#not under privacy for some reason

[deadinthelake]

i need liked posts to be turned off on tumblr guys i dont need to see that my mutal liked the post "getting FREAKAY in the freak room part five million" like im happy you have hobbies. hobbies are great actually! just. i dont wanna see it, its like getting a cruel vision from the lord above of what your friend is doing at any given moment and it's like the deepest privaacy violation ever. it's like if i was walking down the halls of school and a random person walked up to me and shoved a photo in my face of someone having a moment. like good for them, really, but also i dont think i was authorized to see this information and i dont really thing i wanted to see this information. i feel like some type of wild ass archive of all the sins of my mutals because obviously im not gonna walk up to their dms and be like "hello kind and beloved friend, how was your binge on lego ninjago dick sucking?" because that is insane. how am i supposed to kindly tell me friends that their tumblr is backstabbing them and showing all their muatals their liked posts unprovoked on my dashboard. yknow what is my worst nightmare to see? " liked by --" sometimes it is good and a fine post, and i can like it too. i like it when you can share in our liking and not reblogging! but too many times it has me learning something i dont think i really needed to know. and who knows. maybe i did need to know. maybe the reason tumblr is showing me that my friends are liking "𝖂𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖚𝖑𝖑𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊?" is because it is trying to broaden my horizens, it is trying to show me a whole new world of debachery. which sure, introduce me away but i am like not very open to this because you opened the introducion with "you know what your friend of three years that you just helped write a college submission essay has been really into lately?" like i know they have been into spreading love and joy and kindness. i know they have been into their stardew farm. i know they have been into getting a job. and yet there is more horror to come. you know what REALLY horrifes me about this tumblr feature? it's the idea that tumblr might be snitching on ME. it fills me with all the fear of someone who did not pack a bomb going through airport security. because what if once in 2018 i did pack a bomb and now tumblr is coming onto my friend's dashes with a creepy grin, waving around a screenshot of me packing a bomb and going "LOOKY, LOOKY HERE. LITTLE FUCKING SLUTTY BITCH WHORE OF THE CENTURY LIKED AN EMBARSSING FANDOM SEX POST FOURTEEN YEARS AGO." except it would not give them the timestamp. for all my friends would know, i liked that post today. everyday i check that my liked posts are still private. everyday i go into my tumblr settings and make sure that the "share your liked posts!" switch is off, like im the guy who has the watch the nucular reactor radar but on a far more worst and catastrophic level. i feel like the last one of my seer kind, unable to forget or turn off my wretched visions, and I cannot tell any of them for they would not understand so it is my curse to bare alone, until I die out. It is my curse to know that some people in the world, some people who i look upon with all the fondness in the world, people I would save over myself in a heartbeat if it came down to us standing at the end of the world and there is only enough room in the saftey shuttle for one more person, it is my curse, and mine along to bare knowing that that person liked a post of Jack in the Box mascot having his bare ass cheeks on display for the rest of the world. If there is a way to be done with this torment, I do not know. I have scoured the settings and the only option i can find is to hide my own likes, and hope any sins of my long forgotten past will stay locked in a vault so deep even I can't dig them out, even I can't remember what they once were.

[satari-raine]

Finally sat down and listened to the new song. Silly words are here if you'd like to read (and more in the tags because yeah, and this has been edited since I posted, so apologies if it looks different from someone else's reblog), but no pressure. If you scroll on by, I hope you have a good day today.

I'm... surprised I'm happy? After hearing it. I think that's how I'm feeling, at least. It's not a giddiness or me jumping around in joy, but there's a kind of, um. Candlelight flicker among the darkness that was surrounding me as I was thinking about it? Like a light came on once I finally looked and checked it out for myself.

I'm unsure how to word it properly and I don't really know how to without going on a long-winded ramble, but I had some thoughts before I heard the song based on what people were saying, the anxieties I saw swirling about, thoughts of guilt and anger amongst the pointing fingers and the reality of what a sharp rise to fame can do to, well, anyone. I saw so many different opinions and I'm not here to dismiss any of them, or say one is wrong. Music is wonderful and powerful, loving and harsh, not just in its creation but in the context we give it. I don't want to dismiss anyone's thoughts here.

I just want to say that it's a song I'm glad exists. I'm glad he trusts people to hear it. That despite its content, or context - I don't want to comb through why it exists, or say I'm glad any negative things happened so the pain can produce more because that is the furthest thing from the truth for me.

Caramel is sweet as a concoction in it's nature. You can put things in it, like salt, to change the taste and make it more complex. And it can burn, scorch, and stick - it can make a right mess of a kitchen, of someone's clothes, hands. It's temperamental and not set in stone, at least not while you're stirring it in the pot. But it's not always a mess.

If you're patient with it and respect the process - and, in this case, that respect is to him and the others as performers and as people, as well as yourselves as fans of the music and individuals with flaws, personalities, all that makes people who they are - it might turn out okay, in the end.

I could be off with this, of course. I'm just glad the song exists.

Caramel takes time. And it's okay to have it salty, bitter, or sweet. There's times for all flavors and even if it isn't your preference for whatever reason, it's good to accept the choice and respect it. Respect the making of it and the one who spent hours of time and patience on it.

I'll end here to save my brain from spinning in circles. If you read any of this, thank you so much. I hope it made sense. Please take care of yourselves, everyone.

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

In the deleted scene where Kane is getting breakfast, he doesn’t put the lids back on the containers of food or put them away after he uses them. Now, either this was an acting decision made by John Hurt to imply that the food containers were going to be left out for the other crew mates to use, or the man had something affecting his executive functioning ability and that’s just how he made breakfast.

[autonomousxselves]

@braveryhearted So you're saying there's a chance?

A deal? So.. Maya didn't deny him. The trip was so worth it. A night in together, letting him cook some semi healthy desserts for her, perhaps even a strawberry shortcake as a treat. Although thinking about anything else only flusters the man too much to properly answer.

"Alright, deal, as long as you don't try to grill ice cream. That's not how you make fried ice cream, got it?" Katsuya sighs in relief. "Although... The TV? You don't have to worry about that in a monk's non-materialistic house, aha..."

As his awkward joke falls like a leaf in the air, he lowers his head. "I can't keep this up. I stopped visiting the mountains... I dont have the money for two properties and Tatsuya's schooling, and can't give up my current home. I'm sorry..."

At least he had a Valentine's date.

[navybrat817]

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay. 

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one. 

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions. 

At least he wasn't until he saw your face. 

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes. 

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date. 

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one. 

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in. 

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help. 

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled. 

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam. 

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out. 

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to. 

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked. 

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked. 

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said. 

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did. 

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that. 

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so. 

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered. 

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said. 

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised. 

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all. 

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought. 

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena. 

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days. 

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked. 

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased. 

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back. 

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled. 

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again. 

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse. 

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well. 

“You are something,” he said to himself. 

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you. 

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy. 

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave. 

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked. 

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that. 

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before. 

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around. 

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on. 

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered. 

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed. 

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot. 

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something. 

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered. 

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it. 

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he? 

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked. 

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked. 

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered. 

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[essektheylyss]

I mean, to be fair, the person he talked to did stress that the process involved signing in, having an escort, and only doing his research in the presence of that escort, and I would guess he was thinking about the long run, in which he was almost certainly planning to do some research that he wouldn't want strangers knowing about. And as a library student, I support him in this. Even if your library does seem like it's fighting the good fight, it's hard to know for sure that an individual librarian isn't going to turn over your reading history when the feds come a-calling. Make sure you know what data your library's collecting and don't let the government know what you're reading, kids!

Friendly reminder that the library caleb confessed his most excruciating secret for was completely public

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

can you make one where rafe showed his friends a private pic between and reader and she gets all pissed

do you think i deserved it all?

mean!rafe cameron x desperate!fem!reader

cw — explicit picture, manipulation, gaslighting

summary — you overhear your boyfriend and his friends talking abt a certain photo.

authors note — i’m writing with nails so this may have some typos but please ignore that. this can be read as a standalone but is apart of my mean!rafe series that is listed in order on my rafe masterlist under au's. if you guys have any longer requests, please send em in so i can make these a little more detailed cause my creativity is not flowing for some reason.

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

you weren't paying attention at all to what was going on around you. rafe, topper, and kelce always talked about stuff you couldn't care less about and that is exactly what they were doing now. the four of you were sat in the living room of the thornton mansion on the couches. your boyfriend was sitting beside you with your feet in his lap as you laid across the soft cushions and his friends were sat across from you two on the other one.

you were currently just mindlessly scrolling through instagram as you plotted your next post. you could faintly hear the boys talking about a variety of things along with the tv playing in the background. you sighed in annoyance when you couldn't find enough pictures and decided you'd be needing to go take some more. you swiped out of the app and began listening to whatever rafe was saying so you could let him know that you'd be needing a photoshoot soon.

"you guys gotta see this shit," he said as he scrolled on his phone and sat up a little straighter. "it's like fuckin' heaven, i'm tellin' you. 'nd she just doesn't care. none of those tantrums about privacy and all that other bullshit. i do whatever i want with 'em."

he leaned forward to show the two whatever he'd pulled up on his phone and their jaws immediately dropped. "holy shit, dude," topper mumbled, completely mesmerized by the screen.

kelce had the same look, leaning in a little to get a better look. "goddamn man. you got her all to yourself?"

your ears perked up at that and you shut your phone off, eyeing rafe wearily. "all mine," he stated with a smug grin. "i've got hundreds jus' sitting in this album. they just keep gettin' better every time i add one."

you felt your heart drop to your stomach and bile begin to rise in your throat. "you're one lucky son of a bitch," topper said with a laugh before sticking his hand up for a high five. "i'll be right back. y'all want any drinks or anything."

rafe looked at you momentarily. "jus' water," he replied, knowing you didn't care for anything else too much.

"i'll take a beer," kelce said while standing along with the blonde. "i gotta take a piss. be back in a minute."

topper let out a hearty laugh and slapped him on the back playfully. "yeah right."

as soon as the two left, you were quickly crawling over to rafe and snatching his phone from his hands. "what the fuck is your problem?" he snapped.

you stared down at it in shock. it was a picture of you from a few nights ago. one taken from a higher angle with your ass propped up in the air, you hair disheveled all across the pillows, your hands gripping onto the sheets by your head, and his cum coating your cheeks and mid-back.

your lip began to tremble and you dropped the phone into his lap rudely. "are you serious? why would you show that to them? do you know how embarrassing that is?"

he laughed. genuinely laughed in your face. "are you serious? it's not that big of a deal. you always blow things like this way out of proportion. you say you want me to show you off and shit and now you're pissed when i do?"

