#maybe then we will be free from the pattern!!!

[sayojin]

who said that?! wasnt me

the fucked up hypno x hels saga continues, yall need to stop enjoying this so much so i can be free of these freaks /derogatory

drawing ppl kissing is like my worst fkn nightmare. why the hell is it so damn hard 😭 i cant even be insane to my full potential. this is as good as it gets. to be fair it was my own damn fault for picking a stupid pose. made me forget what they even look like

anyways

how about we take a moment to consider the dynamic between fucked up hypno (or vulbeepno as i like to call him(vulture bee hypno)) and wels

wels feeling bad that he cant bring hels out to satisfy hypnos cravings and trying to offer himself up instead which would likely only piss hypno off, that is, until he caves of course. huehehe

tw, sayo's writing! blurb from the forbidden google doc of evilness, peering into vulbeepno's mind

the hair clung to his back in mesmerizing patterns. sweat glazing his shoulders. hypno scraped his gaze along each winding curl on the tacky canvas of wels' skin and wondered if the strands would catch in his teeth were he to bite into the souple muscle between his neck and shoulder.

what an annoying train of thought. were hels here, he wouldnt even have to hesitate before ripping into him. hels would only further urge him to tear him to shreds.

however, it was foolish to think hed be so lucky. hels had not presented in nearly two months time. he could only suck on his own teeth for so long before his hunger takes the reins.

wels was a good guy though. he didnt need more scars.

maybe if he was more like mumbo, whatever that meant, people would be more willing to be open minded. mumbo's bloodlust is a pitiful disability whereas his is a perverse aberration. blood coats their tongue either way, hypno didn't get the distinction.

and we're retiring the forbidden google doc of evilness back into the shadow realm and never speaking of this again, ive said my piece

[theshiniestgemstone]

adventurous- gideon gemstone x fem!reader

warnings: smut, minors dni

Gideon took a seat at the table beside you. “Can we talk, sweetheart?”

You nodded, setting your napkin on the empty plate from your lunch. “What about?”

“Feel free to slap me at any given moment,” he started, adjusting his posture. He looked nervous. His hands were fidgeting in his lap, fingers twisting the edge of his T-shirt, and he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes.

“The last time you told me that, you drove a monster truck through an outhouse,” you frowned, raising a brow. “What is it?”

“I feel- well. Okay. So… it’s not you. Like, actually not you. I just-”

“Are you breaking up with me?” you asked quickly, your stomach dropping as you glanced down at the ridiculously sized engagement ring on your finger. It glinted in the afternoon light like it was mocking you. A wedding you’d just started planning flashed through your mind- flowers, venues, the white dress you had stored at your mother's house.

“No! God, no,” he said, alarmed, leaning forward to catch your gaze. “No. Not even close. I just think that our bedroom life is a little… repetitive.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, blinking once. You could feel the blood rush to your face, hot with a mix of confusion and embarrassment. You hadn’t expected that.

“I mean, I finish every time satisfied, and I hope you do t-”

“I do.” You said it fast, almost defensive, like it was important to reassure him. It was true. You weren’t faking anything, and he wasn’t exactly lacking in effort or skill.

“But I think we could change things up a little bit,” he continued, more gently now. “Like… I dunno. Try new stuff. Stuff you’re comfortable with, of course. I’m not asking for anything crazy. Just… maybe a little variety.”

You leaned back in your chair, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “Why now?”

He winced. “It’s been on my mind for a while, but I didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding like a jerk. I guess I just don’t wanna let us fall into some pattern where it feels like routine, like we’re just checking off a box. I love you too much to let it get boring.”

You studied him carefully, his expression open and vulnerable. He wasn’t trying to insult you. This wasn’t about dissatisfaction. It was about effort. The same kind of effort you both put into making each other's favorite meals or showing up to support each other at dumb work events. He was just trying to tend to the part of your relationship that didn’t get discussed in the daylight.

“Okay,” you said finally, voice soft. “We can talk about it. Set some… rules or limits. Try some new things.”

Gideon let out a relieved breath and reached for your hand across the table. “Thank you,” he murmured, threading your fingers together. “I promise this isn’t some mid-engagement meltdown.”

You gave a small smile. “I know. But if you ever say ‘repetitive’ again while I’m eating, I am slapping you.”

It took a week. An actual, honest-to-God week of flipping through women-oriented magazine articles about pleasure, desire, communication, and more euphemisms than you thought possible for sex. You felt like a teenager cramming for an exam, highlighter in hand, muttering terms under your breath like edging and temperature play. It was ridiculous and kind of mortifying. And kind of exciting.

You’d given Gideon a list. A real, categorized list. He’d asked for guidelines, and you delivered.

You slid it across the kitchen island to him one evening while he was eating peanut butter straight from the jar. His eyebrows lifted in surprise at the thickness of the folded paper.

“I color-coded it,” you said, arms crossed over your chest, trying to downplay the deep vulnerability clawing at your ribcage. “Green is ‘yes,’ yellow is ‘yes with a heads-up,’ blue is ‘maybe with discussion,’ and red is… well. No.”

He wiped a bit of peanut butter from his mouth with the back of his hand and carefully unfolded the list like it was a map. “Damn,” he murmured, scanning. “This is detailed.”

“I didn’t want to be vague.”

He nodded, still reading. His expression didn’t shift to anything teasing or smug. He was just thoughtful, serious, and respectful. “This is really helpful,” he said, finally looking up at you. “Some of this I wouldn’t’ve thought to ask about. And I like knowing what’s off the table. Makes everything feel… safer.”

That word stuck with you. Safe. Even with a man like Gideon, who could be reckless and wild and jump headfirst into danger without a second thought, there was a strange gentleness to the way he handled the intimacy between you. He never treated it like a given, and he never made you feel less for drawing boundaries. If anything, he looked at you like those lines made you more of a person to him, not less.

“What’s this one mean?” he asked, pointing near the middle of the page. “The one that just says ‘crowds = absolutely not.’”

You leaned on the counter, giving him a flat look. “Exactly what it says. I don’t care how adventurous you feel. I’m not doing anything with an audience.”

He smirked a little. “Okay, fair. That’s a red.”

“That’s maroon.” You reached over and circled it for good measure. “Burn it into your brain.”

He grinned but kissed your cheek as he passed behind you, list in hand like it was a treasure map. “I’m gonna study this like it’s the Bible.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you start calling it the ‘Book of Revelations,’ I’m revoking your green-light privileges.”

He paused, then looked back with a playful glint in his eye. “Can I at least call it Song of Solomon?”

“Out,” you said, shoving him with a laugh. “Out of the kitchen. Go do your homework.”

It started slowly that night a few weeks later, like most good things do.

You were brushing your teeth in your shared bathroom when Gideon slipped behind you, his hands warm on your waist, his mouth pressing a kiss to the exposed curve of your shoulder. It wasn’t new. But the way he lingered, fingertips tracing under your sleep shirt, was.

You rinsed your mouth, catching his eyes in the mirror. There was something simmering behind them, something electric and patient all at once.

It carried into bed. The wandering hands. The long, teasing kisses that paused just long enough to make your heart stutter. He kissed like he was rediscovering you, or maybe letting you rediscover him. Every touch built slowly, layer on layer, until your pulse was humming just beneath your skin.

He pulled back slightly, lips barely brushing yours. “Would you like to review the list?”

You huffed a laugh, blinking up at him. “Seriously?”

Gideon grinned, already leaning over to open his nightstand drawer. “Just covering my bases. Legally and emotionally.” He pulled out the neatly folded sheet sat back on his heels, skimming.

You giggled despite yourself, rolling your eyes affectionately. “You know it better than I do at this point.”

“Still.” He looked back at you, the humor in his eyes shifting into something more careful. He reached out, hand grazing the top of your chest over the thin fabric of your shirt. “What do you think about me giving these a little more attention tonight?” His hand lingered, thumb brushing slow, deliberate circles. “And maybe some bites?”

Your breath caught.

He’d never marked you before. Not really. Not out of fear or lack of desire, but practicality. You had always played it safe between family lunches, church appearances, and the ever-present parade of Gemstone-related press.

But now? Now his voice was low and steady, his eyes asking for more than just permission. He was asking for trust.

You considered it carefully, then nodded, slow and sure. “Nowhere visible,” you said, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind his ear. “But yes. I’m okay with that.”

His breath hitched, just slightly, and then his expression softened into something awed and reverent. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, smiling. “Just don’t get carried away and bite through a nerve or something.”

“No promises,” he teased, already ducking down to press a kiss right at the base of your throat. “But I’ll try to be gentle.”

He wasn’t.

Not completely.

But he was intentional. Slow and exploratory, learning your yeses all over again with his hands, his mouth, and the quiet hum of your name against your skin.

After pulling your shirt over your head, Gideon took a second to just look at you like he always did. Like he meant it. Like the sight of you, laid bare in the soft glow of your bedside lamp, was something sacred. Then he dipped his head, starting slow, trailing little pecks along your neck. His lips were warm, careful, fluttering against your pulse point, then behind your ear, then lower. He sucked lightly in some spots. Not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make your skin bloom with temporary color. Just a whisper of pressure that made your stomach flip.

His hands were already roaming, fingertips brushing over your ribs, settling confidently around your breasts. He gave a gentle squeeze, thumbs ghosting over your nipples.

Then he looked up at you. Really looked. His chin pressed just beneath your sternum, eyes wide and waiting. And then, without breaking the gaze, he leaned in and dragged his tongue slowly over one nipple.

Your body tensed, a sharp inhale slipping past your lips. The response was immediate, your buds tightening under the attention.

Gideon chuckled softly, a wicked little sound that came from the back of his throat. You felt the warmth of his breath fan out over your chest, leaving goosebumps in its wake and spreading down your arms, across your stomach.

“Sensitive,” he murmured with a smirk, brushing his nose along your breast. “Good to know.”

You swallowed, fingers threading through his hair on instinct. “You knew that.”

“I suspected,” he teased, his voice low and rich. “Now I know.”

And then he was back at it, tongue, lips, teeth just grazing, but never too much, always checking, always tuned in to the way your breath hitched and your grip tightened and your hips shifted.

You were panting before you even realized it, head tilted back against the pillow as Gideon gave your chest his full, undivided attention. He was relentless but careful, switching between each breast with deliberate slowness. He was sucking, licking, letting his teeth graze your skin just enough to make you gasp. The way his tongue circled, the way his lips tugged, it had your fingers curling into the sheets.

The coil was starting to wind inside you, but you couldn’t speak, couldn’t warn him. You were too far gone, too focused on the way his mouth felt like fire and velvet all at once.

He dragged a hand over your stomach, up to your ribs, then across your skin again, letting the pads of his fingers memorize every inch. Then he paused, his index finger tapping thoughtfully just beneath the swell of your breast, where your bra normally sat.

“Here,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

And then he leaned down and sucked harshly.

The sudden pull made your whole body jolt, hips bucking slightly as your back arched into him. He didn’t stop until he heard the little noise you made, half gasp, half moan, and then he pulled back with a soft pop, eyes fixed on the deep red mark blossoming there.

“Pretty,” he whispered, almost reverent.

Then he did it again.

And again.

He left matching marks just beneath your collarbone, over your ribs, lower still. Each one earned with a warm mouth and firm suction and just enough teeth to leave your nerves tingling.

Your back arched into him, fingers buried in his hair, as if you could somehow get closer. Your chest heaved, heat pulsing in waves through your body with each pass of his tongue.

You weren’t sure how long he stayed there, worshipping you with lips and teeth and open-mouthed kisses, but by the time he lifted his head again, you were trembling, marked, and breathless beneath him.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice husky and eyes searching.

You nodded, mouth dry, eyes half-lidded. “More than okay.”

His grin was slow and satisfied as he leaned down again, kissing a fresh mark with a gentleness that made you ache in an entirely different way.

Gideon finally pulled back, chest rising and falling with each breath as he sat back on his heels between your thighs. His lips were kiss-bitten and swollen, and his hands were still resting against your sides like he didn’t want to let go.

His eyes raked over you, slow and heavy, reverent in a way that made your skin flush hotter than it already was.

“Can I take a photo?” he asked suddenly, voice low but steady. “Just for me. Just… I don’t ever wanna forget how you looked right now.”

You blinked up at him, surprised but not unsettled.

“Your face won’t be in it,” he added quickly, sensing your hesitation. “Promise. Just… from here down.” He gestured vaguely around your chin, then toward your waist. “You can see it after.”

You swallowed, heart thudding, then gave a small nod. “Okay. Yeah.”

His brows lifted slightly in soft surprise, then he reached for his phone with one hand, the other brushing your thigh in reassurance.

He angled the camera with careful precision, fingers steady, then snapped the photo in a single, deliberate motion.

“Here,” he said gently, turning the screen toward you.

Your chin was the only part of your face visible at the top of the frame, and the image cut off just above your belly button. But it didn’t need to show much more. The focus was clear. Dozens of red marks are scattered across your chest, each one placed with intention. Some were dark and already bruising purple at the edges; others were faint and pink, still blooming.

Your nipples glistened, damp from his mouth, the skin around them flushed and sensitive.

It was intimate. Beautiful in a way you hadn’t expected.

You stared for a moment, lips parted, then looked up at him.

“Keep it,” you whispered.

His thumb brushed over your knee as he saved the photo, then locked his phone and tossed it back to the nightstand without looking away from you.

“Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t teasing. It was tender, almost awed. Like you’d just given him something sacred.

He leaned in slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you. Like your whole body hadn’t already been trembling under his touch for the past however-many minutes. His fingers slid beneath the band of your sleep shorts, thumbs brushing along your hips as he looked up, searching your eyes one last time for a nod.

You gave it.

He peeled them down with aching care, pulling both your shorts and underwear in one fluid motion. The fabric clung just slightly to your skin, and when it came off completely, he stilled.

“Jesus,” Gideon breathed, voice low and reverent. His palms ran up your thighs, then paused to rest there. “You’re soaked.”

You flushed, lips parting as he just looked for a second, like he couldn’t decide where to put his mouth first.

Your arousal glistened, a clear sheen catching the light between your legs, and it took him a second to find words again.

“You’ve been like this the whole time?” he asked, the edge of wonder in his voice making your stomach tighten. He leaned closer, eyes still flicking between your thighs and your face. “Just from me kissing you?”

You nodded, breath catching. “You’re the one who said I was sensitive.”

He gave a crooked, boyish grin, but the heat in his gaze made it anything but innocent. “Didn’t realize I was this good at taking notes.”

Then he slid one hand down, slow and sure, fingers dragging through your slick like he had all night to learn you.

His fingers moved with a reverence that sent shivers skimming up your spine, parting you just enough to feel the way you pulsed around nothing.

"Fuck," Gideon whispered under his breath. He was transfixed. "You’re dripping."

Your hips tilted instinctively toward his touch, chasing the pressure, desperate for more. He caught it and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another, higher up. His free hand gripped your hip gently, grounding you, as his mouth moved closer.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice softer now, eyes flicking up to yours even as his fingers brushed back down through your folds.

You nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak. Not when he was teasing you like that, circling your entrance but never quite pushing in, skimming your clit with maddening lightness.

His breath fanned against you as he leaned in, lips brushing the slickest part of you in a single, warm pass that made your thighs twitch.

Your fingers gripped the sheets, back arching, a whimper rising from your throat before you could stop it.

“Thought so,” he murmured.

Then he buried his face between your thighs.

His tongue was just as thorough as his hands had been, broad strokes, then slow circles, then a gentle suck right where you needed it most. He listened, paid attention to the way your hips bucked, the little sounds you made, how your hand twisted in his curls.

And when he slid a single finger inside you, curling it just right, his name left your lips like a prayer.

You were unraveling, piece by piece, soaked and shaking beneath him. Every flick of his tongue, every press of his mouth, every slow push of his fingers only tightened the coil until it was impossible to ignore.

You were close and he knew it.

“You gonna come for me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice thick with want, his mouth glistening. “Let me have it.”

And you did. Back arching, thighs trembling, breath catching on a cry as the tension snapped all at once.

He didn’t stop until your hips fell back to the bed, until you were gasping, dazed, utterly spent.

Then he kissed the inside of your thigh again, slow and sweet, and whispered, “Still got more for you.”

Gideon lifted himself slowly, sliding between your legs with a deliberate, measured grace that made your breath hitch. The heat of him pressed flush against you, the weight of his body grounding but electrifying all at once.

His hands found your hips, gripping firmly, anchoring as he pushed in with slow, deep thrusts that stretched and filled you completely. You clenched around him, needy and raw, fingers digging into his shoulders as the pressure built.

A soft whine escaped your lips, vibrating straight into his neck as you pressed your face against his skin, breath mingling with the steady rhythm of his movements.

“Gideon,” you murmured, voice trembling with want, “please…”

He didn’t need to hear more. His thrusts deepened, faster now, pounding into you with a fierce, desperate hunger that matched your own. Your nails raked down his back, desperate to hold onto something real as your body tensed and melted with every stroke.

You were utterly exposed. You rubbed your hands over his back, down his arms, desperate to feel more of him, to keep him close even as your muscles clenched tight with the pull of pleasure.

Your whines grew louder, raw and unfiltered, as your body tightened around him, clinging, urging him on.

“I’m close,” you gasped, voice breaking, lips brushing the skin just below his ear.

He kissed that spot, biting gently before answering with a groan and thrusting harder, deeper, completely lost in the fire between you.

You cried out, trembling beneath him, the world narrowing to nothing but the heat of his body and the relentless pull of your shared need.

When you finally shattered, shaking and gasping, Gideon held you tight, driving through his own release with slow, grinding strokes that sent you spiraling even further.

You both collapsed into the tangled sheets, chests heaving, hearts pounding loud in the silence that followed.

His fingers traced lazy patterns over your skin, soft and soothing now, as he whispered, “You’re mine.”

And you believed him, wholeheartedly. You reached over with a shaky hand, grabbing the sheet. "This is a checklist now," you muttered.

"Works for me," he sighed happily.

