#[shes just casually stalling lmao]

[origami-is-life]

HI ORII!!

*Hammer is some sort of ink person..?*

@theoneandonlyhammeranon

*origami looks up, first looking at firey, then at hammer. she slowly stands up, keeping her eyes on hammer while she slowly puts the partially folded paper in her place.*

heyyy, hammer. you, uh, you look... different. did you, uh, do something different with your, uh, hoodie today?

#tadc anon #[shes just casually stalling lmao]

[withacapitalp]

All this was inspired by listening to She’s So Overrated by Madilyn Bailey so fair warning LMAO. Also this got SO MUCH LONGER THAN I MEANT IT TO IM SORRY IT WAS JUST ME WRITING DOWN AN IDEA......

Okay so I’m having thoughts about modern AU lead singer Eddie Munson who’s been in the industry for years with the boys. Corroded Coffin is a staple of the metal industry, but for a few years he’s been feeling really stalled in his career and just stuck in place. He’s still making music, still performing, but he feels like he’s getting farther and farther from that kid who used to scream and sing in his closet bedroom in the shoebox apartment he used to share with Wayne. 

So when he and the boys are in an interview and the interviewee brings up how “King” Steve Harrington from The Four is trying to reinvent himself with the help of former bandmate Robin Buckley, Eddie goes off. He works himself up into a little tizzy, ranting Munson Doctrine style about how a former teen pop star trying to become some second rate folk singer isn’t anything special, and that he wouldn’t be caught dead cashing in like that. 

That Steve’s music is bad (even though he’s honestly never listened to it) and “King” Steve is overrated. How even Beiber is better than him. He’s just bullshit. 

Of course the interview goes viral, and finds its way to Steve and Robin. Robin listens to it first and she doesn’t want Steve to watch it. She knows how close things like this cut him (especially that word), and how he’s been dealing with a lot of hate from everyone even from former fans who are confused by the sharp contrast of his new music- aka the music he’s finally being allowed to write now that he’s broken away from his momager- but Steve makes her show him. 

She’s sure that she’s going to have to spend the next week rebuilding his confidence. 

And instead, Steve’s lip curls into a smile, and he grabs his songbook, telling her to find her guitar. 

Eddie wakes up five days after the interview to a huge flood of social media notifications, a dozen missed calls from the boys and his manager and his uncle. He ignores them all and goes to see what he fucked up this time. 

Eddie opens Youtube and it’s at the top of his recommendations. The thumbnail is Steve and Robin sitting together with a guitar in her lap. The title of the video is just one word. 

Bullshit. 

This can’t be good. 

Eddie listens to it even though he doesn’t want to. He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a coward. Not anymore. He listens to it because he has to know how much he’s fucked up. 

And then he listens to it again. And again. And again. 

It gets stuck in his head. All of it. Not just the song (which admittedly is pretty killer) but also hearing the flippantly mean words he had casually thrown at Steve being shoved back in his face. He had seen Steve as an abstract thing, just a symbol of everything wrong with the industry, not a real person. And now this actual human being that he’s hearing has turned all of that garbage into a song that feels more genuine then most of the music on the last two albums he wrote himself. A song that has heart, joy, and a strong current of pain underneath, especially in the bridge where Steve just sings the word bullshit over and over. 

There’s even more than that. He also sees the way Robin and Steve interact while they’re working the smiles, the jabs, the silly little way Steve bobs his head along as he listens to her play, the way they both collapse into giggles at the end as Steve directly quotes the part of the interview where Eddie said that Steve “is just another laundry basket devil trying to act like a big shot now that he’s too old for teen girls to moon over.” 

He can’t remember the last time he and the boys had that much fun making a song. 

Hell, Eddie even sees their apartment. It’s a pretty nondescript room, but he can see the wear and tear on the furniture, the cobwebs in the corners of the room, the slightly drooping houseplant with the name “Dart” lovingly painted on its pot. It feels like a home, and as Eddie looks around at the bedroom in his far too big mansion, he feels even more like a fraud. 

Eddie listens to the song on repeat for most of the morning. In the afternoon he finally answers everyone, and starts to put his plan into motion. 

By that evening he’s on the phone with Steve asking him and Robin to help Corroded Coffin write their next song. 

#steve harrington #stranger things #st #eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #st4 #steve and eddie #Robin buckley #platonic stobin #platonic soulmates Stobin #stranger things au #modern au #rockstar Eddie munson #pop star Steve harrington #And yes in my head they fall in love #and robin falls in love with CC manager Chrissy Cunningham shhhhhh #corroded coffin

[thewulf]

Through Your Eyes || Simon "Ghost" Riley

Summary: Request -I'm thinking a military TF 141 reader where she and Ghost are tiptoeing the line between friendship and something more (you write it soooo well!) and maybe one night she's just feeling lonely/homesick - she really only sees the guys anymore since they're always working - so she decides to get a lil tipsy in her room... Read Rest Here

A/N: Probably the most OOC Ghost we'll see but idc he's soft and I love it. Enjoy!

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 9.5k + (They keep getting longer lmao)

TW: Drinking our issues away

In the quiet confines of your room on base the night stretches out like a silent, unending void. England, with its overcast skies and endless drizzle, feels worlds away from the sun-drenched horizons of your hometown in America. Here the walls are a dull grey. The only decoration a faded photograph of your family, smiling. A stark reminder of what you’ve left behind.

You sit on the edge of your narrow bed with a glass of whiskey cradled in your hands. The ice was slowly melting, mirroring the monotonous drip of time passing. The soft buzz of the base’s nighttime activities filters through your closed door. It was a constant reminder that life goes on even when parts of you have stalled.

Loneliness clings to you like a second skin. Homesickness gnaws at your insides. The jokes shared and the meals eaten together are supposed to bring comfort, but tonight they're not enough. The laughter feels distant. The smiles seem forced through your filter of sadness. You miss the ease of being understood in your own home. The comfort of familiar streets. The casual meetups with friends who knew you before you were a soldier.

Most of all you miss the simple, irreplaceable connections that once filled your days. You long for the nights out with your girlfriends, their laughter and stories echoing in your ears. A drastic difference to the tactical discussions that now dominate your evenings. The absence of your mother's voice, once a daily comfort, now feels like a missing chord in the symphony of your life. It’s not like you didn’t try and talk with her but the time difference made it nearly impossible.

The loneliness is compounded by the intimacy you crave but lack. You longed for a partner to share quiet moments with. Someone whose mere presence could turn the coldest nights warm. Here, among soldiers, your vulnerability remains hidden. Your longing for tenderness a silent scream in the night.

Lately you’ve found yourself envying Captain Price. Whenever he talks about going home to his family, a pang of jealousy tightens your chest. He returns to love, to embraces, to conversations that have nothing to do with war. His normalcy seems like a distant dream, and you crave it with every fiber of your being.

As the whiskey warms your throat it brings a slight haze to your thoughts. A part of you wonders if you made the right decision. Did you trade your past and your peace for a purpose that now feels too heavy to shoulder alone? The drink wasn’t soothing like you craved. Instead, it sharpened the edges of your solitude. It highlighted the deep yearning for something, or someone, to call home.

As the evening stretches into the deeper hours of the night your thoughts begin to swirl as much as the whiskey in your glass. Desperate for a distraction from the creeping melancholy you find yourself reaching for your phone. A dangerous idea forming amidst the softening edges of your loneliness.

The glow of your phone screen seems harsh against the dim lighting of your room. Scrolling through your contacts your thumb hovers over Ghost's name. He’s always been solid, dependable. Perhaps too much so, you think, a slight smile playing at the edges of your lips. With a reckless flicker of courage fueled by the whiskey warming your veins you tap out a somewhat flirty message. A far cry from your usual sober texts. Evening, Ghosty. Bet you can't guess what I’m up to right now…

You hit send before you can second guess yourself.

Seconds tick by, morphing into the longest minute as you stare at the screen. Your heart racing as you wait for a reply. Instead of a text though your phone starts buzzing underneath your fingertips. Ghost is calling you! Panic and excitement flutter in your chest. This isn't what you expected. You decline the call without a second though setting it face down as if it could hide your sudden nerves.

But the phone buzzes again almost immediately, Ghost’s name flashing insistently. He’s not giving up. He’d never give up if you didn’t answer now. That just wasn’t his nature. Taking a deep breath, you flip the phone back over and press answer before bringing it up to your ear. "Hey," your voice is more playful than intended, the alcohol lending you a bubbly tone.

"Everything alright?" Ghost's voice is laced with concern. His usual calm edged with tension.

"Yeah, just couldn’t sleep," you giggle not realizing how tipsy you actually were. It was a sound that feels both foreign and delightful to your ears.

"You sure? It’s not like you to text like this... this late." His probing is gentle. But you can sense him on edge trying to read the situation.

"I’m perfectly fine, Ghosty," you drawl out the nickname only he would let you use with a teasing lilt, stretching the words playfully.

"Are you drunk?" His tone a tinge worried mixed with a faint amusement.

"No!” You reply immediately but after silence on the other side of the line you continue. “Maybe just a smidge tipsy," you admit. You heard him exhale sharply on the other end—part relief, part exasperation.

There's a brief pause before his laughter filters through, easing the tension on his side of the line. "Alright then, I’m coming over. Don’t move."

"Oh no! you don’t have to! I’m just enjoying a bit of liquid courage," you protest him. Your words dancing with mock seriousness.

"I think I better check on you in person. Stay put," he commands softly. A firm undercurrent in his voice that brooks no argument.

"Okay," you acquiesce with your tone still light, teasing. As you hang up a smile tugs at your lips. Maybe what you really needed wasn’t to dull the ache of loneliness but to stir a bit of excitement. And who better than Ghost to share that with?

When you first joined Task Force 141 the transition was expected to be challenging, especially with the unit's tight-knit and often closed-off nature. However, what no one anticipated was the immediate and inexplicable closeness that formed between you and Simon Riley, your Ghosty.

From the outset, Ghost, known for his stoic demeanor and laser-focused professionalism took an uncharacteristically soft approach with you. It was as if he sensed you needed a mentor, or perhaps something within him responded to your arrival on a level he hadn't anticipated. His usual reserve melted somewhat in your presence. His guidance more patient and his words often tinged with a protective tone. This shift in him didn't go unnoticed. It raised eyebrows among the rest of TF 141, sparking whispers and speculation. Even Ghost himself seemed taken aback by his own behavior as if he was watching himself from a distance unable to reconcile this newfound softness with his hardened warrior persona.

You brought something different to the team. You brought a warmth and a kindness that radiated naturally. Your approach to handling both the missions and interpersonal relationships within the unit was refreshingly human. Where others respected Ghost for his tactical brilliance and saw him as a near-unflappable soldier. You engaged with him as a person first and foremost. You asked him questions about his day, showed interest in the small details. And sometimes you just offered a quiet presence when words were too cumbersome.

This human connection was something Ghost hadn't realized he was missing until you arrived. Your sweetness, your unguarded way of interacting not just with him but with everyone, gradually broke down the walls he had built around himself. You saw beyond the mask—both literal and metaphorical—to the complex man beneath. It was this genuine understanding and acceptance from you that deepened his affection and protectiveness. It fostered a friendship that was both surprising and profoundly meaningful.

In your interactions Ghost found a sanctuary in you. Each dialogue, each shared silence, reinforced something vital between the two of you. A sense of belonging and mutual respect that neither of you had anticipated but both secretly yearned for. Ghost's initial decision to take you under his wing, driven by an instinctive pull, blossomed into a relationship where both of you found solace, understanding, and ultimately a love that neither the harshness of your environment nor the specter of past wounds could diminish.

The wait for Ghost to come to your room feels almost interminable. Each minute ticking by slower than the last as the shadows in your room seem to deepen, mirroring your mood. Just as you start to second-guess your impulsive invitation a soft knock at the door jolts you from your somber thoughts. It's a sound too gentle for someone like Ghost whose presence is usually more commanding. But then again, he's always full of surprises.

You pad over to the door, your steps hesitant, and open it to find him there. His posture rigid, familiar balaclava in place, his eyes immediately searching yours for signs of distress. "Hey, Tex," he greets with a softness that belies the hardness of his profession. Using the nickname that feels like a balm and a sting all at once.

It was cute, the origin of the nickname only he used on you. One evening after a long day of training with TF 141 you and Ghost found yourselves alone tasked with checking and maintaining equipment. The work was meticulous and quiet offering a rare opportunity for more personal conversation. A rarity given the usual intensity of your environment.

As you both worked the conversation naturally drifted to lighter topics and you shared a humorous story about a road trip mishap you had years ago. You ended up mistakenly driving into Texas instead of your intended destination due to a mix-up with GPS directions. You recounted the events with such animated detail and humor. Making sure to mention how you ended up enjoying some of the best barbecue and meeting some incredibly friendly locals that it left a lasting impression on you.

Ghost listened intently with a rare smile playing on his lips as he worked. When you jokingly concluded that you might have been a Texan in another life because of how seamlessly you blended into the culture during your unintended visit, Ghost chuckled. It was a sound so scarce it marked the significance of the moment.

From then on he started calling you "Tex" in a teasing yet affectionate manner. It was his way of referencing that story which had not only entertained him but also revealed your ability to adapt and find joy in unexpected situations. The nickname stuck between the two of you as it became a symbol of your resilience and the easy friensdship that had developed between the two of you.

Each time Ghost called you "Tex” it was with a tone that mixed fondness and a hint of admiration reminding both of you of that shared moment of laughter and your storytelling prowess. This private joke between you became a subtle yet constant affirmation of the bond you were building. A bond based on shared stories, mutual respect, and an emerging deep, personal connection.

"Hi, Ghosty," you manage with your voice barely above a whisper. You step aside to let him in, but as you do, the use of 'Tex' makes your heart clench painfully. Your smile falters, a frown etching itself across your face as you're vividly reminded of what you're missing.

He notices the shift in your demeanor immediately. The way your eyes dart away from his gaze. "What's going on?" he asks as he steps inside making sure to close the door behind him with a quiet click. His voice is low, laced with a concern that makes your heart ache even more. "It's not like you to drink alone, without us," he adds. His tone soft but probing. This observation hits a nerve. Highlighting how out of character your actions seem tonight.

You can't meet his eyes, not yet, not when they're so filled with worry and understanding. "It’s my brother's birthday today," you confess with your voice cracking slightly. "I got a picture from my family. They're all there, celebrating... and I’m here." The words hang heavy in the air laden with a sadness that feels too big to contain.

Ghost steps back a little giving you space. "Let's sit down," he suggests gently nodding towards your bed. You move to sit on the edge, and he joins you. He maintained a respectful distance with his posture open and inviting you to continue.

You finally glance over at him and the tears that you've been holding back start to blur your vision. "I miss them, Ghost. I miss being part of those moments. It feels like I’m losing time, losing them..."

He listens in silence, but his presence was steady. "You’re not losing them, Tex. Not really. But I get it… it’s hard to miss out. You belong here with us though. It’s okay to wish you were there too."

At his words a ripple of uncertainty courses through you. "Do I really belong?" you find yourself questioning aloud. The words spilling out before you can hold them back. Your voice is tinged with an unusual vulnerability you’re so good at hiding, "Sometimes I feel like I'm a world away, like I don't quite fit anywhere anymore."

Ghost turns to look at you completely. His gaze intense even through the shadows cast by his balaclava. Noticing the sadness deepening in your eyes he softens his tone further addressing you more personally. "I know it feels that way sometimes, Y/N," he acknowledges using your first name in a rare break from nicknames signaling his serious concern. "But you've made a place for yourself here, with us. It’s not just about the missions. It’s about the moments we share, the tough days we get through together. You’re as much a part of this team as anyone is."

