#i know i haven't said it in a while but... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yoiisa · 2 days ago

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Can we get a pt.3 of wbk reacting to you getting beat up by another gang, with Sugishita and Umemiya? Maybe Endo too if you feel like it?

AHHH YES OFC OFC!! I love how this is turning into a little series :)

wbk reacting to you getting beaten up by a rival gang .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ SUGISHITA KYOTARO, UMEMIYA HAJIME, AND ENDO YAMATO

Tags: mentions of injuries and blood (nothing to graphic), mentions of fighting/violence, angst, hurt/comfort this is part 3!! part 1 (w/ suo, kiryuu, and kaji) and part 2 (w/ sakura, togame, and uryu) are here!!

SUGISHITA KYOTARO ⋆˙⟡

Sugishita is always draped over you like a blanket and always holding your hand. He purposely orders more food than necessary so that you would never go hungry. He's always lending you his hoodies and jackets if you were out somewhere at night. After all, he would rather freeze to death than let you shiver for even a second.

All that being said, his favorite way to show you he cares is by giving you things. He doesn't give you anything overly expensive or flashy, but small items: smiskis, rings he finds in thrift stores, or tiny ceramic keychains of your favorite foods. You have a whole drawer in your dresser dedicated to the trinkets he gifts you.

One day, he was out with Umemiya and Tsubaki when his eyes zeroed in on a small poster card with artwork from your favorite anime. He froze, causing the older boys to bump into him.

"Sugishita-? Oh," Umemiya grins when he sees what Sugishita is staring at. "You should get it for her."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Tsubaki says, pulling something out of his purse. "I found this bracelet she might like as well. Here, here, take it to her as well."

Sugishita takes Tsubaki's bracelet and nods, before walking over to pick up the poster card. After checking out, he parts with his seniors, heading over to your home. He twirls the bracelet in his hands, watching the charms on the chain catch and reflect the sunlight. A tiny smile graced his face as he imagine holding you hand while it jingled on your wrist.

He gets to your front door and knocks, but he's met with no response. He tries again, but still nothing. She must not be home, he thinks, turning on his heel. However, just as he does, a giant crash sounds from inside your house. Sugishita whips around and starts pounding on your door again, calling out for you.

"[name]? [name]? Are you okay? Are you home?"

The door lock clicks and the door swings open. Sugishita's eyes widen as he takes in your appearance. You have a nasty gash on your forehead and your hands are all scraped. Your ankle is swollen as all hell, he's wondering how you're even upright.

Despite it all though, you still look up at him and with a small smile and a tiny voice you whisper, "Hi, Kyo."

"What the hell happened to you?" he asks, his voice hoarse. He walks inside and instantly picks you up, carrying you to the couch. He lays you down, then rushes into your kitchen, looking for a first aid kit.

"I was walking home," you say sleepily, "and someone . . . jumped me? I was wearing your Furin jacket and they thought maybe I was a student? I don't know. Once they realized they got a girl though they ran away."

"Where?" Sugishita asks, kneeling in front of you and working quick to bandage your hands and head. You shrug and your eyes start to droop but he shakes his head. "Hey. Stay awake. You might be concussed."

You watch him through lidded eyes as he works. When he's done, you grab his hand and lace your fingers. "I came straight home after it happened. I haven't seen a doctor. Can we go?"

He nods and you beam. "Thank you," you say as he moves you onto his back.

UMEMIYA HAJIME ⋆˙⟡

You gotta keep walking, that's all you really know. Every single muscle in your body is screaming at you to just collapse on the floor and get life over with, but no. If you did that now, you'd be done for. You need a doctor. You need a hug.

Pothos can't be too far from here now. If you could just drag your feet another few blocks you'd get there for sure.

Your side from where you got kicked in hurts and your head is pounding, but finally, the sign comes into view. It's refreshing, and gives you the last little bit of energy you need to make it into the cafe.

"I'm sorry, we're closed- [name]?!" Kotoha cries as she looks over the bar counter. "What the hell?"

"Don't tell Hajime," you say as you collapse onto the tiles, the warmth of the cafe completely draining you of any leftover energy you have.

"Don't tell me what?" a voice calls out from around the corner.

"Shit, hide me!" you whisper shout to Kotoha. She's quick to try and shove you under a table, but not fast enough.

Umemiya shows up a second later, his face bright and cheery. He looks ready to hug you, but then he opens his eyes. His face immediately falls.

"Umemiya-" Kotoha starts, holding her arms up to try and calm him.

"Hajime-" You mirror Kotoha.

"What are you doing on the floor?" he asks, his voice hard as steel. His jaw is tense and you stiffen as he approaches. He helps you up and sets you on the cushioned seats in the booths. He turns to Kotoha and says, "Get the first aid kit."

She rushes off and he turns back to you. His blue eyes are icy as he says, "So what was this about not telling me?"

You sigh and lean forward, resting your head on his shoulder. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Not worry?" he asks incredulously. "You look like someone sent you through a meat grinder!"

You whimper and you feel his frame relax a little. He's trying to become softer for you to be more comfortable and you smile. He's sweet . . .

"Kotoha's back," he whispers, reaching up to pet your head. "Lemme bandage them at least."

"In a minute," you whispers.

Kotoha sets the kit on the table next to you and says, "I'll really quickly make you some food. Y'know, to help you get your strength back."

You nod, but then your body erupts in shivers as exhaustion settles in on you. Umemiya's breath catches as tears touch his neck.

You choke out, "Hajime . . . I was so scared."

He furrows his brow and kisses your temple, where a bruise is beginning to form. "It's okay, you're here now. I'm here now."

ENDO YAMATO ⋆˙⟡

"Hey," Endo growls as he stands at the entrance of the alleyway. "What the hell is this?

The four men who were looming over your body freeze as they hear his voice. You have an arm up over your face, but drop it when you hear Endo talking. You turn your head and see him with Chika too. Oh fuck, these guys are screwed.

"What's it to you?" One of the boys ask, trying to feign bravado. "We're just having a little fun with her."

Endo smirks, but it's void of any humor. He takes a few steps forward, quickly eating up whatever distance is between him and your attackers. Without a second thought, he smashes one of their faces into the wall.

"Hmm? What's it to me?" Endo asks, before tightening his grasp in the boy's hair and punching him. "Not much, right? Only- oh wait! That's my girlfriend."

The boy Endo had a grasp on crumples to the floor, and your boyfriend fixes his gaze on the remaining three. "Now," he says. "Let's have some fun right?"

They scatter like bugs, and Endo at first doesn't seem like he'll give chase. He turns to look down at you, and his smile turns from malicious to loving. He pats your head and says, "Wait here, okay? I'll be back in just a sec~"

You watch as he darts off after the trio. Chika walks up to you and you flinch back. The boy is silent as he picks up the knocked out form of your assailant and drags him out of the alleyway. Chika dumps him on the sidewalk before coming back to your side. He slides down the wall next to you and stares at you, assessing your injuries.

"It's not bad," he says. "Didn't get much 'fun' in before we got here."

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "if it's a bother."

"Endo's the only one bothered. That's why he's off running after them," Chika explains, before opening a bottle of peach juice. He takes a sip and then holds it out to you. "Want some?"

"No thank you."

He nods.

A few minutes later, Endo's back. He's panting slightly, but he has this glint in his eyes that only ever comes out after a fight. His nose is bleeding and his knuckles are scratched, but aside from that he looks completely fine.

"They can run, the little fucks," he says, wiping his nose.

"D-did they hit you?" you ask shakily.

"Nope," he grins, crouching in front of you. "I was running after them and slipped in some trash and crashed against the wall. But I'm fine, don't worry."

Endo looks over at Chika, then back at you. "You don't want Takiishi's juice?"

You shake your head and he chuckles. "Okay, let's get some food then."

He draps his jacket over your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes and sigh as Endo kisses your shoulder, before pulling the jacket on tighter.

"Come on," he whispers. "There's a good bar not too far from here. I'll carry you."

a/n: idk why these got progressively shorter, but oh well lol

#wind breaker #wbk #wind breaker x reader #wbk x reader #sugishita kyotaro #sugishita x reader #sugishita kyotaro x reader #sugishita kyotaro x you #umemiya hajime #umemiya x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #umemiya hajime x you #endo yamato #endo x reader #endo yamato x reader #endo yamato x you

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miyasmagnolias · 2 days ago

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𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𓂇⋆⭒˚｡⋆

miya atsumu x f!reader

you invite atsumu and the boys to your spring dance showcase to raise money for a good cause — and maybe get even after the viral video incident. atsumu, on the other hand? he just wants to ask you out and, if he's lucky, kiss you properly this time around.

part eleven of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

a/n: a tiny bit of lore, but i used to dance throughout college (and still do to this day), so this one was super fun to write. enjoy! ( ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

"So...what kind of dance does she do again?"

"Uh..." Atsumu blinked down at the bouquet of flowers like they might contain the answer to Suna's question. "Hip-hop, I think?"

Osamu locked his car and shot his twin brother a judgmental glare. "Haven't ya lived with her for, like, eight months now? Shouldn't ya know what type of dance she does?"

"How am I supposed to know?! It's not like she performs for me in the livin' room or anythin'!"

Osamu's face twisted in disgust. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't ya."

Atsumu's face turned beet red. "The fuck is that supposed to mean — ?!"

"To be fair," Aran interjected, ever the pacifist. "Modern dance can blend together a lot of styles — jazz, ballet, hip-hop. It's really not as cut and dry as people think it is."

"See?" Atsumu said, grateful to his team captain for coming to his defense. "It's not as cut and dry as ya think it is!"

Aran gave him a flat stare in return. "Still, I find it baffling that you didn't think to ask."

The four former Inarizaki boys began the long trek from their parallel parking spot to The Bloom Room — a seventies-inspired cocktail lounge nestled in-between campus and downtown. Your university dance troupe had partnered with the small business to host your annual spring showcase, the event doubling as a community-wide fundraiser for a handful of local nonprofits.

Invite the volleyball boys, too! you'd texted Atsumu a few weeks back, along with the link to buy tickets. We need as many people there as possible. The more drinks you buy, the more goes to charity!

Atsumu didn't exactly know who you meant by the 'volleyball boys' — Osamu and Suna didn't really count anymore, and Sakusa wouldn't be caught dead in a place like The Bloom Room. Aran, on the other hand, was a welcome surprise, the captain of the men's volleyball team happily agreeing to go when Atsumu brought it up to him after practice the other day.

"I'll do anything for a good cause," he'd said, though the fluorescent lights of the locker room did nothing to hide his amused expression. "Did you end up wooing her with your extensive knowledge of Pride and Prejudice?"

"I was not tryin' to 'woo' her — I was tryin' to help her with an essay!" Atsumu exclaimed, slamming his locker door shut. "There's a big difference."

"You stopped reading every other sentence just so you could ask me what it meant," Aran said dryly, recalling the two-hour flight back from their first away game. Off the court, he'd never seen Atsumu more concentrated. “If anything, you needed help.”

Atsumu shot his team captain an offended glare. "At least I finished the damn thing. It got good — ya know, once I got used to all the ol' timey English."

Aran folded his arms across his chest and exhaled slowly. "Look, it's clear you've got feelings for this girl. So in addition to reading her favorite books and kissing her on the cheek after games, why don't you just ask her out?"

The setter shifted uncomfortably on his feet. It wasn't as if the thought hadn't crossed his mind before — just that every time it did, it was accompanied by the worst possible outcomes he could think of. Him, finally working up the courage to ask you out. You, laughing in his face. Him, having to sleep in the room next to yours every day while he died of embarrassment. Just thinking about it made Atsumu want to yak.

It was much easier to flirt with you than to actually admit that he liked you, he'd realized. In fact, Atsumu kind of hoped you'd be the first to acknowledge it. He'd dropped more than enough hints for you to catch on.

But as your spring semester continued without so much as a peep, Atsumu realized he didn't have much time left. He needed to fess up to you before you graduated and went on to become a publishing mogul or a Pulitzer Prize winner — or whatever the hell English honors students went on to do after college.

The plan was simple: get you alone after the show, hand you the bouquet he'd spent nearly an hour picking out. Pop the question while somehow keeping his ego intact. Easy peasy.

At least, he thought it was.

"Oh, are you here for Y/N?" a girl with large hoop earrings and a handkerchief for a top said when Atsumu approached the check-in table. "You're her roommate, right? She's told us so much about you!"

"She didn't tell us you'd be bringing a whole team with you," another drawled, twirling a long braid around her perfectly manicured fingers as she sized up his friends. "Sheesh."

Despite himself, a stupid grin broke out on Atsumu's face. "She talks about me?"

The two girls exchanged humored looks from across the table.

"Let's just say she's gonna really love the flowers," the one with the braids replied with a smack of her gum.

"Wish my boyfriend bought me flowers," the one with the earrings chuckled, stamping the back of Atsumu's hand. "Enjoy the show!"

The Bloom Room was bathed in sultry purple lights as Atsumu and his group navigated the crowd of friends and family that had shown up for that evening's showcase. The high-top tables and stools had been cleared out to make room for a dance floor, with rows of folding chairs now lining the perimeter of the space.

"It's awfully intimate, ain't it?" Osamu observed as he sat next to Atsumu in the row closest to the dance floor.

"I'ma grab a drink," Suna quipped, already making a beeline for the bar. Meanwhile, their phones pinged in unison. It was from you.

Are you here yet?? you'd asked in the group chat you had created with all four of them. Did you get good seats?

Atsumu's fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

Yep, front row! Break at leg! Then, before he could stop himself, he added a pink heart emoji and hit send.

"Whoa," Aran said, blinking back at the text message not a moment later. "A heart? Things must be getting pretty serious."

"Shaddup," Atsumu tsked, folding his arms across his chest. At Osamu and Aran's bemused stares, he asked, "What? It ain't the red one! The red one is the serious one!"

"Dunno, man," Aran teased as Osamu stifled his laugh. "A heart's a heart."

Atsumu's confident expression faltered as he said, "W-Well, do ya think it's too much? Should I edit it?”

"I think it's a little late for that," Osamu drawled just as their phones pinged again. They all looked down at their screens.

