#more people on here like them than I thought

[nightingale-prompts]

God's TV- DC x DP prompt

Accidentally summoning a god from another dimension can happen, especially when cults are involved. However, no can could predict that the not only was the god a teenage boy but also a very bored teenage boy who didn't want to leave.

So he stayed and moved into Titans tower.

Danny is helpful (when he wants to be) but rarely goes out on missions. He says they are boring and nothing is dangerous enough to exert the effort. Instead, he minds the medical bay. Having a healer more than made up for the lack of help.

It's not like anyone disliked Danny or thought he didn't do anything it was just that he was unpredictable. Danny could be nice, considerate, and even sweet if he was working in the medbay. He could also be a pain in the ass anywhere else. He loved pranks and scaring people with his powers. He was harmless though.

No one really knew what he did all day. He was usually in his room doing something they guested. Said room was an anomaly. It was larger on the inside having been made into a pocket dimension. The appearance and organization of the room changed every time you went in.

It was after one mission that the team learned what was in the room.

A rogue had used their invention to erase Superboy's memories and they didn't know what to do. They took him to Danny who was currently rearranging the medicine by color. They hoped that his powers covered mind-altering afflictions. Unfortunately, Danny couldn't wave a hand and fix this.

Instead, Danny took the group to his room. The decor was neon Tokyo meets space right now. The furniture was currently floating and almost hitting Wonder Girl in the head with an end table. Of course, there was no gravity here.

"Stay here while I grab it," Danny said flying up the vertical corridor.

While he was gone the room rearranged itself into a contemporary format. The furniture grounded itself and shifted into a normal living room.

Danny returned with a cart and a headset. He placed a card he pulled out of the cart into the headset and put it on the dazed Superboy's head.

"Wait what is that?" Tim asked.

"It's his memories. I kept a backup in case this happened." Danny shrugged.

Immediately everyone began asking what the hell does that mean and why does he have that.

"Oh please, this dimension has this happened all the time. Amnesia is so cliché and cheap. I saw a pattern and decided the easiest way to prevent you from losing the entirety of your lives was to make save states of your memories." Danny said matter of fact.

Robin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Impulse studied the rack of cases and looking for the card with his name on it.

Wondergirl sighed, she was used to this from Robin but even he wouldn't go this far.

"What? It's not like just anyone can find these. Only you can access your own memories anyways. I just decided to repurpose my RE:Viewer." Danny pouted.

"What is a reviewer?" Wally asked flipping through the cases. Each one had titles like moves or shows with an arrangement of stickers.

"The RE:Viewer is something I created to catalog things I've seen looking into other dimensions. I don't have an infinite memory you know. But the longer I have my title the more I'll lose touch with my mortality. These things help me stay close to people by giving me the chance to remember how it feels. I also have been using them to get the stories of others. Keeping their experiences like you'd keep a TV show or movie. So many stories could have been lost to time but now they are saved. I use them to teach myself." Danny smiled.

The concept genuinely sounded interesting. Like experiencing a movie in 4d.

It had been 3 minutes before Kon took off the headset and back to his old self.

Danny pulled the input card out and it disappeared into another realm with a flick of the wrist. Danny was completely honest that the copies were inaccessible to everyone but him.

"You feeling alright Superboy? Your memory should be backed up until a week ago." Danny said shining a light in his eye.

"I'm fine. I think. What happened?" Kon asked batting the light out of his eyes.

"Explanation later. Take a nap first. You aren't concussed at least." Danny informed.

"What are the stickers for?" Wally said pointing at the rainbow of colors the card cases had.

"Just the emotions associated with the experiences. Orange is comedy, red is action, pink is romance, and blue is tragedy." Danny listed. "That one with the pink is one of my favorites. I meddled a bit in that world. Two people who had never met fell in love at two points at different times. One of them was doomed to die but I worked my magic on a mirror that allowed them to meet once. They shared notes left in different places for the other months ahead. Makes you believe in true love. A real tear-jerker."

"What about the black stickers?" Wally asked.

"Don't touch the black ones," Danny said darkly, smacking his hand away. "You don't need to know about those. I don't like thinking about them."

"So you just take the memories of others and put them inside your machine to replay later?" Batgirl asked. "Isn't that kind of wrong?"

"No, I asked permission. I usually pull them aside at some point and ask. If it's my memories (that's the green stickers) I don't need to. The rainbow ones are simulations. Like a video games." Danny responded patting her on the back for not being to hard on him about this admittedly weird situation.

"So what's the black one with the rainbow sticker?" Wally asked picking up the case that was obviously stuffed in the back.

"STOP TOUCHING THOSE!" Danny yelled pulling him away.

[luveline]

hi jade!!! i would love to see a poly!marauders fic where they help r fall asleep please! absolutely no pressure at all just a suggestion ofc <3

“Why so moody?” 

You rub at your eyes, standing just behind the sofa. You’d been frowning when James spotted you, not wanting to ask. “I can’t…”

“What?” Sirius asks. 

Remus perks up from beside him. 

Three sets of eyes makes it worse and somehow better. Sometimes it’s easier to only tell one of them when you have a problem, but sometimes you need all of them to know. “I can’t sleep again. Are you coming to bed soon?” 

And listen, four people in one bed is insane but occasionally you manage it. Most of the time you sleep with James, less often Remus. You and Sirius tend to be incompatible while you sleep, because he grabs you around the neck and face for hugging and you wake up with sweat pouring off of you, blind. 

Perhaps that’s why he offers first and emphatically. “I’ll come to bed with you, darling,” Sirius says, a picture of concern as he stands. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, I’ve just tossed and turned for half an hour and I can’t take much more of it.” 

“She’s going insane,” Remus comments with a severe frown. 

Sirius helps him onto his feet. James, never one to be left out, turns off the television and gathers his throw blanket. “Not on my watch.” 

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to get up,” you say, wringing your hands behind your back. You hadn’t meant to summon them all to bed. You’d just wanted to know when you could expect an end to your agony. 

“Oh, well,” James begins, wrapping the throw blanket around your shoulders, “too late for that. Will you warm my side for me? I’ll lock up.” 

You feel shyer than you’d thought, shuffling back to the bedroom. Sirius’ hand finds your lower back as he enters the room from behind you, encouraging you gently to the side as he goes for the other. You’d left the sheets in disarray, the lamp on. James’ room is messy as always, but it’s your fault as you live from it most days. Remus is immediately put off by the overflowing dresser, closing each drawer with a shush over the runners. 

Sirius makes the bed, peeling back a corner for you. “Here, lovely. Climb in.” 

“I didn’t mean for you to wait on me,” you say shyly, embarrassed at their attention.

“There’s nothing I like doing more.” 

“He’s in a mood,” Remus says, though you’d guessed that already. “Enough room for me, too?” 

“‘Nough room for everyone,” you murmur, rounding Sirius to climb into bed as instructed. 

You and Remus end up in the middle of the bed, thankful for James’ sense of reality —everybody knew when you moved in together that the separate bedrooms wouldn’t last, but only James had the wherewithal to buy a very large bed. You’re immediately comforted by having one of them next to you, and Remus is very kind about it, asking in a murmur if he can cwtch you, wrapping his arm around your chest like you’re in danger of breaking from his touch. 

Sirius is less polite, but not less caring. If he thought you didn’t want him to touch you he certainly wouldn’t, but he knows he can hug you pretty much whenever he wants. He presses his nose to your face, Remus’ against your shoulder, the three of you deflating after a long day never quite this close to each other. You can feel a day’s worth of back ache leeching in your mattress. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. 

“Ooh, for what?” Sirius asks. 

“Making you come to bed.” 

“Didn’t make us do anything.” His breath warms your cheek as he talks. “It’s late. We would’ve been in bed soon.” 

It’s true enough. Everyone is in their pyjamas, Sirius smells like toothpaste. Still, you feel guilty for asking. And yet… you can finally relax now they’re here. It’s like they know exactly what’s been keeping you awake. Remus had cleaned and now holds your chest, Sirius reassures you and calms your stomach with his palm. 

James gets one good look at you all and rolls his eyes. “I asked you to do one thing for me. Jesus. Babe, could you move over?” he asks Remus, not giving him the time to comply before he’s in bed and smushing everyone even closer together. “This is fun. Sleepover!” 

“Just don’t start climbing on me again, Jamie,” Remus says. 

You close your eyes. “Don’t worry, they’ll chill out soon,” Sirius promises in a whisper. 

“Kiss?” you whisper back. 

Three different boys attempt to kiss you in the dimly lit bedroom. All the fuss doesn’t help you sleep, but knowing how much they care about you definitely does. 

[strwberri-milk]

Oooh could you give reactions of the LaDS guys when MC rescues them?? I can imagine their stunned faces followed by intense worry for MC

Zayne didn't think that disaster would strike the hospital but here he is using his Evol to try and help patients and their families escape. Anybody who had an offensive Evol was part of this shoddily thrown together front lines, desperately trying to buy time until the authorities arrived.

He thinks he's about to be closed in as the roof comes down, doing his best to try and lessen the damage when he sees you come to the rescue. Somehow you manage to push him out of the way, rolling the two of you to safety as you get up to continue your path. He immediately grabs you by the wrist, wordlessly asking if you're okay. You offer him a quick nod before running off to continue, both of you understanding that time is of the essence.

When he finds you again later he's giving you a full physical, wanting to make sure that you're okay despite the accident. He can only rest once you're safe, holding you close.

If you sustained a life threatening injury he's there the entire time. He's making sure that you're okay, monitoring your progress as much as the doctors will allow him to. They don't want him getting in the way, knowing that he's especially emotional because it's you despite never having seen him like this before. He knows he shouldn't be interfering but honestly, he can't help it. He's worried and he's going to blame himself for the rest of his life if you don't get better.

Xavier lost his mind when he lost sight of you, trying his best to fight while also looking for you everywhere. When he finally sees you after you took out a Wanderer he pulls you into his chest, hugging you tightly as he asks you if you're alright. He does his best to appraise your current condition, doing whatever he can to mitigate any pain you feel and trying to convince you to rest before things get worse.

The attack doesn't seem to be letting up at all and you know that the two of you have to split up to continue no matter how much he hates it. He decides fuck the orders and follows you anyway, knowing that he won't be able to focus if you're not there with him.

He hears the Wanderer too late - turning around and drawing his sword half a second later than he should when he hears your guns going off. The Wanderer immediately turns to you, giving him an opening to strike back. It's faster than either of you thought it was, the scream he hears from you shutting him down.

He's glad you saved him but not at the cost of your life and he wastes the creature, knowing his body will suffer the consequences from how powerful his attack was but that doesn't matter if it means it saved you. He immediately takes you to get help, refusing to leave your side until you're actually 100%. He promised himself he'd protect you and he's going to be even more protective of you from now on.

Rafayel didn't think that his studio would be ambushed like this but he was more than capable of handling it - or so he thought. He was close to burning down his whole studio if he needed to in order to escape the assailants, surprised when they suddenly start collapsing without him doing anything.

When you emerge with your weapon drawn he's happy to see you but immediately worries about how you got through the other people they said they brought with them. You were able to take them down thankfully but he's not convinced you're alright, securing his studio with you to ensure that the two of you have nothing else to worry about.

If you sustain a life threatening injury he's immediately calling for help but also takes care of you right then and there. He doesn't want to lose any time to waiting for medical staff to arrive or your fellow hunters - he knows how to take care of you and his fire Evol is thankfully good at cauterising wounds despite how awful he feels about you trying to be brave as he burns your skin. The scars that linger upset him deeply because to him, they represent a time he failed you but in spite of them he doesn't let it drag him down. He knows it'd just make you more upset to know that's how he feels so he just focuses on making sure his skills stay sharp enough to protect you.

Sylus doesn't normally get attacked when he goes out on a job but this was a first. He was a little underprepared, thinking he'd have a quiet evening but the fight wasn't too rough, thankfully. He turns, preparing to leave without realising that there was another figure hidden in the shadows, ready to strike him down when he hears someone fall behind him. You stand over their unconscious body, a little worse for wear but nothing some TLC couldn't solve.

Sylus insists on taking you home, knowing that while you look fine there was always a slight chance that something was being overlooked and he did not want to be negligent in your care. He doesn't like the fact that you got attacked most likely because of your association with him, telling you that you need to be more careful to avoid things like that happening.

