#[i didnt make this longer be quiet]

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

sometimes..so.etimes they change something even after the premiere. sp you appear and watch an entirely new and prolonged monologue. and it's like. FUCK YEAH.

[bakug0uzb1thc]

Part two of fem reader and bakugo cuddling pls (longer Version please)💗

eekkk i didnt think it would get so much attention here you go!!

PT 2 OF THIS !! :3

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“kat-" you tried to voice your complaints again, but it was short-lived by the same sleepy blonde telling you to 'shut up.’ He just wasn't letting up and you just knew someone saw.

"but- i just know someone saw us, oh were gonna be so screwed." you said franticly playing with his hair, only causing him to groan. "you're so paranoid, stop focusing on other people for once..." he mumbled from where he laid on your chest.

he could hear the way your heart rate increase, only further proving your concern with the position you laid with him. He was flush against your body with his weight slowly suffocating you.

"I'm sorry its just ugh.. never mind." you tried to calm yourself down from your cloud of worry but it didn't stop your nerves from being on edge.

your face felt hot with his attitude towards the situation you had found yourself in. how nonchalant he was being about this made you squirm, did he not care at all? (he didn't.)

he knew you weren't huge on PDA and you liked to keep your close relationship private but it was messing with his beauty sleep and his temper grew even shorter then when he was fully awake.

he got up, which made you calm down a bit but before you could let out your sigh of relief he grabbed your waist and threw you over his shoulder causing you to squeal.

You weren't sure what would cause your classmates to freak out more; The two of you cuddling or you thrown over his shoulder with a hand full of your ass.

"ah- kat what are you-" you held on tight to his compression shirt from the back, scared of being upside down and the possibility he might drop you if you complained about his actions. "I'm tired and I'm sick of your whining. you need to learn to shut up." he fought a yawn as his hand trailed from the dent behind your knee to your lower ass, not anything sexual it was just where he found his hand resting.

"uh-" you didn't know what to tell him or throw back to defend yourself, you just held on tight curious on which room he was headed to.

"yer lucky you're getting your way." he scoffed making his way to his room, not feeling the hassle of accidentally bumping into anyone on your floor. it took him about 2.5 seconds to put you in the same position you were in on the commons couch.

he loved the soft cushion of your chest, built in pillows for all his tired mind could think as far of. "now are you gonna be quiet or am i going to have to smother you with a pillow, brat." he was unique in the way he shows his love towards you, you knew his words had no ill intent behind them but it did make you giggle from his groggy state.

"nono I'm done i swear." you smiled, pushing your head deeper into the pillow that felt like was pre-fluffed just for you. (it was.) "good." he mumbled before closing his eyes and resuming what you had so rudely interrupted. "you're so needy.." you whispered, thinking he was asleep.

"i will suffocate you don't try your luck." he countered which made you laugh before kissing the top of his head. You loved your 'best friend.' ;p

[yameoto]

giving fuckgirl!cait (+basketball) the best head of her life (she still doesn’t know what the hell to do about it)

sub!caitlyn, blowjobs, caitlyn cums in approx 2 seconds and is then humiliated, smut n fluff, ohhh she’s definitely in love with you

fuckgirl!cait who is just a little needy. the first time you ask her she’s all wide-eyed and her mouth is dry and suddenly she’s nervous for the first time in her life. which makes zero sense because (“not to sound like a dickhead—“ “prefacing that everytime doesn’t make you any less of a dickhead, cait.”) she’s been bobbing her cock down willing girls’ throats since she hit puberty. to destress or for fun or if she felt like it. whatever. the point is; she’s well-versed in this.

so, why her palms are suddenly sweating and her cheeks are glowing she has no idea. croaks. “uhm. are you sure? because you really don’t have to—“ like she hasn’t been harassing you for the past couple months and even if she’s had countless fantasies of this moment; imagining you, and your plush, soft lips wrapped around her cock as she splatters her load against the shower wall or a tissue or her dedicated cumsock (ok, sometimes she is just a jock. sue her. she’s a busy woman! and she, admittedly, no longer has a maid waiting on her beck and call.)

you laugh, all deep and throaty and it makes caitlyn want to sink between your couch cushions and die.

“what’s with the deer in the headlights look?” you’ll never grow tired of teasing her, even if you no longer think of her as the arrogant basketball prick who pads around you like a lost puppy and instead; now, something closer to an.. acquaintance with benefits.

(caitlyn has no clue how she made it this far with you. it’s like you just randomly decided to give her a shot one day, on a whim, and she desperately doesn’t want to blow it. even if acquaintance-with-benefits is a title that disgruntles her, at the very least. hurts, at the very most. like, very very most, okay?)

“i just..” caitlyn lets out a quiet whine when your fingers curl against the hem of her basketball shorts and—ah, shit. and now she’s hard. “now look what you’ve done.” she hisses, though she’s not quite sure what she expected when you texted her for netflix and chill like it’s still the 2010s.

“there’s that pretty thing.” you completely ignore her in favour of continuing your blasted teasing, fingers snaking underneath her waistband and pulling, guiding the shorts down the sharp v-line at her crotch and eyes travelling down the fine, inky lines of her happy trail to the spring of her cock, over the edge; half-glazed and all pretty and pink.

“you really want to..?” she doesn’t know why she keeps backtracking, like she hasn’t been talking and talking about how fucking good she’d be. and now that it’s really happening she’s getting cold feet, of all things.

“it’s just a blow, cait.” you roll your eyes.

right. just a blow. like she’s done, a million times before. god. god. she doesn’t know where the fuck this performance anxiety has suddenly arose from (pun unintended). she’s (gracefully and intentionally) bruised countless girls’ throats, for fuck’s sake. twisted her hand in the hair and yanked them sharply with each forceful snap of her hips, and told them to swallow without so much as a blink.

except you—you—

“mmgh—“ caitlyn throws her had back, as she lets out an exceedingly unflattering grunt, with the gusto in which you take her into her mouth. your tongue swirls, along her tip, and—hah—her mind melts to butter. her eyes are all cloudy, head spinning. “wait—mmf—i didnt—“

caitlyn’s hips buck, heedlessly, into your mouth. fuck. she usually has more rhythm than this. more—control. but then your tongue is sliding underneath and your hand running over to curl around her base and she’s rutting upwards aimlessly, like some stupid teenage boy who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. only that—shit—she’s never felt this good in her life and this is not just a blow—this is the most beautiful, nirvana-inducing, mind-shattering experience she could’ve ever—ungh.

oh.

oh, nononono. nono— no. she didn’t just—

your mouth hangs open, still, as you stare up at her with wide, surprised eyes; throat bobbing as if you were preparing to maybe do that really hot vacuum-type motion again except there’s kind of no fucking point because her dick is twitching uselessly as it slips out of your mouth and she watches in horror, as cum drizzles down your chin.

you swallow. caitlyn dreads that glimmer in your eyes, already.

“i usually—i last longer than that!” caitlyn’s cheeks are beet-red and she’s blinking up at you with those big, sad blue eyes and you’re laughing. crawling on top of her stomach as her dick presses flush and sticky against your lower torso and you’re laughing at her plight. ok, that’s it. it’s over. her reputation that she’s fought and fucked so hard for is dead and gone. she’s got to pack her bags, move countries, and start over.

she buries her face into the crook of your neck. surprisingly, you don’t push her away. “you can’t tell anyone.” she orders, petulant. she’s fucking humiliated.

“why would i tell anyone?” you snort. she whines.

“i don’t want you to think—“ caitlyn digs her short-cut nails into palms, looking frustrated; brows knit and cheeks still flushed, stray strands of hair a mess against her forehead. “i didn’t come over just for a blow.”

“i know, cait.”

caitlyn doesn’t know how much you know, frankly, because she doesn’t know how much she knows—considering she’s just had the most earth-quaking orgasm of her life in all but two seconds like some lame loser virgin and not the cool, suave playgirl that caitlyn kiramman is so known to be; but you’re sinking back into her arms and letting her keep leaking leftover dribbles into your couch as she clings and maybe, she doesn’t care. just wants to stay like this for a little while, and blink the spots out of her vision.

“i’m normally really very good.” she insists, words spilling out in an accented rush against your skin, half-slurred. “seriously.”

“caitlyn.”

“seriously!”

[phagodyke]

day 2 of no wifi.. hanging in there 😔😔😔😔

[parfaitblogs]

making the bed ❀ s. reid x reader

in which your night crumbles around you, and spencer is happy to pick up the pieces. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort  tags: established relationship. (prior) alcohol consumption. reader is semi-drunk (but sobers up). post drinking depression. healthy alcohol information/discussion 🫡 word count: 2.1k a/n: do not read too much into this for you will begin to question why i still enjoy going clubbing. (joke...) 😄 plsss tell me if u liked this or even if u didnt thank u i love uuuuuu

Alcohol is a depressant. 

You remembered the God awful lecture your boyfriend had given you when you woke up one Sunday morning with this feeling of existential dread, and nothing to pin it to. A ramble about how alcohol can temporarily increase the body's production of dopamine and serotonin when entering, causing a worse crash of both chemicals when it leaves. Leaving you, evidently, depressed and anxious after a big night. 

You knew that. 

You also knew how quick you were to seclude within your mind when you were with people. Too many drinks and not enough social interaction tended to lead to your own isolation, sitting on the outer edge of the booth, absentmindedly playing with the charm on the end of your phone. 

The room no longer spun the way it had an hour ago. You missed when it spun. When it spun, you weren't thinking about how little you had to contribute to the conversations your friends were having. You weren't tallying up how many drinks you had already drank, then falling flat when you realised you couldn't remember, and that was a thought more horrifying than knowing it was over ten. You were fun, when the room was a carousel. 

Now, it's simply overwhelming. Loud chattering from both your table, and the surrounding ones. Clinking of glasses at the bar. A sports game on the television across the room. Balls on a pool table being dispersed for the first time in a game. Dancing feet. Music. People. So many fucking people.

Your phone buzzes against the table, and you pick it up before any of your friends could turn their heads to see where the vibrations were coming from. You figured they were too drunk to conclude it was you, anyways. Or to care. 

Spencer had texted you fifteen minutes ago to check in on you, and though it wasn't long ago, you not responding immediately in a flurry of half strung together sentences and emojis was worrying for him. That was probably why his name was now lighting up your screen, a funny photo of him mid-bite of an ice cream as his contact photo, enlarged. 

You hadn't responded for no reason other than the fact that you had no will to. Which should've been a big enough red flag to yourself that you should text him, and you should ask if he can pick you up. Thankfully, he loved to prove how well he could read you, and he was calling you anyways. 

"Hi," you mumble into the phone, angling your body away from your friends, hand held up to your other ear to block out some of the noise the best you could. 

"Hi," he parrots back to you. "You okay?"

An automatic yes manifests on your tongue, but you're quick enough to keep it to yourself before you can lie to him. Instead, you let out a quiet, "No."

He seems to have expected that answer, for he leaves no silence in between your admission and his response. "What can I do to help?" He also seems to be expecting your hesitance at asking him for anything that would require him to move, because he adds, "I can pick you up. Do you want me to pick you up?"

"Yes. Please?"

"I'm already leaving," he tells you, and you can hear his shoes against the wooden floor of his apartment to confirm that. "Did something happen? Are you safe?"

"No, nothing happened. I'm safe," you reassure him. "I started feeling sick so I stopped drinking an hour ago. Now I'm just sad."

"You remember what I told you about it being a depressant?"

"Vividly," you mutter, and while it isn't meant to be funny, you hear him huff a short laugh anyways. It makes you feel a little better. 

"It's important to know," he defends. "I'm sorry I shared important information with you."

"Mm."

Your lack of a verbal response was expected, but he still hated the sound of it regardless. You heard him sigh. "I have to hang up now. I'll be there in forty minutes. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. I love you."

"Love you too."

No matter how much time had passed, your head lifted every time the door — that your group was so conveniently close to — opened, letting in a rush of cool air and sobering you up with every hit of it. 

True to his word, Spencer was entering the bar after forty minutes, face scrunching up at the sudden onslaught of noises and visual stimuli. Same boat as you, only he had not a drop of alcohol in his body. At least you weren't crazy about it being overstimulating. 

"This is why I don't go to bars," he says once he's approached your booth, and you had stood up next to you, his hand finding an automatic place on your waist. 

"It's usually not this bad," you tell him, but he decides not to ask you anything else upon hearing just how exhausted your voice sounds. You're grateful for that.

The goodbye to your friends is quick, Spencer rattling off a lie about him needing you home for he had work early the next morning, and you only had one key to the apartment. Even the friends who knew that wasn't the case didn't comment on it, and you made a pointless mental note to thank them for it later. You knew you wouldn't. 

The drive home was even faster. Silence, aside from the rush of the wind from your slightly cracked window as Spencer drove, that helped the sick feeling in your stomach from the alcohol you had consumed. 

It didn't seem to help the hollowness of your chest, though.

You weren't sure if anything would, really. A chemical imbalance in your brain — even one as temporary as the deflation from being drunk — was hard to fix without medication. It would go away, yes. But then you would make the mistake of drinking once more, and you would find yourself back in this brain peeling predicament. 

You showered alone. Despite Spencer's offer to join you, and your own personal desire for him to be there with you. It didn't help your fogged mind at all, and you were exiting the bathroom feeling like you had retreated further into your bones. Every movement felt clunky, your skin a heavy coat to your skeleton, restricting your movement down to short shuffles and barely lifted arm movements. 

He was reading when you reentered your bedroom, and you've never seen him put a book and his glasses back on his bedside table faster. He looked visibly tired. Keeping himself awake a seemingly difficult struggle, that you could feel your body heading towards to as well. 

"Hey," he says as you climb into the bed, and he's very patient as you figure out what position you want your bodies in. Head on his chest, but next to him, you had decided on, and his fingers entangled into your hair.

"Hi," you mumble, staring up at the ceiling, counting brush strokes of the paint, as if it were possible to.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

You huff at the phrase, tilting your head upwards so your eyes could land on him. "Do you have a penny?"

He pauses, then angles his head closer towards yours. "Okay, kiss for your thoughts?"

"That'll just distract me."

"Is that what you want?"

You should say no. Arguably the last thing you should be doing when you're sad is let intimacy with your boyfriend distract you. But then again, you're not the best advocate for healthy coping mechanisms anyways. 