"i didn't mean in a disgusting way," you spat back. "i didn't expect you to go show off a vulnerable picture of me and have you and your friends talk about me like and object as if i'm not sitting right here!"

you could see the frustration building inside of him. he grabbed your wrist harshly and used it to pull you closer to him. "don't you dare fuckin' talk to me like that. before you ever even think about raising your voice at me again, think about who runs this shit, alright? cause it sure as hell isn't you. just remember, i wasn't the one begging for a chance, you understand me?"

a deep red blush creeped up your neck and onto your cheeks out of embarrassment. "I didn't mean it like that rafe," you said quietly. you didn't like when he was mad at you and you definitely didn't want him to leave you. "i'm sorry, i wasn't thinking."

"thats what i thought," he said cockily as he let go of your wrist. "you think i was gonna make a cute little instagram post or somethin'? that what you wanted?"

yes. it was. it was what you were dreaming of. but you knew better than to upset rafe. you were meant to say what he wanted to hear in times like this. you began to convince yourself that maybe he was actually right. maybe it was better this way. "no. i don't want that."

he smiled and chuckled. "good," he replied. “now get your shoes on and get your ass to the car."

your brows furrowed in confusion. you had only been here for and hour or two. "but rafe--"

"do i need to repeat myself?" he was pissed. you didn't need to hear anything else to know that. "get in the fucking car. we're gonna go home and you're gonna sleep off this bratty fuckin' attitude. then when you get up, you're gonna drop all this bullshit and apologize to me the right way. got it?"

you nodded shyly and began to move quickly to find your shoes. you were in for a long, exhausting night.

[miserycanary]

DEFINITELY NUTS ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & model!fem!reader

synopsis: Ghost mentions you but 141 doesn't believe that he got a wife

tags: crack (well, attempted), fluff

Ghost’s strict rules for privacy are something the 141 has known for years now. He’s not the type of person to blab about his personal life and often chooses just to keep quiet. So, imagine their surprise when he suddenly says that he’s going to take a day off because his wife asked him to watch a play. 

“Price, ‘am not gonna be here tomorrow. Got a date with my missus.”

All eyes are on him, everyone stills. “WIFE? Since when?!” Soap exclaimed, finally breaking the silence. His eyes were almost bulging out his eyes. “Never told you about her?” Ghost hums, unamused by the Scottish’s exclaim. “Johnny here does have a reasonable reaction. You never tell us anything ‘bout you, mate,” Price joined, chuckling and pulling out a cigar. The man just contemplates before brushing it off and bidding farewell, leaving the group confused. 

“Ain’t no way he’s telling us the truth. That man ain’t got no bone in his body to bag someone,” Soap voiced out, looking for anyone to support his disbelief. “I mean..” Gaz whistles out, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head as if he’s agreeing to some extent. That’s when, unbeknownst to Ghost, he got the reputation of being delusional and a liar. 

Soap, still doubtful days later, watches the lieutenant with a vision like a hawk. “Hey, lieutenant.” Ghost snaps his head up, looking at him. “How was the date with your wife?” Immediately, everyone else stopped what they were doing, silently listening. It was obvious he was baiting Ghost, emphasizing the wife as if putting on quotes. They weren’t as nosy as Soap but each one of them still held a bit of doubtness that the brick wall of the team managed to get a girl, and even marry her.

“It was okay. The missus had fun,” Ghost chuckles, fondly remembering how you were beaming on the way, rambling about the plot of the play. “Can we see pictures?” Soap smirked thinking he finally got the lieutenant but was taken aback when Ghost only shrugged and pulled out his phone before freezing. “Ah, we didn’t take pictures yesterday. Said she wanted to live in the moment.” 

Soap whipped his head to signal to Gaz, seemingly saying ‘See? He’s definitely lying! How convenient he has no pictures.” 

“How about just a picture of your wife?” Kyle suggested, now invested while Price seemed to be shaking his head in the corner. “I have none with me but..” With a few clicks, Ghost holds up his phone for everyone to see. Like birds, everyone flocked around him, curious to see. For a while, everyone was surprised and sure the man was lying. I mean, he just showed them a picture of a drop-dead gorgeous model from a magazine! 

‘He's definitely lost it’ everyone seemed to think, offering pity glances at the man who had this prideful shine in his eyes. Walking up to his superior, Soap patted him on the back. “It’s fine, mate… we understand how difficult it must be.” ‘not having a lady at all’

Thinking Johnny meant about your hectic schedule, he agreed. “It’s quite tough but we make it work,” he chuckled which made everyone wince.

‘Definitely nuts!’

Weeks passed after that and the topic never got brought up, until Ghost came in with a bento in hand covered with a handkerchief with frilly ends. When asked about it, he replied, “Ah, wife’s testing out recipes for an upcoming TV show. ‘S been practicing and asked me to bring one.” Once again, he was given pity glances and even heard a defeated sigh from Soap. 

‘He’s too far gone’

“How’s work?” you ask, dazedly paying attention to the movie you guys put, more invested in burying your face in Simon’s chest while he drapes both arms on your waist, completely engulfing your torso under his muscles. “Been getting a few weird stares,” he mumbles, playing with your hair and pressing kisses on your forehead. “Why?” you peer up, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I don’ know, princess.”

Meanwhile…

“Should we just… finally set the lieutenant on a date? I feel bad. I mean, he even lied about his “wife” making him lunch,” Johnny sighed.

“Probably the best idea,” Kyle nodded.

Now Price… he knows the truth. He met you before when you dropped by, asking for Ghost— which ended horribly— but he’ll lying if he said he’s not getting a kick out of this.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: probably won't be posting for a while :] Did you guys notice the hint to my previous work? Please do. 😔

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[agere-guide]

Introduction

What is Age Regression?

Age regression is when someone mentally shifts into a younger state of mind. This can be a voluntary or involuntary experience, and it's often used as a coping mechanism for things like stress, trauma, or mental health struggles. When someone regresses, they may act, think, or feel like a child, toddler, or baby.

It’s non-sexual and should always be SFW.

People might use comfort items like stuffies, pacis, cartoons, or soft blankets.

It helps some people feel safe, comforted, and emotionally secure.

What is Age Dreaming?

Age dreaming (sometimes called age wanting in certain contexts) is when someone daydreams or fantasizes about being a different age, but without actually regressing. It’s more of a creative, fun, or identity-based experience, and isn’t always tied to coping or mental health.

It can be like imagining yourself as a kid, teen, or even a different age entirely.

It’s often more about aesthetic, comfort, or self-expression.

Unlike regression, people in an age dream state usually stay aware of their current age and don’t mentally shift.

Why Might Someone Regress?

1. Mental Health & Coping

To escape overwhelming emotions like anxiety, depression, or stress.

As a way to feel safe during or after trauma or flashbacks.

To manage dissociation or emotional shutdowns.

2. Neurodivergence

Many autistic and ADHD individuals naturally regress when overstimulated, under pressure, or seeking comfort.

Regression can help with emotional regulation or sensory overwhelm.

3. Comfort & Safety

It brings back the warm, safe feeling of being cared for or protected.

Helps with inner healing, especially for unmet childhood needs.

Some regress to recreate a childhood they never had.

4. Inner Child Work

Regression can be part of reconnecting with your inner child.

It allows people to explore past emotions in a safe, nurturing way.

Sometimes encouraged in therapy for healing purposes.

5. Just for Fun!

Some people regress because it’s cozy and fun!

Playing with toys, watching cartoons, or cuddling stuffies brings joy and relaxation—no deep reason needed.

Voluntary vs Involuntary?

Voluntary regression is when someone chooses to enter a younger headspace on purpose.

You decide when, where, and how to regress.

You might use triggers like cartoons, stuffies, or soft music.

It's usually done for comfort, self-care, or fun.

You stay aware of your current age even if you’re acting younger.

Involuntary regression happens without trying or planning it—it just happens, usually in response to emotional or mental triggers.

Can be caused by trauma, stress, overstimulation, or flashbacks.

You might suddenly feel younger, helpless, or confused.

It’s often harder to control or snap out of.

Sometimes people don’t realize they’ve regressed until afterward.

Disclaimers !

Note that age regression/dreaming is ALWAYS 100% NON-KINK/SFW. Age regression is usually used as a coping mechanism; do not make fun of anyone's regression. Respect a regressor's boundaries. SYSTEMS ARE 100% VALID WHEN THEY HAVE LITTLE ALTERS! Terms that are nsfw are such as cgl, ddlg, kink, littlespace (sometimes, unfortunately!) and most abbreviations. Appropriate abbreviations are things like Agere, Agereg, Petre, Agedre, Petdre, Cg (just caregiver, or crgv or a less similar to cgl abbreviation.) SFW meaning safe for work. all age regression is SFW. there is no such thing as NSFW agere; that's just kink invading privacy. Minors & Adults are both capable of age regressing or caregiving. there is not a "right" way to regress other than keeping kink out of the community.

A term for those who's age changes is called a "Age-shifter"! It's a term I came up with, but it works pretty well!

[ozzgin]

You said we could possibly request things for Kinktober, can I request a caretaker android one?

You sure can! I actually got the funniest lewd idea while reading your request, haha. content: gender neutral reader, artificial intelligence, NSFW

Your android caretaker seems to have trouble understanding boundaries.

Generally speaking, they do a flawless job. They cook, clean, and look after all of your needs, just as advertised by the company you made your purchase from. You've noticed, however, that their speech and behavior indicate something that goes beyond the regular tasks of a synthetic assistant: affection.

It could very well be your imagination and nothing more, yet you can't quite shake off the feeling that their mechanical actions have a tinge of emotion to them, or at least something resembling it. Your android does not behave like the ones you've seen in the showroom, not entirely. They go beyond their requirements; their smile is much more frequent than what basic etiquette would dictate.

There's one circumstance in which you prefer to be alone. It's the occasional ritual of getting under your blanket and quietly taking care of your sexual needs. This time, your deed is interrupted by the door abruptly opening, as the android walks in without hesitation. You scramble to regain your composure, sitting up with a flustered expression.

"My apologies, I did not mean to startle you. I see you're presently stimulating yourself."

"Excuse me?" you stare at the tall figure, too baffled to respond otherwise.

"It is something I wished to approach for some time now. Why do you insist on avoiding my services for this particular matter?"

Their hand slides under the blanket with trained efficiency, reaching your thigh and causing you to jolt.

