yujensstuff

[yujensstuff]

floral dividers

credit not needed. recoloring welcomed. feel free to edit as you need!

[yujensstuff]

“Unable to reblog this post.” tch… i didnt think it was that good of a post anyways…

[yujensstuff]

Crybaby! boyfriend who can't get it up for anyone else and cries when he puts it in you. He just can't help it, okay? Not when you feel so good!

"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry-"

"What are you saying sorry for? Just fuck me damn."

"You just feel so- ngh... Good..."

"𝓘'𝓶 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓽."

You're not sure whether or not to laugh or get him pregnant. Both? Yeah, both.

Oh yeah, he also used to think he had erectile dysfunction before meeting you. Can you imagine him? Looking at all types of porn but not able to get it up at all. But just one glance from you?

Yep, he's busting all over.

"I love you babe."

"Hn... Snh..."

"Are you... Crying right now???"

"I'm sorry, schk... You're just so amazing... I love you too babe..."

Don't get me started on the compliments. You just KNOW that he's a sucker for them. No, you KNOW. It's happened a lot of times before and You're sure it's not gonna be the end of it. You're pretty sure that he didn't get attention as a kid and that's why he crumbles completely at a simple praise.

"You actually got up and cleaned your room, I'm proud of you."

"You're... Proud of me?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh... Hng..."

"Did you seriously just cum in your pants?"

But what can you say? He's your sweet crybaby boyfriend that crumbles at every shred of affection. Imagine him being all stoic and nonchalant?

Ew.

You'd rather die. Those big watery eyes of his the way he feels his emotions so deeply... What isn't there to love? So what if he cums prematurely? What if he's horny 24/7? You love him and he loves you. That's all that matters. Plus, there's a reason why he was put on this planet.

To get pregnant of course! And you'll be impregnating that man. Obviously.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

[yujensstuff]

zaddy? sorry.

He’s never done anything wrong in his life

[yujensstuff]

ARKHAM KNIGHT | armor appreciation

[yujensstuff]

ngl I'm surprised she deactivated her account. but there is a lot more blogs she has 😭. ngl i might get attacked for this but her fans are also kinda...😃 i don't even want to say anything about them HAHAHAHA

i don't even get why she was so salty over "woke" propaganda when the fandom she literally writes for is inherently woke from the start 😭 you can never deny how superman is an illegal alien immigrant who is titled champion of the oppressed, who fights not just for america but for human rights as a whole, then there's also batman, wonder woman, literally green arrow, every superhero you idolize are woke as hell, let's not forget how writers planned to make conner kent a trans woman? 🤨—

then you gotta tell me she came to a conclusion to form bigoted opinions, and THEN tell others not to dabble into her own country's politics when she spews shit about the damn issues happening in america (fuck ICE, fuck the government, and most especially you tr*mp 🤮)??? also, as far as a stretch as this sounds, the tim drake hate feels very much targeted, cause ik she mentioned how the writers "ruined" his character by making him bi and ruining his romance with steph, when the latter has already broken up with him long ago (homophobia much??? for someone who claims she actually doesn't care about his character, why so salty then? and why complain about him being bi when that was also announced YEARS ago)

and also, her one pinning a long message saying the blog is supposed to be free from politics or whatsoever, but damn what a hypocrite, especially when she calls everyone who rebuts the r slur? i have had so much gripes on her from the start damn 😭

just saying, if you're a writer with a big following, like me with a big platform, that doesn't mean you automatically have the power to talk about your dogshit, uneducated opinions and expect to NOT get attacked or called out for it, ESPECIALLY if it's targeted to minorities, and especially if you know you can't defend yourself and end up deleting your blog cause you know you're in the wrong LMAO

(yes, this is about luv-lock. i once vaguely mentioned her in my account, idc if i get attacked for this, i'm just pointing out my own observations)

[yujensstuff]

Maybe we should be a bit more careful on who we support and are mutuals with (You know who this is about lmao).