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" he muses, and his lips brush against yours. Your heart flutters. 

"I don't really know what I want," you settle on telling him, honestly. "I want my brain to shut up."

His body deflates beneath you, and you feel guilt chip away up your spine at the killing of the less depressing atmosphere. 

"Sorry," you mumble.

"No. It's good. Be honest with me," he reassures you, quietly. His fingers tap at your scalp, "What's going on up here?"

"I'll cry if I try to verbalise it."

"Crying's good for you, you know," he hums.

"I'm pretty sure I still have eyeliner in my waterline. I'll just stain your sheets," you retort. 

"Yeah, probably. That's fine."

You're silent for a few moments, gathering your thoughts in your brain the best you could despite yourself, before you sit up, his hand dropping to the bed beside you.

"I just don't like being... here? Out? I don't know. I'm just really sick of being sad every time I drink. Is there something wrong with me? Did you get sad whenever you drank? Everyone else I know loves going out for drinks because they have fun and they're giggly drunks, or they're clingy drunks. And if I drink too much then I'm a fucking sad drunk, and I'm the only person I know that gets that way. I want to be normal."

He's silent your entire rant, and then some, waiting for your heaving chest to slow, having caught the few tears that slipped down your cheeks. You were grateful — you needed that time.

He reaches a hand out, and you let him tug you back down to the bed, slotting your body atop his own, just so he could see you properly. 

"To answer your question, no, I didn't get sad when I drank," he says, brushing your hair out of your face, before his hands rest on either side of your face. "But I wasn't really happy, either. I just talked more."

"You already talk a lot."

His lips twitch. "I do. Double whatever you think my worst is, and that was me drunk. Focus on the part where I said I wasn't a happy drunk, please."

"But you weren't sad. So there is something wrong with me."

"No, there's not. Alcohol is a depressant," he punctuates his words with a kiss to your nose, which you gratefully accept despite your emotions. "Are you willing to give up alcohol as a whole?" 

"My friends will think I'm boring, then."

He hesitates in his response, but ultimately settles on asking, "Do you think I'm boring because I don't drink?"

"No. Obviously not. And you have a real reason for not drinking, so—"

"—and being sad isn't a real reason to not drink?"

Taken aback by his sudden sternness, you go quiet, breath hitching within your throat. He was right, ultimately. No reason is reason enough. You knew that. 

Sensing your discomfort at his tone, he expels a breath of air and lowers his hands down to your hips. His voice drops to something a little less harsh, as he murmurs, "You are allowed to not want to drink alcohol if you don't like the way it makes you feel. If your friends think you're boring for that, then they're not worth it."

You silently nod your head, beginning to curse your emotional regulators. For while you had kept your tears at bay for the vast majority of this conversation, it seemed all it took was the gentle rubbing of circles onto your hip bones, and a fact checked piece of life advice from your boyfriend to make you cry. 

"Sorry," you sniffle, dropping your head to the crook of his neck to hide your newly tear stricken face. 

"Crying's good for you," he repeats his earlier words, and feels you nod your head. "You don't have to decide tonight. I'd encourage you not to, actually. You're technically still intoxicated."

"I'm sober," you protest, weakly. 

"Okay, honey." He's only agreeing with you to wane any further argument. "I don't think your friends will think you're boring, though, if that's any help."

"I don't think they will either."

He nods his head, and you're relaxing against him a little more. 

"Are you just trying to not be the only loser who doesn't drink?" you mumble, voice muffled by his skin.

"You've caught me."

He relishes in the laugh that leaves your lips, and he places the gentlest of kisses on the side of your head, which prompts you to lift it to look at him again. 

"You're not a loser for not drinking," you say, and his lips pull into a smile. 

He leans his head up, brushing his lips against yours, despite the mix of mint toothpaste and alcohol on your tongue. "I know. You wouldn't be either."

"I know."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[manariee]

DIDNT MEAN TO

热爱 ★ said i would never fall, unless it you i fall into

니시무라 리키 & fem!reader wc: 2451 ◜ᯅ◝ high school AU slow burn-ish emotional tension miscommunication stubborn idiot riki (kind o a jerk) mention of academic stress some light angst

REBLOG4AKISS

MANA: pls unflop me guys i beg oh and thank you @ykitslu for requesting this ^^ AND THANK YOU YIN FOR PROOF READING MWAH

Riki was never the type to fall fast.

And that was no lie.

The whole school knew that, girls would try - putting small notes in his locker, confessions at the school gym. He'd just brush them off with a polite nod or a quiet ''sorry''. So they eventually started giving up with grand gestures and just admired from afar.

But it wasn’t because he was cold-hearted.

No - it was because Riki found no point in love.

''It's stupid,'' he once told Jungwon with a scoff during lunch. ''How do you even know someone’s being real? Like, you look at someone and just know they’re the one? That doesn’t even make sense.''

''You're just scared,'' Jungwon had joked, nudging him with an elbow.

But Riki had gone quiet. Not defensive. Just, firm. He wasn’t scared. He was just done believing in something so fragile - so easily faked.

After that, he never thought about the idea again. No crushes. No lingering stares. No butterflies. Nothing.

Well… That was until high school.

Because high school brought you.

And you didn’t even try.

At first it was nothing, you were just a new face, one of Sunoo's old friends.

But then you started showing up everywhere.

You were in most of his classes, his neighborhood, and his mind, at all times.

Weird, not like he liked you or anything.

Then it happened at lunch, when you smiled a bit too hard at one of the jokes someone made at your guys' table.

He stopped midway a bit of his sandwich, his stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with cafeteria food.

But who was he to listen to his heart?

He decided to stick to his moms food instead.

Just as if the universe knew, Riki got paired up with you on a stupid school project. Of all people. You. On a subject he hated, too.

History.

He'd rather stand on one leg the whole day than to write some ten page essay about a person that doesn't even exist anymore.

You tapped your pencil against your notebook. ''We could do it on the French Revolution. That one's at pretty dramatic.''

He stared at you a second longer than necessary. ''Sure the Eiffel towers pretty cool.''

You blinked, then shook your head. ''That happened after the revolution, in 1887.''

And he grinned. Actually grinned. Like a real one - not his usual smirk or polite curve of the lips. ''Okay nerd.''

But he quickly snapped out of it, what the heck?

As time passed on, he didn't know what was more disturbing: the fact you made him laugh, twice.. Or that he wanted to make you laugh again like you did at Sunoo's jokek the other day. Desperately. Like some dog trying to earn a treat from it's owner.

Every time you smiled at him, it felt like something heavy shifted in his chest. Every time you leaned over to show him your notes, he had to remind himself to breathe like a normal human being.

Why was he sitting up straighter? Why was he nodding like he was actually interested in The Reign of Terror? Why was he googling “how to write a bibliography” at 1AM when he literally never did homework on time?

Oh no. Oh no no no.

Riki Nishimura was trying. For a group project. For you. This was bad.

But the worst part? He didn’t even mind.

Riki knew he was in real trouble when your face would show up on his ceiling.

He was being so embarrasing it even made him cringe.

Like for instance when he tried to offer his umbrella on a rainy day to you, but when you said that he would get soaked, he quickly cut you off with a 'I don't care.''

But what was worse than public humiliation to Nishimura Riki?

His ego betraying him.

Because he was starting to look for you everytime you weren't with the group.

In the hallways. At your locker. On lunch breaks. Sometimes near your house or the convenience store.

And it pissed him off. Because since when did he care about someone liking him back?

He wasn’t supposed to. He’d sworn off that whole mess. Feelings? Affection? Vulnerability?

Absolutely not.

But now?

He reread you texts, pacing in his room, wondering if your ''lmao'' meant if you really were laughing based on what he said and your humor level. He was bringing extra pens in case you forgot yours again, which you always did. Riki never brought pens, ever. He was staying up late to work on the project so ''you wouldn't worry about your grade.''

He was.. Caring?

And you didn't even know.

You didn’t know that when you bumped shoulders with him and laughed like it was nothing, he had to physically stop himself from reacting like a middle schooler with a crush. You didn’t know that you were slowly, steadily, completely destroying him.

Bit by bit. Smile by smile.

It was stupid, so stupid.

You were laughing with some guy from the basketball team outside the cafeteria, and Riki told himself it didn’t matter.

He told himself you were just talking. That you were allowed to smile like that. That you smiled like that at everyone.

But then the guy touched your arm. Lightly. Casually. Familiar.

And that was it.

Something inside Riki just snapped.

It wasn't jealousy. No - jealousy was messy, childish. This was worse. This was panic. This was every wall he’d built crumbling under one tiny, innocent moment. This was every feeling he’d buried just to drag himself to this.

He didn't think, he just walked.

You turned when you spotted him from the corner of your eye. But you were completely caught off guard when he gently grabbed your arms. ''Riki?''

''Can we talk?'' he said, eyes narrowed and tone so sharp it almost made you fear of what he would say next.

The guy looked between you two awkwardly and just left as Riki pulled you to the side of the building, where it was a bit more quiet.

''Okay.. What's going on?..''

He didn't answer right away, his fingers were twitching at his sides, curled into fists as if it would ground him.

''I don't get it.'' he said after a beat.

You raised your brows, arms crossed. ''Get what?''

''You'' he blurted out, tone frustrated but not to you, more to himself. ''This. Whatever you've been doing to me.''

You blinked, confused of which turn this conversation was taking, you could feel your heartbeat increasing a bit too fast.

''I was fine before. Like, really fine. I didn't care about people, or love, or any of that corny stuff. But then you came along with your dumb flower doodles and your weird French Revolution facts and your - your laugh.''

You froze, almost choking on your own breath. ''M-my laugh? Riki what are you saying?!''

''Yes your laugh, it's fucking pissing me off so bad.''

Silence.

''I've been losing my sleep just because your face haunts my ceiling,'' he said, quite literally pouring everything out now. ''And it's not in a love-story kind of way it's more of a haunting-creepy way. I hate group projects and don't care of what others think of me, but suddenly i'm writing 5 extra pages just so you would be impressed. I keep showing up to class early just in case i bump into you. I carry extra pens so you won't have to ask anyone else and I gave you my umbrella when I hate the rain!''

You stood frozen, lips parted, and that was when he fully broke - his voice cracked just a little when he added:

''I don’t know what to do when you look at me.''

Your breath caught.

''I tried pretending it wasn't happening,'' he said. ''I tried staying cool, acting like I didn't feel anything. But I do. And I can’t not anymore.''

Silence again.

Then…

''I like you.''

He finally met your eyes.

''And it’s driving me crazy Y/N.''

You stood there, even a step feeling to heavy.

His chest was pounding so hard you swore even you could hear it.

You wanted to say something, heck - anything. But the words just wouldn't come.

Come on Y/N it can't be that hard can it?

Riki's hopeful eyes searched yours for any sign - any little spark - that you felt the same.

But the silence seemed to eat him up. It was heavier than any heartbeat between the two of you.

He sighed, turning.

''Forget it. Forget I said anything.''

But before he could walk away he turned his head over his shoulder, a small, forced smile on his face.

''Have a good evening Y/N.''

The next day, Riki wasn't at the quiet corner of the study café, the spot where you two could do anything without being interrupted.

But no, Riki was in the center of it. The place where it was way too crowded. A airpod in his ear, the missing one still in your purse, the one you were supposed to give back but he decided confess instead.

You quietly walked towards that spot, and even though he spotted you from the corner of his eye, he didn't look up, just continued typing away.

''Hey.'' you said softly, purse strap clutched in your hand.

He looked up, noticed how you semeed a bit dolled up considering the ocassion. ''You got a date or something after this?''

You blinked, looked around then shook your head. ''No?..''

He nodded, bringing his gaze back to the screen, tone cold and something else that made you feel regret? ''Due date's soon.''

You sighed, nodding as you pulled out the chair beside his. ''Right we should-''

You were cut off by the sight of his bag on the chair and sat on the one across instead.

The space between you felt enormous.

You remembered all the times he’d leaned over your shoulder, whispering jokes, nudging you playfully.

Now, his silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

You both got an A.

Top marks, praise from the teacher, Jealous stares from classmates who'd started with theirs last minute.

You thought it would feel good - something to celebrate.

But sitting there beside Riki, it just felt.. Empty.

He barely reacted. No smug grin. No playful ''We killed it'' shoulder nudge. Or that dinner he promised to take you out on if you two aced it.

''Guess we did alright,'' he said casually.

You nodded. ''Yeah.''

There was that awful silence again, it was so unbearable and full with tension. You just wished things were just like before, air filled with laughter and his dumb jokes.

He stood up, sliding his bag over his shoulder. ''Well.. Good job, Y/N.''

You panicked a little and quickly got up, before scrambling into your bag. ''Wait.''

He paused, hands casually in his pocket.

You held out his missing Airpod - the one he was supposed to smile at upon seeing.

He looked at it for a second, then gave a soft laugh.

That same laugh which made you stupidly smile.

''Guess this ends here?''

You froze, fingers still stretched toward him.

He took the AirPod gently, careful not to brush your hand. His voice was light, but his eyes didn’t match - too careful, too guarded. Like he'd already accepted your silence and was trying to make peace with it.

You wanted to yell.

You wanted to turn back time.

But right now? You could just watch him walk away.

The moment he stepped out of the classroom, something inside of you snapped, why was he acting like he was the only one hurt? You were hurt too. So that's why you were currently running across the street, rain pouring down in sheets, soaking your uniform, but you didn't care. You had to take out your anger on Nishimura Riki, once and for all.

When you turned a corner there you saw him. Umbrella in his hand, back towards you.

''Nishimura Riki.'' you called out, trying to catch your breath while trying not to look like a idiot at the same time.

He didn’t turn around.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, stepping closer. ''You didn’t even give me a chance. You just... walked away. Like I was some stranger huh?''

His silence was a punishment, heavier than any words he could say.

''I waited,'' you said, biting your lip to keep the tears from falling. ''You didn’t even give me a chance- You! You treated me like I ruined everything, like I was the one who messed it up. But maybe it’s you who’s scared!''

You took a shaky breath, fists clenched at your sides.

''And that’s not fair. You treated me like a jerk before even hearing me out. Like I wasn’t worth the time.''

The words spilled out, raw and desperate. ''You treated me like I ruined everything!''