[treatop]

for the people who are complaining that adrien doesnt have a new outfit/design for season six, i think that you’re just gonna have to be patient. my theory is that he will get a outfit change at some point later in the season, like sabrina did. he just needs to find himself first and discover his own style (possibly designed and made by his loving girlfriend?)

[fragmentedblade]

It's sort of ironic how fans often link the leaf 🍁 to Dan Heng, considering "Feng" means "maple", but it's also so fitting

[corvidcrafts273]

lmao

'People are panicking about AI tools the same way they did when the calculator was invented, stop worrying' cannot stress enough the calculator did not forcibly pervade every aspect of our lives, has such a low error rate it's a statistical anomaly when it does happen, isn't built on mass plagiarism, and does not obliterate the fucking environment when you use it. Be so fucking serious right now

[amplexadversary]

"people are wrong for calling [location] ugly look at these!"

*posts 10 pictures of the most hideous landscape you've ever seen, one extreme close up of a flower, one super dark picture of generic mountains, seven pictures that are mostly sky (notably visible from anywhere you can get away from light pollution), and a single unique looking location that, while pretty, is visibly inhospitable and not what you would see on the regular living nearby*

This is a hate post.

[chososcutie]

⟡ ݁₊˚⊹ SWEETHEART, SORRY IM LATE, I WAS LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ synopsis♡: when one fateful day leads to you being cursed, you go on a mission to find the infamous satoru gojo and his castle, but little do you know you’d find yourself in his bed later that night..

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ featuring♡: satoru gojo x reader

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ tags♡: unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!recieving), mating press, praise, making out, p in v, cervix kissing, big dick gojo!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ a/n♡: howl’s moving castle is my favorite studio ghibli film ever, so you already know i had to write a fanfic about it!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ w/c♡: 4.5k

"oh, darling won't you come out of that hat shop with us, you're truly overworking yourself!"

you smile softly, eyes flickering over to where your expectant sisters stood watching you, before looking back at the vibrant purple hat you had been working on, threading through with flowers. "oh no, i couldn't. you all go ahead, though."

they giggle softly at your reply, already well-acquainted with your firm work ethics and habits of almost never leaving the shop, tossing a, "suit yourself!" over their shoulders.

and as the door closes behind them, leaving you to stare at all of the colorful creations of caps littering your desk, you sigh, leaning back to take them all in.

maybe you had been working too hard..

being the eldest daughter of your family, you had been entrusted with the shop from a young age, making and sewing up hats for a living. it had been your father's, though now had been passed down to your mother, who had appointed you as an apprentice, although you were practically the only one who crafted and fabricated everything, and though the work was quiet and calming, it did tend to get rather boring at times.

the interior of the shop was tiny and just a bit cramped, every available surface being taken by assortments of feathery, patterned hats in almost every color. brown, old, and creaking rows of shelves surrounded your working area along with coatracks dipping under the weight of all the caps resting on them.

and though it wasn't much, it was yours.

you continued working for another hour, listening to the rickety clock on your wall tick tick tick away, with an impending sense of dull weariness.

was this all you were ever meant to do?

finally, you push back in your chair with a squeak! decidedly grabbing your hat and plucking it on your head, locking and closing the shop door with a resolute slam.

you would get out and see the town to clear your head. it wasn’t good to lock yourself away in the shop for too long, so you needed to breathe some fresh air before you started working again, and find some inspiration.

and so, you venture out through the hustle and bustle of crowded markets, trains whistling and blowing gray smoke as they chuff along, and the bumping of carriages along stoney paths.

the air grows thick with the amount of people thronging around you, spilling heedlessly in countless directions, and after more than one person gets in your way and abruptly stops, you huff, veering off toward a side alleyway.

it wasn't ideal but it would just have to..

bump!

“hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? you lost, sweetheart?”

a slightly heavier set, blonde man leaned in front of you on a wall, blocking your path. he smiled down at you condescendingly, but it lacked any actual warmth, all teeth instead.

“n-no sir, i’m not lost.” you manage to stammer out, trying to duck past him, but seemingly out of nowhere his companion sidles up next to him, bumping his hip and peering down at you, his mean brown eyes and thick mustache seeming menacing in the dim lighting.

“you sure?” his friend snickers, one gloved hand reaching for your side and spinning you around to press against his chest, a sinisterly unfamiliar cologne surrounding and practically suffocating you with its intensity. “why don’t we show you the way home?”

“leave me alone!” you gasp out, trying to break free from their suddenly too-tight grip on you.

“there you are sweetheart, sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

your body stiffens as a large, warm hand comes to grasp gently at your wrist, tugging you away from the two men, and spinning you around to lay eyes on the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

his eyes were azure colored and half-lidded, his voice low and resonant throughout the empty alleyway. he was dressed extravagantly with a poofy white button-up and red and black pattered overcoat flowing loosely behind him, and as his eyes meet yours, something warm twinges in your stomach, the feeling spreading all down your body hotly.

his gaze flickers away to the men still stood there, as if noticing them for the first time, and something about him sharpens, voice noticeably colder. “oh? and what are you two doing?”

"hey, we were just.." the blonde one's voice raises indignantly, trying to pull you back to them with a hasty tug.

"leaving." the blue-eyed man behind you finishes, his other hand lifting to raise his pointer finger and slice it to the side, causing the two men to immediately break into a march, boots landing heavily as they stomp away in sync.

"wha.. how did you?" you stare up at him in wonder, his own flicking down to your face with a small little smirk tugging at his lips.

"magic. now hang on!"

before you can even reply, he's grabbing you by the hand, and lifting you effortlessly up, up, up, into the sky, floating alongside him high above the town, all the people below you seemingly tiny dots scattered around the vibrant landscaping.

"oh!" you exclaim, fearfully clinging onto him as you feel weightless, the air whooshing below and around you.

"straighten your legs, it's okay.." the white-haired man whispers to you playfully, hands curling protectively around you. "now, start walking andd.. see! you're a natural!" he laughs softly at your hesitant steps into the air, growing more confident as he holds you up with ease.

the ground becomes a blur as you match each other's steps, airily floating as if it were any other day, coasting in sync as colors whirl below you in a mess of banners and flags.

"so, where ya headed?" the man's sultry, honeyed tone interrupts you as you quickly turn to glance at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"oh, i.. uh.. just the hat shop."

so much for your day out.

"hmm, a hat maker you are?" you follow his eyes to where they linger on your simple little sun hat adorned with red ribbon.

"something like that.."

he smiles as he glides over to the small overlooking balcony outside your workshop, helping you down easily, your wide eyes gazing up at him as he prepares to leave again.

"make sure to be more careful next time you're out, mmkay? not everyone around here is quite as gentlemanly as me." his tousled, snowy white hair billows around him as he grins down at you teasingly.

" 'kay.." you nod shyly, and he begins to back up, smile widening.

"good girl."

and blowing a kiss to you, he jumps back off the balcony, eliciting a small gasp from you as you instantly rush over to press yourself against it, straining for a better look.

but he's already gone, practically dissipated into thin air.

with a tired sigh, and a combing of your fingers through messy hair, you lock the door to your shop with a click! before slumping down to the floor.

it had been a long day, and just as you're starting to relax, you hear a small, telltale tinkling of the bell that hangs above your door, alerting you when new customers arrive.

"hello? sorry ma'am we're closed right now." you start to stand up, noticing the woman in front of you, her face slightly flushed and eyebrows scrunched, as if in anger.

her figure is awfully plump, with a round, chubbed neck and doughy arms that hang out of her dress like deflated balloons.

her makeup is done rather sharply, as if made to look intimidating with hooked eyeliner and boldly colored eyeshadow, all accompanied by rouge red lipstick and a mole on the side of her mouth.

"why, you!" she stops right in front of you, lifting her─many─chins to stare down the bridge of her flat nose at you. "it was you he was floating around with this afternoon?"

you stiffen. she couldn't possibly mean..

"that wretch!" she hisses angrily. "eleven miserable years of my life spent chasing him! and this is what he does?" she slams her hand down on the counter loudly, causing you to flinch.

"please leave now! we're closed!" you say, your voice taking on a more firm tone as you try not to tremble, straightening yourself up.

she wheels around at you then, as if having forgotten you were there, still rambling on with passion. "oh? standing up to the most powerful witch, are we?"

her overdone, puckered lips draw up into a sinister little grin as you start to back up, unsure of yourself now.

witch?

"since he likes you so much, let's see if you can win over my precious, when i haven't been able to in more than a decade!"

black oozing spirits erupt from her flabby form, rushing over to you as you stand agape, horrified.

"and if you don't manage to fully capture his fleeting heart, you will die!"

all of a sudden, a cloying murky fog drifts in the homey space of the shop, invading your every sense, and clogging your nose tightly.

"what..?" you gasp, but all at once, it surges over to you, enveloping you in its tepid humidity, your mouth gulping in thick heaves of it, pouring into your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose with tendrils extending out of you, like a possession of your very body.

and then.. all is silent as darkness settles upon you, save for the fading echoes of the evil witch's deep, resounding laugh booming throughout the night.

when you open your eyes again, peeking out through your fingers carefully, you don’t feel different, with the exception of a vague, lingering sense of fear.

you were still plain ol' regular you, the you that stayed in working all day and turned down invitations to go out, opting to sew hats instead.

but something was.. off.

what had happened last night to make you so dazed, and memories so jumbled up?

and then, as quickly as it had been evading you, it all comes rushing back─ the man who had floated you into the air as if in a dream, the witch appearing, the sound of her cackle as she cursed you..

when you think back on the specifics of the spell she had cast however, you feel yourself pale, hands falling to your sides limply.

you were supposed to make the mysteriously magical guy that you had met yesterday fall in love with you? when you didn’t even know his name, or who he was?

that was practically impossible.

taking a deep breath, you desperately begin to wrack your brain for ideas as you try not to panic or think about the cruel ways the witch would kill you if you didn’t end up being capable of it.

one way you knew however that would be worth a shot to undo the curse, would be to find a well-practiced witch or wizard, and have them lift the curse from you, saving you a lot of time having to look for the elusive man and making him love you.

but.. there was no guarantee it would work.

you sigh heavily, trying to calm yourself down. that would mean leaving your town behind to move toward the wastelands where the witches resided, and in turn, leaving your faithful little shop, the only place you’d ever known to travel in the hopes for a remedy.

and so, it was with great strength that you straightened yourself up, huffing determinedly, and placing your hat firmly upon your head before heading out, intent on finding a way to break the curse before it was too late..

to the far west of the town, where weeds ran wild and the flowers never bloomed, muddy trails streaked across the land in brown stripes, was where you found it.

a creaking thing, four-legged and made of rotting wood with rusty pipes haphazardly sticking out of it, emitting black curling smoke to twine through the air, its agape, timber mouth and chipping, corroded eyes bringing a shiver to your spine.

gojo’s castle.

you had heard of it many times from your sisters, stories varying from grossly evil reenactments of how he devoured the hearts of beautiful women in search of his own, to tales of his haunting beauty, with glowing, cerulean eyes that were the last thing you'd ever see of the world, never being able to tell a soul.

and then it occurs to you.

of course! gojo was the most powerful wizard of them all, wielding magic that left no trace, going along with his cold reputation and secretive identity.

he could easily remedy the curse placed upon you with a snap! of his deadly fingers, but with the consequence that you still might not leave alive.

you look back up at the faltering, tarnished castle beginning to build up speed as it strode along.

it was now or never.

and so, with a running start and a leap of faith, you manage to clamber aboard the quickly taking-off oxidized clunker, clutching on to the door handle tightly before the wind practically shoves you inside, falling to the floor in a heap with a little, “oof!”

and when you look back up, rubbing your head with a wince, the enormity of the castle stretches before you, all glittering details that suggest riches, and antique, aged wooden furniture, cobwebs crowding near the top of the roof from the impossible vastness of it all.

slowly, you make it to your feet again, looking down all of the many stretching hallways for a sign of life, your steps clicking on the tiled floor ominously.

“hello? anyone here?” you call out, but to no avail.

eventually, your steps lead you to a small, tucked away room, filled with heaps of glinting trinkets and worn carpet that suggested someone had been here many times before.

there are bookshelves with dusty paperbacks piled atop them and shiny frames, but your interest was in the hefty bed shoved in the center, dipping under the weight of quilted blankets thrown lazily across it, and antique floral pillows that looked alike to a grandmother’s.

from the hours of walking that it had taken you to get here, your feet ached and your eyelids were already starting to droop from exhaustion.

all you needed was a nice sleep, and after evaluating your choices, your fatigue eventually wins as with a soft sigh, you shed your slightly muddied clothes into a pool on the floor, and trudge to the edge of the bed, lifting the heavy covers to slide in, your breathing slowing as you drift off, blissfully unaware of the warmth radiating from someone next to you.

darkness covers the room, so you don’t notice when you turn over on your side and press your soft tits against a moving, breathing body next to you, slinging your leg across him and drifting back off.

but he does, stirring awake with a sleepy murmur and tired, blue eyes blinking open only to freeze on your face, his cock hardening painfully in his pants instantly.

it couldn’t be..

you yawn sleepily, shifting closer only for your hand to drape itself directly across his lap,

fuck.

his eyes squeeze shut, breathing coming in soft, short pants as he tries to control himself.

this was so wrong, you were sleeping, completely unaware of..

your eyes flutter, and you groan as your hand curls around something hot, heavy, and pulsing, twitching beneath your touch frantically.

immediately, his face flushes a tinge pinker, eyes growing half-lidded and his breaths coming faster. wake up, wake up, wake up.

and then with a small yawn, your eyes blearily open to blink drowsily at your surroundings, startling only when they land on the pleading, blue eyed man next to you, hips unintentionally pushing up into your hand for more.

you scramble backward as your eyes land on where you’re tightly gripping him, gasping with surprise and already stumbling over an apology.

“i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know there was someone in here or i would’ve..”

but before you can stutter out another word, his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing onto yours a little uncertainly, as if he was lacking the experience, only making up for it in eagerness as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him.

and then, as suddenly as he had been on you, he pulls back, face still shadowed and lined with the darkness of night as you gasp for breath from the intensity of it all.

you lean closer to him, causing your plushy tits to press up against his arm as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, only being able to see a faint outline of the man before you.

“i’m trying to control myself, but you’re making it a bit hard, sweetheart.” his voice is deep, slightly hoarse, and familiar all at once though you can’t quite place where you know him from.

you feel warmth pooling between your legs and lean forward, your hair tickling his face as you prop yourself up atop him.

“are you gojo? the wizard who eats the hearts of pretty girls?” you breathe out, rubbing your thighs together subtly.

he swallows thickly, lips parting slightly as his hand slowly makes its way to squeeze the soft, supple skin of your thighs as if grounding himself, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make.

"s-something like that, although right now i'm thinking of eating something else.." his large hands skim slightly over your inner thighs, grazing the hot, gushing flood of wetness that had already begun to seep from your panties generously, one long thick finger curling slightly to press on your throbbing lil' clit like a button, your pink lips parting in a gasp as your eyes roll back immediately.

“y-you..” but your words immediately die in your throat as the bed dips and creaks as he rolls you over so he’s on top of you before pressing soft kisses all the way down your body, breathing out a soft, “s’this okay?” to which you quickly nod, already breathless for more.

and then he’s tugging your panties down in one swift motion, and exhaling sharply at the sight of your dripping cunt all laid bare before him, the feeling of the cool air grazing you making you squirm slightly.

two warm, large palms spanning across your waist hold you down as he nuzzles his head between your thighs, placing a chaste kiss to your pussy before pulling back, strings of arousal already attached to his lips.

“mmh.. so sweet.” he quickly buries himself between your legs, busying his mouth with lapping at you like a man starved, his tongue dipping into your honeyed cunt for more as the tip of his pert, button nose nudges against your clit.

“g-gojo!” you gasp out, your head falling back onto the pillows and back arching up helplessly as he uses hot, calculated sweeps of his tongue to stroke against you perfectly, slippery drool stringing sloppily between your legs.

“please..” he grunts, sucking your sensitive, twitchy bundle of nerves into his mouth before releasing with a sticky pop! “call me satoru.”

“satoru.. fuck!” you moan softly, body desperately curving up as you grind against his face for more friction which he lets out a pleased groan at, hands coming to your hips to rock you back and forth, suffocating himself in your warmth.

he quickly throws your legs over his broad shoulders, his head shaking side to side as he sticks out his tongue, gathering all of your honeyed slick with eagerness while you can only writhe and cling onto the snowy locks of his tousled hair tightly, tossing your head back with every loud moan he draws out of you.

it's only when you glance down that you notice the way his hips are desperately rutting against the creaking mattress, humping his throbbing, raging boner into the cushy bed for some form of relief as he eats you out vigorously, parting your sappy folds with his lengthy, dextrous tongue.

“castle gets lonely..” he mumbles into your pussy, the vibrations rocketing up your spine and causing a whine to get stuck in your throat as your stomach knots achingly tighter, the tang of your release on your tongue. “so m’so glad you decided to stop by..”

your eyes glassily cross, barely able to think or hear what he’s saying above the roar of blood crashing in your ears and your heavy breathing, hips twitching up into his mouth and thighs trembling as your stomach aches with the intensity of it all.

and then his whole mouth is covering your core, hot strings of spit mingling with your own sultry mess to streak down your thighs obscenely, and the stimulation turns out to be too much, as all at once your vision turns spotty and you're cumming hard, saturated shimmery squirt just gushing out of you as your body turns into a trembling, whining mess beneath him, sensitivity making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

and as he laps up every drop of your candied cunt, lips glossy and splotches of your sticky wetness pooling across his face, you can only shudder as he continues to suck and slurp at you, until you're desperately pushing him away, the tingling of overstimulation starting to settle over you in pulsing waves.

he sits back, out of breath and you see the slippery sheen of your essence dripping off his glistening chin in droplets, as he eyes you hungrily, like he hasn't had enough until he devours you whole.

he slowly makes his way back up to your face, your back hitting the plush mattress with a thump! as he pins you down, head lazing in a downward angle to draw your attention to the achingly painful, twitching bulge in his pants, sexy half-lidded blue eyes opening just wide enough for you to lock eye-contact.

blue? why did that remind you of someone..

but all of your thoughts are lost the second he's sliiiding his pants down and revealing the neatly trimmed, tufted white happy trail leading all the way to a massive, blushing pink cock, veiny and girthy with milky precum frosting out his tip so prettily.

his lip catches between his teeth as he wraps around himself with one hand, and begins to pull upward in rough-paced tugs, as his head lolls back, more stringy precum coming to gloss over his thickened mushroom head.