Great! you'd replied, hearting Atsumu's message. Can someone take a video of me pwease?

On it, Suna texted back. He returned a few minutes later with a tequila soda in-hand.

"Dude," he murmured as he sat back down. "What was up with that frilly pink heart? Keep that shit to yourselves."

Atsumu rolled his eyes.

"Good evening, everyone! Take your seats, take your seats," the girl with the hoop earrings said into the microphone as the remainder of the crowd settled in with their drinks. "My name's Mina, and I'd like to personally welcome you to the Silk Club's third annual spring showcase!"

A wave of applause ricocheted through the venue.

"We've got an incredible lineup of talent here tonight representing several on-campus dance orgs, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the show," she said. "As a reminder, all ticket and drink proceeds go towards our city's women's shelter and the center for LGBTQIA+ youth, so I encourage you to get as drunk as humanly possible! It's for a great cause!"

Laughter and applause rippled across the crowd. Beside Atsumu, Suna tipped his cup back until all that was left was ice.

"Now without further ado, I have the pleasure of introducing to you our opening act," Mina continued. "The Silk Club is a group of young women whose mission is to feel empowered and body confident in their dance. This is their third year hosting their annual spring showcase in support of the local nonprofit community, and they are incredibly excited to perform for you all tonight. I myself have been a part of this team for two years now, and I can confidently say there's no other group I'd rather shake ass with to raise money. So without further ado, give it up for Silk!"

The crowd whooped and hollered as several silhouetted figures emerged from the back room and assumed formation on the dance floor. Meanwhile, Atsumu's heart kicked up a notch as he scanned the shadows to find you. Beside him, Osamu frowned.

"Shake ass?" Osamu repeated under his breath. "Don't tell me — "

He was promptly cut off as the opening chords to Mariah Carey's "Obsessed" blared through the speakers, the spotlight flickering on to reveal you — in the tiniest black tube top and skirt — staring back at the audience with a sultry pout on your face.

Aran's eyes widened. Suna nearly choked on his ice. Osamu ran a hand over his face and glanced toward his brother, who — for all intents and purposes — looked like he was about to have a stroke.

Because you were hot. Nay — you were hot as fuck.

And everyone in that room knew it, too.

"I thought she did hip-hop!" Aran yelled over the music as you danced across the floor in your stiletto heels, your confidence radiating with every body roll, every hair flip.

"Dunno what kind of hip-hop you're watching, but this certainly isn't it," Suna shot back dryly, having already hit the record button on his phone.

Except Atsumu wasn't even listening. All that occupied his brain was you. Batting your eyelashes at the audience. Rocking the headscarf you'd styled into your long hair. Touching yourself in places that made Atsumu feel faint. You looked like the seventh member of Katseye, only prettier. How hadn't he known this about you?

"Why you so obsessed with me? Boy, I wanna know..."

The crowd went completely ballistic as all the girls on your team planted their hands on the sticky floor and shook ass in perfect unison. Only then did Atsumu notice the phone in Suna's hands.

"Would ya not film my roommate's ass like that?" he stammered, doing a double-take.

Suna merely shrugged and said, "What? She asked me to."

Then, before Atsumu could argue further, you were sauntering up to him. Soft smile. Pouty lips. Eyes that could disarm him in an instant. You ran a delicate finger along the curve of his jaw, tilted his chin up to look at you. And winked.

For fuck's sake.

"I think you can see the exact moment his soul leaves his body," Suna deadpanned, scrubbing through the video after you and your teammates had struck the final pose to the sounds of ear-splitting applause.

Osamu elbowed his brother in the ribs and said, "Ya alright in there, Tsumu?"

Atsumu just stared at the dance floor as you and your teammates took your bows. Brain empty. Face steadily draining of color. His grip tightened around the bouquet in his lap as he tried to careen himself back to earth.

Asking you out was going to be way harder than he thought.

Atsumu's heart rate more-or-less returned to normal after that, the rest of the show featuring a variety of modern dance crews, cultural clubs, and K-Pop cover groups. Nothing as outrageous as the opener, but perhaps that was for the best. Atsumu didn't need his nervous system compromised for a second time that night — especially with the question he was about to ask you after the show.

The Silk Club closed the showcase with a much tamer, less anxiety-inducing routine to "Rocket" by Doechii, the choreography maintaining your team's signature charm while showcasing your versatility of style. Atsumu cheered for you as you danced your heart out in the center of the room, your energy infectious as the music coursed through your every muscle. From your cheeky smile down to the soles of your sneakers, it was clear you loved being up there. The entire time, Atsumu couldn't stop grinning.

He was the first to give you a standing ovation by the end.

"Seems like Atsumu isn't the only one who can work a crowd," Aran drawled in amusement, standing up so he could clap for you properly. Beside him, Suna snapped about a million pictures.

Osamu merely hummed in agreement and said, "Pretty sure this is the first time he's been more enamored by someone other than himself."

As usual, Atsumu didn't hear a damn thing — just clapped his brother on the shoulder and said, "I'll be right back."

Several families and friend groups had since flooded the dance floor to reunite with their performers, Atsumu shouldering his way through with the bouquet clutched to his chest. Your friend Haru had found you first and was currently gushing to you about your performance, Atsumu maintaining his distance for several nerve-wracking seconds before your eyes eventually latched onto his. Your face broke out into the sunniest smile he'd ever seen, and by God. You were beautiful.

You said goodbye to Haru and made your way towards him. His arms found purchase around your waist as he lifted you several inches off the ground and squeezed you as hard as you could.

"Hi," he murmured into your hair. It smelled of your sweat and shampoo.

"Hi," you whispered back, your voice warm and breathless. "What did you think of the show?"

"I..." Atsumu trailed off, the mental image of you throwing it back flashing across his mind. "I didn't know ya could move like that, that's for sure."

A chuckle rumbled out of you as he set you down. You adjusted the oversized jersey you had changed into for the finale and said, "Yeah. I'm a little embarrassed that you and your friends got a full view of my ass, but it's whatever."

"Well, for what it's worth, it looked good." Then, after realizing what the fuck he'd just said, "You. Y-You looked good, I meant. Shit."

You were full-on laughing at this point. "That's high praise, coming from the king of low sets himself."

The tips of his ears turned red as he finally remembered the bouquet in his hands.

"These are for ya," he said, watching your eyes soften as he gave them to you. You lifted your nose to the assortment of wildflowers like you did with all of your books. "Ya looked incredible up there, Y/N. Seriously."

"...thank you, Tsumu." A shy smile worked its way onto your features before you admitted, "No one's ever gotten me flowers before."

"Ya bein' serious right now?" he asked, equal parts surprised and pleased with himself. You nodded. "Well, that's only cause ya haven't invited the right people before."

You rolled your eyes. "The right people being you?"

"Damn straight," he said, already reaching for you a second time. "Come 'ere."

He wrapped his arms around you in the middle of the crowded dance floor, his cheek resting against the crowd of your head. Relaxing into his embrace, you listened to his heartbeat through this shirt. Steady. Grounding. A little fast. But then again, so was yours.

You craned your neck to look him in the eye. He gazed down at you like you were the only other person in that entire room.

Pulse picking up speed, Atsumu slowly leaned in until he was a mere breath away from grazing your lips against his.

But before he could kiss you, someone was already calling your name.

"Y/N!" Mina hollered, the both of you jumping backwards like two guilt-ridden teenagers. She scanned the dense crowd from the front of the room like a mother who'd just lost her child at the zoo. "Y/N, where the hell are ya?! We're taking a group picture!"

Clearing his throat, Atsumu adjusted the collar of his jacket and tried to channel whatever nonchalance was left in his body. Beside him, you haphazardly tried to fix your hair. The two of you locked eyes once more and, gradually, started to laugh.

"Go," Atsumu said, jerking his chin towards your teammates. "Don't keep 'em waiting."

Mashing your lips together, you looked like you wanted to argue. But your teammates were already calling your name.

"Come out to eat with us afterwards?" you offered, a hopeful expression on your face. "I think a handful of us are going to that new Korean spot downtown. You can bring the boys, too."

Chuckling, Atsumu nodded. "Sure. We'll be there."

"...okay," you eventually managed. It did little to mask the dazed, if not mildly disappointed expression on your face. "I'll see you soon."

And with that, you disappeared into the crowd.

"Ya boys in the mood for Korean food?" Atsumu asked his friends when he found them lingering outside the restrooms.

"Why, what happened?" Osamu asked, shooting his brother a grin. "Yer plan fall through?"

"Yep," Atsumu quipped, throwing an arm around Osamu's shoulders. "I'm 'bout to drown my sorrows in an army stew."

"At least you gave her the bouquet," Aran offered, drying his damp hands on his jeans. "You only spent half the afternoon picking it out."

"Seriously," Suna mumbled, eyes never leaving his phone. "You owe us dinner for the amount of moral support we're showing you right now."

The three of them debated how many dishes to order the entire car ride there. Meanwhile, Atsumu stared out the window, wondering when the hell he'd be able to get you alone.

"I never thought I'd see the day someone actually outdrank Mina," you giggled, fumbling with your keys to the apartment. "How much soju did Suna have?"

"I dunno, but he was scarily composed after all those domino shots," Atsumu murmured as you both entered through the front door and turned on all the lights. "Passed out like a light in the backseat, though."

Even though he'd barely managed to talk to you during dinner, it was surprisingly fun to see you relax for once. You were excited to introduce Atsumu and his friends to the people you had danced with for the past several months, grateful to see everyone get along so well in between spoonfuls of bubbling hot pot.

"It's nice to finally meet the best roommate she's ever had," Mina had teased, already four shots in. She flung a sweaty arm around your shoulders and said, "Her words, not mine!"

At that, Atsumu raised an eyebrow and grinned. "The best, huh?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but he swore your face turned two shades redder at that.

Now, Atsumu watched from across the kitchenette as you meticulously trimmed the flowers he'd gotten for you, your fingers nimble as you arranged each one into a vase. The gentle hum of the air conditioner filled the silence between you, along with the rhythmic snip of your scissors.

Without looking up, you said, "You're staring."

"Am I?" Atsumu drawled, a smile toying on his lips. "Was just admirin’ yer makeup. Is that what they call a full beat?"

You nearly choked on your laughter. "Where did you learn that from? TikTok?"

He lifted a noncommittal shoulder. "I have my sources."

Smiling, you said, "Well, would you be so kind as to grab my makeup remover from the bathroom? I've been dying to get this off."

Five minutes later, Atsumu poured himself a glass of water as you tried removing your eye makeup with a soaked cotton round, a dark streak of eyeliner now smudged halfway across your face.

"Did I get it?" you asked, blinking at Atsumu from where you sat atop the kitchen counter. Laughing, he put down his glass and began wiping it himself.

"I like when you look like this," he confessed, gently dragging the cotton round across your skin.

Frowning, you said, "Like a rabid raccoon?"

"No, ya twerp. Ya know what I mean."

You didn't say anything for a long while as he continued removing your makeup. You felt your face warm beneath his touch as he did so.

"Thank you for coming to the showcase tonight."

"Of course. I wouldn't have missed it for the world." Then, after a brief pause, "Ya know, as the best roommate you've ever had."

You groaned. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Not a chance," Atsumu drawled. He cupped your cheeks with both of his hands and inspected your face from different angles beneath the warm kitchen lights. "There. Squeaky clean."

Neither of you moved as you realized just how close you'd gotten to each other. You, your knees grazing against his torso. Him, the warmth of his palms sending a pulse of electricity down your spine.

"Atsumu..." you breathed, your voice merely a croak.

"...yeah?" he managed, brown eyes searching yours for something — anything — to indicate that you wanted him closer.

"...is there a reason you're always so nice to me?"

Lips parting, he said, "I think ya know why."

You closed the gap and kissed him not a moment later.

Now, Atsumu had imagined what it would be like to kiss you — had even dreamt about it, embarrassingly enough. But nothing, nothing compared to the way your lips worked against his now, each movement slow. Deliberate. Almost like you were asking a question.

You like me? you seemed to ask, fingers curling into his t-shirt, pulling him closer. Atsumu merely cupped the back of your head and deepened the kiss, the feeling of his tongue against yours extinguishing all doubt from your mind.

Yes, he thought, melting into you completely. Yes. I always have.

He braced his hands on either side of the kitchen counter, boxing you in. Your hands slid into his hair. A low moan escaped the back of his throat when you parted your legs for him and wrapped them around his waist. Fuck. He couldn't believe this was happening right now.

But before he let himself fall any further, he had one thing left to ask.

"Wait — wait," he stammered, pulling away from you suddenly. Lips swollen. Hair disheveled. Heart hammering in his chest.

At your confused expression, he asked, "Will ya go to dinner with me?"

Your chest rose and fell as a bemused look crossed your features. "Are you asking me out right now?"

Atsumu gulped back and said, "I just...I wanna be sure I do this right."

Heart twinging at his words, your hands gently traveled down from his hair to cup both of his cheeks.

"You know, I thought you'd never ask," you drawled, eyes gleaming in adoration as you beheld him. Your roommate. Your friend. Your best friend, if you were being totally honest. "I'd love to."

The stupid grin that broke out on his face had you pulling him in for another kiss.

a/n: thank you for the love on these past couple of chapters, y'all! i'm slowly but surely responding to messages and comments — but in the meantime, please know that i appreciate all of you for reading this sappy lil' fic of mine. it means the world to me.

(next chapter will cover atsumu and y/n's first date mwahaha. stay tuned.)

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

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whencartoonsruletheworld · 2 days ago

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Gonna copy-paste what I put into the Dual Process Theory YouTube community post, just in case anyone is blissfully ignorant of what's been going on in the Disney community:

The National Indian Child Welfare Association is an organization working to protect indigenous children and families through education and advocacy on child welfare and kinship rights. The original Lilo & Stitch is very relevant to the ICWA as it shows a US government agent attempting to separate an indigenous woman from her child ward to put her into the care of the state, something that has happened and continues to happen to indigenous children. Nani's "Aloha 'Oe" scene was added as a way to parallel their situation with the colonization of Hawai'i; the original song was written by the last Queen of Hawai'i as the United States forced her to cede her ancestral lands to them, which they then proceeded to colonize and commercialize. Nani is unable to find a job due to the tourism business taking over her land and Lilo is objectified enough to mirror the behavior (taking photos of white tourists rather than white tourists taking photos of her) and gets removed from her traditional dance because of a rich white or white-passing bully.