His reassurance carries weight, but the hollow feeling doesn’t dissipate completely. You nod, appreciating his effort to make you feel included. Yet part of you still wrestles with the feeling of displacement. It's comforting to have someone who understands, who sees the struggle and still stands by your side affirming your place even when you doubt it yourself. Tonight, Ghost isn't just a shadowy figure or a call sign. He's the anchor you didn't realize you needed.

The room grows quieter, the only sound the distant hum of the base's nocturnal life. You reach for the whiskey glass that had been forgotten during the initial turmoil of Ghost's arrival. Tilting the glass, you take a long, deliberate drink seeking the false courage it offers. The burn a temporary distraction from the ache inside.

Ghost watches you for a moment. His expression is unreadable behind the balaclava, yet his eyes—a deep well of understanding—never leave your face. “It’s okay to feel lost sometimes, Y/N. It doesn’t mean you’re alone,” he finally says with a soft but firm voice.

You nod, feeling the alcohol loosen your tongue and the tightness in your chest. "I just feel so guilty all the time, Ghost," you admit before setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary. "Everyone here has been nothing but supportive, and here I am upset because I missed a birthday party across the ocean."

He shifts slightly turning to face you more directly. There’s a pause, a breath of a moment where he seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Guilt is a heavy burden to carry, Y/N. And it’s a familiar one to me too. We've all had moments when we felt like we're not giving enough. Not present enough for those we left behind."

Seeing him open up about his own struggles is unexpectedly comforting. It's rare for Ghost to talk about his feelings and even rarer still to admit any weakness. His willingness to share that with you now tightens something in your throat.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's all worth it," you whisper unsure if you actually wanted him to hear your admission.

He reaches out to you. His hand hesitating in the air before gently landing on your shoulder. It was a small, uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. "We chose this life because we believed in something greater than ourselves," he starts. His voice steady. "Doesn't make the personal sacrifices any lighter, but it does give them meaning. And Y/N, you bring your own meaning to this team. More than you know."

Tears brim in your eyes, spilling over despite your best efforts. You're not usually this open, this raw, but with him, it feels safe, necessary even. "I just miss being sure of things, you know? Being sure of where I belong, sure of who needs me..."

Ghost nods, his hand squeezing your shoulder slightly. "I get that. But here’s what I’m sure of—you're needed here, more than you might see. Not just as a soldier, but as you, Y/N. Just by being here you make things better for everyone. For me."

Your breath hiccups at his words, at the honesty and the raw edge in his voice. In this quiet, vulnerable space, you both share more than just words. You share understanding, burdens, and silently, the beginning of something deeper, something neither of you might fully grasp yet. As the conversation drifts into a comfortable silence, you realize that tonight you didn't just find a confidant in Ghost. You found a mirror for your own vulnerabilities, and perhaps, a reason to keep fighting. Not just for the missions but for these moments of unexpected connection.

Tears trickle down your cheeks, unchecked and unbidden as Ghost's words sink deep. His affirmation, his understanding, it hits a part of you that's been raw and exposed for far too long. He looks at you. His eyes softening under the rim of his balaclava and it's as if he sees right through to the heart of your pain.

"Come here, love," he murmurs. His voice a gentle command that stirs something deep within you. He opens his arms and it's an invitation you can't resist—not tonight. You move almost instinctively. Your body responding before your mind can catch up. You find yourself climbing into his lap without so much as a second thought. His arms encircle you, strong and sure, and you melt into him. His chest is a solid wall against your cheek, you breathe him in, the faint scent of gunpowder and mint somehow reassuring and exactly what you needed.

He's so much bigger and stronger than you. An immovable presence that you've only ever admired from a distance. And he's Ghost—your not-so-secret crush, the man behind the mask, whose face you've never seen but whose soul you felt like you completely understood. As his arms tighten around you, holding you close, it's more than comfort. It's a need fulfilled. The simple yet profound need to be held, to feel wanted, to have someone not just willing but wanting to hold you.

You let yourself be held by him. The steady beat of his heart beneath your ear a soothing rhythm in the chaos of your emotions. His hand strokes your back gently. A soothing contrast to the strength of his arms, and you feel safe, protected in a way that goes beyond physical safety. Ghost isn't just a teammate, or a mysterious figure shrouded in intrigue. He's the person who understands your loneliness, your longing, and meets it with his own kind of longing. A connection that perhaps he's been craving too.

The weight of everything—the base, the missions, the distance from home—seems to lift slightly making room for something new, something hopeful. As you nestle closer, letting yourself sink into the warmth and strength of his embrace. You realize that this closeness is something you've been missing. Something you've been needing without even knowing it. And maybe, just maybe, he needed it too.

Cuddled securely in Ghost's embrace you find a moment of peace amidst the swirl of emotions. Slowly, you tilt your head up to look at him with a small smile blossoming across your face. The intimacy of the moment, the rare closeness with someone you've both feared and admired from afar ignites a warmth that had been absent for too long.

"What, love?" Ghost asks after noticing your gentle smile. His voice is tender yet tinged with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

You shake your head with the smile still playing on your lips ever so reluctant to break the comfortable silence that's settled between you. But he's persistent, definitely not satisfied with your silent amusement. "Come on, what is it?" he presses. His tone gentle yet insistent, coaxing you to share the secret of your smile.

When you answer him it’s the last thing he expected. "You have blonde eyelashes," you murmur, almost to yourself. The observation slipping out before you can think better of it. "You're a blondie, Ghosty."

He shakes his head at you with a subtle chuckle barely audible, his gaze holding a flicker of amusement that surprises you. "Blondie, huh?" he remarks. The words dry but with an underlying warmth that feels rare and genuine. "Never figured that'd be the thing to get noticed," he adds, his tone maintaining that typical Ghost edge—cool, composed, yet unexpectedly tender.

The playful comment, light and teasing, helps to bridge the gap between your roles within TF 141 and who you are beneath the surface. His chuckle fills you with an inexplicable joy, lightening the emotional weight of the night.

Encouraged by this lighter moment, he shifts slightly, adjusting his hold on you, making sure you're more comfortable in his lap. "You know," he starts again in a thoughtful tone, "I find it interesting what people notice when they really look."

This new dynamic in your conversation allows both of you to explore this newfound closeness without the heavier undertones of your earlier emotions. It's a welcome reprieve, a chance to see each other in a new light. And perhaps to start building something uniquely personal and intimate from the shared vulnerabilities and now your shared laughter. Relishing the warmth of his embrace and buoyed by the lightness of the moment there’s a playful boldness that's unlike you but feels just right for now. With a mischievous tilt of your head, you look up at him once more. Your eyes were sparkling with a mix of flirtation and genuine curiosity.

"Should've paid more attention to you, huh?" you tease. Your voice soft yet audacious. "Bet you're real pretty under that mask Ghosty."

The words hang in the air, utterly bold and flirtatious, marking a departure from your usual reserve. Ghost pauses at that. The slight tension in his posture the only sign that your comment has caught him off guard. Yet there's a hint of amusement in his eyes. A spark that suggests your boldness might not be unwelcome.

His response is slow, deliberate, as if measuring the weight of your words and his next move. "Maybe one day you'll find out love," he replies, his voice low, a tease laced with a promise that sends a thrill through you.

The exchange was daring and filled with undercurrents of mutual interest. It adds a new layer to the atmosphere, thick with potential and unspoken possibilities. As you nestle even closer to him you feel the solid certainty of his arms around you. You can't help but feel that tonight might just be the beginning of something unexpected and exhilarating. A far departure from how you were feeling even just an hour prior.

As you rest your head against his chest, feeling the thrum of his quickening heartbeat, Ghost finds himself at a crossroads of vulnerability and longing. The playful flirtation, the warmth of your body against his… it's stirring emotions within him that he usually keeps locked away under layers of discipline and duty.

"A girl can dream, hmm?" Your words were light yet laden with unspoken wishes. They echo in his heart. He tightens his hold on you further. A protective gesture that also serves to reassure himself. You're trusting him in a way that no one else does, reaching out for comfort and perhaps more.

Ghost takes a deep breath, the fabric of his balaclava stretching slightly with the movement. The thought of removing the mask, of showing you the scars that mar his face, the physical reminders of battles fought and narrowly survived, suddenly feels less daunting. He adores you, more than he's willing to admit aloud. And that adoration mixed with trust makes him consider revealing his true self.

In this moment Ghost's internal conflict is palpable. He's been grappling with the idea of showing you his face for some time. A gesture that holds significant weight given the secretive and guarded nature of his life. The scars, which he typically regards as badges of survival and resilience, suddenly morph into vulnerabilities when he thinks about revealing them to you. This is not just about physical appearance. It's about letting someone into the most guarded parts of his existence.

Ghost's decision to consider this step now isn't just a spur-of-the-moment choice. It's been building up. You represent a safe haven for him. Someone who might understand and accept his past and the physical evidence of it without judgment. It's this trust and the depth of his feelings for you that push him toward vulnerability. The act of removing the balaclava would symbolize his willingness to lower his defenses and invite you into a more intimate, authentic part of his life. A significant leap for someone whose identity is so closely tied to his role as an elite operative.

In essence, the potential unveiling is more than revealing his face; it's an invitation into his deeper self, a crucial step in any meaningful relationship, intensified here by the layers of his hidden world.

"You know," he starts, his voice a delicate blend of resolve and hesitation, "sometimes, what we dream of isn't as far out of reach as we think." His statement was laden with vulnerability and causes your heart to swell with empathy and affection for this man who has faced so much yet stands so strong before you.

As Ghost's hands hover tentatively at the edge of his mask, the weight of his decision palpable in the air, your eyes meet his with a depth of understanding and gentleness. His fingers, curled around the fabric, pause as he seems to search your face for the reassurance he needs to move forward.

He continues, his voice lowering further, almost unsure by his bold actions. "If I show you, promise me something. Promise me you'll see beyond the scars." The sincerity and slight fear in his voice tug at you, compelling you to act. To reassure him in any way you can.

You reach out slowly, your hand moving to cover his where it still grips the mask. Your touch is light but firm, grounding, a physical manifestation of your support. "You don't have to do this," you whisper back. Your voice gentle but earnest. "I never want to push you if you're uncomfortable."

As you speak your other hand moves up instinctively giving his bicep a gentle squeeze. A silent message of reassurance and strength. "Whatever you’re ready to share, whenever you’re ready, that’s okay with me. I just want you to feel safe, not just with me but for yourself too."

Your words and the warm pressure of your hands convey everything you feel—your respect for his boundaries, your readiness to accept him as he is, and your desire to ensure his comfort above all. You smile softly hoping to convey a sense of peace and acceptance, wanting him to feel the depth of your care without any pressure.

Ghost looks down at your hands. Your much smaller fingers were intertwined with his, feeling the warmth and strength from your touch. The physical connection seems to bolster him, providing a tangible sense of support and acceptance. After a moment, he gives a small nod. An acknowledgment of your words and the comfort they bring. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, Ghosty.” You assure him.

Before you can continue Ghost places a finger over your lips silencing your gentle flood of reassurances. His touch is light but there’s a decisiveness in his gesture that catches your attention. Looking into your eyes with a newfound intensity, he tilts his head slightly with a hint of a challenge in his gaze. "But what if I want to?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

His question hangs in the air loaded with possibilities and the promise of a deeper connection. His eyes search yours, looking for an answer, permission, understanding. “If you’re sure.” You looked into his eyes searching for any sort of doubt, but you couldn’t seem to find any.

Ghost's hand reaches up slowly, the weight of the decision evident in every measured movement. His fingers were rough and calloused from years of wielding weapons and facing harsh conditions. They tremble slightly as they hook around the edge of the balaclava. There's a moment's hesitation. A silent plea in his eyes as they lock onto yours, seeking reassurance. Your nod is gentle but firm, encouraging.

With a deep, steadying breath that lifts his chest and fills the air with anticipation, he pulls the fabric up and away from his face. The mask slides over his nose, past scars, and weathered skin, and finally clears his sharp jawline. The reveal is gradual with each inch of skin exposed adding layers to the man you've come to know. His scars map out a history of survival and silent battles.

As the balaclava comes off completely he allows it to drop from his fingers. His gaze never leaving yours. For a moment, he stands bare—not just physically but emotionally too. The vulnerability displayed in this act deepens everything between you profoundly. Ghost, the soldier fades into the background allowing the man behind the mask, marked by life but standing resilient, to shine through.

You see him clearly now. Not just as the formidable operative known as Ghost, but Simon, marked by his past but not defined by it. This shared moment of vulnerability cements a deeper connection. A space where truths are acknowledged without words and where your understanding and acceptance begin to kindle something far more profound than either of you had anticipated.

"Simon," you whisper. His name a gentle caress in the quiet of the room. The air between you thickens with vulnerability and you notice a slight tension in his posture. The uncertainty in his eyes. It's clear he's nervous, unaccustomed to such openness, to being seen so completely.

"May I?" you ask softly requesting permission not just to touch him but to bridge the final gap between your mutual vulnerabilities. At his hesitant nod you move closer. In a bold move you straddle his lap to minimize the distance. Your hands rise to his face, gentle and reassuring. As your fingers trace the texture of his scars you watch each reaction flicker across his features. Fleeting moments of surprise, of relief, of something tender blooming underneath.

As you study Simon’s unmasked face your heart surges with a deep and profound respect. The air between you feels charged with the significance of this moment as he allows himself to be seen, truly seen, perhaps for the first time in too long.

"Look at you," you whisper to him. Your voice laced with warmth and awe. You gaze at him more lovingly than even he could have anticipated. Your fingers gently trace the contours of his face. Your touch light but filled with intent, meant to comfort, and reassure him in his vulnerability. "You're so incredibly strong, Simon."

As your thumbs smooth over his cheeks, you can feel him relax slightly under your touch. His usual guardedness giving way to a tentative acceptance of your care. "And you’re beautiful. So handsome." you continue, each word deliberate and sincere. "Not despite these scars but because of them. They're not just marks. They're medals of your courage. Symbols of your endurance."

Simon's breath caught in his throat as he absorbed your words. No one had ever looked at him this way before. Seen him so completely and accepted him so fully. The barriers he had meticulously built around himself seemed to crumble under the gentle touch of your fingers and the sincere love in your voice. In this moment, stripped of his mask and the persona of Ghost, Simon felt truly seen. The fear that had knotted in his chest began to dissolve instead replaced by a warmth that spread through him, kindling a connection that went beyond the physical, touching something deep within his soul.

"Every line," you continued tracing one gently with your fingertip, "tells a story of survival, of fights bravely fought, of a life fiercely lived. They make you... uniquely you." Your voice is thick with admiration. Your eyes were locked in on his ensuring he feels the weight of your words.

Simon looks back at you, visibly moved. His eyes, usually a fortress of stoic resolve, now shimmer slightly with unshed tears. The walls he's built around himself seem to tremble under the warmth of your gaze and the sincerity in your voice. At your words, Simon's eyes hold yours. A mixture of awe and something that looks a lot like relief. You lean in with your forehead resting against his, sharing a breath, sharing a moment of profound connection.

Simon finds himself at the mercy of a cascade of emotions with feelings he's tightly regulated and kept at bay through years of training and harsh realities. As he looks into your eyes—eyes filled with genuine care and admiration—he experiences a vulnerability that is both terrifying and exhilarating.

Inside, Simon is grappling with a mix of disbelief and wonder. The walls he's constructed around his heart, built to protect, and isolate, are wavering under the gentle but persistent tide of your compassion. Each word you speak, each tender touch, challenges his long-held beliefs about himself and his worth. The fortress of stoic resolve that has always been his shield is now nearly crumbled by the warmth of your gaze. In the understanding in your voice.

