the counter. Boils water. Checks your pupils, your breath rate, heart rate. Starts counting contractions. Voice — steady as marble. “Vitals are within threshold. We’ll manage.” He doesn’t say "I’m scared." He sets his jaw and becomes the machine you need.

What He Says:“Cut the noise. Focus on me.” “Deep breath in. Hold. Now exhale slowly.” “You’re safe. I have you. Nothing’s going wrong under my watch.” And softer, almost like it slips out against his control: “You’re not doing this alone. I’m here.”Then quieter still, barely audible over your breathing— “I don’t want you to be afraid. Not with me.”

What He Feels:A depth of protectiveness so massive it short-circuits logic. He can’t afford emotion — so it burns quietly behind his ribs. Every sound you make, every twitch of pain — he catalogs it, files it, calculates it. But somewhere behind the math, something whispers: “These are my children. And she’s the one I never deserved.”

And When You Cry Out—He doesn’t flinch. But his jaw locks, and he moves faster. More towels. More warmth. Calmer voice. He adjusts your position, murmurs into your hair: “I know. I know, love. It hurts. You’re strong. You’re going to get them here, and I’m going to catch them. I promise.”

The First Push:““Push with the contraction. Not before.”He watches your breath, cues your muscles, syncs with your rhythm like surgery. You scream. He doesn’t blink. Just steadies your knee, keeps his voice low and close. “You’re doing it. This is the part that ends it. The worst is behind you.”

The Next Contractions Hit:They come harder, closer. You’re shaking. Your body starts to give. Zayne grips your hands, brings your forehead to his. “You’re not breaking. You’re giving life. Do it. I’m right here.” He says it like a command. But his voice catches.

When the Baby Crowns:It’s fast. First twin is anterior. Textbook. Zayne’s gloves are slick, but his hold is perfect. The baby slips into his hands — screaming. He wraps, clears, breathes. Then glances up at you, and — for half a second — his breath stutters. One down. One more.

The Birth (Second Twin):This one’s trickier. Breech. Zayne’s hands move with silent grace, guiding you, shifting your hips, protecting you from the risk. It’s intense. It’s dangerous. But he handles it like a master. The second baby arrives blue. He doesn’t panic. Just acts. Clears airway. Stimulates. Waits — cry. Only then does his chest move again.

When the Medics Finally Arrive:He meets them at the door. Calm. Precise. These are his colleagues — people he trusts. He listens to every reading, watches every movement. They confirm what he already knows: vitals are steady. No signs of immediate risk. He should transfer you. He planned to. But then you look at him — raw, pleading, exhausted. And he recalculates. “We’ll monitor here. Twelve-hour window. I’ll oversee everything myself.” He’s already wrapping you and the twins in fresh blankets, resetting the monitors. His voice is steady. His posture sure. But his hand doesn’t leave yours. He’s not just responsible. He’s personally invested. In this. In you. In all three lives now resting in his hands.

Confession:He speaks only when you touch his wrist. “I’ve never been this scared.” A beat. “And I didn’t let myself feel it. Until now.” Another pause. “You and them — you’re the only variables I can’t solve. And I think I’m okay with that.”

How He Is With You After: Meticulous. Attentive. Understated. Charts feed schedules. Tracks sleeping patterns. Never wakes you if he can help it. Takes night shifts. Warms bottles. Still quiet. Still reserved. But touches you more often now — almost absently. A thumb to your wrist. A hand at your back. Like he can’t not.

What’s Changed? Something in him has shifted — quietly, irreversibly. He was a man of logic. Now he’s a man of you. He doesn’t smile often — but when he looks at the twins, something in his eyes softens in a way he can’t quite explain. And every time you cry — from exhaustion, or joy, or pain — he presses a kiss to your temple and says, “Tell me what to fix.” Even if he knows he never could. Because he’ll try anyway. For as long as you’ll let him.

[malasquid]

So. I've Cracked The Code On The Appearance Changes in Side Order.

Wall of photos and such incoming.

After a lot of testing, I've discovered there are 7 different little lights and doodads that are added to Agent 8 via upgrading certain chips, each with a basic 1st tier and and upgraded 2nd tier. The 1st tier of upgrades appear after picking up two of the same chips in that changes pool (ex: 2 Homing Shots chips), with the 2nd tier appearing after picking up five of them (ex: 5 Homing Shot chips). There is no further visual indicators added for maxing chips that go beyond 5, such as Splash Damage or Rush Attack.

Full disclaimer: This is the result of researching a LOT of my own runs, so I can say this is true with about 95% certainty. If I labeled an ability chip in the wrong visual pool, please let me know!

Let's start with the basics - our control group. No Teal upgrades provide any visible changes to Agent 8 (or Pearl-bot for that matter), so I ran an all-teal palette to demonstrate.

First is likely one of the more requested visual changes - the Headset. The 1st tier sports a basic metallic earpiece, with the 2nd adding an antenna and eyepiece that match your primary ink color.

Maxing Splash Damage, Sound Wave Damage, Splash Radius, Special Charge Up, Turf Lucky Chain, Rush Knockback, and Homing Shots all provide the headset!

Next up is Ink Bubbles. The 1st tier shows transparent, slower bubbles flowing in 8's ink tank, with the bubbles being faster and more opaque in the 2nd tier.

Nabbing Poison Ink, Splat Ink Recovery, Ink Saver Sub, Ink Recovery Rate, Sticky Ink, and Explosion Knockback all provide Ink Bubbles.

Following that is the Fins. The 1st tier shows the base shackles being added to 8's boots, with the fins themselves being added for the 2nd tier.

Picking up Run Speed, Swim Speed, Rush Attack, Mobile Ink Recovery, Mobile Special Charge, and Mobile Drone Gauge all provide the Fins.

Now, moving on to the weapon upgrades!

First we have the Muzzle Lights, which appear at the muzzle of most weapons, and the sides of the brush and roller nearest the base. The 1st tier shows a circle and squares circling around the muzzle, with the 2nd tier being more exaggerated, with alternating squares and rectangles forming a hexagon pattern in the center.

These are exclusive to the Ink Damage, Main Damage (Close), and Main Damage (Distant) chips.

Next up is likely the most common visual one can see on their run - the Arrows. The 1st tier shows a circle with three arrows pointing down the weapon, with the 2nd tier adding some blowback markers behind the circle.

These are on a whopping TEN upgrades, being Splatling Barrage, Main Firing Speed, Horizontal Slash Speed, Main Range, Main Piercing, Main Ink Coverage, Rush Ink Coverage, Quick Charge, Shot Spread Reduction, and Ink Saver Main.

Last of the weapon upgrades are the Dots. The 1st tier is 3 large dots and a circle spinning at the bottom of your weapon or around your wrist, with the 2nd tier adding another circle around the dots.

These can be found on the Hindrance Damage, Ink Attack Size, Charge Storage, Moving Ink Speed, Extra Dodge Roll, Brella Cooldown, and Knockback upgrades.

And finally, my favorite little knick-knack, the Shrimp Hook. This little guy appears on your ink tank after picking up 2 matching Luck upgrades (ex: Lucky Bomb Drop, Canned Special Drop, etc), and begins to glow after picking up 5. However, the glowing effect is not visible in the post-game screen. 😔 (I would totally buy one of these if someone made one, btw)

By the way, 7 visual upgrades * 5 chips needed to max each visual is 35 chips, which is just shy of the 36 total chips you can have on one palette, which means, in theory, you could. Have every maxed visual indicator on in one run.

Just a thought. : )

[manicmanuscription]

Matching PJ's

Pairing(s): Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel get matching PJ's for Solstice

Word Count: 1137

Warnings: Intense makeout session, fluff, Azriel being obsessed and possessive, suggestive.

A/N: I edited this so instead of the matching set, reader got something a little bit more spicy to fit with the theme in my head!

acotar masterlist | main masterlist

divider by @cafekitsune

The River House was abuzz with excitement, wine flowing just as freely as the conversation. Wrapping paper littered the floor as it finally came time to open present’s and you snuggled into Azriel’s chest leaning further into him as you sat on his lap and his arm wrapped possessively around your waist. Ever since you two mated you introduced a new tradition to the family from Winter Court where you were from. 

After dinner everyone opened up Solstice PJ’s. Each couple of the inner circle picking out matching ones for a different mated pair. Cassian and Nesta just showed off their glittery gold pajamas that looked more like wrapping paper with bows and little bells attached than actual sleeping wear, Cassian giving off a final spin as everyone cheered and Nesta just rolled her eyes at his antics. Mor clapping the loudest at her choice of clothing for the couple.

“Thank you, Thank you.” He boasted before finally settling on one of the couches pulling his mate with him. “Alright! Y/N and Azriel’s turn.” Cassian grinned wildly. “Don’t worry guys, we picked some really good ones for you.” He said with a wink and you rolled your eyes at him, you’ve had some pretty awful and some pretty amazing pj’s ever since introducing this fun little game.

Cassian was determined to find something that would embarrass Azriel the few times he drew your names from the bowl. You stood up from your seat, catching the wrapped bundle from Nesta before making your way to the bathroom, Azriel following close behind you. 

“Nothing can be worse than what they got Feyre and Rhys last year.” Azriel reminded you as you ripped open the gift, you chuckled at the memory of the neon green pj’s that came with sewn in lights the couple had been forced to wear all night.