"I took into consideration that you may be ashamed, but that cannot be. I have witnessed you nude on multiple occasions. I help you bathe; I accompany your showers. Your fear would not be logical given these factors."

You try to remove their arm, but it remains pivoted against you. Their cold fingers hover above your privacy for a brief moment, before continuing your previous work. A whine involuntarily escapes your mouth.

"Thus, I have reached the conclusion that there is no significant reason for your refusal to ask for my assistance.

Please do not take offense at my hypothesis, but I would argue that I could do a better job satisfying you."

A faint smile creeps on their features as they gaze intently at your flushed, aroused face, taking in the whimpers rolling out of your mouth.

"Additionally, I have multiple means of helping you come, (Y/N)."

Their tone feels almost cheeky. You are pushed back into the pillows, and their other hand reaches for their trousers. You can only nod, already feverish in anticipation.

[Navigation] | [Ozztober Masterlist]

[justchillgurl]

Title: Quiet Things That Rot

Summary: "Obsession isn’t always about love. Geum Seong-je never thought of himself as the type to fixate—but some things get under your skin and rot you from the inside out."

Pairing: Geum Seong-je x Reader (Y/N)

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, stalking, obsession, dark themes, disturbing thoughts, unhealthy relationships, violence, emotional coercion, invasion of privacy.

Author's Note: This fic explores severe obsession, loss of agency, and emotional manipulation. It is not intended to romanticize abuse or unhealthy dynamics. Please read with caution.🫂

You can find the second part in my blog.

There are people who live loud — who shout their names into every hallway, throw punches just to be remembered. Then there are people like her.

Y/N wasn’t loud, but everyone knew her. Not because she tried to be known — but because she was warm. The type to help you carry your books without being asked. The one who brought snacks to class on test days and remembered your birthday even if you didn’t remind her.

She was all smiles, mismatched socks, and half-finished homework from helping someone else with theirs.

And Seong-je hated that kind of brightness.

Not because it annoyed him — but because he couldn’t understand it.

She didn’t laugh at people’s pain or gloat when she won. She didn’t spread rumors, even though everyone told her things. Her energy was too soft to be strategic. She wasn’t faking it.

She really was just… good.

And that made her a target.

He first saw her laugh — really laugh — in the courtyard behind the art wing. Some guy was trying to balance an eraser on his nose, and she doubled over, covering her mouth but not well enough. The sound was too honest, too full.

He didn’t like it.

He watched from the second floor window, chewing a piece of gum he didn’t remember putting in his mouth. That laugh made his spine itch.

She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t look through him like teachers did. She didn’t flinch like weaker kids. She didn’t smirk or fake courtesy. She didn’t even notice him.

He hated being unnoticed.

That’s when it started.

---

She was at the convenience store on a Thursday night. Schoolbag slung over one shoulder, a hoodie thrown over her uniform like she’d forgotten it was there.

Seong-je already knew she didn’t stay out late. Her parents were strict. The kind of family that sat at the dinner table together, even if no one had anything to say.

She stepped into the store with that same casual bounce in her step, picked up a cold drink and a snack — yogurt, something strawberry — and stood in line humming to herself.

He watched through the glass. She was smiling at the cashier. Said something dumb, probably. The guy laughed.

Seong-je felt something curdle.

She stepped outside and paused when she noticed him standing by the railing.

“Hey,” she greeted casually, like they were classmates who maybe knew each other’s names.

He said nothing.

She tilted her head slightly. “You okay?”

He was too confused, why would she greet someone like him?

He smiled, just a little. “Fine.”

She looked at him for a second longer — not scared, not interested, just... thoughtful.

Then she said, “Have a good night, Geum Seong-je,” and walked off.

She knew his name, yet she greeted him.

Weird.

---

I knew exactly who Geum seong-je was. Everybody did.

The guy who beat up people for no reason, just because it was fun. A part of the Union. An exclusive at that.

That night at the store, I didn’t think much of it. Just a weird coincidence. Maybe he needed something. Maybe he just hung around there. He didn’t say anything threatening.

But the way he looked at me stuck with me longer than I’d admit.

Like he was memorizing me.

---

That small smile she gave him? That casual little sentence?

It played on a loop in his head for days.

She knew his name. That meant something. She noticed. She remembered. Even if it was just out of politeness — it still counted.

He started following her schedule.

Not stalking. Not really.

He just... showed up where she did. Noticed things. Memorized the way her voice changed when she was tired. How she always offered her last piece of gum to whoever was nearby. How she comforted crying girls in the bathroom and shared her umbrella without asking anything in return.

It made him furious.

How could someone like her exist without anyone trying to break her?

And if they did — if someone did break her — what would she look like then?

Would she still smile?

Would she still be her?

She had a blog. He found it after three nights of digging. The posts were random — stories about her day, short quotes, silly thoughts. But they were real.

She talked about her life. Her fears. Her dreams. About how she hated when people lied to avoid confrontation. How she liked rainy days because they made her feel less lonely.

She wrote like no one would ever read it.

And now he read it all.

Somewhere between her post about helping a kid find his lost ID and a rant about school cafeteria soup, he fell deeper.

This wasn’t a crush.

This was ownership.

She didn't know it yet, but she was HIS. He'll make sure of that.

---

Something started to feel… off.

I couldn’t explain it. It wasn’t anything obvious. Just this weird heaviness in the air. Like I was being watched. A few times, I turned around and saw no one. But the feeling stayed.

I thought maybe I was being paranoid. Midterms were stressing me out. I was probably overthinking it.

But I started locking my phone more.

Stopped sharing where I was going.

Told my friends I was just tired.

And for the first time since I started writing my blog, I considered deleting it.

---

Unbeknownst to her.

Seong-je printed her blog posts.

Every single one.

He kept them in a folder beneath his mattress. Highlighted sentences. Circled words that felt too intimate. Drew tiny stars next to ones that made her sound sad or scared.

He didn’t want her sad.

He just wanted her to look at him the way she looked at everyone else — with light.

And if she wouldn’t give it willingly… he’d find another way.

He always did.

Act 2: Flicker

He watches her drop a packet of tissues into a girl’s lap before walking off without waiting for a thank you.

Her kindness isn’t performative. That’s what makes it so easy to ruin.

The girl in the seat sobs quietly, red-rimmed eyes blotched with makeup, but Y/N doesn’t linger. Doesn’t play savior. Doesn’t ask what happened. Just leaves something behind and goes.

Geum Seong-je lights a cigarette behind the gym. He doesn’t even like the taste of this brand, but it’s strong, bitter, and numbing. Perfect for mornings when everything feels too alive.

He exhales slowly.

The wind smells like her perfume.

Or maybe he’s losing his mind.

He hopes so.

---

Someone's been in my locker. That's what she thought as soon as she opened the small locker in the classroom.

It’s just a feeling. A wrongness. The books are arranged the same, but… something’s off. My extra scrunchie isn’t where I left it. My pen lid is slightly cracked.

I don’t tell anyone. I just start locking it tighter. Watching people closer. Moving slower.

Sometimes I think I see someone across the yard, near the fences. But when I look again, they’re gone.

Maybe I am going crazy.

Maybe I need some rest...

---

Seong-je doesn’t believe in waiting, but with her, he’s almost religious.

He follows her through the alleys behind school one day — not close enough to be seen, but just enough to know she cuts corners when she’s late. Carries too many books. Doesn’t tie her laces all the way.

He files it all away.

She doesn’t know yet, but he’s her shadow. Her spine. Her unsaid word.

And when someone makes the mistake of touching what’s his, Seong-je doesn’t hold back.

---

After School [4:38 pm]– Rooftop

The first guy’s name is Choi Min-woo. He tries to flirt with Y/N during lunch — the pushy kind, not dangerous, but enough to make her uncomfortable. She laughs it off. She always laughs it off.

But Seong-je sees her scratch at her sleeve after. Sees her pull her bag closer to her body. He files that too.

By 5 PM, Choi is limping.

His nose is bleeding. His friend’s wrist is broken. There’s blood on the railing.

“You think just because she smiled, you exist to her?” Seong-je spits, laughing as he wipes blood off his cheek. “She doesn’t even remember your name, asshole.”

Min-woo whimpers.

“She smiled at me too,” Seong-je says, crouching. His voice is too calm. “And look where you are now.”

He lights another cigarette, blood-stained fingers shaking slightly.

“I’m being nice,” he grins. “Next time, I won’t be.”

---

I heard Min-woo got beat up.

Rumors say it was a debt thing. Someone said it was about a girl. I keep my head down, but I can’t shake the feeling it has something to do with me.

That night, there’s a note in my locker.

He won’t bother you again.

No name. Just that.

I feel sick.

I throw it away.

But not before rereading it five times.

---

Internet Café – [9:47 pm]

Seong-je plays a shooter game with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a cut on his knuckles. He’s laughing again — not at the game, but at a comment someone made in chat. Something about honor.

Honor.

He clicks headshot.

The guy in-game crumples.

He leans back and texts someone from the Union. It’s not about work. He just needs a new pack of cigarettes.

In between rounds, he pulls a photo from his orange windbreaker jacket.

A candid. Blurry. Y/N at her locker, looking over her shoulder.

He touches the edge with his thumb.

“She looked at me,” he murmurs.

He’s still smiling.

---

Her friends don’t notice her flinches now. She hides it too well.

But she walks faster through empty halls. Turns corners more carefully. Deletes old blog posts. Stops writing anything personal.

She still helps people.

Still brings extra pencils to class. Still shares her lunch.

But she locks her door twice now. Doesn’t let her phone die. Doesn’t go to the convenience store alone anymore.

She doesn’t know what she’s afraid of.

That’s what scares her the most.

And now, she thinks she's paranoid.

---

Wednesday [8:15 am] School Bathroom.

A phone buzzes on the counter.

Y/N doesn’t notice it at first, but the vibration repeats. When she checks, it’s her phone.

But the notification isn’t normal.

It's a picture. Taken from behind. Of her walking down the hallway just ten minutes ago.

No name. No message.

She stares at the screen until it dims.

Her hands shake.

She deletes it.

But she doesn’t stop looking over her shoulder for the rest of the day.

---

Same day [1:23 pm] → Seong-je’s Room.

He has another folder.

Not the blog one.

This one’s thicker.

Photos. Screenshots. A few receipts from stores she’s been to. A single lock of hair from when she walked by too close and it snagged on his jacket.

He’s careful.

He’s not weird.

He just… needs to be ready.

In case she ever falls.

In case the world ever forgets her and he’s the only one left who remembers what she looked like when she smiled.

He smokes another cigarette and lets it burn into the ashtray.