When you do get attacked because of your connection with him he has no reservations killing the person who had the audacity to hurt you. He takes you back home, patching you up and making sure you're okay in the comfort of his house. You have round the clock care and you think that Sylus isn't too shaken about your near death experience until you realise his sleep is even lighter one night. He can't sleep properly and probably won't for a while. He'll always be even more alert, constantly having either Mephisto or himself on your trail to ensure that nothing like that happens again.

[corkinavoid]

I'm pretty sure this has been done before (and several times), but brain going brrr, so

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids

Bruce doesn't even get to say anything when the door to his study opens with a slam against the wall, and before he knows it, he gets an armful of kids. As in, a bouquet of them.

"I'm so done," John Constantine breathes out, raspy and exhausted, looking like a trainwreck incarnate. Granted, the man always looked like one, but right now, the effect has been greatly worsened. The dark circles under John's eyes are, in fact, black, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in at least a week.

Bruce looks down to the small gaggle of children in his lap that he caught in his hands by sheer reflex.

All three of them look up at him with identical, sky blue eyes. They could be twins if it was not for their obviously different ages - the girl looks no older than three, while the boys are probably around five and six.

The older boy scrunches his nose. The girl pouts, but it looks directed at Constantine rather than at him.

Bruce looks back to John, a silent question in his eyes.

"They are- Well, not mine, for starters," the man begins, placing his hands on the table right over the sheets and documents, and leans on it, hanging his head down. Then, he raises one hand up and waves it in the air, "Not yours either, thank the Gods for that." He takes a deep breath.

Bruce's eyebrows raise all the way up to his hairline. The girl starts trying to wiggle out of his hands, but the middle boy holds her back, keeping her in Bruce's lap. She pouts harder.

"And you've brought them here why?" Bruce breaks the stretched out silence, gently repositioning the kids into a more comfortable hold. John raises his head up at him, and the magician's eyes look straight up pleading.

"You're the only person I know of who is, one, a parent, two, acquainted with supernatural, three, a man of great patience, and four, owes me a favor." Constantine lists off reasons that don't really make sense all together, especially regarding kids. Then he thinks for a moment and adds, "Five, owes a shitton of liquor."

"John, what-"

"Listen, I've been dealing with them for a week, I'm at my limit," Constantine interrupts him, desperate and close to whining, "I haven't slept in more than three consecutive hours for days. I don't remember the last time I ate. Or took a shower."

Yes, Bruce can see that. Or, rather, smell it. But that answers none of his questions as to who, why, and how.

"I would kill for a bath," John admits, like it's some sort of a secret. The middle boy opens his mouth, but Constantine points an accusing finger at him, "No, the puddle of melted ghost ice does not count for a bath. And don't come at me with your death puns."

The child rolls his eyes but closes his mouth back and slumps. Bruce resists the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, but only because he is holding three kids. His hands are full, quite literally.

"John, I need you to explain," he asks, somewhere between a demand and a careful inquiry. Because, really, the man looks on the brink of losing his sanity, that much is evident. Bruce might not like the man, but he can at least partially sympathize with dealing with kids.

His bare minimum of sympathy - and isn't it a bizarre thought, emotionally sympathizing with John Constantine of all people - does not ease his growing worry and irritation. The girl starts trying to get out of his hold again.

John takes a very deep breath, holds it, and then-

"I stole them," he says, looking Bruce dead in the eye, with a sense of resigned, if a bit unhinged, determination. And, before Bruce is able to ask literally anything else, he keeps going, "Their parents are shit, a branch of government is out for their guts - as in, literal guts - there was- there is a backdoor to the afterlife in their basement, and also they are dead and because of some Realms fuckery and their spiritual granddad being a huge pain in the ass, they are all wrong ages."

Bruce blinks. Then blinks again. Processing that sentence turns out to be a lot harder than he estimated.

The oldest kid in his lap gives John a middle finger, nearly sneering. The girl starts snickering, somehow making it soundless.

"Oh, and they are under a silence charm because if I hear one more references to fucking Ghostbusters I will shoot myself," Constantine finishes matter-of-factly.

Distantly, Bruce wonders if John can make that spell into some sort of an amulet. God knows, Dick really needs one sometimes. Steph does, too. And Jason. Actually, all of them need one.

He looks over the kids again. They don't seem scared or unsettled, neither by the fact they are sitting in a lap of a stranger nor by Constantine's bullet point version of a summary to their lives. They mostly just look annoyed and grumpy, and a bit embarrassed in case of the middle boy.

Bruce sighs and decides to start somewhere.

"Do they have names?"

[part 2 ->]

[cool-island-songs]

Analysis of ALNST Character Relationship Metrics

My art book won't be here for a minute, but I ran some screenshots I saw on twt through an image translator and have a lot of thoughts:

TILL: Despite claiming to hate everyone in the world, Till ranks Ivan at 70% intimacy even as he identifies perturbing behaviors of Ivan's going back years and refers to him as "a bother". He also ranks Sua at 10% in spite of having little to say about her and finding it uncomfortable to be around her.

Though he postures at being misanthropic and has all the manners you'd expect of a boy who was half off at the human child pound, he's actually quite gentle and sensitive. This is reflected in one of the graduation messages he's left by a classmate as well:

The person he feels closest to is an unattainable crush, and someone who doesn't feel that close with him in return, likely because he's too shy to really approach her or carry on a conversation.

MIZI: That's Mizi, of course, who's rather childlike and naive initially. She likes everyone, but since Till chokes when he tries to speak to her and often keeps his distance, she wonders if he's avoiding her because he dislikes her.

Mizi gravitates towards people who she sees as "perfect", which is how she describes Ivan and Sua in her graduation message to Ivan:

She doesn't see the darker side of Ivan's personality (which has been described on several occasions, even by himself, as "twisted") because he's attractive, successful, and helpful to her.

Though she likes everyone, Sua is her "God", and the only thing that can keep them apart is the tragedy of their situation, which forces Mizi to grow up in a brutally painful way.

SUA: Sua is far less idealistic and naive than Mizi, and has clearly thought about sacrificing herself to save Mizi, since Ivan picks on her for thinking of doing so in an official comic. Accordingly, her feelings about Mizi are far more tinged by the knowledge that they will one day be torn apart by external circumstances. She laments that reciprocating her feelings will one day cause Mizi great pain.

She's always been more somber, and despite her surface similarities to Ivan (which he notes in a follow-up comic wherein he realizes he was wrong about Sua's feelings for Mizi being unrequited), she's quite different on the inside. Sua's more sensitive and thus her colder exterior serves to protect her, whereas Ivan's outward persona creates an illusion of normalcy that doesn't reflect his reality.

Sua views Ivan and Till as a threat and a nuisance, respectively. Like Till, she senses something strange about Ivan, and when it comes to Till, it's just one person too many around for her. This is fascinating to me, because I thought she might pity Till! Her feelings about Ivan were already pretty clear from this panel of the 'piggyback' comic, and she seems deeply hurt in the first comic linked by his prodding.

IVAN: For his part, Ivan is fascinated by Till even though he's content to sit back and observe, pestering him to get a reaction or his attention for a brief time. He doesn't expect anything in return but wants more than anything to be on Till's mind (hence behaviors like stealing Till's belongings and returning them to him, pretending he had found them).

He prefers Sua to Mizi despite his awareness that Sua doesn't particularly like him, seeing her as a sister and even telling her she's "twisted" like he is. He likes Mizi well enough, especially her sincerity, but seems to find her optimism a bit much at times.

The fact that Mizi and the others would likely consider Ivan and Mizi quite close while Ivan does not reflects how much he postures even in his closest relationships. He struggles to connect with those he's most compelled by and it's not clear if he really wants to.

Some Ivantill thoughts before I go:

There seems to be a common sentiment that it's tragic Till was unable to see how much Ivan loved him, and I think we'll likely get more of Till's perspective on Ivan and their relationship in round 7. But it may not be the case that Ivan even wanted his true feelings to be seen, or would have known what to do if Till had reciprocated them.

There's something almost voyeuristic and self-negating in his feelings for Till (see: "I can’t reach you, so I imagine alone/You who shines, I stand next to you" from 'Black Sorrow'). He has far more self-awareness and willingness to accept things as they are than Till, who doesn't see that Mizi only has eyes for Sua and who would likely struggle to accept that reality.

Ivan, on the other hand, is well aware that his feelings for Till are "shallow", a bright fantasy to get him through his dark reality, and he seems to sincerely believe that his death won't scar Till because he's never really broken through to him. He's a schemer, and comments he makes in his graduation message to Till and the interview he gives in advance of round 6 suggest that he may have been planning to sacrifice himself for some time.

Part of me wonders if he hoped it would leave a mark on Till. Choking, kissing, and violently sacrificing oneself are all aggressive, forward acts, especially from someone who used to toy with people to get his kicks but was otherwise quite passive and unfeeling.

There are a lot of parallels in the one-sided loves, like Till acting out of his usual character for Mizi, and Ivan doing the same because of Till, putting all hopes of being saved in something just out of reach, staying in chains for that one special person. But Ivan's psychology is quite different from Till's, and in fact closest to Luka's re: low or no empathy. Both Ivan and Till are significantly traumatized by their upbringings but Ivan's difficult early life in the slums and his experience being dangled off that rooftop seem to have damaged his ability to connect to others or feel much of anything.

Till is the first person for whom he feels anything while for Till, Mizi is an early crush he puts on a pedestal in a much more commonplace way. I think the shared trauma of competing on that stage makes it much more difficult for either of them to imagine moving on, but Ivan is not wrong in identifying that he won't find that feeling again.

The thing that intrigues me most about this series is the way the contestants' differences play out, particularly with regard to how they view love and how they respond to their individual and shared challenges. I'd love to get into it further another time but this is quite long already so thanks for sticking with it if any have (haha)

[merrysithmas]

Charles' line "There's so much more to you than you know" has always struck me because it's SO easy for Charles to come off unlikeable-

"There's so much more to you than you know" (But I do)

"What do you know about me? - Everything." (Whether you like it or not)

"I know what this means to you but you have to let go!" (Stop this nonsense)

"There's a mutant here already! [Exposing Hank]"

"I don't want your pain. They sent back the wrong man [To Logan]"

"I've seen what Shaw did to you"

"I feel your agony [After Nina died]"

"[Jean expresses no one knows how it feels to be tormented telepathically] Oh but I do."

Like on a base level what he communicates is such an invasion of privacy and instantly gets the hackles up because it's not natural. He can sound, at first glance, self-important and even dismissive (Erik at one point calls him 'arrogant'). Charles' telepathy gift is so alienating. He knows people's most personal thoughts, feelings, dreams, and nightmares. Seeing into someone's soul is as simple as breathing and second nature to him -- and he knows how repulsive this must be (see: how profusely he apologized for outting Hank. This speaks to a past/youth where he clearly unintentionally shared the secrets of others or caused trouble with his abilities and disturbed the people around him or endangered himself/others).

But Charles can't help his powers in the same way that Rogue can't - actually, Charles' abilities could easily been seen in some regards as the psychic equivalent to Rogue's physical gift. She can't touch ANYONE without hurting them in some manner, she is dangerous in some regard. And it's the same thing with Charles -- wherever his mind goes he exposes and hurts people. It's a side effect of his powers.

But unlike Rogue, Charles can't wear gloves. He can try to keep up psychic shields (which hurt HIM), or he can promise Raven he'll never read her mind, but he can't ever lessen his gift. He can't be perfect but he has to try. He can't or he'll be hated, despised, and feared. Rogue and he share a similar distress. Rogue suffers from touch-starvation but has to deal or she'll be seen as a monster. Charles suffers from the same kind of thing is a psychic way - he has to block his abilities or be seen as arrogant, invasive, and holier-than-thou. He has to starve his mind and powers.

So that's why it's sooooo touching that he tries SO hard to do good with it despite all that. Especially as he grows as a person and sees how powerful he can be with appendages like Cerebro. He ALWAYS makes an effort to clarify his knowledge of someone's mind with encouragement, love, understanding, and hope.

He can't help reading someone's mind but he CAN help how they react to it or how they feel about what's been exposed and the constant effort he exerts to express empathy, kindness, and aid is a testament to how hard he works to do good with his mutation. He frankly just doesn't have to do that. He could be like Emma Frost or Jean Grey or Psylocke. They know your thoughts, they use telepathy, and it's as simple as that.

Charles feels people's pain so ardently, sees their struggles so clearly, that it literally torments him not to help. How can he see that and just walk away? Innermost pain and secrets are revealed to him by nature -- he could ignore it, exploit it, or use it maliciously. Instead he takes the information and tries to help (surely in part to make up for how sensitive the invasion is).