The original movie is subtle in its messaging but very clear if you know anything about Hawai'ian history, and the movie ending with 'ohana being kept and Nani being able to keep her sister, who she loves, because she now has a support system who can assist her in her own shortcomings is presented as a happy ending for everyone, and the ideal community that we should strive for.

The reboot, if you haven't seen it, has Nani (played by an actress whose mother is a Hawai'i realtor) literally look Lilo in the eye and tell her that 'ohana is a fantasy that can never be reality and that their parents abandoned them by dying. She AND the film see Lilo as a burden on her that is alleviated when she gives up custody and goes to the mainland for college. Why not have her go to a Hawai'ian college, or do classes online while staying with her sister? Because they didn't think about her actually caring for and loving her sister. They thought about how she should go pursue the generic American Dream, and this neurodivergent traumatized child should be passed off to someone else. They literally have an indigenous CPS agent tell her to do this. Her happy ending is giving up custody of her sister to a neighbor and going to a white-dominated university.

Even the non-indigenous characters get removed from the 'ohana, as Jumba is now solely evil and irredeemable and serves as the final antagonist instead of Gantu, which also provides the wonderful(/s) message that criminals cannot be redeemed and government agents are never wrong. The reboot looks at you and tells you that family means nothing and indigenous people should give up their children and culture and assimilate. The director literally said in an interview, "Some people get left behind."

All this to say, we're definitely donating to the NICWA today. They fight to protect the Indian Child Welfare Act that prevents indigenous children from being kidnapped away from their cultures and assist indigenous families in protecting and caring for each other.

Nobody gets left behind.

Happy Stitch Day, everyone donate to the NICWA out of apology that we let the reboot gain any kind of traction

#nicwa #lilo and stitch #lilo & stitch #mine

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formulafanfics13 · 12 hours ago

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Her Daddy, Always - LN4

masterlist

It started like every other lazy Monte Carlo morning: too much coffee, too little sleep, sunlight bleeding down white buildings and onto the café terrace the drivers had practically claimed as their own.

But this time, oh, this time, there was something different.

Lando was coming. And he was bringing her.

Not you, although you'd helped. You'd gotten up first, kissed him awake, packed the bottle, changed the nappy, triple-checked the emergency dummy. But it was his idea to take her alone. His first solo daddy-daughter breakfast debut. Just him and the tiny little chaos gremlin who had made him cry five separate times in the past month, for reasons that included her smiling in her sleep and sneezing while dreaming.

So when he walked in, baby strapped to his chest in a butter-yellow carrier with an oversized hoodie barely zipped up around both of them, the entire table stopped talking.

Charles blinked. "Oh my God."

Pierre made a strangled noise. "That's not legal."

Oscar clutched his chest. "He's wearing her."

Lando strolled in like he hadn't just detonated the collective minds of the grid. His curls were a mess. He had one sock on. A milk stain across the shoulder. But none of it mattered, because the way he looked down at her? The way his hand never left her back, even through the fabric? That was love. Raw, stupid, unapologetic love.

"She just fell asleep," he whispered, easing into his seat like the slightest motion might wake her. "Be chill."

"She's so tiny," Charles whispered.

"She's so perfect," Lando replied, already pulling the muslin cloth up to shield her face from the morning sun. "Isn't she?"

The baby, all six weeks of her, swaddled in peach cotton and a beanie that still slumped sideways, was nestled directly against his chest, cheek smushed into his hoodie, lips slightly parted.

And when Lando adjusted the strap to cradle her better, she let out a soft, squeaky sigh.

"Oh my God," Oscar whispered. "She made a noise."

Pierre was practically vibrating. "She squeaked. She squeaked, Lando."

"I know," Lando said, looking at them like they'd just discovered fire. "She squeaks when she's comfy. It's her thing."

Charles leaned across the table. "Can I-can I see her face?"

"Gently," Lando warned, shifting his body slightly so Charles could peek without disrupting anything.

He peeled back the muslin like she was a holy relic. And there she was, pink cheeks, pouted lips, her little fists curled like she was winning a fight in her dreams.

Charles melted instantly. "She's an angel."

"She's you," Pierre added. "She's got your nose."

Lando grinned. "She has her mum's eyes, though."

He said it softly, but you could hear the awe tucked into the syllables. You weren't even there, and still, he was talking about you like you'd just invented light.

"She looks at me," he continued, "like I hung the stars. I can't breathe when she does that."

Pierre looked alarmed. "You okay, mate?"

"No," Lando said cheerfully. "I'm in hell. I haven't slept in four days. I cried at a Pampers commercial. She shat on my lap and I said thank you."

Everyone howled.

But Charles wasn't laughing, he was still staring. "She's moving."

Sure enough, the baby let out another soft coo, lips twitching. And then, miracle of miracles, her eyes cracked open. Right onto Charles.

She blinked once. Twice. And then... gurgled. Loudly. Lando froze. "Did she just-was that-"

"She's smiling at me," Charles said in disbelief.

And she was. Wide gums, gummy grin, her hand waving like she'd just recognised her favourite TikTok sound.

Lando's jaw dropped. "What the fuck."

"Hi, sweetheart," Charles whispered, reaching out one pinky like she might grab it.

"She's flirting," Oscar said, scandalised.

"She's mine," Lando growled.

"She likes me!" Charles beamed.

"She's SIX WEEKS OLD," Lando snapped. "She doesn't like anyone."

"She smiled at me."

"That's gas."

"Mate, she literally just-"

"She smiles when she farts too, Charles, don't get cocky."

But it was too late. The table had entered full meltdown mode. Charles was practically crying. Oscar tried to get a selfie. Pierre attempted to hold her and was immediately denied.

"Not happening," Lando muttered, clutching her like she might evaporate. "She just fell asleep again. If she wakes up and cries, you're all dead."

They settled. Eventually. And Lando just sat there, holding his daughter, swaying slightly even while seated, like his body had learned the rhythm of fatherhood without permission.

He looked down at her again, brushing a curl from her forehead, eyes dark with something sacred.

"Hi, angel," he whispered. "Still dad's girl, yeah?"

She didn't answer. Obviously. She didn't need to.

It started as a normal beach morning. Sun blazing. Sand burning. Oscar already applying SPF 50 like his life depended on it. Pierre shirtless too early. Charles refusing to take off his jewelry. Carlos insisting he could light the grill without help.

They were all there, towels, coolers, snacks, Bluetooth speakers. Full summer boy energy. But underneath the sunglasses and flip-flops, the same conversation kept coming back.

"Can we just talk about it?" Pierre asked finally, cracking open a cold drink.

Charles raised a brow. "Talk about what?"

Pierre gave him a look. "Lando."

Carlos groaned. "Again?"

Oscar perked up. "No, I'm into this. Go on."

"Lando Norris," Pierre declared, waving a hand, "has a whole-ass daughter. Like an actual human infant. A baby. And we've only met the girlfriend once. At that preseason dinner. For like twenty seconds. I don't even remember her name."

Charles nodded slowly. "I remember her dress. That's it. Something pink."

"I think she was pregnant then," Oscar added.

"Exactly!" Pierre threw his arms up. "He didn't say anything! Just showed up six months later with a baby! And now he won't stop talking about her like he invented fatherhood."

"He's obsessed," Charles agreed. "In a scary way."

Carlos shrugged. "He's in love. Let him be."

Pierre shook his head. "No, you don't get it. He cried the other day because she hiccuped. He showed me a video."

"I saw that video," Oscar muttered. "I cried too."

Charles leaned back on his towel, sunglasses slipping. "It's just weird, right? Like we've known him for years. And now he's got this entire life, girlfriend, baby, stroller that costs more than my car, and we don't even know her."

"Yeah," Pierre said, voice softer now. "Like... what if she's a supermodel? Or an alien? Or, like, a witch who trapped him with her magic uterus?"

Oscar blinked. "I think you need to go lie down."

Carlos was squinting toward the beach entrance. "I think you're about to get your answer."

They turned. Lando had arrived. And he wasn't alone.

First came you, hair up, sunglasses on, long linen shirt over your bikini, a tote bag slung over your shoulder and baby wipes sticking out of the top. You looked calm. Radiant. Real. Not a mystery. Not a spell. Just his.

Then came Lando, shirtless but still wearing the baby carrier, his daughter tucked into the front like a kangaroo joey, a bucket hat shielding her eyes. He was balancing a cooler with one hand and a stuffed elephant with the other.

He looked like a dad. A hot one. But a dad. The boys collectively stopped breathing.

"Hi, guys!" you called out, smiling.

Max's jaw dropped. "She's normal."

Charles blinked. "She's real."

Pierre whispered, "She's beautiful."

Oscar mumbled, "And she's smiling. Like, she knows she's got him."

Carlos leaned over and hissed, "Don't say anything weird."

Lando walked right up, all grin, curls windblown. "Hey, lads."

He leaned in to kiss your cheek, and then, carefully, pulled the baby out of the sling and into your arms.

You cradled her automatically, pressing a kiss to her tiny head, before turning to the group with a shy smile.

"Hi," everyone said in weird, hushed unison like they were meeting royalty.

"She's beautiful," Charles said, still staring at your daughter like she was glowing.

"Thank you," you laughed. "She's six weeks now. Sleep thief. Absolute queen."

Lando beamed. "She smiled at me twice this morning."

"Bro, she smiles at everyone," Oscar said, already inching closer. "Can I see her?"

You nodded, adjusting the blanket. The baby blinked up, cheeks round and pink, tiny hand flexing toward the sky.

"She's got your face," Pierre said to Lando. "Like, exactly."

"She has her attitude," Lando replied proudly. "She glares when I leave the room."

"She has boundaries," you deadpanned.

Lando turned to you, eyes soft. "Want to lie down for a bit? I can take her."

"I'm okay," you said, brushing his arm. "Let them meet her properly."

And they did. One by one, each of them held her like she was made of gold. Charles got the first smile. Oscar got a tiny sneeze and nearly passed out. Pierre tried to take a selfie and got kicked in the chest by a baby foot.

"She's everything," Carlos whispered to you while Max held her gently. "And you, how are you?"

You smiled. "Tired. Grateful. In love."

Lando overheard, turned, and grinned at you like you'd just given him a second daughter.

By the end of the afternoon, she was asleep on your chest under a parasol, Lando curled around you both, one hand protectively over her tiny feet, sunglasses tilted down his nose.

Charles turned to Pierre, voice quiet. "She's not a witch."

"No," Pierre agreed, still staring. "She's just magic."

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adoredvi · 3 days ago

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TILL DEATH DO US APART

1x1x1x1 x GN!Reader

Vi notes: uhmm punctuations may be horrendous and there are some error in the process, because English is NOT my first language and I just made this for fun, so enjoy:>>

They say that love is the greatest thing that can happen to a being. And you agree— it is.

Growing up, you are taught that love is important, along with kindness, and being respectful to people around you. At first, you were defiant about it, you dislike how your parents constantly wanted to instill that mentality in you, and as you grow older, you kinda see the appeal in their words and what they wanted you to learn.

1x1x1x1, or 1x for short, always wondered what he went wrong whenever she tried to get him to notice them, it's frustrating, every attempt, every single time they tried, she always fails, hell she even tried to go and do what it takes for him to notice him, but alas— it always fails, it never worked anyway.

He feels so much hatred inside of him, it slowly builds up as time goes by— everytime he sees him paying attention to other's aside from her. He thought it was all going to be like that for the rest of their life, until you came in, you lit up their life, their darkening heart, you drove them mad with every little smile you flash their way, every little encouraging words that he thought he'll never hear again. She loved it, she loves you, even if they don't want to admit it out loud.

You noticed— of course you did, you always do, you seemed to have made a habit of being observant of their movements, behavior, even how he speaks— you just find him endearing, but was it really just that? You really don't know.

You don't know until you found out they suddenly disappeared. You asked and asked everywhere, even going as far as to asking his creator who only looked at you and turned away not wanting to break your sweet fragile heart.

He isn't the same person you know anymore.

She didn't get it, she didn't get why their creator sent him down to this hell hole, to his own personal hell, and there it is, the hatred— the emotion he buried deep. The emotion that they never wanted to come out ever again, they thought that it's not there anymore, you helped them didn't you?....

Or were you lying like he is too..?

He walked, stared and grew bored alone in that world, not a single living thing around her, even things started shifting— like her skin, it started darkening, their own body shifting differently from what they used to know, it was horrifying, but did he care anymore? No, he barely even felt anything aside from hatred. That feeling of need for revenge, for satisfaction of seeing those who wronged him fall to their knees and beg for forgiveness while she stare at them condescendingly.

But from amidst of these thoughts, you always come crawling back to their mind, her heart pounding painfully, they don't know if they even have that anymore but it somehow did whenever they remember you smile and the way you lit up the room around you.

They groan whenever that happens, they just want to keep you in arms reach, or in other words, in their arms, and keep you away from prying eyes where others can disgustingly lay their eyes on your illuminating self.

It was yet another day of being alone in this dark world, 1x is seen wondering around the place, they seemed to have memorized it already, it was the only thing he can do in such place really, so he has no choice anyway.

1x sighed in boredom, the whole area felt empty without your presence, even though they've been there for what seemed like eternity, she still haven't forgotten who you are.

And when it seemed like it was getting too boring, she was teleported in a deserted hallway, that was until— of course a flash of red ran past him, only stopping a few feet away from behind her, and coming back once more.

"Oh oh!! A new person!!!" It? He said with so much enthusiasm, jumping up and down before physically dragging her from the place he came running out of.

"Lookie guys!! A new person arrived!!" The little guy yelled as soon as he entered the room, the door practically forcing open with his entery, his voice carrying that of excitement, cutting off the chatter in the room.