"you just gonna watch, or are ya gonna help me out here, doll?" he huskily drawls out, shuddering as you immediately spring to action, coming to straddle his lap in one fluid movement, desperately aligning yourself flush with his heavy cock and sinking down just on the chubbed, rounded tip with a grimace at how enormously big he was.

he makes a gruff noise, leaning back as he helps you to slowly work your way down onto his length, taking every thumping! veiny inch of him to meld into your hot, clenching walls, jaw falling slack at the pure effort it is just to fit him halfway.

"oh g-god, sweetheart.." he chokes out and you feel him pulsating and twitching faintly inside you as if he's fighting back the urge to cum right then and there, his hair flopping into his eyes as he rocks forward slightly.

and then, one thick finger is finding itself on your clit, gliding across the wetness just pouring out of you in sultry sheens as he guides you to take him, and almost instantly, your cunt greedily swallows him to the hilt, a faint bulge outlining his cock stretching all the way up past your belly button generously.

"good.. hah.. girl, taking me so well." he breathes out, and then his jittery lap is already bouncing you slowly, unable to wait another second as you feel his hefty length tracing sweltering hot strokes deep inside you, rolling his hips upward as he pants feverishly, a hand draping its way around your waist and pulling you closer.

drool pours down the side of your mouth helplessly as he moves you up and down on him, your pussy so stuffed and overspilling, it's almost obscene, though he seems to like it, cooing soft praises to you in encouragement.

"i betcha like this, yeah?" quickly grabbing ahold of your hips to get a better angle, he begins hitting into the cushy, soft spot of yours that always makes your legs weaken, smearing gooey precum from his bludgeony tip into you roughly, while the squelching between your legs grows louder, and more lewd with every thrust, the plap plap plap! of your sticky thighs ricocheting off his echoing throughout the vast castle.

he jolts his swollen head allll the way into your cervix, jackhammering with an urgency that leaves your mouth agape and tongue lolling as you feel your abdominals tighten, a familiar tautness creeping its way into your mind.

your pussy flutters around his length as his thrusts grow sloppy, and uncalculated, soft hair tickling you as he leans closer, his musky cinnamon-y scent infiltrating your every sense. "m' s'close my girl, i n-never.. hah.. thought this day would come." he shudders under your touch as you pause, bringing his face closer to truly examine it for the first time that night.

"wait- satoru?" and then, all the pieces come clicking together.

the magical man who had flown and twirled you around in the air was nothing other than the satoru gojo, owner of the infamous moving castle and the most powerful wizard of all time.

and it's then that he cums, spurting heaps n' heaps of creamy bucketloads of ribbony white. so much of it is pouring out, in fact, you swear your tummy swells up with it all, beginning to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets as gojo groans, unable to stop emptying himself heftily inside you.

your release follows just seconds later, as you soak his abdominals in your honeyed essence, slippery sheens coating him generously as he moans softly, still huffing from the effects of his own climax.

as you both come to, stars still blinking hazily behind your vision, you turn to him urgently. "g-gojo, the real reason i came here was 'cause.."

but he quickly shushes you, placing a finger on your pouty lips with a smirk curving up his features. "shh, baby i know, i know. you got a curse on ya, hm?"

you pause, taken aback. "how did you-"

he shakes his head. "in all truth, i was the one who sent her. i wanted to see you." he shifts himself to lean over you, bending your knees up to poke into your soft tits, grinning lazily down at you as he folds you into a mean, mating press. "and sweetheart, even if that love curse was real.. let's just say i already broke it, heh."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @brownied0ll @iluvgogurt445 @loafteaw @satoruswifeyyyyy @lunar-harts @springismss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @luvvcho

[l0vergirlwrites]

Absolutely OBSESSED with ur fics girl 🫶🫶, could you by any chance do one where Spencer has surgery (maybe he got injured in the field or smth) and afterwards he’s on anaesthesia, and reader is taking him home and Spence doesn’t recognize her cause he’s high AF and is like “back off I have a gf (referring to reader)” and is all like complimenting her and stuff??? I definitely did not get this from a tiktok HAHA (it would probably have to be season 1 Spencer tho cause we all know how Spencer feels about narcotics in the later season 😭😭)

TYYY ANYWAYS I LOVE UR WORK AHHH AND EVEN IF YOU DONT DO THIS THATS ALGDS CAUSE UR A QUEEN ❤️❤️

anaesthetic makes the heart grow fond ; spencer reid

synopsis: after getting his wisdom teeth removed, it only makes sense that you’re the only thing on spencer’s mind. but when he doesn’t initially recognize you under his anaesthetic haze, you can’t help but play along & feel yourself fall harder for him.

warnings: established relationship with spencer & fem!reader, mentions of blood & wisdom teeth related themes, spencer just being a total goof & lover boy (season 1 spencer particularly)

note: thank you so much for the request! & thank you for the compliment, you’re so kind anon! i hope you enjoy 💌

“… here is a list of his prescribed medications. they should be ready to be picked up at his selected pharmacy later today…”.

with his eyes shut, spencer tried to listen closely to the muffled voices from the hallway as he breathed in & out through his nose, his mouth feeling heavy from his swelling cheeks & gauze pressed firm into his gums.

he couldn’t shake the cold feeling that spread from his head to his toes, knowing that it was from the local anaesthetic his dentist administered.

but it still made his stomach a little queasy.

“are you feeling a bit warmer now, baby?” a soft voice spoke with accompanying footsteps, causing spencer to open his hazel eyes.

he looked at you a little hazy, eyes blinking slow as he tried to speak, but the action hurt more than he thought it would.

leaning closer to the long chair he occupied, you grabbed one of his hands & rubbed a star like pattern onto his knuckles, shushing him gently. your touch sent shivers down spencer’s spine, spreading all over his skin like molasses.

it felt nice.

“gotta speak slow, spence. don’t want to hurt your mouth too much okay?”.

your lips turned into a sympathetic smile because you could see the exhaustion & pain riddled in his face, causing you to rise your free hand to smooth the crease between his eyebrows.

he spoke your name slow & choppy, mumbling the word ‘girlfriend’ three times in a row for good measure. his voice was muffled by the gauze that pressed into his bleeding gums, but you got the message loud & clear.

you squeezed his hand, palm warm against his cooler one. “i’m right here, baby. we’re gonna go home soon when you’re a little less loopy”. but spencer wasn’t satisfied with your response.

he groaned, more so whined, as mumbled your name with desperation. “i miss her… have you seen her? she’s my girlfriend”.

a nurse typing at the computer inches away couldn’t help but snort.

but you decided to play along & see how long it would take for him to realize it was really you.

“hmmm, i think i saw her. what does she look like?” you asked as you adjusted the blanket over his body, watching spencer’s gaze fall onto your face like you were just another person.

it was like he was looking at you through frosted glass.

closing his eyes, a sleepy smile graced his lips despite the movement making him wince uncomfortably, drool slipping out his mouth as he spoke. “pretty hair, pretty eyes, pretty face, smells like flowers… you sort of look like her” he said dreamily, & now you couldn’t help but snort too.

“oh really? that’s so sweet” you could feel your face growing warm. “how long have you two been together?”.

“long time… many moons…” you laughed his emphasis of saying the o’s.

“you must love her a lot, hmm?”

“so so so much,” spencer emphasized. “she’s my favourite person on earth, besides my mom”.

you wished you were recording his for your own personal stash of ‘spencer reid being the most adorable person ever’ moments, but you didn’t have the heart to pull your touch away from him.

brushing a stray strand of hair off his forehead, you lightly frowned when he leaned away from your touch.

“my girlfriend wouldn’t like you doing that” spencer blinked at you again, watching his eyes scan over your form as he tried to process who you were in his mind, but it came up blank. probably for the first time ever.

you looked so familiar. it was on the tip of his tongue for sure.

“i’m sorry” no you weren’t. “does she do that often?,” he hummed. “what else does she do?”

this got spencer to kick into full tangent mode despite the ache in his jaw, animatedly lifting his hands from the blanket as he listed various things you do in fact do for him. you nodded your head & listened intently to each one, feeling your heart ache with each sentiment he said as you wiped blood-tinted salvia from his chin with a kleenex.

“… she knows what shampoo i like, buys me lots of sweater vests, does this thing when she holds my hand—her hands are always so soft… reminds me of… ” spencer began to drift off there, eyes falling from the button of your cardigan to your hand on his, thumb rubbing stars onto his skin.

a surprised gasp left his lips then, eyes snapping back to yours like he just solved a case. your name rolled off his tongue languidly, a tear rolling down his cheek, eyes shining with admiration when he processed everything he was seeing; your smile lines, that twinkle in your pupil, the freckles he loves to kiss repeatedly… it’s you.

“i can’t believe you’re here!” gleaming with happiness, spencer intertwined his fingers with yours hurriedly, wanting needing you closer because he missed you so dearly, because he yearned for your touch.

wiping the tear that slipped down the apple of his cheek, the sound of your sweet laughter caused spencer to visibly swoon.

“of course i’m here, spence. told you i’d take care of you” you pressed a cautious kiss to his swelled cheek, his skin flushing pink as if the gesture just brought him back to life.

his eyes soon fell closed again as he scooted ever so slightly closer to you, nuzzling his cheek into your palm for relief as the dentist walked back into the room. she was clearly amused with the scene, but didn’t comment on it.

within minutes, the two of you were given the go ahead to leave, but not without a starter care kit & instructions on how to replace the gauze & clean spencer’s wisdom teeth sockets.

“i think i dreamed of your eyes when i went under” he mumbled as he practically stuck to your side like glue while you two walked through the parking lot, his body weight supported by your arm wrapped around his torso. “your irises are my favourite, they look like marbled ice cream…”

you just shook your head & played into his antics, doing your best to get him securely in the passenger seat without hitting his head on the car door frame. it took longer than you expected, leaving you huffing for a breath of air once his seatbelt clicked in place.

“don’t move too much, baby. just relax while i close the door. we gotta pick up your medication before we go home”.

“but i don’t want to let go of your hand” spencer pouted, the once white gauze in his mouth now turning into a darker shade of pink.

kissing his temple, you gave his hand one final squeeze. “you can hold it again when i get into the car. deal?”

“okay. i love it when you call me that”.

“baby?”.

spencer broke out into the best toothy grin he could muster at the moment when you said the pet name once more.

he earned another kiss for that.

for the entirety of the drive to the pharmacy, your hand stayed in the safety of spencer’s lap with his fingers continuously dancing across your skin. he would ramble facts about your palm lines & how he thinks your his soulmate due to your fingerprints, while you occasionally had to remind him not to try touching your eyes as you drove.

you’re not so sure if there was a scientific method to prove that your fingerprints do in fact mean that both of your souls are tied to one another, but you were definitely sure of one thing; you wished you could hold onto spencer’s hand forever & never let go.

[fabled-fiction]

Cregan Stark x Targaryen daughter of Rhaenyra

I don’t have a deep plot but I do have an idea. What if reader takes the place of Jace and flies to encourage Cregan like in the recent episode and he’s mesmerized by her beauty? 👀 Something along those lines — feel free to add or change it! ☺️ Thanks!

Snowflakes, Stolen Looks, and Beating Hearts

(Cregan Stark x Strong!Reader)

Summary: When you are sent with your brother Jacaerys to meet up with the Lord in the North, Cregan Stark, some feeling being to make the both of you light headed and forget just exactly what duty calls from the both of you. 

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: MAYBE POSSIBLE SPOILER ISH FOR EP 1. Yearning, possible OOC for Cregan (love does things to a man can you blame him??), Use of (Y/N)

A/N: This took…too long to write. I wanted to make this a yearning lovesick-y fic of Cregan that I have been DYING for and kept mulling over all the details. BUT ALAS it is here, I hope it filled your request and you all enjoy!!

You never thought that you would see snow.

You always wished to see it, having heard of its beauty. Ice falling from the sky in beautifully small flakes that seemed to be sewn together by the gods.

Looking at the palm of your hand, you smiled as you studied the pattern of the snowflake. Its exquisite beauty only lasting mere seconds as it began to melt into the valleys of your skin. A small frown made its way in place of your smile as you temporarily mourned the flake, before you wiped your hand on your cloak.

To think this place was blanketed in such beauty for the entire year.

Just ahead, Jace took a glance over his shoulder as he stared at the spectacle that was you. You stood next to your dragon, still as ever letting the snow collect on your hair and shoulders. You looked statue-esque as you continued to catch snowflakes, admiring them before they met their inevitable fate. Lost in your own world as you took a moment to forget about everything that had been plaguing you for the past few months.

He wished he could do the same, even for just a moment. Arriving at Winterfell, had him feeling on edge. For his whole life Jacaerys had protected you, feeling it was his duty to make sure nothing ever hurt you. The both of you, him being the first son of Queen Rhaenyra and you the first and only daughter, had grown up to know the true meaning of duty. This alone had bonded the two of you practically to the hip, it did not matter that you were older than him.

Looking back at you, he smiled as he saw how much snow had collected on your hair…people could mistake you for a “true” Targaryen…

That alone reminded him of the reason they were there.

“(Y/N)...c’mon we mustn't be even more late than we already are to meet with Lord Stark. Nightfall will be upon us yet…”

He watched as you finally looked up from the palm of your hand and sighed. Shaking the snow off of your head and shoulders, you rushed to meet his pace.

“I must say, I quite like this cold. It's much better than the humidity we face on Dragonstone.”

This earned a chuckle from Jacaerys. “Is that what you think of now? Not what to say to Lord Stark? What words to sew together to ensure he is our ally?”

“I do not need to take such action. Diplomacy comes easy to me. Besides, the Starks are known to be loyal to a fault.”

That much was true. Jace wasn’t entirely sure why he felt such anxiety with this meeting. It could have been that the simple act of ensuring allyship meant that war was truly upon your house. Or perhaps it could have simply just been that he did not wish to look a fool aside you as you expertly made your way through conversation with Lord Stark despite this being your first meeting. Since the both of you were small you had a knack for persuading people with your words. The Silver Tongued Dragon, you had been known as not long after this talent was found out.

Yes, he had nothing to fear. This would all go smoothly.

“Lord Stark, Prince Jacaeyrs Velaryon and Princess (Y/N) Velaryon of House Velaryon have arrived.”

Cregan nodded to the squire, straightening his cloak as he strapped Ice to his back.

This meeting in particular was one he was not too entirely worried about. House Stark had bent the knee to King Visery’s when he named his daughter as heir to the iron throne. This matter had been in the back of Cregan’s mind, with many more pressing matters being his top priority. He supposed that is why he often did not make the best first impressions, as his priorities were not that of the common list that many found themselves concerned with. He did not take an immediate interest in the pursuit of heirs or of ensuring that the house had a formidable reputation. Duty was his priority.

This meeting was a matter of formality to him. To ensure that he would stand behind Queen Rhanerya and support her in whatever way he could, without crippling the defenses on the Wall.

His hands reached back to tie his hair halfway up, his eyes focusing on the black ice of the steps. As his fingers struggled to snap the band around, he finally looked up to meet the faces of the two young dragons.

When his eyes met yours, everything seemed to stop.

It was as if the snows knew to freeze this moment over, so he could have the chance to meet your eye.

Cregan Stark had heard of the beauty of the old Valyria. He listened to the stories men shared of the silver haired house that brought out the darkest of temptations of man. How their men and women held a grace about them that had wives and husbands lust for just the touch of their hand on theirs.

As he looked at you, he felt that those stories were watered down backswill of a drunkard. There was not a word within the all known language of the Seven Kingdoms that could describe what he felt in this moment as he had the fortune to lay his eye upon you. He felt his grip on the banister tighten as he took in the sight of you. You, who looked up at him with the most mesmerizing beautiful eyes that only looked at him. 

It wasn't until he saw the rise and fall of your own chest did he remember to breathe.

“Lord Stark, It's an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Looking over at your brother, Cregan cleared his throat as he made his way down the stairs to properly shake his hand.

“The honor is all mine, to host the both of you here. My apologies for the weather, but it is the North.”

His accent stuck out to you. On Dragonstone and even throughout the Keep, when you had stayed there once upon a time, people often shrouded themselves in uppity falsehoods. Either to seem as if they were meant to truly walk amongst you, or to be someone entirely different from whence they came. It was part of the reason why you were so glad to have fled to Dragonstone, there were not as many falsehoods there.

So to see Cregan Stark have no fear in brandishing his weaponry, and speak to you in the laced tongue of the North was refreshing. You were drawn to the way he felt as if the niceties of royalty were second thought. As if the both of you could afford to toss aside pleasantries. It made you smile.

There was something else to be said about the Northerner. Just the way he stood before the both of you alone was enough action to intrigue you.

“Lady Velaryon, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

When his hand enveloped yours, you felt your breath catch in your throat. His eyes did not leave yours, as he lifted your knuckles to his lips.

“I wish it under other circumstances, Lord Stark.”

Giving him a small smile, the two of you stood there eye in eye. He had yet to let go of your hand as the two of you held each other there. When you stood this close to him you were able to get a better look at the man they had named Wolf of the North. Cregan Stark stood before you, dressed in fur and leather, bowing as he held your hand. You couldn’t help but feel your heart flutter as he held your eye. A flurry of grey and blue looked at you, purely you, and you couldn't help but feel as if that's all he wanted to do. Just as you stood there now, feeling consumed by the eye of the storm and wanting nothing more but to throw yourself to the whims of the winds.