The silence stretched between you, the rain soaking through your clothes, mixing with the tears you didn’t bother wiping away.

And then—

Without a word, Riki spun around, ran and pulled you into his arms, hand cradling your head.

You cried against his chest, your hands weakly punching his shirt. ''You're such a jerk,'' you said between those weak punches. ''A mean, jerk.''

His arms tightened around you, a quiet promise in the way he held you close.

''I'm sorry,'' he whispered against your hair, the heat of your bodies keeping each other warm despite the rain.

The rain has slowed down and you and Riki were drying up on the bench outside the convenience store. It had been a while someone had said something but the silence wasn't as bad as the ones before.

He glanced towards you, gulping before muttering. ''I'm sorry.''

You turned your head towards him, nodding since you didn't know what to say.

''I got scared. Thought I had ruined everything we had, but yes, it wasn't fair of me I know.''

You chuckled, nudging him. ''Nishimura Riki apologizing first?''

He smiled a bit, leaning closer. ''Forgive this jerk?''

You wanted to stay mad. Really. You should’ve. But the way he looked at you. God you couldn't.

You nodded, biting your lip.

''Don't make me regret it,'' you whispered.

His lips quirked in the smallest smile, and then - finally - he closed the distance.

The kiss was slow, his hand coming up to cradle your face, and lips moving against yours like he was earning the apology.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he laughed quietly, breathless.

''You hit me pretty hard earlier,'' he teased.

You chuckled, cheeks flushed. ''You deserved it.''

''I probably still do.''

''I'd rather kiss you instead.''

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara @ltfirecracker @woniefication @lezleeferguson-120 @rikifever @chaeneu @jjennuine @callikari @yuuuraaa @wondoras @ykitslu @orimuraa

NETS: @k-films

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.

[manmuncher777]

EVERYTHING YOU DESERVE

ROOMMATE TOJI X READER SMUT MDNI

- A/N - was listening to wine pon you by doja cat on loop while writing this. Enjoy little ones

- what happens when toji starts to enjoy your little housewife role a little too much

Living with Toji Fushiguro was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. Split rent, split chores, simple boundaries. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

You weren’t even sure when it started — when you began acting like his little housewife without even meaning to. Cooking extra portions for dinner because you knew he’d come home starving. Folding his laundry with yours because you were doing it anyway. Picking up his favorite snacks on your grocery runs, pretending it was no big deal.

You didnt know what it was, you just got an urge to take care of him, he worked incredibly hard, almost always coming back exhausted. It was the tiredness you could see on him, that weight that he carried on his shoulders. You wanted to ease that for him, after all he was helpful to you as well, always there when you needed him.

An even despite you guys not always being around each other due to schedules, you got on instantly. Just kind of slotting into this lifestyle without ever really addressing it

And Toji — Toji didn’t make it easier.

If anything, he seemed to love it.

He’d lean in close when you handed him his coffee in the mornings, voice still rough with sleep.

“Thanks, sweetheart. What would I do without you?”

He’d ruffle your hair affectionately when you handed him his folded t-shirts, flashing that lazy, crooked grin that made your stomach flip.

“Gonna make some poor bastard real happy someday.”

You’d always roll your eyes, laugh it off, pretend your heart wasn’t pounding so loud it echoed in your ears.

You got along too well — that was the problem.

The banter, the teasing, the way he’d steal bites from your plate when you weren’t looking, the way he always seemed to find an excuse to touch you — a hand brushing your lower back as he reached past you, a casual tug on the sleeve of your hoodie when he wanted your attention.

It was easy.

Dangerously easy.

But you weren’t dating.

You were just… friends. Roommates. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Even when he walked around the apartment shirtless, towel slung low on his hips after a shower, hair still dripping down his neck.

Even when he shot you little smirks across the kitchen, voice dipping into that low, teasing drawl just to watch you squirm.

Even when he made dumb flirty comments you tried to laugh off, like when he caught you baking cookies one night and said,

“Gonna spoil me rotten if you keep this up, housewife.”

You had no idea if he meant anything by it. But you felt it — the way the tension thrummed low between you two, coiling tighter every day you pretended not to notice.

And honestly?

You weren’t sure how much longer you could pretend.

The door slammed shut behind him with a heavy thud.

The kind of slam that said bad day.

Long, brutal, and bloody.

Toji shrugged out of his jacket with a grunt, running a hand through his hair, tension practically radiating off him in thick, heavy waves. His body ached, his knuckles were raw, his patience was worn thin — and the apartment was too damn quiet.

He called out your name, voice low and rough.

No answer.

A frown pulled at his mouth. He kicked off his boots and padded through the apartment, following the faintest hints of movement — the soft clatter of plates, the distant scent of something warm and delicious cooking.

But first, his bedroom caught his eye. And what he saw made him pause in the doorway.

Laid neatly across his bed were a set of fresh towels and clean clothes — sweats, a t-shirt, boxers, everything he could possibly need — folded with a kind of careful tenderness he hadn’t been on the receiving end of in… fuck, he didn’t even know how long.

And on top of the pile, a little note in your handwriting, simple and sweet:

“Bath’s ready. Dinner’s almost done. Relax a little, yeah?”

He just stood there for a second, staring at it.

A bath. You’d run him a damn bath.

It was stupid — soft shit he didn’t deserve — but the tightness in his chest shifted, loosening into something that felt dangerously close to affection. Without a word, he grabbed the towels and padded down the hall to the bathroom.

The door was already slightly open, warm steam curling into the air.

And when he stepped inside?

Fuck.

You hadn’t just run the water.

You’d gone all out.

The tub was nearly overflowing with bubbles, rich with the smell of whatever expensive bath salts you kept under the sink — lavender and something warm and clean, the kind of scent that immediately eased the tight coil of stress in his gut. The lights were dimmed low, soft and golden, and there was even a goddamn candle flickering on the edge of the sink.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan.

It was too much.

Too nice.

Too thoughtful.

He didn’t deserve this.

He didn’t deserve you.

Still, he stripped out of his clothes, sank into the hot water, and let himself have it.

Just for tonight.

Just for you.

He closed his eyes, head tipping back against the porcelain, the heat working its way deep into his battered muscles.

He could almost pretend — for a minute — that he wasn’t what he was.

That he was just a man with a girl who cared enough to make things soft for him when the world outside was so fucking hard.

By the time he hauled himself out of the tub and dried off, the worst of the day’s tension had melted away, leaving him heavy-limbed and a little dazed.

He pulled on the clean clothes you left him — the fabric soft and worn in all the right ways — and padded barefoot back toward the kitchen.

And there you were.

Dressed in your cute little pajamas, tank top and shorts with little hello kitty face printed over them, hair a little messy, standing at the stove like some dream he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

The table was already set — two plates, forks, a bottle of that beer he liked.

You were humming softly under your breath, moving around with an ease that made his heart ache. When you turned and caught sight of him, your whole face lit up, a smile so sweet and soft it nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“Perfect timing,” you said, gesturing for him to sit. “Food’s ready.”

And Toji — this man who had stared down death more times than he could count, who had blood on his hands and scars he didn’t dare show anyone — He stood there, staring at you like you’d hung the goddamn stars.

It hit him all at once, sudden and brutal — how badly he wanted you.

Not just your body (though fuck, that too) — but you.

Your kindness. Your laughter. The way you made a home out of nothing but four shitty walls and a broken man.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he muttered, voice rough, a little thick.

You just shrugged, smiling again, so casually sweet it made his chest ache. “Could tell You had a rough day. I just wanted to help.”

He sat down heavily at the table, hands still damp from the towel, heart pounding far too fast for a man who was supposed to be good at hiding how he felt.

His eyes stayed on you — drinking you in like he was starving — while you fussed around, plating the food, grabbing him an extra napkin, topping off his beer.

Fuck.

You were dangerous.

Way more dangerous than anything he fought on the streets.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even want to resist.

Toji sat down heavily at the table, the chair creaking under his weight as you set a plate in front of him, still warm and steaming.

The smell alone made his stomach growl — rich and hearty, everything he didn’t realize he’d been craving all day.

“You didn’t have to go all out,” he muttered, voice rougher than he meant. But you just smiled at him, a little sheepish, and shrugged like it was nothing.

“You had a rough day. I just wanted to make it better.” You repeated again, trying to get him to understand you never minded doing these things for him, if anything you enjoyed it

Fuck.

The words hit him harder than they should’ve.

Worse, the way you said them — casual, sweet, so unaware of the way you were gutting him alive without even trying — made it even worse.

He picked up his fork, stabbing at the food like it had done something to offend him.

Took a bite.

And immediately stopped breathing.

Holy shit.

It was… good.

No, it was fucking amazing.

Home-cooked. Perfectly seasoned. Comforting in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

Each bite eased something tight inside his chest, like you were fixing parts of him he didn’t even realize were broken.

He watched you flit around the kitchen out of the corner of his eye — opening his beer for him, sitting across the table with your own plate, babbling a little about your day — and he couldn’t help it.

He stared.

You were just… so fucking pretty.

Hair a little messy. A faint smudge of flour on your cheek. Wearing nothing special.

You could’ve been wearing a paper bag and he still would’ve thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He shifted in his seat, feeling the beginnings of a problem he really didn’t want to deal with — not while you were sitting right there, looking at him with those big, bright eyes, like he was something good instead of a monster.

“You’re staring,” you said after a minute, cheeks flushing under the weight of his gaze.

Toji grunted, pretending to focus on his food again.

But it was hopeless.

Every little thing you did — the way you tucked your legs up on the chair, the way you smiled without even realizing it, the way you kept sneaking glances at him like you were worried he wasn’t eating enough —

It was killing him.

Fucking killing him.

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken care of him like this.

No expectations. No strings. Just… you, trying to make his night a little easier.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, setting his fork down with a heavy clink.

“You’re gonna kill me, y’know that?” he muttered, voice low and rough.

You blinked at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Toji just shook his head, sitting back in his chair and dragging a hand through his hair like it could fix the mess you were making of him.

“You have no fuckin’ idea,” he said under his breath, half to himself, half to you.

No idea how goddamn good you are.

No idea how bad he wants you.

He took another slow look at you — sweet, smiling, so damn proud of yourself for making him a nice dinner — and felt something inside him snap.

This was bad.

This was real bad.

Because Toji didn’t just want to fuck you.

He wanted to keep you.

And that was a whole different kind of dangerous.

The second you looked away — just a blink, just a tiny little thing — Toji was up from his chair.

The scrape of it against the floor made you jump, wide-eyed as he stalked around the table toward you like something primal, something starved.

“Toji—?” you started, confused.

You didn’t even get the words out before he was in front of you, hands dropping heavy on your thighs, dragging you forward in your seat like it wasn’t even a question.

You gasped, instinctively grabbing his shoulders, but he was already lowering himself down, kneeling between your legs like you were something sacred.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, voice so deep it barely sounded human, “you’ve got no idea what you do to me, do you?”

Your brain was scrambling, struggling to catch up.

You opened your mouth to say something — to protest, to ask what the hell he was doing — but he just pressed his forehead against your bare thigh, breathing you in like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“I can’t—I can’t fuckin’ stand it,” he said roughly, voice breaking a little at the edges. “You takin’ care of me like that. You bein’ so fuckin’ sweet. Lookin’ at me like you don’t even know how perfect you are.”

His hands slid up, gripping your hips with enough force to leave bruises if he wanted to — and god, he wanted to — and you whimpered, heat flashing through you so fast it made you dizzy.

“Toji—” you whispered again, but softer now, more like a plea than a protest.

He lifted his head, finally meeting your eyes.

And the look on his face — raw, desperate, hungry — knocked the breath right out of your lungs.

“You ruined me, y’know that?” he rasped, voice rough. “You—makin’ me dinner. Leavin’ me notes. Lookin’ at me like that. Bein’ so fuckin’ good.”

His mouth found your inner thigh, kissing you through the thin material of your shorts, his stubble dragging rough against your skin.

You whimpered, fingers twisting in his hair without even meaning to.

“I gotta thank you,” he muttered, voice muffled against your skin. “Gotta make you feel good too. Need you to know—fuck, need you to know what you mean to me.”

His hands slid up further, gripping your waist and lifting you up like it was nothing, setting you down on the table in front of him, plates and cutlery clattering to the side like he couldn’t care less.

Your legs fell open instinctively, breath coming in short, shaky bursts, and Toji just groaned, like the sight of you wrecked him.

“Shiiit, sweetheart,” he breathed, “you’re gonna kill me.”

Then he was on you — mouth dragging hot and desperate over your thighs, hands everywhere, pulling you closer, touching you like he couldn’t get enough — like he would never get enough.

And you — you were still reeling, still trying to understand how you’d gone from sitting at dinner to having Toji, your roommate, on his knees for you —

But god, you didn’t care.

Not when he was looking at you like that. Not when he was touching you like you were something precious. Not when he was whispering things against your skin like thank you and need you and so fucking good for me.

You tangled your fingers tighter in his hair, pulling him closer.

“Toji,” you breathed, voice breaking.

He looked up at you — pupils blown wide, breathing heavy — and grinned, all teeth and wicked promise.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rasped, mouth brushing your inner thigh again, “I’m gonna take real good care of you now.”

You barely had time to whimper before he was pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up your thighs, nosing closer, breathing you in like he was memorizing every part of you.

And when he finally got your panties off — a slow drag down your legs, a filthy little groan rumbling low in his chest when he saw you — he just stared for a second, like you were something holy.

“Look at you,” he muttered, voice wrecked, “so fuckin’ pretty for me.” Then his mouth was on you — warm, wet, perfect — and you cried out, back arching off the table. Toji just groaned, like the taste of you was better than anything he’d ever had.

“Goddamn,” he breathed against you, licking a slow stripe up your soaked pussy, “this all for me, sweetheart?”

You whimpered, hips bucking, too overwhelmed to answer — and he loved it. Mind reeling at the sight in front of you, something you wanted burned into your memory forever.

“Shh, shh,” he soothed, big hands sliding under your ass to hold you still, “gonna take care of you. Just let me, baby.”

He worked you open with his mouth, lazy and thorough like he had all the time in the world, like he wanted to savor every sound you made, every twitch and whimper and gasp. And he praised you the whole time — Telling you how good you tasted, how sweet you were, how perfect you felt.