1x grunted in disapproval and distaste, brushing the kid's hand off of her, before standing there with his arms crossed, looking all too observant to his surroundings.

That went on for hours, and of course, 1x got the information they wanted, why were they here, and where are they.

1x sighed, the noise echoing through the confined space if their room, their first match is tomorrow, already, he already knows his abilities so is it even a surprise her first match is just right after she came to this world? No. The Spectre doesn't either.

You were confused, you spawned in on a room— a cabin, right on the cold wooded floor, luckily, a few people saw you and Introduced themselves and explained where you are, thankfully.

You understand the concept, but you don't know why you're here to begin with, judging by what the survivors around you, some looked like they hadn't seen a better day— which kinda is true considering their situation.

They also told you about your supposed abilities, which were pretty surprising considering you are just pretty much a normal robloxian, there is nothing important about you whatsoever, but did you complain? No, you're already here anyway.

Meeting again isn't in both of your bucket list, but here you are, face to face with one another— the other bleeding, and the other staring them down with so much emotion mixed into one.

You never expected to see him again, but neither did she expect to see you again, but here you are, faced to face with one another.

The time is running out, all your other teammates were down and dead, leaving you last, but did 1x made an attempt to move? No, they didn't, instead? They surprised themselves and you. He hugged you, brought you into his arms in a tight hold, muttering things about how stupid you are for getting hurt.

It was their way of saying they care and they missed you, but you didn't speak about it and just leaned into her hold, you missed this, you missed her.

"Death can't separate us," you would mutter in the past while you hold them in your arms similar to what she was doing now. It always made them smile and sigh in relief whenever you mutter those lines.

And now, they seem to be the one to be saying that, although albeit, silently, their hold on you tightening in the slightest while the time runs out.

It seemed like even when obstacles keeps you both apart, you will find each other over and over again, even after death.

IM SORRY IF 1X SEEMS OOC IN THIS I'M BAD AT CHARACTERS PERSONALITY...and it's not the canon either, I think....I also got lazy at the end😣😣

#forsaken x reader #forsaken #forsaken x you #forsaken x y/n #1x1x1x1 x reader #1x1x1x1 x you #forsaken 1x1x1x1 #forsaken roblox #𐔌 . 𓎟 Vi Writes ᐟ｡୧ ꒱

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lvl109 · 2 days ago

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“so what i'm hearing is that you hate me and you want me dead.”

a noncommittal hum sounds through the speakers of your phone. “i said no such thing. is there a reason why the dramatics are pertinent even more tonight?”

your eyes narrow. “you haven't called in two days. two days. clearly you hate me.”

a laugh now, tinged with fondness. you try your best to fight off the smile threatening to spread across your lips. “my most sincere apologies, my love. how can i begin to grovel for your forgiveness?”

“you're not getting a lick of forgiveness from me. two days! i was worried.” your brows furrow, amping up the act. “i keep forgetting my stupid boyfriend loves to put himself in harm’s way.”

sylus’ expression softens in the face of your exaggerated complaints, going quiet in the way he does when he realizes his actions have upset you even if just a little bit. it makes your heart sink a little.

“i really was worried,” you finally relent, cracking first underneath the silence. “i know you have to do these things, but. it's not just you anymore. you have people who care about you.”

he looks away for a moment, his gaze downcast. when his gaze returns to the screen, he offers an apologetic smile. “i'm sorry, sweetheart. i didn't mean to frighten you. i'm alright. i promise.”

“you can show you're sorry by getting on the earliest flight home.” your joke slips past in an attempt to divert attention from your growing sadness from being apart for so long. his expression knowing, he agrees without hesitation. “i mean it. i want to see the wine glass when you're on board.”

it's not long before the two of you are engrossed in a recount of your day—from grueling paperwork to wanderer attacks to discounted groceries (a steal) and so on. he listens with rapt attention, adding little comments either to stoke your dramatized frustration or make you laugh between words. in turn, sylus fills you in on what he's able to share on his end, ensuring you that while things were hectic, he'd run into little to no trouble in the two days you hadn't heard from him.

opening your mouth to grill him once again—really, it was that serious—your attention is caught by the sound of keys entering a lock at the front door. sylus pauses when you stop talking, letting out a confused sound at your silence.

“sweetheart? is everything alright?”

muffled footsteps sound from the living room followed by the faint sound of a bag dropping on the couch. the drag of socked feet against the floor is heard for a few more seconds until the bedroom door is pushed open a bit wider, revealing none other than a tired mass of limbs in slight rumpled work clothes.

still, the sight of him makes you smile. “zayne is home,” you say quietly, partly in response to sylus’ question, partly in greeting to your other boyfriend.

too tired for words at the moment, he sheds his jacket and falls forward on to the bed, letting out a tired sigh as he worms his way between your legs much to your vocal surprise. his cheek rests against your thigh, your legs folded over his shoulders.

“long day?” you ask softly, threading a hand through his hair. his lashes rest above his cheeks, casting shadows as he nods after a long beat.

“missed you.” he noses against your bare skin, pressing kisses from your knee to just shy of where your sleep shorts just barely cover your pussy. the sudden mood switch makes you inhale sharply, the hand in his hair tightening a fraction in surprise. “can i?”

you nod immediately, momentarily forgetting about your phone when zayne lifts your legs up and gently tugs your shorts off. two fingers trace against your heat over the thin cotton of your panties, watching through a steadily darkening gaze when your hips shift towards his touch. “you know that doesn't mean anything to me. i need words.”

“yes,” you whimper quietly, spreading your legs on your own. the slight raise of his brows in approval is enough to make you bite your lower lip as large hands grip your thighs. “please touch me. i want you to touch me.”

“and i’m supposed to sit here alone while the two of you ravage each other like animals? how cruel.”

zayne’s eyes narrow when he hears the other voice, pulling at the band of your underwear and soothing over the skin when the fabric snaps back in place. “good to know you're alive,” he mutters dryly. “nobody was worried about you. you can go back to fighting criminals and the like.”

hazel green eyes narrow a bit in faint mirth when you giggle at sylus’ answering scoff. “not true. i was just getting an earful about how incredibly inconsiderate i was concerning the lack of hearing my voice.”

“i cussed him out,” you pipe up cheerfully, earning a kiss to your skin once more.

“good girl.” if you had feathers, they would be fanned out as you preened from the praise. at your boyfriend’s detriment, but it was a little deserved.

sylus sighs, the sound crackling through the tiny speakers. “rewarding bad behavior, doctor? that's a first for you. color me surprised.”

“some rules can be bent within reason.” zayne’s hands slip your panties off, cold fingers spreading your lips open before ghosting over your hole. you muffle your squeak of surprise with a gasp that doesn't go unnoticed by the silver hired man. “watch, will you? keep the phone in view of your face.”

it takes a beat for you to realize the last part was addressed to you. a shaky okay is all you can muster up before his thumb presses against your clit in slow circles. immediately your eyes close against the slowly building pleasure, letting out a sweet sigh. but zayne stops, eliciting a confused sound.

“keep your eyes open for me.” after you let out a quiet sound of affirmation, zayne continues his movements between your legs. “and don't touch yourself.

sylus’ barely stifled sound of surprise makes your heart skip a beat. he lets out a slightly peeved sigh, grumbling incoherently, but when you glance back at your screen you catch a glimpse of his reddening ears. “i wasn't—”

“lying will only make your punishment worse when you come back home.” his sharp rebuttal silences him immediately, making you twitch in anticipation. zayne resumes toying with your clit, his pace increasing with his slowly building impatience. “i told you to watch. how do you expect someone to give you what you want when you can't follow simple instructions?”

your hand grip the phone as pleasure zips up your spine, letting out small gasps and whines—but you force yourself to keep your eyes open despite wanting to close them so desperately. zayne rewards your compliance with two fingers inside of you, a pleased hum going barely unheard over your sharp cry.

“see what happens when you behave? you get what you deserve. isn't that right?” his hand moves to cup the side of your face. “see how good she is? texts me her location even before i ask. so kind. so considerate.”

you just barely hear the sound of muffled curses coming from your phone through the heightened haze of desire, your hips rutting down against his fingers as your bleary gaze focuses on the man before you. the tips of his ears flushed pink being the only giveaway that he, too, was becoming just as affected.

pulling out his fingers, he doesn't have to utter a word before your lips part and wrap around them. “just perfect,” he praises quietly. your thighs squeeze together in an attempt to stave off an impending orgasm.

the sound of zayne’s belt zipping through his belt loops makes the both you groan in tandem, sylus’ immediately beginning to complain about the angle. “let me see her. don't be cruel.”

wordlessly, your phone is picked up and the view is switched to the back camera, letting the other man see through zayne’s perspective. his fingers wet with your spit, your shirt pulled up just under your chest from your squirming, and your pussy wet from his teasing. a little further down is the sight of zayne straining against his slacks. his wet hand leaves your mouth and splays over your navel, his thumb toying with your clit again.

zayne laughs a bit when your hips jerk to chase your orgasm, putting the camera in view of your petulant expression. “you know what you have to do if you want to cum.”

you don't waste a single second. “can i?” your eyes widen with unshed tears, already at your limit with zayne’s teasing. “please, sylus? i've b-been so—aah—good, fuck!”

you can't see his expression from where your spread out, but the sight of you on his screen, pleading with him for your orgasm makes his pupils dilate. the hunger in his voice is near tangible when his voice grits out, shared greed for your pleasure palpable even through the phone. “give her what she wants and more.”

everything is a blur soon after. zayne’s barely suppressed groan of relief when he pushes inside of you, hips smacking the back of your thighs as his hand remains pressed against your stomach. praise crackling through the phone followed by slick noises and low curses. the headboard hitting against the wall over and over again. the intense feeling of being watched.

half completed begging turns into a repeated mantra of the same three words that affects them both. tears streaming down your face, hair askew across your pillow as your hands scramble for anything to hold on to. “i wanna cum—i wanna cum, i wanna—i—”

“let go, sweetheart, do it—”

“show us how good you can take it—”

your orgasm feels like an explosion of light behind your eyes, squeezed shut as your body curls in on itself. you cry out and grip zayne’s arm as he shudders through the sudden grip around his cock, spitting out filth that makes your heart skip.

“fucking—take it—take it all—” his voice is shot, frantic movements jostling you up the mattress as he chases his own orgasm. the phone drops from his hand when yours find his hair and tug sharply, one final moan leaving his lips before his hips stutter and his cock pulses inside of you.

as he catches his breath, your shaky hand pats around for your phone and angles right at the mess of cum and sweat between your bodies, the sight enough for sylus to choke on his next inhale and finish with a muffle grunt into his fist.

quiet panting fills the air. zayne’s forehead rests against your shoulder, his eyes closed as your other hand strokes through his hair. exhaustion catches to him quick, just barely having enough energy to pull out and clean the two of you up before he slumps back down into the sheets and passes out.

you and sylus share a look of faint amusement before you turn a press a kiss to zayne’s forehead. “he definitely needed that.”

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thejimmycultoffical · 1 day ago

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We reblogging this without going it. Our bad. Answering for our Ooc, while we're in character. Ooc character answer / in character answer.

He does with his Father, but not his mother. / We don't have parents.

His best friend. / No one. But we love our followers.

He regrets a lot. / No.

He is. / No.

He's single. / Single.

He wants something either of his own accord, or something instant. / We're immortal.

Goldfish. / We don't eat.

He used to play soccer. / We don't participate.

He picks them. / No.

Never. / Never.

He thought about it, but no. / No. I suppose we could, but we would move straight to marriage.

No. / We don't sleep.

He hates the people who have hurt him and his friends. / We are in capable of hate.

He misses his best friend. / No.

He has 3 dogs and a cat. / No, but we always could get one.

He's stressed, tired, and sad. / Content with our many followers, and proud of their existence.

No. He hasn't kissed anyone. / No.

He isn't scared, he just doesn't enjoy their presence. / No.

Yes. But to change minor details. / No.

Never. / Never.

Sleeping. / We have an election on Saturday.

No. He might adopt one. / We are incapable of having children. We have cult members.

He had the basic ear piercings. / No.

Honors English, theater, and stagecraft. He generally had good grades in all his classes, so those are just his favorites. / We didn't go to school.

Yes. / No.

He's craving goldfish. / More cult members.

He doesn't think so. / We divorced Duolingo.

He was borderline cheated on. / No.

He doesnt think so. / Again, Duolingo.

The way the person who hurt him had no consequences. / @/officalverse-offical.

His best friend. She said so. They love eachother platonically. So does a few of his other friends. / Yes. My cult members.

Light pink. / Blood red.

He thinks he might, but only a little bit. / No.

The world ending. / We don't sleep.

His friends. / Our cat, out of happiness for the mass amounts of support we have.

Yes. / No.

He doesn't know. / We don't do either.

In some aspects, yes. / Yes.

Surprisingly, he hasn't. / We haven't and never will. We also don't age.

No. / No.

Pasta or chocolate. / We don't eat.

Maybe. He isn't sure. / Yes.

He cried and sent a very long text to his best friend. / We don't sleep.

No. / No.

He doesn't think so. / No.

0. / 0

Yes. / Perchance.

He likes Sun storms. / Cloudy.

He does. / No.

Yes. / Perhaps.

He thinks so, but it's never happened. / Perhaps.

His best friend, baking, cats, art, music. / Our cult members.

He's trans. He already has. / No.

He hasn't kissed anyone. / We haven't kissed anyone.

He'd panic and cry. He wouldn't know what to do. She is litterally his world, but he would never want to date her. It has always been platonic, and always will be. / We don't have a best friend. Yet.

Yes. His best friend. / We don't have really any close friends yet.

His best friend. / Most likely U-Haul Jesus.

His best friend. / No one.

He does. / We'd need proof.

His best friend. / No.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

#thejimmycultoffical #thejimmyreligion #officalverse #theofficialjimmyreligion #theofficialjimmycult #jimmy preaches

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loganficsonly · 2 days ago

Text

an independent woman

˚₊��⁺˖✮ ch 5: slipping away ✮ ˖⁺‧₊˚

worst!logan x fem!reader, 5.3k (the longest yet!)