“Lord Stark, Is there somewhere more private we could discuss?”

Feeling the hot stare of Jacaerys gaze on you, you regrettably took your hand from Cregan’s grasp. The imprint of his warmth on your skin remained, even through the leather, making you bring your hand to your chest as you bowed your head to him quickly.

Clearing his throat, Cregan looked at Jacaerys with a nod before motioning to the large metal lift.

“ ‘Course, let us talk atop the Wall.”

Jacaery’s held your eye for a moment as the both of you followed the Wolf. His eyes held a question within them as the two of you silently spoke. He had watched that whole scene unfold, having been a bystander to the tension that grew with every second that Cregan held your gaze. You simply rolled your eyes as you shoved him before following the Northerner into the metal cage.

Closing your eyes, you froze for a moment to feel the northern winds run through your hair and cloak. Snowflakes found themselves resting on you again, drawn to the warmth that ran through your Targaryen blood. As the lift brought you higher and higher into the sky, level with where you flew your dragon, it almost felt as if the air in your lungs crystallized.

“So tell me Lord Stark, What is this that falls from the sky and shivers my bones? Is it not still summer throughout the isles of the Seven Kingdoms?”

Cregan was so lost in his jealousy of the snowflakes that rested upon your skin that he almost didn't hear you speak. It wasn't until you had opened your eyes and looked at him through your lashes did he realize you had addressed him.

“This is only a late summer snow, my princess. In the true winter it will cover all you see, any memories you hold of warmth will be forgotten.”

“Sounds..hauntingly beautiful. Whilst this is my first time seeing snow it is my understanding that this is not the first time our ancestors have met here to treat? If I am correct it was the…Conqueror and the King in the North?” 

Jacaerys felt a relief fall over his shoulders as he heard you expertly laced the matter at hand into conversation. His eyes landed on Cregan as he watched the man hang onto every word you spoke. Not once had he looked at Jacaerys after the three of you stepped into the lift. His eyes never left you even before you spoke. He would like to think that it was because of the presence and attention you demanded. He had seen it many a time before, people could not look away from you whenever you entered a room, and their fates were often sealed after you had started to speak.

But, something else lay within his gaze. Jacaerys had seen that look before. The look of total awe and devotion to the other.

It was the same exact look he gave Baela.

“Surely the great Torrhen Stark would have sooner died than bent the knee. Unless of course he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms?” 

Cregan looked over to Jacaerys with a sigh. This meeting was meant for diplomacy, he had to remind himself of this as he looked to the Prince. He felt a crease grow within his brow as the three of you walked throughout the icy walkways of the top of the wall.

When your hand reached to hold his arm, he felt a fire light in his chest at your touch alone. It was as if you took all his pain and worry, forbidding it from plaguing him. When he took the opportunity to look over at you, he felt the ice in his veins thaw. 

“What my brother is getting at, Lord Stark, is that there is a threat upon the unity to the Seven Kingdoms. One that would tear the realm apart if the men and women who swore an oath to our grandfather do not remember who the rightful heir is. You understand our concerns do you not?”

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my princess…”

Looking at your hand placed on the crook of his elbow, he swallowed as he rested his hand atop yours.

“Can we depend on your men if the time comes that the Hightowers declare war upon our mother’s claim to the throne?”

Looking at Jacaerys, Cregan swallowed. He should not have felt torn, but he did. He needed his men here, to defend the wall from that which dared to plague Westeros. There were forces that lay in wait, that threatened the sanctity of not only the North but the South as well. He did not wish for his duty to falter in this dire time of need. But he had seen the worry in your eye. He knew that you were dependent on the power of the North if your mother’s throne, if you family was meant to remain the next in line. Another part of him wanted to promise whatever he could, whatever you needed just at the drop of the word.

“You must understand my hesitation, my Prince. Whilst I wish for nothing more than to offer you the whole of which the North has to offer, I must keep my army here to defend the Wall. Do you think my ancestors built a seven hundred foot wall to keep out snow and savages?”

As the three of you approached a divet within the wall, all of a sudden a very overwhelming dread filled your stomach. Looking over the edge, you saw nothing but a vast forest, covered in snow. But for some reason, the dragon within you faltered. Every sense you had was screaming at you to back away from the ledge that you took further steps towards. 

“What does it keep out?” Jace asked, as he felt his heart fall in his chest at the sight of you taking a closer step to the edge of the Wall.

“Death.”

You took a moment to look over your shoulder at Cregan once hearing the declaration. You had heard stories about the meeting place that took place here. How when King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne stood in your very spot, their dragons refused to cross the threshold. It made your stomach drop just at the idea of there being something more beyond the wall. That was a thought for another time however.

Both Jace and Cregan watched as you stood still as a statue once more, looking over the land of the North.

“I understand your hesitation to pull your men from the Wall, Lord Stark. It is quite the responsibility you have here,” Taking a step back, you swallowed as you smoothed your hair back. Jace offered you a hand to steady yourself as you took a few steps back from the edge.

“All we ask is that you provide whatever you can when the time comes. In return I personally can promise you’ll have mine when needed.”

Cregan sighed as he looked between the Wall and you. That alone had just sealed his fate, that he truely would give you whatever you needed, especially now knowing that you felt a duty to protect what was his as well. He could see it in your eyes when you looked over that edge. You believe his tales of things that lurked in the dark, just as he believed you when it came to the vile words of treachery.

The both of you would need the other soon enough yet.

“I can offer you thousands of greybeards. They have seen far too many winters, having grown a distaste for the cold. Their skills are well honed, and they can be ready to fight at a moment's notice. They will fight hard for you, like Northerners.”

There was a visible tension that dropped from the both of your and Jace’s shoulders after his words. Your brother rested his hand on your shoulder as you clasped your hands together in front of you. Jace then reached forward to shake Cregan’s hand with both of his.

“Thank you Lord Stark. Your promises will not be forgotten.”

Finding your way beside the both of them, you clapped your hand on both their shoulders with a beaming smile.

“Lets celebrate shall we?”

-

He couldn't take his eyes off you.

You sat across the table, the warmth of the candle light that lit up the meeting hall suiting itself well on your cheeks. You had settled in well at the opposite head of the table, chatting with other Northern women. You were content, from as well as he could tell.

His eyes hadn’t left you since the minute you found yourself in his halls, drinking his wine and eating his food. There was something that stirred in the pits of his stomach as he…provided for you. In the ways of war and also in the niceties of comfort. You had taken well to both, and he planned to bathe in your presence for as long as he could before you took your inevitable departure.

After that he wasn’t sure he would see you again ever.

While he should have been fine with that, as he had told himself a multitude of times that courting and the ways of society were well beyond his interests, something made him sick at the idea of letting you just slip away because of some silly notions he had been telling himself. You had bewitched him at first glance, and as he had taken in more of your presence throughout the day he could rightfully say that you had taken up a space in his mind if not in its entirety. 

His hand gripped his chin tighter at these thoughts alone.

“Lord Stark…” 

Shaking his head, he looked over to see your brother standing beside him.

“My prince, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Jace motioned to the chair besides Cregan, sitting down as the Lord motioned him. Taking one last look at you, as you laughed aloud at whatever the person holding your attention had said, he figured he could spare a moment of his attention being somewhere else.

“I just wanted to come by and thank you once again for pledging your support. I know it was not your responsibility to ease my anxieties but you did anyway, and I am grateful for it.”

He gave a curt smile to the prince, turning his body to face him to ensure that he was indeed involved in whatever conversation Jacaerys had meant to begin. However that could not be further from the truth as his mind began to wander.

“A Stark never forgets their oath. I would not be the man I am today had I intended to ever break it. “

“I figured as much. My sister said quite the same thing when we arrived, she being the more faithful one.”

Cregan smiled at the comment, taking another look over to you. You were alone in thought now, whoever you were speaking with having taken your attention for granted no doubt and departing to enjoy the festivities that were about. You were looking out the window, taking in the snow of the North like you had been earlier that day.

“She the smarter of the two of you hmm?” He quipped, smirking as he watched Jace chuckle to himself.

“She is the smartest out of all my siblings I would say. (Y/N) has always been a good judge of character, I don’t think I have ever seen her put her trust into someone who didn’t deserve it.”

His heart jumped at the words Jace bestowed upon him. Somehow knowing that you trusted him, that he was one of the few that could claim to have earned your admiration even within just a few words made him feel stronger in a sense. Is this what men talked about, when they said that the affection of a woman made them feel as if they could move the hills? If this is how he felt just at the mention of your trusting him, he couldn’t help but ponder on how he would feel from being the object of your affections.

“I think that might be one of the main reasons why she hasn’t been courted.”

Cregan froze, feeling himself look over at you once again. For some reason the thought did not run through his mind that your hand could have already been called for. It stirred something in him, knowing that your name was still Velaryon.

Your seat was empty when Cregan looked over again. He saw your silhouette turn the corner quickly, vanishing in a flurry of red and black.

“Enjoy the rest of the meal my prince.” Cregan laid his hand on Jace’s shoulder before making his exit in the same direction that you had.

Jace smiled to himself as he watched the man quickly follow your footsteps with haste, his cloak making a rather dramatic arch at the turn.

There you stood, looking into the sky. You looked as if you were infatuated by the moon herself, lit up only by her beam as snowflakes flitted around you. If it was possible for you to look anymore ethereal Cregan would become devote. You were cast in a halo of moonlight, so entranced that it almost made him guilty for interrupting such an intimate moment.

Looking over your shoulder, he swallowed whatever nerves he was feeling so he could actually have the opportunity to talk with you. But then you smiled at him, and he felt himself grow weak. Part of him wanted to fight against this foreign feeling, the other wanted to bask in it.

“Lord Stark, I hope my leaving didn’t come off as rude. I wanted to enjoy the cold for just a little longer.”

“Not at all. I’m glad you have taken such an interest in what others would consider harsh.”

This got a small hum from you as you held your gloved hand out. “How one could consider this harsh is beyond me.”

Cregan chuckled to himself as he came to stand next to you, watching as you studied the snowflake in your palm.

“Winter is not often kind. The cold and ice have a tendency to turn those away, since it takes so much and gives so little.”

“Fire does the same, yet people hold it in such a high regard. People should do the same with snow.”

Cregan hung onto every word you said, taking this private moment deep within. Hearing you speak so poetically, especially when the topic was anything other than the purpose of which you came. To get a glimpse into who you were, to know the person that was you made him think of a million other questions to ask just to fill out every step it took to understanding you.

He watched you closely as you brought your hand down, and held your arms when you looked up. The cloak you had dawned earlier was nowhere in sight, and if he could recall it had been left behind on your chair in the haste of leaving the room. Cregan was quick to remove his own fur lined cloak, and drape it across your shoulders. It swallowed you, enveloping you in the lingering warmth that was him.

“Thank you, you did not have to.”

“What type of a host would I be if I let you freeze?”

You laughed at his comment, a full laugh, and placed your hand on his bicep. It was still cold, from catching snowflakes, but it warmed him none the less.

“Plus, it looks better on you. The North suits you.”

A flash of blush rested on your cheeks at the comment, and made you tighten the grip on his cloak.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. I do have to say of all the places I’ve been I think I have enjoyed my time here the most.”

With a nod, he clasped his hands behind his back before leaning a little closer to whisper to you.

“Well I hope then that the next time you are here I can show you all that Winterfell has to offer..that is if there is a next time?”

You both had turned to face each other now, your hand still holding his arm as you looked up and only him now. He looked at you the same way the moon did, and you basked in the warmth of him in the same way.

Reaching forward, his hand came to hold a bit of your bang before wiping the snow from it and tucking it behind your ear. His hand came to rest on your cheek, holding the side of your face as the both of you were able to finally really look at each other without the wandering eye of anyone else.

He took his time committing your face to memory, just in case this was truly the last time he would see you. Cregan wanted to make sure his dreams were able to replicate the image of you.

You stood there, doing the same. You were surrounded by him entirely, in scent and sight. This entire afternoon when he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking at him. You could feel this back and forth game of cat and mouse that had played out, but there was a nagging reminder of everything that lead to this meeting and everything that waited after it.

Perhaps you could take this night to bask in something that wasn’t duty.

“I could entertain the thought, only if you could make the trip worthwhile.”

This earned a laugh from the northerner as he looked at you, and his thumb ran under your eye. The feeling off his touch had you feeling drunk off his attention. Oh you were absolutely certain if anyone had seen the two of you in this exact moment there would be many an accusation.

“Oh? And how exactly would I do that my princess?” He mused, looking at you tenderly

Reaching to hold the wrist of the hand that held you, you stroked his wrist and hummed.

“Give me a reason to come back, Cregan Stark. A reason that isn't just snow, or the cold. Something that is more than the North. More than duty.”

He stood there, just staring back into your eyes as he thought of the declaration. To give you a true and proper reason to ride all the way back here, where he was nothing but duty and sacrifice. To give you a part of him that was something else completely. You asked this of him as if it was the easiest thing he could sacrifice in order to see you again.

It should have been a hard request to fill. A question that should have left him tormented when giving the answer.

But somehow his answer was sealed the minute you stepped into view.

“Me…Come back for me.”

In the silent moment between the two of you, all that could be heard was the howl of the wind and the beating of your hearts as they became forever joined with just a touch.

[ddejavvu]

would you be up to do bff remus with no boundaries?? i think that would be an interesting dynamic

maybe like after a full moon and she just like fully gives him a shower, or something where he’s just completely naked and the boys are so confused at what’s happening

"Arm up, Rem," You hum, but your fingers pry at his pale, scarred skin before he can even begin moving a muscle.

You lift his bicep away from his side, bringing the lathered loofa in your hand to swipe through the curve of his armpit. Suds slide down his sides and you hear him hiss as they mingle with his still-healing cuts and scrapes, but there's nothing to be done except cleaning them before they can be dressed.

"Easy, easy," You rub a hand over his back in a soothing circle that carefully avoids his injuries, "Just gotta get 'em clean, then we can dress them. You can sleep on your stomach, that'll help the ones on your back. How'd you even get scratches on your back?"

"It's all the ladies I occupy my time with," Remus drawls, but his pain is evident in the weakness of his voice, "Women love werewolves."

When you don't answer, leaving an purposefully awkward silence behind that swirls with the steam from the shower, Remus sighs, "Got all scratched up from the tree branches out there."

You drag the loofa from his side to his back, carefully ghosting over the caked dirt around his wounds. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists, but when he tries drawing one into his mouth to bite at it you take it in your own free hand.

"No biting. That's reserved for your better half."

"Are you talking about Sirius, or the wolf? Sirius bites me," Remus grumbles, and- speak of the devil, there's feet pounding obnoxiously up the stairs and towards the dorms.

"Moony, we've got all the chocolate we could carry," Sirius informs him, and there's the sound of wrapped goods being piled on Remus's comforter before James and Sirius step into the doorway of the bathroom.

James lets out an 'ooh' and turns away with a grimace when he sees you kneeled beside Remus's naked form beneath the spray of water, but Sirius stands stock-still, frozen by some mix of intrigue and horror.

"Uh, are we interrupting something?"

"Just a bath," You smile kindly at them, scrubbing gently at Remus's neck, "He has trouble getting his back sometimes."

"Sometimes- have you two done this before?"

"After every moon." You nod helpfully when Remus merely ducks his head to rest between his knees, "You two are usually either asleep or trying to get grass out of your pelts."

There's something green in Sirius's hair that proves the two were unsuccessful this time around.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Moony, I didn't know you had a caregiver," Sirius snickers, "Does she help you put your panties on too?"

"Don't let him get to you, dove," Remus murmurs, his eyes slipping shut as the warm water seeps into his skin and heals an ancient ache in his bones, "He's just mad he'll never get to take yours off. They're a real pretty pattern, y'know," Remus glances up at Sirius with the ghost of a smirk on his face, muffled by pain but persistent all the same, "Shame she's not interested in showing 'em to you."

"You've seen her panties, mate?" James cuts in, peering over Sirius's shoulder, "What are you two?"

"Friends," You shrug, "But it's stuffy in here at night, and my sleeping pants get too warm."

"You're telling me all the times you two have slept over in here all snuggled up in his bed, that you've not had any pants on?"

"Well I don't make it a habit to strip in his bed," You scoff, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn grass stain on the pale plane of his hip, "But I can promise you that my pants are never gonna be on your floor, either one of you."

"Oh please, we wouldn't dream of stealing Moony's girl," Sirius claps James on the shoulder, "But whaddya think about that, mate? Strippin' down to cuddle in bed together? They seem to think it's a friendly endeavor."

"I typically only ditch my pants for Lily, Padfoot," James informs Sirius with a sympathetic smile, "But I'll ask her if I can bring my dog to her dorm tomorrow night. You can sleep at our feet."

Sirius begins valiantly arguing for a spot higher up on the bed, every dog's hardest battle to fight, but you're no longer interested in their antics or the noise they're producing. You reach out your foot to kick at the door, and it swings shut with a satisfying click.

"Thanks, love." Remus groans, his face squished between his knees, "They were givin' me a headache."

"They always give you a headache," You dig your thumbs into a tense spot on his back and he twitches beneath you with a hum of appreciation, "We should get a flat together without them. They can be the feral deer and dog that live outside our cottage."

"We'll have to call animal control" Remus grins wryly against the rounded bend of his knee as you lean forwards to wash beneath his thighs, "How strong are their strongest tranquilizer darts?"

[witherby]

Continuation of the biting baby, y/n as a toddler somehow developed the habit of headbutting people in the gut but not bruce. He still gets bit but aye, he's not alone anymore lmao

(Baby has to be put in air jail almost everyday buy the moment they're out they headbutt the person who placed them in air jail as hard as possible)

(Also just in case people doesn't know what air jail is,u just hold the baby/animal In the air with ur hand)

A pattern is forming. I think you all want Mouse to be a violent baby.

Including me, so —

The Littlest Wayne: Air Jail

"AHH! SHI-AHhhghh sugarhoneyicetea..."