Can she truly see something in me that I've failed to recognize? he wonders silently baffled by the idea that his scars and battles, which he has always viewed as disfigurements and burdens, could be seen as marks of beauty and strength. Your touch of tracing his face with such intimate loving care doesn't just map the physical contours of his scars but also traces the deeper emotional wounds he's carried silently for so long.

As your forehead rests against his, sharing this profound moment of connection, Simon feels a shift within himself. A melting of ice that he didn't realize had encased his heart. The feeling of being understood, truly and deeply, without the need for masks or defenses is profoundly disarming. It stirs something in him that feels dangerously close to hope, to love.

In the quiet of this shared moment Simon begins to accept the possibility that he may not only be capable of loving but that he is already deep in the throes of it especially after witnessing the care and devotion with which you regard him. It's a realization that brings both fear and a surprising relief. The kind of relief that comes from finally settling down a heavy burden he hadn't fully acknowledged carrying.

Amidst these revelations he feels a gratitude that tightens his throat. An overwhelming appreciation for the woman before him who sees beyond the surface, who sees him not as a collection of scars and stories, but as a whole person worthy of love and affection. This connection, this acceptance, it's something he's longed for without even realizing it. And now faced with its reality he's both humbled and profoundly moved.

"You see all this in me?" he finally managed to ask with his voice barely above a whisper. As if speaking louder might break the spell of this intimate exchange.

"It breaks my heart that you don't, Si," you respond softly. Your voice laced with both sadness and affection. It's rare for you to use that nickname, but in this moment it feels just right. Intimate and genuine.

As your fingers maintain their gentle contact on his face Simon feels a surge of emotions that almost overwhelms him. Your words were so full of sincerity and depth and pierce through the layers of self-doubt and isolation he has wrapped around himself for so long. "You should see yourself the way I see you. Not just for what you’ve been through but for who you are because of it. You’re remarkable, Simon. And yes, I see all of this and so much more." Each word resonates within him, echoing in the spaces he's kept guarded and hidden from the world.

As he absorbs the weight of your affirmation Simon's heart feels like it could burst from the sheer intensity of what he's experiencing. It's as if your words have unlocked something within him. A floodgate opening to reveal depths of emotion he had long disregarded as unreachable. The shock of realizing that he can feel so deeply that he might indeed love and be loved in return washes over him with an almost palpable force.

For years Simon has compartmentalized his emotions viewing them as potential weaknesses in the unforgiving environments he's navigated. But now being held by your gaze and touched by your understanding he finds himself reconsidering everything he thought he knew about his capacity for emotion. The realization that he does love you and that he has perhaps loved you in ways he hadn't allowed himself to fully acknowledge comes as both a shock and a beautiful revelation.

As he exhales softly, releasing the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, a mix of relief and wonder fills him. The connection you share seems to solidify into something tangible, something real and powerful. Your ability to see him—not just the soldier, not just the scars, but Simon, the man behind the mask—instills in him a newfound sense of worthiness and belonging. In the warmth of your touch and the earnestness of your words Simon finds a new perspective on himself and his place in the world. It's as if your belief in him has lent him the strength to believe in himself. To accept the possibility of a future shaped not by solitude and sacrifice but by love and mutual understanding.

This emotional turning point is not just a revelation of his feelings for you but an awakening to the idea that he can be loved for all that he is, scars and strengths alike. As he looks into your eyes filled with appreciation and a dawning recognition of his worth. Simon knows that whatever the future holds it has been irrevocably altered by the truth and beauty of this moment.

As the emotional weight of the moment hangs between you, you sense the intensity overwhelming Simon in the wake of his newfound realizations. To lighten the mood and bring a touch of levity back into the exchange you offer him a radiant, genuine smile. Your eyes sparkle with affection and a playful teasing tone colors your voice as you look into his eyes which are now more open and vulnerable than ever.

“I was right though,” you say with a quiet giggle as your smile broadened “You are real pretty under that mask.”

Simon's eyes light up at your playful remark. A spark of joy dancing in them as he absorbs the lighter mood you've introduced. His smile spreads across his face softening the lines and scars that mark his experiences. The laughter you share serves as a reminder of the normalcy and comfort that can exist even in moments filled with deep emotional revelations.

After the laughter subsides Simon's expression turns tender. His eyes still holding yours with an intensity that speaks volumes. Leaning in slightly, the proximity bridging any remaining space between you. He mirrors your intimate gesture with one of his own. His hand, previously resting cautiously at his side, now reaches up to gently cup your face. The touch is soft but deliberate. Filled with affection and a newfound confidence.

"You've always seen more than most," Simon says. His voice low and filled with emotion. "Not just the surface, but the stories and the scars beneath. For that, I’m more grateful than I can express."

He pauses, his thumb now tracing the contour of your cheek in a slow, affectionate caress. "And you," Simon continues with his voice softening further. Softer than you’ve ever heard with a gentle sincerity underscoring his words, "are truly beautiful. In ways that go beyond what's visible. Your strength, your compassion… it shines through in everything you do."

The intimacy of his touch and his words draw you even closer, knitting your connection tighter. Simon's actions reveal his comfort and trust in you. Showcasing his willingness to not only accept the love and acceptance offered but to return it in kind. In this shared space, filled with genuine smiles and soft touches, the foundation of your relationship deepens. It promised a future where both laughter and earnest declarations have a place.

Your heart now feels as if it might burst right out of your chest. Simon’s words, laden with genuine admiration for who you are beyond the surface, touch you profoundly. You've always felt a strong connection with him but hearing him articulate his appreciation for your inner qualities. It's overwhelming in the most beautiful way.

A single tear escapes without your permission tracing a path down your cheek, not out of sadness but from the sheer intensity of emotion swirling within you. Simon notices the tear and his expression softens further. Gently, he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. His touch tender and filled with utmost concern.

As Simon's gentle fingers brush away the tear from your cheek the sweet gesture triggers something deep within you. The floodgates open and a rush of emotions surge forward. You feel an overwhelming mix of relief, gratitude, and a profound connection that you've never experienced so intensely before. Each tear that falls feels like a release of feelings too long held back.

Noticing your distress Simon acts with instinctive care. He gently guides you back into his lap wrapping his strong arms around you. The closeness of his embrace feels like a sanctuary as you nestle into his chest, letting your tears flow freely. Simon rocks you gently. His presence a calming force in the storm of your emotions. "It's okay, it'll all be okay," he murmurs soothingly, his voice a steady, comforting rumble against your ear. Each word he whispers is a balm, helping to steady your shaking breaths as you cry it all out. The built-up emotions washing over you.

After a few moments as the tide of your tears begins to subside, you lift your head to look up at him. Simon meets your gaze with a gentle smile. The softness in his eyes reflecting his deep care for you. "You alright, love?" he asks full of concern and affection for you.

You nod slowly, still nestled in the safety of Simon's embrace. The warmth from his body lending you calm. "I'm sorry, I just got overwhelmed," you explain with your voice barely above a whisper. The flood of emotions was unexpected yet not unwelcome. "It's just... all of this, hearing how you see me. Being this close to you," you continue as your eyes searched his for understanding. "It means so much to me, Simon. More than I can really express."

Simon's smile is genuine as he watches you. Understanding flickering in his eyes as he gently rocks you, keeping you close. "There's nothing to apologize for, love," he reassures you. His voice a steady presence. "It’s okay to feel this deeply. It's okay to let it show. I don’t mind a bit."

His words, affirming and gentle, help to steady the last remnants of your emotional whirlwind. As you slowly pull back to look at him again his hand remains comforting on your back, always reassuring.

"You alright now?" he asks after a moment of watching you closely. His voice low and husky.

Nodding, you manage a more composed smile this time, touched by his patience and care. "Yes, I'm alright. Thank you, Simon. For being here. For understanding," you say with gratitude coloring your tone.

Simon’s response is a tender squeeze of his arms around you. A nonverbal promise of his continued support. "Always," he murmurs. The simplicity of that single word carries with it the weight of his commitment.

In this quiet space held in Simon's arms you realize the strength that lies in vulnerability and the beauty of being seen and accepted. It’s a profound moment between the two of you. One that you both will cherish as a cornerstone of your relationship, built on understanding, respect, and heartfelt emotion.

As you rest quietly in Simon's embrace, comforted by his gentle rocking and the soothing timbre of his voice, you notice a subtle shift in his demeanor. His gaze usually so guarded and controlled now holds an unmistakable depth of emotion. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the rawness of your tears seems to have broken down the last barriers he had in place.

Simon takes a deep breath as if steeling himself to cross a threshold he's been guarding for too long. "Seeing you like this, feeling so much right alongside you... it's made me realize something," he starts. His voice thick with emotion. His eyes lock onto yours deciding not to hold anything back. "I… I need you to know."

He pauses ensuring he has your full attention. His hands still gently cradling you. "I want to be there for you, not just now but always. I want to be the one you lean on, the one who gets to see all the sides of you, the beautiful, the tough, the vulnerable." His words pour out, fervent and sincere. "I want to be your person, love. If you'll have me."

The confession hangs in the air, bold and heartfelt. Simon's face is open, hopeful yet anxious, as he gauges your reaction. It's clear this isn't just a sudden admission but something he's been grappling with. The intensity of the current situation pushing his feelings to the surface.

You blink back a fresh wave of tears, not from sadness, but from a bewildering mix of joy and doubt. His words are everything you wanted to hear yet they also echo in the corners of your mind where you harbor insecurities. You see him—Simon, so confident, so capable. The embodiment of everything you admire. And then there’s you, the ‘inexperienced little American girl’ as you harshly label yourself, suddenly feeling all the more plain and unworthy beside him.

“Simon,” you start. Your voice wavering not just with emotion but with the weight of your own self-doubt. “Why me? You’re… you’re incredible, and I’m just… I don’t know, I always feel like I’m just stumbling around you. I’m not sure what you see in someone like me.”

As your insecurities surface, revealing the depth of your unsureness, Simon's expression shifts into one of immediate concern and gentle reproof. "Love, you can't be serious…" he begins. His voice imbued with a firm conviction that makes you pause. "You're everything and more. You don’t see that?"

He makes sure you're looking directly at him with his hands tenderly cradling your face, ensuring that you feel the weight and sincerity of his words. "You see inexperience, but I see a woman who bravely faces every new challenge. Who learns and adapts, who grows stronger every day. You’re not just someone trying to keep up. You're someone who enhances our team with your unique strengths and perspective."

Simon's voice softens even further as he continues. Each word carefully chosen to convey his deep admiration and affection. "Every time you think you're just scrambling to catch up, I see someone gracefully navigating through obstacles. What you call inexperience, I call a journey of growth and courage. And that’s what draws me to you. Not just your resilience but your authenticity. The realness you bring to every situation is unguarded and genuine."

He leans in closer reducing the space between you, his gaze locked with yours in an intense, heartfelt connection. "To me, you are a woman who has taught me more about heart and perseverance than anyone else. You bring laughter, support, and challenge to my life in ways you don’t even realize."

Simon shakes his head slightly, a smile tinged with affection and a hint of awe breaking through. "You being you, with all your doubts, your laughs, your dreams—that's what I want and need. You might feel like you're just keeping pace, but love, in my eyes, you're flying. And I want to be there to support you. To celebrate every victory and help you through every challenge."

Simon's words not only offer reassurance but also begin to dismantle the walls of doubt you've built around yourself just as he had. His belief in you, his unwavering support, resonates deeply, perhaps starting to shift how you view yourself. No longer as a mere participant trying to keep up but as an invaluable member of the team whose journey and contributions are deeply cherished.

Overwhelmed by Simon's heartfelt words you find yourself momentarily speechless. His deep belief in your worth and his unwavering support pierce through the layers of your self-doubt, striking a chord deep within you. It's as if his words have not only reached your ears but also wrapped around your heart, offering both solace and a profound reassurance.

Without a word you lean forward, burying your face in the warmth of Simon's chest. The sturdy beat of his heart under your ear is comforting. A steady rhythm in the storm of emotions you're navigating. As you inhale deeply, you're enveloped by his familiar scent, a mixture that's uniquely Simon—part strength, part safety. It's grounding, helping you anchor yourself in the reality of his presence. In the truth of his words.

Simon's arms encircle you gently once more. His hand finding its way to your back where he begins to rub soothing circles. The simple gesture is nurturing, allowing you the space and comfort to collect your thoughts. To let the emotional turbulence settle into a sense of peace. His patience is palpable. There's no rush, no urgency, just a steady presence as he holds you. Affirming that he's there for you, not just in moments of strength but also in moments of vulnerability.

In the sanctuary of Simon's embrace, you feel a deep gratitude washing over you. His support not only uplifts you but also starts to reshape the way you view yourself. The doubts that once loomed large now begin to shrink, overshadowed by the new perspective he's given you—one where you are valued, capable, and cherished.

As you slowly lift your head to meet his gaze your eyes are reflective of the emotions still swirling within you but also shining with a newfound confidence. The connection you share has deepened, strengthened by vulnerability and honesty. You're ready to voice your thoughts, to respond to his openness with your own. “Simon,” you begin. Your voice a whisper that carries all the depth of your emotions, “Can I kiss you?”

The moment hangs suspended. Your question lingering between you, filled with anticipation. Simon’s response is not in words but actions. A reflection of the straightforward, decisive man you know him to be. With a swift, gentle motion, he cups your face in his hands once more. His touch reassuring and intent. Before you can react further he pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is a surge of warmth and tenderness. Deepening as if to make up for all the unspoken times you both held back. It's a kiss that communicates more than any words could. Filled with all the emotions that have been steadily brewing—a mixture of relief, affection, and undisguised longing.

When you finally come up for air Simon's eyes twinkle with a mixture of delight and affection. A sweet smirk playing on his lips. “Thought you’d never ask, love,�� he teases gently. His voice a soft rumble that sends a thrill through you. The playfulness in his tone lightens the intensity of the moment adding a layer of joy to the emotional depth you've shared.

Amidst the deep embrace, as Simon's arms encircle you, creating a world that consists only of the two of you, his question still lingers in the air. A soft echo amidst the intensity of your mutual connection. "Is that a yes?" His voice, though light and teasing, carries an undercurrent of earnest desire for affirmation, a confirmation of the bond you both feel.

Your body is pressed against his feeling the reassuring strength of his chest. The protective circle of his arms and the gentle touch of his hands tracing soothing patterns on your back. The physical closeness amplifies the emotional intimacy of the moment making the space between heartbeats seem significant filled with unspoken promises and shared dreams.

You lift your head from the sanctuary of his chest meeting his gaze which is alight with anticipation and warmth. His eyes, so often a bastion of resolve, now hold a tender vulnerability, waiting for your words, your confirmation.

"Yes, Simon," you respond, your voice soft but filled with conviction, the words flowing effortlessly in the safety of his hold. "Absolutely it's a yes. I can't imagine being with anyone else but you." The smile that spreads across your face mirrors the joy and sincerity in your heart.

As you speak your hand gently caresses his cheek feeling the slight roughness of his skin beneath your fingertips grounding the moment in the tactile reality of his presence. Simon's reaction is immediate as a deep, relieved breath. And his eyes close for a brief moment, savoring the words that have sealed the understanding between you.

When he opens his eyes again there's a new light in them, one of deep contentment and resolve. He leans in to capture your lips with his once more. This kiss infused with the joy of mutual acceptance and the excitement of a future together. It's a kiss that reaffirms everything that has been shared, a tender seal on the promises made.

Pulling back slightly, Simon's forehead rests against yours. A contented sigh escaping him. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs, his voice a low hum filled with happiness. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

In the cocoon of Simon's embrace, the air around you pulses with a newfound joy, each moment intensifying the connection that binds you together. With each word, each touch, Simon showers you with the love and affection that he's held back for so long. His lips find yours again, this time more eagerly, conveying emotions too powerful for words.