“I wouldn’t underestimate Cassian.” You responded and Azriel hummed in agreement. 

You both made quick work of shedding your clothes. Azriel’s eyes tracking every movement you made and when you were nothing but in your undergarments he couldn’t stop himself from pressing you up against the bathroom counter kissing you deeply as his hands settled on your waist, slowly moving down to your thighs with each slide of his tongue against yours.

You slowly forgot about the people waiting for you and whimpered softly against his mouth, tugging at the strands of his hair and he groaned, pressing his hips against yours. 

Azriel lifted you up and set you on top of the counter, sliding in between your thighs and titled your head back with a slight tug of your hair so he could gain further control of the kiss. You let out another moan and tried to grip the counter behind you for support. 

The sound of the soap dispenser falling into the sink brought you back down to earth and you pulled away from him. “You’re naughty, Spymaster.” You reprimanded, his eyes still glazed over with lust as he smirked. “Can’t help it.” Azriel breathed out slowly, his hands still settled on your waist.

You blushed embarrassed you almost let him fuck you while his family was still a few halls down. Azriel couldn’t help the male pride at your flushed cheeks and he nipped at your earlobes. You giggled and squirmed, finally pulling away from him and sliding off the counter. “You need to stop that!” You exclaimed, fighting a smile off. “Your family is just in the other room.”

Azriel made a show of putting his hands behind his back, and taking a mini step away from you. His eyes scanned over your body before you hid the magnificent sight away, sliding up the little nightgown Nesta and Cassian bought for you. 

Once you were fully dressed Azriel had an even harder time taking his eyes off of you. He didn’t know what his brother was thinking when he bought the matching black and red set but he was going to kill him.

He wore black and red plaid pants, it hung low on his hips and he didn’t miss the way your eyes trailed down his V-line or his muscular arms as he slid the tight red shirt on. He was surprised at how mellow the set was until he saw you. It was a skimpy red nightgown, the same shade as his shirt. The thin straps crisscrossed in the back and black lace covered the hem and the low cut near your cleavage.

It accented your assets perfectly, barely covering that perfect ass and the tease of your gorgeous thighs had his cock straining in his pants. Cassian and Nesta had somehow gotten your exact measurements, the dress -if you could even call it that- hugged you perfectly like a second skin, highlighting every beautiful curve and dip of your body. You grabbed your clothes and Azriel’s, magicking them away to your house and turned to face him noticing the dark expression in his eyes. 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face and gave him a little spin. “You like?” You asked cheekily and Azriel let out a pained sound. “You’re going to kill me.” He whispered, stepping close to you and pulling you into him as he kissed you even more passionately than before.

His grip tightened and his touch grew more demanding as he slowly walked you into the wall, his kiss left you breathless and his lips moved to your neck and then eventually your shoulder. “Azriel we have to go-“ You started but he cut you off with a growl and a firm kiss, demanding control as he let himself explore your mouth as if he had never tasted you before.

You went limp in his arms moaning embarrassedly loud. Azriel hiked one of your legs over your waist and soon a loud demanding knock echoed through the bathroom. 

“Come on! Your five minutes are up, we don't need a repeat of Feyre and Rhysand from last year!” Morrigan yelled loudly. Azriel ignored her kissing you even deeper and holding you even tighter while she kept loudly knocking. Finally you found the strength to pull away. “Azriel.” You warned and he let out a groan of frustration but pulled away, setting you back down on the floor and brushing your hair with his fingers as you tried to make yourself look presentable. Before you left the bathroom Azriel gave you a look that promised he wasn’t done with you and you gave him a kiss on the cheek conveying your excitement. 

Finally you opened the door and Mor gave you a knowing smirk before the three of you headed back to the living room. Whoops and cheers erupted as you made your debut and Cassian let out a long wolf-whistle at the sight of you.

“Looking nice Y/N.” Nesta smirked and Azriel cut down everyone’s excitement shortly, pulling you into his lap and shadows hid most of you from view, his hands gripping your waist with an intensity that you loved. 

“You’re a dead male Cassian.”

[scarletmika]

The White Witch pt. 3 : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Avenger!Witch!Reader

Summary: Bob knew who the Avengers were, who you were; he grew up watching them save the world time and time again. Now, he was one, but none of that could prepare him for what it would be like to meet you, or the instant connection that seemed to flow between you both.

Warnings: soulmate trope, language, fluff, tiny tiny bit of angst, slight mental illness talk kind of, SPOILERS I guess for Thunderbolts* and like the rest of the MCU honestly, feminine description of reader, FINAL PART WOO

Word Count: 5,327 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“Alright, I want you losers all on your best behavior tonight. The majority of the world already refuses to call you The Avengers, I don’t need you embarrassing yourselves in front of Wilson himself,”

“Please, Valentina, we will be the perfect models of righteousness and heroism! We shall laugh in the face of danger, and anyone who dares to speak ill of us-”

“Yeah, okay. Yelena, please keep your father away from the bar tonight,”

The former Widow simply hummed in response to Valentina’s request, muttering something about ‘not making any promises’ before returning her attention back to the mirror in her handheld compact. With another mutter of ‘unbelievable’ from Valentina, that she definitely intended for the group to hear, she was dragging Mel back into the elevator to abandon her team to suffer through this night alone.

Well, not everyone was going to suffer. Bob certainly was, especially with the way the collar of the dress shirt under his suit jacket was scratching at his neck.

The gala, the celebration of Earth’s Mighiest Heroes - The Exhibition finally opening, was just an hour away, and The New Avengers had all been invited to attend. Well, Bucky had been invited to attend, which came with an honorary invitation to the rest of his new team. Valentina had accepted on their behalf, stating that a public appearance such as this, especially in the same room as Sam Wilson, would surely garner them better favor with the public.

“So, whose ready to schmooze it up with politicians and Sam Wilson himself tonight?” Ava asked the group, stalking across the room as she dug through the small purse she’d chosen for tonight. O.X.E. had been able to design her a relatively less bulky suit, something to allow her to still have control over her phasing while still being able to dress the part for events such as this. It gave just enough space for her to be able to don a full-length black gown with longer sleeves, made fully of velvet. 

“I think the main question is if Bucky is prepared for that,” Yelena joked lowly, almost completely under her breath, standing up and using her father’s shoulder as leverage to wedge herself into the small heels that Valentina had insisted upon. “Sam Wilson, your maybe-former, still kind-of friend, and a bunch of politicians you worked with for, what, less than half a term?”

“Ha ha, you’re so funny, Belova,” Bucky muttered, stepping up to Bob to help him adjust the color of his dress shirt that was clearly bothering him. “Walker should be the one scared shitless for tonight. Things left off pretty rocky with Sam, and I’m pretty sure Ivory has made her feelings toward you very clear.”

Ivory. Your nickname, one that Bucky had said Steve had given to you years ago. He was glad you weren’t here, for once, instead you were somewhere across town with Sam Wilson and the new Falcon who you’d mentioned from time to time. Even the mention of you had red crawling up Bob’s skin, and he knew for a fact that Bucky noticed. He did everything he could to not look the super soldier in the eyes.

“You’d think Ivory would’ve gotten over it by now,” John scoffed from across the room, redoing the cufflinks on the blue suit he was wearing for the night. “And Wilson…yes, maybe we didn’t leave off on the best of terms, but I’m a changed man. He knows this, I’m sure.”

That devolved into a whole offshoot conversation between John and Ava, debating on whether or not John really was some ‘changed man.’ Bob watched with an amused smile on his face until a voice cleared directly next to him.

“You doing okay?”

Bob finally looked Bucky in the eyes, the man in question just finishing tucking the collar of Bob’s dress shirt down so that it didn’t scratch at his neck awkwardly, and he put on the most confident smile he could muster.

“Who, me? Oh, yeah, y-yeah, I’m totally doing great. Absolutely,”

“Uh huh. No tie tonight?”

“Tried, it uh…it kind of felt suffocating,”

“Fair enough,” Bucky took a step back, adjusting his own black tie before folding his arms over his chest, a smirk lighting up his face. “Nervous?”

Bob groaned, shaking his head immediately as he looked anywhere but at Bucky.

“Nervous? N-No, I’m not nervous-”

“Why does Bob need to be nervous?”

Yelena had slid into the conversation, standing between the pair and glancing back on forth. Bucky’s smirk seemed to grow even wider.

“Because Bob’s finally going to grow a pair tonight and tell little Miss Ivory how he feels,”

Bob hung his head with another groan, burying his face in his hands. Great, now Bucky had really started it.

“Ah, young love! Reminds me so much of my Melina and I, even though our relationship started as a ploy of the Red Room,” Alexei’s boisterous voice rang out through the room as he sighed fondly at the memories. His arm, clad in the red suit he’d chosen for the night, fell over Bob’s shoulders as he pulled him in, affectionately, into a pseudo-headlock. “We have all seen this coming since the day you two met. You go together perfectly, like those birds who choose a mate for life and form the little heart with their heads and necks!”

“That would be called a swan, Alexei,” Ava commented as her and John joined the conversation, the entire group essentially surrounding Bob now as her pointed look turned to him. “About time you did something about it, though, Bob. I think we were all dying seeing how cute you two were. Reading together, cooking in the kitchen, movie nights, whatever other cliche and disgusting rom-com meet-cute moment you can think of.”

“For the record, I just want to say that I taught Bob everything he knows-”

“No you didn’t,” the entire group cut in together, ending the conversation John tried to initiate before it had even truly begun.