Bruce lifts his eyes from his newspaper and looks at the couch, waiting for the inevitable. Like clockwork a pair of hands shoot into the air, with you as prisoner, and you start complaining and windmilling your limbs. The hands holding you are encased in leather; Jason must have been the victim then.

"Mousey, I'm workin' with two broken ribs and a concussion," the man complains, jostling you for emphasis. You squeal, giggling. "You cannot keep running into me with that thick little noggin at full speed. I felt a third rib crack upon impact. You're killing me. You're killing your brother. I'm gonna die again."

"Wanna!" You insist, back to windmilling. "Down! Jay-Jay, down!"

"No down. You get Air Jail 'till you say sorry and promise not to headbutt me again."

"I sowwy..." You whine, jutting your bottom lip out for emphasis. "Down, p'ease."

"Jesus Christ, the puppy dog eyes are lethal. I — ugh. You gotta say you won't headbutt me anymore. No more headbutt, okay?"

Your eyes start to water. Bruce watches you sink back down, vanishing behind the back of the couch, and snorts into his paper. He lets out a full laugh when Jason cries out a minute later. You've struck again.

"WE HAD A DEAL. Get over here, you're going back to Air Jail."

You shriek with delight, toddling away as fast as your chubby legs will allow. Jason, as injured as he is, actually can't catch up to you before you spot your dad and make the motion for Uppies.

"Daddy!" You cry. Bruce sets the paper aside and scoops you up.

"Are you being naughty?" He asks. You grin and hide your face in his shoulder. "Uh oh. Maybe I'll let Jay put you back in Air Jail — OW?"

He winces and your peals of laughter ring right next to his head. You open your mouth to bite him again, but he's the one to lift you into the air this time. "Daddy! Down!"

"I'm calling the police," Bruce deadpans, dropping into the Batman Voice. "Your rampant string of crime has gone unchecked for too long. Victims are piling up left and right. You've headbutt all your brothers this week, and Uncle Hal, and Titus. How Grandpa is escaping your tyranny is a mystery, but it's time to turn you over to the law."

"No powice, daddy!"

"Yes powice, child."

Bruce stands up and carries you into the day room, lowering you down into an extra tall play pen.

"Time out for five minutes."

You pout and cross your tiny arms, glaring at the ground.

"Don't wike, daddy. Want out."

"Yeah, well Daddy doesn't like getting bitten like a cookie, and your brothers don't like taking your skull to their bodies at high speeds. We want our skin free from bruises and teeth marks."

"Ha-ha," Jason teases from the doorway, pointing at you. "Get got, criminal!"

Your pouting intensifies. You reach out to Jason and make small whining noises.

"Want out. Want Jay-Jay, p'ease! Jay-Jay!"

The smug little smirk fades from Jason quick, turning into something fond and pitying.

"....I mean...c'mon, B, they're three. Five whole minutes?"

Bruce rolls his eyes. "This is why we haven't been able to curb this behavior yet. You can't fall for big eyes and a please every time —"

You hitch a little sob, and like a wet paper bag, Bruce folds.

"Maybe I'm being a tad harsh. They're three years old..."

[salemlunaa]

SELF CONCEPT IS KEY — WHO ARE YOU BEING TODAY?

feel like you’re stuck in a loop?

Pete Sapper said “When you know who you are, your mirror will reflect it, when you don’t know who you are, it will also reflect”

You don’t need to anything for your manifestations to materialise, as they already have, creation is finished, but self concept is something that really helps you wrap your mind around it.

When I say that you are God, do you really and truly know that? And I ask for knowing and not believing because beliefs change all the time. Do you KNOW you are God, or do you just get this rush of excitement and adrenaline after reading some motivational posts just to fall back into old patterns a few hours later?

What colour hair do you have? Let’s say you have black hair and maybe you dyed it blonde, would you constantly go back on the fact that you have black hair, i mean if it was a dye job you got done yesterday, you might forget for a moment, but you’ll be like “oh that’s right, i have blonde hair” and go on about your day, because 1. You KNOW that’s it’s true and 2. You KNOW that you are the person who has blonde hair. That one time you forgot doesn’t negate from the fact that you have blonde hair.

A lot of you “persist and persist”, and wonder why your outer world hasn’t changed, let me tell you something i’m not gonna bullshit you and tell you that these are old thoughts playing out because they aren’t, it’s just not true, there is no separation between your outer and inner, A mirror doesn’t have a mind of its own, it can’t “test” you or show you something that you are NOT, because think of a literal mirror (that’s what this outer world is), when we say that, it isn’t some cute metaphor, it’s the truth. The reason things haven’t changed is because YOU haven’t. Again, think of a mirror, instant reflections are the ONLY TYPE OF REFLECTIONS!! be the person who assumes otherwise? you will stay waiting, looking for posts to motivate you instead of living the life you want.

You can do as many things to manifest your dream body, but if you’re still being the person who is a loser with a shitty figure, guess what?… Have you heard the phrase “You cannot trick God”, since we have now come to terms with the fact that we are God, the term can now be written as “you cannot trick yourself”, you also can’t run from who you are. God, you, your consciousness can tell the difference between believing, and KNOWING. If you KNOW and accept your unfavourable life as true, no amount of wishful thinking and hopeful attempts at techniques will change what you know. So what is there to do? change SELF.

ꨄꨄꨄ

Become God, step into that state of being now, you ARE pure consciousness now, there is nothing to do, nothing to induce. You ARE the void now. You are limitless, you have always succeeded in anything you do, so why not know? Your outer world reflects instantly because you are God and what you say goes. There is no one above you, now if you knew that why are you getting triggered with all the limiting beliefs, why would anyone tell YOU, as God, how to create.

When someone says “your manifestation will ONLY take 3 Days if you do this magnificent method that-”.

Instead of mindlessly following another method like a junkie. You say “wtf i’m literally GOD not you, 3 days?? pfft my shit is instant because i’m just so fucking unlimited and ethereal”

You are God, the only free thinker in your reality. Not even im freely thinking from your perspective, im just a projection. So what if someone tells you that you have to do this and that to get what you want? everyone else is a lowly human, YOU are God. Absolute Intelligence. With words that instantly create. Once you get that through your skull you will never have a day in your life where you are experiencing unfavourable circumstances.

Who cares if Nancy’s dream bod took 3 months?

Who cares if Wyatt took 2 weeks to shift to his dream life?

Who cares if Jessica looped affirmations all day to get her grades?

YOU ARE GOD HERE. Not them. Time is not real and Creation is finished, WHO CARES ABOUT THEM?? YOU. HAVE. EVERYTHING.

I am not religious by any means but i believe a lot of religious books were guides to understand self, that got, as we can see, heavily misconstrued. And there’s this verse:

Joshua 24:15 “As for me and my house we will serve the Lord”

Do you know what that actually means: It means who cares what everyone else’s limiting beliefs are, who cares what everyone else “had” to do, or what everyone else believes. As for you and your mind, You will serve God, That is You.

You are one perception away from everything materialising. This isn’t the Law of Desire, if so everyone would have everything they could ever want, by simply.. wanting it. It’s the law of Being, BE GOD, and put YOURSELF on the pedestal, then you will wake up in this illusion, you will start to see that there are no big and small manifestations. You will start to see that your consciousness created all of this and none of it is real, and nothing will be hard or easy for you anymore, it will just be. You will start to understand that time doesn’t exist, and all this other noise matters not anymore, for you are sovereign. You will start to understand that you are one decision away.

Idc if you have to repeat it, or to visualise yourself as this godly being, idc what you do, even so much as a one-and-done decision as long as you understand who you are.

I get all these asks and dms too (before i turned them off) with problems that would not be problems if you guys understood who you actually are. Some of the things you guys complain about WOULDNT EVEN EXIST if you just stepped into that knowing that you are God.

And I know time doesn’t exist, but for those of you who still resonate with the 3D and human concepts (even tho that’s like, soooo dumb 🙄), you will spend a lot more “time” without what you want if you don’t start BEING the person who has it all.

Focus on that self concept, be the most egotistical, self-obsessed, head-up-your-own-ass typa bitch. For you are God and any lesser treatment of self would be nonsensical.

When you know you are, the world will reflect your power

©salemlunaa

[unintentionalseductress]

More spamming for LaDs, but spicy...

NSFW HCs: Favorite non-traditional space to enjoy a good romp other than a bed for each of the boys... and maybe why it is their favorite?

Unconventional Romp Spots

This took a while but here we are! Loved the creativity of this request and let's face it, all of them are down so bad for reader that they'll do whatever she wants. 🤭🤭🤭 Warnings: MDNI, exhibitionism, PIV sex, clit play

Zayne’s favorite spot to make love to you apart from the bed was the couch. Was it incredibly unconventional? Not really but the couch was firm and warm, the place you and he sat snuggled together during those rare times he wasn’t working, countless movies and snacks shared, and drinking your morning coffee in each other’s company.

So why shouldn’t it count as a perfectly good spot to make love?

Your fingers tangle into his silky locks of hair as he kisses you, his large body hovering carefully before he lays down, his hips now flush against yours as he sensually licks your lips before parting them with his tongue. A contented sigh escapes you as the wet appendage dances with yours, sending jitters of excitement running through you as you slip your hands under his shirt, enjoying the warmth and scent of his skin. 

A hum emanates from his large frame as you reach the middle of his back, your nails scratching him just hard enough to send a rush of arousal skittering down his spine, heat gathering in his veins as he drinks in the sight of you, flushed and hazy, beneath him. You help each other remove the barriers of clothing, savoring the intimate skin-to-skin contact. You nuzzle his neck then trail a line of kisses down the side, watching his eyes darken with desire. 

With care, he pulls off your bra, tossing it aside and kneeling, the low couch creaking slightly as it took your weight. The TV remote lay forgotten on the coffee table as Zayne swirls a hardened nipple into his hot, wet, mouth, sucking patiently. You cradle his head as pleasurable shocks zip straight to your core. Your clit throbs in need as he tweaks your free nipple between his fingers. You writhe and moan, your hips pressing against his to seek friction.

Expertly you undo the belt of his buckle and his zip, rocking your hands against the hard heat of his erection and he releases your nipple to groan needily, his eyes flashing dangerously. Not needing any further encouragement he slides your panties off your legs, his hand coming up to cup your mound and gathering the moist heat leaking from your core onto his fingers, spreading it up towards your clit. You’re helpless under him, his long, thick, middle finger sliding so teasingly into your core while his thumb circles the little bundle of nerves.

Sighs and longing moans of need escape you as he builds up your arousal, those keen eyes watching your face for signs of your impending climax, and when you finally begin to clamp down with that familiar pattern onto his fingers, he crooks his inserted finger up into that spongy patch of delight. You erupt, a wavering moan escaping your lips as the orgasm rips through you, your clit and core spasming in pleasure around him. He pulls out his fingers, licking them clean before aligning himself between your legs.

You awkwardly part them, trying to find a comfortable angle on the narrow space of the sofa before he grabs you by the ankles and wraps your legs securely around his waist before entering you in one, long, passionate, stroke. The air grows balmy as his hips undulate, the fill of him inside you bringing all your primal needs to the surface. Your nails leave scratches on his back, and your eyes close as the sound of his ragged breathing overtakes your senses. Your eyes meet and you stroke his face, gently tracing the outline of his lips, caressing the corners of his eyes before he gathers your close, his grip leaving indents in your skin as he gives all of himself to you. 

Oh, this sweet-looking man is the wolf in sheep’s clothing. He won’t hesitate to take you anywhere, anytime. His unconventional spot is his desk at the office. He loves how naughty it makes him feel.

It’s past office hours and everyone has gone home, but Xavier had been making excuses to get you to stay late since lunch. Now, finally alone he boxes you in against his desk, your body blocked from escaping by his tall frame. His gloved hands shamelessly slide under your hunter’s uniform as he gropes your tits, palming the mounds of flesh possessively, satisfaction coursing through his veins as your nipples harden under his palms. His tongue traces hot trails down your neck as you squirm against him, feeling hardness gather between his thighs.

You whimper as his teeth scrape the front of your throat, your blood humming in your ears. Xavier undoes the buttons and buckles on the uniform and your clothes slide to the floor, leaving you in bra and panties. A stain of moisture has gathered on the crotch and Xavier’s sapphire eyes become luminous with hunger at the sight. 

“I’m guessing you’re just pretending when you say you don’t like me taking you at the office.” He helps you hop onto the desk and then kneels between your thighs, his nose brushing against the smear, inhaling the musky scent of need leaking from your core. He pulls apart your legs, helping you balance your feet at the edge of the desk then hooks his finger into the gusset of your panties, pulling them to the side and giving you a teasing lick that makes your hips thrust up. 

Xavier chuckles and sticks his tongue into your moist hole and you moan, the noise escaping into the quietness of the office, only seeming to sound louder than when it was full. Lewd slurping noises can be heard as Xavier goes to town, sucking every drop of your essence he can find, his tongue drawing circles over your sensitive bud as your hips instinctively rock against his mouth. Xavier’s cock throbs painfully inside his slacks as he steadily builds your orgasm, your every movement and noise only adding fuel to the fire. He frees one hand from it’s glove and probes your entrance, watching your fluttering hole suck his fingers in, clenching with desire around the long digits.

Every nerve in your body is begging for release, your head turning to one side, seeing all the empty desks of your colleagues, none of whom will have a clue of what happened on the desk next to them when they get in the next morning. The thought causes heat to gather in your belly, your abdominal muscles tightening in anticipation until Xavier pushes you over the peak, your breath tearing from your throat as you gasp out in ecstasy, pulse after pulse of satisfying pleasure flooding your senses. 

Xavier licks his fingers clean then quickly undoes his pants, his cock finally springing free of its confines, leaking precum on its tip. He guides himself towards your warm, wet, cunt, gently splitting you apart as he fills you up. The stretch of muscle is welcoming, and he rolls your knees onto your chest, making you impossibly tighter around him as he starts to thrust. 

As the air fills with your quiet whimpers, he sighs and settles into a comfortable rhythm, ensuring he bottoms out each time, dragging his length along your inner walls as he withdraws. 

“Maybe next time we should do this on Tara’s desk instead of mine. Imagine her look of confusion when she comes in and sees all her paperwork is stained.”

The beach. He enjoys the noise of the water lapping onto the sand as he pulls you away to a hidden spot on the sandy dunes. Was it really his fault that you wore that sexy little bikini, the one that showed just enough of your sweet ass and lacked just enough support that it didn’t prevent your boobs from jostling around when you walked?

Surrounded by a craggy wall of privacy, his eyes glitter mischievously as he squeezes every part of your body, enjoying the way your face becomes flushed and your kisses become sloppier as he teases your nipples through the bikini top, the peaks visible and hard. He grins unashamedly as you stretch out on your stomach on the beach blanket he’s laid out, and starts to undo the knot at your back. His lips kiss the back of your neck and trail down your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine with each touch. You’re humming lazily, then roll over to expose your breasts to him, sand dotting your collarbones and belly. 

Rafayel dips his head and suckles a pert nipple, groaning. “Oh, you’re all salty babe…from swimming in the ocean. Oh delicious…” He switches to the other one, savoring the taste of the salt and your skin as you moan and reach over to palm him through his swimming trunks. He’s rock hard and throbbing as you stroke his erection and his hips snap forward with each movement of your small hand. 

The sound of the waves crashing down onto the shore and the call of the seagulls disguise the moans and noises of sweet pleasure the both of you are making as Rafayel hooks a finger into the elastic of your bikini bottom and pulls it down. The ocean breeze caresses your body and goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Rafayel chuckles and covers your body, his warmth seeping comfortingly into you as your hands tickle down his back, leaning up to give him unhurried kisses down his happy trail. Unable to hide your enthusiasm anymore, you loosen the drawstring of his swim shorts, tugging down the fabric and freeing his hard meat. It pops up proudly, leaking droplets at the tip. 

You swirl your tongue generously around it and Rafayel bucks almost delicately into your mouth, the moist heat welcome against the chill of the air. He clicks his tongue in dismay as you let go but surprise him by rolling him under you, and quickly changing positions so that your pussy was tantalizingly visible over his face. You go back to eagerly slurping his generous length and feel the wet slip of his tongue lick a hot stripe along your cunt and hum in gratification as he hits your clit. He tasted salty too, and you suck on his tip like a lollipop trying to fit as much of him into your mouth as you could. Saliva drips from your mouth and onto the crevices of his thighs as you pleasure each other. You let out a keening moan, muffled by his cock as he inserts two fingers into your fluttering hole and starts petting your gspot. Your hips rock against his face and when his lips seal over your clit your concentration slips, his cock falling from your mouth as you rest your cheek on his thigh and writhe, all your inhibitions flying loose.

The relentless actions of his tongue and fingers bring you to a satisfactory orgasm, the punch of ecstasy pulsing through you as your fingers find purchase in the sand, bracing yourself and letting out shuddering whines as you ride the dizzying high. 

Rafayel laps at the fluid leaking from your core, and the feeling jolts you into needing more, the clenching of your cunt almost becoming unbearable. You scramble off his face, resting on your knees as you drag your pussy down his chest, then tease his swollen cockhead with your drooling hole. Rafayel hisses at the sensitivity and before you could react he thrusts his hips and sheathes himself inside you. 

Full and in a haze of need, you ride him, feeling his hands firmly grasp your fleshy ass, gently prying apart your cheeks as you bounced so that he can see the way your hole slides over him, enveloping him in that sweet essence.

“Ahh fuck…” Rafayel’s thrusts get sloppy as the slap of skin on skin gets more urgent, your moans mingling in the salty air as you push him to the edge. Rafayel grits his teeth as your pussy spasms around him, milking him dry as he unloads, his milky seed flooding your channel like sea foam washing up on the sand. 

It excites Sylus to take you on his private balcony. It’s just secluded enough not to give away everything that's happening but open enough that a passerby might hear or see something they weren’t expecting. The excitement is enough to get his blood pumping, a heady rush swooshing through his body as his head fills with illicit thoughts on how to get you to lose control. 