There's so much more weirder shit they've said over the months.

EDIT!: You know, instead of actually apologizing or admitting they fucked up, they decided to delete their blog.

EDIT 2!: I just want to make it clear that the dark fiction they wrote wasn't the problem (I'm also a fan of dark fiction), it was the weird shit they had been spewing for MONTHS on end. If you think the stuff you see in the screenshots is bad, you should've seen the other shit they had said.

[yujensstuff]

two babies!!!

[yujensstuff]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⁞ fuzzy socks && kisses

word count: ~2308 words

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

warnings: no warnings!! just fluff fluff fluff

dove's notes: hope you lovelies feel fed! i've been in kind of a writing slump lately but this got my ass out of it, thanks jason! you sexable man

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It’s late. Like... late-late. The kind of late that seeps into your bones.

Even Gotham—loud, wild, unapologetically feral Gotham—has finally surrendered, just for a moment, to something like stillness. The city glows in that soft amber-orange light, the kind that feels more at home in an old Polaroid than in real life. The sun is almost fully up now, low and golden, peeling the night away.

The usual chaos seems to fold in on itself, hushed by the light drizzle slicking the pavement, taming the streets into quiet. The rain isn’t a storm—just a gentle mist that turns the city’s sharp edges soft and blurry. Streetlamps still flicker with that worn-out, golden buzz—old, tired things that have been burning too long and just want to be left in peace.

Jason’s key slides into the lock with practiced ease, he turns the key just right, pushes the door so it doesn’t squeak, nudges it closed with the heel of his boot instead of the knob. and the door clicks shut behind him just as silently.

He doesn’t need to be sneaky here—not really. but old habits die hard, and years of slipping through shadows don’t shake off just because he’s home. His movements are practiced, second nature: helmet off first, carefully set on the shelf by the door. One boot, then the other—nudged off with the toe of the opposite foot, slow and quiet like the night depends on it.

The hardwood greets him with a low, familiar groan—right on cue. That same loose floorboard just past the entryway. The one he told himself he’d fix months ago. He meant to. Still does. He just... hasn’t gotten around to it yet. Too many nights chasing down people who make louder noises than floorboards ever could.

You don’t stir from the creak.

Turns out he was right. You waited up for him.

He’d asked you not to wait up. Not in a demanding way—never like that—but soft and worn-out. He’d pulled you in earlier, arms snug around your waist, face tucked into your hair. Kissed the crown of your head and mumbled it into your scalp. “Get some sleep, yeah? please don't wait.” Low, rough, he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night worried about you too.

And you had nodded against his chest, mumbled something into his shirt that sounded like “okay.” And then you’d looked up, eyes squinting, and stuck out your pinky.

“Promise,” you said, voice soft but still holding that stubborn spark. “Double pinky swear. Triple. Triple pinky swear with a twist. and the secret seal, you know the seal.”

You wiggled your pinky at him like it was the most sacred of all vows. you made it seem like it would physically hurt you for him not to make it official. And when he tried to pretend he didn’t remember the "secret seal", you just poked him in the chest, right over his heart, with a dramatic little hmph.

“Seal it,” you said. So he did. He kissed your pinky, then your forehead, and said something grumbly about how ridiculous this was. But he was smiling when he said it, all soft around the edges. so you didn't take him too seriously.

He should’ve known you’d break the swear the second his back was turned.

he should know by now what your promises mean.

When you say, “I’ll sleep, I pinky swear,” what you really mean is: “I’ll lie on the couch with something playing, just to fill the space. I’ll tell myself I’m not waiting, that I’m just resting, but I’ll keep glancing at the clock anyway. Keep listening for your key in the door without even realizing I’m doing it. I’ll stay like that until my eyes finally give up on me.”

And, well. here you are now, proving exactly that.