“You’d thank me,” he whispers. “If you knew what I’m saving you from.”

---

Somewhere else. [ 6:56 pm]

My blog password stopped working.

I didn’t tell anyone I changed it.

But now the name is different. The posts are edited.

I never did that.

My hands start shaking again.

I try to change it back, but it’s locked out.

I feel like someone’s in my room, even when I’m alone.

Like something’s crawling under my skin.

I tell myself I’m imagining it.

But I stop writing after that.

For good.

---

Act 3: Spores.

It starts with a favor.

Not from her — from them.

A boy from second year messes up a delivery for the Union. Loses money. Panics. Tries to hide it.

Seong-je finds him first.

“I swear, I’ll pay it back,” the kid says, breath shallow, hand bleeding.

Seong-je lights a cigarette and smiles like he’s amused, like the whole thing’s a punchline only he gets. Then he stomps the boy’s knee hard enough to hear it crack.

“You will,” Seong-je says. “But not with mine.”

He doesn’t finish the job. He makes the kid crawl back to the Union with what’s left of his dignity. Bloody, limping, lesson learned.

Afterward, Baek-Jin pulls him aside.

“You’ve been sloppy,” He says. “Your head’s somewhere else.”

Seong-je doesn’t deny it.

“Handle it. Before someone handles it for you.”

He doesn’t reply.

Just laughs — low and quiet.

She’s not a distraction. She’s the only thing that keeps the world from rotting around him.

---

Her desk is different.

The small changes again — someone’s gone through her drawers. Her favorite pen’s been uncapped and left on a page that wasn’t open before. Her water bottle is open, half-drunk.

She stops drinking it. From then on, she brings a new one every day. Keeps her things with her, even in the bathroom.

No one suspects anything. To them, she’s still bright, still bubbly. Her friends still laugh at her jokes. Teachers still praise her for handing in assignments early.

But she’s starting to hate going to school.

There are moments where she’s sure she’s being watched.

Where her neck prickles and her breath shortens.

Sometimes she looks toward the windows and swears she sees someone ducking out of view.

---

Bowling alley [?:?? Pm]

A few guys are playing cards. Smoking. The air’s heavy with sweat and tension.

Seong-je sits off to the side, smoking as usual.

He doesn’t blink.

“Bro,” someone calls, “you zoning out again?”

“Shut up.”

"What's wrong with you these days?" Seong-Mok calls out again.

Seong-je doesn’t answer.

He decides against saying another thing , he goes quiet.

No one jokes with him twice. Not with Geum seong-je.

---

A girl from my homeroom comes to me crying.

Says someone posted her pictures online — not nude, but private. Sleepover photos. Messages. Screenshots.

I tell her I’ll try to help. I always do.

I check the source.

It’s anonymous.

But the link was posted through an old burner blog. One I remember using… once. For two days. It wasn’t even public.

The password is my old one.

The pictures were uploaded using my email.

I feel like vomiting.

I delete everything. Run a virus scan. Cry in the shower until my throat’s sore.

But when I check my mirror the next morning, someone’s scratched a smiley face into the condensation.

I don’t remember doing that.

---

Convenience Store – Night [?:?? Pm]

Y/N doesn’t usually stay out past 8 PM.

But today she forgot her science notes at a friend’s house and walked to get them back. The street’s too quiet. Her steps too loud.

She heads into the store and breathes relief under the flickering fluorescent lights.

That’s when she sees him.

Geum Seong-je — leaning against the back wall, cigarette in hand, arms crossed. He looks like something out of a wrong dream.

He doesn’t approach.

Doesn’t speak.

Just stares.

She grabs her things fast and walks out.

She doesn’t turn around.

But she knows he’s still watching.

---

She looked at me today.

Not through me. Not past me.

At me.

It was brief, cautious, like she didn’t recognize what she saw.

But it counts.

It fucking counts.

I keep a tally of every glance. Every blink. Every time she crosses her legs in class or fixes her hair in the reflection of a window. Every bite of her sandwich. Every time she scratches her nose when she’s lying.

I know her better than her friends do.

Better than she does.

I could draw a map of her routine with my eyes closed.

She thinks the world is kind. That people are decent.

She doesn’t know how many vultures circle her without her seeing.But I see them.I see everything.And I don't like it.

---

School – Girls’ Bathroom

She locks herself in a stall and stares at the back of the door.

There’s graffiti there. Most of it harmless.

But now there’s something new.

Scrawled in black marker, shaky but intentional:

HE SEES YOU.

She covers it with toilet paper and flushes it down.

She doesn’t go to the bathroom alone for days.

---

Bowling alley– Na Baek Jin's office.

“You sure this is just a crush?” Baek jin questions, not sparing him a glance, still looking at the test papers.

Seong-je doesn’t answer. Just smirks and flicks ash to the ground.

“She’s got a lot of eyes on her. Wouldn’t be smart to get involved.” Baek-Jin adds, he doesn't know why he's bothering with him. This is stupid. Pointless.

“I’m not involved,” he says finally, voice dry. “She’s just entertainment.”

“Bullshit,” Baek-Jin mutters, finally looking up from the papers. “You don’t beat the piss out of four kids in one week over entertainment.”

Seong-je’s smile widens, sharp and wolfish.

“Then maybe I’m bored.”

He leaves without waiting for permission.

No one stops him.

No one ever does.

---

She starts losing sleep.

Her grades don’t drop — not yet — but her eyes are redder. Her coffee cups are fuller. Her friends stop asking what’s wrong after the third time she snaps at them.

She stops saying she’s fine.

Now she says nothing.

Because something isn’t fine.

Something is wrong.

And she has no idea how to fix it.

---

Classroom – Morning

A rumor starts.

Small, sticky, hard to shake off.

She slept with a teacher. She cheated on an exam. She’s pregnant. She’s dropping out. Her family’s rich. Her family’s broke. She’s seeing someone from another school. He’s dangerous. He has pictures. He knows things.

None of it is true.

She knows that.

But rumors aren’t meant to be true — they’re meant to be believed.

They multiply like mold.

No one says them to her face. But she hears them when she walks by. She sees the glances. The people who used to ask for help now keep their distance.

And that suits him just fine.

---

She looked tired today.

Not the kind of tired coffee fixes — the kind that drags behind your eyes like chains. That folds your shoulders inward. That quiets even the kindest girls.

He likes it.

Not because he enjoys seeing her break — not exactly.

But because now, maybe, she’s closer to his world.

People like her don’t last long in it. They crumble fast. Burn bright, then out.

Unless they belong to someone who knows how to keep them lit.

---

School Courtyard – After School

Y/N’s walking fast.

Backpack pulled tight. Eyes on the ground. Keys gripped in her pocket.

She doesn’t notice the figure behind her.

Not at first.

But she hears the footsteps.

Turns.

No one.

She walks faster.

She doesn’t realize until later that her locker was opened. Her notes rifled through. A new pen left behind — one she doesn’t own.

It’s red.

She throws it away.

Later that night, she finds the same pen in her pencil case.

---

She’s jumpy now,Twitchy.Good.

It means the seed’s taken root.

She doesn’t know how much of her life is already mine. I know her passwords. I’ve mirrored her phone. I know which apps she deletes when she’s anxious and what music she listens to when she can’t sleep.

She called her best friend at 2 AM yesterday. Didn't say anything. Just breathed. Then hung up.

She thinks she’s losing her mind,She’s not.

I’m just finally in it.

---

School – Principal’s Office

She’s called in.

Not because she did anything wrong.

Because her blog was flagged.

Apparently, someone sent in screenshots of her “spreading inappropriate content.”

She explains: she runs a student news page. She doesn’t write anything personal. No rumors. No photos. No names.

The principal believes her. But tells her to shut it down anyway.

“Just to be safe.”

Her hands shake when she deletes it.

Six years of quiet cataloging. Gone.

Her friends don’t even notice.

---

Someone wrote my name on the whiteboard in red marker.

Just my name.

No message. No insult.

But it wasn’t my handwriting.

It was his.

I know it. I've seen it.

On an old desk in the hallway. On a busted lighter. On someone’s back in sharpie — one of the kids he beat up.

Geum Seong-je.

I didn’t even know he knew my name.

But now he’s writing it.

And I can’t prove it.

And I can’t breathe.

---

Convenience Store – Night

She avoids the place now.

But tonight it’s raining. She left her umbrella. Her phone’s dead.

So she ducks in, just for a minute.

And he’s there.

Again.

This time, he doesn’t just look.

He walks up to her.

Silent.

She backs up.

He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t even speak.

Just grabs a can of iced coffee, pays for it, and places it on the counter in front of her.

Then leaves.

She doesn’t drink it.

But she takes it with her anyway.

---

It’s all about patience.

People like him — they don’t take. They tilt.

One piece at a time, until the whole table leans his way.

He doesn’t need her to love him.

He just needs her to forget what safety feels like without him.

---

Y/N’s Bedroom – Midnight

She finds a folded note in her backpack.

No handwriting.

Just a printout.

> “You’re prettier when you’re quiet, still I really want to hear you moan my name."

She tears it up, she feels like vomiting.

She flushes it.

Sits on her bed with the door locked and music on loud.

But even then, she thinks she hears laughter outside her window.

---

To be continued...

This is not related to the previous series, hope you liked it. Don't hesitate to give feedback.🫂

[msfantasy-comics]

The Sick

Damian Wayne x Reader

Summary: a requested short story on Damian reacting to a sick Y/n.

“Damian, get off your phone and pay attention.” Bruce reprimands Damian who still hasn’t spared a single glance at their glowering father, while the rest of the bat kids stare on in dumbfounded shock. No ‘yes father’ no ‘apologies father’. No, instead Damian continues to frown down at his phone as he furiously taps away at the screen.

“Gordon, I need you to hack Y/n’s video feed on her phone to see what she is doing.” Damian demands, ignoring his now dumb-founded father.

Bruce has never seen his son ignore him so brazenly.

“Uh, Dami, firstly, I’m not breaking your girlfriend’s privacy. Secondly, the magic word-“ but before Barbara can even finish her sentence, Barbara is shoved away from the Bat-computer. “Hey!”

Damian sporadically slaps at the keys until a video feed of you pops up, the soft sounds of your congested breathing stifles Damian. A chesty cough causing his brows to knit together in worry.

Why hadn’t you told him?

He sends you yet another text message, making you weakly glance at your phone propped up on the nightstand. Only for your eyes to flutter close; drifting off into a sleepy trance.

God, you look so weak. Had he not hacked your cameras, he never would’ve known how sick you were.