"There's so much more to you than you know" (But one day you'll be more powerful than me. Don't get lost, keep going, you have so much more to remember and you aren't just made up of this pain that is so so heavy for you. This is not all that you are, I've seen what you forgot, I promise it's still there. You're still a person. Hold on).

"What do you know about me? - Everything" (I have seen your whole mind - the good and the bad - and still I came out here to ask you to stay. Because nothing in there scares me and in fact it gives me hope. I need you. We could do something great together.)

"I know what this means to you but you have to let go!" (They'll succeed in killing you if you let them. You deserve better)

"There's a mutant already here!" (Thank god! And you're incredible!)

"I don't want your pain. They sent back the wrong man." (Proceeds to cry at Logan's life and is amazed at his strength, you poor poor man. Is inspired to keep going from Logan's strength).

"I've seen what Shaw did to you." (Shaw did it to you. It's not a shameful secret and you aren't Frankenstein's Monster. It won't stop me from seeing who you really are. You're free).

"I feel your agony." (Come back to us. I can help you. You're not alone. You never had to leave. You still have a family. Grieve with us.)

"Oh but I do" (I survived. So will you. I didn't have help and I also had parents who didn't love me. I won't let that happen to you or leave you alone. I promise. You can sleep. You're safe. I'll protect you.)

[papaya-twinks]

mauve - l.n - p.1

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, swearing.

Pairing: Lando Norris x williams!fem!reader

Taglist: @cheriiepies @jan1on @sagestack @fall-bambi @meglouise00 @eclipsedcherry @suzzie105 @rebelatbay @fly-me-away @cabbyhabs @djoenthusiast @georgeparisole

The announcement of you being the new driver to fill the seat of Logan Sargent had taken everyone by surprise. For many reasons - but it wasn’t a secret to see that you being a woman was more than likely the centre piece of most people’s surprise.

You knew what you were getting into when you signed that contract, and when you shook James Vowles’ hands, you knew there would be uproar. But you were good, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. And whether the keyboard warriors at home wanted you there or not, you were there to race.

_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Lando wasn’t a sexist person in the slightest. He gave as much respect as he could to women, and he knew that being a woman was tough, but he couldn’t help being a little bewildered as he read over the announcement from the F1 page.

There was no doubt going to be a lot of pressure on you, tenfold what a usual, well, a usual man would receive when they would start in F1. But reading your reply, your joking reply, made Lando frown. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much.

He simply told himself he didn’t care, but surely you should show some sort of…humbleness? Not that there was anything wrong with joking around and stuff, but you were in a privileged position, one of merely twenty, so there should be some sort of modesty.

“Mate, have you seen Williams have gone for some chick?” Max asked, looking over to his best friend as Lando snapped out his thought. Lando was sprawled across the sofa, wearing dark black joggers and a hoodie, a cap pulled low on his head.

“It’s cool, I guess,” Lando said, unsure what to truly say. He didn’t want to make a remark that seemed sexist, when his intentions weren’t as such, so he just didn’t say anything. “It’s gonna be…interesting,” Max said with a small shrug, “you coming golf, then?”.

Lando would never turn down golf. And as he swung his club over his flexing shoulders, the ball sending far down the grass mound, all thoughts of you had fled his mind. He didn’t even understand why he cared. He didn’t care, that’s what he told himself.

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One of Lando’s pet hates was being forced to bring himself to the pre-season grid photo. But he couldn’t deny he wasn’t curious. Other than you, there weren’t any new drivers on the grid, except a few move-arounds, which was rare in some aspects.

“You saw her tweet, right?” Max asked as he zipped up his suit, letting the woman on the stool adjust his hair. “Yeah, she’s taking the piss, mate,” Lando said, dodging the woman and fixing his own hair in the mirror.

You weren’t there with the drivers or the stylists as you were a woman, meaning you got your own space to dress and change. “She’s decent on the eyes, though,” Daniel said, nudging Lando as he rolled his eyes.

“Calm down,” Lando snickered, “she’s, like, 12 or something,” he shrugged, “little bit young for you, or is that the age you go for?”. Finally, the 19 male drivers were ushered out into the area of the Bahrain track, the cars lined up behind them, as they stood in boxes in their pairs.

“Classic girl, right?” Lando whispered to Oscar as the Aussie laughed, noticing you hadn’t come out. And finally, as Lando and Oscar continued chatting away, Max joining in behind them, you walked out. You were pretty, yes, Lando could give you that.

But Lando was hot, he knew that. Well, in his own words, he was ‘alright’. And looks got you nowhere in terms of pure, racing talent. Lando hadn’t even seen you race but he had one thing in his mind already. That there wasn’t an ounce of talent flowing through your veins. Not a drop.

Daniel whispered something along the lines of, ‘They welcome grid girls back?’ as you accepted Alex’s hand, letting him pull you onto the box beside him. The suit fit you well, showing off your body in all the right places as you copied Alex’s stance.

You were directly behind Lando, and he could basically hear you breathing, as he pushed you to the back of his mind, setting his stoic expression for the camera. Maybe he should talk to you. Him and Oscar were once again shushed from their random chatting, as he huffed.

“Smile,” the cameraman said, as Lando gave a somewhat forced one, his usual shining smile clearly outdone by your radiant one. It was obvious you were happy to be there. But, for some reason which was hardly your own fault, Lando wasn’t happy for you to be there.

“Car shots, now!” a woman with a clipboard called out, directing each pairing of driver’s to their car. Once again, the Williams was placed beside the McLaren, almost like a clash of colour together, to show of their vibrancy compared to the dullness of the Mercedes of the VCARB.

If you blurred the lines of the McLaren and the Williams, you’d be left with mauve. Once the photos had been taken, the drivers had 30 minutes just talk and catch up with each other, as winter break had finally finished and most hadn’t spoke to each other for a while.

Lando watched with a half bitter expression as some of the drivers, his teammate included, as well as Carlos and Max, went over to you to introduce themselves. “Hello,” you were saying as Lando begrudgingly walked over to the group of drivers.

“New Williams driver, then?” Max said, stepping back subconsciously to let Lando into the circle. “Yeah,” you replied as Max smirked. “Well, you can light up the rear of the grid for us,” Carlos said with a nod as you smile somewhat faded.

In some ways, the Spaniard was right, the Williams, judging by last year and the year before, was in no place to fight for the top ten, let alone wins, but it did hurt to be put down so early. Before you’d even driven, actually.

“Maybe even the front, hopefully,” Alex said, shooting Max and Carlos a half-forced smile. “Quit it, mate,” Oscar shook his head with an amused smile as you followed Alex to examine the car. “McLaren’s looking good,” you said, kneeling down to examine the side of the car.

“Don’t get too close, there,” a voice said, making you jump as you straightened, seeing Lando. “Uh, I didn’t plan on it,” you said, cheeks a little red as he nodded. “Right,” he said, “it’s a good car, no?” he asked, eyes flashing across your face to gauge your reaction.

“Looks fast,” you said, eyes on the car, trailing over the bodywork. “Well, I’ll see you later, then,” Lando said with a half-hearted smile, “maybe when I lap you, I doubt I’ll be as low on the grid to pay you a visit,” he said coolly.

“I admire your confidence,” you said coolly, still looking over the car, Lando’s somewhat cocky nature faltering for a second. “Stay in your lane, Y/L/N,” he nearly hissed, leaning forwards as you felt his breath fan across your face, “and don’t step out of it,”.

A/N - Comment if you want to be in the tag list 💜

[fyiin7]

You must be haunting me..!

⋆˚✿˖° In which you're forced to join the ghost hunting at the haunted house with your friends, but then they left you with the lingering ghost.

⋆˚✿˖° Pairings: Ghost!Satoru X Fem! Reader

⋆˚✿˖° SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), missionary, p in v, swearing

It's kinda long, but enjoy ;D

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The soft hum of conversation and the clatter of dishes filled the cozy little restaurant as you sat with your friends. It was one of those rare moments when the four of you managed to gather around a table without someone running late or bailing at the last minute. The smell of freshly cooked ramen filled the air, and you were halfway through a steaming bowl when Nobara spoke up, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"You guys know about that old haunted house, right?" Nobara's voice cut through the conversation like a knife. She leaned forward, elbows on the table, her usual boldness giving way to an almost mischievous grin. "We should totally go check it out tonight."

You paused mid-bite, glancing between Yuji and Megumi, unsure if she'd just suggested what you thought she had. Yuji, ever the thrill-seeker, looked intrigued already. He set down his chopsticks and shot Nobara a grin. "Ghost hunting, huh? I'm in! It sounds like fun."

Megumi, however, wasn’t sold. He raised an eyebrow, the usual calm expression on his face hardening slightly. "That place? You mean the one everyone says is cursed?" He sighed, clearly conflicted. "I don’t know, Nobara. People have gone in and… well, weird things happen."

Nobara waved her hand dismissively. "C'mon, Megumi. Weird things always happen when you look for them. It's just an old house. What’s the worst that could happen?"

You could see the hesitation in Megumi's eyes as he looked at you, like he was silently asking if you were going to back him up on this. But then Yuji nudged him with his elbow. "Don’t be such a buzzkill. It's just one night, and it'll be over before you know it."

Megumi groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fine, but if something actually happens, don't say I didn't warn you."

As they turned to you, all eyes locked onto yours, you could feel the weight of the decision pressing in. You weren’t exactly eager to spend your night in a house famous for scaring the living daylights out of anyone who dared enter. But with your friends clearly set on going, it was hard to see a way out of it.

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Whether you like it or not, you'd still need to join anyway. The house stood before you like a shadow of its former self, tall and looming, with broken windows and peeling paint. The air around it seemed unnaturally still, as if the night itself held its breath. The old iron gate creaked in the wind, and the overgrown lawn looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. A cold chill ran down your spine as you stared at the dark structure.

"Well... here we are," Yuji said, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the slight tremor in his voice.

Nobara grinned, her excitement unshaken. "Perfect. Look at this place! It's just like one of those haunted houses from the movies. We’re definitely getting some good stories out of this."

Megumi sighed, his eyes narrowing at the house as though sizing up an enemy. "This is a terrible idea."

"You already agreed, remember?" Nobara teased, nudging him. "Don’t chicken out now."

You stayed quiet, your gaze locked on the front door that looked like it hadn’t been opened in years. The longer you stood there, the more the oppressive atmosphere of the place seemed to weigh on you. It was as if the house was watching, waiting.

"Alright, let’s do this," Yuji said, breaking the silence as he pushed open the rusty gate, the screeching sound making you wince. He led the way with a flashlight in hand, illuminating the narrow path that led to the entrance.

As the group walked closer to the house, every step seemed heavier than the last. Nobara was practically bouncing with excitement, while Megumi lagged behind, his eyes scanning every shadow, every movement.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you approached the front door. There was no turning back now.

The air inside the house was thick with dust and the faint scent of mildew. Each step you took echoed through the empty hallways, but after a while, the fear you felt outside began to fade. The house was silent—too silent—but as time passed, nothing unusual happened.

“This place isn’t so bad,” Yuji said with a forced laugh, trying to lighten the mood. “All those stories must’ve been made up.”

“Right?” Nobara added, glancing around at the cracked walls and sagging ceiling. “A haunted house, my foot. I bet people just freak themselves out.”

Even Megumi, who had been tense the whole time, seemed to relax a little. “Let’s just hurry up and leave. We’ve seen enough.”

You nodded, relieved that the visit might end without anything strange happening. But just as you were about to agree and suggest heading back, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway behind you—footsteps that didn’t belong to any of you.

You froze, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. Yuji, who had been walking a little ahead, turned to face the hallway behind him. “Did… Did you guys hear that?”

Before anyone could answer, the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder. Then, at the far end of the hallway, a pair of glowing blue eyes appeared, floating in the darkness. The light from the eyes was dim at first, but as they grew brighter, the air around you felt colder, heavier.

Nobara’s bravado cracked, her voice trembling as she whispered, “What the hell is that?”

Without warning, Yuji let out a panicked yelp and bolted down the hallway. “Nope! I’m out!” His footsteps pounded against the wooden floor as he sprinted ahead.

“Yuji, wait!” Nobara called after him, but the fear in her voice betrayed her own nerves. She and Megumi quickly ran after him, disappearing around a corner.

You stood frozen for a moment, the glowing eyes still fixed on you from the other end of the hall. A cold sweat ran down your back, and you turned to chase after them. But before you could make it to the hallway's end, the door to the room you were in slammed shut with a deafening bang.