“You’re doin’ so good for me,” he muttered, lips dragging wet over your clit, “so sweet, so fuckin’ sweet—”

Your thighs shook around his head, fingers digging into his messy dark hair, but he just growled low and held you there, mouthing at you like a man possessed. You were close, so close, and he knew it — could feel it in the way your body trembled, the desperate little whines falling from your lips.

“That’s it,” he rasped, voice all wrecked and rough, “come for me, sweetheart. Wanna taste you. Need it, need you.”

The words alone sent you over the edge —

A cry tearing from your throat as you came, thighs squeezing around his head, body shaking apart.

And Toji — fuck, Toji groaned, palming himself through his sweats like he couldn’t even help it, like just getting you off was enough to ruin him.

He kept licking you through it, slow and soft, until you were whimpering, too sensitive, pushing weakly at his head. Finally, finally, he pulled back — face wrecked, mouth shiny with you, eyes dark and wild.

He stood, towering over you, and god, he was hard, straining against his sweats.

But he didn’t reach for himself.

He reached for you.

Scooped you into his arms like you weighed nothing, carried you to his room, dropped you on his bed like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

You blinked up at him, dazed, still panting — and he smiled, all soft and wicked.

“C’mere, baby,” he said, voice low and tender, “ain’t done with you yet.”

The look in his eyes taking it out of you, the care in his eyes. Like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen. You rarely got to see him so soft with you. And you werent complaining. To have him so happy to please you was unreal.

He stripped off his sweats with one hand, tossing them aside — and you whimpered when you saw him, thick and hard and dripping for you.

Toji knelt on the bed, settling between your legs, and stroked himself slow, teasing, as he looked at you.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” he said, voice gone hoarse, “gonna make you feel even better. Gonna fuck you real nice, sweetheart.”

Huge hands finding your hips once more, flipping you onto your stomach while you just let him. Hands finding comfort in his bed sheets, the scent of him wafting into your senses.

You felt the bed dip under his hulking frame, instinctively arching your hips, begging for him. He had ruined you just as much as you ruined him, and now you needed him inside you like your lungs needed air.

“Toji- please~”

“Shhh, s’okay pretty, im here.” Leaning down, pressing his front against your back as his lips traced over the shell of your ear.

He lined himself up, not pushing in yet, just rubbing the thick head of his cock against your soaked folds — dragging slow, teasing circles around your clit — and you whimpered, hips canting up desperately.

Toji just grinned.

“Such a needy little thing,” he murmured, “got you all worked up, huh? Gotta take care of you.”

And then — finally — he pushed in. A gutteral groan leaving him with every inch he sunk into you

Slow and thick and deep — splitting you open inch by inch, the stretch burning in the best way.

You cried out, hands scrambling in the sheets, but he just shushed you, wrapping one of his thick arms around your neck, pulling your head back for a kiss, keeping you in a gentle headlock.

“You’re doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, voice ragged with the effort of holding himself back, “so good for me. Takin’ me so fuckin’ well.”

He bottomed out with a shuddering groan, burying himself inside you, so deep you swore you could feel him in your throat.

He stayed there for a second — breathing hard, kissing the back of your head — like he was trying to memorize the feeling of you wrapped around him.

And then he started to move.

Slow, deep thrusts at first, grinding his hips down with every roll of his body, making you feel every inch of him.

And he wouldn’t shut up —Praising you between every thrust, every kiss.

“So good, sweetheart, feel so fuckin’ good—”

“God, you’re perfect, you’re perfect—”

“Never lettin’ you go, you hear me? You’re mine now.”

You could barely answer — barely breathe — but you didn’t have to.

He could feel everything you were giving him in the way your body clung to him, the way you gasped and moaned and writhed under him.

And when you started to tighten around him, clenching so sweet and desperate he could barely see straight, he lost it.

“That’s it,” he rasped, hips stuttering, “c’mon, baby. Come for me again. Wanna feel you, need it—”

His thrusts speeding up now, body moulded to yours. His grip around your neck squeezing lightly, trying to get you there, needing to get you there

You shattered around him with a broken cry, body arching, one hand flying to the forearm wrapped son perfectly around your neck, nails digging into the skin. Needing to touch him in any way you can. Toji groaned, fucking you through it, chasing his own high with reckless, desperate thrusts.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasped, “so fuckin’ good—”

He came with a ragged moan, hips jerking against you, spilling deep inside you, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

You lay there tangled together, both of you panting, sweaty, wrecked.

Toji kissed your neck, your shoulder, every inch of skin he could reach, murmuring low praises between kisses.

“Sweetest thing I ever had,” he whispered against your skin, voice shaking a little, “my sweet girl.”

You shivered, tears pricking your eyes at the tenderness of it.

And when he finally pulled out, groaning at the loss, he just wrapped you up in his arms, pulling you close against his chest like he couldn’t stand the idea of letting you go.

“You’re mine now, sweetheart,” he whispered into your hair, voice rough and raw and true.

“Mine.”

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ OVERSTIM WITH CALEB (PART 2) !!

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: some scenarios in which caleb would react to being overstimulated !!

WARNINGS :: NSFW! 18+ , public sex , dry humping , overstimulation , porn with no plot , dom!reader , sub!caleb , use of y/n (once)

a/n :: heres part one ! this is most likely the last part , hope you enjoy :)

IN PUBLIC :: look , sometimes caleb cant help himself . all the time when he sees you to take you out on dates or just a casual hangout at a café , you look so unbelievably scrumptious he just has to have you right there ! he'd reach his hand over to place on your thigh , slowly sliding higher and higher until you notice . he doesn't stop though ... why would he ? in his depraved mind , he's gonna finger you senseless right then and there in front of all these people ... but little does he know he'll be the one going senseless . you'd slap away his hand and before he knows it you're unbuttoning his jeans on the down-low , looking around to see if anyones paying attention before slithering under the table . caleb is whispering to you and grasping at the sides of his seat , fighting actual demons trying to not make a sound as you slurp up his cock . he was doing pretty well at being quiet before his cum shot down your throat and you kept going . poor boy has slumped his head on the table , eyes squeezed tight , knuckles white from how hard he's gripping your hair , hips twitching without control . his attempts to be undercover are futile as he's so sensitive to your mouth ... the whole restaurant is giving him stares and whispers of concern :/.

DRY HUMPING :: now i didn't know it was even possible to become overstimulated by dry humping , but caleb proved me wrong . it doesnt matter if you guys are clothed or not , he can still feel and imagine your perfect cunt with precision; making it easier for him to fall over the edge in his pants . especially when he can feel your warmth through the fabric ?! best thing ever . that euphoria wouldnt last long before it was replaced with the familiar feeling of overwhelming pleasure ... too much pleasure . "w-wait pips- hah, fuck.. s'too much baby, stopstop.." he'd murmur , grabbing onto your hips as an anchor . although he already came , by the mere thought of how dirty your guys situation was , you didnt come along with him . you didnt necessarily mean to overstimulate him .. it's just a natural instinct to want to chase the high of an orgasm . underneath you , the dampness of his trousers was getting to your thighs and making it easier to slide across his lap . this would go on until you came for the first time and him for the second , thrashing underneath you .

BEING AWAY FOR TOO LONG :: would happen if he was away on a prolonged mission , he would get so needy and desperate for you that he physically couldn't stop . he'd cum multiple times and still have more to give , overstimulating the both of you . it'd get so bad to the point where he's sobbing big crocodile tears and begging himself to stop , drooling like a dog onto your chest , seeking the sweet embrace of your breasts . "i know pips .. i know , im s-sorry. it's too much for me, too . i just cant stop when ive been away from my perfect pussy for too long . " but you know his apologies arent for real . every thrust of his hips would send a jolt of white-hot adrenaline up his spine , not even pleasure anymore; forcing himself past the limit solely for the purpose of staying inside of you for longer . after he cums for what felt like the 1500 time , he'd lay atop of you , motionless . he's quite literally incapable of moving other than the aftershocks shaking him . the next day you both would woke up at 12pm and stayed in bed together the rest of the day , lacking the ability to walk right .

BEGGING :: obviously , caleb would beg for you almost every time you guys had sex; but there are some nights where he's particularly more vocal than usual . you've noticed that a way to get him like that is to have him on all fours , pleading for you to stop jerking him off . "please baby please .. im too sensitive, im a pathetic mess, im disgusting and filthy . im begging you, y/n, please. " while he spends lots of sweet time talking , it never works . it always ends the same , with your hand (or cunt) on his dick , making him squirm and moan for you for hours on end .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in conclusion :: overstimulating may just be this boy's favorite activity!

[chrisevansredbelt]

Playing Dangerous

pairing: dbf!frank castle x reader

warnings: not really any! this is kind of a backstory intro. death, funeral, smoking, drinking, drugs, and the sheer thought of jon bernthal.

summary: after your fathers death, you find yourself familiarising yourself with his best friend. his hot, dilfy, big thighed best friend.

multiple parts planned! all inspired by lana del rey songs

a/n: me when im back bc i missed writing... anyway this is a somewhat different universe to my og dbf!frank story but also not because it follows the same concept of lana del rey songs.

ALSO even though it is frank castle... im using characters from the bear... sorry i guess i really am only using frank because of the name i just didnt feel right writing jon or michael SORRY

and i am also using sex and the city characters too okay im sorry if nothing makes sense now but ENJOY

playing dangerous by lana

.・。.・゜.☘︎ ݁˖ ・.・𝄞・゜・。.

Pulling up beside the familiar cars parked in front of the church, Frank swiftly gets out of his truck, shutting the car door behind him. His brother Carmen, and cousin Richie, stand by their cars, gathering however once Frank approaches them.

"Thought we weren't gonna see another one of these until it was one of our own and when we're 80." Richie notes, hands on hips as the three of them observe the crowd of black disappearing through the church doors.

Frank scoffs, "Yeah, well, Brock loved stupid games." He marvels at the amount of people who showed up. Brock always made note of how many enemies he had, he must have forgot to mention how many friends he had too.

Brock was Franks best friend. Ever since being enlisted together, they were pretty inseparable. They then went on to work with each other, shady business that subsequently cost Brock his life.

Brock was on the run from police... corrupt police who would do anything for $20 and a donut. Brock had a hit out on him ever since fucking over an old acquaintance by insulting his wife.

As cops chased him down one night, he was cornered. Brock ended up shooting and killing the cop he hated but was subsequently shot and killed by another.

Some good did end up coming about Brock's passing though, as an investigation was launched into the dead officer and the bribe's he took. Which ended up revealing an international bribe ring of some sort that landed Brock's enemy in jail with a hefty sentence.

Frank wished he had been with him that night, wondering if Brock's life could have been spared in any way. But on the flip side, Frank knew that Brock would have died happy killing the officer he hated so much and recalled the many nights Brock had confessed his disdain against the lifestyle he landed himself in.

"At least he's with his wife now." Carm then adds, earning a nod from the others.

As the last of the guests enter the building, Frank decides it's probably time to follow suit.

As painful as it would be to see his best friend no longer living, they all had a few words to say in the session and there was no backing out now.

Though everyone was still finding their seats, when the three men had entered, they had all still managed to give them pitiful looks. Eyes reading 'Sorry for your loss'.

The three of them make their way to the front row of seats, joining the few others that had clearly arrived earlier.

"Hey," Their sister, Natalie, smiles up at them, scooching over on the pew as they take their seats next to her. They offer greeting smiles back. Frank gazes around the church, admiring the many eyes of religious figures that stare back at him. "Hey, did you see his daughter turned up?" Natalie adds in a quiet whisper, making the three of them shoot their heads around in the direction of her gaze.

There, in the front row beside them sat you. Brock's only child and daughter. Everyone kind of just knew of you and your existence, but never actually saw you.

Though Brock always bragged and boasted about you, how beautiful you were, how proud of you he was, the truth was that he rarely saw you. A few years after he had left you, he occasionally made the effort to at least see you on birthdays and Christmas. But his visits slowly died off.

The relationship was still there, you texted and he sent you letters and money, but you lived with your friend and her family for most of your teen years.

Richie nudged Carmen, wiggling his brows, whilst Frank just takes you in. The men can’t help but ogle at you. You were almost like a fable or myth, and seeing you now for the first time ever was strange.

"Poor kid." Natalie purses her lips, brows furrowed in concern.

Frank knew he had to speak to you. Maybe it was the fact that you were his life long best friend’s daughter. Or maybe it was the funny feeling in his stomach as his eyes scanned your figure.

-

You watch as people leave in their expensive cars down the gravel road, sighing in relief at the lack of attention you were now getting.

Your father was laid to rest in the cemetery beside the church, in a space next to your mother.

Though few people still linger around their cars parked on the other side of the church, you keep your head down and make your way back up the church steps, pushing your way through the big, wooden doors.

You were glad no one else was here. Your social battery was drained for the month after today and you didn’t think you could take another ‘I’m so sorry for your loss’, ‘Your dad was a great man’, ‘I’m sure he’s happy to be reunited with your mother’, 'I didn't know he had a daughter'.

You made your way to a random row and knelt on both knees, clasping your hands in front of you and bowing your head.

You weren't entirely religious, nor did you really know what you were praying for. All you knew was that if someone saw you, they would at least respect the gesture and leave you alone.

Wrong.

You hear the church doors open behind you and you close your eyes, quietly sighing. Whoever it is, they do not speak, but you can feel their eyes burning a hole through your back.

Out of curiosity, you lift up your head and turn to the back of the church.

Oh?

"Hi," The man greets sheepishly, "I'm sorry if I’m interrupting.” A small, reassuring smile on his face. You stay silent but shake your head softly, allowing him to continue. He takes a few steps closer, "I'm Frank."

You blink up at him a few times until you connect the dots on who this Frank person really was (and stop ogling at his god-like face) "Oh." You let out accidentally, before clearing your throat and correcting yourself, "Yeah, I’m familiar with the name." You choke out, standing from your kneeling position out of respect... though you wouldn't entirely mind staying down there- God, you mentally slap yourself and remind yourself that you're in a church. And on top of that, you knew of Frank to be your dad’s friend... his best friend. You never saw him or heard anything else about him other than him being your dad’s best friend, but it was nice to finally put a pretty face to the name, “I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” He smiles warmly now, extending a hand out for you to shake which you do so quite timidly, "Listen, if you need anything… I know you've probably heard that a lot today, but I'm probably the only one who really means it." He jokes and you can't help but let out a small smile.