As Simon deepens the kiss, he pauses briefly, pulling back just enough to gaze into your eyes with an expression brimming with tenderness. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. The warmth of his breath caressing your face as he plants soft kisses along your jawline. Each kiss seems to say what words cannot fully express, marking a trail of affection that sends tingles through your body.

Trailing kisses down your neck, he murmurs, "The prettiest girl I've ever seen," his voice a velvety whisper that wraps around you like a soothing blanket. The sincerity in his tone, coupled with the gentle press of his lips against your skin, makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken.

He then moves back up to meet your gaze again, his hands cradling your face with a reverence that makes you feel cherished in ways you'd only imagined. "And you're not just beautiful, you're the smartest woman I know," he adds. His admiration for your intellect just as palpable as his physical attraction. His thumbs gently stroke your cheeks as he continues, "Watching you solve problems that stump everyone else—it's incredible."

Simon's compliments flow seamlessly as he explores your face with his kisses. Each touch a testament to his deepening feelings. With every word, every gentle caress, you feel more seen and appreciated than ever before. The connection deepens, wrapping both of you in a tender intimacy that feels both exhilarating and profoundly right.

As you lie there, enveloped in Simon's love and adoration, a giggle escapes you. A sound of pure happiness and contentment. You've never felt so loved, so valued. In Simon's arms, with his voice whispering sweet affirmations, you feel an overwhelming sense of belonging. He's not just a partner. He's your person in every sense, and in this perfect heartfelt moment you trust him completely and utterly.

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[101flavoursofweird]

Can I perhaps request a short fic about the Ravens and the Golden Garden/Targent for PL4 Day (I love those crazy kids)? I had this somewhat odd idea that Swift just adopts any kid with a bird name because he's quite literally a mama bird in my eyes...(Crow, pack your bags, lmao).

((Thank you for the request! I’m sorry this is a day late and it’s kind of open-ended but it was already longer than intended and I needed to finish it.))

Title: The Raven and the Swift

Description: The Black Ravens aren’t giving up the Golden Garden without a fight. Swift is sent to infiltrate Misthallery.

Set: After PL4, but before Miracle Mask and Azran Legacy

Spoilers: For PL4

Warnings: Referenced character/animal death, Swift carries a knife

Swift— dressed in white trainers, khaki cargo shorts, and a red floral shirt— made his way up to the Golden Garden.

While his ‘tourist’ disguise was intended to portray a casual demeanour, he admittedly (and ironically) would have felt more at ease in his Targent uniform. His face felt particularly exposed without his scarf and his sunglasses, but his dark brown contact lenses would have to do for now.

His targets were all too familiar with Targent’s appearance in Misthallery.

Swift was here under strict, classified orders from Commander Bronev. The mission he had been given required the upmost stealth and sagacity.

If Swift was recognised, he would be denied access to the Golden Garden, and the Azran site would remain out of Targent’s control.

Thus far, Targent’s best efforts to secure the garden had been impeded by a gang of ruffians wearing white bird masks and ragged black robes.

Despite Swift’s suggestions to deploy the assassins, Bronev had insisted that it was to be a bloodless, clandestine infiltration.

They didn’t want to alarm the local residents or the authorities… unlike Jean Descole, with his ridiculous attempt to demolish Misthallery over a year ago.

Had this ‘Black Raven gang’ been hired by Descole? The Ravens’ costumes certainly resembled Descole’s, with their white masks and billowing dark attire…

Not to mention, the Ravens had Descole’s ‘Spectre Robot’— with which, they had managed to drive Targent out of Misthallery so far…

Bronev was right; Targent couldn’t just invade the garden, guns blazing. Then their agency would look no better than Descole or his underlings.

Someone needed to take the garden right from under the Ravens’ noses. Someone like Swift.

Swift frowned as he joined the queue of visitors waiting to enter the Golden Garden. They were all being corralled like cattle along a canal, which had been emptied of water along with the reservoir.

Apparently, the giant lake-dweller that had once inhabited Misthallery had destroyed the flood gates and uncovered the entrance to the Golden Garden. 

The creature had given her life, and (as rumour had it) allowed a sickly young girl to recover with the garden’s pure air.

Why should the residents of Misthallery alone be able to capitalise off the Golden Garden? The gifts of the Azran should be shared with the world!

The majority of these people, like Jean Descole, would have no respect for the Azran’s legacy; just lookat how they had treated the aquatic creature— the last of an ancient species. (They were known as “Lagushi”, in the ancient Azran language.)

If Targent had arrived in town before Descole, they would have temporality captured the creature, ensured her safety while they studied her, before releasing her back into the Golden Garden. 

Swift would have made sure of it— 

“Get your very own Loosha, right here!”

Swift raised an eyebrow at the salesperson hollering from a wooden stall on the bank of the canal. The person, along with their two colleagues, were all sporting Black Raven costumes.

The Ravens were gesturing to the blue ‘Loosha’ toys and other mechanise out on display. It seemed they were profiting off Loosha’s sacrifice. (How tactless…)

One red-haired woman purchased a T-shirt from the stall. She ran past Swift, whooping.

Reluctantly, Swift left the queue to approach the Ravens’ stall.

“Greetings, curious traveller!” called the Raven who had been hollering earlier. (They actually sounded quite young, now that Swift considered it.) “May I interest you in a Loosha friend?”

Swift hummed, perusing the wares with a sceptical eye. “Is that really what ‘Loosha’ looked like?”

The speaker replied, “‘Course it is—“

“We saw her up close,” a slightly taller Raven bragged.

“Did you now?” Swift drawled.

“Yes! We helped her open the flood gate—“

“That’s enough,” a third Raven hissed. They shuffled to the front of the stall to stare at Swift. “If you’re not gonna buy anything, then buzz off!”

“I will buy… this,” Swift said, pointing to a glittering grey-blue stone supposedly from the Golden Garden. He removed a £50 note from his wallet. “And I’m after some information, please.”

He placed the money on the stall counter. The Ravens snatched it up, resembling the scavenger birds they were named after.

“How can we help you, Sir?” the third  Raven chimed, all traces of rudeness vanishing from their voice. Their associates observed Swift curiously. 

Swift put the stone in his pocket, carefully pondering his next words. He gestured to the Ravens’ robes.

“What was the inspiration behind your… Black Raven apparel?”

The Ravens hadn’t expected that. The trio glanced at each other— engrossed in some silent discussion Swift had no part in. After a moment, the third Raven (the apparent leader) nodded.

The leader asked Swift, in a conspiratorial tone, “Have you heard about the Bird of Illusion?”

“Perhaps…” Swift hummed. He had read about that particular Azran legend, but how much could he reveal without raising the Ravens’ suspicions? “Is it linked to the Golden Garden, by any chance?”

“Indeed! The bird was said to lead people into the garden— but only those rare few who proved themselves worthy!”

“Worthy?” Swift snorted. Anyone could enter the Golden Garden these days…

Looking back at the visitors’ queue, Swift was annoyed— albeit, unsurprised— to see his space had been taken. At this rate, the garden would be closed before Swift could get inside!

He huffed. Behind him, Swift heard muttering from the Ravens.

Then, the lead Raven said, “Lost your place in the line?”

“Obviously…” Swift rolled his eyes back to them.

The leader whispered, “What if we could offer you a private tour of the garden?”

“Really?” Swift’s eyes narrowed. Was this a scam? Or an attempt to catch Swift off guard?”

“Really, really!” the leader breathed. “For £100–“

“I already gave you fifty,” Swift grumbled.

“Seventy, then! That’s my final offer,” the leader bargained. They offered Swift their long flowing sleeve.

Swift shook it.

“Meet here at midnight,” the leader muttered.

-

Swift knew he could very well be waltzing into a trap. 

The Black Raven may have been inspired by the Bird of Illusion… but Jean Descole was familiar with Azran myths too. It would be in keeping with Descole to make an imitation of such a myth— like he had done with the spectre.

Consequently, Swift wasn’t going in unarmed.

The mist might not have been as bad as it was during the ‘spectre’ attacks, but it was still thick enough to cut with the small knife Swift carried in his shorts’ pocket. Really, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use it…

Still, his hand hovered over his pocket as he crept up the hill to the former-reservoir.

He had left early— intending to arrive before his ‘guide’— but there, waiting next to the canal, was the Black Raven.

The Raven was wielding a lantern, which they lifted upon Swift’s approach. Swift felt like he was about to be led into the afterlife by a ghostly guide…

No. Whatever happened tonight, Swift was going to walk away from it in tact.

“Finally,” the Raven snorted. It was the leader from earlier. Once again, Swift was struck by how youngthey sounded— no older than sixteen, surely.

Swift shrugged. He gestured to the entrance in the dam wall. “After you…”

The Raven gestured back at him.

“No, please— after you…”

Slowly, Swift turned towards the entrance. Swift sensed the incoming attack. He ducked as the lantern swung over his head. Spinning on the ground, Swift kicked the Raven off their feet.

The Raven cursed and landed on their back.

When Swift glared down at them, he saw their hood and the bird mask had come off. A boy with dark blonde hair was blinking up at him, with one dark eye not concealed by his fringe.

The boy wheezed. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?”

“Do you work him?” Swift demanded. He had removed his knife and was now pointing it towards the youth. “Jean Descole?”

“What?” the boy gasped. It was almost a pained laugh. “‘Course not! That nut-head tried to destroy our town—“

“Then explain why you still have his machine,” Swift hissed.

“Uh…” The boy struggled to sit up. “D’you mean the Spectre Bot?  We nicked it from him—“

“And you’ve been using it to fight my associates ever since!”

“Well— yeah…” Frowning at Swift, the boy clambered to his feet. “Did you really think we’d let some other nut-heads take the garden? After Loosha died for it—?”

“My… organisation has no quarrel with you or your little gang,” Swift reasoned. He lowered his knife. “All we want is to ensure—“

“You just attacked me!”

“In self-defence after you attacked me!”

The boy huffed and crossed his arms. “So… what now? Are you gonna kill me?” Under his bravado, Swift could see he was shaking slightly. 

“…No,” said Swift. He pocketed his knife. “What would be the point in that?” 

Relief flashed through the boy’s one visible eye.

Swift turned his head towards the dam wall and the garden beyond. “Instead, I have a mission for you and the rest of the Black Ravens.”

“A mission?” The boy’s tone was still guarded, but Swift detected a hint of curiosity. 

“For now, my agency will leave the garden alone— trusting that you and your friends will guard the site from Jean Descole.” Swift smiled and held out his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

“Do I have a choice?” the boy muttered.

“The only other choice is that I will send in reinforcements to secure the garden,” Swift warned.

The Black Ravens’ leader sighed. He quickly shook hands with Swift. 

“I’ll throw in three hundred pounds for your troubles,” Swift added. 

Bronev wouldn’t be pleased about the price— but wasn’t it worth it to know the garden would be under watch, and Targent wouldn’t have to get their hands dirty? 

And what if their agency could gain some new recruits along the way?

The boy hummed, before he agreed, “Deal… Erm, what’s your name? Just in case we need to get hold of you—“

“It’s Swift,” Swift answered. “Yourself?”

He smirked. “Crow.”

#professor layton #swift #crow #the black ravens #targent #my fics #my writing #thanks!

[bobathirstaccount]

Fated Ch 6

Y’all - you did it to me again and did 1:1 for the vote! I had to flip a coin lmao. Anyway, let’s see what happened… 😂

***

You turned around and circled into a vendor’s stall. Pretending to check out a sarong, you watched them talk. He seemed to make a purchase and leave. Once he was well out of sight, you shot over in an embarrassingly straight line to the woman’s stall. She was selling jewelry. Finely made, too.

“Can I help you, dear?”

“Uh, yeah. I wanted to buy something. But, I don’t know where to start. What did your last customer buy? …for inspiration.” You wondered how believable your lie was. She seemed unbothered either way.

“Ohh, what a gentleman! He needed so much Help. He wanted something for a lady friend, but similarly to you, didn’t know where to start. He was so good looking, too,” she swooned.

You stayed calm. After all, weren’t you the ‘lady friend’ he was referring to? You gulped. Maybe.

“Anyway, he bought the last piece I had with this off-world gem. Very pricey. Lucky lady,” she complained.

Smiling to yourself, you found a reason to leave her stall abruptly. Time to eat and then back to work. The faster you were back at work, the faster your day would be over. Then, you could message Boba and seem casual about coming over.

***

“Anyway, what did you do today while I was working away?” You and Boba had decided to combine the drink with working on your bikes. You were lovingly disassembling your old bike so you could transfer some parts to your new bike. Meanwhile, Boba was ripping things you didn’t need off the new speeder.

“Oh, bit of this, bit of that… you know, retired guy stuff.” He heaved and pulled off the ugly fender. “Now, that looks better already. And, more aerodynamic.”

“Take it easy on the new baby,” you laughed as you stopped to sip your libation. Boba had surprised you by mixing fancy cocktails.

“Ah, it’s tough. It’ll be alright,” he tore something else off and tossed it casually aside.

“What color you painting this one?” He sipped his drink, holding the tiny umbrella still.

“Oh, I like my current color scheme. Think I’ll keep it.”

”Oh. What about a nice green shade?”

”Hm?”

He seemed amused with himself, “Nothing. That’ll look really nice.”

You put your empty glass down and crawled under your old bike. You heard Boba ask, “Refill?”

”Yes, please,” you mumbled, busy.

You heard him come over and kneel down next to you. Picking up your glass, he squeezed your thigh lightly. “Hi,” he purred. Then he was gone, leaving you slightly flustered.

You heard the sound of drinks being mixed. You put a bolt in your mouth to keep it from getting lost as you pulled a piece off your old bike. Suddenly you realized it was deathly quiet. You took the bolt out of your mouth. Just as you were about to call to Boba, you heard him say, “Now, why are you here?”

“Get what I’m owed!” An aggressive masculine sounding voice called.

“I already explained. I didn’t cheat you at Sabacc; you just suck at it. Plus, I’m pretty sure You were cheating. So it defies logic why you’re here.” Boba actually sounded friendly.

“Kark you, you nerfherder, you steal from Me and now you say I was cheating? I won’t take this insult!” You heard a weapon being drawn. Did you stay where you were? You were pretty sure he couldn’t see you from where his voice was coming from. Could you help?

Being held at blaster point didn’t seem to phase Boba. He replied calmly, “Honestly, this isn’t a great time… for me to kill you. Can we reschedule?”

The man was so mad he made unintelligible noises for a moment. Then he said darkly, “Well. It’s actually is a great time, for me to kill you. Imma take your ship! And these two speeders!”

You lithely slipped out from under your bike and crawled behind it. Did you stay put or try to help Boba?

#boba fett x reader #boba x reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett fic #boba fett fanfiction #star wars reader insert #star wars x reader #reader interactive #reader input

[dogmomwrites]

Romantic Snippet tag

This tag came from @oh-no-another-idea, so thank you for including me in this game!

I'm gonna pass it on with soft tags to @new-royston-cursebreakers, @papercutsunset, and @writingpotato07, as well as an open tag!

Rules—simply share a romantic scene from your WIP

I'll be honest, I'm no romance writer. What romances I do have are almost exclusively slow-burns, so I haven't really gotten to any of those scenes (yes I'm four books into one series). Once I finally do reach those scenes, I'm quite certain I'll stall out lmao so here is a kinda longer scene (word count 639) that's mostly dialogue featuring Cadara and Mickey from my fantasy series and not featuring much actual romance...it's p much just Mickey being super awkward

She flushed. “I got so caught up and just didn’t think. I’m such a—”

“It’s all right. I don’t even have family I’m worried about, so if you’re going to insult yourself, just remember I’m like, three moral levels below you right now,” he said, earning himself a grin.