You grabbed the handle, twisting it frantically, but it wouldn’t budge. “Guys?” you called out, your voice breaking as you pounded on the door. “Guys, the door’s stuck!”

But all you heard in return was the faint echo of your voice, swallowed by the heavy silence. The glowing eyes vanished, leaving you alone in the dark room, the air around you suddenly colder than before.

Your heart raced as you tugged at the door, desperate to get it open. Panic surged through you, but before you could call out for your friends again, you felt something else—something cold. Icy fingers wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you away from the door.

You gasped, struggling for breath, your heart hammering in your chest. Every muscle in your body tensed, but when you turned around, the sight before you made your breath hitch in an entirely different way.

Standing before you was a man—a ghost, no doubt about it. His skin was impossibly pale, almost glowing under the faint light of the room. His eyes, an eerie yet mesmerizing shade of blue, twinkled with mischief. A sly smile curled on his lips, and though the chill from his touch still lingered on your skin, there was something undeniably handsome about him.

"Whoa there," he said, his voice smooth and playful. "Where do you think you're going, running off like that?"

You blinked, your mind struggling to process what was happening. His arms stayed casually wrapped around your waist, holding you close in a way that felt far too intimate for a ghost.

“Who… who are you?” you stammered, trying to push back, but your movements were weak under his steady gaze.

He tilted his head, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Name’s Gojo Satoru,” he introduced, his voice laced with confidence. “And you are… definitely not supposed to be here.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull your thoughts together, but he made it impossible to focus. “W-what do you mean?”

Satoru’s grin widened as he leaned in a little closer, his cold breath brushing against your neck. “I mean, a place like this isn’t meant for someone as cute as you. So what brings you to my humble, haunted abode?”

The way he looked at you—how his gaze roamed over you like he was savoring every second—made you painfully aware of just how touchy he was. Even though his skin was cold, his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, fingers lingering as though he were still alive and not some phantom.

Your face heated, though you weren’t sure if it was fear or something else. “We—my friends and I—we just came to check out the place.”

Satoru chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Curiosity’s dangerous, you know. Especially around here.” His voice dropped into a teasing tone as his other hand lightly brushed your hair back from your face. “But then again, I can’t say I mind having a little company.”

You were flustered, torn between the chilling realization that you were talking to a ghost and how undeniably charming, even flirty, he was. Every word he said dripped with playful teasing, and his constant touch only made your pulse race faster.

“Are you always this... forward?” you managed to ask, trying to regain some composure.

Satoru smirked, not bothering to hide his amusement. “When I see something I like? Absolutely. Besides…” His hand trailed down your arm, sending shivers down your spine. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone to talk to. Might as well enjoy the moment, don’t you think?”

His playful, flirtatious demeanor wasn’t helping your already frazzled nerves, but despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the strange pull he had over you. He was a ghost—he shouldn’t feel so real, so present. And yet, here he was, teasing you, touching you like you weren’t separated by life and death.

Satoru's arms stayed firmly wrapped around you, his presence overwhelming in the stillness of the room. His smirk widened as he studied your flustered expression, clearly enjoying your reaction. He leaned in a little closer, his breath cool against your skin.

“You know," he drawled, his voice dripping with playful mischief, "it's pretty naughty of you to be in here alone... with a male ghost, no less."

You blinked, his words sinking in. Alone? Your gaze quickly flickered around the room, only now realizing where you were standing. The creaky old bed in the corner, the tattered curtains, and the musty scent—it wasn’t just any room. It was the bedroom.

Your face burned with embarrassment, and you tried to pull away, but Satoru held you firmly in place, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Something wrong?" he teased, eyes sparkling with amusement as he watched your discomfort. "I thought you’d be more adventurous, sneaking around a haunted house at night. Or were you hoping for a different kind of thrill?"

You opened your mouth to protest, but his words caught you off guard. Before you could speak, Satoru tilted his head slightly, his voice softening into a low, seductive whisper. “Tell me, have you ever thought about... experiencing something new?”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. “What do you mean?”

The grin on his face deepened, and without answering, Satoru leaned in closer. His hand moved from your back to cup your cheek gently, his icy fingers sending a shiver down your spine. His face hovered just inches from yours, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. The air felt thick, charged with an intensity you hadn’t expected.

“What I mean,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours ever so slightly, “is something like this.”

Before you could react, he closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft, but undeniably electrifying. The coldness of his touch contrasted with the warmth that suddenly bloomed in your chest, and for a second, the world outside that room ceased to exist.

Satoru’s kiss was slow, teasing, as though savoring the moment. He was a ghost, an ethereal being, and yet somehow, he felt so real, his presence so tangible that it made your head spin. You couldn’t tell if it was the fear, the surprise, or something else entirely, but you felt like you were sinking deeper into the strange, thrilling connection that held you both together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes gleamed with playful mischief. “So… how’s that for something new?”

Before you could even gather your thoughts or catch your breath, Satoru leaned in again, this time with far less patience. His lips crashed against yours in a rougher, more urgent kiss, one that left no room for hesitation. Your breath hitched as his hands tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the chill of his touch seeping through your clothes.

The softness from before was gone, replaced by an intensity that sent shockwaves through your body. His kiss was deeper, more demanding, like he was claiming you in that moment, and despite every rational thought screaming at you to push him away, your body betrayed you, rooted in place by the magnetic pull he had over you.

The sensation of his lips, cold yet somehow fiery with passion, made your head spin, your mind blanking out everything except for him. His fingers trailed up your back, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin as his mouth moved against yours, not giving you a second to process what was happening.

Satoru broke the kiss for a split second, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours as he whispered, “You taste even better than I imagined.” His voice was low, husky, dripping with a teasing tone that made your heart pound even harder.

Before you could respond, before you could even catch your breath, he was on you again, his kiss rougher still, like he couldn’t get enough of you. His hands roamed your body, cold and possessive, as though he was determined to make sure you wouldn’t forget this—wouldn’t forget him.

And with the way your body reacted, you weren’t sure you ever could.

Without warning, Satoru's hands tightened around you, and with a swift, effortless motion, he pushed you backward. You stumbled, barely managing to gasp before your back hit the mattress, sinking into the creaky old bed. The springs groaned beneath your weight, and you stared up at him, your heart racing.

Satoru loomed over you, his pale face framed by the dim light filtering through the cracked window. His eyes gleamed with a mixture of mischief and something darker, more primal. His grin widened, satisfied with how easily he had you at his mercy.

Satoru grabbed the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up, revealing your lacy bra. He took a moment to admire the sight, before straddling your waist, his hands gripping both of your wrist together with his hand.

"You're mine now," Satoru growled, his voice thick with lust. "I'll take what I want from you." He pressed a kiss to your neck, nipping at your skin, before trailing his lips down to your collarbone, making your breath hitched and let out a small whimper. "And tonight, I want to fill you up with every drop I have."

Satoru's hands roamed your body, unfastening the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the side. He leaned in, taking one nipple into his mouth, sucking and nipping at it, before switching to the other one. His hips rocked against you, grinding against you through your shorts. You feel your panties sticking to your pussy because of how wet you are.

"Soon, my sweet," he murmured, his voice low and seductive. "Soon you'll be begging for more." You couldn’t help but rock your hips back to his harden cock, needing to release the desire pooling between your thighs.

Satoru chuckled darkly, feeling your body respond to him. "You're such a tease," he said, his voice laced with desire. He pressed his body further down on yours. "But I like it," he admitted, his mouth finding yours in a deep, hungry kiss.

Breaking away, Satoru trailed his lips down your body, his hands exploring your curves, making your body shivered slightly with his cold lips. For some reason, it makes your desire for him heightened. He pull your shorts down before hooking his fingers into your panties, pulling them down your legs, tossing them aside. He could see the wetness, smell the scent of arousal, and it drove him wild.

"You're so ready for me," he said, his voice low and husky. He spread your legs wider, positioning himself between them. "But first," he said, his eyes locked on your wet pussy, "I need a taste."

"W-wa- ngh..!" before you could protest, he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to lick your folds, tasting the sweetness. Satoru groaned, his cock throbbing at the sweet taste of you. He began to lick and suck, his tongue exploring every inch of you, driving your mind to a haze, your back arching slightly at the feeling of the wet muscle exploring your cunt. Your hand instantly went down to tugged on his hair, his tongue is cold too, and it provides you a different sensation.

Satoru grinned, feeling your hand in his hair. "You like that, don't you?" He asked, his voice muffled by your body. He continued to pleasure you, his tongue teasing your clit, flicking it before he sucked it into his mouth. He could feel your body tremble beneath him, the sounds of your moans and whimpers fueling his lust.

"S-satoru..I-I can't..!" you moaned, your clit too sensitive at every single flick of his tongue.

"It's okay, baby. Cum for me," he growled, his grip on your hips tightening. "Let me taste it." He continued to work your body, his fingers joining in, slipping inside your wetness. He knew the perfect rhythm to push you over the edge, and he was determined to succeed.

Satoru's own arousal was nearly unbearable, but he wouldn't let himself climax until you did. He wanted to feel your body quiver against his mouth, your release coating his tongue.

You feel the coil in your belly tighten and he knew you were close by the way your walls tighten around his fingers. You bucked your hips against his mouth, seeking for more pleasure. "F-fuck..faster please..!" you begged.

He smirked as he obliged, speeding up his ministrations, sucking harder on your clit, his fingers pumping inside your pussy. "You want it faster, huh?" He teased, his voice thick with lust. "You'll get it."

He could feel the tension building, your body trembling as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He didn't want to stop, didn't want to miss the moment you came undone. "That's it, darling," he encouraged, his voice low and encouraging. "Let it go, let me feel it."

Satoru increased the pressure, his tongue flicking over your clit, his fingers thrusting in and out, hitting your sweet spot. "N-ngh! Satoru..I-I'm gonna...g-gonna cum-!"

It was only a matter of moments before he felt your body shudder, walls clenching around his fingers as you came. He lapped up your juices, savoring the taste, before pulling away.

"Good girl," he praised, smirking as he wiped his mouth. "Now it's my turn." He pull down his pant enough to reveal his cock, long and girthy as he positioned himself at your entrance, throbbing with need.

Satoru pushed his cock into you slowly, groaning as his length fills you up and how tight your pussy is. You bit your lower lip, holding in your moans. "Y-you're so big Satoru.." you said softly.

Satoru smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "You'll get used to it," he promised, before he began to move. Slow, deep thrusts, letting you get accustomed to him. He could feel your body adjusting, tightening around him, and it made him even more aroused.

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, searing kiss, his hips rolling, grinding against you, your moans muffled with the kiss. "God, you feel so good," he whispered against your mouth. His hand reached up to cup your breast, squeezing it gently, before moving down to stroke your clit. Your body quiver, your nub still sensitive.

"Let me hear you, sweet," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "Let me hear how much you love this." He began to thrust harder, faster, his cock sliding in and out of her, the sound of bodies slapping together filling the room.

"H-hah! F-feel so good..!" you moaned, eyes rolling back to the back of your skull at each of his thrust against your G-spot. Satoru's grip on your breast tightened, his other hand holding your hip, keeping you pinned. "Cum for me, my sweet," he demanded, his voice thick with lust. "Cum while I'm inside you."

Satoru groaned, his own pleasure building. He was close, so very close. "That's it," he praised, his thrusts becoming more erratic, his body losing control. "You're so tight, you're going to make me lose it."

His thrusts became more desperate, more frantic, his grip on your body tightening. He could feel the tip of his cock swelling, the need to release building. "Come for me," he growled, the last of his restraint slipping

"C-cumming!" you screamed. Satoru could feel your body tensing again, and it was enough to push him over the edge. With a deep growl, Satoru let go, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his seed. "Fuck," he swore, his body trembling as the wave of pleasure crashed over him.

He collapsed onto your body, his breathing heavy, his cock still buried deep inside you. "God, that was good," he murmured, his voice hoarse. He stayed there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being connected to you, before pulling out and rolling off you.

"That was...something.." you spoke, still trying to process what had happened. Satoru chuckles softly, his finger caressing your cheeks with a smile. "Sleep my darling, I'll clean you up."

For some reason, his voice makes you sleepy, like he's lulling you to sleep. So you decided to trust him and closed your eyes. It doesn't take too long until you finally fell asleep by his side. By the side of a ghost.

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You blinked against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains, slowly becoming aware of your surroundings. The warmth of the blankets cocooned you, and for a moment, you felt safe and content. But as your eyes adjusted, the reality of where you were began to seep back in.