Bob glanced around at his team, his friends, cheeks blazing red, but they ended up landing on Yelena and Bucky, glancing between them both.

“What if…w-what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

“Bob,” Yelena deadpanned, unamused at his comment. “You described it to me as soulmates, that you two are quite literally soulmates, how could she not feel the same?”

“Yeah, isn’t that the whole thing with soulmates? That they’re, like, destined to be in love?” John questioned. Bob shook his head, running a hand down his face.

“No, at least n-not always,” Bob tried to explain to them again, trying to remember exactly how you’d phrased it to him. “It just means that-that we’re d-destined to…do life together? To be in each other’s lives. As f-friends or…or something more.”

Alexei moved to talk, but Bucky interjected, simply raising his hand up to stop the man. Bob looked to him, and Bucky gave him the easiest smile he could muster. 

“I’ve known her awhile, Bob. You’re leaving out the last thing she told you in that moment: ‘We’re whatever we decide we’re going to be.’ She left it in your hands, Bob, it’s your choice what it is. But if you want our opinion, she’s definitely hoping you want it to be something more,”

“More than definitely, she does,” Yelena cut in, shaking her head with a laugh. “Hell, you two were practically cuddling on the couch the one night watching Romeo and Juliet. The 1968 Romeo and Juliet movie, Bob, there’s nothing more romantic than that.”

“Just be you, and tell her the truth. It’s gotten you this far,” Bucky said simply with a grin, before it dropped into his signature scowl immediately. “And because I’m sick of you showing up at my door in the middle of the night like a lost puppy complaining about being in love. You might actually be worse than Steve.”

Be himself, and confess. That was the mantra Bob kept chanting to himself the entire limo ride to the museum. Just be himself; it had gotten him this far. You were his soulmate, whatever he wanted that to mean. You’d be by his side forever, no matter what, because you were destined to be. That made him smile, just the tiniest bit.

Bob was terrified of ending up alone again one day. But now, he had someone essentially destined to walk life with him, to always be there. And that person was you…there was no one else he’d rather it be.

When they’d stepped out of the limo in front of the museum, his anxiety came crawling back into his throat. Journalists lined the stairs to the front door, security making a narrow passageway for them all. Lights flashed, hot and bright, and questions were hurled toward the entire group as they quickly tried to get inside, almost flanking Bob like his own personal security detail.

“Barnes! What’s it like to be part of The Avengers again?”

“Bucky, are you and Sam Wilson on speaking terms?”

“Alexei and Yelena, do you have anything to say about reports that the Red Room is back?”

“John! Have you moved on from the incident overseas? Do you want to reclaim the title of Captain America?”

Vultures. That’s what you’d called them once when recounting stories to Bob of your days with your old family. How the press at events like this were like vultures. They’d say anything they could, dig up anything they could, all to get a reaction.

Bob’s fingernails were pressed into the palm of his hand as the team guided him up the stairs as far away from the reporters as they could, throwing open the doors of the museum as if they couldn’t get inside fast enough. His anxiety was clawing at him, clawing it’s way up his throat, trying to suffocate him, and in that moment all he really wanted was you-

And there you were. A picture of perfection, dressed to the nines and standing right beyond the front doors, like you’d been waiting. And the second you locked eyes with Bob, the second he could see the smile on your lips, that familiar sense of calm washed over him. That feeling of you washed over him, seeped into his bones, and dispelled his anxiety in a flash.

The rest of the team said hello to you, complimenting you, before saying they’d talk later as they moved further into the room, heading in the direction of the party that was held in the exhibition hall. You stayed in place, watching Bob, who was frozen in his spot, simply looking you up and down and drinking in the sight of you.

A one-shouldered, floor-length gown. Just barely off-white, almost the same shade as the suit you wore in the field. It hugged every part of you as if it were made for you. The slit in the bottom of the dress ran up your leg, stopping right at your mid-tight, and Bob had to quickly turn his gaze back to your face to keep the thoughts he wanted to bury in the back of his head down.

“Y-You were waiting,” was the only thing he could think to say. You just nodded, smiling at him as you took a few steps toward him.

“I could feel you. Figured you needed me,”

“You…you look beautiful,” Bob’s voice got softer as he said it, looking at you with such genuine affection in his eyes. And by the way you brightened, he knew you could feel it. There was a bloom of something in his soul, something that you were feeling, but he couldn’t place it.

With one perfectly manicured hand resting on his cheek, you leaned in, pressing your lips gently to his other cheek, before sliding your hand into his. Bob’s eyes never left you, only fluttered for a moment as you kissed him, and he squeezed your hand like a lifeline.

“You look incredibly handsome yourself, Bob. Let’s go enjoy the night,”

He’d never say no to you.

Hands still clasped together, fingers intertwined, your other hand came to rest just on his bicep, practically clinging to him as you both walked into the exhibition hall. His anxiety came back for just a moment, the number of people and the volume of conversations growing, but you squeezed his hand. As long as you didn’t let go, Bob was sure he’d be fine.

It was like a timeline, walking by the walls. The Battle of New York, photos collected from journalists and survivors alike. Washington D.C. and the realization that HYDRA had compromised SHIELD. Sokovia, Lagos, Germany, and then…Thanos. A tribute to the lost years, to the Blip, and those who died so that others could live.

He’d heard so many stories from you over the last two months. When Tony had dragged you all out for shawarma after taking down Loki. When you first met Sam Wilson, and elected to call him ‘bird man’ for the next few weeks following. When you met Wanda, found someone just like you for the first time, found a best friend.

Bob had even heard the worst of it. In the nights in the tower, after you’d confessed you knew what tied you both together. He remembered the first night like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it.

Bob woke with a start, his phone on the nightstand shining a bright ‘3:00 a.m.’ up at him when it noticed his movement. But that was the least of his worries.

Bob’s chest was heavy, as if someone was stepping on it, constricting his airway. He couldn’t breathe; he felt as if he was about to hyperventilate. A panic attack, that’s what this was. It had been so long since he’d had one, but he remembered the feeling. But this one felt inherently different, in every way. It didn’t feel like him.

It wasn’t him. It was you.

Bob was out of his bed in seconds, limbs failing as he rushed to the door of his room. When he’d thrown it open, there you stood: hair a mess, tear stains running down your cheeks. And without a second of hesitation, you threw yourself into Bob’s arms.

He wasn’t sure what to do for a second, but the moment you were in his arms, he felt that little ache soothe just slightly. So, he held you tightly. He sank to the floor, right there in his doorway, with you in his arms. And he didn’t say a word. He simply held you, let you cry into his chest, as he stared ahead at the wall before him, and let you cry.

“I was there. I was back in Europe, back on that stupid mountain,” Bob had never seen you cry. You’d talked to the team before, telling stories about Tony, telling Yelena any story she wanted to hear about Natasha, but you had never cried. You’d smiled, told the story, and laughed when the others did. “It kept playing over and over, n-nothing I did could change it. Every time, she…she threw me off the mountain, and she just…she just let herself die. I didn’t want her to die.”

Bob had shushed you then, relying on everything Bucky and Yelena had done for him since they’d met. Thinking back on every time they’d rushed to his room, awoken him from his own nightmares, and calmed him until it was all in the past.

“Y-you’re not there. It’s just a nightmare,” he’d whispered, holding you tighter. He hated that achy feeling in his chest, that you were feeling like this. Bob would’ve done anything to make it disappear. “It’s okay. I-I get them too.”

That was the first time you’d come to him in a moment like that, and it wasn’t the last. The story of Wundagore, the moment you’d blipped back into the world just to watch Tony die, to learn Natasha had sacrificed herself. You came to him through every nightmare, sneaking him out as if your body needed Bob in order to breathe again. And he did the same, recounting every dark moment of his life that haunted him.

It was as if, after finally speaking into existence what that golden thread was that strung you both together, it was sealed. There was no going back: you needed each other, and you always would.

“Did I mention how good you look in this?” your question broke him from his thoughts. Bob glanced over at you, away from the photos that hung on the wall before him, and gave you a shy smile.

“O-Once, but it is nice to hear,” Bob stole a glance down at himself. “I don’t dress like this much.”

You hummed, unraveling yourself from Bob’s side to stand in front of him, adjusting his dress shirt as it had shifted awkwardly beneath the weight of his suit jacket. Your eyes never left his, and his never left yours. Bob didn’t even think about the number of cameras that were probably in the room covering this event, that were probably taking photos right now that the public would see. If anything, they’d probably make Valentina happy. ‘Good optics’ or whatever is she usually said.

“I think I might prefer you in the sweatshirts, though,” you teased, getting a slight laugh out of Bob.

“Me too. E-Except, you did steal my favorite one…”

“Oh I did,” once his shirt was properly adjusted, you’d fit yourself right back into his side, hand resting on his shoulder. When Bob hesitated for just a second, you laughed, taking his arm and resting it around your waist, a promise in your eyes that it was okay. “You aren’t getting that one back, by the way. Smells like you, it’s nice for when I’m not around you.”

There it was again, that feeling in his soul. Whatever this was you were feeling, that he was feeling now, was something he couldn’t place. It was different from anything else, different from the way he felt your joy and laughter deep within his bones. He felt this in his soul, in his heart, in his very being. It engulfed it, set him at ease, and whatever it was had his feelings dangling right at the edge of his lips.