“I was going to say I’m such an idiot, such a horrible, despicable, revolting person. The dregs of humanity—”

He huffed at her, pretending to be serious, though he was fighting a laugh. “Okay. All right, that’s enough.”

“But now I know I’m even lower!”

“Oh, come on!”

“You walked right into that,” she said, laughing at him. “Right smack into it.”

“Maybe I did, but you’re three moral levels above me, remember?”

“Yeah, and I’m still the dregs of humanity.”

Her eyes were alight with humor, and though he was the butt of the joke, he couldn’t find it in him to be upset. Not with how good happiness looked on her. He realized she was saying something. Summoning his clever wit, he said, “Huh?”

“I said, if you’re not worried about anyone, why did you follow me?” Cadara knew why—or thought she did, anyway. Who could blame her for wanting to make sure? And making him suffer a little in the process was just…well, it was just fun.

She knew. No, of course she didn’t. Except that she did.

For a second, he froze, panicking. Then he thought maybe this would be a good opportunity to tell her, to just get it out, get it over with. Once and for all. He didn’t, because that was a terrible idea, of course.

But…should he tell her?

“Why did you follow me?” she asked, gazing up at him with hopeful, adoring eyes.

“To keep you safe,” he said, and she swooned into his arms.

A terrible, terrible idea. And lame.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, he said, “Nah.”

“What?” she said, torn between laughing and laughing even harder.

He flushed. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say. “I meant no. I mean—I just—you know, I just—I just meant…I don’t know.”

“You meant to say you don’t know?”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant to say.” He felt more foolish than he could remember ever feeling, which was saying a lot. He didn’t know that she was smiling.

“Well,” she said, taking his arm and linking hers around it. “Thank you for going with me. If any of them had been hurt, then I…I don’t know. I would’ve needed someone with me.”

Mickey didn’t know what to say. He didn’t trust himself to say anything for a moment, he was so flustered. Trying to play it casual, he shrugged, hoping he looked calm and collected. “Ah, you know, it—it’s nothing, really. Nothing. I’d do it for anyone.”

Nailed it.

“Oh, just anyone?” Her arm slipped from around his.

Wait, what? “Uh—”

She ducked her head, looking down. “For a second, I felt very special.”

Oh no. “No, you are! It—I didn’t, I didn’t mean that.”

“You didn’t mean I’m special?”

“What? No! I mean yes! I mean no!” What was happening? How did he screw it up this bad?

Cadara scuffed her boot on the floor, smearing wolvin blood. “Thanks for fighting with me.”

Helpless and confused, Mickey watched her walk away. He had no idea there were tears in her eyes and even less of a clue that they were from trying not to laugh. For all he knew, he’d just forever ruined any chance of even getting to know her.

He saw the decapitated head of a wolvin on the floor near him and scowled at it. “What are you looking at?” he growled, sending it across the room and thumping against the wall with a frustrated kick.

Quickly, he glanced around to make sure no one saw him.

#romance snippet #tag game #writer games #open tag #open to everyone #original fiction #original characters #my writing #yavs writing #castle in the ice #castle in the ice series

[sayakxmi]

[Magi rewatch] Episode 5: Dungeon Capturer [Part 2]

Back to these two. I hope they'll use that screentime wisely, because they sure af won't be getting much in the future.

I recognize the OST, but don't remember the name, F.

Hm.

Lmao.

Wheee.

That looks damn cool.

Lovely in general. It makes sense outside of the universe, as they wanted to show off the funky magic system and the power of a djinn better etc, but, in universe, it makes Hakuei look incredibly bad at the whole "having a djinn" thing. Like I've said, Ryosai ends up beating her very fast, and while in the manga, too, she was a bit of show-offy, at least we could've easily blame it on her conquering the dungeon recently, and just not fully understanding how to use it. She overuses her magoi, because she doesn't know yet how to manage it. Here, though? She comes off as having the experience and skill, and still losing. This is the Full-Body Djinn Equip! It's supposed to be insanely powerful! How do you lose so easily? Where's your Extreme Magic? You can still go with her being that new to this, but it's much easier to assume she's just weak. F.

(They were being attacked by arrows). I will give the credit where it's due, though. Clearly she isn't using Extreme Magic, because she has no intention of actually harming her people. It's all for show. If nothing else, this does show that Hakuei is a person that really means well. Not to mention, it kinda gives the perspective to WHY they manage to stall her & her Djinn Equip - she has no intention to actually fight.

Like. It's smart, but also ASDFGHJKL HakuRocket.

Stil ended up using some spell, though it's not the same as her Extreme Magic, unless she has, like, two. But, again, how the fuck these people actually survive that?

Aaand there goes the magoi.

How the fuck did Ryosai even get so many people on board with his 'murder the first imperial princess' plan.

Ouchie.

Magi has so many weird animation/style moments, but here it actually looks damn good.

The fact that she freed herself & even took away that sword on the way when that guy threatened her brother is still damn cool. Wrong family to mess with, Ryosai.

Also, I still fucking need Ryosai meeting Fallen!Hakuryuu.

F.

The SPELL? ALREADY?

Aladdin's just casually committing murder, apparently.

I need a herooo~

Get wrecked, bitch.

Gdi, anime!Aladdin. You're weirdly murderous.

Face of a child that's just committed a mass murder.

"Boy, who are you?" He's a murderer.

"I'm a Magi." You're a murderer. Like, I'm still kinda processing that. Like, one murder here and there I can sorta see, but gdi, he went and annihilated all these guys. You can still see the destruction behind him.

On a different note, it's also cool as shit. Aladdin going a bit more Sinbad-like, a shining person leaving trails of blood in their wake. HM.

Because, seriously, this shot of him smiling with all that destruction behind him is actually pretty darn ominous. And cool. As if saying that there's some darkness deep within him, and foreshadowing that we'll get to see it at some point. We won't, ofc, but still damn cool concept.

I feel like the scariest thing is that he doesn't seem to realize what he'd done. To him it just didn't matter. He saved Hakuei, because Hakuei is nice and a good person, and he likes her.

This is still so fucking funny. And for the love of god, Ugo, why can't you wear some goddamn clothes. Imagine later Ugo meeting ppl in the Final Arc & half of the cast saw him in his goddamn underwear.

Hakuei/Paimon is one of the most sensible femslash in Magi, next to Morgiana/Toto. Like, fr, Paimon just went "I'll only help Hakuei, Candidate for a King, whom I fell in love with."

Look at him.

Lmao. Judar, the fuck are you doing, seriously. Hakuryuu's probably planning your funeral in his head rn.

Man, I was like, Paimon's voice sounds really familiar, and FUCKING KNEW IT. SHE SHARES JAP VA WITH NIGGUANG FROM GENSHIN IMPACT XDDDD

Some lore drop that happened in the manga, too, and a small note I can add is that whenever Aladdin thinks about Alibaba by the end, Rukh start to fly. Nice.

#saya's magi rewatch #magi #aladdin #ren hakuei #ren hakuryuu #judar

[nebulouscoffee]

✄ what’s your editing process?

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in "Who We Are" ? what was the hardest scene to write?

and

▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line -> for "Home"

Thank you so much!😊

✄ what’s your editing process? - answered here :)

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in "Who We Are" ? what was the hardest scene to write? - I remember being so excited to write Ezri's joining, which ended up being a ton of fun- as well as this (not yet posted) fallout between Jadzia and Julian. Plus the climactic zhian'tara ritual! A scene that's been quite hard to write is one where Jadzia sort of snaps and is... actually very mean to Ezri (hard because it's tough to find the balance between painful and still in-character; in canon it was Garak, who can easily be cruel- but while I think Jadzia can be uncaring sometimes she isn't usually mean like that, so what would it take to push her? how can I make it convincing?) - and ofc that climactic zhian'tara ritual lol, because HOWWW can I capture the sheer madness of Jadzia Sans Dax But Not Quite Idaris hosting the spirit of Technically Now Dead Past Host Jadzia Dax. Nothing is good enough!! Nothing!!!

▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line -> for "Home" - omg Home :') can't believe it's been two whole years since I sat down and thought "well maybe I should try writing a fan fic" & then accidentally gave birth to a 100k word monster lmao. I haven't actually read this one since last December, so I'm not sure these are in fact my fav lines- but people seem to comment about this exchange between Kira and Garak a lot, and I do like it!

“Nilvi isn’t even a Cardassian fruit,” he said randomly.  Kira knew. It was Amlethi; plucked from their soils and grown on Cardassian worlds. Jiruoub berries were Amlethi too; yet they’d fed her three years in the Resistance. Korman weeds brought by Cardassian invaders now blanketed moba orchards, inexplicably helping the indigenous trees grow. Two of the seven spices in Seven-Spice Hasperat were Cardassian.  Years ago, Kira would’ve defiantly relished a five-spice version, shamed her peers who didn’t. Now, she just thinks they’ve all been through too much to punish themselves with bland hasperat. Maybe time couldn’t heal all wounds. But it could turn her hasperat from a political statement into lunch. “My father enjoyed it,” she remembered. “So did my mother.” Garak paused. “You’ve met her, you know.”

This digs into a lot of things I find fascinating about their dynamic, and what they might have in common despite being from opposite sides of an Occupation- but it's also an important character moment for both of them; a recognition of how much their lives have changed, their worlds have changed, they have changed. The nilvi fruit does have symbolic weight in this fic lol- it's the thing that starts off the whole series of unfortunate events, yes, but also when it's first mentioned in chapter one, it's via Garak reminiscing about it as a symbol of cultural pride, unity, and Cardassian wealth, and with casual nostalgia. Him saying this now is a display of how much the events of the fic have forced him to confront that nostalgia- now, the fruit has become a symbol of Cardassian greed, entitlement and violence (both on a larger, planetary scale, and a personal one). I also really wanted to write this moment of peaceful self-awareness for Kira- there are things she will never truly heal from, things she'll never forgive (a lot of which are quite literally personified in the man she's currently sipping springwine with) - but that doesn't mean they can't come to take on new significances. I remember I was thinking about how maize is a dietary staple in most African countries, and red and green chillies are so famously associated with various Asian cuisines- yet, neither of those things is native to those lands. Every country from Sudan to Sri Lanka is filled with tea stalls that are now a crucial part of the culture - but shai/chai never used to be made with tea leaves until those countries were colonised. This is not a "silver lining on the cloud" type thing, of course- quite the opposite; neither Bajor nor any real-world nations should ever have been colonised (& this is why I included that "inexplicably helping the indigenous trees grow" line- the exact sort of thing that would get paraded around as a defence of colonialism! Just like railways, languages, European architecture, fusion art, etc. Whether Cardassian activity was poisoning the soil or inadvertently helping something grow, it doesn't matter- it had no business being carried out in Bajoran territory.) But this is an aspect of occupations I hadn't seen explored all that much in ds9 fanworks; that inevitable intertwining of cultures- so I wanted to write more about it, and given I drew a lot of inspiration from stuff I see around me I'm always so pleasantly surprised by how many people responded to it, I'm very glad it resonated

#not me reading that excerpt like ''ohh so tHIS is where I first made up jiruoub berries!!!'' lmao #nonexistent bush lore <3 #the online readability of this fic freaks me out daily btw. singlehandedly made me turn off stats when it passed 200 kudos #(which might not seem like a lot but the thought of 200 separate ppl reading something THIS self projectey was def too much for me) #((this fic also definitely reads like someone very early in their 20s unpacking Thoughts during a pandemic. Which it was! lol)) #I'm grateful it resonated with so many people of course. I know how this sounds; but I'm really not ungrateful I'm just shy #I actually do think its very cool that a fic written by a fan of colour with such overtly third world themes got circulated in this fandom #it's just that a very silly part of me goes ''but did it have to be MY fic😭'' #and that's just me being silly hehe none of it (ever!!) stops me from appreciating the warm response it got #and the lovely lovely friends I made through posting it <3 #my fics #tysm again for the ask!

[mushroom-for-art]

Lmao I was inspired, I'm meant to be writing the horrors and yet the movie au dorks are at the helm, featuring the wonderful @oogaboogaspookyman s monochromatic actor

April fools

May casually walked down a hallway within the studio before sliding into broom closet to her left with efficient quiet her back bumping into the monochrome two already hiding in said broom closet who made a slightly startled squeak at their close proximity though May didn't care much keeping her back to him but tilting her head up slightly to look at him.

"You got the goods?" She asked though in a hushed tone.

"Why do you say it like this is some mafia trade?"

He sighed softly at her antics as she turned to face him properly.

"Because you're trading your goods, for my services," she cast a wink as she poked his chest lightly, unable to see his embarrassed expression for the dark of the closet. "And if you don't got my goods well buddy boy this deal is gonna fall through and you may like me so much because I can be real dangerous when I don't get what I'm owed," though she threatened her voice was entirely playful.

"This mafia movie you're shooting is getting to your nogging. But yes I have 'the goods'."

He exaggerated with quotation marks finally turning the closet light on earning a hiss and what the fuck from May at the sudden light as he pulled out a large carry on bag, he unzipped it slowly for emphasis opening it to reveal it loaded with different kinds of treats.

"Hersheys, Moreos of varying delightful flavors for your enjoyment, aero bars, dairy milks, milky way buttons large, caramac, Pokey sticks, reeses pieces, m&ms and many other delightful treats await."

He quickly closed it, zipping it up closed.

"If you can hold up your end of the deal."

"Darlin' you were just speaking my language, don't you worry toots, I'll treat you right." She grinned playfully doing some sort of accent as she booped his nose, "though, surely you could part with something, for my troubles, call it a down payment hmm, keep me sweet? Gonna treat me well Shugs?" She put her hands on his chest as though fiddling with an invisible tie.

"You're enjoying this too much."

He snorted softly but chuckled finding her demeanor somewhat amusing as he pulled out a random thing he paused ripping off the packaging with his teeth before holding the chocolate bar out for her watching her just bite the chocolate and hold it in her teeth with a grin, she gave him a wink and slipped out of the closet as he sighed zipping up the carry bag and hiding it for later.

It was in honesty a difficult job, he wanted her to complete many tasks in advance for April fools, he was always the butt of jokes, but not this year! This year he had help.

It started when everyone had left to go home, she put her plan into motion, firstly the put all the cameras on loop to cover her tracks, secondly she hit the bathrooms carrying carrier bags of jeans and shoes she set them up matching up shoes and trousers in the mens to make every stall appear occupied locking them all from the inside and putting out of order signs on all the doors to cause frustration and the reasonable idea that all of them were full due to the previous closures.

Next she booby trapped different doors and chairs, taping Foghorns so when the door was slammed open or chair sat in it would honk loudly and startle people, she hid them all over some obvious to throw them off the tracks some very expertly hidden. She also took this time to sneak Rubber chickens and whoopee cushions under seats and cushions. On Marie's desk she put a paper cup with "Spinarak inside! Very big! Only lift cup if you're ready to get rid of it!" She'd asked a local Spinarak to make an exit hole in the cup so it looked as though a large spider escaped and it looked authentic.

She removed the bottom of Derricks keyboard carefully, in honesty this one was personal as he has been incredibly rude and quite mean to her for no reason for quite some time, she carefully placed down tissue paper and super fast growing seeds, watering them generously and offering a little psychic help and replacing the keyboard top, and did the same to his work station so when he came tomorrow it would be taken over by nature.

She hit Kathleen's office next, this one was personal to her monochrome friend as she'd not been doing her job properly and fucked up his appointments, she looped a ziptie around a Febreze spray bottle trigger, "fire in the hole!" She pulled it tight and threw it into her office, closing the door as it hissed letting out all its content. In all honesty she would've used a fake fart spray herself but she figured monochrome just wasn't that evil.

Finally, her magnus opus, she spilled hundred upon hundreds of sticky pads and concentrating her psychic energy they flew everywhere sticking to everything along halls window chairs plants set pieces everything! It was a whirlwind of color and chaos.