You turned your head to the side and froze. Yuji and Megumi were sitting on the edge of the bed, concern etched across their faces. Nobara stood nearby, her arms crossed, looking equally worried.

“Thank goodness you’re awake!” Yuji exclaimed, relief flooding his voice. “We were so worried!”

“What happened?” you croaked, the memories of the night flooding back in a chaotic rush. The haunted house, Satoru...

“We found you unconscious in that bedroom,” Megumi explained, his expression a mix of guilt and concern. “We thought you’d just gotten scared or something, but you wouldn’t wake up.”

Nobara stepped forward, her brows furrowing in apology. “I’m so sorry for leaving you alone! We should have stayed with you.”

You shook your head, still trying to piece together what had happened. “I was fine. I… I was just resting.”

“Resting?” Yuji raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. “You were out cold! What really happened?”

You hesitated, the memories of how you just had sex with the ghost in the house still vivid in your mind. “It’s... complicated,” you finally said, your heart racing at the thought of how to explain.

Megumi's gaze softened. “We just want to make sure you’re okay. We thought maybe something... strange happened to you in that house.”

You glanced at them, their concern genuine, and felt a wave of gratitude mixed with confusion. “I’m fine now,” you assured them, though the lingering feelings from the night before were hard to shake. “Really. Just a little... overwhelmed.”

Yuji grinned, though his relief was clear. “Well, let’s get you something to eat. You need to regain your strength after scaring us like that!”

As they helped you sit up, the warmth of their friendship surrounded you, but the memories of what had happened in that haunted house lingered at the back of your mind, leaving you wondering about the strange encounter that felt so surreal. You hope..that it's actually a real encounter.

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[whimsiwitchy]

we broke up (one shot)

hugh jackman x f!reader

summary: you get dragged to a work event by your boyfriend of three years when Hugh comes to flirt with you. after you reluctantly tell him you’re taken, he backs off for the most part. a few months later, Hugh tells the story during an interview but little does he know you’re single now. 

warnings: implied age gap (not mentioned), flirting while in a relationship (kinda)

authors note: here's a little oneshot I wrote tonight. enjoy <33

You’d been with your boyfriend, Rowan, for a few years now. He earned a degree in marketing and immediately got a job for a studio. While he enjoys his job and it brings in good money, the events he dragged you to were unbelievably boring. The company he worked for always had big parties after a success on a project. At first they were interesting, often running into celebrities here and there given that it was the success of their movie, but lately you found yourself sitting at the bar more often than not. It was routine at this point. Rowan would show you off for the first hour, then he would toss you aside to fend for yourself. You weren’t the biggest social butterfly, hence why you liked to sit alone, drinking. 

Tonight wasn’t any different. You were at another party for the successful marketing for Deadpool and Wolverine. You’d heard a few whispers that the stars of the movie themselves were somewhere wandering around but you hadn’t had the pleasure of seeing them. Rowan dumped you at the bar a little over thirty minutes ago and you’ve been sipping on some fruity little drink ever since, completely in your own world. You made small talk with the bartender every once and a while but you were mainly people watching. 

“Mind if I join?” A deep Australian accent asks. You look up and see a gorgeous older man. He was wearing a dark blue suit with a pair of black expensive looking glasses. He was deliciously tall and had a thich salt and pepper beard. “Uh no, go ahead.” He sits in the bar stool next to you. He orders a drink from the bartender before returning his attention back to you. “Pardon me if this is too forward but you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” The comment takes you aback. “Oh um, thank you. That’s really sweet of you to say.” He looks down to your glass that’s nothing but melted ice at this point. “Can I buy you another drink?” He asks. “You probably shouldn’t. I’m taken…sadly.” You whisper the last part, unsure if he heard it or not. “Oh! I apologize for coming on to you. You’ve been sitting here by yourself for so long, I thought you might have come alone.” You huff out a laugh. “My boyfriend works for the company. He’s out there socializing or whatever.” You shrug and signal to the bartender, asking for another drink. “That’s a shame. If you were mine, you’d be on my arm all night.” He smirks. “Is that right?” You smile at him. Before he can answer, you feel your phone vibrate with a text from Rowan that reads ‘where are you babe? Time to leave.’ 

“Well, the boyfriends calling, I gotta go.” You carefully climb out of the chair and grab your jacket and purse off of the back. As you start to walk away, the man speaks again. “Wait! What’s your name?” You turn back to face him. “Y/n.” He smiles and repeats it. “I’m Hugh.” His answer surprises you. “Oh! Congrats on the movie. I didn’t even recognize you at first with the beard and all.” He laughs. “Bye Hugh.” You wave before walking off.

—

It’s been a few months since that night in July, it being September now. You and Rowan had broken up mid-August, both of you agreeing that the relationship wasn’t going anywhere. It hurt for a little bit but you knew it was for the best. Living with him had been awkward as you searched for a new place, deciding that he can keep the current apartment. You wanted a fresh start, which is where you are now. Tonight was your first night in your new apartment. You didn’t have any furniture yet but you were happy. You bought an air mattress to make do until you could afford an actual bed. 

It was around midnight and you were doing your nightly youtube watch. You were scrolling through your recommended videos when you saw Hugh’s face pop up. It was an interview posted a few minutes ago from him on some late night show you’d never heard of. You clicked on it, wanting to hear what the man was up to these days. The interview was a standard one, mostly questions on his upcoming movie about some sheep. You weren’t really paying attention, close to dozing off when a question peaked your interest. 

“So Hugh, it’s almost been a year since the announcement of your divorce and the fans wanna know…How’s your dating life doing? Are you seeing anyone?” The woman asks, wiggling her eyebrows. Hugh lets out a big laugh. “I’m actually not seeing anyone. It’s funny you ask because the last time I even attempted to flirt with a woman she turned me down.” The interviewer's eyebrows shoot up in shock. She gasps before asking, “How could anyone turn you down? We need to know the full story here.” 

“Ryan and I were at this party for the marketing team that worked on Deadpool and Wolverine and I saw this absolutely gorgeous girl sitting at the bar all alone.” The interviewer is nodding her head, engaging with every word Hugh says. “I eyed her for a while to see if anyone was with her but she sat there alone for a good thirty minutes before Ryan hyped me up to go over there. When I finally did, I ordered a drink and tried to play it cool but I felt the urge to tell this girl how stunning she was, so I did.” You giggle to yourself and you hear him tell the story from his point of view. “She thanked me and I offered to buy her another drink. I kid you not, in the prettiest voice I’ve ever heard she says ‘you probably shouldn’t, i’m taken.’” His hands go up to his chest, gripping right above his heart. “My heart broke mate. I flirted a little more in true Hugh fashion but she had to go. I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since.” 

“What a lucky woman, I’m sure she regrets it.” 

“Hey, I tried my best.” He shrugs before looking at the camera. “Y/n, if you ever break up with him. I’m all yours baby.” 

Your jaw drops, the sound of cheers blasting from your phone.  

‘we broke up. I’m all yours. @/RealHughJackman’ 

You hit send on the tweet and hoped it would be enough to bring him back to you.

thank you for reading <3

[httpsdrewstarkey]

shadows of doubt || drew starkey

authors note: hi here’s a part two to jealously that several people requested :) flashbacks are in bold print masterlist

warnings: angst! mentions of odessa

synopsis: y/n struggles with the heartbreak of her relationship with drew, longing for the intimacy they once shared. As she reflects on their emotional disconnect, she realizes she deserves a love that values her, even if it means letting go.

Y/N laid in the hotel bed with a heavy weight pressing on her chest. The alcohol she had consumed earlier with Madelyn still pulsed through her veins, making her regret every sip. It made her thoughts spiral, the memories from a few months ago washing over her. Her throat began to tighten, and her vision started to blur, causing the frustration and anger to build as she replayed their last conversation and the way it ended. She rolled over, feeling defeated, and made her way to the bathroom hoping a shower would help ease her mind. She closed her eyes, letting the soft hum of the shower fill the silence as the warm water ran down her body, but the heat only intensified the memory of their last time together. 

Her back was pressed against Drew’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing as his arms wrapped around her. His warmth seeped into her skin, and though the heat from the water was comforting, it was the softness of his touch that had her heart racing.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm against her neck. His voice was low, almost vulnerable as his hand traced a slow, soothing path up and down her arm. 

“I missed you too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper, the weight of her own longing heavy in her chest. His lips found her neck as he pressed his lips onto her damp skin. She could feel him smiling against her, the feeling making her pulse quicken. 

“I missed you more,” he murmured, a smile evident in his voice as he continued to kiss her neck.  Y/N couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped her, the intimacy of his presence almost making her nervous at the closeness of their bodies. 

His hands moved across her body, his fingertips brushing the skin of her stomach before moving to her sides as if he was trying to memorize her. She tilted her head, giving him more access to her neck, kissing up to the spot just beneath her ear, where he knew it would make her melt.

“How was Omar’s concert?” she asked, her voice soft, an attempt to ground herself in the moment, to focus on something other than the intoxicating closeness between them.

“It was great,” Drew replied between kisses, “I wanted you there with me, always want you with me.” His voice was low, filled with a sincerity that made her heart feel like it would burst. She let out a soft hum in response, a small smile on her lips. His hand rested lightly on her stomach for a moment, his thumb brushing small circles as his other hand moved to her waist, gripping her. 

She closed her eyes, leaning her head back against his shoulder as his lips returned to her neck, more insistent this time, each kiss sending sparks across her skin. His fingertips tracing down her stomach, finding her clit. 

She was snapped out of her thoughts, forcing herself to forget the way his hands felt all over her body, as though they were imprinted into her skin, leaving a lingering sensation that almost made her itch. She missed him—the way he could make her feel when they were alone, the warmth of his touch and the quiet connection they shared in private. But no matter how much she craved those moments, she couldn't shake the ache of wishing it could be something more. Every intimate moment was a bittersweet reminder of what they weren’t.

The memory hit her hard. It wasn’t just the words—they were sharp, yes—but the way he’d brushed off everything she was trying to say, as if her feelings didn’t even matter. She could still feel the sting, that lump in her throat, the tears burning as they fell because he wouldn’t even acknowledge what she was going through. He just stood there, denying it all, while she unraveled in front of him.

The night had started out so differently. They had just stepped out of the shower, steam lingering in the air as Drew wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder. His warmth, the softness of his touch—it made everything feel right. They settled into their evening routine, light music drifting through the background of Drew’s apartment. It felt cozy, intimate, like they were in their own little bubble. But then, as she glanced over at his phone lying on the coffee table, a notification caught her eye, and her heart sank. Odessa.

She blinked, trying to push down the sudden rush of emotion, but the name stuck out like a warning sign. She could feel the adrenaline beginning to pump through her body, her muscles tensing as her mind raced. Her thoughts spiraled. Odessa had always been around, part of his life in ways that sometimes-made her feel small, unseen. She wasn’t the jealous type—or so she told herself—but seeing her name again, popping up so casually on Drew’s phone, stirred something in her she couldn’t ignore.

“Is Odessa flying in?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

Drew looked up, surprise flickering across his face as he walked over to the couch, handing her a plate of food. “Yeah, I told you that the other day, baby.”

“Right.” She fought to keep her tone steady, but her stomach twisted. “But you didn’t mention she was staying here with you.”

He shrugged, a casual gesture that felt like a slap. “It’s not a big deal. She’s just a friend.”

“Just a friend,” she echoed, surprise giving way to rising anger. “So, you thought it wouldn’t matter to tell me? That I wouldn’t care?”

“Why would it matter? You’ve met her. She’s not a threat.”

“Not a threat?” The incredulity in her voice was sharp. “You’re so close with her. It feels like I’m competing for your attention while she gets all of you.”

Drew shook his head, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “You’re making this a problem. Odessa’s visit doesn’t change anything between us.”

Her heart raced, frustration swelling. “You spend hours on the phone with her, laughing and sharing things you don’t even tell me. How can you not see why I’m upset?”

“Because you’re overreacting!” he yelled, the tension thickening in the air. His jaw tightened, and she was taken aback—he rarely raised his voice and it stirred something unsettling inside her.

“Overreacting?” Her voice wavered, but she pressed on. “I’m trying to explain how this makes me feel, and you just brush it off like it’s nothing. It’s like my feelings don’t matter to you.”

“You’re making it all about you!” he shot back, crossing his arms defensively. The air felt suffocating, as if the walls were closing in. “This isn’t betrayal. You’re just looking for reasons to be upset.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t be so upset if you actually listened to me!” she exclaimed, tears welling despite her efforts to stay strong. “I just want to feel like I matter, Drew. But every time I try to talk to you, you act like I’m crazy for caring.”