“Hey, I-I wanted to ask you about, uh, about the-”

“Wow! Is this the infamous Bob you don’t shut up about on every single FaceTime call? Damn, I didn’t think he’d be this tall,”

Bob had seen this guy before, in photos that you’d shown him. Joaquín Torres, the new Falcon. Maybe only a year or two younger than Bob, with an infectious personality. He donned an army green suit, one that matched his flight suit that he typically wore, and he carried himself with a confidence that Bob could only wish he had.

“Quin-”

“Sorry, was I not supposed to mention the way you gush about him?”

Bob could only watch, slightly nervous but with an amused smile anyway, as you unwrapped yourself from his side again, swatting your friend and teammate on the shoulder with what he knew was a partially real exasperated look on your face.

“You promised you’d be nice,”

“I am being nice! Not every day you meet your friend’s âme sœur,” the man quickly dodged the next slap from you with a laugh, instead reaching his hand out for Bob’s with a friendly grin. “Nice to finally meet you, Bob.”

Bob hesitated, just for a moment. Touching the team was one thing, touching you was one thing. He was no longer terrified that the Void wasn’t somehow just lurking on the edges of him, that he wouldn’t bleed into the mind of his team and the woman he loved and make them see the most horrendous moments of their lives. Someone new…that was something different entirely.

But you gave him a small, encouraging smile, one that screamed ‘you got this,’ and he took Joaquín’s hand firmly.

“N-Nice to meet you, too. She’s told me a lot about you,”

“About my charming good looks and about how I’m a kick ass Falcon?” his gaze drifted to you for a moment, ‘tsking’ at the unimpressed look on your face. “Oh come on, I’m a kick ass Falcon!”

“I-I’ve seen videos,” Bob chimed back in, nodding his head with a tiny grin. “You are. That stuff in the air…it’s pretty cool.”

Joaquín grinned, snapping his fingers as he pointed toward Bob, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“See? He gets it. I’m going to steal him from you, make him my new best friend-”

“Joaquín, I thought I told you to leave them alone for a bit,”

This was a face that Bob could easily recognize. Sam Wilson, standing in all his glory between both you and Joaquín, adorning a dark blue suit. Bob swallowed the lump in his throat, trying to stand just slightly taller in the presence of the Captain America himself.

“I was just introducing myself!”

“He was being a pest,” you deadpanned, an unimpressed look on your face as Joaquín pointed a finger in your direction.

“I’m your favorite pest, don’t forget that-”

“You both are adults, why do you act like children?”

“Because little Miss Magic over here disappeared to the city for two months, I’ve missed her!”

Even witnessing this brief conversation, Bob relaxed slightly. This was your family. Just as Bucky and the others were his, these two were yours. They were your team, the people you trusted with your life, and yet you argued just like his own family did. It made him smile, seeing yet another side of you that had his heart bursting with affection, and judging by the side look you shot him and the grin quirking up on your lips, you’d felt it too.

“Okay, Bob and I are going to go enjoy our night,” you finally cut in to the bickering of the two men, wrapping yourself back around Bob’s arm and sliding your fingers back through his. You sent a pointed look Sam’s way. “Have you talked to Bucky yet?”

Sam sighed, rubbing at his temple as Joaquín clapped him on the shoulder.

“Nope, he’s being a chicken about it. Thinks it’s going to be awkward-”

“We’re going to go find and talk to him right now,” Sam cut in through gritted teeth, grabbing his Falcon by the back of his suit and dragging him slightly backward. Sam’s eyes shot to Bob, softening just for a second as he gave him a nod. “Nice to meet you, Bob. Sorry you had to witness this one’s extrovertedness.”

Bob hadn’t even gotten to reply before Sam had dragged Joaquín away like a scolded child. The second they were out of earshot, your head dropped to Bob’s shoulder with a groan that shifted into a laugh.

“God, I’m so sorry about those two. Frankly, they’re embarrassing sometimes,”

“I-It’s okay,” Bob laughed with you, eyes locked with yours as you finally stood back up. “They’re your family.”

“They are, as painful as they are,” you watched him for a moment, something dancing in your eyes, as you stood a bit straighter. “Before they interuppted…there was something you wanted to talk about?”

Bob’s ears burned red as he quickly looked away, shaking his head and clearing his throat.

“Oh, that. Uh…no, i-it���s nothing. Don’t worry about it,”

Bob knew better, he knew you better. He could feel you, and you could feel him. And with the thought of anxiety rushing through him, it was clear that he was lying.

Your hand only squeezed his in response, a soft smile on your lips when he finally turned back to you, as you nodded your head down a hallway.

“Come with me,”

He’d follow you anywhere, that much Bob was sure of.

With the main exhibition long behind you, you guided Bob by the hand through the rest of the museum like a woman on a mission, and he was just along for the ride. Every door you’d come across, you’d peek inside, before muttering something about it ‘not being good enough’ and dragging Bob further through the dark museum, the party long forgotten.

Floors above that party is when you’d finally found a room that worked, and pulled Bob inside and shut the door. It was one of the offices, that much was clear by the many desks and the way the room was simply illuminated by the glow of the desktops on each desk. And when Bob turned his attention back to you, you were waiting expectantly with a smile.

“W-What are we doing up here?”

“I want to bring you somewhere,” your voice was soft as you held out your hands. “I just need you to trust me.”

He did. Bob trusted you more than anyone, and by the way your smile grew he knew you could feel it. He placed his hands in yours, glancing down at them, and when he’d looked back up, your eyes had gone entirely white, something he’d only seen in old video clips from battle.

The room instantly lit up as tendrils of white magic seeped through the room. They covered everything: the walls, the floors, each and every desk. But they left you both untouched; they simply moved until they’d coated the entire room. And the second the white left your eyes, the white of the room left, too, but you were no longer in the office room you’d been in before.

Bob stood on a dock, right by the railing overlooking the lake before him. The water rippled lightly as fish swam through, the trees surrounding the dock and just across the lake rustled in the wind that he could feel on his skin. And when he’d turned around, Bob’s breath caught.

“The…t-this is the Avengers Compound,” Bob’s eyes were wide in wonder, looking out over the building that stood as a testament to all the heroes that had dedicated their lives to saving the world. When his gaze drifted to you, he tilted his head in confusion. “But…didn’t it get destroyed?”

“It did. We’re in a hex,” to show him, you joined him at the railing, reaching out your hand. Just a few inches over the railing, your hand fell flat in midair, a shimmering white wall of magic stopping you from reaching any further. “Don’t worry, it’s contained to just this room, we’re the only ones in it. It’s all real, technically just a little warped reality. This used to be my happy place, where I’d come to think, to just put my crazy life behind me for a minute. I always felt safe here.”

Bob mimicked you, leaning against the railing beside you. He reached his hand out, feeling the faint hum of your magic as it stopped his hand from reaching further.

“W-Why bring me here?”

“Because there’s something you’ve been wanting to tell me, to talk to me about. I can feel it,” you’d told him simply. “And I wanted you to have somewhere safe to tell me. Somewhere Sam wouldn’t interrupt, or John and Ava wouldn’t start an argument, or a room full of reporters and politicians wouldn’t be listening. I just wanted you to feel safe enough to talk to me.”

This was it, the chance to be honest, to confess. But somewhere, deep in the back of his head, he could feel The Void. He could feel it taunting him, telling him you didn’t want him. Why would you want him? You could have anyone in the world; the only reason you wanted him was because destiny had tied you together. Surely, if you had the chance, you’d pick anyone else. You were a hero; the world looked to you as a savior; he was just a broken man, lucky enough to be attached to you.

Those anxieties clouded his mind, and they seeped over into you. So you put your hand over his, and his mind unclouded just enough to start the conversation.

“Y-You told me…that we’re whatever we decided we want to be,”

“I did,”

“So,” he turned his head just slightly, to see that you were already looking at him. “W-What do you want to be?”

“I’ll tell you, when you answer one question,” you took your hand off of his, cupping his cheek, and Bob leaned into the warm feeling against his skin. “When we’re reading, or walking around town, or even the nights I’m crying in your arms…I feel it in me: that warmth, that adoration. Tell me, Bob, is that just affection? Or…is it love?”

His breath caught just for a moment, and somewhere in the back of his head, he could hear Bucky yelling at him once again. So, he straightened himself and nodded his head.

“Love…it’s love. Because I-I love you,” the second the words left him, it was like a weight had lifted off his shoulders, just like the one that lifted off yours. “I knew it that day, when you t-told me about this. I think I knew it before then, too, but uh…I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve never loved s-someone, not like you. I love the quiet moments, when y-you’re reading a book with me. Or when you pull me down on the couch and make me watch a movie. I-I knew the first time I saw you cry, and knew I never wanted to see that again. A-And I know we, uh, we aren’t forced to feel like this. We can choose, but…but it doesn’t feel like I can. I-It feels like I’m supposed to, like I was made to love you…”

Bob finally took a breath, word-vomiting every single thing he’d thought since the night he realized he loved you, and all you did was smile. Your hand left his cheek, trailing down his chest and resting right above his heart, and you took a small step closer.

“I know. Because I can feel it. In my soul, in my heart, in the very fabric of my being,” his breath hitched at the way you described that feeling, and your grin widened. “You know the feeling, because you get it too. When I look at you, when I’m around you…they feel the same, because it’s love, Bob. I love you, too. Maybe we get to choose what we are to each other, but you’re right, it doesn’t feel like a choice. Because whatever cosmic force designed us and split us apart…it made us lovers, that much I know for sure.”