SUMMARY: As Logan learns to live instead of survive, he finds himself in the extremely dangerous position of sharing an apartment with you—Wade's friend. Extremely dangerous because Lord knows he can't keep his feelings a secret forever... not when your room is five steps away from his.

SERIES WARNINGS/TAGS: english is not my native language, no use of y/n, reader is a working adult (mid-late 20s) with a slightly written out personality, friends to roommates to lovers, slow burn, secret crushes, mentions of alcoholism and AA

CHAPTER WARNINGS/TAGS: 18+ MDNI!!!, masturbation, ANGST, hurt no comfort, unresolved sexual tension, a ton of negative self-talk, past trauma, death (imaginatory), just lots and lots of feelings

AUTHOR'S NOTE: gonna make this a/n a bit longer than usual:

first, a huge shoutout to @theworstwolvie who has been so gracious with her time and feedback. c, your comments on the chapters so far have been a great source of motivation and joy for me, and the fact that you enjoyed reading this one before i posted it is SUCH a relief for me—mainly because of how deep i had to dig for this chapter. THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU <3

second, i haven't the faintest personal experience with alcoholism and AA, and so i resort to reading things online to understand what it's like for the little bits of it that this series contains. i stumbled upon this blog post while writing this chapter, and i just want to share it with you for how honest it is. i hope the writer is living her best life right now!!!

this chapter took a lot out of me to write (i'm bruised in many invisible places), i hope you enjoy it.

Silver and bronze.

One heavy, rectangular slab each, about as long as a remote control. Clean cut. The metallic ingots sit quietly on the shelf of the living room, plain if not for the engraving of the name of your workplace and the accolade you received.

Reflected within their monolithic shine are bursts of animated colors from the television light, dotted with rambunctious laughter that settles down into mutters of concentrated small talk.

Yukio brought her Nintendo Switch and they’re playing a party game while you watch, sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Wade, Peter, Dopinder, and Negasonic Teenage Warhead—Ellie now, to most of you—are trying to “cook a cube of steak on all sides”, per the instructions of the game.

Vanessa’s behind you, her hair dipping down as she leans to giggle near your ear. The four players wrestle visibly with the controllers, moving it like they would a frying pan.

“They look like they’re jerkin’ off the air,” she covers her mouth, and you do too, biting back a grin because you see it.

When Wade first floated the idea of celebrating your win, you said no immediately.

It’s excessive—it was a team win, not your own. You’ve allowed yourself to feel proud of your achievements, specifically on the night of the award ceremony, which was almost two weeks ago. Life has gone on since then. Even at work.

But Wade begged and pleaded.

“I promise it’s just for the first five minutes, honeybee. The rest of the night is gonna be us hanging out. Pretty please?”

Of course you couldn’t say no to that. So you relented.

“We’re doing it at your place, though,” your ex-neighbor grinned, “a proper housewarming is long overdue.”

And Wade kept his word: nice things were said about you over toasts with raised Solo Cups, earnest despite your friends overtly not understanding what it is you do for work. After that, takeout boxes were drained dry, and Yukio asked if people were in the mood for games.

You’re watching the chosen form of entertainment play out when you feel it. A pang of loneliness, just a sliver of it, as soft as a petal landing on your hair.

Logan’s not here.

Eyes flit to the kitchen—he’s there, doing dishes. Slipping away temporarily in a way that’s familiar to you. Something in you relaxes.

Before you know it, you’re up on your feet, approaching him.

It’s been like this lately. You do your best to control yourself, to be self-aware—maybe a little too aware—in maintaining an appropriate distance with the best roommate you could as for, but you still can’t stay away.

You always look for him first when you enter a crowded room. Seek the meaning between the delicate lines that appear between his eyebrows when he tastes the food you make. Focus on the stir of his back muscles against flannel when he moves around the house.

The moon probably feels the same way orbiting around Earth, you think. What pulls you to him is stronger than celestial gravity.

A defeated part of you has long excused your physical attraction towards him. He is an attractive person, the internal voice reasons, nothing wrong with eating the eye candy. It’s an insult not to.

And you agree. You haven’t dreamed of him since, but once is enough. All it takes is one dream and suddenly he’s haunting all of your waking hours like a personal vendetta against you.

He makes himself hard to ignore, whether he realizes or not. Always with the white tank tops and sweatpants. Biceps out. With any other person, you’d simply be fascinated at that level of fitness on a human body, but with him? Your mind wanders the way a child would in an amusement park.

How are you supposed to function normally when the source of your maladaptive daydreams live five feet away from your door?

Can he blame you for slipping a hand under the blanket late at night, chasing subconscious sensations that felt so real to you? Would he despise you for pretending your fingers were his own, for lying to yourself—they’re his—the way you dreamed of?

If he knew you gave yourself to him in secret, what would he do?

You have half a mind to think he notices—you were never the best pretender, and he’s lived with you long enough to get a bead on you. Stares poorly concealed. His every movement demands you to look: his fingers gripping a glass, how his eyes seem to change color under sunlight, the stretch of cotton over his undeniably sculpted chest… which come to think of, you still haven’t seen bare, to Wade’s surprise.

The worst part of this is that it’s not just his body. It’s more than that. More than eyes, hands, and his larger-than-life frame.

It’s the way he looks at you when you come home from work and wordlessly take a tub of ice cream from the freezer. The way his fingers brush against yours when you reach for the popcorn bowl at the same time. And how he hugs you, warm and binding. You keep that memory filed away in a precious stack, that night he told you about his first AA meeting.

God, you miss his arms around yours. When can he hold you again?

Would he, if he knew the things you did while thinking of him?

Wade’s voice echoes in your head.

You’re really not gonna make a move on him, honeybee? Do you actually not like him?

You reply in your head. I think I’m past liking him, Wade.

You know because alongside the dirty delusions about the rumble of his voice, you’ve started fantasizing about other things.

Things like telling him how you feel.

How it would happen—perhaps after a particularly charged movie night, or right before the mundanity of what to order for dinner. The kind of words you’d pick for him are hard to imagine, impossible to form with your mouth.

Language couldn’t contain the convolution that floods your lungs like flowers.

I want to be more than just friends. Do you?

The way you’d cut your heart out from your chest and serve it to him on a silver plate, just to show him the way it beats. Messy and erratic when he’s around. You think it’s alright if he sees all of it, even the parts that you swear to hell and heaven you wouldn’t show anyone.

Your voice would be fraught with weakness because god knows you’re never good at declaring what you want.

And it stops short there, the fantasy.

You don’t allow yourself to think about what happens next. Whether he’ll pull you into a kiss that takes your breath away or shoot you an apologetic look like he spilled coffee on a white shirt. If the nosedive ends up in the cool waters of an aquamarine swimming pool, or broken bones on a pavement.

That line of thinking is forbidden. You know how dangerous it gets, how the less-kind voices whisper. They’ve already started, in the nooks and crannies of your idle mind.

He’s nice to you because he doesn’t see you that way.

If you tell him, you’ll make him uncomfortable in the apartment he calls home. Don’t be selfish.

He sees through you. How could he possibly want that?

So the daydreams end abruptly, a third act with no resolution other than the lucidity of a single thought.

You just don’t want him to leave.

And if that means secretly surviving the stormy and turbulent, you’d do it. Day, after day, after day.

“I’d ask you to stop, but I’d be a hypocrite.”

The words tumble out of you quietly, standing by the sink near him. The party goes on, Vanessa’s and Wade’s laugh cutting through the noise.

He looks at you and does that huff—the one that’s not quite a chuckle, but just enough as an amused response.

“Caught me.”

“You don’t like the video game?” There’s a tinge of concern that weaves through the syllables. It’s getting rather loud and you don’t want him to feel bothered.

“’s fine,” he replies, wiping his hands dry after putting away the last dish, “just not good at it, ’s all.”

“You were great at the rowing one,” you smile, already replaying the fresh memory in your head.

It was rather miraculous that he didn’t swat away the offer to play in the first place. Maybe it was his soft spot for Yukio that did him in. He took the controller without a word and stared so seriously at the screen as if faced with an actual mission.

You schooled your giddy face as you watched him, stiff hand mimicking the rowing motion. Then he brought the team to victory and you were the first to cheer.

After nearly two months—god, where’d the time go?—Logan is still full of surprises, you decide.

He shoots you a playful look, one that says I know you were looking. One that’s easy to miss, but his face already became a fluent language to you.

The Super Mario Party-induced bedlam continues to resonate mere feet away, and yet the kitchen feels like it’s just for the two of you, almost enclosed in a different reality.

You watch as he looks at you. Gentle, phantom strokes across your face.

It’s moments like these that make you fall into that labyrinth. The maze that lies past your fantasies. It traps you into thinking that maybe, just maybe, he feels it too. Your heart aches with feelings that have no way out.

Logan opens his mouth then.

“And why are you escaping?”

You swallow, side-stepping to get to the fridge. I can’t, you answer in your head, not from you.

“I’m not. Just getting soda.”

The lightness in your voice had to be forced through the thickened air.

Can he tell? The same way you can tell what his grunts mean, if the frown on his face is one of upset or confusion, how he likes his coffee?

He watches as you cradle two big bottles of diet Pepsi, one in each arm. You try to ignore the way your spine tingles, reacting to the heat of his eyes on you.

You look at him one last time before passing him by, barely managing a smile on your lips.

He watches you walk away and digs a hand into the pocket of his jeans.

He feels it. An aluminum medallion.

Light, the size of a poker chip, he reckons. With a swipe of a thumb he grazes its surface, busy with embossed letters, but larger words are pressed at the center. “1 MONTH”. Buried deep like a secret he didn’t mean to keep.

Windswept with the passage of time, he forgot about it.

There’s already a buzz in the air when he enters the room in the library.

Something much bigger is underway. Something he isn’t used to, much to his dismay.

It feels like the sky drops when the question does.

“Anyone here have thirty days?”

A sudden silence takes over. His head is anything but. Strange that he is so doubtful, as if he hasn’t been counting each day religiously.

He has thirty-five. Should he raise his hand?

No, not yet. Maybe someone else hit theirs today—they should get to raise their hand first, not him, not when he feels like he hasn’t actually done anything real to get here—

Somebody does raise their hand.

Brent, he recalls. Young, a little younger than you, wearing baggy clothes and a little cowlick on his dirty blonde hair. He has a difficult look on his face as he starts to speak. The raised hand falls awkwardly back onto his lap, and then something in his eyes shines. Quiet. Steady.

“I’m Brent. I’m an alcoholic and I’m thirty days sober today.”

Pin-drop silence for a split second before the room erupts into cheers. People are clapping. Some of them get up from their chairs to embrace Brent in congratulations. The chairperson walks up to him, giving him the chip. The metal gleams red in the warm light.

What is more often than not an appropriately somber meeting, reserved in the first few minutes, dissolves into lightness and warmth. Like the shackles around each of their ankles are gone, just for the moment. Freedom in knowing that someone here—Brent—got to today, and that is enough for someone else in the room to get through their first 24 hours.

The shift in the air seems to be enough to affect him, too. The voices in his head, the recitation of names that chant as soon as the memories creep—Scott, Jean, Rogue, Storm, Charles…—lack their bite of guilt and shame. He doesn’t feel like drowning, not like he used to. Images behind his eyelids flash, not of charred corpses and bloodied faces. Not today.

Today they smile, and he remembers fragments of his days with them, as beautiful as painted pictures.

The same image that made him cry for the first time in years.

In this room, with other faces who have gone through so much, regret doesn’t echo as loud. If his friends—no, his family—were here…

…they’d be proud of him too. He can’t lie to himself out of that fact.

He doesn’t know how, doesn’t know a part of him still remembers after countless cries since the day he lost them. But he does—hear their voice, see their smile, as if it were yesterday.

Jean and Rogue would hug him, their heads tucked in his chest and neck. Storm would, too, with a wide smile.

And Slim? Slim would be quiet for a while, gaze unreadable from behind the red visor, before finally circling an arm around his shoulder.

Charles would be the only one with words. The warmth in those bright eyes could bring tears to his own.

We’re so proud of you, Logan.

That’s what he would say.

So a minute later, Logan swallows the lump in his throat and raises his hand.

He strokes the cool metal inside his pocket. He should tell Wade. Tell Laura.

Tell you.

He watches the living room from his spot at the island, trying to be present.

It’s your and Laura’s turn on the console. Somewhere along the way it turned into a fighting game, apparently. He can hear the banter, Laura mercilessly barraging you with attacks as a response to your playful goading.

When the killing blow plays in slow motion, you let out the loosest laugh he’s heard in a while, a hand running through your hair. Laura shakes your shoulders playfully, half-heartedly consoling you with a “of course I win, we play this at the dorms all the time”.

You sigh, the same sound that he usually hears after watching a great movie together. Entertained. Grateful.

And then you turn to look at him, a bright smile on your face.

Did you see that? the pull of your lips seems to ask.

His heart rends in two at the sight.

This is what made him forget.

You. The greatest thing to stir up his emotions that drowned in a tar-like ocean of sin.

Things are deceptively easy with you. A couple of conversations got you past that clumsy hump that comes with meeting a mutual friend, and after that, the road’s been highway-clear. The two of you coast like you know the way, like you’ve known each other for a while.

Each interaction with you is a four-leaf clover, a smooth pebble, a scallop seashell—beautiful, natural little gifts that help convince him he was okay. That he no longer has to fight the world or himself, at least for the time being.

That he’s allowed to rest.

Except he can’t.

Because in the past week, June has forced her temperature up a notch, and it has been nothing less than hellish torment. Suddenly your shorts become shorter, your t-shirts smaller, until they eventually turn into tank tops.

It’s not that he blames you for seducing him through the way you dress—you could wear a potato sack and he’d still want you—it’s his fault. He was the one who crossed that line, that night in the shower, thinking of you like that despite trying so hard not to.

You exist, blissfully unaware of his transgressions, and he’s tempted.

His eyes can’t help but hunger and he feels like a nasty animal, preying on you with his gaze while you’re around the house, a place where you feel safe.

Jaw clenching at your exposed legs as you walk around from one room to another. Hands balling into fists at the glimpse of your waist when you reach for the top shelf. Mouth salivating as you move your hair, exposing the nape of your neck.