“Thank you.” You nod. He was right though. Out of all of them, Franks did seem the most genuine. "Thanks for taking the time to check up on me."

He nods in response before reaching into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet and from that wallet, a small card, "Here, take my number." You take the small business card from him, "If you really ever need anything, reach out… If I had knew your dad would pass so soon, I’m sure I would’ve promised him to look out for you.”

You weren’t annoyed by Frank’s social interaction, unlike everybody else who talked to you today. Everyone else just seemed so full of shit. And Frank at least knew who you were.

-

You watch as another car passes by before sighing. The heat was starting to get to you a little and as the sun began to set, it landed opposite you, blinding your eyes.

After the funeral, you made the decision to walk to the closest bus stop and make your way back home that way. Though you caught an Uber to the church, you couldn’t bare any more questions or painfully awkward small talk about your day. So you opted for the bus.

The area was nice in any case, a small neighbourhood 20 minutes from Manhattan where you used to live as a child.

It was nice to experience the silence as well. You were so used to the loud of the city that you’d almost forgotten what it was like to just sit with nothing but the birds, the bugs and the leaves. And to actually see the sun without being blocked by some high rise building.

As you zoned out, staring at the ground, you hear the bus finally arrive. Only, you thought it was the bus. You look up and you’re met with a black pick up truck coming to a stop right in front of you and now your heart races.

The window rolls down and a familiar face slightly judges you, "You seriously taking the bus?"

You stand from your seat, small kitten heels clanking against the concrete as you step closer to Franks truck.

You're kind of loss for words. You had made sure to linger in the church for a while and only left when you believed everyone else to have already left. Frank must have stalled in the cemetery or something?

“I..." You start, "I thought it would be relaxing.” You explain vaguely, shrugging your shoulders. Frank quirks a brow and you sigh in defeat, “I didn’t feel like talking to nosy Uber drivers.”

Frank cracks a smile, shaking his head and reaches over to the passenger door, unlocking it for you, "Get in."

You're unsure what it is that makes you give in to getting into his car. Perhaps that Frank was probably the closest thing to your father that you were ever going to get in your life and you automatically felt safe with him. Whatever it was, it felt right.

Jumping into his car, you get comfortable, admiring the interior of it. You couldn’t help but notice, however, the faint smell of either cigar or weed lingering in the car, mixed with the efforts of the Black Ice air freshener dangling from his rear view.

Not only this, but you see his packet of cigarettes in his cup holder.

You’d been dying for a cigarette ever since the funeral started, but couldn’t bring yourself to whip one out as you walked to the bus stop- more concerned about your heels and feet surviving the journey rather than your urge for nicotine. And you refrained from doing so at the bus stop in case it pulled up any second.

“May I?” You ask after rummaging through your purse and holding up the small box of sticks.

“Go ahead.” Frank shrugs with a soft smile, “Where do you live?”

You blow out your plume of smoke out the previously opened window, offering it to him, “West 84th.”

“Upper West side.” He notes with an impressed nod, taking your cigarette from you gratefully.

You raise your brows a little, you could not believe it either that you lived there now, "Inheritance came in handy."

The drive to the city with Frank was nice. It wasn’t awkward and you were able to keep a steady conversation. You could definitely see why Frank was a life long friend.

"Which one is it?" Frank asks, cutting your thoughts short as he pulls into your street.

"This white one here." You point and Frank's lucky that there's a vacant spot out front. He seems impressed by your house as he leans over his wheel to get a look at it while he parks.

To be truthfully honest, you were a little bummed once you had come to a stop.

"Do you wanna come in?" You don't even realise what you're asking until it's already out and Frank's looking at you dumbly. Fuck. “I-I just got so much of his stuff, m-maybe you can help me figure out what to do with it?” You try to cover up.

You internally cringe however as you wait for his answer. Why the hell did you just invite this man into your home without hesitation?

You really didn't expect the words to come out of your mouth. But what was even more surprising was Frank's answer, "Sure."

You take Frank up the small stairs to your house, unlocking the door, “Sorry, it’s a bit messy.” You apologise as he walks in after you. You watch as he takes in your apartment and feel a little insecure for some reason. God, what did it matter what this man thought of your brand new apartment?

“No, it's nice.” He nods and you feel yourself relax. He makes his way into your living room and stares at the piles of boxes and plastic covered furniture. The last of your furniture had arrived yesterday and you had no time, or energy (or frankly manpower for that matter) to sort it out.

"It's a work in progress." You sigh, "I always imagined this to be something my dad would have helped me with." You admit and again, cringe at yourself for being so depressing.

"I can always lend a hand?" Frank offers.

You open and close your mouth like a fish. You didn't mean for Frank to get to that conclusion but at the same time, Frank seemed like he was already going to offer. But you were too humble to say yes, even if you were too cheap to get movers (even though you now had money, old habits never die) and you were convinced you could do it on your own.

But now that Franks offering, you’d be stupid to decline.

The one thing that needed to be put together was your bed, but aside from that your furniture was old, vintage pieces. They were also light so it’s not like it would be entirely arduous labour for Frank, but it would just mean a lot less chain smoking and broken nails for you.

You ended up ordering pizza for the both of you and fuelled Frank with beer as he got to work on setting up your furniture. You helped him out with the light work, but you mostly just smoked and chatted away.

Frank had no issue with it though.

Frank told you many stories about your dad. You realised Franks memories with him definitely outnumbered your own, which was humbling to say the least.

You found the both of you now seated on the hardwood floor of your home, taking a break as you take the time to really talk and eat.

"Can I ask..." Frank starts carefully, and you're mindless to what he's about to ask, "Did you resent your dad?" His question makes you put down your drink, " It's just- you seem to be taking his passing quite well and you were actually at the funeral... Most people I know in a situation like yours wouldn't do such a thing."

You dart your eyes around the room, running the question through your head. You, too, had realised that your own fathers passing hadn't made you a hysterical wreck, like it would have made most people. You also questioned why.

When you got the news that your dad died, you cried but only sparingly and never again after that day. But you went to class the next day, drinks with the girls the next. What the hell was wrong with you?

"I know the shady shit he did killed my Mom." You tell Frank, "I did actually resent him for a while for leaving, then I accused him of killing her and didn't talk to him for a few years." You admit shamefully, "But as I got older, I understood him leaving was keeping me safe and I couldn't argue with that... As for the day he died..." You begin, but take a second to find the words, "I don't know... I guess... it's like he's not really gone." You say, but watch as Frank tilts his head a little in confusion, "Well, he is gone... but it's felt like that for a long time now... Maybe I'm used to it." You feel as though you've just solved the mystery. You feel hot all of a sudden, looking up at Frank and seeing his eyes staring right back at yours. You clear your throat, "Um- What about you? H-How did you handle it?"

"Oh, man." He starts, shaking his head, "It was one of the worst days of my life... I was a wreck." He admits. This might be unfair to say, but you didn't expect a man like Frank to be so open about his emotions, "But your father was all about seeing the good and I just thought, he would kick my ass if he saw me like this instead of celebrating the life we had together and the man he was."

It was silent after that, but you must note that it was a comfortable silence. You let each other sit with the feelings from the conversation had and it felt nice.

Frank is the first to break the silence, by nudging your foot with his, “But what's up with you, girl? Are you in college?”

You smile at him and his effort to lighten the mood a little, “I graduated last year in journalism.” You sigh. It wasn’t anything groundbreaking, certainly not for New York. But it was the only thing that really interested you- having spent most of your formative years journaling your each and every thought, experience and emotion. Writing just came natural to you, “What about you? Are you married?”

Fuck, was that too forward?

“I am not married, no.” Frank answers anyway, with a laugh even.

You would be lying if you said you didn't search for a ring when he first introduced himself to you. What could you say, he was a gentlemen. And plus, you wanted to ask in case you just so happened to be keeping him from her by having pizza and beer at your house while he helps you build your furniture.

Yep, that's the only reason.

Frank only stayed for about an hour longer after that. It had gotten pretty late anyway and you were both tired from the day you had.

You walked Frank to the door, giving him a new case of beer as a means of thanks. Seriously, with Frank's help, all you really have left to do is unpack your boxes and decorate the house.

“Thanks for all your help, Frank.” You say, unable to even recall how many times you've expressed your thanks today.

“And I mean it when I said to call me if you need anything.” He reminds, pointing at you and you roll your eyes.

If you were dying or in jail, maybe. But you didn't have many plans to bother Frank. You wish you could-

“Where do you live?” You ask, simply out of curiosity... or desire to be in his presence longer.

“New Rochelle.”

You widen your eyes, but then furrow your brows, “You drove me all the way here even though you lived like 5 minutes away from the church?” You ask in disbelief. He just laughs as an answer, meanwhile you're rummaging to the side through your foyer drawers and handing him a bunch of crumpled President Jacksons, “Here.”

He laughs down at the money, pushing it back to you, “Sweetheart, I’m not taking your money.”

You look at the money shoved into your chest in defeat. But you know he's not going home without something, “Fine.” You mutter before digging through your purse on the same table.

You pull out your metal cigarette case and hand him a pre-roll that you planned to smoke after the funeral.

Frank looks at it longingly, averting his gaze back and forth before slowly bringing a hand up to take it, “Fan of the Blazy Susan’s I see.” He notes, eyeing the pink paper and you roll your eyes.

“Oh, is it too girly for you?” You mock, leaning against your door, contempt now that you've paid your dues.

He tucks the joint behind his ear in response, “Whoever you're buying from, tell 'em you've found someone new."

You're not surprised Frank grows and sells, but you scoff at his persistent concern about you, "I'm sure my weed isn't laced." You assure him.

He shrugs, "Maybe not, but at least mines free."

He had you there. Weed was an expensive habit and you'd considered stopping for a while now, but could never bring yourself to do it. And now that is free and most definitely safe, you wonder if you'll ever stop.

You bid Frank a final farewell and safe drive as he takes the steps down to his car. You wait and watch as he drives down the road and only retreat back inside once he's around the corner.

You can't help but miss his company now that the house is quiet, but lingers his smell.

And as Frank drives through the quiet streets of the city, he can't help but wonder... as do you as you flop into bed...

'Why do I feel this way?' Shortly accompanied with, 'Would it really be that bad?'

.・。.・゜.☘︎ ݁˖ ・.・𝄞・゜・。.

MANY PARTS TO COME

i hope ive hooked you in, im excited for this series

thanks for reading okey byeeee

[6okuto]

gn!reader/atsumu.. fluff? | this was gonna be multi-chara but it hit a weird short but too long length for that. so. next time maybe

“Are you guys going to stay long?”

Atsumu perks up at your voice, eyes pulling away from his teammates’ volley. (He’s in timeout for starting a competition that ended with a ball to Iwaizumi’s head.)

“Babe!” His shoes squeak with how fast he gets up to greet you, and you laugh as his hands find their way around your hips.

One hand reaches to card through his hair. “Hi, Tsum.”

A volleyball lands with a loud smack, and cheer from a familiar orange-haired player. Hinata turns to you with a split-second grin before switching it out for a serious expression, feet coming together while his hand rises to his head in salute. “We’ll have him back before midnight, captain!”

“Yeah, we don’t want him any longer than that,” another voice ‘reassures’ you.

“Oi!”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” You wave them off with a snort as your boyfriend’s head snaps to Sakusa and his voice raises with a pout.

“Stay as long as you need,” you say, quiet enough only Atsumu hears you. He stares as you reach for his face with one hand, index and thumb squishing his cheeks. Leaning forward, you plant a kiss on his lips with a smile. “As long as you remember you’re mine tonight, mister.”

He blinks, not moving as you let go and walk away. He keeps up an out-of-character silence as you say goodbye to the others, and the gymnasium door clicks behind you.

“I think your timeout is over, Tsum!” Bokuto calls, but his teammate remains unmoving. He tilts his head. “Tsum Tsum?”

Finally, Atsumu turns to look at his team, greeted by a knowing snort from Sakusa already shaking his head and turning to Hinata. “Shoyo, I’ll set.”

“Eh?”

Atsumu’s quick footsteps mismatch with his matter-of-fact tone, “I haveta go.”

He’s half-aware of the staggered snickers and small chaos that ensues, but it’s all less important than catching up with you.

@reverie-starlight Heh. all my atsumu is 4 u 🙂‍↕️🫡🫵 also queuing these posts i realized i didnt make or plan a masterlist. LMFAOOOOO Goodnight. a problem for later...

[sweet3nerrr]

stay quiet

a quickie with billie on tour

she is soossososo fine holy fuck- PURE FILTH BTW

---------

"shhh, quiet sweet girl, you dont want them hearing do you?". billies voice was so raspy, as she reminded you you weren't alone. you hadn't seen her in a few weeks due to her touring but, now you were finally together. one problem, her room didnt lock. "you know anyone could just walk in, right?", she taunts as she fucks into you.

her strap hits all the right places, making you quiver at every letter she says. the pure blue, look of her eyes throwing you into the ocean she showed you in every glance. her eyes told you many things, the main being how badly she wants to use you, corrupt you. her tight grip of you against the wall made you weak; how was she so strong?

"y-yes billie", you managed to get out, biting your lip harshly. she loved seeing you like this, a complete and utter mess for her. "does my pretty girl want to cum?". she held you tightly by your thighs, shoving her strap deeper and deeper with every thrust. her hand ran across your stomach, feeling for how deep she was. when she finally felt it, she smirked a smile only god could craft. "fuck, right there?", she whined as she pushed down on the slight bulge in your stomach.

your moans filled the room, every breathless gasp crafting the perfect song. "louder for me love, in my ear", she whispered as she brought her face down to your neck. as her teeth sunk into your neck, pained whimpers left your dry, aching throat. "f-fuck bils, im so fucking-", "no youre not". billies voice was firm. she wasnt letting you cum until you were in tears.

you clenched your eyes shut tight, only leaving room for the stars to start dancing behind your eyelids. billie knew you well, too well. she knew you were desperate for a realease, but she also you youd never disobey her. not unless you wanted her to fuck you so raw you no longer knew english. your fingers dug into her shoulders as you tried immensely to hold back the orgasm that built second by second inside you. "what's my name?", she groaned into your neck, biting between words. you couldnt reply, only feeling the mindless pleasure she gave you. "come on sweetheart, whats my fucking name?".

billie was always like this. so sweet yet, so fucking cruel. denying you pleasure until you quite literally, shook uncontrollably for her. the wet sounds of your pussy drove her mad, made her wish her face was between your thighs, drinking your intoxication. "billie please", you choked out, sinking your nails into her skin.