That was like the breaking of the dam. If the acknowledgement of the soulmate tie was the crack, every moment after had just grown that crack inch by inch. But those three little words, they broke the dam: I love you.

Bob didn’t know what came over him, what shot of pure confidence shot through him when his hands reached out and cupped your cheeks. All he knew was he loved you, you loved him, and he needed you more than he needed air.

Bob takes the first step and presses his lips to yours, and it’s as if everything in the universe finally makes sense again. It’s foreign, but familiar at the same time. You’d never kissed one another, but the second your lips touched, it felt right, like you’d done it a thousand times before.

It’s desperate, it’s passionate, but so gentle and loving in a balance that somehow only Bob Reynolds can achieve. Unspoken longing and desperation mixed with pure love and adoration, a clash of lips moving feverishly against one another as if there’s nothing else needed in the world but this moment, this kiss.

There, shrouded from the world together in your own little moment physically made of magic, it’s as if the universe itself is celebrating that its broken star has finally been made whole again.

TAGLIST: @cypherpt5fttaehyung @dark-silhouette @greenbean-4ever @qardasngan @one17 @nutellajade @etheralponygirl @spencerreidswifexd @alexwinchester23 @am1525 @artistadistrada2002 @blackoutdays13 @roseeatta @foreverchangingmind @thecraziestcrayon

[dmitriene]

simon ghost riley knows every nook and cranny of your body better than you could've, despite being born in this shell of thin, sensitive skin, his hands long memorized where to press, pull and carve with stinging, dull nails, how to wrap around his very calloused finger and twist in till you sing with your back rippling in a broken, tethering bowstring line, the blinding lights of black and white playing in front of your fading vision, lips parted open to call him.

a man that shies off any tender touch that comes upon him, has you at his hands none but pliable and always willing, has control over his touch, knows when to squeeze until dents appear in your flesh, and when to soften and smooth his palm down in a stroke, simon knows you better than his favorite gun, better than the strategy for his next mission, keeps a place dedicated for you in the corner of his mind that seems only to grow, or was it that big from the very start.

you feel it, flowing through to stay low inside your warm, full belly, when his chapped, nicked lips linger on some little spots of your skin, a mole here, a birthmark there, a scar, a stretch mark, tender and reverent in the way each kiss travels over your very being, as if worshipping some small, unimportant part of you, small, silly, a part of you that had gone long forgotten, or hated, but loved by his questing mouth, his bleeding heart.

the smell of him, roughened, masculine with smoke, gunpowder, bitter cologne, is what makes your head swim any lingering, hiding thoughts growing hazy and dissipating, the weight of him, heavy with firm muscle and all his bulk, pinning you down, displayed, sprawled for his hungry, sharp fanged mouth, finding the line of your collarbone, making you bare your throat for him, the lip press against your racing pulse, turning you drunk on the sensation, any courage deserting you in the face of the intensity of simon's attention.

simon is the one, to make your kiss swollen lips part in a shuddering, begging keens, to make your teeth's sink sharp and drawing in the pillow of your lower lip, but the sounds won't be silenced for long, spilling raw and honey dripping down his ears as he greedily drinks in every sound, the paint of you, beautifully, willingly exposed to his heavy, coppered umber eyes, each wordless convulsion that wracks your body, pressed flush against his, with sopping slick pooling out from where you're wet, sensitive flesh splits open and stretches to take in every swollen inch he's providing.

he pulls you apart and back together with precised knowledge, fucks in the tight, gooey clutches of your rippling cunt with greed, pulling you on the pulsing length of his fat, curved cock, rough, downward movements to the wiry base of him that makes you gasp, choke on the heavy weight that presses on your stomach, each thrust punctuated by the loud, sharp snap of muscular, ivory scarred hipbones on slowly bruising, burning hot skin.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[creati-bunny]

ACTOR! GOJO SATORU SEETHES IN JEALOUSY WHILE HE WATCHES YOU PASSIONATELY MAKEOUT WITH ACTOR! GETO SUGURU. It was making him batshit crazy when he read the script and found out that a scene where you and Suguru have to make out for the plot; an innocent cuddle session with your best friend—leading to a supposed sex scene. Satoru has never felt so furious that he has no control over the flow of the plot; he is the main lead, so why does Suguru get the best part?

It was never his intention to fall in love with you, his co-actress. Although you were one of the beauties, it was your aloof attitude that he became smitten with. Many of his co-actors and actresses knew that Satoru tended to have casual flirtations with them—leading to them hooking up with him and even stupidly falling for him; you were not an exception to his advances.

Except this time, it was him who fell for you. Satoru became obsessed with the thought of him chasing you. How would you know about his true damn feelings when he keeps them a secret, acting as if one glance from you will not melt him into a puddle?

“Nngh..”

You let out a muffled pleased moan, your arms wrap around Suguru’s neck while both of your lips are connected to each other. The loud smacking and exchanging of saliva can heavily be heard by everyone with how close the mic is. The vein on Satoru’s neck twitched, glaring at the scene with despise. His vibrant blue eyes bore holes into the sly hands of Suguru’s, which are already fondling the soft skin of your waist. The grip on his water bottle tightened immensely, seeing how the steamy makeout session progressively becomes hotter—Suguru’s hands are dragging you towards the bedroom, his lips attaching to the sensitive pulse point of your neck.

“Beautiful..”

Damn right, you are.

Suguru takes off his shirt, your eyes scanning over his toned body; you licked your lower lip, before your eyes meet his gorgeous purple ones. Your makeout session quickly turned steamier—letting Suguru’s hands take off your clothes, revealing your lacy black bra and panties that made Suguru’s eyes roll back with how sexy you look. Both of you were not following the script anymore, letting the two of you just be with the flow of the scene.

Suguru does not know how lucky he is, Satoru thinks. Breaking down the aloof facade of the actress he is sweet on is one of the goals Satoru needs to succeed in his life. He is supposed to be the one pleasuring you, already forgetting the fact that you two are only acting.

The veins on Satoru’s forehead became visible and twitching, watching how Suguru drags his tongue over your sternum down to your stomach and even lower, making you enclose your thighs around his head. The angle of the camera cannot capture the moment after Suguru takes off your panties and kisses your inner thighs—the lower parts of your bodies were hidden by a blanket, just right enough to cover your lower stomach; the scene giving an impression that Suguru is giving you head. With how you tug his hair, and your hips were bucking up while his thick fingers grip your thighs firmly, Suguru is having way too much fun in smelling your cunt and leaving a mark in your right inner thigh—which he is not supposed to do; but shit, you are too damn good at this.

Satoru gulps the saliva down his throat, seeing Suguru unclasp your bra, revealing your breasts—fuck, they are gorgeous. Your nipples are perked up, and he hopes it is due to the cool air of the scenery, not because you were fucking turned on by Suguru’s humping. Satoru crosses his legs, acting pissy while trying to hide the growing problem in his pants.

When Suguru’s lips wrapped around one of your nipples, you bite your lip to muffle your delicious whimpers, secretly getting turned on with how good he can make you feel—Satoru cannot fathom the way his cheeks are heating up, the infuriating constriction of his briefs around his dick increased as he fully became hard; you did not care about the eyes watching you two pretend to have sex, when in fact, you can feel Suguru’s intention to make this real. He drags his lips over your ear, whispering something that does not reach the mic.

“I want you…”

Suguru pressed his lips against yours before his hips made a circular grinding motion, making you let out a shaky breath at the friction. The two of you were already humping, grinding—acting as if Suguru was already thrusting his cock inside you; you let out a gasp, feeling his clothed cock harden, desperate to make his way inside your pussy. Suguru’s hands were enclosed with yours; he looked at you with a lazy, handsome smirk, knowing you could feel his boner brushing against your pussy lips; god, why did he take off your panties? What’s more, he was not wearing a genital guard. His bulge brushes against the evidence of your arousal, his briefs were not enough to conceal its girth; it did not help that it arouses you even further. Suguru bit his lip, a sultry groan was threatening its way out of his mouth—as you’re not the only one who is feeling good.

Satoru tries to control himself from whipping his dick out and rubbing himself. Your moans sound too breathy and realistic for it to be acting; with the unscripted sweat forming on your forehead and Suguru’s, he felt enraged knowing what was going on was real. He gritted his teeth in jealousy, oh how he wished to punch the lucky bastard in the face.

The climax hits, as both you and Suguru let out moans and groans, signaling that both of you have reached your orgasm. However, Suguru did not stop; he attaches his lips once again over yours, prodding his tongue inside your mouth—his hands make their way over to your waist, one of his hands itch to get a feel of your pussy. His eyes glinted in amusement, feeling the wet texture of your pussy lips meet his fingers; you let out a whine, feeling embarrassed when his thumb brushes against your clit once.

Oh, he will have fun with you and Satoru later.

“Cut!”

image is by sugu_ruu_ on X

[frogbogus]

‎‧₊˚ ✧ LOVE AND DEEPSPACE SYLUS ✧‧₊˚

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You’re injured during a car shoot out and try your best to hide it from Sylus.