He turned away, frustration boiling into silence as she felt the distance between them expanding.  “You always do this, Y/N. You blow things out of proportion.”

“No, I’m not blowing anything out of proportion!” she cried, desperation creeping into her voice. “It hurts when you don’t share things with me. When I feel like I’m the last to know, it makes me feel small and unimportant.”

“Maybe you should focus on your own insecurities instead of blaming me for them,” he replied, the coldness creeping into his tone.

"I’m not blaming you!” Tears spilled over, burning against her skin. “I’m trying to tell you how your actions make me feel, and you refuse to acknowledge it!”

She was a mess, tears rolling down her face as they sat in silence, both frustrated with each other. She looked at him, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable. A part of her debated breaking the silence, maybe even telling him he was right—that she was overreacting. But she couldn’t do it. She knew she deserved better. She loved the little bubble they shared, but she also knew that eventually, the world would see them together, and she couldn’t ignore how that felt.

Swallowing hard, she finally broke the silence, keeping her eyes locked on him, as she stood from the couch, “You can’t keep dismissing me like this, I won’t let you make me look like a fool.”  

As Y/N made her way back to the bed, the silence of the room pressed in around her, she stared at the ceiling, her heart aching, her mind swirling with memories of him. She longed for the comfort of his presence, for the way they’d retreat into their own little bubble where the rest of the world didn’t matter. She wanted to hear his voice, feel his arms around her, and pretend everything was okay. The need was so intense, it felt like it might tear her apart.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, her chest heaving with the weight of it all, the tears continuing to run down her face. But even through the tears, there was a new kind of strength taking root inside her, growing quietly beneath the sadness. She knew she was worth more. And she would wait—no matter how long it took—for the kind of love that made her feel whole, the kind of love that didn’t hurt.

[ivybucky]

lightning in a bottle - logan howlett x reader

mutant!reader nearly harms the team in a moment of panic and feels unable to deal with the aftermath, but logan is there to bring you back in more ways than one

a/n: i have so many ideas besties... currently have a list of 5 fic ideas and this is the first one I was able to flush out. here's some angst with happy ending for ya (no smut)

content: angst with happy ending, lots of electricity(literally), mentions of torture and screaming, mentions of mutant experimentation, implications of shitty birth family, confession of feelings, reader crying, sad reader, angry/sad logan