“Sylus please…” You whine helplessly as his head buries itself between your parted thighs, his tongue licking a sinfully pleasurable line from your dripping hole up to your clit. Your hands grip the railing as you moan into the open air while he crouches, a powerful jaguar that wasn’t going to leave you until he’s had his fill. The dim lights of the N109 zone surround you, passing cars and the faint noise of the few people that dared to walk on the streets breaching the edges of your senses.

His hot tongue pushes into your dripping hole and your legs wobble from the heady rush of desire that surges through you. Sylus’s chuckle is muffled and he withdraws, only to replace his tongue with his long, thick fingers. You lean over the edge, trying to steady yourself and Sylus firmly wraps his arms around your middle.

“Please what kitten?” He curls his fingers up into your gspot and pops of color appear behind your closed eyelids as you twitch, your ass jiggling as you dance on his fingers. The air is punctuated with broken moans and Sylus’s eyes gleam in satisfaction at your broken state. “That’s not nearly loud enough. You’ll need to mewl harder than that to even be heard over the traffic.” He gives a teasing lick to your clit and watches your hips jerk. The puffy folds of your sex are leaking copiously, coating his fingers with your slick.

How delightful to have you at his mercy, to have the whole N109 zone hear the pretty noises you made for him, to establish his dominance everywhere. Sylus nuzzles his nose in between your sex, inhaling the sweet musk of your pussy and you reflexively push against him. “This smell when you get so needy for me…it’s intoxicating.” Caged between Sylus and the balcony you’re helpless to do anything else but accept his kisses and licks, feeling him swirl the tip of his tongue on your clit while his fingers work inside you to bring you over the edge. 

When your orgasm finally peaks you sob, your body shaking uncontrollably, all thoughts of not being discovered flying out of the window as pleasure pulses through your body. You bear down on his face, pleasing him immensely as you ride out the dizzying spiral of delight. Once you calm down, Sylus gets to his feet, then to your shock, roughly yanks open the front of your blouse, your tits open to the night air. The taboo of the act brings forth a surge of fresh arousal as he palms the mounds of flesh and you hear the soft noise of a zipper being opened. His cock pushes apart your folds, the engorged head notching into your messy opening and filling your empty canal. You choke out a desperate sound, lost to the noise of the city, but more follow as he thrusts smoothly, his hardened meat kissing your cervix with each stroke.

He offers you his finger and you suck on it for comfort, whining your muffled pleasure as he continues the mutual gratification. 

“That’s a good kitten. Keep purring for me, sweetie.”

© unintentionalseductress original work | no copying, plagiarizing or translating

@theimmortalbuns @otomegamesforlife @sweets-kozume

[whispers-whump]

Some writing advice

that I like to use when I write. None of this is meant to be taken as hard and fast rules, they’re just things I like to do/keep in mind when I’m writing and I thought maybe other people would enjoy! <3

Never say what you mean

This is an offshoot of the very common “show don’t tell” advice, which I think can be confusing in application and unhelpful for scenes where telling is actually the right move. Instead, I keep the advice to never say exactly what I mean in stories.

By using a combination of showing and telling to hint at what you really mean, you force your reader to think and figure it out on their own, which makes for a more satisfying reading experience.

You might show a character getting angry and defensive in response to genuine care and concern. You could tell the audience that the character doesn’t see/talk to their parents often. But never outright give the real meaning that the character feels unlovable because of their strained relationship with their parents and as a result they don’t know how to react to being cared for.

Your readers are smart, you don’t need to spoon feed them.

Be sparse with the important things

You know how in a lot of movies there’s that tense scene where a character is hiding from something/someone and you can only just see this person/thing chasing them through a crack in the door? You get a very small glimpse of whatever’s after the character, sometimes only shadows being visible.

Do that in your writing. Obscure the important things in scenes by overdescribing the unimportant and underdescribing the important.

You might describe the smell of a space, the type of wood the floor is made of, the sound of work boots moving slowly across the room, a flashlight in the character’s hand. And there’s a dead body, laying in a pool of blood in the far corner of the room, red soaking into the rug. Then move on, what kind of rug is it? What is the color, patterns, and type of fabric of the rug?

Don’t linger on the details of the body, give your reader’s imagination some room to work while they digest the mundane you give them.

Dialogue is there to tell your story too

There’s a lot of advice out there about how to make dialogue more realistic, which is absolutely great: read aloud to yourself, put breaks where you feel yourself take a breath, reword if you’re stuttering over your written dialogue. But sometimes, in trying to make dialogue sound more realistic, a little bit of its function is lost.

Dialogue is more than just what your characters say, dialogue should serve a purpose. It’s a part of storytelling, and it can even be a bridging part of your narration.

If you have a scene with a lot of internal conflict that is very narration-heavy, breaking it up with some spoken dialogue can be a way to give some variety to those paragraphs without moving onto a new idea yet; people talk to themselves out loud all of the time.

Dialogue is also about what your characters don’t say. This can mean the character literally doesn’t say anything, they give half-truths, give an expected answer rather than the truth (“I’m fine”), omit important information, or outright lie.

Play with syntax and sentence structure

You’ve heard this advice before probably. Short, choppy sentences and a little onomatopoeia work great for fast-paced action scenes, and longer sentences with more description help slow your pacing back down.

That’s solid advice, but what else can you play with? Syntax and sentence structure are more than just the length of a sentence.

Think about things like: repetition of words or ideas, sentence fragments, stream of consciousness writing, breaking syntax conventions, and the like. Done well, breaking some of those rules we were taught about language can be a more compelling way to deliver an emotion, theme, or idea that words just can’t convey.

Would love to hear any other tips and tricks other people like to use, so feel free to share!!!

[vunblr]

Toy Soldier (part 3)

Bit by bit, torn apart. We never win, but the battle wages on for toy soldiers.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Fluff. Smut. Canon-Typical Violence. Dark Content: Sexual Assault Wounds (Bucky). Depictions of Physical Wounds. Psychological Trauma. Mentions and depictions of Non-Con (both characters as victims).

Summary: She had been the tool Hydra used to keep him operational; he, the weapon manipulated by their tendrils to execute their ambitions. Years after breaking free, fate Sam Wilson brings them together once more. Now, they must navigate the challenges of forging a connection beyond the twisted dynamic that once bound them in the past.

Word Count: 6.8.k.

notes: This chapter includes flashbacks to non-con situations. Please be mindful of your media consumption and take care of yourself. Passages containing this content are marked with ****** at the beginning and the end, in case you wish to skip them.

Previous Chapter - Masterlist

The next days passed uneventfully after the brawl at the bar. Every location listed in the government-provided intelligence was either empty or completely inconsistent with the reports. It felt like chasing ghosts, a frustrating pattern that left them all on edge.

By the end of the week, they were on a military plane heading back to New York. Sam leaned back in his seat, glancing idly at the other two. It didn’t take him long to notice that they were... talking.

Not in the awkward way of the first days, or the strictly mission-related conversations that followed. In fact, it wasn’t the body language he’d expect from two people who barely knew each other. Bucky’s body was more relaxed than Sam had seen in years while interacting with someone, and at one point, he caught a faint smile on Tinman’s face, a real smile.

What the hell happened between those two?

Asking Bucky directly wasn’t an option. The guy was like a human wall when it came to personal questions. He had learned long ago that pushing him only made him clam up more.

No, if he wanted answers, he’d have to go to the other source. She might be more willing to spill the details, especially if he caught her in a casual moment.

A smirk tugged at his lips as he leaned back in his seat. He’d find a chance to ask her soon, maybe over coffee. Whatever had happened on this mission had clearly done the impossible: it got the Winter Sulkier to actually drop the act.

His attention was drawn back when he noticed Bucky tense slightly, as his expression shifted while she asked him a question. She leaned toward him, perched on the edge of her seat, focusing on the phone he held in his hand. Sam, feigning a search through one of the nearby bags, edged closer to eavesdrop.

“See, you just tap here,” Bucky said, oddly patient, something Sam would’ve thought impossible coming from him. “Then swipe left to go back, or hit this button if you want to-”

“Wait, wait,” she interrupted, holding up a hand. “So anyone can message me, or is it just the guys I pick if we... match?” Her brows furrowed, her tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly. Is he teaching her how to use a dating app?

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Just the ones you match with,” he replied evenly. “But... don’t expect much. Most of these guys don’t know how to hold a conversation past ‘hey.’”

She snorted. “That’s it? No effort at all?” Then she tilted her head. “How’d it go for you, then? Using the app, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged, with a carefully neutral expression. “Tried it a little. Didn’t stick with it.”

She narrowed her eyes and the corners of her lips twitched in amusement. “You ‘tried it a little,’ huh? Because you seem to know a lot about it for someone who barely used it.”

He shot her a quick look before deadpan. “You pick things up.”

“Uh-huh.” She leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she studied him. “Come on, you are handsome, you can’t tell me you didn’t get one match.”

“I got a few,” he admitted reluctantly, blushing slightly. “Didn’t go anywhere.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

He hesitated, and his discomfort was more noticeable now. His gaze quickly darted to Sam and then went back to her. “It’s all surface-level. A few pictures, some vague descriptions, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Her teasing expression softened at the shift in his tone. “Okay, fair. But isn’t that the point? It’s just supposed to be an icebreaker, right?”

“Maybe,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat. “But I’m not great at... small talk. And that’s all this is. Small talk that leads nowhere.”

Sam, who had been quietly watching, finally spoke up. “You’re not really helping her case, you know. You’re making this app sound like a deathtrap.”

Bucky shot him a glare. “It’s not a deathtrap. It’s just... not worth the hassle.”

She raised a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I won’t know until I try it. Maybe I’ll get luckier. How different could it really be once you meet in person, like a traditional meetup?”

Before Bucky could respond, Sam chimed in from a few seats over, a mischievous smirk on his face. “Well, you should also know that you might receive some... unwanted pictures.”

She tilted her head, frowning. “Unwanted pictures? Like what?”

“Dicks,” Sam deadpanned, his expression unflinching.

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why would someone... Is that supposed to attract me? Like they think, ‘Oh, I’ll send her a dick pic, and she’ll say, sure, John, let’s go feed the ducks at the park?’”

Sam doubled over laughing, while Bucky shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. “Yeah, uh... I forgot to mention the unwanted pictures,” he muttered.

She quirked a brow, and her lips twitched with amusement. “How is it for the guys? Did you get unwanted pictures too? Like, ‘Hey, handsome,’ and bam! Wet nipples pic?”

Bucky froze, his eyes widening slightly “I- what? No,” he stammered, his usual stoic mask cracking under her teasing.

Sam burst out laughing, leaning back in his seat. “Oh, man, you broke him.”

Bucky shot Sam a death glare, but the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. “It’s not... That’s not how it works.”

“Oh, come on, someone must’ve tried.”

Bucky ran a hand over his face, clearly wishing for the conversation to end. “No,” he said firmly. “Guys don’t get stuff like that. Not usually.”

Sam wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling. “This is the best thing I’ve heard all week.”

“Glad I could entertain you,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, fixing his gaze firmly on the floor.

Sensing his discomfort now that Sam had jumped into the conversation, she decided to redirect the attention. She leaned slightly toward Sam, with a mischievous grin tugging at her lips.

“Speaking of unwanted pictures,” she said casually, “remember when that agent flashed us his brand-new Prince Albert in the Rome safehouse? Because he thought it was infected and wanted me to take care of it?”

Sam choked on his laughter. “Oh, man, that guy! How could I forget?” He shook his head, still grinning. “I got traumatized. The guy showed it off like he was proud of it. Even with the swelling and all. And you…you just stood there like it was any other Tuesday.”

She shrugged, her expression deadpan. “What was I supposed to do? He dropped his pants before I even knew what was happening. First of all, you might find it hard to believe, but it wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a dick, and second, I’ve seen worse things over the years.” if he only knew how much worse.

Bucky’s frown deepened, snapping his sharp gaze at her. His jaw tightened, and there was a flicker of something in his expression, something dark and protective. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, coldly.

She glanced at him, startled by the sudden shift in his demeanor. “What?”

“That guy,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Dropping his pants like that. You’re a lady, for God’s sake.”

Sam burst out laughing again, “I hate to break it to you, but modern life’s not exactly full of boundaries, Buck. Especially when the dude thought his dick was going to fall off.”

Bucky ignored Sam’s laughter. “Still doesn’t mean it’s right.”

His gaze drifted, growing distant, and she knew exactly where it was traveling. The countless times Hydra had forced her to touch him in clinical detachment, to treat his groin marred by shrapnel, burns, and other injuries she’d long since pushed to the darkest corners of her memory. Also, that time when…

She clapped her hands suddenly, trying to steer the conversation away.

“Anyway, about the app-”

“Wait,” Sam interrupted, leaning forward with interest. “About that, last time I talked to you, you said you were dating some dude from the library. Some kind of meet-cute.”

Bucky’s attention snapped back to the conversation, as a strange, twisted feeling settled in his gut.

“Clearly, if I’m asking about the app, I’m not seeing him anymore,” she replied, with a certain edge.

“What happened?” Sam pressed, furrowing his brow. “You seemed interested in the guy, and it sounded like he was into you, too.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “It just... didn’t work out.”

Sam gave her a pointed look. “That’s not a real answer.”

She groaned, leaning back in her seat. “Fine. Over the weeks, it was like everything he said he liked about me at first became an issue.”

“Like?” Sam prompted, tilting his head.

“Like preferring to stay home instead of going out all the time, it bored him. Or how he’d tell me he loved my cooking but would complain about his sweater smelling smoky after I’d make something. Little stuff like that.” She paused. “Then one day, I knit him a scarf. And do you know what he said?”

Sam raised a brow. “What?”

“He said, ‘I have a grandma who can do that,’” she said flatly.

Sam let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. “What a jackass.”

“Yeah,” she said with a humorless chuckle. “That was the last straw. Especially since he was the one who said he’d love it if I made something for him while flirting.”

“Oh my God, Sarah would’ve shoved the scarf through his ass, crochet hook included. And… uh did you two, you know…” Sam made a wave with his hand implying intimacy.

She couldn’t stop herself from briefly side-look at Bucky, who was staring at the ground. “No. I mean there was… but no. I don’t know, maybe that’s why suddenly everything started to annoy him.

Bucky felt a sharp surge of anger toward the faceless man. His fingers flexed against his thigh as he tried to push it down, but it stayed there. Sure, things had changed over the decades, he’d seen that much already. But memories of Rebecca knitting gloves for her sweetheart by the window, or his ma stitching clothes for them during the Depression, flooded his mind.

He knew what it meant to make something with your hands, the time, care, and thought behind every stitch. For that man to dismiss it like it was nothing, to compare her work to something anyone could do... it was a slap to everything he’d grown up valuing.

“That guy was an idiot,” he muttered, with irritation. “You took the time to make something for him, something personal. That matters. If he couldn’t see that, he wasn’t worth it.” The look on his face betrayed rage, the kind that made it clear he’d have no problem to physically teach the guy a lesson if he were standing in front of him.

She felt warmth rise in her chest at his words, “Thank you.”

Sam, who had been watching the exchange with growing amusement, leaned back in his seat with a knowing grin.

----

A couple of days had passed since they returned to New York, and she sat on her couch, biting her nails absently. The soft ticking of the wall clock felt louder than usual.

It was almost time for the doorbell to ring.

When they landed, Bucky had set her aside hesitantly and asked her if it was alright for them to talk. He’d made it clear that there was no pressure, no expectations. If she didn’t want to, he’d leave it alone. The last thing he wanted was to cause her discomfort.

She’d promptly agreed, “We can talk at my place if you are okay with that.” the offer had spilled from her lips before she could even think it through.

Her house was small but cozy, cluttered in a lived-in way. Books and plants filled old wooden shelves, the soft glow of a lamp in the corner painted the room in warm tones, and the faint scent of lavender lingered from a candle burning on the coffee table. She’d baked cookies and tidied up, in an unconscious effort to keep herself busy.

The doorbell finally rang, startling her.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she stood quickly, smoothing her hands over her shirt before heading to the door. When she opened it, there he was. Red henley, dark jeans, and a stuffed paper bag in his hand, standing on the threshold with a casual but guarded expression.

“Hi,” she managed to say, calmer than she felt.

“Hi,” he replied, nodding slightly before extending the bag toward her. “Um, for later. I figured it’d be rude to come empty-handed.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have” she said, clearly pleased, stepping aside while taking the bag, gesturing for him to come in. “Make yourself comfortable”.

Bucky hesitated momentarily before stepping inside, flicking his gaze briefly over the room. It felt... welcoming, familiar. He sat on the couch stiffly, resting his hands on his thighs.

She followed him, putting the paper bag on the coffee table and taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“So,” she began, breaking the silence, “what did you want to talk about?”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. “I just... wanted to say I’m sorry,”.

“For what?” she asked, puzzled.

“For everything,” he said, dropping his gaze to his hands. “For what Hydra put you through because of me. For being part of the reason you were stuck in that hell.”

Her breath caught, and she shook her head instinctively. “What- Bucky, you weren’t the reason-”

“I was,” he cut her off gently, lifting his eyes to meet hers again. “I might not have had a choice in what they did to me, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t pay the price for it.”

She swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “You’re not responsible for what they did.” she said softly. “Neither of us is.”

“Objectively I know,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel it is.”

The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken pain and understanding.

She sighed. “They abducted me because of my mutant powers, Bucky. They eventually assigned me to be your… maintenance tool because you were their most effective asset, Hydra’s fist. But even if you have not been there, there were others. For one reason or another, I would have ended up there anyway.”

The others.

******

Her words triggered memories he didn’t want but couldn’t avoid. The unending hours of hand-to-hand combat, training the newly enhanced assets. His missions didn’t end when he returned from the field; Hydra had repurposed him to mold their next generation of tools.

The rules had been clear: restrict his strength, take the blows, and avoid permanent damage. These trainees were expensive investments, after all, and he had the privilege of having his Tinkerbell next door to sprinkle some powder to fix him anew after every session.