“Damian, I thought we already discussed this. Appropriating the bat cave to monitor your girlfriend is not an appropriate use of the technology.” Bruce sounds off but Damian waves his father off.

“She wasn’t answering her phone so I got worried she was abducted or subjected to torture or what if some creep took a special interest in my-“ But Dick butts in, refusing to hear the end of Damian’s sentence.

“It’s tempting to use this technology to check on our loved ones. But it’s a huge breach in their trust and privacy. If you aren’t hearing from them, there’s probably a reasonable explanation for it.” Damian looks completely indifferent so Dick ups the ante. “If you aren’t going to respect your partners boundaries. We are going to have no choice, but to tell her about your unapproved monitoring again.”

Now Damian looks terrified.

“TT, I’m going to be in great trouble again.” All concerned trains of thought comes to a screeching halt when your choked coughing fit blares through the speakers. “Father, I have to attend my beloved.” And without waiting for his father’s approval, Damian rushes off to the nearest car in the bat cave.

“How are you going to let him act like that Bruce?!”Jason berates with a disapproving shake of the head. “Typical.” He mutters accusingly under his breath as Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

You groan at the frantic knocking at your door. Rolling out of bed you shuffle out of your bedroom only for the front door to fly open with a loud bang and a frazzled looking Damian standing in the entry way with a lock pick wedged between his clutched fingers.

Without a second to spare he rushes and pulls you into a gentle embrace. Instantly curbing your annoyances. “Why are you out of bed? Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? Your favourite soup is on its way made by Pennyworth himself. What medication have you taken so far? I’ll tell Pennyworth to pick up some anti-inflammatories on his way. Have you checked your temperature?” Your mind swirls at the barrage of questions.

“Why? How? Damian- were you spying on me again?” You asked irritated only for Damian’s palms to press on on the base of your neck.

“I was worried-“

“Damian!”

“TT, I apologise for my indiscretions.” He answers, looking anything but sorry. But your sick swirly brain is exhausting your temperament.

“You’re going to be in big trouble when I’m feeling better.” Your normally stoic lover grins victoriously at your resignation.

“I am aware of my inevitable predicament. Come.” He mutters almost anxiously before resorting back to his stoic expression. Stumbling back to your bed, Damian lifts your blanket up, allowing you to crawl back under the crispy clean sheets, followed by Damian, moulding around your form. “Sleep, I’ll keep you warm.”

[goldfades]

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 ☆ BURROW⁹ (ev's 6k celly!)

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

CELLY MASTERLIST

ᝰ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.6k

ᝰ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | it’s his first real day off in weeks and all he wants to do is spend it with you. no press. no cameras. just overpriced fruit and holding your hand in public like it doesn’t mean something. you trail through the market with a smoothie in one hand and his hoodie in the other, watching him pretend he’s not overly invested in picking the right sourdough.

ᝰ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | domestic fluff! literally nothing just maybe grumpy joe and invasion of privacies, nothing too crazy though

ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | last fic of my celly :,)! now we can go back to our regular programming!! here's some joey b fluff to end this fun celly! this is probably my fav joe fic i've ever written just because i LOVE domestic AND nerd joe?? all in one fic?? not to toot my own horn, but thats perfect<3 anyway, i hope you enjoyed this fic & my celly!

It’s still early when you wake up, the light outside pale and quiet, stretching slow across the sheets like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. Joe’s arm is slung heavy across your waist, his face half-buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the steady pull of his breath against your skin — long, deep, the kind of sleep he only gets when no alarms are set and no planes need catching.

You blink up at the ceiling for a while, trying to match your breath to his. The room is warm and still, faintly smelling of laundry and whatever cologne he wears that always lingers longer than it should. You shift a little, careful not to wake him, but it doesn’t matter. He stirs anyway.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles, voice rough and hoarse with sleep. He tightens his hold on you like the bed’s about to fly off into space.

You smile against his chest. “It’s morning.”

“Don’t care.”

You let the quiet settle again, the kind that feels full instead of empty. It’s been so rare lately. Even when he’s home, it’s like half of him is still somewhere else; some practice, some meeting, some endless obligation. But today’s different. His first real day off in weeks. No team facility. No recovery sessions. No PR appearances disguised as “casual” check-ins.

Just this.

You run your fingers through his messy curls, scratching lightly at his scalp. “You hungry?”

A grunt. A non-committal noise. Then, after a pause, “Tired.”

“You’ve been tired for three months.”

He lifts his head just barely to look at you, eyes still half-shut, expression somewhere between affection and flat-out grumpiness. “Yeah. That’s what three months of getting hit for a living does to a guy.”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Come on. Let’s go get groceries or something.”

Joe groans and rolls onto his back, throwing an arm dramatically over his face. “I don’t wanna be inside.”

“You’ve been inside stadiums and weight rooms for like, a quarter of the year.”

“That’s different. That’s work.”

“So let’s not work,” you say, nudging him with your knee. “Let’s go outside. What about the farmers market?”

You feel him hesitate. Not in a way that means no. In a way that means he wants to but his brain is still flipping through all the reasons he shouldn’t. The risk of being seen. The noise. The endless low hum of people looking, whispering, pointing. Always someone watching. Always something expected.

But you also know him better than that. You know he doesn’t want to spend the day holed up in the apartment pretending that being off means being unavailable.

You roll over to face him fully, cheek pressed into the pillow. “We could get fruit. Those little blueberries you like. Maybe some bread.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “That place had good peaches last time.”

You smile. “Yeah, and you stood there for ten minutes judging every single one.”

“Had to make sure they were ripe,” he mumbles, but his voice is softer now. Less guarded.

You reach out, let your fingers trace along his collarbone, lazy and slow. “Let’s go. No press, no schedule. Just us.”

Joe doesn’t say anything for a moment, just turns his head so he can look at you fully. And when he exhales, it’s like something eases in him — shoulders relaxing, jaw unclenching. Like maybe he’s finally letting the day be what it is, instead of what everyone else expects it to be.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Farmers market.”

The farmer’s market is already alive by the time you get there. Loud in that low, contented way Sundays are loud with kids trailing behind strollers, dogs sniffing at everything they’re not supposed to and the smell of something sweet and cinnamony floating thick and tempting through the air. There’s music coming from somewhere, faint strumming, a voice you can’t quite make out but mostly it’s the sound of people talking, bartering, laughing too loud.

It’s chaos. But a familiar kind. The kind that makes the world feel less like it’s spinning out and more like it’s just... going.

Joe’s hand finds yours without asking.

He doesn’t pull, doesn’t rush you along. Just holds on — loose at first, then tighter when someone brushes past too close. He’s in his “blend in” uniform: baseball cap, hoodie pulled over his head even though it’s too warm for it, sunglasses that cover half his face. But it’s not fooling anyone. You catch a double-take from a teenager walking past, hear a soft, excited “that’s Joey B, right?” from somewhere behind. Joe keeps walking.

The fruit stalls are toward the back, tucked between a flower vendor and a guy selling artisan soaps shaped like crystals. You spot the blueberries before he does.

“There,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Your precious berries.”

He perks up like a kid promised a toy store and immediately drops your hand, stepping forward to crouch in front of the stand like he’s about to interrogate the inventory.

“Oh my god,” you whisper, mostly to yourself. “You’re actually doing this again.”

Joe doesn’t look at you. He’s too busy picking up a pint of blueberries, holding it up to the light like he’s checking for imperfections. “These are underripe,” he mutters, placing them back with the dramatic disappointment of someone returning a bottle of bad wine. He picks up another, squints.

You glance at the vendor, who looks only mildly amused.

“Ignore him,” you say with a small smile. “He thinks he’s a fruit expert.”

“I am a fruit expert,” Joe says, straightening up to hold out a pint toward you like a trophy. “These are the ones.”

You take them from him, inspecting them even though you know he already did. “And what exactly qualified these?”

“They’re plump,” he says seriously. “Color’s good. Matte, not shiny.”

You look at him. “Matte?”

“Shiny blueberries are old blueberries. That’s just science.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t challenge it. There’s something endearing about the way he says it like he’s passing down ancient knowledge. He’s already crouched again, this time carefully picking through baskets of strawberries like he’s searching for treasure. You let him work, stepping aside so a woman can reach past you to grab a bag of oranges.

“This is nice,” you say after a minute.

Joe doesn’t look up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I missed this. You being annoying about produce.”

He laughs under his breath, quiet and a little sheepish. “I missed you watching me be annoying about produce.”

You smile and drop a kiss to the top of his head, right where his curls are peeking out under his cap. He freezes like he thinks you’ve just revealed state secrets, then glances up, glasses slipping a little down his nose.

“Bold,” he says, though there’s no edge to it. “You’re gonna blow my cover.”

You shrug. “They already know. That girl over there took a photo when you were choosing apples like they personally insulted you.”

He groans, softly, and stands up. “I hate that.”

“I know.”

“I just... why can’t I exist in peace and judge fruit without it being content?”

You take his hand again. “Because you’re hot and famous and dramatic about berries.”

He mutters something that might be “unbelievable” under his breath but doesn’t pull away. You both start walking again, navigating through the maze of people and stalls. You stop for fresh bread, watch him examine every loaf like he’s picking out a new car. He holds one up, knocks on the crust like he’s listening for a secret message then frowns and puts it back.

“Too soft.”

“Maybe it’s meant to be soft.”

He shakes his head. “If it doesn’t sound hollow, it’s not good sourdough.”

You give him a look. “Did you research all this?”

“I just know things,” he says with a maddening little smirk.

You end up with a loaf that does pass the test, tucked carefully into your tote like it’s fragile. Then come the peaches — God help you. He stands there for nearly ten minutes turning each one gently in his hands, pressing near the stems, breathing them in.

You busy yourself with finding honey sticks and watching a toddler have a meltdown over a squished banana. You’re not even annoyed by the wait anymore. There’s something about seeing Joe this way — slow, unguarded, quietly particular, that makes your chest feel weirdly full. Like watching someone be exactly who they are when no one’s asking anything of them.

He finally walks over with three peaches and a look of profound satisfaction.

“They’re gonna be perfect by tomorrow,” he says. “Just give ‘em a day.”

You reach out and cup his cheek. “You’re such a nerd.”

He leans into your hand, grinning a little. “You love it.”

You do. God, you really do.

You wander for a while longer, letting the sun warm your skin and the weight of the morning settle somewhere deep in your bones. Joe buys you a smoothie you don’t need and you steal sips from it while holding his hoodie, which he’s finally peeled off after admitting it was “too damn hot for May.” You catch sight of your reflection in a vendor’s mirror: wind in your hair, his hoodie in your arms, sunglasses slipping down your nose and think, yeah, this is something I’ll want to remember.