This is PART 2 to this post: SYLUS - please read part 1 before continuing.

a couple of people requested a part 2 so, of course, i happily obliged. i hope this post finds its way to them, and i hope it’s up to your expectations. <3

[ Based ONLY on the TRAILER to the Death and Rebirth main story update ]

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In the darkness of your mind you hear a deep, resonant hum rumbling, like a lullaby sung by the earth itself. You can’t help but be drawn towards the sound, something about it is alluring. Almost as if it’s guiding you, grasping you with its chords.

Your eyes open slowly, squinting as you take in the surroundings. Your hands twitch and you feel a soft plush blanket along your finger tips. The dark red interior was the first thing you noticed, how meticulously every decoration is placed, the way the moonlight shines through the large window to your right. Your eyes follow the moons rays across the room, to reveal a silhouette sat on a couch in the corner.

‘’I was wondering how long it was going to take for you to notice me.’’ Sylus states with a small, teasing smirk curling at the edge of his lips. Two red embers glow in the darkness of the room, and though they would have frightened others, they only pulled you closer—familiar, warm, and impossibly tender.

‘’Was that you humming?’’ Comes a mere whisper from your mouth, before he could respond you add, ‘’It sounded beautiful.’’ Sylus stands up then, with a grace only he could adorn, and walks towards you to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

‘’How are you feeling?’’ His hand reaches up to your forehead, then to your cheek where it lingers for a moment before he pulls away. With him this close, you notice the faint pink tint to the top of his ears — Is he embarrassed?

‘’I feel… surprisingly good.’’ You state as you breathe a sigh of relief and go to lift yourself up to a sitting position, but his large hand grips your shoulders gently, ‘’Be careful, take it slow.’’ His eyebrows furrowing as he helps you sit upright.

‘’I’m really okay, Sylus… Thank you so much. How can I ever repay you?’’ You lock eyes with him, your eyes full of appreciation. ‘’Repay me?’’ He lets out a low chuckle, gentle and rich, like velvet brushing against your senses. ‘’You owe me nothing,’’ he says softly. ‘’Your heartbeat is my reward.’’

He grabs a glass of water and swiftly places the rim along your lower lip, ‘’Drink.’’ His red eyes bore into yours. You know you’re perfectly capable of just drinking it yourself but something in you halts, allowing you to just give into the temptation. Allowing him to fully take care of you, as he wanted to. His other hand slithers its way to the back of your head, tilting it upwards ever so slightly, allowing the water to flow freely into your mouth. You were so thirsty, surrendering yourself completely to the stream, letting it spill across your tongue and down your throat.

He pulls the glass away, placing it on the bedside table. You go to wipe your mouth but his thumb is already there wiping the water from your lip, the pad of his thumb ghosting over your skin like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. His touch was slow, deliberately slow. His gaze lingers on your lips for what feels like minutes, before finally snapping up to your eyes.

‘’Good,’’ Sylus breathed out, his thumb brushing just slightly along your lip as he said it. The word came out slow, controlled, like he was holding back far more than just words. A strained exhale escapes his mouth as he moves away, standing up, towering over you. ‘’If you need me…Don’t be afraid to call out my name.’’ With that he starts walking towards the door, his hand reaching for the handle, ‘’You’re leaving?’’ The words slip out of your mouth before you can think, the disappointment more evident than you hoped.

The pace in which he turned his head to look back to you is almost humorous, like he was secretly hoping you’d say exactly that. ‘’You want me to stay?’’ His words are careful, as if he doesn’t want to scare away a stray kitten. You nod faintly, feeling shy under his gaze.

He reaches his hand to his mouth pretending to be in deep thought, but really he’s just trying to hide the soft smile that has appeared in his face. He couldn’t help it. You were… undoubtedly Cute. ‘’Okay then,’’ He starts walking towards the bed once more, ‘’I hope you weren’t expecting me to sleep on that couch. It is very uncomfortable.’’

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, ‘’No - Of course not, this is your bed. Only makes sense for you to.. sleep in it.’’ You shimmy over slightly to make room for him and tap the mattress, a giggle about to escape your lips at how bizarre this situation is. You’re in Sylus’ bed. The leader of Onychinus. And now you’re about to be in his bed together.

He carefully peels back the cover and slides into the bed, right next to you. He’s laid still, one arm folded under his head as he stares off at the ever so interesting wall ahead of him. Sure, you’ll admit, there’s a slight awkwardness in the air, a weird innocence, nervousness. But it’s comfortable. You feel safe.

You go to lean on your side so you can face him, ready to start a conversation, but you wince out as you move your right shoulder. He reacts in an instant, facing you and warily hovering his hand over your injured arm. ‘’I told you.. To take it slow.’’ He states, his voice etched with concern. He begins to move slowly, and repositions his free arm under your head, becoming a makeshift pillow. Noticing your injured arm awkwardly laying against the side of your body, he takes a hold of it gently, ‘’Here, put your arm over my chest.’’

‘’Thank you…‘’ You sheepishly say as you allow yourself to mould against him. This feels nice. You tilt your head up to him, he’s already looking at you. His gaze softening. He feels a sense of pride and protectiveness as he looks at you. ‘’Can you hum for me?’’ You blink up at him expectantly, you know it’s a silly request, but he truly sounded beautiful.

He sighs, opening his mouth, then closing it again. He was about to decline. But how can he? How can he ever resist you? He begins to hum under his breath, the deep timbre of his voice wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. A quiet song only you get to hear. The vibrations of his chest begins to lull you to sleep. Your eyes drooping and before you know it, you’re in a deep sleep.

Sylus’ eyes have also drifted closed as he continues his humming, the warmth of your body against him offering the most comfort he has ever experienced. He’s never felt so… human. He opens his eyes slightly, glancing down to your sleeping form. A faint smile on his face as he leans down to plant a kiss atop of your head. ‘’Goodnight.’’ He whispers to you, inhaling your scent as he does so and the worries fade away as he gives into the best sleep he’s ever had.

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thank you so much for reading. i love writing Sylus. i hope i captured his true essence. i have yet to proof read this; so if there’s any errors i apologise.

[0097linersb]

Sour Candy (m)

Pairings: Mingi x Reader

Genre: Smut

Word count: 5k~

Warnings: Very very very needy Mingi, wouldn't say exactly sub!mingi but kind of sub!mingi u know, good boi´s just very desperate. consent lines are kind of blurred in this one so pls skip if it makes u uncomfortable, this was just written in like an hour with absolutely no thoughts or grammar-checking, head empty only filled with crying whiny men <3

Follow me on twitter: wooyosgfreal <3

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“What time did Yunho say he was coming back again?” You asked for about the fourth time that afternoon. 

“In like an hour or two,” Mingi answered patiently like he did all the other times you asked before. “Bro, why do you hate me?” 

“Because you keep making me play this boring game and it really fucking sucks.” 

“That´s just because you´re bad at it.” 

“You´re literally worse than me.” 

“Maybe modernity was wrong all along, maybe women really shouldn´t be allowed to have opinions.” 

“It is a fact, not an opinion. Maybe you men should still be in planes being shipped off to war and leave us alone.” 

“Fine. Do you want to play something else, princess?” 

“Let´s play Overcooked,” You squealed.  

Mingi didn´t even groan this time when you mentioned the game you and Seonghwa were obsessing over lately, simply going back to the home screen on Yunho´s Playstation and looking for the colorful icon. He knew there was no arguing with you. 

While the game was loading, Mingi handed you the main controller and stood up, fixing his shirt that had scrunched up and stretching his back, “Set everything up, I´m gonna go find some snacks.” 

You happily did as told, driving your little animated truck towards the level you had last failed at and playing with your phone to wait for your friend, at least until your vision was blocked by said friend pushing a red plastic bag in front of your face. 

“What´s that?” You asked, already reaching into the bag and picking up one of the soft candies inside. 

Mingi simply shrugged, already chewing on one of the jellies, “Dunno, found them in the kitchen. They´re pretty good though.” 

You trusted his words, popping the candy into your mouth and waiting for the flavors to kick in - and hell you wish you didn´t. 

“Oh my god this is disgusting,” Your face contorts in distaste. 

“It´s cinnamon,” Mingi stares you down, clearly not amused.  

“Yeah, with candle wax. Ew.” 

“Just swallow it and stop being a baby.” 

“I will literally kill myself.” 

He gave you another judgmental glare and sat down next to you on the couch once again, already reaching for his third candy from hell as you forced yourself to let it slide down your throat. You handed him the main remote and picked up the secondary one, coughing to see if flowing some air into your lungs would get the taste of rotten papaya out of your mouth.  

“Maybe it´s poison that Yunho left out as a trap because you keep stealing his food.” 

“Nah, it was right on top of the counter,” He waved it off, pressing play on the game. 

“My point stands.” 

“Yeah, whatever.” 

“You´re very eloquent today.” 

“You´re very annoying today.” 

“The salmon Mingi, the fucking salmon!!” 

“I´m getting it!” 

“Bro, you gotta throw it!” 

“Fuck. I know, but if I leave the fucking rice is going to burn.” 

“I´m throwing you more rice.” 

“I don´t need it.” 

“Yes, you do. Oh my god.” 

“What I do need are some clean plates.” 

“Oh, yeah. On it.” 

“Why do you like this game?” He groaned, cleaning the sweat from his forehead and reaching for another candy in the bag. “You´re making me stress eat.” 

“Doesn´t it make you feel pumped?”  

“Yeah, pumped to punch the TV.” 

“We have one more minute, we can do it if you stop being dumb.” 