Was in one of those travels to the neighboring cell when Soldat’s brain used the gray zones in the rules for the first time.

As he opened the heavy door, his gaze landed on the stretcher. She wasn’t alone. The asset bending her over the surface, fisting her hair, was making sure of it. His other hand fumbled, trying to place his excuse of a cock inside her, as she twisted helplessly beneath him.

His jaw ticked.

His fist connected with his target’s jaw in a blur of silver and crimson, sending him flying against the nearest wall with a sickening thud. The orders were to restrain himself while training. Her cell wasn’t meant as a place to train.

The asset groaned, attempting to push himself upright, but Soldat was already on him. In two long strides, he closed the distance, seizing the man’s throat with a crushing grip, lifting him up as if he weighed nothing. The asset’s eyes widened in panic as his legs kicked futilely against the air.

“Soldat!” a voice crackled through the speaker overhead. The handler’s voice.

He froze momentarily, loosening his grip just enough for the asset to suck in a ragged breath.

“Stand down,” the voice ordered, laced with the unmistakable threat of consequences.

His gaze flickered toward the camera in the corner of the room. He knew they were watching, assessing every move. But as he looked back at the asset, his grip tightened again.

She was still there, trembling against the stretcher, her wide, teary eyes locked on him. Her lip was split, and her arms were wrapped tightly around herself as though trying to hold her shattered pieces together.

A flicker of something broke through the red haze in his mind.

“Soldat,” the handler barked again, sharper this time. “Release him. Now.”

His hand twitched, and the hum of his arm vibrated faintly as if resisting the command. Slowly, deliberately, he dropped the man to the ground. The asset crumpled in a heap, coughing and clutching his throat.**

He walked toward the stretcher where she sat, frozen in place. Without a word, he leaned on the edge, reaching for the clasps of his upper vest and unfastening efficiently. The vest came off, revealing his beaten torso. His skin was mottled with bruises, and a sickly shade of purple spread across his ribs, the uneven swelling at the zone was a clear indication of fractures.

For a moment, the room was silent, save for the faint static from the intercom and the asset’s wheezing on the floor.

He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze in a silent request. Her hands shook as she reached for him, steading when they met his skin.

“Soldat,” the handler’s voice snapped through the intercom. “Report back to the training room.”

He didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on her, unwavering, unyielding. His hand twitched again, resting lightly on his thigh as though restraining himself from reaching out.

“I said, report back.”

******

“-cky… Bucky…” her voice broke the trance, bringing him back to the present.

He blinked, as his focus returned to the present. He saw her now, not trembling inside a depressing cell but sitting across from him in her living room, looking at him with concern.

“Sorry,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. The words felt inadequate, but they were all he could manage at the moment.

She sighed, leaning back in her seat. “It seems we still have a lot of shit to unpack,” she finally said. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her shirt as she continued, flicking her gaze back to him. “For some reason, you feel responsible for my captivity, and on the other hand, I feel responsible for prolonging your torment.” Her lips quirked into a faint, bittersweet smile. “Maybe we need to do some couple’s counseling.”

The joke was light, silly, considering what they’ve been through. Still, Bucky’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile.

Grabbing onto that tiny smile like a lifeline, she seized the opportunity to steer the conversation toward something more pleasant. “So, what’s in the mystery bag you brought?”

His gaze flicked to the paper-wrapped goodies on the coffee table. “Some... pastries,” he admitted, almost self-conscious. “Figured you might invite me for some coffee.” He quirked a brow, the faint hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It was my intention, yes,” she replied, leaning back in her seat, “Also, I might or might not have baked enough cookies to feed an army to go with it.”

“That so?” His smirk deepened slightly.

“Well, for starters I know your metabolism screams at you to inhale calories even in your sleep, and... I was kind of nervous before our meeting,” she confessed, almost murmuring toward the end.

He blinked, caught off guard by her honesty. “Nervous?” he echoed.

She shrugged, brushing an imaginary lint off her pants. “Yeah, nervous. I mean, it’s not every day you have a sit-down heart-to-heart with someone you...” She paused, searching for the right words. “...went through hell with.”

He didn’t respond immediately, fixing his gaze on her. Finally, he nodded, “I get it.”

For a moment, they sat in a silence that felt lighter than before, and then she clapped her hands lightly and rose from her seat.

“Well,” she said, “How about we see what kind of pastries you picked, and I’ll grab the cookies and make the coffee?

“Seems like a plan.” He agreed, standing and following her into the kitchen.

She grabbed a tray and began arranging the pastries he’d brought, their golden crusts promising a delicious treat. Beside them, she added a generous pile of cookies she’d baked earlier. The hum of the kettle heating the water filled the small space.

Bucky’s eyes drifted to the counter as she prepped. He hummed in appreciation when he realized she was setting up for brewed coffee, and the familiar sight of a pour-over filter caught his attention.

“Don’t like coffee makers,” she remarked, noticing his gaze. “Tastes like dirty water to me.”

He smirked faintly. “I couldn’t have expressed it better. There’s a machine for almost everything now, but some things...”

“...are better the old-fashioned way,” she finished, flashing him a small smile.

Bucky nodded toward the tray. “May I?”

“Go ahead,” she said, motioning to the cookies.

He reached for one, and before he realized it, his hand kept returning to the tray. They were warm, buttery, and just the right amount of sweet, a huge contrast to the food he’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“You bake like this often?” he asked between bites, in an almost casual tone.

“Not really,” she admitted with a chuckle, leaning against the counter. “I had a lot of nervous energy before today. Figured I might as well channel it into something productive.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “They’re good.”

She grinned. “Glad you approve.”

By the time the coffee was ready, most of the cookies were gone. She blinked at the near-empty tray and arched a brow at him.

“Seriously?” she teased, pouring two mugs of coffee. “I don’t think the cookies were supposed to be dinner.”

Bucky shrugged unapologetically, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Couldn’t stop. They’re better than anything I’ve had in a while.”

“Well, I’m taking that as a compliment,” she said, handing him a mug.

He took it, warming his hand with the cup. “It was.”

They settled at the small kitchen table, with the tray of pastries and the few remaining cookies between them. The conversation flowed easily, and their laughter mixed with the freshly brewed coffee aroma.

At some point, Bucky’s fingers tightened around his mug, lowering his gaze to its content. He hesitated for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line before he spoke. “When you asked me about the dating app the other day... how long... when did you feel you were ready to, you know…”

He trailed off, cursing himself inwardly for the clumsy phrasing and lack of subtlety.

She tilted her head, “Well, you mentioned it as a joke, and then I took the opportunity to ask since, you know, I was curious about them.” She chuckled lightly. “Not that my attempts at normal dating have been anything to brag about. As you heard on the plane... pretty pathetic.”

Bucky’s lips quirked briefly, but his eyes stayed on the coffee, waiting.

She shifted slightly in her chair, toying with the edge of her mug with her fingers. “As for being ready... I don’t know. It’s been a couple of years since I started feeling the... the need to have someone. Someone who’s more than just a friend.” She paused, and her gaze drifted somewhere far away, before returning to him. “But, honestly, the world changed so much. Dating now is... different. Messy.” She offered a faint smile, “Well if it feels like that for me, I can’t even imagine what it’s like for you. You probably grew up around my daddy’s time.”

Bucky’s head shot up, quirking his brow in mock indignation. “Your dad’s time?”

She grinned, catching the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You were probably handing out love letters, not even using a phone.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Hey, we weren’t that old-fashioned.” He paused, “But... yeah. It was different.”

“Guess that’s one thing we have in common,” she said softly. “Figuring out where we fit in a world that’s... moved on without us.”

He looked at her then, somehow the weight of her words made him feel less alone in his own struggle.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I guess we do.”

Gathering her courage, she nodded toward his vibranium hand, “Can I see it? Properly, I mean.”

His body tensed for a fraction of a second, but he saw genuine interest in her eyes. Slowly, he lifted his arm, extending the sleek prosthetic toward her.

She reached for it with both hands, brushing her fingers trough the cool, polished surface. His gaze widened slightly as she turned it gently in her grasp.

“Wow,” she murmured, running her fingertips along the ridges and smooth joints. “The fingers are less edgy than the old one.” She traced a line along his palm. “How’s the sensory feedback?”

Her question startled him out of his momentary daze, and he cleared his throat. Her touch was making harder to stay composed than he wanted to admit. “neuro-connections are more advanced,” he began, in an almost clinical tone. “So I have better control over it. I can feel pressure and temperature more accurately. But that’s... all.”

Her thumbs brushed over the pads of his fingers, “That’s a lot, though,” she said quietly. “It’s incredible. Do you ever... forget it’s not flesh and bone?”

His lips twitched faintly, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Sometimes,” he admitted. “Until I catch someone staring at it. Or...” His gaze dropped to her hands, still cradling his. “Until someone touches it. And I remember it’s not real.”

Her grip tightened slightly, an unconscious response. “It is real, Bucky,” she said firmly, lifting her eyes to his. “It’s you.”

“Thanks,” he said after a long pause.

Noticing that she still hadn’t released his hand, she let go quickly, feeling her cheeks warming under his stare. “Sorry, I got carried away.”

He shook his head lightly. “It’s fine,” he muttered.

She grabbed a pastry from the tray and took a bite to occupy herself. The silence lingered before she worked up the courage to ask, tentative but curious. “So... when did you feel ready to date and try the apps and stuff?”

He stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“You asked me,” she deadpanned as she gestured toward him with a half-eaten bun. “Fair if I get to ask you the same.”

He sighed, brushing his fingers over his temple as he scratched it absently. “I don’t think...” He trailed off, then started again. “Last year, my therapist suggested I start stepping out of my comfort zone. Told me it’d help with... things. So... I tried.”

“And?” she prompted, leaning slightly forward, encouraging but not pushing.

His gaze dropped to the table. “I’d be lying if I said it’s been great.”

She remained silent, giving him space to continue.

“It’s just...” He hesitated, his hand curling into a loose fist on the table. “Meeting new people it’s hard. Small talk feels fake, like I’m watching it happen instead of being part of it. There’s this constant voice in my head, reminding me of all the things I can’t tell them. All the stuff I can’t explain. I look at someone across a table, and they’re smiling, talking about their favorite movies or where they want to go on vacation. And all I can think about is how much they don’t know. How much they can’t know.” He paused, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “That I’ve done things... that I’ve had things done to me. And if they ever found out, they’d run away.”

She set her pastry down quietly, folding her hands in her lap as she listened, letting him talk, suspecting he probably hadn’t spoken this much in years.

“And then there’s the other stuff,” he continued, lower now. “The touch. Sometimes, even a handshake feels wrong. Too close, too much. I can’t control how my brain reacts. Sometimes I flinch, or freeze. And how do you explain that to someone on a second date?”

“Yeah. Touching can be... hard if you’re not familiar enough with the person,” she murmured, dropping her gaze to the table.

They both understood why.

The silence stretched. He didn’t need to ask what she meant, and she didn’t need to elaborate. Hydra had ensured they both carried scars that made even the simplest gestures of connection fraught with hesitation.

She straightened in her seat, trying to shake off the heavy mood. “You know,” she said, with a faint edge of humor creeping into her tone, “for a conversation about dating, this has turned into a pretty depressing therapy session.”

He seemed to hesitate, curling his fingers slightly around his mug before he spoke. “It’s not like that with you.”

Her brow furrowed. “Uh?”

“Touching,” he clarified, his voice quieter now, almost as if he were confessing something. “Those days in Poland... I noticed.”

“Oh,” she said softly, as her fingers brushed the edge of her cup while her gaze flickered to him.

He looked down at his hands, gathering his thoughts before continuing. “I’ve been... thinking about it. And the only reason I can come up with is... because you were the only ‘good’ thing in that hellhole.”

She stared at him, unsure how to respond. Then she shook her head slowly. “After everything Hydra made me do to you, how can you feel-”

His gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unyielding. “I don’t blame you,” he cut her firmly. “I’ve told you that.”

She bit her lip, afraid to ask. “But... how much do you remember about-”

“Everything,” he said quietly.

She inhaled sharply, tightening her fingers around the mug and locked her eyes onto his. “E-even...”

“Everything, doll,” he said again, softer now.

She swallowed hard. “I see. And still...”

“Don’t blame you,” he repeated, resolute, as though daring her to argue.

******

It had been two days since they’d injected him with that burning substance, two days of his body rebelling against him in the most excruciating way. The unrelenting ache of the forced erection was a constant, painful thrum, and despite his silence, the slight tremor in his movements betrayed the toll it was taking.

At first, the staff had dismissed it as a side effect of the experiment. But as the hours stretched into days, and Soldat’s body refused to yield, it became clear that something had to be done.

The traditional methods failed. They’d barked orders for him to “take care of it himself,” but he stood motionless and unresponsive. They had thrown him into freezing water, and his body had trembled violently, but the condition persisted. Even a brutal beating did nothing to break the cycle.

Finally, they summoned her.

She’d entered the sterile room, and her stomach churned. He was shirtless, his skin flushed an unnatural shade, and though his expression remained stoic, she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled slightly at his sides.

“You,” the handler barked, gesturing toward him. “Fix the inconvenience.”

Her heart sank. She swallowed thickly, forcing herself to remain composed. “But... he’s not injured, sir. I don’t-”

The sharp crack of a slap cut her off, her head snapping to the side as pain bloomed across her cheek.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion, pet,” the handler sneered, his voice dripping with venom.

She bit down on her lip, as she nodded numbly. “Yes, sir.”

Approaching him hesitantly, she reached out and hovered her trembling hand over his overheated skin. He didn’t flinch, didn’t move, just stared ahead, his blue gaze void of anything human.

Tentatively, she placed her hand against his chest, and noticed the heat radiating off his body was almost unbearable. Closing her eyes, she tried to infuse him with her healing surge, willing it to work, to cool the fire that was consuming him.

Nothing.

She retracted her hand, “It’s no use, sir,” she excused herself in a whisper.

“Try harder,” he snarled, sharply.

Before she could react, he grabbed her trembling hand and shoved it between Soldat’s legs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. He remained still, his lifeless gaze kept fixed on the far wall, as though none of this was happening.

Slowly, reluctantly, she wrapped her hand around him -or tried to-, her fingers barely circling his length. Her heart pounded in her ears as she forced herself to send another wave of her healing surge through her palm.

Nothing.

“S-sir, it’s not...” she stammered, withdrawing slightly.

“Try a different approach,” the handler barked, his patience wearing thin.

Her stomach twisted painfully. “B-but...”

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a cock in your entire life, slut,” the handler spat with malice. “We both know very well that’s not the case.”

Shame and rage bloomed inside her chest, but she didn’t dare meet his eyes.

The handler’s cruel smile widened, and his next words were laced with venom. “Jerk him off.”

Her body froze. She stared down at her hand, still trembling against the Soldat’s unmoving form.

When she didn’t move, the man stepped closer. “Do you prefer if I order him to fuck your brains out?” he sneered. “I’m pretty sure he’d gladly comply. His fried brain probably can’t even remember the last time he did it.”

The Soldat’s jaw ticked imperceptibly at the words, a flicker of something passing through his otherwise blank expression. A muscle in his temple twitched, so slightly it was almost imperceptible, but she noticed.

“Do it,” the handler barked, his tone icy. “Now.”

Slowly, she shifted her gaze to the side, staring at the far wall to avoid looking at him, at either of them. Her hand trembled as she reached out, brushing against the overheated skin of his abdomen before curling around him again.

The Soldat kept being unresponsive.

Her fingers tightened slightly around him, and she began to move her hand in a clinical and detached way, trying to retreat her mind to a faraway place.

The handler leaned against the counter, and his smug smile made her sick. “See? Was that so hard, pet?”

She didn’t respond, focusing instead on keeping her breathing steady. Soldat remained as a statue, with his gaze fixed straight ahead. But she saw it again, the faintest twitch of his fingers, a subtle clenching of his jaw.

Was it anger? Pleasure? She didn’t know, and she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. She tried to focus on the rhythm of her movements, the hum of the fluorescent lights above, anything to drown out the humiliation.

“Good girl,” the man praised her mockingly.

At some point, the Soldat’s breath hitched slightly, a small, involuntary response. She froze for a fraction of a second, before forcing herself to continue.

The handler’s gaze was fixed on her with sadistic amusement. “See? The horny dog is starting to stir,” he sneered, chuckling darkly. “Keep going, pet. Put some effort into it.”

She kept going, trying to block out the handler’s taunts and the oppressive heat radiating from Soldat’s body.

“I can’t wait to see how this ends,” He stepped closer, and his boots clicked against the sterile floor as his shadow loomed over her. She could feel his cruel satisfaction like a physical weight pressing down on her.

He smirked, tilting his head as if studying a piece of art. “It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? The indomitable Winter Soldier reduced to this.” He leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “And you, pet... always so eager to fix him.

Her hand faltered for the briefest moment, and the handler’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t stop,” he hissed, sharply.

Her fingers resumed their mechanical rhythm, trembling slightly as they moved over the heated skin.

Soldat’s body betrayed him, starting to respond to her ministrations. His chest rose and fell slightly faster, and the faintest sheen of sweat formed along his collarbone. A muscle in his jaw ticked again, and his metal hand twitched at his side, the slightest flex of his fingers betraying the struggle beneath the surface.

She noticed every subtle reaction, every unwilling signal his body sent. It felt like a cruel mockery, this was not a man choosing to respond, but a body manipulated and prodded to betray its instincts.

The handler’s smirk widened as he circled them, amused. “See? The body don’t lie, pet. No matter how much you both fight it, nature always wins.”

Soldat’s breaths were growing more uneven, and his nostrils flared as his chest rose and fell with increasing urgency. For a moment, his steel-blue gaze flicked down to her hand, a fleeting acknowledgment before snapping forward again, returning to the blank void.

The handler leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms, watching with sick satisfaction. “He’s close, isn’t he? Just look at him.”

Soldat’s fingers twitched again, curling slightly into a loose fist. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, a small, involuntary moan escaping his lips. Barely audible but deafening in the oppressive silence of the room.