That part of you should be so innocent, but the curve, your skin… it reminds him of the dress you wore.

It didn’t help that he bumped into you a few days ago, fresh out of the shower. You gasped when you collided into his chest and he had to put a hand on your waist to hold you steady, except he didn’t realize the only thing covering you was a flimsy blue towel.

Skin damp, smelling like a concoction of fragrances that made him want to take a bite out of you.

“Oh my god, sorry,” you breathed, escaping to your room without meeting his eyes. The door closed, and he was left alone in the hallway, accompanied only by his heart beating like it was begging to be let out of its enclosure.

It also didn’t help that he came home from work early yesterday, only to hear a buzzing sound. Too loud to be electricity. Faint and barely there, but more than enough for his enhanced hearing to pick up.

Above it, a sigh. Your voice. So soft he thought he imagined it.

Then a muffled whimper, and he knew it was real, because it was better than anything he could dream of.

His nerves jolted with hyper-awareness as soon as he registered what was happening. He could feel his body react as if it responded to yours, blood pumping south, his pants tightening.

A shaky exhale. You sounded so good, too lost to have heard him close the front door, but not at all loud, like you’re still trying to hold yourself back in case someone heard. Have you been sneaking around like this, taking advantage of the times he was away, trying to hide this from him?

What if you thought about him when you touched yourself?

Fuck, he couldn’t believe that’s where his mind went. It was too late. Once he started picturing you picturing him, he felt dirty, but it wasn’t enough to make him stop.

So yes, nothing helped. Certainly not you. You made it worse.

Made him picture you in your bed in a state of undress just shy of total nakedness, legs tangled between crumpled sheets, pressing a little vibrator against your clit while you slip your fingers into your folds. Made him want to break down your bedroom door and show you how he’d make you lose your mind instead of relying on that godforsaken toy.

Made him yearn.

He locked himself in his bedroom that day, hand around his cock, and thought about more than just the arch of your back when he sinks into you. Timing his strokes with your quiet gasps—perhaps hushed for human hearing, but more than enough for him—like he wanted to believe he was there with you, causing your downfall.

A deeper need hummed incessantly through him. He should be startled at its revelation, but instead, he found it perfectly familiar. Maybe he’d thought of this from the very start.

Your face, wrecked with pleasure, cheeks flushed as you gasp up at him.

Logan, please, more.

He’d give you anything you asked for, drive deeper with the singular purpose of carving his soul into your very being. He’d leave a mark neither you or time can erase. You’d moan, lost in him, but your eyes would lock with his as you whisper, stuttered in between thrusts:

I love you—love you so much—

He came. Harder than any of the times he’s touched himself while thinking of you. Copious amounts of him spilled in his hand, on his stomach, forcing him to hold back a loud groan.

It felt wrong, his wayward mind twisting your voice to say those three words to him. He didn’t just cross a line this time, he violated it.

What have you done to him? He thought he’d be content just living. The universe gave him a chance at redemption in the shape of a man in red tights, and as if that wasn’t crazy enough, he ended up with the cleanest slate he could get: a life in a different timeline with his friends and his daughter.

But here he is, blood boiling with affection that laces his veins—for you. The prettiest, softest, kindest thing he’s ever seen, the person who stubbornly insists to be useful when you only need to exist for him to fall into that wretched feeling he hasn’t felt in a century.

You’ve turned him into a monster of greed, because now, living is no longer enough.

He wants you, wants to pull that laugh out of you, wants to make his shoulders comfortable enough for you to rest your head on, wants to spend a lazy morning in bed with you, cradling your face in his hands and showering kisses on your eyelids—

“Logan? Do you wanna play?”

Hazel eyes snap back to reality at the sound of your voice.

The entire living room is looking at him. Laura and Wade look suspicious, while you still have that blameless smile on your face, holding your controller out as if it’s for him to take.

Thoughts usually cease to exist when you look at him like that, beaming, but tonight it’s different.

Tonight he feels like he’s defiled you without having laid a hand on you, and the thoughts ring louder than ever, taking the shape of a voice he didn’t think he’d hear again.

Cassandra Nova’s.

There’s a cruel lilt to her voice, the same one he heard in the Void. That happened a lifetime ago, but it doesn’t echo—smooth and unmistakable. She’s still in there, in his head.

One good thing enters your life and you can’t keep your paws off her. Desperate pup.

You should see how you slobber all over her. A blind person could tell. I think she can, too.

You think she’s going to kick you out? I think she’s too polite for that. She’d pretend everything was fine. That sounds like her, doesn’t it?

It feels like her grimy fingers are sinking into his brain again. As if they never even left.

He tries to shake it off, the sensation of nails scratching into the recesses of his brain.

But oh, boy, when she finds out… a cold chuckle, give her two weeks and she’ll tell you she needs to move out for some bullshit reason, completely unrelated to you. Because she doesn’t want to hurt your feelings. Never. She’s too nice, isn’t she?

The sensation sucks the air out of his lungs, an out-of-season chill up his spine.

She’s only nice to you because she feels sorry for you.

For a split second, he sees your face in the rubble. Bloodied in pallor, eyes blank.

Dead.

Don’t get too close, Wolvie. You know what happens when you get too close.

Fear.

How could he forget?

Has hitting thirty days of sobriety got him cocky, got him thinking he’s worth more than he really is?

What was he thinking, planning on showing a fucking coin to you?

It doesn’t change a thing. Doesn’t change the fact that he’s killed, spilled blood that could fill up a river. Pretending like his moral ledger is not in the red, like he no longer has enemies, debt-free, all set for a quiet life? What the fuck is he doing, playing house with a woman who has her entire life ahead of her?

You’re probably doing this out of pity, anyway, the same pity that moves little girls to their core when they see stray cats stuck in the rain. The kind that can’t stand seeing someone cold and alone, unaware of the diseases he’ll bring. The teeth. The claws.

He jumped timelines. Who’s to say others can’t, if they want to hunt him down so desperately? And god knows they’re out there, he just doesn’t know when they’re going to come for him.

If he’s sure of anything, it’s that his past always comes back to haunt him. Always.

And that you deserve better.

“Logan? Do you wanna play?”

He doesn’t answer your question. Grunts, footsteps padding across the room until he’s situated at the furthest corner away from you.

Doesn’t even look at you.

He’s quiet that way for the rest of the night, but only to you. You’ve spent most of your life reading rooms and sensing situations—you’re fairly certain of your assessment.

He’s upset.

About what, you don’t know. Your mind jumps to the conclusion it always does. Could he be mad at you?

Something heavy and invisible begins to make itself known in your gut. He’s only a little subdued, the way someone would after a long day at work. Afflicted with a kind of tiredness that his healing factor can’t fix.

Aside from that, he seems normal. Would be, to the average person. He even exchanged a few words with Ellie. Something about Japan. Yukio smiles, an easygoing bundle of joy next to her girlfriend.

You’re in a conversation with Dopinder—if you can call it a conversation, because it’s mostly him speaking at this point. His words are lost to you as you leave the asking of follow-up questions to Peter, while you’re left retracing steps and things said to Logan, in case something landed the way you didn’t intend it to, trying not to look over at him every three seconds.

You fail.

Glancing at him, you see him already staring at you back.

What do his eyes say? In that instant, you forget how to speak their language.

He looks away.

Suddenly it’s cold.

There’s the taste of bile in your mouth.

“Hey… you okay?”

He’s on the couch, a faraway look on his place. You step closer, gathering the guts to sit next to him—not afraid of him lashing out, but the possibility of him not wanting you there.

He nods, unmoving even as your weight sinks on the soft surface.

You’re so used to his presence, especially here in the living room. A sacred place where the two of you are free to blend into each other. Movie nights, easy laughter on your part and a snort or two from him. Assembling a store-bought shelf together on the floor, plywood parts surrounding you in a circle like it was actually a private little bubble—you and him against the world. Having dinner with him and Laura, talking shit about work, windows open, music in the background…

Now, there’s a wall. The air is thick in a way that suggests a coil being snapped, and not at all in the way you would like. Your skin tells you someone is getting hurt.

And you know who is.

“I was—”

“Did you wanna—”

The two of you begin speaking, only to stop at the same time. On another occasion, you’d laugh. Not this time.

“You first,” you look expectantly at him.

He wipes his nose once, leaning forward to rest both elbows on his knees. Doesn’t look at you when he speaks, his gaze glued to the black TV screen ahead despite you watching his every move.

There’s a prolonged silence before he finally speaks.

“I was thinkin’ of movin’ out.”

He turns his head to finally look at you.

You wonder what he sees on your face, because you don’t know what emotions are running through you right now.

Surprise, because you aren’t sure what to expect, but it definitely isn’t that. Doubt, because this whole thing is set up like a prank, except he won’t joke about this. Logan is straightforward, not needlessly cruel.

Most of all, you feel confused.

Did you get the signals mixed somewhere along the way?

The world sinks slowly beneath your feet, like your reality has been a poorly constructed sandcastle all along. Feet slipping, grains parting as you drop further downwards.

Maybe he wasn’t as comfortable as you thought he was, living with you. Maybe he didn’t like having to help you wrestle with wrenches and bolts. Maybe he only approved of the fried rice you made, and that asking him to taste test your other dishes got him annoyed. Did he really like the fried rice, or was he just trying to make you feel better about cooking?

Maybe you misread his sharing past stories as a sign of openness.

Maybe in showing him pieces of yourself you'd never shown anyone else, you created pressure instead of safety.

Maybe you hovered too close. Pushed too far.

You hear a voice from the past. Nameless, faceless, an amalgam of a few persons you no longer keep around.

You need to lay off. You’re a bit much.

God, you know you get things wrong sometimes, but this? You feel sick, the ice-cold realization submerging you.

What if you projected so much of your infatuation towards him that your rose-tinted glasses made you blind? What if, this entire time, you didn’t see him at all?

You’re the one to break eye contact, looking down at your lap. From your periphery, you can see his hands tightening around his knees like he’s holding something back.

He continues to speak, voice measured, slightly apologetic.

“Was thinkin’ I needed privacy after all, now that I can actually afford it,” he rasps.

“Space. Just for myself. Less awkward if I… have some company over.”

Something in you cracks.

You catch yourself just before breaking in the only way you can.

He watches as you look up at him, a smile on your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I understand. I appreciate you telling me in advance,” you reply, voice level. “Do you, um, know when you’re gonna move? I need time to find a new roommate.”

“Not sure, Wade and I got this mission that’ll last for a while. I’ll look around after.”

You nod. It’s quiet for a while.

“I’ll help you look, then.”

He nods this time, voice quiet.

“Thanks.”

You get up.

“Shower’s all yours. Good night, Logan.”

“...Night.”

He watches as you turn, disappearing down the hallway, your bedroom door clicking shut.

Hands clench around the fabric of his pants so tight, his knuckles turn white. He exhales, but there’s no relief. Instead, the pain intensifies, jagged wires constricting his chest and digging into his skin.

Fuck, he doesn’t know why he said that. That part about company, as if you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger, as if you hadn’t been the best person to be around, as if he wanted someone else.

Felt like cutting his tongue off the moment the words escaped him. He hates it, he fucking hates it.

Hates the look on your face, trying to be calm and considerate of him. You didn’t even ask why and he lied to you, only to watch you mask the hurt like he couldn’t see through it. He can, he has a feeling you know he can. Instead, he watches you slip back to the past, like this was your first conversation with him.

Polite.

Like whatever the two of you shared this past two months didn’t exist in the first place.

Logan ignores the pained caterwauling in his chest. His breath won’t go down his throat, tortured and stuck.

Absentmindedly, his feet take him to the hallway, gaze lingering at your bedroom door.

It’s dead quiet, his enhanced senses picking up nothing. Somehow he thinks it’s worse than hearing you cry.

He swallows before retreating into his own room.

It was the right thing to do.

So why does it feel like he’s still drowning even after it’s done?

taglist: @squishyfruitloop @britttzy267 @tezooks @ddwnghead @dear-detested @duckyyyx @hits-different-cause-its-you @mrfitzdarcyslover @snowlycanroc @teresas-lisbon

#an independent woman #logan x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x reader #wolverine #x men #deadpool and wolverine #wolverine x you #logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine smut

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creatingblackcharacters · 6 hours ago

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hi my friend directed me to you? the summary is that im a foreigner and recently moved to the USA and i want to be a person who is able to understand and support black people here, so i was also asking for movie recommendations from black people's perspective and my friend directed me to your blog and said you would know better? do you have any recommendations of movies or tv series that are like 'must watches' or tbh anything you'd like to recommend me?

I usually delete asks that do not capitalize Black, but because I think this is something everyone should hear:

1) Capitalize Black ☺️ it's not just a color of someone's skin, it's a proper identity.

2) While I can absolutely give you a list of media created by Black people, no amount of movies will ever help you understand our experience as much as actually being around us (And that's something white Americans who have spent their entire lives in the same place with us still haven't picked up!!) Knowing me as a source of entertainment does Not Mean you know Me. Make sure you're following Black community initiatives near you, maybe even supporting a Black business that makes something you like! Black activists that you share political causes with (they do exist! And you're probably not in a good place if they're not there!)

3) This list dropped pre-Sinners, so go ahead and also include that movie on your list. 🤌🏾🔥

I think this is a pretty good, general list to start if I were outside looking in (Malcolm X is personally one of those movies that left me awestruck, like a cultural Must See). As with all groups of people, some things in these movies will have grown questionable with time, no they aren't "perfect", and you should never generalize Black people off of one negative experience or depiction you have of some of them (it's a white and nonblack American Pastime, unfortunately).

Happy watching 🙏🏾

#creatingblackcharacters #black movies #black theatre #black cinema #black culture

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serotonins-stuff · 15 hours ago

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when they see pictures of you they don't have -ft jjk men

Includes: Tojo Fushiguro, Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami

Warnings : just fluff and kisses

- . . . -

- Toji Fushiguro -

Toji was appalled to see that you had pictures of yourself you'd never sent him.