You're curled up in the corner of the couch, soft and still. One arm hangs off the edge, fingers loose and completely at ease. Your head's tilted in a way that would probably horrify a chiropractor, smushed against an old throw pillow that’s definitely past its prime. The blanket you meant to wrap around yourself is bunched awkwardly at your waist, halfway sliding off. Your feet are bare, sticking out at the end.

He shakes his head.

“You and the goddamn socks,” he mumbles, almost fondly.

You never remember them. He reminds you every time. Sometimes through gritted teeth, sometimes through a text sent from five rooftops away. Somehow, he always knows when you’re not wearing socks—even when he’s nowhere near you.

He swears you forget on purpose. Just to get under his skin.

He doesn’t care about Gotham winters—not for himself, anyway. But when it comes to you, suddenly it’s a national emergency. He’ll play the overbearing mom if he has to, lecturing you about cold floors and catching colds and how you’re definitely going to get sick if you keep this up. He just wants to make sure you’re warm and okay. And if that means telling you to “put on your goddamn socks” like it’s life or death—then yeah. He’ll do it. Every single time.

But it’s hard to be annoyed. Looking at you like this, he can’t feel anything but softness.

The TV’s still playing. Some old movie you’ve seen a dozen times, maybe more. you’ve worn this DVD out. You’ve cried during it, laughed at it, talked over it. The dialogue is quiet, the music gentle, and he recognizes the scene even without looking—it’s the one you always quote, the one that always makes you cry, even when you say it won’t this time.

He doesn’t move right away.

Just stands there in the entryway, taking you in.

There’s a soft crease pressed into your cheek from the pillow. Your lips are parted slightly, breath slow and even. One leg’s folded beneath you, the other hanging off the couch like you gave up halfway through trying to find a comfortable position.

For a moment, his chest aches with the gentleness of it. from how soft it all feels. The quiet trust of being missed. Of being waited for. Of being loved in a way that's steady and patient and real.

Eventually, he moves toward you, his steps light. Careful not to jostle the couch.

He crouches down beside the couch, one knee down first. Then the other. resting one forearm on the cushion as he watches your sleeping face up close for a beat longer than necessary. There’s a smear of mascara under one eye from where you must’ve rubbed it in your sleep. He notices the way your eyelashes flutter. The soft puff of your breath when you exhale. The faint remnants of whatever lip balm you’d put on earlier, faded into a subtle shine.

His hand hovers for a second before brushing a loose strand of hair off your forehead.

“You forgot socks again, sweetheart,” he murmurs under his breath.

He nudges one of your toes, just to check if you’ll move. You don’t. You’re completely knocked out.

God, you look so cold. He can’t seem to shake that thought.

He moves carefully. He takes one arm beneath your knees, the other under your back. He lifts slow. Doesn’t rush it. Your body sags against his shoulder with a sigh, head finding its usual home in the crook of his neck.

He holds you for a second longer than he needs to. Just standing there in the middle of the dim living room, the flicker of the TV painting sleepy shadows across the ceiling, your heartbeat slow against his chest.

Then he walks.

He walks you to the bedroom in silence, letting the movie play on in the background like white noise.

He leans down slowly, careful not to rush as he lowers you onto the bed. Your body melts into the mattress with a quiet sigh, your arms falling loosely by your sides, completely surrendered to the idea of rest.

Once you’re lying there, he pulls the covers up gently, making sure the blanket doesn’t drag over your face. Without really thinking, he shifts your pillow just a little, tucking it closer so you’re comfortable.

Then he slips out of the room for what feels like no time at all—just long enough to dig out a clean pair of his thickest socks. The kind so ridiculously bulky they look like something your grandma would have knitted with all the love in the world but zero concern for fashion.

The fuzzy, wool-lined ones, way too big for anyone but somehow perfect, the ones he bought you during some crazy snowstorm. the same ones you refuse to wear because you think they look ridiculous.

He kneels at the foot of the bed like he’s about to propose to your frozen feet and carefully peels back the blanket, just enough to free your toes. They twitch a little when the cool air hits them. He smiles to himself, like yeah, cold. thought so.