The handler laughed, cruelly. “There it is,” he sneered, clapping his hands mockingly. “Hydra’s fist reduced to nothing more than a desperate animal. Guess even the strongest aren’t immune to a good touch. Keep going, pet,” he ordered. “We’re almost there.”

Soldat’s gaze flicked down to her hand again, and the faintest flicker of something passed through his otherwise blank expression. Another quiet moan slipped out, broken and involuntary, while his body tensed beneath her touch, and the muscles in his abdomen started to tighten,

The handler licked his lips as his gaze kept glued to the scene before him. “Almost there, loyal pet. Finish it.”

Soldat’s breaths hitched again, and his body betrayed him further as his head tilted back slightly, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. The faint sheen of sweat on his skin glinted under the sterile light, and every detail etched into her mind despite her desperate attempts to detach herself.

And then it happened.

His body went rigid, his metal hand clenched into a fist, so tight it trembled at his side. His breath hitched, and a low, guttural sound tore from his throat, a mixture of release and anguish that echoed in the sterile room.

She froze, retreating her hand almost immediately as though burned. Her chest heaved with shallow, shaky breaths as she stumbled back a step.

Soldat’s body sagged slightly, and his head dropped forward, while his breathing started to slow down, bleeding the tension out of his system. He didn’t look at her, didn’t acknowledge the handler either, his gaze fixed again somewhere distant,  unreachable.

The handler clapped, grinning wide and cruelly again. “There you go, pet. Good job. I knew you had it in you.”

Her hands clutched at her sides, biting her nails into her palms as she forced herself to stand still, to remain composed even as her world felt like it was shattering.

Sensing her discomfort, he kept his smirk firmly in place. “Now clean yourself up” he said coldly. “You look like cheap whore.”

Then he turned around. “You, take him to cryo,” he lazily ordered to the guards who had been standing silently by the door. “He’s done for now.”

******

“I know what it’s like to not have a choice,” he said simply, “I know what it’s like to be used, controlled, forced into something you’d never choose for yourself.”

Her gaze dropped to the table.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. “I’m no saint. I’ve hated a lot of people, doll. Hated myself more than I can say. But you? Not once. You were there, real and raw. And, maybe, is because of that that I trust you.”

She stared at him, and her hands twitched on the table, wanting to reach out, to bridge the gap between them. But instead, she sat there with her heart pounding.

“Bucky, I-”  her voice faltered. The weight of his admission was almost too much for her to bear.

The way he looked at her then, open and bare, broke whatever restrain was keeping her still.

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. She stood abruptly, scraping the chair against the floor, and rounded the small table.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

He didn’t flinch. Slowly, his arms came up to encircle her waist cautiously, as though afraid he might break her. She pressed her cheek against the crown of his head and put her hands around his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his hair.

She felt him shift slightly, dipping his head lower until his forehead rested lightly against her shoulder. His breath was warm against the side of her neck, and the subtle weight of his body leaning into her made her heart ache.

“For what?” he murmured.

“For not hating me.”

Next chapter

Taglist: @sunshinedayz19 @star-maker-rain-dancer @tumdlrnewb84 @mgchaser @buckys-arm-and-rios-dagger @gotminho @kaitlin013106 @startorrent @idontknowhowtonormal @mattmurdock42 @hnnhbananananana @aeriss-at-heart45 @jainaeatsstars @airixaram @seventeen-x @jaxz21 @zizzlekwum @hi172826 @valckenaux

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[desigal-26]

I have used Taylor Swift’s songs for this. Hope no one minds anything 😅

Deal?

Max Verstappen x Singer-Songwriter!Reader

Magic, madness, heaven, sin.

Bad PR, too many exes, too many dates. Solution? A PR relationship between a global superstar and a world champion—only that they don’t know when to stop.

Warnings: SMAU + Real life. Reader and Max both have a reputation of being seen with new partners frequently. Fake dating. It gets steamy in the end. Enemies with Benefits?

MAX VERSTAPPEN MEAN IN BED: CLAIMS HIS LONDON FLING

HOW MAX’S BREAKUP TURNED OUT TO BE A POTENTIAL CAREER-ENDER FOR HIM?

FAMOUS SINGER RELEASES HER NEWEST SINGLE ‘BLANK SPACE’—RECEIVES BACKLASH

TOO MANY WRONG CHOICES? OR A PATTERN?

ALL PUBLICITY NOT GOOD PUBLICITY: RED BULL DRIVER AND REPUTATION SINGER PROVES IT

WHERE IT WENT WRONG FOR THE WORLD CHAMPION?

SOURCE CLAIMS MAX VERSTAPPEN IS SPIRALLING OUT OF CONTROL

‘GOT A LONG LIST OF EX-LOVERS/THEY TELL YOU I’M INSANE…’ JUST LYRICS OR THE TRUTH?

“If the media sees you with another woman this week, your reputation is gone, Max. Do you understand me? Gone!” Raymond Vermeulen snapped, his voice sharp with exasperation. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, the lines on his forehead deepening as he glared at his client like a parent scolding a reckless teenager.

Max Verstappen barely looked up. Seated with his legs stretched out and his phone balanced loosely in his hand, he only hummed in vague acknowledgment. His thumbs tapped quickly, already typing out a message to the latest girl he’d met on Raya. Hey, free later? Thought we could catch up… The irony of Raymond’s words and his own actions didn’t even register.

The door to the conference room swung open with a soft click, the sound of two pairs of heels echoing sharply against the polished floor. Instinctively, Max glanced up—more out of habit than curiosity.

Two women entered.

The first he didn’t recognize—tall, sleek, efficient-looking, with a folder tucked under her arm and an expression that warned not to waste her time.

But the second…

He straightened slightly. There was something about her—familiar, but just out of reach. She wasn’t looking at him. In fact, she avoided his gaze entirely, settling into her seat at the far end of the table like she had every intention of being invisible. Still, there was a certain air about her—cool, composed, untouchable.

Max squinted slightly. He knew he’d seen her before. But where?

Raymond, still simmering beside him, didn’t notice the shift in Max’s attention.

But Max wasn’t texting anymore.

“I hope you’ve briefed your client on the situation,” the first woman said crisply, her tone polished and professional but laced with something sharper—annoyance, maybe impatience. Her gaze was fixed on Raymond, who let out a long-suffering sigh and turned to Max with a look that practically screamed, for the love of God, behave.

Max, as usual, found that request borderline impossible. Still, he relented—barely. With a dramatic exhale, he set his phone on the polished surface of the conference table, crossed his arms, and raised a brow at his manager with mock curiosity. His expression said everything: Let’s hear this genius plan.

“You both,” Raymond gestured between Max and the woman seated opposite him, the one who hadn’t looked up once since entering the room, “find yourselves in similar positions. Too much bad PR, too much bad publicity.”

That earned a slight snort from Max—he found “bad PR” to be a wildly dramatic term for sleeping with the wrong influencer at the wrong yacht party. But his eyes flicked back to the girl.

She still hadn’t looked at him.

Her manager sat beside her, tense, as if waiting for her to bolt.

Max tilted his head slightly. There was something vaguely familiar about her. He couldn’t place it, but the way she carried herself—distant but composed, like she had built walls so high even she couldn’t see over them—stuck with him.

The other woman at the table, clearly the fixer or legal rep, opened a folder and placed two pristine files on the table in front of her, sliding them forward like a dealer laying down high-stakes cards.

“So,” she began with a cool, practiced smile, “we have an idea. Something that might just help steer the narrative in our favour.”

Max didn’t like that smile. It was too smooth. Too rehearsed. His stomach twisted with the kind of instinctive dread that came just before your brakes failed or your rear wing gave out mid-corner. Every cell in his body warned: this is a trap.

He leaned forward slightly, his voice a touch more serious now. “And that is?”

He glanced at the girl across the table just as she looked up—only for a second—and shot a death glare at her manager. Not a pout, not a frown—a glare full of contempt and resignation, the kind that said I didn’t agree to this, but they didn’t give me a choice.

Max’s gut sank even lower.

Whatever was about to happen, she hated it.

And that meant he probably would too.

“A PR relationship.”

A beat of silence followed.

One second. Two.

And then—chaos.

“What?” Max nearly choked, his chair scraping back with a screech as he surged forward in disbelief, palms slamming flat on the table. “You want me to fake date someone?” He threw a hand toward the quiet woman seated across from him like she was some sort of absurd suggestion. “Her? I don’t even know her name!”

That was the moment she looked up.

And everything stilled.

Her eyes locked onto his with a glare so sharp it could’ve sliced through carbon fiber. Cold, unbothered, and dripping with disdain, it hit Max like a bucket of ice water to the chest. He wasn’t easily rattled—but something about her stare forced him into a moment of silence.

“That’s more of a you problem than mine,” she said, voice smooth and lilting, with the dangerous allure of a vengeful siren luring sailors to their doom.

Max blinked, momentarily thrown off by how calm and lethal she sounded.

“Not necessary for now,” her manager cut in tightly, clearly used to reining in her client’s defiance. “You’ll learn each other’s names in the coming days. What matters is optics—cleaning up both of your reputations. Before your brands bleed out entirely.”

Max let out a short, bitter laugh, half disbelieving and half on the verge of hysterical. “You people are insane. You actually think this is going to work?”

Raymond didn’t speak. He just leveled Max with the same expression he wore every time his driver crashed a perfectly good strategy with a reckless overtake: You did this to yourself.

“No. No, no, no, no!” Max jabbed a finger across the table. “What if she’s a complete psychopath?”

“I heard that,” she deadpanned, eyes narrowing. The chill in her tone could’ve frozen Monaco.

“Good,” Max shot back, unapologetic. “I wasn’t whispering.”

“Enough!” her manager snapped, her carefully curated calm finally cracking as she slammed her folder shut. “This is the deal. Neither of you are in a position to negotiate. She had the audacity to release a song that all but poured gasoline on the firestorm the media already had around her—”

“Oh, please,” the girl muttered under her breath, looking away.

“—and you,” she continued, now spinning toward Max like a hawk, “were just filmed sneaking out of a London hotel at 6 AM with someone who turned around and sold a three-part exposé to The Sun.”

Max winced. Okay. That one… yeah, not ideal.

“And now,” the woman chimed in smoothly, back in control, “we’re offering you both a lifeline. A partnership. A chance to redirect the headlines and reframe your images—together.”

She leaned back in her chair with arms folded, “This is damage control by romance,” she said dryly. “Cute. Very Netflix.”

“Temporary,” her manager clarified. “Six months. Appearances. Handholding. Maybe a few ‘leaked’ pictures on a beach in the Maldives.”

Max turned his head slowly toward her, incredulous. “You sing, and you think I’m the problem?”

She met his gaze coolly. “At least I didn’t get caught doing the walk of shame in front of a tabloid intern with an iPhone 12.”

He scoffed. “Oh, you’re funny.”

“I’m perfectly hilarious, actually,” she replied with a saccharine smile, folding her hands on the table. “But don’t worry—you don’t have to laugh. Just pretend you like me for a few staged photos.”

“Fine,” Max gritted out, glancing at Raymond. “What happens if I say no?”

Raymond didn’t flinch. “You lose half your endorsements. Maybe more.” Max exhaled, jaw ticking. This was a corner he hadn’t seen coming.

He turned to her again. She didn’t look happy either—just… tired. Like she’d fought this already and lost. Her eyes met his one last time, emotionless.

“Well,” she said, her voice softer now, almost resigned. “Here’s to six months of pretending not to hate each other.”

Max snorted. “You already hate me?”

She smirked. “You grow on me, Verstappen. Like a rash.”

The clutch landed on the couch with a soft, careless thud, followed by the distinct click of heels being kicked aside—sharp against marble, then silent. The coolness of the stone met her aching feet like a long-forgotten lover, coaxing a sigh from deep within her chest. Her posture slackened, finally free from the stiff elegance she’d held onto all evening like a second skin.

The white dress clung to her curves with liquid ease, the silky fabric catching the low light in soft glimmers. The high slit draped open around her thigh, revealing a tantalizing stretch of skin—an image she’d already captured for Instagram. Just enough exposure. Just enough tease. Filtered, cropped, and captioned with something vague and poetic that screamed soft launch and secret lover. Something people would read too far into. Something that made the lie believable.

It was routine now—this dance. This curated fantasy. Smiles that weren’t real, touches that meant nothing, pictures that spoke louder than either of them ever dared to. The picture-perfect girlfriend. The elegant date. The arm candy with a glass of champagne and lips stained just enough to be noticed.

Tonight had been no different.

But when she turned around—He was.

He sat on the couch like a barely caged storm. A man carved in tension, blue eyes glassy with something darker than irritation. Rage, maybe. Or worse—desire laced with restraint. Every muscle in his body locked tight, his jaw ticking as if clenching it was the only thing keeping his words from escaping.

He hadn’t said much since that photo.

That single frame: her leg crossed over another, thigh exposed, his hand on her skin, her fingers catching his wrist like she was stopping him—but not really. They hadn’t even looked at each other. But the camera hadn’t needed that.

It had looked real.

Too real.

She frowned, something twisting in her chest. Had she said something? Crossed a line? All she remembered doing was existing—and they had long moved past hating each other for that.

Right?

Especially after he had been the one to invite her to the F1 75 event. No obligation. No press strategy. Just: “You coming with me or what?”

The night had been dull and painful—the kind of event where even the champagne tasted bitter and polite conversation felt like a slow death. And when the booing had started, echoing like gunfire in the marble lobby, she had instinctively slipped her arm through his. Anchored herself to him. Pretended it didn’t sting.

So now, watching him simmer in silence, she crossed her arms and leaned against the couch with narrowed eyes. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

His head snapped toward her.

The force of his gaze hit like a current, washing over her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

There was something different in his eyes tonight. They didn’t just look at her—they held her. Dragged their way over her slowly, devouring every inch in a silent, steady undressing. From the delicate dip of her collarbone, down the silk-wrapped curve of her waist, to the slit that revealed the smooth line of her thigh.

And lower. And then—back up.

Lingering.

She swallowed.

He had never looked at her like that before. Not like he was pretending. Not like there was a camera nearby. Not like he had to.

This wasn’t for show.

And that made it dangerous.

“Come here,” he said.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a command, low and gritted, like it had clawed its way from the center of his chest.

Her throat tightened. No smart remark came. Her signature tongue—sharp and ready—fell strangely silent. Not out of fear. Out of instinct.

Because some primal part of her recognized the shift. The lion wasn’t sleeping anymore. And she had no interest in poking it.

So she obeyed.

Each step closer was like walking into the mouth of something she knew she couldn’t tame. Her breath was shallow, her hands suddenly useless at her sides, her heart beating a little too fast to ignore.

The moment she was close enough, his hands found her waist—rough, sure, claiming—and dragged her down to straddle him with a sharp yelp. Her thighs bracketed his, the dress slipping higher. His hands didn’t falter. They slid up her sides with the reverence of someone touching fire and welcoming the burn.

His eyes found hers again, dark with intent.

Not lust.

Possession.

She gasped, her body instinctively melting into his, her arms locking around his neck as if her limbs had a will of their own. Their faces were close—too close. Warm breath mingled in the sliver of space that still remained, their mouths brushing but never quite touching.

His hands traveled again—slow, calculated, like he was trying to memorize the map of her. She felt every inch of it, every pause, every press of his fingers against the curves of her waist, the dip of her spine.

They panted—both of them. Not from exertion. From restraint.

The air was thick with something unsaid.

Heavy. Dangerous. Sin.

She could feel it vibrating between their bodies like static. Like something alive. And for the first time since they’d signed the contracts, since they’d posed and smiled and lied—

None of it felt fake.

Not the way his hands refused to let go.

Not the way her lips tilted just slightly forward, breath catching.

Not the way he looked at her like he already knew what she tasted like—and wanted to be reminded.

“Let’s make a deal,” he growled, voice low and ragged, the syllables vibrating against her lips. His face was so close now—foreheads almost brushing, noses grazing. And yet, he didn’t kiss her. Not yet. The restraint was maddening.

His grip on her hips tightened, fingers digging in just enough to make her breath hitch again. It wasn’t possessive.

It was warning.

He inhaled, slow and deliberate, the tip of his nose trailing along the curve of her cheek as he buried his face in the space between her ear and jaw. Her scent hit him like a drug—something soft, expensive, and maddeningly her. The kind of scent that lingered. That haunted.

She shivered under the attention, hands fisting against his chest.

“A deal?” she managed, her voice thin and unsteady, despite how hard she tried to control it. “What kind of deal?”

He leaned back just enough to meet her eyes again. His were darker now—stormy, intense, like they were seconds away from pulling her under.

“We add a little clause, not tell our managers, relieve each other of our stress from time to time,” he rasped, hips pivoting forward to brush against her body, sending a jolt through her spine. She gasped, her body on its own accords, rolling her hips against him in a desperation unique to itself.

He kissed her then.

Not the way the cameras caught.

Not the way their contracts outlined.

But real and hungry.

A kiss that didn’t ask permission, only took. Mouths crashing, breathing ragged, hands wandering—desperate to claim what had been off-limits for too long. It was clumsy and hungry and alive, all teeth and tongues and muffled gasps. She gripped his jaw, nails scraping, and he groaned into her mouth, pulling her closer until there was nothing left to hide behind.

No audience. No script.

Just them.

And it was a deal.

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nightmareordaydream wreck my plan, that’s my man 🧡

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maxverstappen1 mijn lieve liefde 💗 (my sweet love)

nightmareordaydream king of my heart 🫶🏻

user my roman empire is her using her own lyrics for max 😭

redbullracing our fav couple 😍

user not the red bull admin simping

redbullracing 🫣

user stop with the fake dating already

user stop with the hate comments?

user well we know they will never stop 🤷🏻‍♀️

lando I thought we were playing paddle today?

maxverstappen1 can’t make it mate, too busy

lando busy doing what huh?

user playing with his 🐱 lando

lando what…oh

nightmareordaydream @lando 😉