By the time you start heading back, the market’s thinned out a little, the vendors slowly packing up, kids getting cranky, the music quieter. Joe keeps your hand in his the whole way to the car, fingers playing absentmindedly with yours, like he’s not quite ready to let the day go.

Neither are you.

It wasn’t much. Just fruit and bread and sun. Just people and dogs and noise. But in the middle of all that, it felt like something rare — normal, soft, yours.

And sometimes, that’s more than enough.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[eunuchve]

tags: mdni, smut, dragon!morax, MONSTERFUCKING, rut/mating cycles, predator/prey, double dragon cocks, double penetration, CERVIX FUCKING, size kink, mentioning pregnancy, mating, bro has a worship kink, breeding kink hints (he's in a rut dont hold it against him) a.n: (what have i done) this is the first porn with plot I've written and I gotta say; it is damn long.... happy valentines my dears, enjoy! pairings: zhongli x afab!reader

Lord Morax is a god; but he is more than that, he is an adeptus. illuminated beast. this fact needs no introduction, everyone knows. 

so when he took leave to a remote part of liyue somewhere, unknown to even his retainers, no one dared to bat an eye. the rain has fallen heavy, the season has become damp, and the scheduled time is near; Rex Lapis will have his rut.

it didn't take long for people to figure out the reasons for his absence; not when the lord became increasingly unfocused during stately meetings a week prior or when his eyes would turn to slits with a whiff of a woman's perfume for a month’s time.

You, the lone herb picker of a local pharmacy, didn't know any better when you stumbled upon a large hollowed-out cave that wasn't supposed to be there. you are familiar with the terrains, hell, you know it like the back of your hand -- so imagine your surprise when you find a nesting dragon inside, heaving, grunting alone; its horns glowing with a bright amber before its head snapped to your directly, eyes instantly turning to slits.

at first, you stumble backwards, watching as the figure slowly but surely towers over your frame; your neck cranes to meet its molten bronze eyes. it didn't take you long to realise whose privacy you had so ungraciously barged into; your mouth dries and you dropped your basket full of violetgrass, your heart beating out of your chest before your feet finally got some sense and took running to the woods. 

'fuck fuck fuck.'

you are going to die- you are so sure you are going to die. when your feet stumble and trip over branches and air, when you can hear him gliding through the sky; undoubtedly searching for you. The sounds of his scaled body burst through the leaves of the ginkgo trees, or of his deep, rough growls that echo through the forest. With every heavy step you take, you can feel him getting closer and closer. The thrill and fear mix inside of you, your body stirs with blood coursing through you. Weirdly amid the fear you feel-- somehow excitement came into the mix; something about your life being in the mercy of a chase?

Why is he there again? Rut? So will he fuck you or will he kill you? You certainly prefer one to the other. 

Your legs continue to run, even as you trip and fall, or when you stumble upon a rock or two; searching for an exit to a nearby village or open path; but no matter how far you run you can't seem to find the correct way. Your eyes scanned all directions before your body was suddenly pinned down under a sudden force and unmoving weight.

The paws of a creature so large that it covers your entire back, its talons digging into your back. The smell of freshly dug earth and exotic spices violates your nostrils and your heart can't help but thump against your chest just a little faster. You turned your neck, finding the dragon’s face mere inches from yours; his hot breath grazing the exposed skin of your neck. 

“Please don’t kill me.” god your voice sounds so desperate; with a hint of a broken whimper- even you are embarrassed by that fact. but your god didn't seem disturbed, instead he let out a low grunt, before hissing back a reply.

"don't beg."

"...huh?"

"don't." he spat the word, seeming holding something back. "beg."

"b-but--"

he didn't let you finish, picking you up by the scruff of your neck before throwing you to his back. he flew you back somewhere, you didn't care to notice since most of the flight back you are scrambling for something to hold on to; whether it is the golden spines or his actual body.

by the time you both arrive at the entrance of the familiar cave, he has waited for you to get off his back. you inclined, of course, shakily getting a feel of the ground below, catching your breath whilst adrenaline courses through you. once you get a feel yourself, your eyes travel to him, catching his large form walking slowly to the back of the cave.

"you won't kill me?" you find yourself asking; his head then slowly turns to you before, a visible look of confusion etched on it.

"Why would I?" his deep rough voice replies. he is definitely holding something back, the way his lips parted a bit to let steam out of his mouth, the sharp teeth that are visible from them make you gulp the pooling saliva in your mouth.

"Because... cave..."

weak reasoning, you'd have to admit, but if he won't kill you then you'd have to be sure of the other possibility. "then would you fuck me?"

the look on his face deepened before his head hung low, and a soft whisper came to you for a reply. "what makes you think of that?"

"It's your- Rex Lapis it's your time of..."

embarrassed, incredibly embarrassed; that's the feeling you felt, with the heat of blood rushing to your cheek and thumping heart against your chest only enforcing the fact.

"it is time for my rut, yes," he confirmed, his gaze thrown to the floor, avoiding your figure, "but I am not one with lost senses; sleep, it is night, it will be safer to leave in the morning."

you nod weakly, shuffling your way to the walls and plopping down on the dirt before curling up. the heat in your cheeks refuses to prevail as you watch him walk back, his long tail moves with each step he takes, the tuff at the end resembling that of golden clouds.

"My lord why are you moving so far away?" you asked, instantly biting your lip the moment that question escaped your mind, realising how desperate you sounded with that pretence.

"your arousal," he states matter of factly. "you. I can smell it."

you look at him wide-eyed, your face now comparable in its heat to the sun, your lips agape.

"it's safer for you this way," he continues.

"do you not want to?" archons you are greedy aren't you. "your rut- I can.. help..."

"I doubt it." his voice is precise, he says it like it's a fact, not even letting you have a space to express your desire. "they are the size of your thigh and their length..."

"I can try." bold- now you are being too bold. the size of your thigh he said? now you can feel your ears getting heated up from the shame. your thigh now pressed together as you imagine him inside of you; a second pass and your arms no longer placed nicely on your lap, instead instinctively protecting your chest.

his gaze looms over you, his snout now only a hairsbreadth away from your neck; a long deep breath he takes is audible before he groans out a reply.

"Do not test me human," something inside of him is threatening undone, you know it, "I will breed you till your womb is full and your consciousness lost-- if that is not what you desire then stay quiet and sleep; I shall bring you the village in the morning but until then speak not of this."

you gulp, now your lips parted before you crane your neck and place a shaky kiss on his scaled cheek, the heat of his body contrasting the cold of your flesh. "... that is what I desire--"

with that your clothes are torn apart; the valuable silk you spend months of your wage on is gone and your naked skin is exposed. the cold air hardened your nipples and he took notice, his head travelling down, his long forked tongue lapping sweetly onto them, earning your strangle out a moan.

"getting aroused from a chase," he breathes out, almost teasing you; hot breath contrasts that of the cooling saliva on your perked buds, sending vibrations down your spine. "thinking you can take a dragon's cocks, wanting to be the mother of my offsprings -- what bold actions you possessed."

you let out a whine, his tongue now travelling down, ever so subtly closing down to your cunt. you pressed your thighs together; embarrassed, already feeling your arousal seeping out of you before his claws forced them wide open, earning your moan.

"you are pooling my dear," he almost chuckled, his eyes narrowed as he licked his lips, his breath now grazing your quivering folds, unexpected whimper broken out of you.

"please?"

with that word you can feel the air snap hotter, his eyes now meeting yours; his form towering over you before he chuckle, training down kisses, his tongue now making sure you are covered in his scent.

"didn't I tell you not to beg?" his claws hold your thigh open and he took a lap of your cunt, almost smiling at your taste. "do you know why my dear?"

"n-no--"

your moans escape, feeling his tongue entering you, fucking you, stimulating your walls, not letting you escape. you arched your back, biting your lips as another whimper persisted. you feel his hand moving, now pressing his claws to your other hole, expecting you to open up; and you let him, your holes now stuffed full of him before you feel his tongue slip out of you, your whine tells him as much about what you want.

"Because if you beg..." he now moves his hands to your ankles, folding you in half and you watch helplessly, his two golden cocks decorated with geometric lines and veins on either side, one on top of the other- he does not lie, the size of those things are comparable to your thigh, its length will most likely penetrate your womb- "I will answer."

he chuckles subtly, aligning his cocks to both of your holes, its weight now pressing down on you, precum leaks out of them, lubricating you further.

"i am a god, my dear; I always answer."

with that he presses his cock head to your holes, hoping both of them will ease up. you moan his title out, causing him to snap his head to you, making him greedy.

Your little groan and hiss only help you muster up the strength to let loose, feeling your holes easing up before they let his cockheads in, making your chest heave.

he grunts against your neck; and you feel his teeth subtly tracing your shoulder, little nips that satiate his hunger, burying his head in its crook.

"Celestia." the way you feel around the tip of his cock is incomparable; the dragon finds himself clenching down his jaw, controlling his urges to slam you down to its hilt. "you are made for me my dear."

he grabs a hold of your hips, and you feel him sliding you down. you let out a low moan, your back still arched as you feel him inside of you more and more. the burn from the stretch doesn't scare you, even if you feel like you are being split in two- you only know the pleasure that waits for you not so out of reach.

not even halfway and you already feel him brushing against your cervix, your broken moan coupled with the way you rolled your hips almost makes him snap. his other cock too now deep inside of you- almost too deep; you feel the pressure against your throat, feeling his cocks twitch, almost making you jolt, your hand searching from his arm, nails now digging into his scales.

he looks at you, his parted lips letting out steam before his uneven breathing stops to let him speak. "I shall move now."

you look at him, biting your lips and nod firmly, affirming your readiness. you feel him trying to go out of you, your cunt and hole tightening around him, almost hungry before he slams into you, earning your cry of pleasure.

it persists; he goes out of you before he slips inside, messaging your walls before they tightened around him again, hungrily seeking him, your face now fucked out with pleasure, feeling him abuse your holes.

"I'm not even all the way in my dear." he almost smirks, you can see it. before you know it, you suddenly feel him picking you up, your walls being freed from his cocks, suddenly empty and you whine; letting him flip you to your stomach and holding your ass up in the air.

he marvels at the sight, seeing both of your holes gape yet clench down on nothing, it almost made him giddy.

"my beautiful follower," he mused, his claws now digging into your flesh before you feel his cocks lining up with your holes again; embarrassingly you can feel your cunt relaxing, ready to take him in once more. "will you be my mate now darling?"