"not f-fucking good enough babe", her own words now shaking as she felt the tension build in her stomach. she was always so fucking turned on by fucking you, watching your face unravel under her touch. she was just as close as you. "fucking say it, whats my name?", she repeats as her grip pulls you impossibly closer. "mommy, please", you finally gasp out, clawing at her back, aching for your finish.

you feel as she flashes you that filthy smile against your throat, letting you know youd satisfied her. "you know what to do", she slurs as her final hard, filling thrust into you pushes you beyond your breaking point.

"fuckkk, bills", you cry as you hold onto her, burying your face in her neck, your orgasm taking control of you. your spit ran across her neck, your cum dripping on her strap, your moans filing her ears. "jesus", she says breathlessly as she slows her strokes.

her own pleasure washes over her, mere seconds after yours. you were so in tune, bringing one another to the absolute max you could. her kisses now soft on your jaw as she stays in you, moving back an inch to watch as your cum soaks her cock. "fuck, ill never get used to this", she admits as she pulls out of you, letting your throbbing pussy relax. "if only I could taste it", she mumbles, realising she has to go out on stage in a few minutes.

"dont think im done with you, after the show, im completely breaking you, pretty girl".

[sterredem]

She’s real!?

Charles Leclerc x reader

Face claim random Pinterest girls

Summary Charles has said he has a girlfriend for a few years now. But the longer people hasn’t seen her the more they think they he made her up. Until they are proven wrong

Warning fluff, rushed, maybe some spelling mistakes.

A/N the ending was ruched cause I am working on something bigger. But This has been in my draft for weeks so I wanted to put it out before the big thing.

Charles knew that he was lucky. He had an amazing girlfriend, his dream job, great friends, enough money so that he could last a lifetime, fans that supported him and a family that loved him.

But not everyone believed that he had all that. It may sound a bit weird because they where all facts. …right?

Well not every on of them. The first one the girlfriend one. That one wasn’t. He claimed he has one. And he always brings her up, for 3 years now. And you may think ‘well why don’t people believe him then?’ Well that can be answered quite easily.

No one has seen her yet. Well not no one because his family and his closes friends have. But they have never been seen public, and if they did see her they didn’t know it because they don’t know who she is and how she looks. They know there is someone, just not how she looks, what she does or what her name is.

And that is why people don’t believe him. Even some of his close friends and colleagues don’t. His team doesn’t even believe him.

And that’s all because they wanted to wait with going public. They wanted to wait because Y/n was really busy with her school work and Charles was travelling the world for formula 1. They did live together in his house in Monaco. But they didn’t see each other that often. But they still managed to keep it private.

And they do want to make it public. But in the first year that they where together they decided to keep it quiet, and when they where in their second year, she was really busy with school and being in her year before her exams she needed to study a lot. And then with him travelling the world and having a lot of trouble with Ferrari they still didn’t have the time. And now in their third year together, she was in her last year of school and studying a lot and him starting the season again. They still didnt find the time to go public.

And when they did find the time they where together and enjoying the privacy they had. So they decided to not hard launch yet and just torture the fans and public with corny soft launches.

And while they enjoyed the privacy they had. Charles did find it annoying that his friends and fans didn’t believe him. And he tried everything, but he will prove that she is real. Even if it will cost their privacy.

When Charles walken in the paddock alone… again, people stared looking and asking questions. A bit teasing of course.

And when it was media day there were a few questions about his ‘girlfriend’ but he successfully dodged them all. Not that he didn’t want to talk about her. But his media team said that it was better to not answer them, and he talked to Y/n about it and she said that it if came up he could talk about her. But just not randomly saying stuff.

So as promised he kept quite about their relationship. And when Fp1 and 2 rolled around it was still going great.

Well besides the teasing comments from his colleagues and even his team.

And when qualifying came around it was going really great. He started on 5th place, with was not the best but still good.

But then Race day came and he was as pretty excited. He started on a good place and Carlos was back again.

He ignored it for now and talked with his engineer for the last time before the race.

Before he got in his car he checked his phone one last time to see y/n has wished his good luck, he smiled a bit at that. But when he looked up again he saw that Carlos shot him a knowing look.

|———————————<3———————————|

|———————————<3———————————|

|———————————<3———————————|

After Charles was done at Australia he got on a plane. When he was in the airport he saw his girlfriend. He ran up to her and hugged her. After not seeing her for a few days he had missed her.

“Hey amour, I missed you” he said in her hair while hugging her.

“Hey love, I missed you too. So much” she said looking up at him smiling. What they didn’t notice is Joris taking pictures (not that they would mind).

“Would you want to go home or walk around a bit?” She asked with a slight smile while looking in his eyes.

“I think it would be fun to walk around wouldn’t it?” He asked while putting a bit of hair behind her ear.

“Yeah it would. Come on we should get to the car.” She said while grabbing his hand. “Hey guys good too see you.” She said addressing the other people that where with her boyfriend (and a few of the little people that knew about them and believed it).

“Yeah yeah. Good too see you too y/n/n. Could you just keep the PDA down or something?” Joris said reading a bit.

“Oh sure, I will just keep down being with my boyfriend after no one believes we are together and not seeing each other for a few days. You know you are lucky, you get to be with his all the time.” She said jokingly.

“Yeah yeah whatever.” Joris said while smiling at the couple. They really where something.

“Where do you guys want to go?” She asked looking at Charles again.

“We could just walk around the city and maybe catch the sunset, no?” Charles said while they all walked to the car.

“Yeah that would be fun.” She said opening the back door. “Who wants to drive!” She asked specifically to the other two boys not wanting Charles to drive with his parking skills.

“I could drive, Andrea so you want to go home? I can drop you off and give the lovebirds some time to catch up. ” Joris said.

“Oui, s'il vous plaît.” Andrea said while getting in the passenger seat. (Yes please.)

After dropping Andrea off at his home and walking around the city for a few hours they decided to go to a field to watch the sunset.

“It is so pretty.” Y/n said while looking at the sunset.

“Yeah it is.” He said looking at her. Admiring her.

A few hours later they decided to go hand and hang out there. Joris was with them for a bit longer after deciding to go home too.

Once it was just them they cuddled un in bed and talked for a bit longer.

“Hey Charlie I have a question.” Y/n said once the conversation dialed down a bit.

“What is that Belle?” He said looking- no more admiring her.

“Would you want to go public? And if when?” She asked playing with his hair.

“Of course I would want to go public. And whenever we are ready.” He said kissing his head.

“What if I just come to the paddock and surprise everyone. And we just randomly hard launch?” She asked looking at him.

Charles looked at her thing about it. “It would be fun wouldn’t it?” He asked smiling at her with a little smirk.

“Should we?” She asked him.

“We cou wait a few races, maybe chose a good one. We could stir up some thing. Maybe soft launch some?” He asked her now being a lot more serious then before when they just joked around and talked a bit.

“That would be fun.”

|———————————<3———————————|

|———————————<3———————————|

After Y/n postet that on her story a lot of people begin to notice. Especially because Joris was posted. So when people begin to put everything together they where shocked.

So with now people beleving Charles Y/n could finally be at an race. And that happened. And people loved it.

The drivers where shocked that she was real, so where the fans and the people that worked their.

But they where all happy for them

|———————————<3———————————|

[gothghostiie]

got my monthly ghost thought so here u go

cw: pussy slapping, implied dacryphilia, manhandling, reader is caught masturbating, afab!gn!reader

simon really didnt mean to walk in on you like that. he usually knocks when you have the bedroom door closed, especially if hes just come home and wasnt sure if youve heard him come in. this time he didn't, hes still not used to knocking in his own apartment. he had earphones in, not hearing what you had been doing behind the closed door - but the second he saw he froze in the doorframe.

he caught you getting off on his bed, underwear pulled aside and blanket kicked off of your sweaty body - apparently you'd been at it for a while - and fingers working your clit relentlessly. he chuckled quietly and opened his mouth under the black medical mask to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat when you raised your hand and landed a harsh smack on your own pussy, crying out in response. it took him a hot second to realise what you just did, his brain definitely took longer than his cock - he swears he's never been fully hard this fast.

he knew what he had to do, right then and there. stalked over to you, his steps quiet (as quiet as a man his size could be at least), breath held. you were so in your head that you didn't even realise he was there until it was too late, his big hand coming down on your already puffy cunt in a sharp smack. you yelped in pain and closed your legs, startled from him appearing out of nowhere, but before you could say anything he already had a big hand wrapped around your ankle, pulling you towards the edge where hes standing. out of reflex you try and pull away, your body in fight or flight due to adrenaline and your brain not able to process what's happening quick enough. it makes him chuckle.

"oh no, where do you think you're going sweetheart?" he coos, holding your leg up by your ankle, forcing you to lift your ass off the bed a bit, legs spread. he eyes you over, gives you a moment to process, to stop him if you want to, but once you realise what's happening you give a giggle.

"Simon!" you laugh, shyly pulling the blanket over yourself, much to his dismay. he grips it with his free hand and throws it on the ground, shaking his head.

"don't cover yourself up now, much too late for that." he huffs, shaking his head. "saw what you were doin' to the poor thing." he grumbles, fingers running over the damp flesh gently, spreading it apart - before bringing his hand down with a sudden smack. you shriek, hips bucking up before you laugh again, he raises an eyebrow in amusement. "you think that's funny, do you?" he asks in a mock-strict tone, smiling behind the mask he's still wearing from going to the store. "let's see how long you'll be laughing for."

"huh?" your laugh dies down a bit as you realise the weight of his words. he grins wider.

"you heard me." is all he says as he moves onto the bed behind you, dropping your ankle and instead lifting you under your armpits, pulling your back against his chest. you couldn't pull away if you wanted to, his hands too strong, too quick. before you even know it, your legs are draped over his, forced open, arms held against your own body as he wraps one arm around your torso tightly. "dont bother keeping quiet, I wanna hear when you start crying."

[amethystarachnid]

HII

I just LOVE your work!!!

So can I please request trope number 9- with Wanda maximoff x Fem! Vampire reader...

So I was just thinking about like y/n and Wanda are really really close friends (both of them absolutely in love with each other)

That's all! THANK YOU!

LOVE LETTER

⤷ WANDA MAXIMOFF

ᯓ★ Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x fem!Vampire!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance

ᯓ★ From: MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ Word count: 5k

ᯓ★ Summary: you write a love letter to Wanda but forgot to sign it...

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think?

ᯓ★ First time working with a vampire!reader and I didnt really know what to do...hope you enjoy the story anyway!

ᯓ★MARVEL Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The compound is quieter at night. Most of the team has gone to bed, leaving only the faint hum of security systems and the occasional creak of the building settling. You’re used to the quiet, to the dark, to the way the world slows when the sun goes down. It’s comforting in a way it probably shouldn’t be.

You sit on one of the couches in the common room, a book resting open on your lap. You haven’t turned a page in twenty minutes. Your mind is too busy, too restless, but it isn’t the usual hunger or boredom that keeps you distracted. It’s her. Wanda Maximoff.

She’s in the kitchen, moving around with an ease that you envy, humming softly to herself as she makes tea. The overhead light casts a glow around her, catching on the deep red of her sweater, the loose waves of her hair. She’s beautiful. She’s always been beautiful, but in moments like this—unguarded, comfortable—she’s breathtaking.

You shouldn’t be watching her like this. You shouldn’t be thinking about her the way you do. She’s your best friend, the closest person you have in this strange, makeshift family of heroes and gods. She’s kind to you in a way most people aren’t. She doesn’t flinch when your fangs slip out, doesn’t shy away when your hunger is obvious in your eyes. She trusts you. That should be enough.

It isn’t.

You’re in love with her. Have been for longer than you’re willing to admit, but the fear of ruining everything keeps you silent. So you sit in the quiet, staring at the same page of your book, listening to her soft movements, pretending that this is enough.

Wanda turns from the kitchen with her mug in hand, catching you watching her before you can look away. Her lips twitch into a small smile, and she walks over, settling onto the couch beside you. The warmth of her body is immediate, sinking into you like the heat of the sun, even though you don’t feel it the way she does.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks, voice soft.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

She takes a sip of her tea, watching you over the rim of her mug. You force yourself to focus on her eyes and not the curve of her lips, not the way the steam curls around her face.

“What about you?” you ask.

She shrugs. “Too quiet.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Most people like the quiet at night.”

She nudges you lightly with her elbow. “You don’t.”

You glance at her, raising a brow. “I do.”

“No, you don’t,” she says with certainty. “You like the sound of people moving around. You like voices, music, anything that makes it feel less empty.”

She’s not wrong. You’ve spent enough years in silence to last a lifetime. You prefer the noise, the proof that you’re not alone, but she’s one of the few people who’s noticed.

“I guess you’re right,” you admit.

Her smile widens slightly, like she’s pleased with herself, and she leans back against the couch. You try not to focus on how close she is, how her knee brushes against yours.

“Are you reading, or just staring at the pages?” she teases, nodding toward your book.

You glance down at it, realizing you haven’t moved your hands in so long that it might as well be a prop. You sigh. “Staring, mostly.”

She hums thoughtfully and shifts, tucking her legs beneath her as she gets comfortable. “Maybe I should read to you.”

Your stomach flips, and you hope it doesn’t show on your face. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” she says simply, holding her hand out for the book.

You hesitate before giving it to her, watching as she flips to the beginning of the chapter. She clears her throat slightly before she starts, her voice slipping into the rhythm of the words with a natural ease. You listen, but not to the story. You listen to her, to the warmth in her voice, to the way certain words curl on her tongue.

You’re so in love with her it’s unbearable.

She reads for a while, the words washing over you in a way that feels almost hypnotic. You let yourself relax, leaning your head back against the couch, listening. She doesn’t stop until she reaches the end of the chapter, and when she does, she closes the book gently, looking over at you.