words: 2329

~~~~~

All you could think about was the lightning. 

You remember walking into the room, where the footage of your torture was displaying blatantly across the TV news cycle, the team sitting there and watching with rapt attention. “Mutant Experimentation Footage Leaked” scrolled across the screen. You remember the static tingling in your fingertips as you recognized what you were watching. Your own cries echoed from the speakers as footage of Stryker’s experimentation on you from a month prior when you had been captured is played to the nation. 

“Turn it off,” you had said quietly, pleadingly. The team’s gaze snaps to your silhouette in the door frame. Their eyes held sorrow, and something else that you did not want to see. 

“Y/N-” Storm had started to speak, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“Turn it off, now,” you’d said, clenched fists at your side as the panic began to swell, small flares of electricity flaring around your knuckles. Memories of the torture, the agony, the hatred came rushing back all at one and your eyes couldn’t leave the screen as it continuously replayed it. 

As the feeling heightening, electricity cracked in the air. Your eyes lit up, a bright purple gleam taking over. There was too much silence in the room, the sounds of your screams playing in a loop like a broken record as the news team played the footage over and over. Finally, someone broke it. “Y/N,” Logan had spoken up, an odd, unfamiliar tone in his voice. Good god, was that pity?

“What?” You had snapped, finally looking away from the footage and making eye contact with the team, with Logan, and you understood it wasn’t pity you heard in his voice, but a form of fear. Your anger slowly dissipated as you took in the state of the room - everyone in that room (who wasn’t bald) had hair floating up into the air, falling under the influence of the clouded electricity that filled the ceiling, just as one is before they get struck by lightning. 

And gods above you had almost struck them. 

Your fists fell lax at your sides, realization of the height of your emotions, the loss of control taking over your features. “I-” you stuttered, unsure how to apologize for the pain you nearly inflicted. “I-I’m sorry.”

For a moment, no one moved a muscle, no one said a word. It wasn’t the first time you had lost control, but it was the first time any of them were in danger because of it. Everyone stood like statues, watching you with bated breath, as if you were one nudge away from electrocuting the masses. You turned and fled the room, quickly striding back to your room to inevitably lock yourself in. It was the only place you felt like you could be and not hurt anyone.

Hours had passed since, but you couldn’t shake the look on their faces, the pure fright they showed, caused by you. Decidedly, that wouldn’t happen again - you wouldn’t allow it, in any capacity. Would they always fear you now? Could you manage to stay surrounded by people you loved, but knew there would always be a limit to how far their love for you went? Could you withstand the constant pins and needles your family would walk on around you, again?

It was that thought that had you hurriedly shuffling through your closet to find the duffle bag you had lugged over your shoulder when you were originally picked up by X-Men. It was crumbled into a wrinkled ball on the top shelf, thought to no longer have any use. 

You paced around the room, picking up the things you knew you couldn’t leave without. The students can go through my clothes, you thought with some sort of sad acceptance. Though, that didn’t keep you from packing some of the staples. The school logo printed on a t-shirt, an old sweatshirt that was singed from a fire fight in your first mission with the rest of the team, a stolen old flannel that smelt like smoke and whiskey-

“Where are you going, sweetheart?” You look up almost startled at Logan standing at the door to your bedroom, now cracked wide open. Logan… You’d nearly forgotten about the worst part - leaving him behind.

He leans against the door frame with a confused expression, arms crossed over his chest. You furrow your brows before turning back to the half-full duffle bag that sat on the foot of your bed. You knew you couldn’t look at him when you spoke again. 

“I’m leaving,” you nearly mutter and you stuff more clothes into the bag. You can feel your eyes getting hot, and try to take a deep breath to calm yourself. 

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he asks, his own brows furrowing. “Leaving for a mission?”

Your movements paused. You could tell the truth, but the reality was that he would try to stop you. And even if nothing had come out of the tension that hung between the two of you, you knew you would give in. 

“Yeah,” you swallowed as you lied. “Just a quick one, some intel gathering. I’m leaving sometime tomorrow morning.”

There was a brief pause, like Logan was trying to get a read on how truthful you were being. “Maybe I should come with you,” he says. “For backup, just in case.”

You clench your eyes shut - of course, he thought you needed to be accompanied. “I’ll be fine on my own,” your hands slow their movements as you place the last item in the bag, a gray zip up hoodie Logan had given you once. Were you saying that to reassure him, or yourself? You lied through your teeth like it was painful, as if the act of clenching your jaw so hard would break your bones and your will. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

There was another pause, and you were sure he was going to call your bluff, but he just clicked his tongue. “Well alright,” he said gruffly, almost dejectedly. His hand fiddled with the door frame for a moment hesitantly. “You know that if you need-“

“I know,” you interrupted, turning to give him a tight smile. “I know.” He gave a saddened half smile before nodding and walking away. 

The space he once occupied at the door was empty now, but for a moment you stared at as if he was still there, as if he was still trying to comfort you even when he didn’t know how. 

An errant tear slipped from your eye and trailed down your face for a moment before you snapped back into reality, wiping the tear away quickly with the heel of your hand. You aggressively zipped up the bag and slung it over your shoulder, eager to leave before anyone, mainly Charles, got an idea of your plan. 

With the click of the front door, and the clap of a thunderstorm on the dark horizon, you were gone. 

As Logan left your room, he externally winced at his inability to provide comfort - to you of all fucking people - as if the non-action hurt him. The pain on your face seeped into the air and into his adamantium bones, as if it was transferable through the longing gazes and secretly honeyed words. 

He hung his head and he slowly walked further down the hall, a part of him hoping he would hear your door creak open and hear you call out his name. Instead, he was met with the faint sniffles of a teary nose that only his heightened hearing could pick up, a scuffle of fabric being shoved tightly into the duffle that was then harshly zipped shut with a shuddering sigh.

He turned the corner to retreat to his room before he could hear any more, deciding to join the mission the next morning anyways. 

The following morning, Logan made his way to Charles, unexpecting wanting to make his intentions to follow her known to someone. He entered the room, Charles already staring directly at him with a face one could only describe as similar to an omniscient god.

“Logan,” Charles spoke, somewhat resigned. “She doesn’t have a mission.”

Logan paused in his step with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about? She said she was leaving this morning.”

“I did not give her one,” he confirms. “I have a feeling-”

Logan cut him off before the professor could continue. His jaw was clenched tight as he spoke the words. “She left.”

A tense silence took over the room, Charles watching Logan with a straight, yet dissecting gaze. Logan broke eye contact and looked away momentarily as he felt his heart sink to his stomach for the first time in decades. 

Finally, he looked back to Charles with a determined glare. “Where is she?”

The side of the professor’s mouth twitches up. 

—-

It only took two days for Logan to reach you. Charles was able to track your location easily as soon as he was asked. It took nothing for Logan to take the bike and peel out of the upstate town. Now, he stood in the rain staring at the shitty side-of-the-road motel with a simmering glare. 

His mind floated despondently in the air above him, completely unattached from his body as it stomped its way up the stairs and down the hall to your room. His fist banged on the door loudly, uncaring of its stability under his metal skeleton. His heightened exhaustion and emotions tethered him enough to not let his head fly too far away from him, but the reality was that he hadn’t slept since you left and the only words he spoke were to himself as he practiced what he would say to get you to return.

But then, the door swung open. His mind snapped back to his body as soon as he saw your face, but the pleas he had planned to beg left him just as quick. 

“You lied to me,” he growled, he accused, standing in the open door, his hands resting up on the door frame. The rain continued to pour just past the motel covering, evidence of its duration linger in the form of wet tracks down his leather jacket, the dampness of his hair, the drops that stuck to his face. 

“Logan-”

“You lied to me, Y/N,” he repeated, a new kind of angry heat simmering in his eyes. “You were not leaving for a mission.”

You take another deep breath. “‘M leaving for good,” you utter softly, your hands trembling slightly at the first out loud admission of what you had planned to do. You circled the back in the room, putting the cheap mattress in between you as some sort of barrier. The duffle bag he saw you packing days ago sat mockingly between you both. 

“Come on, what the fuck? ‘Leaving for good’?” He asks incredulously, taking a step forward and letting his arms drop to his sides. “You were going to leave the mansion, just like that?”

You stare at the duffle’s opening, having only reached that motel hours ago, not long enough to unpack the only remaining items you had. “I can’t stay, Logan,” you say softly, not moving to look at him. “No matter how careful I am, no matter how hard I try, I can’t control it, I can’t control me. Even Charles doesn’t know what to do with me, I-I had to leave, it’ll be better for everyone.”

“No,” he says defiantly, moving cautiously closer around the side of the bed. “Not everyone.”

The tears welled in your eyes at his words, unable to stop them from falling and you crossed your arms in front of you protectively, the tear-stained cuffs of the hoodie, his hoodie, pushed up your forearms. “Why are you here, Logan?”

“Why am I- are you stupid?” He scoffed, causing you to flinch at his harshness. “I’m here to bring you back. You’re not leaving the school, you’re not leaving me alone-”

“You don’t want me,” you cried, with tears streaming down your face as you shake your head. He can feel his heart break at the side of your distress. “None of you do. I nearly struck all of you the other day, just because I got emotional. I almost hurt you, and that’s the last thing you need, Logan.”

Logan quickly moves closer to stand in front of you and cups your cheeks, bringing your wet eyes to his. “Don’t you get it,” he says with a strained, rough voice. His thumbs sweep gently under your eyes to brush away the tears. “You are the only thing I need. Fuck everything and everyone else.”

Your hands come up to hold onto his wrist, keeping his hands exactly where they are on your face. “Logan-” you stutter as you search his eyes almost hopefully. “What are you saying?”

There’s a brief silence in between your soft sniffles and the sound of the rain on the other side of the motel door. When Logan speaks again, it is deliberate, and it’s what he wanted to say all along. “I’m saying I am nothing without you, sweetheart,” he urges, his thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth. “I was nothing before you, and I know that if you leave now, I’ll be nothing all over again. Not a single person in that school wants you to leave, me especially.”

You squeeze your eyes shut in time with the hopeful clenching of your heart, forcing tears out as you do so. You rest your forehead against Logan’s as he continues. “Please,” he nearly whispers, his nose bumping against yours. “Come home with me and turn nothing into something again.”

You nodded against him and spoke a wet “okay” before pressing your lips, finally, against his. And, just as you had predicted you would several nights ago, you gave in. 

_____

a/n: quickly posting this bc if i keep staring at it i'll never post it pls tell me how i did :D logan smut comin soon, pls like, comment, reblog

[luludeluluramblings]

Dick Grayson's Obsession with Smalltown!Reader

A/N: Why dialogue hard? Why so hard? Y'all I tried, once again. I saved Dick for last because I really really really did not want to screw up his character. I did end up adding a scene from Part Seven in here. Just to give it some pizzazz.

A/N: Part Eight is in the works, but it’s either gonna be massive or I’m going to have to divide it up. Also, people be posting so straight up fire in the Yandere Bat tags lately. Good stuff, I needed that.

Warnings: Yandere themes, physical affection.

Out of everyone, Dick was the most enthusiastic about Reader coming to Wayne manor, while also being the most melancholic. The tragedy of their arrival wasn't lost on him, despite the thrill he had over the thought of having another person to add to hi life. Already, the need and wanted to smoother them in comfort and care was there. But, the life experiences he had allowed him to realize it was probably best not to overwhelm them.

Therefore, it came out in short burst of staggering affection at times. But, only when he was visiting. (There was no denying the fact that he was extremely tempted to call them on the phone just to make sure they were settling in just fine. And, that he fought that temptation every single night.)

That didn't stop him from feeling some minor annoyance with Bruce for keeping the fact that they existed a secret. Dick had seen the affects of this life and even felt them, but to let the family nearly miss out on something so honeyed with normalcy was cruel. (It would have been preferred if they didn't have to lose their parents in order to join the rest of the family, but it was hard to think like with how busy his schedule was and soft they felt in his arms.)

Admittedly he may have latched on to them too hard in the beginning. They felt stiff the first time his arms wrapped around them. The guilt of it gurgled in his throat, which is why he cut it short and went about his business. But, he couldn't stop the urge to do so each time they crossed each other's paths in the manor halls.

And, much to his glee, they start to soften. Slowly, but surly, they start to cling to him a little longer when his arms wrap around them. They start to depend on him. For once the thought of someone so conventional depending on him as Dick rather than as Nightwing, because everyone seems to depend on him as Nightwing, doesn't fill him with anxiety. It makes his chest flutter in a different way. Not with anxious butterflies, but with a flicker of a warmth.

It's completely innocent, the way the craving starts. He has to talk himself out of rearranging his entire schedule to be around them. Especially after the kidnapping incident. But, the Rouge break out gives him plenty of work to distract himself, and more frequent chances to find them in the manor for a dose of his new source of comfort.

His feelings finally start to become clear when rather than holding him longer and tighter, they finally reach for him themselves.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

“And, how is my favorite person today?” Already Dick has his arms opened wide for you when you walk out of the kitchen. He always appears from the depths of the manor, before he wraps around you like a slow creeping vine blooming with all sorts of sentiments.

"Alfred was doing good last I saw." But, by now you've grown to appreciate the way the tendrils curl around your limbs and burrow themselves into you. A small grin forming on your face at the chance to finally have someone to talk to, even if he isn't consistent company.

"Alfred isn't my favorite person, and you know it." The banter between them enjoyable and the undertones of his words ignorable in your obliviousness. "But, seriously, how are you doing today? You look like you have something on your mind. If it is you can tell me, you know that right?" The concern pouring put of his lips, as his grip tightens.

He had seen you through the cameras and had overheard the longing phone calls. The fact that your birthday was coming up had crossed his mind, and the realization that this would be your first without your parents did register in his brain. (But, it would also be you first with them. With him.) Bringing it up to you seemed like a bad idea. But, he would still try to encourage you to spill your feelings to him.

"No, no. It's nothing I promise." Your reply was soft and dismissive. But, the dishonesty was noticeable in it still.

Dick's arms seemed to tighten around you as you spoke, as if he was trying to decode the root of your troubles from the way your heart was beating against his chest. Eventually, he does loosen his limbs around you.

As he looks down, you known and he knows you’re lying. For a moment you think he going to push. To try to choke the words out of your lungs with another tight squeeze. But, he doesn't. Instead he lets you breathe.

"Okay," is all he says.

No extra nor unnecessary words. No constant reassurance that he'll always be there for you. Just a single word and the room to breathe. Those other things have already been said. Multiple times, in fact.

It's this one instance where he lets you breath that somehow gives you lungs the air it needs to blurt out what's bothering you as he pulls away.

"I wanna go home." The words escape your lips when you finally exhale and reach for him. The words coarse. "I just really want to go home for a bit. I miss home. I miss my family. I just—“

Dick doesn't even let you get halfway before he's enveloping you again. A slight tremble in his hands as he sprouts around you once more.

This. This is what he's wanted. You coming to him with your raw feelings. And, he knows he's the first person you've said this to at all.

"How can I help you?" He asks instead of questioning the statement.

"Can you help me convince Bruce to let me go, please, Dick?” The tentative way you ask and look up at him has him caving immediately.

"Of course!" Perhaps it was a good thing you didn't grow up in Wayne manor. If Bruce hadn't spoiled you, he most definitely would have. "I'll bring it up to B as soon as he gets back."

"He's gone?" You hadn't been informed of him even leaving, but then again, you were hardly every informed about anything it seems.

"Yeah, work emergency. It wasn't a big deal, but he'll be back soon." Dick can sense the mild tone shift, but manages to shift it back to something more lighthearted. "I'll make sure to butter him up for you. I swear. Puppy-dog eyes and everything."

It works, because before he can even clutch you to his chest you already wrapped your arms around his torso and pulled yourself towards him. Just the way you hug him tells him how genuine this type of embrace is. This is how you hold people. And, now, this is how you hold him.

"Thank you, Dick. Thank you." Comes your muffled reply into his chest.

The way you nuzzle into him like that's where you belong, because that's where you do belong, and the way you say his name causes his heart to melt. And, his mind to slowly sinks into the puddle it became.

Dick could stay like this for hours, but you start to pull away after a solid minute.

"I should let you get going. I know you got a lot of stuff to do." Your words sound so hopeful and understanding as you him go. The way you look up at him like he is your hero just for this simple small thing is touching.

Inwardly, he curses. The criminals of Gotham. The criminals of Blüdhaven, the team, the family, his schedule. Everything. He curses it all for that moment, because he could be holding you to his chest longer and having you look up at him like that instead. But, he lets it pass. He manages to let it go just as you pull away.

"Yeah, I do. But, don't think I'm going to brush off helping my favorite person in the world." Plastering on a well practiced pretty smile as he speaks.

"So, that means you got somebody more important off world? I see how it is." You tease in return as you fall for the practiced charm.

"Maybe." Dick lets the banter easy his mind. In reality, even off this world, you're probably his favorite, still. It should scare him, but it doesn't. "I'll let you know how Bruce takes the request. But, I'm prepared to sneak you out of here if necessary."

"I'll get the spy music ready, just incase." Things are starting to look up, and it's nice to have someone in your corner in this massive estate.

"Mission Impossible theme?" His grin become less practiced at the thoughts of having an adventure with you.

"Nah, the Pink Panther one. Just for the shenanigans." Your own grin growing wider and wider.

"Now I want to sneak you out just for fun." And, he means it. Already mentally planning your trip back home with him escorting you. And, then you possibly coming and staying in Blüdhaven with him in his guest room. Just to get you out of the manor, of course. Clearly you need it.