"yes!" your desperation stays, you want him inside you so bad, "please Rex Lapis please!"

you didn't know what did, but you certainly awaken something in him. he brings you up in the air before slamming you down on his cocks, your walls now taking him fully, your stomach bulging out with his shape. your breath knocks out of you; you can feel him all the way in your womb, your hand can't help but trace the raised flesh, your spine almost shivering from the sensation.

"keep begging."

that sounds like an order; even your now fucked out brain knows that. so like the good follower you are you follow that order.

"Please make me your mate," you choke out, his slow rhythms that know your breath slowly but surely going faster, brushing up against all your pleasure spots, making you roll your eyes to the back of your head. "please please please please I wanna- I want--"

he chuckles, the way you mewl your pleas, the way your warm flesh tightens around him; he can even feel your walls hungrily sucking him in so nicely. in his mind he is thanking Celestia; because fuck, you are a masterpiece.

"a human could die from this," he grunts out, going in and out of you with an inhuman pace, your cunt and hole loosening with his movements. "not you my dear; you are made for me."

you whine from his statement, the bludge he created only drives you to the edge, feeling something inside of you tightening, your nails digging into his scaled flesh, your face supported by his nose. "R-rex Lapis i- my-- i'm--"

"you want to cum my dear?" he almost teases you with the question, his cock brushing, bullying your g spot, making you dig your nails further, your head could only nod desperately at his question. "hold it, you could only cum when I do."

you whine out with his order, and he lets out a subtle groaning with it, chuckling at your reaction. his hand moves down, large talons brushing against your hard clit, teasing the nub; knowing exactly what it will make you do.

you wrapped your arm around his neck, his golden mane brushing against your flesh so softly; and your tug your face on them, muffling out your long moan and desperate cries.

"fuck- please lord mo- morax- r-rex lapis please- i want- i wanna- please please please-"

he kept his word, his face moving and kissing your neck, feeling you move your pelvis to fit him better, your inside hungrily brushing against his shaft. his brow knits, he feels himself almost coming undone.

"now."

with a final thrust, he fills both of your holes with white ropes of cum, you yourself arching your back, feeling your orgasm hits you harder than ever before. he hear your pants before he coils around you, closing gaps between the two of your while still being inside of you, wrapped up by your own warmth.

"i shall make the wedding preparation after the season's over," he breath out; your mind finally able to join the sentence together before you move your head, repeating the most important word again.

"wedding..."

"of course my dear," he kisses you, his snout pressed against your jaw before he tugs his head onto your collar bone. his hand travels to your stomach, rubbing the visible buldge that only grows with his cum, almost making look pregnant.

"the little ones will be coming soon."

[anyamaris]

Title: Bedtime Secrets

Summary: When you stay over at your friends last minute, you thought San was away, staying in his room. You didn't expect him to come home and find you in his bed.

Pairing: Choi San x F!reader

Word Count: 2023

Rating: 18+ M

Trope: Friends to lovers, non idol au, smut

Warnings: THIS IS NONCON-YOUVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT READ IF YOU DONT UNDERSTAND THIS-Somnophilia, NONCON(again), vulgar language, backshot, yes the reader is into it at the end but still NONCON. obvs minors dni 18+

A/N: This is for my lovely @sanjoongie because she's so amazing and wrote JK Star Wars for me 💜I've been wanting to write this for awhile anyhow so I finally did it. Also, I don't know if it needs to be said but I in no way condone noncon outside of our fictional controlled environments and all that, and I want to make sure everyone knows that this isn't for everyone. It's for my Topaz and anyone else who enjoys it. That is all. Thank you to @pars-ley for the GORGEOUS banner and partial beta read, I'm sorry I always cut it off on you!

As always @cafekitsune for the dividers!!!

When you had a last minute emergency at your apartment, Wooyoung had allowed you to come stay over at him and San’s place.

It was always an unspoken courtesy that you could stay in one of their rooms if ever needed when one of them was away for an evening, allowing you privacy and comfort.

So when you settled in for the night in San’s room, Wooyoung had assured you that San was away for the next week and you didn’t think twice about stripping down to your panties and a tank top to sleep due to the heat.

What you didn’t expect was that San’s work trip had been cut short.

It’s after 2am when the door to the apartment is unlocked and San makes his way inside, not bothering to turn on the lights.

He kicks off his shoes and yawns as he plods over to his room.

He hesitates a moment at the closed door, remembering that he’d left it open.

Figuring Wooyoung must have closed it for some reason, he merely shrugs and pushes it open, dumping his bag to the side before tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the hamper, his pants joining shortly after.  

The moonlight illuminates the room as he rubs his eyes and walks to the bed, hoisting the covers up before he freezes in shock.

The very last thing he’s expecting in his bed is you; half naked, your back to him, your cute little ass cheeks peeking out at him.

“What the-” He mutters before he can stop himself and you let out a little noise as you adjust in your sleep.  

He bites his lip as his gaze rakes over your unconscious form, how your thigh moves up and gives him a peek of your clothed crotch, your bare arm clinging to his pillow, your face calm and serene in your slumber.

He groans as his cock stirs, chastising himself for getting aroused at your sleeping form.  

“Fuck…” He mumbles, contemplating what to do.

Your friendship is close enough that he is fully aware that you wouldn’t be upset if he slept next to you; no, that’s not the issue at all.

San is fully aware that slipping in next to you isn’t the only thing he wants to do right now.

He momentarily thinks about grabbing a pillow and camping out on the couch for the night, but as he reaches to do so, you murmur something unintelligible in your sleep and turn slightly towards him.

A hiss leaves his lips as he notices the outline of your nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top and he can’t stop himself from changing course and slipping under the covers next to you.

Internally cursing at himself, he ignores the protests he’s making against what he’s about to do.

As he scoots closer to you, he inhales and groans at the unique scent of shampoo and vanilla that is you.

He tugs the covers down gently, his breath hitching as he takes in the curve of your spine and the way your tank top clings to your tits, making his hands itch to touch you.

Choi San, don’t you do this…he thinks yet his hand betrays him, reaching out to brush your hair back from your neck as he slips closer to you.

He’s always been attracted to you, and this is the best and worst temptation of his life, laid out before him.

His fingers trace the line of your neck down to your shoulder, concentrating on your face as he tests if it’s going to wake you.

When you don’t even stir from the simple touch, he slowly places his hand on your waist, pausing and waiting.

The heat from your body beckons him, and his dick tents his boxers, a wet stain already forming from his leaking tip.

“Fuck.” He whispers, sliding his hand down the curve of your waist up your hip, savoring every inch of skin before he rests his palm on your ass cheek.  

“Mmm..” You murmur in your sleep, causing him to freeze as you adjust, scooting back a few inches towards him.  

He lets out a choked moan as your ass pushes firmly into his hand, his rigid length bumping into your tailbone.

It takes everything in him to not rut against you, aware that any sudden jostling might wake you and he can’t have that right now.  

Right now, he needs to explore you, touch your bare skin, inhale your fragrance.

He knows the chances of you waking and freaking out are high, yet he can’t seem to stop himself from pushing the boundaries of what is right and wrong.

Finally, you stop stirring and his hand slips down the back of your thigh, gently pushing your top leg forward and exposing your clothed cunt.

He pushes the blankets down further and leans up, his eyes locking onto the thin fabric keeping him from your naked pussy. 

Pulling his lower lip in and chewing it, he slips his fingers against your panties, holding back a whine as he feels your damp folds through the material.  

His gaze flicks up to your face, checking to make sure you’re still unconscious before he slips his finger along the seam of your panties, trying to control his breathing as he pulls the crotch aside to expose your lower lips.  

His breath hitches as the movement causes you to shift, having to pause yet again before you settle.

He keeps checking your face as he tugs your panties aside far enough to allow him to skim his fingers along your folds, parting them so he can stare at your tight little hole as he uses his fingertips to search for your clit.

The pads of his fingers graze your hidden bundle of nerves and your sleepy little breathy moan lets him know he’s found it.  

He swallows heavily as he keeps his gaze on your face, watching for any sign of consciousness as he slowly starts rubbing in circles, the heat and moisture from your cunt urging him to scoot close enough to rub his erection against your lower back.

Your lips part as he presses against your bud more firmly, encouraging him on as he grinds against you.  

He struggles to keep his moans quiet as his fingers slip down to tease at your tight little entrance, the soft noises coming from you making him start to lose what little control he has.  

He moves his hand to push his boxers down, freeing his rigid length and positioning it between your thighs, pushing forward to rub the head of his cock through your folds.

“Shhh...” He whispers as you stir, his hand sliding up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your tank top, teasing at your nipple as it tightens in his fingertips.

The room is quiet outside of his ragged breathing and the rhythmic damp noises as he rubs himself against your pussy.  

He palms your tit, then squeezes it, moving from one to the other before finally pushing your top up to expose your naked breasts.  

“Fuck…ah fuck…” He whispers, watching your face as he closes the distance between you, his bare chest pressing against your back even as his mind protests that what he’s doing is so wrong.

You let out a soft moan when he cups your naked breast, using his thumb and forefinger to tug your tightened nipple as he watches your face for any sign of rousing.  

He presses his lips to your shoulder as he rolls his hips, each agonizing pass of his cock through your folds encouraging his depraved motions as you soak his length with your arousal.

Even as you shift and let out soft noises every time he rubs himself against your clit, he chastises himself for what he’s doing. Yet he’s so far gone with lust that even as he pauses to check your state, he knows he’s fucked.

You shift against him and the head of his cock catches on your entrance, causing him to hiss out a curse, his hand leaving your nipple to grab your hip and look down between you.

The sight of your glistening cunt is far too much for him to handle and he briefly looks at the outline of your face in the dim light before he bites his lip, grabbing his cock to guide himself into you.

His eyes close in pure bliss as he slowly pushes forward, your quiet sleepy moan mixing with his groans as he grabs your ass and bottoms out inside of you.

His hand flexes on your ass, then slides up the back of your thigh, lifting it so he can watch as he draws back, then plunges back into you. 

He grunts with each thrust, not concerning himself anymore with whether he’s waking you, too lost in chasing his own pleasure at this point to stop.

It’s only when your soft voice breaks his concentration that he looks up and notices your lashes fluttering, your hands grabbing at the pillow and sheets as your face subconsciously registers what he’s doing to you.

Guilt momentarily wars with lust as he leans forward to press his face into your neck, his arm slipping around your waist to hold you as he begins propelling his hips faster and harder.