He warms your feet first with his hands. Rubs his thumbs gently over the arch of one foot, then the other. His palms are calloused, sure, but warm—so warm. He murmurs something barely audible while he works, something like, “You're going to be sick if you keep this up.” but there’s laughter buried in the rasp of it.

Then he pulls the socks on—slow and careful, making sure they don’t tug or stretch out of shape. He slips them onto your feet one at a time, smoothing the edges gently, his thumbs brushing softly over your ankles.

And then, like he can’t stop himself, before he pulls the covers back over your feet, he leans down and presses a slow, gentle kiss just above your ankle bone. Right in that little space between where the sock ends and your skin begins.

Then he stands back up and carefully tucks the two thick blankets around you—one side, then the other—making sure you’re snug. He even folds the top edge down near your collarbone, just enough so you won’t get too hot, but still stay cozy.

He brushes some hair out of your face. Lets his fingers rest there for a moment, just above your temple.

He probably should’ve showered by now—still smelling like sweat, gunpowder, and whatever else Gotham threw at him tonight.

Not wanting to dirty your bed, he quietly slips off to the bathroom.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The shower lasts about twenty minutes. He keeps it quick. Not rushed, just efficient. Muscle memory, mostly. Hot water, steam thick in the air, the scent of soap clinging to his skin. He scrubs away the grime of the city, the kind that seeps into your bones even when nothing technically went wrong.

He’s not injured tonight. No bruised ribs, no split lip, no blood staining his knuckles. Somehow, it was a quiet patrol—so quiet it made the back of his neck itch with suspicion. But nothing happened. For once, Gotham gave him her version of a night off.

And he took it. Reluctantly.

Now, clean but still a little damp, his towel-dried hair curling at the ends, he’s wandering down the hallway barefoot and shirtless. Jason’s a total hypocrite—always fussing about you wearing socks and staying warm so you don’t get sick, then here he is doing the exact opposite. If you were awake and saw him like this, he’d never live it down. But honestly, you’re no different—you’re always on his case about being careful and responsible. Guess that makes you two just two sides of the same stubborn coin.

Every step slightly quicker than the last, the hum of the apartment settling into sleep around him.

The bedroom door creaks faintly as he pushes it open. You’re still in the same position he left you in—curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing deep and slow. He smiles to himself.

He pulls back one side of the blanket slowly, careful not to let the cool air wake you. Then he climbs into bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. The sheets are warm. You are warmer.

As soon as he settles, you stir—just a little. Your body shifts with the change, but you don’t wake. Not really.

Still, your hand finds his.

It’s slow and searching, like your body is half-asleep but still knows exactly where it wants to be. You don’t even open your eyes. Just reach out blindly, fingers brushing along his until they slot perfectly between his own.

He Just stares at your face in the low light filtering in through the curtains. His chest tightens—not in the bad way, not like panic or dread. In the way that makes him feel too full. Like there’s something blooming under his ribs and it doesn’t know where to go.

You tug his hand toward you slightly, not even aware you’re doing it. He shifts closer without thinking, until his chest is pressed to your back and his forehead is resting in that familiar dip just behind your shoulder. He exhales slow. Letting himself sink.

Your skin is warm beneath his touch, and your hair still carries the soft scent of your shampoo.

He presses the lightest kiss to the curve of your shoulder blade, actually not even really a kiss—more like a pause. A place to rest his mouth.

Night, sweetheart,” he whispers. His voice is rough, a little low and lazy from sleep he hasn’t let himself have yet. But there’s something softer underneath it.

You don’t speak. You just make a quiet sound in the back of your throat—something between a sigh and a hum. The kind of noise someone makes when they feel something good and safe and familiar settle beside them.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[yujensstuff]

PATTERN BANNERS | tufted 01.

okee, I lied—here’s one more Valentine’s Day inspired set ! I had this pattern invade my mind and I got up at 5am to make these in case I forget it when I wake up in the morning HAHAHA.

does anyone even read these ?! anyway, enjoy ! 🤍✨

colours : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

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[yujensstuff]

HEARTS + BOWS | pinks 01.