“Better?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Her gaze lingers on you, something unreadable in her expression. You wonder, not for the first time, if she knows. If she notices the way you look at her, the way you freeze under her touch, the way your hunger for her has nothing to do with blood. If she does, she never says anything.

She sets the book aside and shifts slightly, resting her elbow on the back of the couch, her head propped up on her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

You swallow hard, hoping she doesn’t hear the way your breath catches. “Of course.”

She hesitates for a moment, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Do you ever get lonely?”

The question catches you off guard. “What?”

She shrugs, her fingers tapping idly against her cheek. “I was just thinking. You’ve been around for a long time, right? Do you ever feel… alone?”

It’s a loaded question, and she knows it. You glance away, focusing on a small crack in the ceiling. “Sometimes.”

She’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I do too.”

You look back at her, surprised. “You’re never alone.”

She gives you a small, sad smile. “It’s not the same thing.”

You know what she means. You’ve felt it too, that strange kind of loneliness that lingers even when you’re surrounded by people. The kind that makes you ache for something you can’t name.

“I get it,” you say softly.

She studies you for a long moment before shifting again, stretching her legs out until her feet press against yours. She does it so casually, so effortlessly, like she belongs in your space, like she knows you won’t push her away.

You don’t. You never do.

She lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. “I like being here with you.”

Your heart clenches painfully. You want to tell her that you love her, that you would spend a thousand lifetimes by her side if she asked, but the words lodge in your throat, suffocating.

Instead, you say, “Me too.”

And for now, that has to be enough.

The idea comes to you late at night, long after Wanda has gone to bed and you’re left alone with your thoughts.

You can’t keep doing this—watching her from the sidelines, letting your feelings fester in silence, pretending that being just her friend is enough when it never has been. She deserves to know. And if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud, maybe you can write it down instead.

You don’t think. You just move. You grab a piece of paper, sit at your desk, and start writing.

At first, the words come slow, hesitant, as if you’re afraid the ink itself will betray you. But then, the truth spills out in a rush—how much she means to you, how she lights up your world in a way nothing else ever has, how her laugh is your favorite sound, how her touch lingers longer than it should, making your undead heart ache for something you fear you’ll never have.

You write it all. The love you’ve kept buried deep inside, the yearning, the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, she might feel the same.

When you finish, your hands shake. You stare at the letter, rereading the words until they blur together, and for a second, you consider tearing it up. But no, you can’t keep running from this. If you don’t do something now, you never will.

You fold the letter carefully, clutching it tight as you step into the hallway. The compound is eerily silent at this hour, everyone fast asleep, and the only sound is the faint hum of the ventilation system.

Wanda’s room isn’t far. You know the way by heart.

When you reach her door, your pulse races, an old habit that never quite faded despite what you are. You take a shaky breath and crouch down, carefully sliding the letter underneath her door, pushing it through the small gap at the bottom.

And then—just as the paper disappears into the darkness—you realize.

You didn’t sign it.

Panic grips you. Your name isn’t on the letter, not even initials, nothing to tell her who wrote it. You reach out instinctively, fingertips barely brushing the edge of the paper, but it’s too late. It’s already on the other side.

Shit.

For a long moment, you just kneel there, frozen, staring at the door like it might open and hand you back your mistake. But it doesn’t.

You can’t knock now. You can’t barge in and say, “Hey, by the way, that love letter? It’s from me.” No, that would be humiliating.

Maybe—maybe it’ll be fine. Maybe she’ll just come to you. She’ll read the letter, recognize the way you write, the things only you would say, and she’ll know. She has to know.

Right?

—

The next morning, you barely get any sleep, too busy thinking about what might happen when Wanda reads the letter. But when you finally drag yourself to the common room, stomach twisting with nerves, she’s already there.

And she’s smiling.

Not just any smile, but that soft, private one, the kind you’ve only seen when she talks about something—someone—she loves.

And she’s talking to Vision.

You stop in your tracks, confusion gripping you as you watch them. Wanda is holding a piece of paper—your letter. And Vision is standing in front of her, hands clasped behind his back, looking… pleased.

Oh.

No.

You listen, dread sinking into your bones as she speaks. “I just—I never expected something like this from you,” she says, her voice warm, touched. “It’s beautiful.”

Vision inclines his head, a small, knowing smile on his face. “I only wrote what was in my heart.”

Your stomach drops.

No. No, no, no.

This isn’t happening.

He didn’t—he couldn’t—

But then Wanda is reaching for him, touching his hand, and the way she’s looking at him—it’s the way you’ve always wanted her to look at you.

Your whole world tilts.

It’s a mistake. A terrible, awful mistake. But you can’t speak. You can’t move. All you can do is stand there, frozen, as Wanda tucks your letter to her chest, like it’s something precious, something she’s going to hold onto.

She thinks it’s from him.

And he’s letting her believe it.

You feel sick.

The realization crashes over you like a wave, drowning you, knocking the air from your lungs. Wanda is smiling. Vision is standing there, silent but accepting. Your love letter—the words you bled onto the page, the confessions you were too scared to say out loud—none of it belongs to you anymore.

It belongs to him.

You can’t be here.

You turn on your heel, leaving before either of them can notice you. You don’t know where you’re going, only that you need to get out, to get away from the sight of them together, from the sound of Wanda’s voice filled with warmth that was meant for you.

It was supposed to be you.

—

The days pass in a blur. You avoid Wanda as much as possible, which isn’t easy when you live in the same compound, but you try. It’s not like she notices. She’s too busy with him.

Every time you see them together, it feels like a knife twisting in your chest. You wonder if Vision knows what he’s done to you, if he realizes that by taking credit for your words, he’s stolen more than just a letter—he’s stolen your chance.

Or maybe he does know. Maybe he doesn’t care.

And Wanda—God, Wanda. She’s so happy. She looks at him like he hung the stars, like she finally has something good in her life, and you hate yourself for wanting to take that away from her.

You tell yourself it’s better this way. If she’s happy, if she never has to know the truth, then maybe it’s for the best.

But that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

—

A week later, you find yourself on the rooftop, staring out at the city. It’s late, and you should be inside, but you can’t bring yourself to be around the others, to watch Wanda and Vision fall into something that was never meant to be theirs.

You hear footsteps behind you. Soft, familiar.

You don’t turn around.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Wanda says, stepping beside you.

You force yourself to stay still, to keep your voice even. “Why?”

She leans against the railing, tilting her head as she studies you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Your grip tightens on the metal. “No, I haven’t.”

She gives you a look. “Don’t lie to me.”

You sigh, staring out at the city lights. “I just… needed some space.”

“Did I do something wrong?” she asks, voice quiet.

You want to laugh. She has no idea.

“No,” you say, because it’s the truth. She didn’t do anything. You did this to yourself.

Wanda watches you for a long moment before looking down, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

You don’t answer, but she continues anyway.

“I think I might be in love with him.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. You knew this was coming, knew it the moment she read your letter and thought it was from him, but hearing it out loud is something else entirely.

It breaks you.

You swallow the pain, bury it deep, and force yourself to nod. “That’s… great.”

She nudges you lightly. “You don’t sound happy.”

You force a smile, even as your heart shatters. “I am. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”

She beams at you, and it’s cruel, how beautiful she looks when she’s talking about someone else.

You think about telling her the truth. You imagine what would happen if you said, It wasn’t him. It was me. Would she look at you differently? Would she hate you for lying, for waiting too long?

You’ll never know. Because you’ll never say it.

So you let her believe. You let her love someone else with the words you wrote.

And you break, silently, as she thanks you for being a good friend.

You stop going to the common areas.

At first, it’s easy to make excuses. Training sessions you don’t feel like attending, team movie nights that suddenly seem unbearable, morning coffee runs that you conveniently sleep through. The others don’t question it right away—after all, everyone has their off days—but as the week drags on, you hear them talking outside your door.

“She’s barely come out.” That’s Steve, ever the concerned leader.

“Maybe she just needs space.” Sam, rational as always.

Then Wanda’s voice—soft, worried. “I’ll check on her.”

Panic grips you. You don’t want to see her. You don’t want to look into her eyes and pretend you’re fine, pretend it doesn’t kill you every time she touches Vision like he’s something precious, something worthy of her love.

You hear footsteps approaching, and you move fast, slipping into bed and pulling the covers over your head just as there’s a knock on your door.

“Y/N?” Wanda’s voice is hesitant. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer. You hold your breath, hoping she’ll leave.

Another knock. “I… I miss you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. The words are worse than silence. She doesn’t even know what she’s doing to you.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you hear her sigh, and her footsteps retreat.

You exhale shakily, your chest tight with unshed tears.

You can’t do this.

—

The next day, Natasha comes knocking.

You consider ignoring her like you did Wanda, but it’s Natasha. She won’t leave just because you pretend you’re not here.

“Y/N,” she calls, voice firm. “I know you’re in there.”

You say nothing.

She sighs. “Okay. If you want me to kick the door down, just keep ignoring me.”

You groan, rolling onto your back. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

You hesitate. You wouldn’t put it past her.

With a sigh, you force yourself out of bed and open the door just enough to see her standing there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.

“You look like hell,” she comments.

“Thanks,” you mutter.

“Can I come in?”

You don’t really want company, but you also don’t want her breaking your door, so you step aside, letting her in.

She surveys the room—dimly lit, curtains drawn, unmade bed, the faint scent of old coffee lingering in the air. You know what she sees.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” she asks, turning to you.

You shake your head, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

She snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of England.”

You try to keep your expression neutral, but the weight in your chest is suffocating.

Nat watches you carefully, her voice softening. “Y/N… whatever it is, you don’t have to deal with it alone.”

That’s what breaks you.

The lump in your throat grows unbearable, your vision blurring as your breath shudders. “I—” Your voice cracks, and suddenly, you’re crying, the dam bursting before you can stop it.

Nat’s arms are around you in seconds, strong and steady. You cling to her like she’s the only thing keeping you together, sobbing into her shoulder.

Between ragged breaths, the words spill out—how you love Wanda, how you wrote the letter, how Vision took the credit, how it’s killing you to watch them together.

Nat is quiet as you talk, holding you, letting you cry. When you finally stop, exhausted and drained, she pulls back slightly, her hands firm on your shoulders.

“Well,” she says, “that’s a pile of absolute bullshit.”

You blink up at her, sniffling. “What?”

She raises a brow. “Vision took credit for your letter? And Wanda just believed him?”

You nod miserably.

Nat shakes her head, muttering something in Russian that you’re pretty sure is a curse. “Unbelievable.”

You wipe your eyes, exhausted. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Nat squeezes your shoulders. “First, we’re getting you out of this room before you turn into a full-blown vampire stereotype.”

You give her a weak glare. “That’s offensive.”

“Then come prove me wrong.” She smirks. “C’mon, I promise not to throw you into the sun.”

Despite yourself, you let out a watery laugh.

—

True to her word, Nat doesn’t let you isolate yourself again. She drags you to training, to breakfast, to the common room—even to team briefings you could technically skip. And every time Wanda and Vision walk in, Nat finds a way to make a comment.

The first time, it’s subtle.

“Wow, Vision,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He tilts his head. “Pardon?”

She gestures vaguely at Wanda. “The love letter. Smooth move.”

Wanda smiles. “I know, right? I was so surprised.”

Nat hums. “Yeah, I bet.” She flicks a glance at you, and you stare at the table, willing the floor to swallow you whole.

The second time, she’s bolder.

It’s during a mission debrief, and Vision is explaining strategy. Nat, sitting beside you, mutters under her breath, “Funny how he’s got such a way with words when he’s taking them from someone else.”

You elbow her. She just smirks.

But the third time—

It happens at lunch, when Wanda and Vision sit across from you and Nat. You barely look up from your food, but Wanda smiles at you. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

You nod mutely.

Vision clears his throat. “Yes, it is good to see you socializing again.”

Nat scoffs. “Oh yeah, wouldn’t want her locking herself away again over some misunderstanding.”

Wanda tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

Nat shrugs, sipping her drink. “Nothing. Just thinking about how some people take credit for things they didn’t actually do.”

Vision stiffens slightly, but says nothing.

You shoot Nat a look. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

She smirks, but follows you out of the room.

“Nat,” you hiss when you’re alone, “what are you doing?”

She crosses her arms. “Getting under his skin.”

“Why?”

“Because he deserves it.”

You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. “This isn’t helping.”

She softens. “Y/N… you can’t just let this go. He lied. And Wanda—she’s smart, but she’s blind to this. Someone needs to open her eyes.”

You swallow hard. “And what if she still chooses him?”

Nat hesitates, then sighs. “Then she’s an idiot.”

Your chest aches.

She places a hand on your shoulder. “But at least you’ll know the truth is out there.”

You nod slowly, but deep down, you’re terrified.

Because the truth won’t just change Wanda’s perception of Vision.

It might change how she sees you.

It happens so suddenly that you don’t even have time to stop it.

One second, everyone is gathered in the common room, chatting after dinner, and the next, the truth spills out in a way no one could have predicted.

Vision is the one who causes it.

He’s recounting something—a tactical observation, some philosophical discussion—and Wanda, sitting beside him, casually nudges his arm. “You always have a way with words,” she teases, smiling. “Like that letter.”

Your stomach tightens.

Natasha, who’s lounging on the couch across from you, raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, that letter,” she says smoothly, sipping her drink. “Still can’t believe you came up with that all on your own.”

Vision pauses, glancing at Wanda, then at Nat. “It was simply a reflection of my sentiments.”

“Oh?” Nat tilts her head. “So if I asked you to write another one, just like it, right now, you could?”

The room stills.

Wanda frowns slightly. “Nat, what are you—?”

“Come on, Vis,” Nat continues, setting her drink down. “You’re a poet, right? Should be easy.”

Vision hesitates.

Too long.

The silence stretches, and the air shifts. The ease in Wanda’s expression fades as she studies him. “Vision?”

He clears his throat. “I—”

And that’s all it takes.

You see the exact moment realization dawns on Wanda’s face. Her brow furrows, her lips part, and she turns—not to Nat, not to Vision, but to you.

Your blood turns cold.

You don’t wait for her to say anything. You can’t.

You’re on your feet before you realize it, moving fast, retreating from the room, from their gazes, from the truth unraveling all around you.

You don’t stop until you’re in your room, the door slamming shut behind you.

Your heart pounds, your breath comes fast, and the weight of what just happened crashes over you like a tidal wave.