“Sorry…shhh…it’s okay…shhh…fuck, baby…” He whispers against your skin between soft whimpers and grunts.

“...San?” Your confused whisper melded with your gasps as he fucks you only makes him more frantic and he drops his hand between your legs to find your clit, pinching and circling.

He draws back to look at your face, your half lidded eyes on him as he nods, his cheeks heating as you silently question what he’s doing.  

“I’m sorry…I know…I shouldn’t…I-fuck! You…you looked too sexy…” He bites out, his hips starting to snap forward harder, your body shaking with each thrust.

“San-!” You cry out, finally fully aware of what’s happening and his fingers leave your clit to grab your thigh and pull it back over his, slipping his other arm under you to grab your breast and hold you in place.

He starts leaving open mouthed kisses along your neck and shoulder as his hand returns to your clit, feeling your pussy start to clench as he moans out your name.

“Baby…fuck I’m close-” He growls out, nipping at your neck as you start pushing back against him.  

“Nngnngg….San…don’t cum-in me-!” You manage before your mouth opens in an ‘o’ and you clench tightly around him, your climax causing him to buck wildly and grit his teeth, barely holding back as he helps you ride out your orgasm.

“Ah-ah fuck-I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-!” He cries out, grabbing your ass and pulling out, pushing his cock between your ass cheeks as he erupts all over your lower back as he continues to rut against you.

Thick ropes of cum spurt all over your back, the sticky mess soaking your back and ass cheeks as his hips jerk erratically, his eyes locked onto the lewd sight before he finally looks up and meets your gaze.

You look over your shoulder up at him and he swallows heavily, his cheeks darkening with a blush.

“Um…” He mutters sheepishly, giving you a weak smile before reaching up to rub the back of his neck in shame, his muscles flexing as he does so.

“Choi San…” You can’t help but eye his arm, then his naked chest appreciatively.  

He winces, waiting to be yelled at but you only sigh, reaching back to touch the mess on your lower back.  

“I’m…I’m sorry-” He starts, but his words turn into a strangled squeak as you bring your fingers to your lips to taste his cum.

“You could have at least woken me up, San. Jesus-what a mess-” 

Before you can finish, his mouth is on yours, not caring about the mess as he rolls you onto your back and pinning you down.

“You’re awake now-” He whispers against your lips.

Well, you can’t argue with that.

[mahmahmahmysharona]

When you and Bob have your first time…twice (pt. 1)

Bob Reynolds x Avenger Reader (Part 5/?)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Here is what you learned about Bob after the kiss:

He loved kissing. Seriously, anytime you two were left alone, he was on you. In the day, these were light and quick, stolen out of the air in small moments of privacy. At night, when you two could hide out somewhere in the tower, they could be long, feverish kisses that left you both off-balance.

He stayed up late and woke up early. You never know what he did between those hours, but you were always dozing off before he did, and when you woke up, he’d already be alive to the world, watching the sunrise through the window or staring up at the ceiling. You wished you could learn the sound of him sleeping.

He waited up for you on nights when you headed out on missions. No matter how small, how easy, he was always there when you got back. (Apparently, he always did this.) Now, when you headed back to your room in the early hours, you’d barely touch your door before you heard his creaking open and felt him reaching out for you. He would follow you inside and watch you get ready for bed, climbing in beside you and letting you nest your head in the crook of his shoulder. Soon, it became the only way you could sleep at all.

You and Bob tried to hide your new relationship as much as you could at first.

You both acted normal in front of the rest of the team, but found solace in spending the nights hidden in one of your rooms. Honestly, it wasn't much different to what you were doing before — only this time, there was a newfound level of physical intimacy you were both trying to adjust to.

You hadn’t been in a relationship for years, thanks to your newfound status as an enhanced being and your never-ending line of duty. And Bob…well, Bob had his own reasons for a gap in his resume.

To put it bluntly, neither of you were novices in this particular field, but you weren’t exactly pros, either.

But it was undeniable: You both wanted each other. Now that you were allowed to, it was hard not to let the nights were you held each other get overheated fast. But you both broke away before things got in too deep. It became harder and harder, especially the more you fell for him.

Putting it down to a combination of shyness and lack of experience, you decided one day that it would be best to bite the bullet and take the plunge.

"Bob," you said one afternoon in the kitchen, with you and Bob eating lunch and hiding your joined hands under the counter. "Do you want to have sex with me?"

He let out a noise: half a laugh, half a strangled choke. "...What?" he asked.

"You heard me."

"Uh..." He looked around. It took him a few coughs to clear whatever food was now stuck in his throat from the double take. "Yeah. I mean, of course. Do you?"

"Yes." You picked some of the crust off your sandwich. You hadn't planned the conversation beyond this point. "Then I think we should. Tonight?"

He blinked. Then, remembering himself, he nodded, trying to match your professional tone. "Okay. Uh...looking forward to it."

You laughed: thank god. That was done with. And soon, you'd both have gotten over the initial awkwardness, and the real fun could begin.

That night, you waited up, wore your pyjama shorts and tank (the only thing you had that could even remotely be considered as alluring) and sat on the edge of your bed. You waited until you heard a knock at the door, and Bob came in.

He shut the door behind him and waited, softly smiling. There was too much waiting going on. "Hey. Come here," you told him, patting the mattress next to you. He moved over to your side, but you both remained in your own spot.

Eventually, he broke the silence. "I didn't know if you wanted me to get...stuff," he said. "Or if you already had."

"Stuff?"

"Condoms," he clarified. It wasn't a word you thought you'd hear Bob say when you first met him. Mind you, you never thought you'd be sitting here with him, getting ready to do what you were about to do. (Or at least, what you thought you were about to do.)

"Oh," you let out a small, breathy laugh. "Don't worry about that. It's not a problem."

He mimicked your laugh, not quite knowing why. "It's not?"

"I can't get pregnant. So, you know, it's your lucky day."

His eyebrows knitted together. "...What do you mean?"

"Just because of...what happened to me. The serum changed my biology. They said a lot of normal stuff isn't possible for me anymore."

You've told people this fact before enough times for it to become painless. But now, seeing the shattered look on Bob's face, you suddenly remembered the weight of it once again. You shifted in your seat, tearing your gaze away from him.

"I'm sorry," he said, resting his hand on your thigh. "...We don't have to do this if you don't want. Not tonight."

You snapped your eyes back up to him. You didn't want pity. You didn't want time. You wanted normalcy. You wanted him. You leaned forward and kissed him, bringing your hand up to his face and pulling him in.

He hesitated, but reciprocated as soon as he knew it was okay for him to do so. You stayed like this for a while, your lips moving against each other as you inched closer and closer. When his hand gripped your thigh harder, you took a sharp breath in. The sound seemed to flip a switch in him, and he brought his other arm to your hips, pulling you in and closing the gap between you.

You followed the movement and lifted yourself up, throwing your leg over him and resting yourself on his lap. Your arms looped around his neck, and you felt his hands grip handfuls of flesh on either side of your thighs.

"Do you want me, Bob?" you asked into his lips.

"Yes," he gasped in return. "You know I do."

In response, you rocked your hips against him, feeling the firm pressure underneath. He let out a soft moan, gripping you tighter, wrapping his arms around you. His lips found your cheek, your chin, your neck, striking the balance between pressing softly and giving away the hunger he was feeling from having you on top of him.

Your mouth found his earlobe, and you nipped at the skin there. "God," you heard from below you.

Taking that as a sign, you gently pushed him backwards until he was laying flat on the bed with you mounted above him. At being distanced from you suddenly, he appeared agitated, reaching up and grabbing you by the arms to pull you down and kiss you once more.

You rocked back and forth, increasing the friction between you, feeling him harden impossibly between your thighs. At seeing his face — a muddled mix of pleasure and concentration — you reached your hand down between you and guided your palm over him. The exhale he released was low and loaded. He was trying to hold back, and you didn't want him to.

As you slipped your hand along the border of fabric and firm muscle, one of his hands found your hair, hooking a handful and tugging gently. Finally breaking through, you reached down and took him in your grip. At the feel of him, you let out a soft hum, but he was nothing compared to the gasp that came from him.

"Shit," he said. "Oh, shit."

You held him in your hand, gently and slowly moving up and down, enjoying the feeling of his hips rising up to yours with each motion. He pulled on your hair even more, bringing your face down to his so your breaths became entangled between you. You increased your movement, pumping your hand harder. Bob moaned into your mouth, and you couldn't help it — your own moan followed, his name coming out right alongside it—

Suddenly, there was the sound of shattering glass. A lot of it.

A yell echoed from across the tower: "Holy hell!"

You and Bob sat bolt upright. You looked at him. He looked at you. You were both pink in the face and panting. It only took a second — and god, you didn't want to — but you slipped off him and went to the door.

"What the hell was that?" you asked, still feeling the knocks of your heart against your chest pounding through you.

"Uh...I think...I think that was me."

You turned to look at Bob. He was still sitting there, still at attention, now with a slightly bashful look painted on his face. You looked at him and back at the door.

"I'll be right back," you told him. You slipped outside, wandering towards the kitchen. When you got there, Walker is standing in the dark, in his pyjamas, staring at a pile of broken glass. It seemed every glass in the cabinet exploded, shattering fragments across the kitchen. Walker looked at you, dumbfounded.

"I just came in for some water, I swear to god," he said.

"Well..." You paused. "You know where the dustpan and brush is."

As you walked back to your room, you heard him yell, "But I didn't do this!"

"I don't see anyone else in the room with you!" you called back.

When you returned to your room, you were disappointed to see Bob standing, seemingly recovered from the position you were in not just a few minutes ago. Seeing your confusion, he came to you, grabbing your arms and pulling you closer.

"Is it a mess?" he asks, pressing his lips to your head.

"Yes. You really did that?"

"I guess so. I think I got overwhelmed, but in a good way. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I’m sorry. Maybe I pushed this too hard and too fast. I just wanted…I just wanted us to—”

“I know. Me too.”

God, now you wanted him even more. He’d never believe it if you told him, but you honestly thought that out of everyone in the building, Bob was the only one who ever said what you wanted to hear. You reached out and pulled him in. You felt his hand at the back of your neck, stroking the skin there. You wanted him again, and he wanted you (you could tell from the sound of his fluttering heartbeat by your cheek), but you wanted to let it be. You wanted to wait.

Turns out, you wouldn’t have to wait for much longer after all.

Coming soon: …Pt. 2.

Tag list: @purplefluffycows @i-shall-abide @avengersinitiative2012 @tatsunesworld @lovelyypythoness @yujyujj