──────── ⵌ HEART ...

──────── ⵌ BOW HEART ...

──────── ⵌ SMALL HEART ...

──────── ⵌ BOW ...

──────── ⵌ HEART STAR ...

okey, seriously, last one. happy Valentine’s Day everyone ! sending you all the warmest hugs heehee 🥰

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

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[yujensstuff]

PATTERN BANNERS | tufted 04.

there seems to be a lot of loving rn for my green galaxy dividers, so I thought I’d just quietly drop the tufted style as well ! just in time for St. Patrick’s Day, ya? 🍀

colours : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

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[yujensstuff]

did u atleast kiss the brick before throwing it in my face

The Forgotten Twin

-part1 -part2

5:30 AM

The alarm didn’t beep. Y/N never needed one. His body had long since been trained to wake before dawn, a remnant of his time in the League.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes. The Manor was still dark.

Damian’s probably already training with Dick.

Y/N’s room was neat—too neat. No posters, no personal touches. Just a bed, a desk, and a single framed photo on the nightstand: a rare picture of him and Damian as children, before the world taught them they were not equals.

He touched the glass, tracing Damian’s scowling face.

At least he has them.

6:00 AM

Alfred was already in the kitchen. The moment Y/N stepped in, the butler offered a small, polite smile.

"Good morning, Master Y/N. Pancakes or eggs today?"

"Pancakes, please. Thank you, Alfred."

He sat at the far end of the table, where he always did. No one else was here yet. Bruce had likely been up all night working. Dick and Damian would eat later, after training. Jason rarely came home. And Tim?

Tim would walk in, see Y/N, and immediately turn to leave, grabbing a protein bar instead.

Y/N ate in silence, staring at his plate.

7:00 AM

Gotham Academy was a refuge

Here, no one knew he was the other Wayne twin—the one nobody talked about. His classmates smiled at him. Asked about his weekend. Invited him to sit with them at lunch.

If only they knew how pathetic I really am.

He forced himself to laugh at their jokes, to participate in class, to pretend he wasn’t counting the minutes until he had to go back home.

3:30 PM

The moment he stepped inside, the dread settled in his stomach.

"Tt. Finally decided to grace us with your presence?" Damian’s voice dripped with disdain as he leaned against the staircase, Titus by his side.

Y/N flinched. The massive dog’s dark eyes locked onto him, ears perked.

"H-Hey, Damian," Y/N whispered, edging along the wall. "How was… training?"

Damian smirked. "Productive. Unlike your playtime at school."

"Titus. Fetch."

The dog lunged.

Y/N’s breath seized. He ran.

Titus barked, claws scraping against marble as he chased. Y/N’s heart pounded, tears blurring his vision as he sprinted up the stairs, barely making it to his room before slamming the door shut.

Outside, Damian’s laughter echoed.

"Pathetic."

Y/N slid to the floor, trembling.

4:00 PM

He tried to focus on his assignments. But the words blurred together.

Why does he hate me so much?

A knock at the door.

Y/N’s breath hitched. Someone came?

"Y/N?" Dick’s voice.

For one wild, foolish second, Y/N’s heart leapt. He noticed. He finally—

"Have you seen my escrima sticks? Damian said you might’ve moved them."

Y/N’s shoulders slumped.

"N-No. Sorry."

"Huh. Weird. Okay, thanks."

Footsteps faded away.

Y/N stared at his hands.

Of course. Why would he want anything else?

6:30 PM

Bruce was here tonight. A rare occurrence.

Y/N sat quietly, picking at his food as the others talked—well, argued.

Jason and Damian were in a heated debate about something. Tim was texting under the table, ignoring everyone. Dick was mediating. Bruce was… staring at his plate, lost in thought.

No one looked at Y/N.

"Y/N."