“There are literally two plates on the counter ready to go and you haven´t delivered them yet.” 

“Jeez, done. Can you slice me some tomatoes?” 

“One sec,” He answered, mouth full of yet another candy. 

“It would be faster if you would just stop eating.” 

“We´re not making it anyways, let me enjoy one thing at least.” 

And he was right: a few seconds later the TV screen was filled with the sad numbers displaying how you didn´t reach the minimum score - didn´t even come close to it in fact. 

Mingi let out his frustrations by popping the nth white jelly past his lips and you stared at him in disgust, reaching for the bag to understand what that malevolent creation even was.  

“Huh...” 

“What?” He asked. 

“Hm, I mean, this is all in German or Dutch but I´m pretty sure this word means aphrodisiac.” 

“Come again?” His mouth was hanging open mid chew, unblinking eyes staring at you. 

“Hm, yeah. Wasn´t Yunho´s friend just in Amsterdam? The one with the big smile? Maybe he brought those as a souvenir, since you know, it´s Amsterdam. Like, ‘haha look at this candy that makes you horny´.” 

“Oh, yeah. But it´s like a placebo touristy thing, right?” He laughed nervously. “Like, these won´t actually make me horny, right?” 

“Nah, I don´t think this kind of stuff works. It´s probably just for shit and giggles. Do you feel any different?” 

“I don´t know, my heart is beating faster. I think I´m going to die.” 

“Mingi, relax. Now it´s probably just because you´re nervous.” 

“No, what if there´s some kind of drug in these? I ate almost 10 of them! Oh my god I´m going to die. Am I going to overdose, Y/N? What if I start hallucinating?” 

He was being a bit overdramatic, but he did have genuine concerns. 

“Wait, let me call Yunho.” 

Mingi didn´t even hear you, too busy at his own pity party as he whined and stared at the bag´s labels like he could suddenly speak Dutch.  

“Y/N?” Yunho´s voice filled your ears. 

“Hm, hi. Sorry to bother you at work but we´ve kind of got a situation.” 

“Oh my god, did Mingi break my door playing with the bar? I already told him-” 

“No, nothing like that. Huh, do you know that candy that you left on the kitchen counter?” 

“What? No. What cand- Oh. Oh.” 

“Huh, yeah. So... Mingi found it and ate like 10 of them?” 

“Y/N.” 

“Is that bad? He´s kind of freaking out, he´s afraid there´s like drugs in them or something.” 

“There are some stimulants in them but like, in minor quantities. He won´t die because of it. But bro, bro.” 

“What?” You whined, Yunho´s tone making you anxious. 

“He had 10 of them? San had like 3 and said he was at it for hours.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

“So I guess these do work, huh?” 

“Haven´t tried them, but from what San says it´s some strong shit. Did you take any?” 

“Just like one, tastes like organic trash.” 

“Yeah, good. Let me know how it goes, please just stay out of my bedroom.” 

“Your bedroom? Why would- What are you trying to imply, Jeong Yunho?” 

“Oh shit, client calling. Byeee,” He laughed. “Stupid.” 

As soon as you put your phone away, Mingi stopped talking to himself like a mad man and stared at you with big hopeful eyes. 

“I have good news and bad news.” 

“Am I going to die?” 

“That´s the good news: no, you´re not. No.” 

“And what are the bad news?” 

“Apparently you will get very horny, though.” 

He froze at your words, looking down at his pants, “I don´t feel it, though.” 

“Maybe you won´t, it might be different for everyone,” You shrug, standing up and grabbing your sweater. “All I know is that I am leaving because if it does happen, that´s not a sight I want to be here for.” 

“Please no,” Mingi whined, literally throwing himself on his knees to catch your arm before you could walk away. “Don´t leave me alone here. I just ingested unknown substances, what if my body reacts badly and I actually die? What if I throw up and drown in my own puke here all alone?” 

Once again, over-dramatic but right.  

“Yeah, you´re right,” You sighed. “I would still rather die than see you with a boner so here´s what we´re gonna do: I´m locking myself in Yunho´s room and you can freely roam the apartment and do whatever you want, I´ll check up on you every few minutes. Sounds good?” 

“Yeah, ok,” Mingi agreed. 

“Also, if you´re going to like - ” You motioned vaguely towards his pants hoping he would get what you were trying to say. “Give me a heads up so I can put on some earphones.” 

“Oh my god,” He whined in shame, cheeks going flush. “Yeah, ok.” 

“Ok, good. Huh, bye,” You awkwardly waved as you made your way towards Yunho´s room. “Good luck.” 

You closed the door behind you, hearing as Mingi opened some other game back in the living room. There was not much to do in Yunho´s room so you decided to lay in bed and scroll through Tiktok until Mingi stopped thinking he was going to die and you could leave. Also, you did eat one of the candies too, so you guessed that if they did work, you would feel it as well. 

10 minutes later you still heard Mingi normally playing and cursing outside, but you still decided to yell out an “Everything good?” just to be sure. 

“Yeah!” Was his answer. 

Another 15 minutes went by, and you shot him a text. 

Not dead yet? 

Mings: Still good, I don´t think these things actually work. 

Maybe Yunho was just messing with us.  

Mings: Yeah, fucking asshole. 

You went back to watching your silly little videos, not even noticing the time passing or how everything suddenly went quiet outside. Over half an hour had gone by when your ears finally perked up at the lack of your friend´s loudness.  

You sat up in bed worried. 

You good? 

No answer. 

Mingi? 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You were already picturing his dead body looking all stupid on Yunho´s carpet, thinking about how you were going to explain to the paramedics that he died because he ate too much horny candy.  

No, even worse: How would you explain this to his family? 

Oh, no. Not your best friend. How would you live without him? You liked teasing him and you bickered a lot but you love- 

Your little spiral of insanity was interrupted by a knock on the door and your body was finally able to move after how it had been paralyzed with fear for a few minutes. 

“Mingi?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Oh, thank god. You scared the shit out of me,” You took a deep breath in relief, staring at Yunho´s white door. “What´s up?” 

“Huh, can I come in?” 

You furrowed your eyebrows at his tone.  

Something sounded weird about this.  

“Sure,” You answered skeptically.  

Mingi opened the door and came in, head cast down and gaze not meeting your eyes. 

“What´s wrong-” You started asking worriedly, about to jump out of the bed to go check up on him before your eyes finally zeroed in on the very prominent bulge in his pants. “Song Mingi! What the fuck?” 

“I- I don´t know what to do,” His eyes finally met yours, cheeks tinted in pink and hands trembling. He looked at you like a kicked puppy.  

“And what do I have to do with it? Go deal with it yourself. Eeew, we talked about this,” You raised your hand in the air to try and block the bottom half of Mingi from your line of vision.  

“I already did,” He groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. “Twice.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Nothing fucking works - and also, I just can´t stop thinking about you.” 

“What?” You never heard your voice go so high before. “Nuh uh, we´re not going there. Absolutely not.” 

“I´m not happy about it either, ok?” His fingers were squeezing the corner of the door so thigh they were almost white. “Just please, help me out this once. Please.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You just prayed that the reason you started clenching around nothing was because the candy was finally kicking in and not because stupid Song Mingi was practically begging in front of you. 

“No!” You screeched, weirded out by your own sudden reaction. “This isn´t you talking, it´s just th stupid candy, you´ll regret it after it wears off -” 

“No but I won´t,” He disagreed, closing the door and rushing towards you like a madman in three large strides. 

You had never seen him like this, you never once in a million years could have gone as far as even imagining the look in his eyes right now. 

“Fuck. It´s just - your skin is so soft, you know?” Mingi pushed the covers to the side so his hand could squeeze your thigh, his knees dipping into the mattress as he crawled on top of you. You were too shocked to move away, frozen in place with your mouth open wide, not really knowing what to do as he rubbed the palm of his hands up and down your skin, squeezing it occasionally with a heavy breath like he had just reached heaven´s gate. 

“Mingi,” You warned, but your voice didn´t sound that threatening anymore. 

“Please, just once,” He breathed out, practically rubbing himself against your body like a cat in heat forcing you to slowly lie back in the bed, his hands gently guiding yours over your head as you slid down. You looked up at his glazed eyes, at the way his hands were shaking around your wrists, the way he was discreetly rutting against your thigh without even realizing he was doing it. He looked so vulnerable and frenzied – And it was doing something to you. 

“Mingi,” You whined, not even sure what you were trying to say or do. 

“You kept walking around with this white top all day,” He let out a broken groan, looking down at said top. “Your boobs look amazing in it. I just- I – Can I?” 

His begging eyes were enough to get you automatically nodding before even realizing what you were agreeing to - When you did process what he was asking for though, his right hand was already squeezing your boobs and kneading at them like his life depended on it, his calloused fingers firm on your body. You could feel how hard he was every time he subconsciously ground against you, shaky hot breaths leaving his lips and hitting the sensitive skin on the side of your neck where his plump soft lips kept lightly brushing against with every move. 

Mingi took advantage of the position, sucking against your vein and leaving pleas in the form of little kisses around your skin. His thumb played with your nipple and your hands were still abandoned on top of your head against the sheets, not sure if you would really let this happen yet - but Mingi didn´t seem to mind, too lost in worshipping you into compliance.  