When she finished she kisses her fingers in an exaggerated mwah of her brilliance before setting the cameras to start recording live footage seconds before the new work day began leaving no trace of her crimes. With that she slipped away into the night to her movie trailer, she preferably would've been enjoying her prize but he's clearly hidden or taken it with him because she couldn't find it.

The next day was complete and utter chaos, there was accusatory yelling frustrated screams, loud HONKS of Foghorns and Kathleen came running out her office coughing and gagging at the overwhelming Febreze scent while Derrick yelled and raged over his computer. He smashed it into a wall and punched a hole into a door before higher management called him into their office. In all honesty probably would've been easy to remove the plants but he was a hot headed asshole anyways.

A worker pointed an accusing finger at ??? Shouting that it must have been him. The boss quickly told them that no it couldn't be because the monochrome one was with him. Another pointed at May, "then her then! She used her powers to do it!" They cried.

"Me? I, I mean I don't know how to break it to you but I'm not the most gifted with psychic abilities," she frowned a sad frown managing a very sad voice that was pitiful without it being obvious that was the intention. Monochrome was impressed by her acting as another worker snapped at them saying that May wasn't capable of such a thing, stop being an asshole.

It halted all work and filming that day as everyone worked to clean up the unexplained mess of pranks with more yelling as hidden jumping snake pranks leapt out from places at cleaning workers. May effectively bumbled along as though just as unsure as everyone else despite knowing where they all were leaping in fright with a squeal at the peanut spring snakes and getting shocked by hidden shockers to really strengthen the image of innocence.

May collapsed onto her bed in her trailer exhausted, setting it up and taking it down was tiresome stuff. She grumbled to herself that her supposed friend hadn't looked at her once or made any indication of trade off, angrily thumping her tail into her bed at his betrayal. She'd get him for that as she snuggled her cushion.

She groaned as someone knocked on her trailer door dragging herself out of her comfy bed.

"Imma coming Imma coming it better be worth it," she emptily threatened as she opened the door to the monochrome bastard she was just thinking about. "You." He smiles at her unaware of his supposed treachery.

"Yes? Me-eh!"

She yanked him into her trailer with one hand holding him against a counter, "you got a lot of nerve showing up you slippery snake." His mouth hand open in confusion as he awkwardly ah'ed? Before making an oh holding up the carry on bag of sweets.

"I didn't want to give it to you where people could see in case they suspected anything. Honest!"

She eyed him taking the carry on with one hand keeping the other holding him to the counter using her teeth to open the zip and stick her nose in sniffing, yup, smelt like sweets in there and it was heavy.

"Hm." She removed her hand to stop pinning him, "you're forgiven, could've been mighty bad for you otherwise pardner"

"Western mafia huh?"

She nodded as she pulled out some Pokey sticks, nodding firmly as she popped one in her mouth confirming around the biscuit, "Western mafia." He chuckled as he watched her nibble the Pokey slowly making it disappear into her mouth seemingly satisfied with the trade off.

"Am I free to leave unharmed?"

May chuckled, stepping aside so he could get to the door, popping another Pokey in her mouth with a "suppose." He grinned putting his hand on the door he paused and leant over close biting the pokey and snapping it before rushing out the door as she stood there in confusion.

"The fuck??" She finished chewing what was left of her Pokey. "What a bastard."

#My writing #Mewtwosona May #@oogaboogaspookymans??? #@oogaboogaspookymans oc #No trigger warnings this time Holy shit XD #They are menaces! #I know it's not April fools but I was inspired by him bribing her #Yes the Pokey was intentional from the start figured I'd throw in a little ship content stuff #May is just like that lmao she's doing a mafia movie she's probably a tempting dame so she lmao feeling some kinda way #She's method acting lmao playing along plus it's fun and it's a sneaky sneaky #Meanwhile monochrome is probably actively attempting to flirt XD and she is not picking up on that #I mean honest rips open packaging with teeth steals pokey he's trying he really I #May is just lmao autistic and blind to social cues and just thinks he's a bit of a fuck eating her treat XD #Doesn't notice his embarrassment of getting shoves into a counter and held there by her or the earlier close proximity XD #He's soft and struggling and May is a useless fucking bisexual XD #Why yes I did Google pranks for offices how could you tell #Fungal Spooks Studio

[pidgecv]

CHARACTERS RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

i love spamming my tumblr sm bc i am insane i am so sleep deprived I might go to bed actually but i do not want to my hand hurts sb im going crazy i love them they are the reason I am able to keep going because when things get hard i get to think abt them and I feel less lonely i adore

mental stability who is she i only know minecraft (actually played earlier w my sister and cousin it was very funny)

(Bad financial decisions is a pair of mending shears our librarians r broken and won’t restock trades i might cheat to get a new one lol cheating to keep the game from becoming a drag is valid stfu) but we don’t spawn in things like weapons we just make it less frustrating to get them. For example, i spawned in a single netherite upgrade template, then burned a few diamonds that I would have used to make it. Then used that one to make copies legit. We (me) also legit built a mob spawner but it sucked and instead of spending two hours fixing it i fucking cheated to get it working it is so scuffed. The mob spawner is like free game. We kill each other so much over there the mob spawner is just BM simulator. We have keep inventory on so we don’t get frustrated since we play casually and just like to fuck around which means we can just kill one another for fun. CASUAL PLAYING BABY MY SISTER GOES INTO SPECTATOR (i gave her admin lol) TO LOOK FOR NETHER STRUCTURES BUT WE DONT USE IT TO CHEAT FOR NETHERITE WE R JUST LIKE THAT WE ALSO ARE ON PEACEFUL 80% OF THE TIME LIKE WE PLAY ON PEACEFUL UNLESS WE R EXP GRINDING I LOVE CHEATING WOOT

I found the above book after forgetting I wrote in it and I laughed so hard im such a dickhead (pepper is my sister lol)

also when my cousin was in the sheep skin and I started hitting him w the shears he started spewing wool at me LMFAO

he kept pulling his iron sword on me when I was tryna get the shears kill for the death message and the meme I have a netherite sword

We have a waterfront where we have stalls and I made a McDonald’s with leftover blocks we had laying around

I didnt put that window there but it looked so funny from the outside

Bubble elevator (i am a dickhead)

fyi this sugarcane farm is even bigger now

What. (That potato farm is gone now. Used to be a primary food source but we have sm steak and even more carrots that we were gonna use for trading so I made a scuffed as fuck farm)

House. (Where I’m standing in that photo is now the sheep pit (i need beds))

I am a dickhead

My sister was building a barn (why we had the concrete for the McDonald’s from earlier) but she hated it (it was ugly) so we blew it up with tnt (we made an event out of it). It looked like an among us. Also one time i accidentally shot and killed her cat (i was trying ti kill her) (it didn’t even have a name she had to make one up on the spot to put on the tombstone) but it had brought her a gift right before I shot it so it was kinda sad. I made fireworks and a lovely gravesite to make up for it (the berries i placed r annoying but too funny for me to get rid of honestly) but the barn looked like an among us so I had to make fun of her for it.

Pretty early on in the server’s lifespan. The dog hole is still there we have so many dogs. They are horribly neglected. Honestly I just have so many mc stories on this server especially. And in general too. I love mc i love mc i love playing w my sister and cousins. We vibe. We have fun. The world builds sm character. We’ve played on this server quite a bit too so there r so many fun landmarks and stories. i never get to talk abt this stuff but I can be cringe and annoying on tumblr without directly bothering any of my friends so WOOHOO

I am a dickhead.

This is an old world. I believe this is the one where we had “the beach house” (my sister was convinced that the beach house was pretty far away but turns out after I did some mass deforestation as i love doing it was literally in eyeshot of our main base LMAO” we also had a church. The world we currently play on the most is the longest we’ve really played on a server, which is super cool. It’s like the third multiplayer server we’ve all done and it’s cool to see how much we do things now compared to when we were younger. Our first world (i would love to see it again but it’s on my old kindle tablet at my grandmas house and idk if it even works anymore) i lived in a hole in the wall (it was epic) and we made a church of egg. We liked to bully my cousin by removing his perms and making it so he couldn’t open doors and I removed the pressure plate in his house trapping him inside. There was a trial for me and I dug out of the courtroom. Our second world I took up mass deforestation. I made a huge sheep farm and made so many beds for no reason. We weren’t even blast mining at all. I just felt like it. I built an among us on my other cousins house and dug a tunnel so I should steal her shit. I dug a huge hole with only stone tools. We had the beach house and another church (which looked really cool I did some texturing on it) and a dock and several farms. We played on that one longer than the first, far longer. However we never really progressed past stone and occasionally iron tools.

This current world we’ve progressed so much more. Partially because I got off my high-horse when it comes to keep inventory. We all play on fucking mobile so like we were casuals anyways. We have enchants, a multi-level house, several builds (complete and forever incomplete we don’t talk abt that one), the mob farm, good stuff. We’ve played for far longer and have gotten into numerous shenanigans. We have villagers and the house and builds look better than our old ones (i don’t build i build like the “when you let the miner build” meme my sister builds things pretty I just get stuff). There’s more history. So much that I don’t even want to try and get into it all.

tl;dr I FUCKING LOVE MINECRAFT

wait I had screenshots of me spawn killing my other cousin

LMAOOOOOO (I AM A DICKHEAD)

i meant it when I said the mob spawner is literally just BM simulator bro

#Cvsays

[misswoozi]

just to put the love triangle in order

kun invites sunny out for dinner and maybe a night club after, sunny's next to taeyeon when she receives the invite and taeyeon slyly invites herself because it's casual, she tells kun taeyeon is coming too and now it begins. the dinner doesnt have a lot of tension actually, it's very pleasant to all of them, but at the night club taeyeon goes to get drinks for sunny and her, and kun gets an advantage and takes sunny to a darker place to make out

OR taeyeon takes sunny to the restroom and they make out on a stall /t1da

MALEKNDGLGA OH NO I ALREADY LOVE THIS TOO MUCH LMAO THERE'S SO MANY POSSIBILITIES

I love the setup. It's simple, it's accurate, it's got Confident Kun, Ready-To-Party Sunny and Clingy Ass Taeyeon. The idea of them all going to the club together and then Taeyeon going to get drinks just to come back to find Sunny and Kun making out???? ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT. That would be such a Moment in an AO3 fic. Like I'd gasp out loud lmaooo

THE QUESTION NOW, OP, is what comes next? Does Sunny go home with Kun? Does Taeyeon admit her crush on Sunny to herself and/or to Sunny? Do Sunny/Kun start dating? Does Taeyeon do the whole pining thing or does she make a move on Sunny? TELL ME YOUR VISION.

#i love this #so much #t1da

[maggicktouched]

@selkiewife told you this was long af but i wanted to switch povs lmao. Beck’s would have gotten real weird from that point on.

Asha was eating her fill a hand pie down by the docks, talking through a full mouth of food to a few of the nearby captains. One of the men made a joke about the recent misfortune of the Lannisters and they all broke out into a mad laughter that nearly brought tears to her eyes. She coughed, and a particularly burly man slapped her on the back as if to keep her from choking. Asha elbowed him so hard he doubled over, and yet none of them stopped chuckling.

She didn’t get this kind of jovial familiarity nearly as much now that she had taken up her father’s mantle. Most of her time was spent inside the castle, speaking with her advisors, making alliances, and dealing with the day-to-day political headaches of running a country. She reveled in these brief moments of fresh air and the casual way her men still saw her. It was worth brushing away moments of disrespect to be treated like a captain, not a queen. Even if it was just for a time.

A ragged scream of horror put an abrupt end to her conversation. The guards that had followed her down from the castle jumped to attention, but Asha had already taken up her axe in her own hand and leaped atop a barrel to look in the direction of the sound.

One scream was followed by dozens. Women and children screeching and scrambling for any shelter they could get inside. One knocked over a market stall, and it only increased the wave of panic traveling through the crowd. Whatever was frightening them so horribly was still shrouded in mist, but the terror was such that it spread out far beyond her on the docks.

What men were there with her snatched spear and sword and axe, even lengths of rope. Anything to protect themselves from the oncoming threat. 

Asha looked out at the sea. There were no incoming ships that she could see, and there was no other way to the islands. Perhaps it was a madman? Or maybe a child had fallen into the sea? But she heard no distant crazed rambling or the sobbing of women. Just the indecipherable shouts of men, and one of them above the rest, yowling like a fox in a trap. It sounded strangely familiar.

“L-Lower your weapons!” She heard Theon’s unmistakable stutter. A dark rage instantly stirred inside her. If anyone was foolish enough to take up arms against her brother—if they so much as sliced his cheek with the tip of a blade—she would give them a slow and painful death.

“Plea-PLEASE!” He screamed, out of breath. His desperate cry reached her ears only as an echo from such a distance. Slowly, the shouts of alarm from the men on the docks quieted, and she could hear only two men. One was her brother, continuously begging, the other was still screaming in between strangled sobs. 

“Get out of my way!” Asha snapped, knocking her shoulder against a guard as she pushed through them. “Move! ---Theon!”

“Do not strike! Please! Asha!” Theon called, and then, after a moment, a much quieter. “Let-l-let him g-o!”

She was damn near frantic now.

But the figure that she saw first emerge from the crowds and the rolling mist was not her brother. 

It was the largest bear she’d ever seen.

The beast’s fur was as pale as fresh snow, and its shoulder was as high as the shoulders of the men around it. Its head was bowed low, nearly kissing the dock, and in its half-closed jaws, fingers white with strain, feet desperately kicking along the ground so that he wouldn’t drag, was her uncle. His entire head was inside the mouth of the massive beast, and he was screaming and crying with no sense of pride left of him.

If she hadn’t been so bloody confused she’d have burst out laughing.

Theon appeared a half a heartbeat later. He boldly grabbed at the bear’s face, tugging its ears, digging his fingers into its fur and attempting to plant his feet. It was useless. He might as well have been a fly to such a massive creature. What was more impressive was that it didn’t maul him for the offense.

“Asha!!!” He called when he saw her, somewhere between desperation and relief. With the flat of his hand, he roughly patted the top of the bear’s head, and its little ears flattened irritably. In its jaws, Aeron’s screaming temporarily cut off as he strangled. Theon didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy patting the creature’s face and pointing to her. “See?! See it’s Asha! Asha!”

“Theon! Have you lost what is left of your mind?!” She snarled. The crowd had parted for her, or perhaps in a desire to not be the next person being dragged around by a rabid snow bear. And it had to be rabid. There was no other reason for an animal to act so strangely. Asha stopped a handful of paces away, “Get away from that thing!”

“Asha!” This time the cry came from the man nearly crushed in the animal’s jaws. The ghostly fur below the black lips of the beast was starting to turn pink. His time was running short, and as much as she loathed her uncle, she couldn’t very well just let him get mauled. It would show cowardice on her part. He screeched in pain, then called for her again. “Asha Queen! Please! Help me!”

She looked over her shoulder and nodded to the guards that had trailed her, and when she turned back she raised her axe. The beast regarded her with an eerie calm, and shoved itself off the dock. It grew taller and taller until it was standing on two feet like a man, and her uncle’s feet were kicking uselessly against its legs. Whatever Theon yelled to her was lost in the stab of temporary fear that went through her. She’d thought of a thousand ways her reign would end. None of them looked like this.

And then, as casually as a man handing over a few coppers for his supper, the beast dropped her uncle down to the dock. Aeron hit the ground with a loud thud, then he floundered against the docks, his fingernails blindly clawing at the wood as he gasped for breath. He kicked the air with his feet, and then finally managed to make it to his hands and knees, crawling pitifully behind her away from the creature. When he chanced a glance over his shoulder, the beast opened bloodstained jaws and let out a roar that shook the air. And, bizarrely, every haggard old pony, every slender stray cat hidden in the alleys, every dog roaming loose along the docks, and every bird in the sky, joined into the chorus. It split the sky around them, and was so loud the surrounding crowd covered their ears.