It’s over.

Wanda knows.

She knows it wasn’t Vision.

She knows it was you.

And she must be furious.

You pace, running your hands through your hair, panic clawing at your insides. You were never supposed to tell her. She was never supposed to find out.

What if she hates you?

What if she thinks you tricked her?

What if this ruins everything?

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the thoughts away, but they won’t stop.

Then—

A knock.

You freeze.

You don’t answer. Maybe if you stay quiet, she’ll leave—

“Y/N.” Wanda’s voice is soft, just outside your door.

You swallow hard. Say nothing.

Another knock. “Please.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to see the anger in her eyes, the disappointment, the pity.

“Okay,” she says after a long pause. “Then I’ll talk, and you can listen.”

You don’t stop her.

She takes a deep breath. “I should have known.” A humorless chuckle. “No—I did know. I think, deep down, some part of me always suspected.”

You frown slightly, your hands clenching at your sides.

“I wanted it to be real,” she continues, voice quiet. “I wanted to believe it was from him because… because I thought maybe if I gave him a chance, I could feel something. Maybe I’d finally get the normal love everyone always talks about.”

Your breath catches.

“But the truth is… I never really loved him.” A pause. “I cared about him. But it was never… it was never what I wanted it to be.”

You can’t move.

“Do you know who I do feel something for?”

Silence.

Your hands shake.

“I think you do,” Wanda whispers.

You inhale sharply.

She’s waiting for you.

And suddenly, you realize—she’s not angry. She’s not here to scream at you, to tell you that you ruined everything.

She’s here because she wants to be.

Slowly, with a deep breath, you step forward and open the door.

Wanda stands there, looking up at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

“I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “I’ve never felt this way before. And I was scared. I am scared.”

You swallow, voice hoarse. “Scared of what?”

She smiles faintly. “Of what you make me feel.”

Your breath stutters.

She reaches out, hesitant, fingers brushing yours. “But… if you’re willing to be patient with me… maybe we can figure it out together.”

Your eyes search hers, and for the first time in weeks, you see the truth.

She wants this.

She wants you.

Your hand tightens around hers, and for the first time in what feels like forever—

You breathe.

The first time you wake up with Wanda curled against you, you almost forget to breathe.

Not that you need to—but still.

It’s been a few weeks since that night outside your door, since she held your hand and told you she wanted to figure this out. Since you both agreed to take things slow.

And you have.

There are no labels, no grand declarations—just stolen moments, quiet touches, and a slow unraveling of something you’ve both been afraid to name.

You don’t kiss yet. You don’t rush anything.

And yet, waking up like this, with her warmth pressed against you, her steady heartbeat thrumming so close, you feel like you might fall apart.

She stirs slightly, shifting closer, her hand resting lightly over your stomach.

You exhale shakily, staring up at the ceiling.

You don’t know how long you can do this without breaking.

Wanda makes a soft noise, then buries her face against your shoulder. “You’re thinking too loud.”

You tense. “Sorry.”

She hums, voice thick with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitate. You don’t want to ruin this moment.

But Wanda has a way of pulling the truth from you.

“…Nothing.”

She tilts her head, her cheek pressing into your arm. “Liar.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but it’s hollow.

Wanda shifts, propping herself up on one elbow to look at you properly. Her hair is tousled, her eyes soft with sleep, and for a second, you let yourself pretend that this is normal. That this is something you can have.

Her fingers skim over your wrist, tracing absent patterns. “Tell me.”

You hesitate, staring at the ceiling.

Then, finally— “I can’t give you everything.”

She stills.

You swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I can’t—I can’t take you out to dinner in the sunlight. I can’t—I can’t grow old with you. I can’t give you—” Your voice catches. “I can’t give you a normal life, Wanda.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy.

Then, after a long pause, Wanda shifts, leaning over you slightly. “Do you want to know a secret?”

You blink up at her. “What?”

Her lips quirk up slightly. “I’ve never had a normal life.”

You huff out a laugh, but it’s strained. “That’s not the point—”

“Yes, it is,” she interrupts gently. “I don’t want normal, Y/N.” She pauses, then continues, softer, “I just want you.”

Your breath catches.

She watches you carefully, her fingers brushing lightly over your cheek. “I don’t care if we have to go on late-night dates or if you can’t drink wine with me at dinner or if you never age another day. None of that changes how I feel.”

You want to believe her. God, you want to.

But—

“What if you change your mind?” The words come out small. “What if one day, you wake up and realize you want something more? Something I can’t give you?”

Wanda frowns slightly, searching your eyes. Then, slowly, she leans in, resting her forehead against yours.

“If that happens,” she murmurs, “then we talk about it.”

You inhale sharply.

She pulls back slightly, studying you. “I can’t promise you forever. I don’t think anyone can.” She pauses. “But I can promise that right now, there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

Something tightens in your chest.

You swallow hard, your hands curling into the sheets. “…Okay.”

Her smile is small, but real. “Okay.”

And just like that, you let yourself breathe again.

—

It takes time.

Wanda is patient.

You are cautious.

You learn each other in small ways—fingers brushing when you sit together, sleepy conversations at 3 AM, the way her powers spark softly when she gets flustered.

She learns that you don’t like mirrors, that your hands are always cold, that your favorite way to fall asleep is listening to the sound of her heart.

You learn that she dreams in color, that she talks to plants when she thinks no one’s listening, that her magic feels like warm honey when she lets it touch your skin.

One night, she holds your hand under the stars and asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You freeze.

Your throat feels tight. “Are you sure?”

She squeezes your hand. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

So you let her.

And it’s slow, and warm, and careful.

And for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like a monster.

You just feel hers.

[ramblingautisticman]

So, I haven't stopped thinking about the dyslexic Wade headcannon- like at all- so here is the second part/expansive of this post!

I really like the idea of him being really insecure about it but slowly accepting it more and being more open about it.

I also wrote from my experience, and I'm not officially diagnosed don't come at me, but I struggle alot with reading and writing so yeah!

Anyway, enjoy. Please. I hope everyone likes this as much as I do!

---------------------------------

It isn't that Wade can't read- or that he doesn't want to- it's more that it's a massive fucking struggle. Most of the time anyway.

He's always had trouble reading (and spelling, but he can avoid that with emojis now! How technology grows!) ever since he was a kid.

And maybe it's because he didn't grow up in a great environment, or maybe it's because he was never really encouraged, but Wade never ever mentions it. Not to anyone.

He never told anyone when he was in school that sometimes words didn't really make sense to him, and that he was behind in work because of it, not because he would sit and talk (though he did that too). He never told anyone that he preferred art over english because it was easier to understand a picture to him than it was words. He never told anyone that he struggled to spell simple words like "bakery" and "shopping" but could spell "because" and "beautiful" because of a stupid rhyme he had heard once.

It was just something he had grown up with- something he had assumed other kids dealt with- u til he got to high school. Suddenly, he was surrounded by people writing 3000 word essays like they were nothing and people reading 200 page books during lunch, all while Wade still hadn't finished a single book he owned. While Wade still struggled to understand words that weren't in a specific font or colour- something he had realised shortly after turning 10- and everyone around him could just do it. They didn't take 10 minutes to finish a page of a book. They didn't get headaches from the concentration he had to use while staring at a page trying to figure out if the word "wandering" was spelt correctly. They didn't struggle to read the teachers writing because of the cursive writing. They could all just do it and Wade had to just sit and try.

Naturally, people noticed that he would read slowly and awkwardly when they read aloud in class, or that his work always came back covered in red pen from where he had misspelled simple words. He quickly became a target for bullying. Honestly, he probably wouldn't feel as self conscious as he does if that hadn't happened. If teachers had just stepped in and helped- noticed that something was wrong- he would've gotten some help and grown up with accommodations that would've helped him succeed. But he didn't get any of that. He got bullied for reading slowly and being dumb. He got kicked and punched because he had been spotted reading a book meant for younger kids (big mistake).

Wade tried. He did. He read books as often as he could to try and make his brain click- and it never worked. He would try and spell random words- and sometimes he got them and sometimes he didnt- and eventually he gave up. Eventually he succumbed to the voice in his head telling him he was stupid and that he was just going to have to go through life suffering.

And as he got older, he figured out stuff that helped and stuff that didn't. He managed to find a few fonts that helped, a few overlays that made it easier, and a few things to remind him how to spell certain words he usually struggled with.

He also got better at hiding it. Wade would tell people he preferred calls over text. He would open birthday cards and smile at the writing even if he couldn't quiet make out what it said. He would avoid anything that involved him reading in public.

And again, not because he couldn't read, but because it might take him alittle longer than it should, and the idea people would notice made his stomach fill with anxiety, sending him right back to being that scrawny kid I high-school who got beaten up every lunch time.

All of that only got worse after his accident. Well, the cancer and the torture and the murders, but ya know.

Now people were staring at him anyway. People would look and gasp and gawk as he walked down the street or went to the store to get groceries. Everywhere he went people stared. Everywhere.

So instead of being slightly worried people would notice him focusing too hard on reading, he was fully aware people were staring at him constantly because of his skin, and he liked to avoid giving them anymore reasons to stare.

To his suprise though, moving in with Al had helped. She was the only person he had told, and she was the only person who seemed to understand, telling him about something called dyslexia and telling him that his brain just worked alittle different than his. Then proceeded to pass out after using the last of her cocaine- but the thought was still there.

And she didn't seem to mind that he read alittle slower sometimes, because she still asked him to read her mail to her, and sometimes write letters or cards. Wade would have to ask her how to spell the words, but she never seemed to get angry about it, and she always seemed to know how to spell them. Plus, if anyone noticed it wasn't spelt right, they could blame it on her being blind (how was the recipient to know this letter hadn't been writing by Al? She could probably write stuff if she wanted. She's blind, not stupid.).

When he started to gain friends and family- somehow gaining a little group of them- he didn't feel as bad about them noticing. He still didn't say anything- didn't make it obvious- but he wanted them to know he read there cards. Make sure they knew he read the group chat messages. Make sure they knew he did care (and for some reason, probably because the writer loves this headcannon, it seemed like alot of him showing his cared had to do with reading and spelling), writing them birthday cards and Christmas cards, and responding to every single message.

He found a quick way around the messages. That was easy. Emojis, memes and gifs quickly became his best friend. They were easy to dichiper most of the time, and Wade loved them, so it was a win win! He did write things too, and auto correct usually helped if he was struggling that day, but he was getting better thanks to Al and her bossing about of writing letters to her grandkids.

Writing cards took a little longer, but he spent alot of time on each one, making sure everything look neat and was spelt well. It always made him proud giving someone a card that he knew he spent so much time on, perfecting every last word.

When Logan moved in, it was a topic Wade was trying to avoid. He knew he should tell him- they were getting closer and closer each passing day- but he always felt so stupid trying to explain it. It made him feel stupid, even if he knew he wasn't. Most of the time.

Luckily, it doesn't actually come up for awhile, not until they have moved into their own place and Wade is handing Logan a birthday card with a huge grin on his face, practically bouncing on his feet.

And Logan opens it and reads it, and smirks a little because "I don't think the word awesome is spelt like that" and suddenly Wade's smile is wiped off his face.

He really had tried- maybe he didn't read the word properly off his phone or something- because Wade is taking the card and trying his best to quickly read it but can't, and he let's out a grunt of frustration because rambling at Logan apologetically. "I really tried to fucking spell everything right- I'm the idiot for fucking trying to read the word to spell it- I mean, who does that when you can't even read properly? I can re-do it- gimme like an hour and a half to go get a new card and get Al on the phone to just ask her how to spell it and then I can give you one that isn't fucked up-"

And Logan shuts him up with a small kiss to the forehead, telling him that he "likes this one just fine, has more charm" and Wade wants that to feel reassuring but it somehow doesn't, and it just makes him more annoyed.

So after a small melt down and a good cry in the shower for fucking up Logan's birthday, he explains it to Logan. Tells him about how he sometimes struggles with reading and spelling, but he really did try with the card. He really does try to read and write properly but some days it's hard and some days he can do it easier, and that he never really told anyone until he met Al. He messily rambles about everything- including the bullying- and Wade expects to be met with some laugh or ridicule. Though, this is Logan- and somehow this man loves every other part of him- so why wouldn't he love this part too?

And Logan just apologises to Wade that he made him feel bad about misspelling the word awesome- makes a joke about how it's a hard word to spell- and that Wade shouldn't have been bullied for something he couldn't help. Tells him that it's nothing to be ashamed off, and that he shouldn't let it hold him back. Tells him that if he ever needs help with spelling something he can ask Logan, that if he ever can't figure out a word that he can ask Logan, asks if there are any accommodations he uses to help him.

And Wade tells him the things that help, the things that don't, thanks him for the offer of help, and suddenly it doesn't seem so terrifying that Logan knows. Suddenly he feels better about it. Sure, Al had helped, but hearing this from Logan made him feel less afraid to hide it. Made him feel better about telling his friends so they knew.

And Logan stays true to his words. He helps him when he is struggling with a word- never jumps in a reads stuff or spells things without being asked first- and even uses some of the accommodations. He has his phone set to a font Wade can read easier, and his next birthday card is in big bold writing (Logan's writing is normally really scribbly and hard to read) and on a colour that helps him focus on the words more.

And he tells his friends and they understand, they do the same. They help if asked, they don't rush him in reading their cards or messages- Yukio starts to use more emojis and Collosus tries his best to give Wade mission debriefs in person or voice messages- and it helps him immensely. He gets more confident about his reading and writing, and he starts to work on ut even more. And yeah, he can't get rid of his dyslexia, but he can try and find new ways that help him. He can find books in safe fonts and listen to the audio book as he reads to help (Though, he does prefer listening to Logan read to him, because his voice is so smooth and gruff somehow, and he could listen to it for hours).

Wade hated that stupid part of himself for so long, but now- even if he is 47- he doesn't really mind it anymore. He makes jokes about his spelling errors or words he missreads, and he works on finding new things to help with Logan, and everything is alittle bit easier knowing he isn't going to be ridiculed and judged.

(People who said they wanted this, I hope you enjoy! @wadewnstonwilson @logictoinsanity @zerotoqueero @superbattrash @spoopderman @klszkas @ohitsthemindstuffagain @mangoob @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes (tagging yall who said you wanted to read it!))