“I need to fuck you. Like, right now. I´ll - I´ll make you feel good too, I promise,” The shakier and breathier his voice sounded the wetter you got. “I promise. I promise. Please. We -we don´t even need to fuck I can – I can – Let me – Just the tip- Anything-” 

“Just the tip?” 

“Yeah,” He eagerly nodded, his eyes so hopeful you could melt. 

“Ok,” You agreed, physically not being able to say no to his pleading eyes.  

“Fuck,” He groaned in surprise, not actually thinking you would agree to it - But since you did, he wasted no time and made quick work of practically ripping your cotton short down your legs in one harsh tug. “Under normal circumstances I would, you know – But, I – right now I – I can´t.” 

“It´s ok,” You assured, afraid he would actually cry if you made him wait another single second with how desperate he was. 

He hooked his finger on the bottom of your panties and pushed them to the side, not even being able to take them out. He stared at your pussy for a moment, his eyes looking even more insane than before at the sight, like he would actually growl at you. 

“Fuck,” Mingi cursed as he went out of the little trance he was in, pushing his sweater pants and boxers down in a rush - once again not even bothering with taking them all out.  

And oh fuck. 

His cock was so hard you could imagine how it actually hurt; it throbbed against the skin of his abdomen without even being touched, looking swollen and angry with all the veins surrounding it - And man were you glad you agreed on just the tip because there was just no way that would fit without a lot of preparation first. Even with how wet you were right now. Who knew? 

Mingi leaned on top of you once again, one arm supporting the weight of his body in between your legs as he gently guided his dick up and down your folds, his eyes closing at the feeling, a violent shiver taking over his thighs and up his spine with a loud groan.  

Like he had absolutely no control over his body, Mingi positioned himself against your entrance, slowly pushing just a little bit in as promised. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” His groans sounded so raw against your ear as he cursed over the initial resistance of your walls, his forehead meeting your neck to try and ground himself. 

You even let a moan out yourself because this was absolute madness, it felt insane. Your whole body was buzzing like you were electrified, your fingers ached to scratch Mingi´s back and pull him all the way in - Damn, those candies were good.  

And you only had one. 

“Y/N, fuck,” Mingi gasped as he started moving his hips in shallow little thrusts so he wouldn´t break your agreement. “Ah - Ah. I can´t think strai - You´re so pretty. Fuck, fuck.” 

His lips met your neck once again, messy kisses full of saliva and teeth as he shuddered on top of you, leaving marks that would soon turn purple. You could feel how tense every single muscle in his body was as he fought against himself to not rut deeper into you every time he moved, and you were biting onto your lip so hard to keep the noises inside that you could taste blood.  

“Thank you, thank you,” You shivered at the way cold air hit your neck when Mingi pulled back a bit to look you in the eye, “Can I go ah- a little deeper, please? Just a little. It feels so good, I need ah- more. Fuck.” 

“Mingi.” 

“Please,” He cried out and you just couldn´t believe the sight in front of you. 

Tall big strong Song Mingi with the deep voice, reduced to a disheveled delirious mess. His ashy blond hair rumpled, his cheeks burning pink and skin glistening with sweat, his pupils huge and shiny and he just looked so disheartened that it was breaking your heart to not let him just use you however he wanted.  

“I need you,” He agonized, his right arm clinging onto your shoulder like you would run away from him if you could, so out of it that he was already pushing deeper into you without even noticing, eyes shut so tightly at the sensation of your walls around him. “Please, please, please, please,” It was like a mantra. 

He was far gone. 

And kind of so were you. 

You whine in pain and raspy moans left Mingi´s soft lips every time he thrust back into you, hitting farther each time, “I´m sorry, baby. I´m sorry. You can take it right? Ah – Just a bit more, I promise. Fuck. I´m almost ah- in. Why do you smell so good? It´s driving me ah – insane.” 

It hurt, it did hurt, but you also didn´t seem to mind that he was practically splitting you open when his voice sounded this pretty apologizing for it. 

The speed and strength of his hips started picking up to match his urgency, his plush lips were open so captivatingly and his weight was now supported by both arms so he could pistol into you. He didn´t have a specific angle or rhythm to it, his moves were strictly instinctual and carnal, your nails finally finding your way down his back to keep yourself anchored to reality. 

“You´re so so so beautiful, fuck. Your lips - can´t stop thinking about them around my ah- cock. Will you show me?”  

You loved how broken his voice sounded. 

“Yeah, baby. Whatever you want.” 

He shuddered once again at your words, “I´m so close.” 

“Me too,” You nodded, still doing your very best to not let noises of pleasure escape past your lips – and kind of failing. 

“Let me hear you,” Mingi growls, managing to somehow snake his hand in between your bodies to start drawing quick circles on your clit. “Please, I love your voice.” 

You wouldn´t be able to hold back even if you wanted to.  

His chaotic rhythm had an appeal of its own, every broken moan that left his mouth drew you closer to the edge until you finally reached it. Your vision went black, nails digging into Mingi´s biceps so harshly you would feel bad for it later, every muscle in your body tightening as it all washed over you in a devastating wave, leaving your body in the form of gasps and breathy moans. 

“Oh my god, fuck,” Mingi cursed at the way your walls were clenching so tightly around him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

He wouldn´t slow down and you were still coming down from your high, twitching with the aftershocks as the oversensitivity quickly began to rise, but you decided to ignore it the best you couldand push through it - you could tell Mingi was close anyway with the way his thrusts became even more erratic, and his voice went up with every moan.  

You were mesmerized by his glossy unfocused eyes, the frown on his forehead, so frantic to get what he needed by ramming into you. He looked so pretty like this, you wanted to destroy him-  

Wow. 

Wait. 

Now where did that come from? 

“Shit, I´m gonna- Fuck, fuck.” 

You watched as his whole body froze for a second before violently shaking, his eyes shot so tightly he was probably seeing white as he continued thrusting into you to ride his orgasm to the end as you felt something warm hitting your walls. And his moans, oh his moans – I mean, you were not deaf, you had always been well-aware that Mingi had an attractive voice, but to hear it like this, so raw and relieved, was truly something else. 

Mingi let out one last broken cry as he slowly stopped moving, dropping his weight on top of you to catch his breath, chest heaving up and down against your ribcage as his muscles continued twitching here and there. You took advantage of the moment to get yourself together too, stabilizing your breathing and trying to figure out what the hell just happened as you two went down, but you also kind of expected Mingi to say something or try to joke around a bit to lessen the burden of the fact that the two of you just fucked - and when he didn´t, well, you started getting worried. 

You were mustering up the courage to say something after the two minutes of silence when the last thing you expected to happen, happened.  

Your eyes were blown wide, “Mingi-” 

“I can´t stop, I´m sorry-” He whined, his still rock-solid cock now slowly moving inside of you once again, rutting into you like he had absolutely no control over himself. 

He was still hard? 

Wasn´t this like his third time already? 

His whole body was shaking in overstimulation but he wouldn´t stop grinding into you, “I´m sorry.” 

“Mingi,” You tried pulling away from him thinking that´s what he was asking for. 

“No, don´t. Ah- Need you,” He desperately grabbed onto your thighs and wrapped them around his hips, your chests flushed against each other's as he hid his forehead on your neck to keep fucking deep into you. Literal whines of pain were leaving his lips, it was like he was an animal incapable of rational thoughts, and it was making you feel dizzy. 

“Mingi, love. You´re going to hurt yourself.” 

“No, feels so ah- Just one more,” He moaned, body shuddering. His whines got you clenching involuntarily around him, suddenly realizing you were kind of close to the edge already. “Please.” 

You felt a strong bite on your shoulder disguising a groan, the animalistic act crashed with how smoothly he was sliding in and out of you, but it also showed how deranged he was at the moment. You tightened your thighs around Mingi´s hips and pulled at the hair on his nape, not bothering with trying to cover up your moans anymore. 

Mingi took the action as permission and started gradually moving his hips faster, broken little whines getting louder and more frequent each second until he was once again supported by both his arms and pistoling into you.  

“I can´t - I can´t,” His voice was so shaky, so broken. “I - Please.” 

And then your whole world stopped as you watched the first tear roll down Mingi´s cheek. 

You were mesmerized, you wanted to frame it.  

“It hurts,” He whimpered, another tear falling, followed by another and then another.  

“You´re almost there,” You cooed, deciding to be useful to the poor giant man breaking down on top of you. “Aren´t you? So close.” 

Mingi nodded, blinking harshly to clear his vision which resulted in more tears running down his face. You just couldn´t help supporting your weight onto your elbow so you could lean up and hold his jaw, kissing the salty traces across his cheeks until his face was clean. He immediately started shaking, moans growing whinier and choppier, his thrusts started losing their patterns as he plowed into you like his life depended on it, entering a mental state he never knew existed before. 

His right hand grabbed your thigh with enough force to bruise it badly as he came for what you imagined was the fourth time in an hour, holding you so close that you could feel his cock hitting impossible places deep inside of you. Mingi was breathing so hard you were kind of worried for his well-being but the noises leaving his lips assured you he was feeling pleasure at least as his nose found its place on your neck once again. 

“Feeling better?” You asked once he had calmed down a little. 

“Kind of,” He pushed back to look at you with a low chuckle, his eyes looking a tad bit saner already. “But I also kind of need to eat you out.” 

You felt his dick twitch inside of you at his own words and how the fuck was that even possible? 

A painful whimper left his lips at the slight stimulation, already way past oversensitive, “Please?” 

 He had the nerve to pout.