Behind her, her uncle curled into a pitiful ball.

And then, as quickly as it had all started, it stopped. The bear closed its mouth, the animals fell silent, and Asha found that she couldn’t see it anymore. No matter how hard she looked, the creature wouldn’t come into focus. She could see its colors, she could see the mist twist and coil, but she couldn’t catch its eyes or make out the shape of its maw.

White faded away to browns and greens—and gold. When the figure came back into focus it was not a bear at all, not an enormous towering beast, but her wife. And the expression on her face was darker than Asha had ever seen it… That was almost more frightening than the bear.

“I’ll not give that man a single warning more!” She hissed, pointing her pale finger at the man cowering behind her back. “Do you hear me, priest?! Do you understand what I mean now?!”

Asha stepped forward and took hold of Beck’s shoulders gently, searching her face. She couldn’t find a damn word to say. She didn’t know how to ask what had happened or why she was so angry. In fact she was truthfully still trying to absorb the information that, upon will, Beck apparently held the strength to maul any man on the islands. She’d seen her shift herself into the form of a sleek and playful little fox, but not this. This was frightening—this was awe inspiring.

“You teach that man respect, Asha.” Her thinly contained anger turned on the queen then, and Asha blinked. The witch’s finger poked at Asha’s chest, and even in spite of all she’d seen, even as angry as Beck was, it was hard to suppress her smile. Because no matter her power, no part of Asha had ever worried that Beck might try to harm her. And that wasn’t about to start now.

Her amusement faded when she saw the dark bruise on Theon’s face as he caught up to them, and the pieces started to fall more firmly into place within her mind. Beck was not a violent woman, she was not an angry person, and she wouldn’t have done this to the Damphair had she not been provoked. Theon’s bruise, the way his eye had swollen with red, angry flesh, told her exactly the crime that her uncle had committed. 

“You teach him some respect or it will be me who teaches you the manners my wife refuses to!” Beck warned sharply. Her uncle was apparently too frightened to argue at all.

“Go about your day.” Asha demanded darkly to the crowd that surrounded them, and reluctantly, the people on the docks at least pretended to go back to their jobs. The queen ran her fingers through her wife’s hair and kissed her forehead. Quietly, almost silently, she muttered. “Thank you.”

When she pulled back she could see that Beck was still tense. The blood that had been around the mouth of the bear was still there on her, and Asha wiped it away with the edge of her sleeve carefully. The tenderness of the action was finally enough to pierce through her fury, and when she met Asha’s eyes again, it was with a much softer expression. For a long moment, she simply looked at her quietly.

“I shouldn’t have shouted at you.” She said regretfully, and Asha only chuckled.

“It’s alright.” She pulled Beck into an embrace and laughed again. “I was mostly surprised that you knew how.”

That finally drew a reluctant snort of amusement from Beck, and she pulled away, looking around. When her eyes caught Theon standing on the edge of the docks, watching them, she gave him a kind smile. “Are you alright?”

He nodded vigorously. “Aye.”

Asha sighed, the tension in her shoulders finally fading away a little. She kissed her wife a final time, tilting her chin up to catch her lips properly. “Go back to the castle, my fierce wife. I’ve business with my nuncle you won’t wish to see.”

#;;my drabbles #i could prolly edit this any make it flow better #but i'm lazy and hungry and have to go dr my horse

[spookyseraphs]

Again idk what’s up with the name title cards but I’m here for it

#sastiel 4 lyf #Cas is so used to deans 3/4 suicide to summon death and reapers shit that’s right where his mind went lmaoooo #worst fuckin husbands #wait dean and Cas aren’t husbands anymore #I’ve divorced them in my mind #my turn ons include one item only: castiel’s hands #Sam has the grubbiest fuckin fingernails lmao #my new fave husbands just casually speaking Latin #YAS GO ON THE STUPID SUICIDE MISSION WITH YOUR NEW HUSBAND 👏🏻 #no right wait we gotta stall Dean and save my child #good thinking Sam my favorite Winchester #wow Sam and Cas are rly gonna save my kid from deans stupid ass #wait is Billie bad???? #nvm it’s the empty #but meg shaped 😍 #wait is Billie bad after all??? #no angels on earth? #say sike right now #wait if the empty can’t go to earth she can’t get Cas #right??? if he just stays on earth? #my new baby Sam is so smart outsmarting the empty #YES THEYRE GOING TO SAVE JACK #BEST MF HUSBANDS LETS FUCKING GOOOOO #HELL YES I AM FUCKIN PSYCHED LETS DO THIS #spn spoilers #supernatural rewatch #15x17

[bangtanflirt]

Ruin Me, Pretty Please? (Part 9)

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader x Jimin (yes they’re all one pairing now lmao)

NSFW CONTENT (18+ ONLY)

Summary: Jeon Jungkook is the campus’s it-boy. Y/N is a socially anxious recluse. When Jungkook accidentally witnesses Y/N’s sexually sadistic nature, it awakens a new side of him.

Part 1 > Part 2 > Part 3 > Part 4 > Part 5 > Part 6 > Part 7 > Part 8 >  Part 9 > Part 10

Warnings: (not a warning, but heads up that this chapter is fully mxm), making out, grinding and teasing, mentions of mfm threesomes, shame, jk battles with toxic masculinity, gender stereotypes, use of the word “sissy” in a derogatory way twice, brief mentions of jk’s unhealthy relationship with his dad, dom/sub dynamics, humiliation/degradation, mentions of a cock ring, female domination

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about the last time you touched him. The way your manicured fingers pumped his length as he struggled against the grip of the cock ring. But arousal wasn’t all he was feeling. He also felt mortified. He had been taught very early on that a man should always be in control. Men were supposed to provide stability and strength, not spread their legs in bathroom stalls and pathetically whine to be touched. If his father knew about this side of his son, Jungkook would have surely had every synonym for sissy thrown his way by now. Not even Marvel movie marathons with Taehyung could ease his visibly sour mood—much to Taehyung’s confusion at what his best friend was bottling up so tightly.

This culmination of shame and self-hatred is what leads him to do what he’s most reluctant to: knock on Park Jimin’s door.

The older man answers with ruffled blonde hair and curious eyes.

“Jungkook? What are you doing here?”

“I…I was just…can I come in?”

Jimin nods, unsure of what else to do. If this was supposed to be some sort of stare-down for Y/N, then the kid was doing a horrible job. Also, who threatens someone at 8pm on a Thursday? There must be another reason he’s here.

Jungkook takes in Jimin’s apartment: yellow curtains casting a bright glow on the white sofas, pictures of Jimin and his parents scattered on the walls, a shelf of dance trophies. The place looked full of warmth, and it was slightly overwhelming. Jungkook has never seen his apartment as more than a place to eat, fuck, and sleep, whereas Jimin had created a place to live.

After situating himself on the couch, Jungkook can’t hold onto his thoughts any longer.

“How do you deal with all this?”

Jimin’s brows furrow as the younger boy rambles on.

“This whole sub lifestyle? Doesn’t it feel wrong? Like…we’re literally men. We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Jungkook’s voice is shaky and it’s evident that even he doesn’t believe what he’s saying.

“Then what should we be doing?” Jimin asks amusedly, not fazed by the conversation at all.

“I don’t know…being dominant? Girls don’t like guys who are sissies.”

Jimin lets out a dry chuckle.

“You’re really going through it, huh Jeon?” He makes his way to the fridge, grabbing both himself and his guest a bottle of water as he continues, “Listen dude, I’ve been where you are. You get told your whole life that you’re supposed to be one thing, and then you realize what you want is completely different. You’re not saying these things because you believe them, you’re saying them because you feel that you have to. Give yourself a break. It’s exhausting.”

Jungkook hastily gulps down the ice-cold beverage, feeling it cool down his burning skin.

“How am I supposed to do that? I can’t just turn it off with a switch in my brain.”

Jimin scoots closer, seemingly lost in thought. After a minute of silence, he speaks up.

“What do you think of Y/N?”

“What does she have to do with this?”

“I just think I could do better,” Jimin shrugs casually while Jungkook’s eyes go wide, “I mean, she never wears dresses, doesn’t know how to do makeup, and burns everything she tries to cook. She could put more effort into herself, right? Not to mention how she’s not submissive—”

He gets cut off by the younger man grabbing him by the shirt.

“What the actual fuck Park?” Jungkook snarls at him, face contorted in unadulterated rage.

Jimin smirks, satisfied with the reaction he’s elicited.

“So, I’m guessing societal roles only apply to us for some reason.”

Jungkook slacks his grips on the fabric as he realizes what he walked straight into. Jimin continues hammering home his lesson.

“Can’t go by double standards Jeon. If you have so much rage against yourself for breaking the norms, then you must be livid at Y/N as well right?”

He doesn’t answer, not that the other man gives him a chance to.

“So maybe the problem isn’t you, me, or y/n. Maybe the problem is people making you think you have to fit in a cookie cutter box, and any deviation from that is a flaw. Stop being so hard on yourself. Give yourself the understanding you extend to her.”

Jungkook’s once gripping hands are now uncurled, laying flat on Jimin’s chest. It dawns on the golden boy that he’s never once seen you as less appealing because your divergence from stereotypical femininity—in fact, he’s been enthralled by it.

Another thought also comes into Jungkook’s head: how attractive Park Jimin actually is. He’s never really looked at the man before, but now his cherubic appearance is impossible to ignore. Doused in sunlight and smirking with those luscious pink lips, not to mention the sweet scent of cherry blossoms that surrounds him. So he leans in for a kiss.

It’s a soft, uncertain peck. He’s never kissed a man before, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought it about it. He never thought it would actually happen, and with Park Jimin of all men.

The blonde-haired man pulls him back in, deepening the kiss as he softly grabs a fist full of brown hair. Jungkook’s brain shuts down as he feels Jimin’s tongue gently graze the roof of his own mouth, making his body shiver. Before he knows it, a panting Jimin is straddling his lap and latching his lips to other sensitive areas. Jungkook recoils at the slight ticklish feeling on his neck, but he doesn’t want it to stop.

The motions, however, do come to a halt. Jimin pulls away from Jungkook’s neck, opting instead to scan his face.

“Have you ever been with a guy before?”

He shakes his head no, embarrassment creeping over his face.

“Have you?”

“Yeah, a couple. We can stop if you’re not sure. Or keep going. I’m fine with anything.”

“T-the second option sounds good.”

And so, the two of them get lost in each other’s lips, breathing the other in. It’s tentative yet passionate. Jimin begins to rock back and forward, sensually like the dancer he is. He feels the other man’s cock pulse through his jeans but doesn’t try to take things past making out.

“Hey Jeon,” he says, breaking the kiss to look back into the younger’s eyes, “Wanna hear about the threesomes me and Y/N used to have?”

Jungkook’s brows go up to the ceiling.

“Threesomes?”

If someone was to see his reaction right now, they would think Jungkook has only ever seen a threesome in porn. He’s been the center of attention for multiple women at a time before, but this revelation still has him flustered like a virgin.

“Mm-hmm. She had another sub for a while, Baekhyun. We used to have so much fun together. She loved watching, telling us what to do…how fast to suck, how deep to go, where to cum…”

Jungkook’s breath hitches at the filthy words, cock fully erect and harshly poking Jimin’s thigh. Jungkook can also feel Jimin’s length poke at his stomach, indicating that the older is just as turned on.

“sometimes, she would let me suck him off while she fucked into me. That was my favorite. She knew that though, so she only allowed it when I was really good.”

Jungkook’s cock begins throbbing even more angrily under his restricting black jeans, the friction making him cry out.

“Stop-ugh-teasing, Par—” The words are caught in his throat as his boxers flood in the warmth of his own semen.

Did he just do that? Come in his pants like a high schooler?

Jimin doesn’t seem to mind though, taking in the scene with great pride.

“Bathroom’s over there,” he motions, “you can use the shower. I’ll leave some clothes out that’ll probably fit you.”

So that’s what Jungkook does: meekly darts to the shower and sets the temperature to boiling, praying that the scorching feeling on his skin can burn off the embarrassment. Why couldn’t he just control himself better? In front of Jimin, nonetheless?

He dries himself off and slips on the grey sweats and white tee left for him. Now he smells like cherry blossoms too.

When he’s out of the bathroom, he sees Jimin cutting up some fruit in the kitchen.

“They fit you better than I thought they would.” Jimin muses.

“Yeah.”

“We should talk to Y/N tomorrow, about all of this.”

Jungkook nods, tiredness taking over his body.

“Sleep here tonight. It’s late.”

He nods again, then speaks up.

“Thank you, hyung. For the advice. And…y’know.”

Hyung. Jimin likes that much more than “Park.”

“No problem, Kook.”

___

A/N: Hope you guys are enjoying the series so far. Feel free to interact and let me know what you think!

Tag list: @jjklovetattoos @lolalee24 @sweeneyblue1 @bandaged-despair @mwitsmejk @madygswich @namjooncrabs @akshstudios @severely-mentally-ill @milky-mayo @everythangggoes @nikkiordonez12  @lathraios @channiespup @dreamamubarak @xoxostrawberrymilkxoxo @sonje78 @shadowmoon21

#Reader x Jungkook #reader x jimin #jimin x jungkook #jungkook x reader x jimin #sub jungkook #sub jimin #dom reader #bts smut #bts au #university au #jikook smut

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 5

Pairing: CEO!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You find yourself in the middle of a predicament.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: SMUT as always, sort of public sex??? Unprotected sexy times, emotional damage lmao

A/N: Buckle up, babies!!! You’re in for a rollercoaster ride for this chapter ajckjasncjak I apologize in advance and please don’t hate me

AND BTW if you guys haven’t seen, I found the perfect playlist for this series lmao I saw the title and I was like HOLD UP this is perfect https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3Eg5ZH6wMq4iocF5fWSesb?si=aff157a6198a4446

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Still awake, baby?

Fuck.

You screamed into your pillow upon reading Bucky’s text. It was quarter to midnight and you couldn’t sleep, especially not after Bucky told you that he wanted to make the relationship official.

It’d only been three months and you felt like he was moving too fast. And when he promised that he would find a way to snatch your heart the old-fashioned way? You wanted to explode because obviously, he already did.

But you weren’t going to say that to someone who already had a huge ego (and cock, too).

You composed yourself and typed in your reply, throwing your phone to your side after sending it.

Yeah. Why are you still up tho?

Not even a minute later and your phone began to ring. You sat up on your bed and squeezed your pillow, hating how Bucky had such an effect on you. Jesus, what are you, a high school student?!

You stared at his name on your screen before swiping and accepting the call.

“What’s up?” You answered as calmly as you could.

Bucky’s low chuckle sounded so fucking sexy that you had to bite your lower lip to prevent a moan from escaping.

“Still working. Can’t concentrate though, I keep remembering how you looked like with my cock in your mouth.”

You exhaled through your nose, “Jesus, you’re insatiable.” You said.

“Only for you, baby. You know that.” He said and your heart did a little somersault inside your chest.

“Don’t stay up too late, you have an early meeting tomorrow, right?” You asked, trying to change the topic because if you didn’t, you were sure how things would go.

Bucky let out another chuckle, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll just finish signing some papers and then I’m off to bed.”

You hummed and laid back down on the bed. It was completely silent but it wasn’t awkward. You heard the shuffling of paper on Bucky’s end, followed by the squeaking of a chair.

“You still there?” Bucky asked.

“Mhmm, you done?” You asked back.

“A few more papers left, baby. Can you wait ‘til I finish?”