"So frickin pretty" he breathed before shaking his head in denial, his eyes glued onto your phone screen. He immediately sent the picture to himself.

You sighed before rolling your eyes playfully "Baby that's like the tenth picture now".

"Exactly" he smacked his lips, "There's already ten pics you've been hidin from me"

"I wasn't keeping them" you defended. "How was I supposed to know you wanted them?"

"I told ya to send me every one of your pretty little pictures" he shook his head when he found another one, a big pout forming on his face from how cute you were in this one. Then he remembered that you didn't send it to him and creased his eyebrows with his two fingers.

"Those ones aren't even pretty though"

He looked at you as if you had just slapped him across the face. Hand over his mouth in disbelief.

You giggled when his arms scooped you up bridal style, just to tackle you back onto the bed.

You don't even know how you ended up straddling him. He raised the camera towards you and instinctively you covered your face.

"Toji!" You squeeled "I'm not presentable at-"He sat up swiftly, gently moving your hands away from your bashful face before kissing them- then kissing your lips.

Just then you heard the camera click and slapped his chest playfully.

"My pretty girl" he kissed you again, and again, and again till your laughs were far from incoherent.

- Satoru Gojo -

"This should be a crime" Satoru gasped.

His wide eyes bore into your phone screen as your fingers just scrolled past pictures.

You sat between his legs with your back against his chest, while he soothingly rubbed the sides of your stomach. His stubble tickling your neck.

It wasn't long before he snatched the phone from you, hunched over with your legs entangled on the couch.

"Satoru" you whined "I was busy"

"Busy keeping all these pretty photos to yourself" he scoffed.

His eyes were glued onto your phone screen like how a toddler acts around their tablet. His mouth parted wider with ever photo, and he occasionally looked up at you with disbelief.

"Why haven't you sent me these?" His heart strings pulled at him with how absolutely adorable you looked in these.

You scoffed back at him with a playful smile "I didn't know you needed them"

He shook his head while continuing to select the photos on your phone.

Occasionally he'd grab his chest like he was having a heart attack and mutter 'so pretty' just under his breath.

You had lost track of how many photos he'd sent himself, and how many of them he lectured you for.

You didn't understand what he was on about, but it was adorable seeing him this giddy and dazed.

You giggled when he handed you your phone back, his brows pressed together so tightly you'd think he was angry.

You were about to ask whats wrong but he hushed you with his finger.

"Need to pick one for my wallpaper" he said dejectedly "But they're all so good"

"Why don't you just make a collage of all of them together?" You muffled through pressed lips.

"Actually" he grinned, pulling his phome out and immediately searching for collage apps. "That's not a bad idea baby"

He grabbed both of your cheeks and gave you one long and hard kiss on the lips, before pulling back softly to look into your eyes.

"Don't do this again hmm?"

- Suguru Geto -

"Wow" he expressed from the kitchen, muffled by the sound of his loud chewing.

You were looking for your phone everywhere and he was not being much help.

Well he was at first but now he had himself entranced with something.

"Fascinating" he hummed in delight, and you thought he was talking about his breakfast until you turned the corner.

There he was with your phone in hand- the same phone he was supposed to be helping you look for.

You put your hands on your hips-your head tilting to the side as the scowl on your lips only deepened. "Suguru"

Uh oh.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at you- wide eyed.

even his chewing slowed down when you approached him.

His shoulders shook- a chuckle begging to escape him "I- uhm -I found your phone?"

"I can see that honey" you raised a brow "The one we've been 'looking for' for the past 10 minutes?"

"In my defense" he placed his bowl down, before turning the screen to you a reveal a picture.

It was a picture of you smiling while holding up a teddy bear - your hair messy and a big tshirt on. *His* big tshirt on.

He smirked cheekily, his eyes darting between your face and the picture. When he saw your confusion he huffed in amuzement from how cute you were.

"Why don't I have this on my phone baby?"

"Because I didn't send it to you?"

"Precisely" he placed a hand on his hip "Such a gorgeous sight and you didn't send it to me"

You rolled your eyes and laughed, pushing his shoulder playfully before he reeled his arm around your waist. He smooshed your cheek against his and brought the phone screen up in front of both your faces.

"I mean- just look at how adorable you are in this one" he cooed. "Your cute big tshirt - pretty little smile"

"I look like that all the time though" you muffled and he rumbled with a lighthearted chuckle.

"Exactly, You look adorable all the time"

"What am I gonna do with you?" you eyed him with a smile.

"Well you could always start by sending me these pictures?"

- Kento Nanami -

You poped your head through your bedroom door to see Kento with his head buried in a book. Eyes calmly scanning the words as he held a pen in one hand.

"Yes Love?" He said without you even getting to your question.

Shyly you walked towards him, balancing yourself with your knees against the bed.

The mattress dipped a bit beside him and he closed his book to give you his undevided attention.

"Do you think this is a good photo for my work ID?"

He had to adjust is glasses once- twice- three times before shifting his head back as if to get a better look at screen.

You looked absolutely stunning, adorable- hell he didn't even know what to say.

"Wow" he gently took the phone from your hand. "You look absolutely stunning"

You claspped your hands together behind your back, slowly swaying side to side from his compliment.

It made you so giddy when he complimented you like this- which was practically every single day.

You hadn't even noticed he had sent it to himself until his phone buzzed repeatedly on the nightstand.

His eyes softened as he found himself lost scrolling through your entire gallery, making comments about every favorite thing of his in the photo.

He went on about how cute your smile was and how pretty you looked in your outfits.

You found yourself cuddled up to his side while he rubbed long and slow circle on your hip.

You laughed together whenever you found silly pictures you took of him. Pictures he had no idea existed.

Even when you claimed to 'not like the picture' he would respond to with 'Well I happen to love the picture'.

You didn't even realize that you forgot to pick one for the work ID.

A/n

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Here's my : Masterlist

#jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto suguru #jjk nanami #kento nanami #kento x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader

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jxstsxgx · 10 hours ago

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𝚆𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙵𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 | 𝙴𝙳𝙳𝙸𝙴 𝙼𝚄𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙽

Pairings: Drunk!Eddie Munson x Reader (…kinda)

Word Count: 1,158 words

Summary: Eddie’s drunk. Eddie’s in love. Eddie thinks he’s confessing to you. He is not.

Contains: drunken rambling, dramatic confessions, emotional!Eddie, oblivious Steve, confused Robin, twist ending (you were never in the room), just a dumb little guy in love.

A/N: Haven't posted in days. I was battling with...laziness lol. Anyway, last fic I made was Drunk!Steve then I wanted to make Drunk!Eddie too, so here's a short one. (Lowkey Steddie, lmao)

masterlist |

Eddie Munson was completely, utterly, soul crushingly drunk.

He was seated on the floor in Robin’s living room, back pressed against the couch, beer long forgotten in his lap, curls a wild halo around his flushed face. They’d had game night. One drink turned to two, turned to eight, turned to Eddie trying to balance pretzel sticks on his nose while Robin egged him on.

Steve had just returned from a bathroom break when he noticed it. Eddie, staring dreamily across the room, eyes wide and glassy.

“Uh… is he okay?” Steve asked.

Robin looked up from stacking Uno cards. “He’s been like that for the last five minutes. Just… sighing.”

Then Eddie whispered, “God, you're so pretty.”

Robin snorted. “Oh no.”

Eddie leaned forward, eyes locked on something... or someone. “I can’t believe you're real. It’s like… you walked out of my daydreams and into this stupid living room.”

Steve glanced behind him. “Wait. Who is he looking at?”

Robin squinted. “Steve. He’s looking at you.”

“What?!”

But Eddie wasn’t listening. Eddie was enchanted. His gaze locked, expression lovesick. He clutched his heart dramatically.

“Hey,” he slurred. “C’mere.”

Steve pointed to himself. “Me?”

Eddie patted the floor beside him with a dopey smile. “Yeah, you.”

Robin blinked. “Oh my God. He thinks you’re her.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Me?”

Robin nodded. “He’s that drunk.”

Steve hesitated, then cautiously sat down next to Eddie, who immediately grabbed his hand.

“Hey,” Eddie whispered, brushing Steve’s knuckles like they were made of silk. “D’you know… you ruin me?”

Steve’s whole soul left his body. “Okay…”

Eddie smiled softly. “Every time you smile at me, I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. But, like, the good kind. Is there a good kind? Doesn’t matter. You’re it. You’re everything.”

Robin wheezed into the couch cushions.

Steve tried, “Uh… Eddie, maybe-”

But Eddie was in full spiral now, his eyes were even shut, “And your voice. Don’t even get me started. It’s like my favorite song and a bedtime story and a warm blanket all rolled into one.”

Steve's face scrunched. “Bro.”

“I think about you all the time. All the time. Like, when I eat cereal, I’m like, ‘She’d hate this cereal.’ And I eat it anyway, because I’m sad and in love.”

Robin was crying. Literally crying from holding back her laugh.

“Every time you walk into a room,” Eddie breathed, “I forget how to function. I’d build you a house. Out of, like, D&D dice and guitar picks. I’d learn to knit pretty sweaters and skirts for you, I’d die for you.”

Steve was frozen. “Okay, we need to-”

“And you smell so nice,” Eddie continued, practically moaning. “Like vanilla. Or flowers. Or flower vanilla. I don’t know. I’m drunk.”

“You don’t say,” Steve mumbled.

Eddie gripped his hand tighter. “Don’t ever leave me, okay? Even if you fall in love with a guy who’s better than me. Like a hot firefighter. Or a lawyer. Or, like, a guy with really nice handwriting. I’ll just be… here. Sad. Loving you from afar.”

Robin gasped, absolutely losing it.

Steve, trying to suppress the laughter crawling up his throat, gently said, “Munson, Buddy. You sure you’re talking to the right person?”

Eddie squinted. “Of course I am. Why would I say all that to someone else?”

“You are talking to Steve,” Robin managed, her face red from laughing.

“No I’m not,” Eddie said, fighting for his life to open his drunken eyelids, turning toward Steve with a sleepy smile. “I’m talking to her-”

Steve pointed at himself. “I’m Steve.”

Eddie blinked. Slowly.

Then blinked again.

“…No you’re not.”

“I am.”

Eddie sat up straighter, horrified. “Then where the hell is she?!”

Robin held up her hands, still laughing. “Literally not even here. She left an hour ago, dude.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped. “No. No! I saw her! She was right there!” he pointed wildly. “She was right there and I told her about the cereal and the house and sweaters!”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Yeah, you told me.”

Eddie looked absolutely destroyed.

Then he groaned, flopping backwards with his arm over his face. “I wanna die.”

Robin patted his leg. “We’ll let you live. But we are gonna tell her.”

“Please don’t,” he whispered into the carpet. “Please let me disappear.”

Steve laughed. “You called me flower vanilla.”

Eddie groaned louder.

Robin snickers, “She’s gonna love this.”

“I was confessing to the wrong person!” Eddie was drunkly reasoning out.

“At least you were sweet about it.” Robin added.

“I need new friends.”

Robin and Steve just clinked beer bottles above his head while Eddie melted into the floor.

#stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson #joe keery #steve harrington #djotime #steddie #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #joseph quinn

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womanofwords · 3 days ago

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Darling Demon (Part 20)

Yandere!batfam x betrothed!neglected!male!reader x yandere!demon!spouse

TW: animal cruelty (from the animal).

You decided to take a break from Azrir and check in on your family. You'd been 'sleeping over' at 'Ally's' place for a while now, and it was about time you made your way to Wayne Manor. Mostly for Alfred.

"Y/N, if you come to any harm when you visit your family, I will never allow you to go back," Azrir said. You agreed.

"So, Y/N, when will Ally finally meet us?" Bruce asked. "I hope we haven't scared her away from you."

"You haven't," you assured.

"I'm more worried about scaring Y/N away from us," Dick said, messing up your hair. There was Dick's smothering affection on display.

"Grayson, unhand my brother," Damian ordered. "If your filthy fingers are not pried off of his body in five seconds, I will be forced to beurble hugh burbpfffffft." His thumb jammed itself into his mouth before he could finish his threat.

"Are you OK, Damian?" you asked, trying not to laugh. "Why are you sucking your thumb?"

"Because he's just a little boy, Y/N," Jason said. "And little boys have thumb-sucking habits."

"He looks like Prince John from Disney's Robin Hood," Stephanie snarked.

"He's missing a crown," Duke mused. "There you go." Duke's light powers illuminated a crown for Damian, and his siblings laughed it up even harder.

"Damian, does this happen every time you try to talk?" Alfred asked.

"Almost always," Damian grumbled. The thumb had decided to give him a break. "I can't get a word in edgeways to my idiot siblings."

"Have you tried not threatening them?" you asked.

"It's the only way they'll understand!" Damian insisted.

"Well, that won't go well for you," you said. "Please, Damian, try to be nice to people for once. Start with your siblings."

"OK," Damian said. He'd just had an incredible idea. If all he had to do was be nice to his siblings, then he should start with you.

Damian wrote like a maniac as he completed an apology letter for you. You were going to love this so, so much. This was going to go much better than the Brothers Grimm stories he'd tried to show you.

Alfred The Cat whined with the humiliation of it all as Damian draped him in frilly bows. "Stop whining," Damian scolded. "We have to show Y/N that we can be nice. I'm going to read him this apology note for everything I put him through and all you have to do is be cute. I would use Titus for this, since he's better trained, but he gives Y/N nightmares."

Damian took his apology note and Alfred The Cat and journeyed to your room. "Y/N, are you there?" he called. As he waited and rehearsed, Alfred The Cat fussed in his arms. You had better show up soon.

"Damian, where did you get the cat from?" you asked.

"This is Alfred The Cat, not to be confused with Alfred. We're both trying to be your friend," Damian said. Alfred The Cat meowed pitifully, limbs waving like a child that wanted to be carried by a specific person.

"Aww, he does look cute," you said, picking up the cat as if it was a baby.

That was the straw that broke the kitty's back.

Alfred was a tornado of claws and screeches, not sure whether to abandon everything and leave or to destroy the earth itself, starting with you. "Alfred The Cat, stop it right now!" Damian screamed. "You're hurting Y/N!"