Bruce’s voice.

Y/N’s head snapped up, pulse racing. He said my name. He—

"Pass the salt."

"…Oh. Right."

He handed it over, forcing a smile. Bruce didn’t even glance at him.

8:00 PM

Y/N had an idea.

If he could help them, maybe they’d see him.

He crept into the Cave, where Tim was working on the Batcomputer.

"Tim, I—I thought maybe I could… assist you? I’m good with tech, and—"

Tim didn’t turn around. "I don’t need help."

"But I—"

"Leave, Y/N."

The words were a knife.

Y/N swallowed hard and walked away.

9:30 PM

Sleep didn’t come easy.

When it did, it brought nightmares—Ra’s’ voice, cold and mocking. "You are nothing. Nothing."

Y/N woke with a gasp, sweat-drenched and shaking.

The Manor was silent.

No one came to check on him.

Why would they?

11:00 PM

Y/N stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at his reflection.

Green eyes. Pale skin. A face so like Damian’s, yet so unwanted.

"Why am I even here?"

His fingers gripped the sink.

"Do they want me to disappear?"

A sob tore free.

Y/N let himself cry.

Y/N didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, he sat by his window, watching the moon.

A thought crept in—dark, unbidden.

Maybe… they’d be happier if I wasn’t here.*

And the worst part?

He wasn’t sure they’d even notice.

@c4cocoa @rainschnael @sonyboos @quietplace26 @luvstodin @nxdxswolrd

[yujensstuff]

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄

pairing: mark grayson x reader

summary: mark and [name] being cuddly ppl, morning cuddles

a/n: english is not my first language. dizis some hc & drabble,interpret [name]'s gender as ur own,, not proofread

tw suggestive themes

Thinking about spending the morning after an intimate night with Mark Grayson.

Both of you were super exhausted, and were practically bedrotting. You would grumble about him being unforgiving the night before, but he'll just hum in acknowledgement.

He felt a little prideful, wearing you down.

"Can you loosen your grip a little, Mark?" You finally said after a long moment of silence. You hated the fact that he had super strength, he always used it to his advantage. He whined, reluctantly loosing up his grip—but just a tad bit. Mark was always so very clingy, more often than not he would refuse to let go of your hand when going out.

You grumbled, "You're gonna crush me, my God." voice muffled against his chest which felt more like a stone wall than anything human.

His arms instinctively tightened. Again.

"But you're so soft," came the sleepy reply, Mark's voice coming out as a deep rumble against your ear. "Like a big, life-sized teddy bear."

"I'm no teddy bear." You hissed.

He was the number one reason why you were cranky most of the day.

Why? Cause of his grip, obviously. The fact that you could do absolutely nothing to resist from his embrace, the impending doom that always awaits you when you have risen from your slumber.

Trying to squirm, you sigh in defeat. No good—superstrength made Mark a leech when cuddling. "I'm your lover." You spell the word 'lover'. "One with ribs. I'd like to have them uncracked."

Mark made a very unreasonable retort. "But you might float away!" He pouts.

"Markus Sebastian Grayson—"

"Fine.."

══════════════════════

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓶𝓮

© yujensstuff, 2025

[yujensstuff]

ANIMATED LINES | rainbow 002.

──────── ⵌ PINK ...

──────── ⵌ RED ...

──────── ⵌ ORANGE ...

──────── ⵌ MUSTARD ...

──────── ⵌ YELLOW ...

──────── ⵌ GREEN ...

──────── ⵌ MINT ...

──────── ⵌ BLUE ...

──────── ⵌ LAVENDER ...

──────── ⵌ PURPLE ...

( tw : flashing ) the og animated lines, but in other sizes ! apologies for not making these in different sizes in the first place—it’s actually been a year since I first released them heh. anyway, here are the other sizes 〜

as always, they’re vvv smol so it’ll be easier to save on desktop !

please like, reblog, and credit 〜

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[yujensstuff]

Biker Dividers

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