There was something about talking to Bucky on the phone like this, so casual and so...mundane. It felt natural and comfortable, to think that this was the first phone conversation you had with him. He only sent you texts previously so this was new, but you had to admit, you loved it.

Bucky heard you yawning and let out a soft laugh. He sounded sleepy too when he spoke, “Almost done.” He reassured.

“Let’s have dinner tomorrow.” He added.

“Yeah, okay. As long as it’s not in the same restaurant we went to after my promotion.” You groaned at the memory.

Bucky snorted, “We’re banned there, babe. Even if I wanted to go back there, they wouldn’t allow it.” He said.

“No shit, Sherlock. We got caught in their bathroom, of course they’ll ban us.” You huffed out.

“I was looking forward to dessert, you know.” You pouted.

“I got my dessert though.” You could hear Bucky’s smug smirk through the phone.

“Are you done?” Bucky whispered into your ear as he placed an arm on the back of the booth.

You shivered at his voice and nodded, grabbing your champagne and drinking it in one go.

“I promised you something, didn’t I? That I’ll give you something right before dessert? Meet me in the bathroom in five. Again, don’t be late.”

And with that, Bucky slid out of the booth and adjusted his suit before leaving for the bathroom. You clutched your heart and waved at the waiter who passed by, requesting for a refill and downing it before following Bucky.

You adjusted the black dress that Bucky bought you, you were surprised at how perfect the fit was. The lovely dress though, made you uncomfortable because of its length and the fact that Bucky still had your panties with him was making you feel even more conscious.

You were immediately pulled into the men’s bathroom as soon as you got there. Bucky tugged you into one of the cubicles and wasted no time to bend you over, lifting your skirt up to squeeze your ass.

“I knew I picked the right dress, you look good enough to eat.” Bucky grunted as he unbuckled his belt.

You moaned and pressed your palms against the door, pushing out your ass towards Bucky until you felt him line his tip up to your entrance. In one swift move, Bucky bottomed out and didn’t give you enough time to adjust.

It was fast and violent, the way Bucky fucked you inside that stall. Both of you were too caught up in the pleasure to even hear the commotion happening outside.

“Not gonna last long, Bucky...” you whimpered, feeling your legs tremble.

You’d been on edge the entire time, having been denied your orgasm earlier. And Bucky kept on squeezing your thigh teasingly during dinner, palm always inching higher until it settled close to your bare mound.

Of course, you wouldn’t last long!

“I know, baby.” Bucky said, sucking the skin on your exposed shoulder as he continued to fuck you from behind.

Once done with the sex escapade, the both of you were welcomed by the restaurant’s manager with a disapproving (and scarred) look on his face.

You blushed at the memory, “Let’s not do that again, please?” You said.

Bucky laughed, “Fine, fine. But dinner tomorrow, okay?”

You yawned at the same time you hummed, “Just dinner.”

“Wholesome dinner.” He confirmed. “Alright, I’m done with work. Sleep now, baby.” He cooed and you nodded even though Bucky couldn’t see you.

You heard footsteps and then the sound of the door closing shut.

“Good night, baby.”

“Hmm, good night, Bucky.”

-

To say you were giddy the next day was an understatement. You were on cloud nine after having a phone conversation with Bucky last night. You even greeted Janet the snitch a very good morning when you shared the elevator with her.

You entered your floor and offered everyone a smile, but you also noticed that they seemed to be preoccupied talking to each other.

“What’s up?” You asked Martha and the other girls who were huddled together.

“Haven’t you heard?” She asked. “Sophia shared an elevator ride with Mister Barnes earlier. He called a flower shop, asked for their most expensive bouquet and then went on to make dinner reservations at an elite restaurant!”

You paled at the discovery and cleared your throat, “And that’s a big deal because?”

Martha snickered, “Girl, we’re talking about James Barnes here, a rich and eligible bachelor. It is a big deal. And ugh, I wonder who the lucky lady is! What I’d do to be her.” Martha dreamily said.

“Do you think it’s an employee here? Fuck, I’d be so envious if that girl happens to be working here!” Sophia added.

“Is that even allowed? Sounds pretty scandalous to me.” Kate chimed in.

“Oh my god. Remember the pantry incident that Janet reported? What if that was Mister Barnes and his girl? Damn, that’s juicy. It’d be horrifying if they get caught.” Kate added.

Your head felt light-headed at all the information that was going on. Hearing their conversations felt like a bucket of iced water was being poured on you. It was like a moment of a major realization.

Shit, what has gotten into you, getting all tangled up in this mess? Damn you, Tinder!

Even if Bucky agreed to take things slow, you realized that it wouldn’t really help. If news got out that you were dating the CEO of your company, you’d still receive some backlash for it.

Maybe making it official wasn’t the right thing to do. At least, not yet.

“Ladies, gossip time is over.” You announced and tried to stay calm. “And speaking of Barnes, I need to submit a report.”

-

You nervously knocked on Bucky’s door, hoping that he was back from his early morning meeting. You could hear him talking inside and thought that maybe he was busy.

“Come in.” He called before you could even turn around.

Slowly, you opened the door and slipped inside his office. Bucky was on his chair, talking to someone over the phone. When he saw that it was you, he quickly put his phone on mute and smiled.

“Yes, baby? What do you need?” He asked softly.

Goddammit! Bucky was surely getting used to that pet name. Initially, he’d only call you that in the throes of pleasure. But somehow, Bucky began to use it so casually that it made you nervous. What if he slipped and called you that during a meeting, in front of everyone?

You hated how Bucky was becoming soft and gentle around you, well, except maybe when he was in a certain mood. It was confusing the hell out of you. But you also enjoyed being the only one to witness his soft side.

Was his offer to make things official because he truly liked you or was the fucking that good to make him want to commit all of a sudden?

“I uhh, I think I’ll just come back later if you’re busy.” You stammered.

Bucky held up a finger and then unmuted his phone, “Hey, something important came up. I’ll call you again later.” He said and quickly ended the call before turning to you.

“You know I’m never too busy for you.” He said, his eyes the softest you’d ever seen.

There goes your heart.

“I think...” you trailed, not sure how you were going to say it.

Bucky raised his eyebrows at you, urging for you to continue. You heaved out a deep sigh. Your hands balled into fists at your side as you walked closer to his desk.

“Can we raincheck on the dinner tonight?” You asked.

Bucky frowned, “Why?”

You shrugged, “No reason.”

“Lie to me one more time and I’ll have you on my lap for some spanking.”

How the hell does Bucky do that? Become all sweet and soft and then rough and dominating all of a sudden?!

You squeezed your thighs together because the image of Bucky’s hand landing on your ass was doing things to you. You willed yourself not to give in, you came here for a reason.

“There are rumors about you. Someone heard you making dinner reservations and now everyone’s talking about it. I just...” you paused to check Bucky’s reaction but as usual, you couldn’t read his face.

“Maybe making this official isn’t...the right thing to do.”

Bucky pushed himself up from the chair slowly and stalked towards you. Was he mad? Fuck, you hoped he wasn’t. When he reached you, his hand came up to brush your cheek with his knuckles.

“What do you want then?” He asked.

Shit, you never actually thought about it. What do you want? Keep things casual between you and Bucky? Completely stop whatever it was that was going on between the two of you?

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

“I like you.” Bucky stated and stepped back. “You’re intelligent and you don’t take shit from anyone, myself included. When you said you wanted to take things slow, I agreed to it. Hence, the flowers and dinner. Now that I’m giving it to you, you still don’t want it.”

Bucky’s livid. He was composed but the way his jaw tensed as he spoke was enough proof that he was mad, really mad. It’s his calm demeanor despite being angry that somehow scared you. The calm before the storm. What the storm was going to be? You didn’t know and honestly, you weren’t sure whether it was something that you even want to find out.

Maybe you were being confusing or indecisive but only because things happened too quickly for you to even properly process it. To think that you addressed your concerns last night, you actually that Bucky understood where your feelings were stemming from. However, it seemed to have gone over his head.

“Bucky, I don’t think you’re getting my point here.” You explained, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“If you heard what your employees have been saying about you and your...girl, you’d understand.” You said and placed your hands on your hips.

Bucky made a face, “Then make me understand. What did you hear?” he asked.

“We already talked about this last night! They’d think that the promotion was given to me because we fucked! That’s going to taint my image for the rest of my life.” You huffed out.

Bucky rubbed his face with his hand as he paced back and forth, “They’re idiots if they think of that. What do you want me to do? Give a detailed presentation why I decided to promote you? Go through your evaluation one by one? He sarcastically said.

“Oh my god, Bucky. You really don’t get it, do you?” You let out a humorless laugh.

He shrugged, “You’re confusing the hell out of me. Just tell me what the hell you want to happen.”

“Maybe I just want keep things professional.” You blurted out in the spur of the moment.

You didn’t mean it. You so didn’t mean it. Fuck. You word vomitted and now you were going to regret it.

Something in Bucky ticked, you saw it. He approached you until he was towering over your frame. It was intimidating to say the least, the way Bucky stared down at you with a blank expression on his face.

“What if I don’t want to?” Bucky asked, his eyes looking down at your lips for a quick second before moving back up to your eyes.

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” you retorted and you’re not sure why.

Bucky exhaled through his nose and this time, you could read his face. He was fuming.

“I told you, you’re mine.” He said through gritted teeth.

The tension in the air was thick. The close proximity was making you dizzy, Bucky was so close that his scent was invading your senses. His jaw was clenched tightly as he looked down at you with piercing eyes and you were so tempted to just grab his face and kiss him and tell him that you liked him too.

But of course, your pride just had to be in the way.

“You don’t own me, Bucky. I am my own person.”

Another word vomit. You were Bucky’s the moment he laid his hands on you and you liked it.

Bucky inhaled and shrugged, loosening up before taking a step back. “So you want to keep it professional, huh?”

No.

“Yes.”

Bucky nodded, “You’re lying. I know you are. But okay then, professional it is. Let’s see how long you can keep lying to yourself.”

You watched Bucky walk back to his desk, sitting down on his chair with his arms crossed over his wide chest. His face was void of any emotion all of a sudden, he didn’t even look angry anymore and you hated how you couldn’t seem to figure him out.

“Anything else you’d like to discuss?” he asked, the professional tone of his voice sending chills down your spine, but not in a good way.

You slightly nodded, placing a folder on top of his desk before backing away. “It’s this month’s report.”

“Okay. You’re dismissed.” He casually said, grabbing the folder and skimming through your report as if you weren’t standing right in front of him.

You felt a pang of pain hit you right in the heart when he looked up at you questioningly, as if he was wondering why the fuck you still haven’t left his office. At that moment, you wanted to take back all the things you said and just give in to your damn feelings.

But would you really let your career nosedive just to be with Bucky? You weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

You straightened up and maintained a calm demeanor, “That’s all. Thanks, Bucky.”

“That’s Mister Barnes for you.”

-

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[the-blind-geisha]

Mmmm I’d like to see Demiurge finally breed his “prized ewe” bc I know that cheeky bastard would tease her relentlessly for god knows how long and I think mc would deserve some of that good Demi D for putting up with his shit lmao. Would be fun if she was wearing the bell collar on top of that so it would jingle while she’s being fucked 😏

A/N: HAH! XD Oh yeah. He'd break her in—in more ways than one... ;)

Any injection that demon gave her was hardly one she could trust was being given in 'good faith'. What started out as such, slowly morphed into him testing what sort of combination would intoxicate her or make her transform into a highly sex crazed maniac.

She didn't want to know what for...

What was oddly upsetting about all of this, was the fact he would let her simply be howling in sexual agony in her pen while he was away. What was the point of making her go into a heightened sense of heat, if he wasn't going to sate it?

Her fingers wrapped about the iron bars of her cage's door, as she shook them. Her bell collar jingled as she did so. “Let me out! Let me out!”

Nobody would hear. He wasn't at the farm at that moment. Not that she she was aware of. Her heart hurt worse than ever, a small whimper emanating from her as she wished the devil would just show up.

As if reading her mind, the door at the front of the barn opened and Demiurge made his way down the aisle.

She wished she could poke her head out. Sheep at least got that grace but not the devil's 'sheep'. His casual walk soon stopped before her stall as he undid the lock and let himself inside.

More than anything, she wanted to rush at him to give him an excuse to grab her again. But she didn't. This time, she was expecting he'd at least milk her. She bit at her lip, trying to act disinterested in hopes he would continue to want to prey off of her misery—even if it was fake.

He grinned widely, slipping his black gloves off and snapping rubber ones on instead. Normally, he wouldn't do such a thing. He loved forcing her to endure his actual touch one way or another. “Good morning, my dear. Let's see how prepared you are for me this day.”

She wasn't sure what he meant. Before she could even ask, he grabbed upon her legs and forced them apart—maneuvering his finger inside of her womanhood to feel around and listen to the melodic sounds that graced his acute hearing. She squirmed, cried out in a fit of pleasure bound by mercy. It was music to his ears.

Demiurge's fingers curled upward, rubbing against the sensitive flesh of her womanhood before removing himself from her body. His index and thumb finger rubbed together, admiring the cum that he had already encouraged forth. “Mm, that time of season, is it?”

She looked to him, trembling with desire and wanting more but refusing to vocalize it.

“Now, I did say I had no intention of breeding you,” Demiurge reminded her. “However, I didn't say I had no intention of breeding with you.”

The very sound of him swallowing was intoxicating to her for some reason. Every sound he made whether by himself or encouraged in the atmosphere around him—such as moving on her straw bed—was enough to make her swoon.

Her clothes were torn from her in one swift motion without hesitation. Demiurge's fingers looped about the collar and urged her forward to where in a matter of seconds, she found the tip of his cock rubbing against her mouth.

“Suck me, pet,” he demanded hoarsely.

Opening her mouth, she attempted to start slowly, but the devil wouldn't hear of it. Even if he wasn't fully erect yet, it was a challenge to try and take such a thing fully into her throat. She grabbed onto his hips, a moan of pleasure rumbling in her throat as she gulped and huffed through her nostrils.

The sound of his erotic growling made her spread her legs on impulse. Just put it in me...! she mentally pleaded. Please! I'm dying to feel more of you!

His grip returned to her throat, pushing her back steadily to where she worried she may have displeased him, or he might have changed his mind. But she was wrong. A hot string of cum marked her face, making her body tense at the warmth as it splattered across her face and marked her chest as well.

“I am not done,” he warned with a wicked grin, urging her onto her back as he thrust within her at such a harsh speed that her body jolted.

The bell jingled loudly upon every harsh thrust, coupled with Demiurge's deep grunts on each impact he made within her. Their thighs slapped together, encouraging a lewd wet noise to be heard from their union. Her breasts, full of milk, painfully bounced as well to every hard slap that her body encountered from the demon, but she enjoyed it all.

“F-Fuck, Master...! Oh gods...!”

“Do you wish for more?” Demiurge questioned, leaning in closer.

She nodded, looking to him with a pitiful yet pleading expression. The mere thrust inside of her again and again wasn't enough. She wanted that cum that covered her to be inside of her...

“Then take all of my seed, pet, and don't squander it,” the demon ordered through his clenched teeth.

The intoxicating warmth expanded within her body, feeling like a tree root that continued to seep through the soil of her veins. Her nails dug into his forearm, but the devil felt no pain—only pleasure—as he came harshly within her again and again.

Only a moment he gave her to settle before grabbing onto her face and forcing her to look at him. “Mm, I love the sound of your little bell as it jingles while I mate with you, my dear. It reminds me you are mine and mine alone...” He rubbed her stomach, that unnatural smirk widening all the more. “What a well bred ewe you are now. Full of what I have to offer.”

#a very--very well bred ewe #nsft #demiurge x mc #demiurge x reader #demiurge snippet #overlord #demiurge #mod answers #anon