Azrir plunged into the scene, grabbing you. "You. I should have eaten you when I first arrived," they growled, advancing on Damian.

"Baba!" Damian screamed. Bruce rushed over, finding Azrir looming over his two boys. He had a mace; where he'd gotten it from, you were never going to ask him.

"You will not harm my son," Bruce hissed. "I don't know why you won't leave him alone, but you can't be in his life. Y/N is dating a girl named Ally now."

"Leave Y/N alone!" Dick shrieked, completely unannounced and completely ridiculous.

Azrir pretended to be surprised. "Girl? What girl? Oh, you must mean me." Azrir shifted into the female form they took on when they first came to Wayne Manor. "Hi, is Y/N home?"

"You monster!" Dick screamed. He rushed towards them, escrima sticks bared and ready to fight. Azrir was in his ear in a blink of an eye.

"Grayson, if you fight me, I will take you to hell, lock you in a room, and force you to watch your little brother being corrupted by me for all eternity," Azrir hissed. It was low enough for only him to hear, but he backed off all the same.

"What do you want?" Bruce asked. Your siblings were gathering behind him, looking like little kids eavesdropping on a conversation they weren't supposed to be hearing.

"I allowed Y/N to see you on the condition that if he was hurt in any way, he would never come back." Azrir surveyed you, throwing Alfred The Cat at Damian. "He has been hurt under your watch."

"I'm sorry," Damian said. "I just wanted to show him my kitty." Alfred The Cat meowed, as if it was an apology.

"I stand by my choice. Y/N will never come back to the manor. Instead, he will live in the love nest I made for him, journeying to the human world when he wants to with me as his protector." Azrir looked closely at your face, clawed, but nothing permanent. "Y/N, nothing these filthy relatives have to offer will ever hurt you again."

"Azrir, can I at least see Alfred?" you asked. "He was so kind to me."

"Of course you can, Y/N," Azrir said. "Come along. I'll make sure those scratches don't scar."

You were whisked away by a very concerned demon, who spent a lot of time gently tending to your face. "It honestly just stings."

"You shouldn't be in any kind of pain," Azrir shushed. "Come here, my fragile little trophy. Let yourself be cared for."

You relaxed into the care session, letting the tenseness of your muscles loosen and leave you. You were going to be cared for in every possible way. Azrir would take care of you in every way possible.

You were really going to like living in hell if hell meant a big, mean demon took care of your every need and threatened to kill anything that moved wrong near you.

Taglist: @tinybrie, @bunniotomia, @c4xcocoa, @darkmoka, @fightmebissh, @bloobewy, @chi1lllb, @cqerrz, @heart-cream, @noone1233nobody, @type-ink, @sonyboos, @atlasbatman05, @eyeless-kun, @zomqiez.

First

Next/end

#creative writing #my writing #writing inspiration #writers #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #yandere #platonic yandere #yandere batfam #batfam #batfamily x neglected reader #romantic yandere

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nerdygirlramblings · 6 hours ago

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This is not my usual fluff, but it came to me quickly (so totally not proofread) and demanded to be written. It's hurt, no comfort, based on Maren Morris's "Lemonade".

“I'm so sick of lemonade. All this squeeze ain't worth the juice.” - Maren Morris, “Lemonade”

Finally…the first heel drops neatly onto the mat, and you toe off the other. As it too drops to the floor, your eyes snag on the muddy boot print on the runner. Staring at the grime doesn’t make it disappear, but it drags your attention to the other prints and a pile of dirty footwear dropped in the center of the hallway. Deep breath in and out again. It isn’t like you’d asked them to wipe the mud off their boots yesterday as you cleaned up the dirty prints they’d left in the foyer.

Shouts from the lounge let you know your men are watching football. You bypass the room, noting how not one voice calls out a greeting or any kind of acknowledgement at all. The siren song of tea calls to you from the kitchen. It's all you've been craving as you've closed out this stressful day.

You pull up short, shaken from visions of relaxing with a cup of Earl Grey. Two mugs with dregs sit on the table, and a third is on the counter. The kettle has clearly been used because it's still plugged in and on, but when you lift the lid, you find it's boiling dry. Deep breath in and out again. It doesn't matter anyway because when you reach for the canister of tea it feels deceptively light. Lifting the lid on the little copper tin, they're only a few loose leaves clinging to the bottom edge. And because you haven't gone to the shop in the last few days, and none of your men ever do, you know you're out of Tetley as well.

You try desperately to recall the ways your men make you happy. Like the chrysanthemums John had delivered last week just because. Glancing at where they sit on the sill, you see the dried water line and empty vase, vibrant blooms wilting in the sunshine. They do other things, too, to show you they care, like the chocolates Gaz brought home from your favorite sweets shop. You open the fridge to grab one only to find there's no box. Perhaps one of your men simply moved it to the cupboard, even though you've told them over and over how you like to keep your chocolate chilled. Dad always said it tasted better that way, and you agree.

But there's no box in the fridge and nothing in the cupboard. There's no box on the counter. You peek into the lounge and to your dismay, there are your chocolates on the low table, lid off and emptied.

"Is nothing fucking sacred?" you whisper to yourself.

Even in your quick perusal of the fridge, it wasn't hard to miss how the leftovers you'd put away the last few days were now gone. A glance into the sink showed it piled with containers. So they ate without you and left nothing for you.

As you're counting backwards from 10, trying to calm yourself down, you hear Soap's voice call out, "Bon, when ye go to the shop, can ye get some more crisps?" Like they can't get themselves snacks.

It's your last straw.

You storm into the room and pull the plug on the telly, forcing the men to pay attention to you. Ghost rumbles a growl, and Price glares while Gaz says, "What the -" but you cut him off.

"That's it! I am not your maid. I am not your cook." You glare coldly at give each of them. "I am not your mother. You. Are. Not. Children." With each word, your voice dips closer to deadly calm. A moment is all you give them before truly unleashing. "Did any of you bother to wipe the mud off your boots when you came in?" You hold up a hand to forestall any objections. "Don't bother, I know you didn't because there are muddy prints on the floor I just cleaned mud off of yesterday. Empty dirty mugs from the last dregs of tea are sitting in the kitchen. I thought we'd agreed to always make sure there was tea in the house, and if not, we wouldn't have a cup. And yet there's no bags because I'm the only one who ever goes to the shop, and I've been too busy with work this week, and there's scraps of loose leaves left. You all ate your fill because all the containers from leftovers are in the sink. But did any of you think that if you ate it all there wouldn't be anything for me?" Again, you hold up a hand. They are not stopping you now. "It's clear what you think of me, and if that's the case, then we are done."

You walk out before they realize the bomb has already gone off.

Stepping into the bedroom, you tug a carryall out of the wardrobe, filling it with a few days worth of clothes and toiletries. The flat isn't in your name, so you don't have to kick them out or break a lease. A few days in a hotel is time enough to find a place to let. They have a mission coming up; you can move your things out then. Give everyone a clean break. You tell yourself it isn't cowardly.

The frozen tableau in the lounge would be funny if it wasn't so heartbreaking. How had you let it get so bad? Seeing you with the bag slung over your shoulder spurs Soap to action. He scurries into the hall behind you, hand wrapping around yours. "Bon, wait! Bon, please!" he says.

You only look at him, reach your hand up, cover his, and pry his fingers off yours. You don't know what he sees in your face, but he recoils, and the pure devastation in his eyes is unmistakable.

"I won't do this anymore," you say quietly. "I need a partner, someone in this with me. You aren't that. Maybe you all were once. Maybe you can be again. But you aren't now. And I deserve better."

#cod #poly!141 #poly!141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #simon riley #johnny mactavish #john price #kyle garrick #nerdygirl says

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dfroggofarson · 2 days ago

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synopsys: you know Sukuna is a violent, egotistical curse who puts your nerves to the test. he goes "missing" one day, and when he does return, something gets stirred up inside you (and maybe in him, too?) cw: nothing, guys. it's just some fluff. find the playlist I wrote this to here! enjoy <3

It was a long day for you. Even though most would argue that working at a small grocery shop is one of the most undemanding jobs, it was hard sometimes. Today one of your coworkers fell sick and dumped his shift on you last-minute, and knowing that you had ten hours of uncut work ahead of you was not a good thought to begin the day with. One hour into your shift, an old lady accidentally knocked down a whole isle of tomato sauce and broke ten jars of it. The poor lady had just enough money to pay for the broken jars, but not to pay for her own groceries, so you decided to help her out. She was very sweet and apologized thoroughly for her clumsiness, and you just brushed it off. The next half hour of constantly interrupted cleaning was not wery sweet, though. Halfway through it came a group of teenage boys - real bullies, you could tell it from a single glance - and decided to subtly steal some goods, which you noticed, of course. Thankfully, they paid for it, followed by a "Damn, bro, I thought I had it," and tried to convince you to treat one of them to a delicious onigiri, which you refused, but that was the end of that. You were frustrated, but not as much as you became when you accidentally slipped and landed in the last puddle of tomato sauce lef untouched. The next eight hours of your shift went mostly smoothly, except for the fact that your favourite jeans were ruined, you had an additional 10 dollars missing from your pocket, your butt was hurting, and your mood was worse than ever. When you finally closed up, you walked home in your running jeans, dirty denim folded in your hands. As you strolled to your apartment's door, you noticed that it was open.

So... he's finally home.

At least your door is in one piece.

You gulped, putting away your keys, and pushed your front door open. Sukuna was lying on your couch, shirtless (obviously), with his arms crossed under his head. He heard the sound coming from your direction, and opened one of his eyes to look at you.

"Finally," he said, but did not move. "I thought you ran away."

"This apartment is quite permanent, you know. I just had to pick up my coworker's shift, he caught something," you explained, while putting down your bag and heading for your bathroom. You had no idea how to get tomato sauce out of your clothes, much less had the energy to do it, so you just threw it in the washing machine and started it. Then you headed back to the living room / kitchen and opened the cabinet. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in like... two weeks?"

"And two days. But it's not your business. "

You grabbed a pack of instant noodles, and boiled some water. "Yeah, right. Forgot about that."

The kettle’s sound filled in the little apartment. While you waited for your dinner to heat up, you glanced at the King of Curses, who was still lying on your sofa, eyes closed. It was a bizarre sight. Even though you had known him for a whole year (well, as well as you could know a deadly curse), it was an unusual feeling when he visited. Also, you had absolutely no idea why he did that, but given how lonely you were, even having a human-shaped curse as a companion was better than no one. He was dangerous, of course, but never did a large enough damage that would cost or hurt you so much, and you paid attention not to anger him. So you just "let him" hang around you.

The kettle beeped, and a ray of happiness reached your soul upon hearing that your food was warm and ready. After pouring the water onto your noodles, you put the sauces on it and covered it with a lid. You picked up a set of chopsticks and sat down to the table.

"What are you eating?" He said, to your surprise. He never really asked anything about you, ever. So you replied eagerly.

"Just some instant noodles. Do you... want a bite?

He looked up at you, and you thought he would just refuse you with an "obviously no" stare, but to your even greater surprise, he got up frok the couch and took a seat next to you. You just blinked in shock, but lifted the lid – the three minutes was up – and fished out a chunk of noodles. Sukuna watched you carefully, as if you were wrapping out a machine gun (one that could actually hurt him).

"Say 'aah'" you offered the food, and he bit down on the chopsticks. Sukuna chewed and swallowed, then looked at you with disgust.

'You actually eat this," he said, more like an astonished statement than a question.

"Sadly, yes."

"Why."

"I dunno."

"That’s dumb."

"Maybe, but it keeps me alive."

He fell silent after that. You could not believe your eyes: an emotion of some sort flashed through his face! You could not identify what kind of expression was that, but it was definitely not indifference, annoyance or disgust.

He then spoke.

"When I was... not yet a curse, I met this old man a couple of times. He was a horrible cook. That’s probably a reason why his wife died so young," he scoffed. You sat in silence. "He would invite me in and treat me to his horrible soups whenever he saw me. I was always so damn hungry, so I would go with him, even though I wanted to vomit every time I ate at his house. He was a herbalist of some sorts, so he didn’t really care about taste, only nutrition,” his face was even. Not contorted in any kind of grimace. he just looked... at peace. It was a sight you never even magined seeing. "He died when I was around fifteen. But taught me some of his knowledge, since he didn’t have any children. I forgot most of it."

You had no idea what brought him to actually talk about himself, and not in superlatives. He shared something personal, showed a vulnerable side of himself, and you liked it.

Hesitantly, you reached out, and touched his right pinky.

He pulled away instantly, and you regretted your movement right away.

"Eat, you are hungry," he said, but you wouldn’t try to look at his glance.

Maybe, if you had done that, you could have seen some other new feelings.

The noodles you half-liked felt like rotten garbage after that. You tried to eat them, but after a few bites, you put down the chopsticks and just stared at it.

"There used to live an old granny across the street from where I lived as a child. Sometimes my mom would ask her to babysit me, and whenever she did, I begged my mom to go anywhere but her house. She was a horrible cook, too," you laughed briefly. Sukuna didn’t move. "She could only make instant ramen and pancakes. Her pancakes were good, but she wouldn’t let me eat them until I ate her instant ramen. I absolutely hated that, but it was worth it, because she had the sweetest smile and the best pancakes. Well, I always thought that, until I got these bad stomach aches which made me regret the whole thing. Eventually, we moved away when I was around ten and I never saw her again. I don’t know if she’s still alive."

There was silence. But... no pressing. Nothing uncomfortable. Just silence.

You glanced up at his direction, and your breath got stuck in your throat.

He was looking at you.

He was... beautiful.

So beautiful.

His red eyes were not filled with rage. His face was still, black tattoos hugging his features in a way you could never imagine seeing them before. A single strand of hair fell near his left ear, but it was not out of place. Nothing on him was out of place, wrong, or unclean. He looked perfect – absolutely perfect.

You couldn’t stop staring, and neither could him.

You felt something touch your left pinky.

It was his right pinky.

"Let’s visit this granny tomorrow."

You let yourself get lost in his deep red eyes.

You knew now.

You were in love.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #fluff #no smut #sorry folks

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