He can't ignore the way his pocket keeps buzzing, though. Clearly the others are in the cave waiting for him. But, they can wait a bit longer, he thinks diving in for one last embrace.

As you wholeheartedly reciprocate, he can see one of the secret security camera out the corner of his eye and he can't stop the smug smile from forming on his face as his gives you one last squeeze in front of it.

With the way his phone stills, he can tell the rest of them saw. It's not his fault they're too scared of physical affection to actually hug you. But, it does give him a monopoly on it with you.

As he makes his way down to the Batcave there's a skip in his step and that smug smile is still on his face.

He makes sure to look at everyone's faces as he joins them. Soaking up their envy. All of that wasn't to make them jealous, but it's kind of nice to have.

"Was all that necessary, Grayson?" Damian being the first to break the silence by practically spitting the words out through his gritted teeth. Even with his perfect poster the tension coiling in his limbs is visible to the untrained eye.

"Someone's got to be the one to do it, little D. And, clearly, they needed it." Dick's tone was placating, but his smile wasn't. The way he stands in the center of the room reminiscent of an orchestra conductor.

"Don't use them as an excuse for your touch-starved tendencies, Dick." Barbara retorted, rolling in her chair towards another computer. She immediately began typing on it at a furious pace, clearly trying to distract herself.

"Low blow, Babs." He whistled in return. Everyone else seemed focused on giving him the silent treatment causing his grin to widen further. "I can't help that I'm a naturally-"

"I just texted Bruce about it." Duke suddenly says, looking up from his phone with a smug grin. He face had been blank before, but the way his eyes glanced up at Dick and the others when there heads jerk towards him showed off a hint of self-satisfaction.

"That's cheating." Childishly spills from Dick's mouth. This was suppose to be his favor to them. His. Not anyone else's.

"Bruce doesn't get text while in the Watchtower." Stephanie points out while uncurling from her seat, but the damage is done.

"Could we contact Father in the Watchtower?" Damian practically leaps from his seat and rushes to the Batcomputer where Tim sits. Alliances quickly being drawn up.

"He'd be pissed if we contacted him for something like this." Jason adds with a grin. He doesn't bother looking up from cleaning his guns, just not at all bothered by the prospect of pissing Bruce off.

"But, then message would be logged into the League data base." Comes Barbara's stern voice from her computer, her typing coming to a pause. Tim still keeps at whatever he was working on before Dick walked into the cave, but on the screen there is a flash of airline websites so it's fairly easy to conclude what his plan of persuasion is.

Cassandra watches the exchange reading the emotions through everyone's movements. Silently, she throws her bid in as well. Choosing to slide over to Stephanie and signing the making of a plan.

From there it spirals into an all out argument between each and every member of the family. Debating logistics and exchanging petty insults that seems to go on for hours. Hardly anything gets done while words are being thrown around like bullets.

In the back of his mind, Dick once again curses everyone and everything for ruining this for him. But, he reassures himself, the banter from earlier comes back to him.

It's a decent plan, he thinks. Sneaking Reader out of the manor. Convincing Bruce would be ideal, but it wouldn't be the first time he's broken the rules. And, it's for their happiness and well being. They need him. They asked him for his help. Not the other's. Not anyone else's. His. Bruce will understand.

Besides, it would be nice to see the Smalltown they grew up in. It sounds like a quaint little place. What could possibly be wrong with it?

[iamgonnagetyouback]

Poly marauders where it’s like there teen daughter gets into a fight and like smokes and stuff and like conversations and text trying to figure out what’s going on and telling each other what’s happening and like her yelling at them and finding out she’s been hanging around the wrong kind of people and she’s been stealing and just like good angst but then she says sorry walks away and slowly stops but like still ofc and teen girl 💕💕

𝟷.𝟹𝚔 || 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓

♡ ︎ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Your teen daughter was hanging out with wrong kind of people, causing all of you to confront her.

♡ ︎ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: None

♡ ︎ꜱʜɪᴘ: poly!marauders x mom!Reader

"She's stealing, James. STEALING." Sirius’s voice came through the phone, low and angry. You could hear it even though James had stepped into the kitchen to take the call. Your heart clenched, dread coiling tightly in your chest.

You glanced at Remus, who was sitting on the couch, his brow furrowed as he typed furiously into his phone, likely messaging Peter. It had been a few tense days now. First, your daughter had gotten into a fight at school. Then came the smoking. And now…you were learning about the stealing.

James walked back into the living room, running a hand through his hair. His usually calm demeanor was shattered, his hazel eyes full of worry. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Sirius’s voice on speakerphone, growling, “This is bloody ridiculous. Who’s she been hanging out with? How did we not know?”

You winced. “She’s not a bad kid,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. “We must’ve missed something, right? Maybe if I had—”

“Don’t,” Remus cut in gently, finally looking up from his phone. His eyes softened as he reached for your hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”

But the guilt gnawed at you anyway. You were her mother. You were supposed to protect her, guide her, and yet here you all were, blindsided by her sudden spiral.

The front door slammed, jolting you out of your thoughts. There she was, your daughter, stomping into the room with an air of defiance.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk,” James started, his voice steady but filled with concern.

“No, we don’t,” she snapped. “I’m not a child. You don’t get to control my life!”

Sirius, who had hung up and now stormed in after her, looked livid. “You’re stealing now?” His voice was tight with fury, and you saw James reach out, placing a firm hand on his shoulder to stop him from escalating. “We didn’t raise you to act like this. What the hell is going on?”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe if you actually paid attention to what I want, instead of what you want me to be, I wouldn’t have to sneak around!”

Remus took a deep breath, stepping in. “Who have you been hanging out with, darling?”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, you saw the scared girl beneath the rebellious facade. “It doesn’t matter,” she mumbled. “I’ve got my own life, alright? You guys don’t get it.”

Peter, who had just arrived, slipped in quietly, standing by the door. He had always been the quiet one in confrontations like these, but his eyes were filled with worry. “We do get it,” he said softly. “We’ve been your age. But hanging out with people who are getting you into fights, into trouble…it’s not the way.”

Her lip trembled, and for a second, it seemed like she was going to break. But then she just shook her head and stormed toward her room, slamming the door behind her.

The silence that followed was suffocating. You sat down hard on the couch, burying your face in your hands. “I failed her,” you choked out, your voice thick with tears. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it.”

Sirius’s anger faltered, and he knelt down in front of you. “Hey, no. None of this is your fault.”

James crouched beside you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. “You’re a great mom,” he whispered into your hair. “She’s just…lost right now.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But what if we lose her, James? What if we're not enough?”

Remus was there in an instant, sitting beside you, pulling you close. “We won’t lose her,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it out together, okay? We’ve always got each other.”

Peter nodded from the side. “She’s tough, just like you. She’ll come around.”

Sirius, who had always been the most protective, clenched his fists, still simmering with frustration but trying his best to soften for your sake. “I just don’t want her getting hurt,” he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “I don’t want her to turn into someone we don’t recognize.”

James kissed his temple, his voice gentle but firm. “She won’t. We’ll make sure of it.”

Over the next few days, things were tense, but slowly, you began to see changes. She came home earlier, didn’t pick as many fights. It wasn’t a complete transformation—far from it—but there were glimmers of hope. She even sat down with you once, just to watch TV. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

One evening, she came up to you while the boys were scattered around the house. “Mom?” she asked, her voice quiet.

You looked up, your heart in your throat. “Yes, sweetie?”

“I’m sorry.” Her eyes were filled with genuine remorse. “I…I messed up. I’m still mad, but I know I messed up.”

You pulled her into your arms, tears welling in your eyes again, but this time from relief. “I love you,” you whispered, kissing the top of her head. “No matter what, I love you.”

She nodded, hugging you tightly before stepping back. “I’m gonna try…to do better.”

It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

hope this is what you were going for! also i wasn't sure if you wanted reader insert, so i twisted it up a bit

[seresinhangmanjake]

His and Yours

Summary: When you're told your pregnancy could cost you your life, Feyd demands you do whatever necessary to keep yourself alive. When you decide to have the baby anyway, it creates a rift in your relationship. Only when you go into labor, does Feyd show himself for who he really is.

Warnings/ Notes: Very angsty, but ends on a happy note. Very sensitive topics about pregnancy, abortion, and conversations about potential death. It’s Feyd here people, and we can imagine how he’d be with sensitive topics. Please only read if you understand this. Requested by @tgmreader

**While it is not necessary to read my other work to read this fic, this works also as another part to my "His" series. However, (even though it ends on a happy note) if this content makes you uncomfortable, it is not necessary to read in order to understand any future parts in the series. I know people love them together and that this is a difficult issue, so do not feel obligated.**

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Words: 2950

“Feyd…” you sigh as you watch him pace back and forth. He doesn’t so much as acknowledge you until you attempt to get up from your seat to go to him.

With an outstretched arm and a finger pointed directly at you, he says in a harsh tone—harsher than you’ve heard in a long time, “Don’t you move a fucking inch!”

You plop back into your seat. “We have to talk about this.”

“No!” he snaps. He descends upon you with rushed stomps, his hands gripping the armrests of your chair. You have to tilt your head back to meet his fiery gaze. “There will be no talking about this,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “No discussion. No negotiations. No weighing the pros and cons.” You swallow as a tear builds in the corner of your eye. Feyd groans and pushes away from the chair. “Stop crying.”

“What do you expect from me?”

“To not die!” he shouts, his voice echoing through the vast, empty room. “I expect my wife to do whatever she has to in order to keep me happy! That’s your job!”

You glance down. Your hand runs over the slightly bulbous shape of your stomach. A tear creates a dark patch on the fabric of your dress. A dress he picked out for you. He’d been so enthusiastic about every element related to your pregnancy, including dressing his wife in new gowns as you grew with the passing months. This is one of the first he’d chosen. 

“I thought my job was to provide you with an heir,” you say.

“Not at the cost of your life!”

He had almost missed the appointment for more professional matters. Now you wish he had. When the doctor told you that you might not survive giving birth, he gave you a choice: risk having the child anyway or drink a tonic that will terminate your pregnancy while it’s still safe. You knew Feyd’s mind was made up in that very moment. But yours wasn’t. This is your child, a perfect combination of you and the only man you’ve ever loved, and yet, your questioning of what is best has your husband looking at you like you’ve lost your damn mind; like you’re a fool with a knack for selfishness.

“I’m the na-Baron,” he says. “You’re under my authority. I decide for the both of us.”

You shake your head. “That’s not fair.”

“I don’t care if it’s fair! We can make a hundred heirs, but there isn’t another you!” he screams. You wonder if the rest of the Harkonnen fortress hears—the soldiers, the servants. You wonder if they fear for their lives because of an outburst that has nothing to do with them. They should. Your husband is likely to go on a rampage throughout the place the moment this conversation ends, should it ever.

When you shrivel in your chair, a crease dents the center of his brow. Feyd returns to you, his warm palms cupping your cheeks, his forehead resting against yours. “You can’t ask me to let you do this,” he says with a subtle whimper. “I won’t ever forgive you.”

“What about my forgiveness of you?”

Feyd jerks back. The pain in his eyes shrinks under darkness. “You have nothing to forgive me for.”

Finally, you stand. “You want me to give up our baby,” you argue. “You don’t think I deserve to–”

“No!” You jump. “I care about you! I love you! Not some thing that wants to take you away from me!”

“Feyd–”

“I refuse to continue this conversation,” he says. “I’ve made the decision. It’s done.”

—

He’d tried everything. He had meal preparers mix it in with your usual dinner drink until the nasty sludge color disappeared. He attempted to have your maidservants slip it into your morning tea, your evening glass of warm milk, and, even more desperately, into your bathwater. However, the only servants close enough to you that he could demand such a task from became primarily loyal to you after your marriage six months prior, and as a result, each one informed you of his plans. Five servants fell to your husband's blade before he surrendered that tactic to attempt anew. But with his final effort, what died between you was nothing other than what had been keeping you together—affection. 

With your feelings numb, there was little foundation for your relationship to stand upon. When he took you and made you his concubine, Feyd kept you safe. He did the physical work to protect you in a newly twisted relationship while you did all of the emotional work. You broke down the walls he’d built, got him to open up, showed him that caring for you wouldn’t be the end of the world. Convincing you to get rid of your baby was the hardest he’d ever emotionally worked for you, and since failure was not a thing he had known, nothing was going to stop him. 

He didn’t understand that kissing you with the tonic filling his mouth was too far, even for what he’d already done. He didn’t understand that he had already lost so much of your trust with his deceit and that that kiss was enough to scorch the rest of it. You might have left him had you not been able to wash the substance from your mouth before it could do its damage. 

When you first turned him away, he threw his fits. He screamed at you and for you every day until you made it clear you weren’t coming to him, but even then, he didn’t allow you to neglect the expectations he had for you. In front of others, you were to act as his wife—stand by his side, attend meetings in silence, kiss him goodbye before his trips to Arrakis—but the larger your belly grew, the less he was willing to have you near. 

You don’t sleep in the same bed now. You don’t take your meals together or bathe together or, frankly, see one another. He looks the other way when he crosses your path. His fists clench like he wants to touch you, his Adam’s apple bobs like he’s holding back from kissing you, but his eyes refuse to meet yours, and he won’t go near you. 

You know he's preparing himself to lose his wife. Anger, while present, hasn’t been the dominant fuel for his behavior for a while, and neither is it yours. You were furious, but with your baby due in a month, you struggle to bear the loneliness, and the longer he continues to treat you like you’re a plague, the more you miss him, and the more you fear for your child. Who will love it if you are not here? Who will protect it and teach it and nourish it? Certainly not the one who should and once promised he would. And as the days close in, you wonder if he was right. If you made a mistake. 

—

I need him—that’s all you can think as your baby fights to leave your body. You need your husband here, and the reasons are far too overwhelming, but you can’t focus on anything else. You miss him. You can’t do this alone. And if you die today, you have to say goodbye. You have to tell him you love him and make him swear to protect your child, or it was all for nothing. 

“I need him,” you screech through your teeth with the contraction that hits you.

“My Lady–” one of the nurses begins. Her voice is shaky, worried eyes flicking back and forth between yours and the doctor between your legs who has just reached for another clean rag after discarding a blood-soaked one. “My Lady, the na-Baron–”

“I don’t care! I need him!”

He must’ve been there, listening, because Feyd’s through the door in an instant, and as his eyes lock on to yours, everything else—all the pain and lies—is shoved behind you. He takes a step forward but pauses, momentarily distracted by the wear on your body, before he blinks and continues forward, shoving people aside to get to you. He falls to his knees by your bed and when your hand reaches out, he clutches it tightly in both of his. Too tightly. You can feel your pulse throbbing harder from the pressure on your veins, but you don’t care. 

“Feyd, I–”

“Don’t do this to me,” he mutters as tears well in his eyes. The first you’ve ever seen. He didn’t so much as shed a tear on your wedding day or when you told him you were pregnant, but as the first one falls down his cheek, you realize he’s about to make up for every missed opportunity. 

You can’t respond. You don’t have it in you to tell him that you won’t do anything to him, that you won’t hurt him, that you’ll be fine, and that you’ll be a family. You’re too exhausted to lie. He seems to know it because he doesn’t make the request again. Instead, he kisses your fingers over and over, repeating words of love that are not often said. 

“My Lady, I know it hurts, but if you can shift downwards a bit,” the doctor starts. “At this angle, we might be able to–”

Feyd wipes his eyes and shoots to his feet. “You can save her?”

“There might be a better chance.”

You groan as you maneuver your body. Feyd does what he can to assist, but it doesn’t ease the searing, stabbing feeling at your core. 

“That’s better,” the doctor praises. 

“She’s your priority,” Feyd says sternly.

You gasp. “N-No…”

Your husband’s head whips back to you. “I’m not watching you die,” he growls. 

“For…our baby,” you say to Feyd’s hardened features. You cry harder for the pain of realizing that out of you and your baby, he would still choose you. You don’t know why you expected any different. In the five minutes of his presence, he gave no indication of a change of heart, but it’s disappointing all the same. “P-Please.”

The doctor doesn’t look up from the task at hand but listens for further instruction. “My Lord?”

Feyd stares at you for a long while, his expression unchanged. He doesn’t squeeze your hand or kiss your forehead or brush away the damp hair from your forehead with your next contraction. He doesn’t flinch at your joining shriek. He’s gone, lost in the world of his thoughts until he decides to come back. His eyes close. He grinds his back teeth. His brow pinches and he shakes his head.

“The baby,” Feyd struggles to get out. He pauses before he says, “And then my wife.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

The next half-hour is white-hot, blinding agony. You can no longer move—a statue as the doctor slices pieces of you open to accommodate your child’s position. He doesn’t want to come out. He doesn’t want to leave his mother. You can’t blame him. If you had the same fate awaiting you upon joining the world, you might not rush to leave the confines of comfort either. He has no reason to separate himself from everything he’s known to fall into the hands of a man who does not love him. But his unwillingness to leave you is what will eventually take you from him. 

You can feel it. The draining. Of blood. Of life. Your energy is long gone and at this point, you can’t imagine lasting long enough to be saved, even if you survive just in time to hear your baby’s first cry. 

“We’re almost there,” the doctor says. His words are hazy as your brain drifts, struggling to keep you conscious. But then you feel a release of pressure, a missing weight. Emptiness. Solitude.

“Save my wife!” you hear in the aftermath, but you’re not worried about that. You need to know he’s ok and perfect and that he has all of his fingers and toes. You need to know if he has a dusting of hair on his head, or if he’s like your husband. Does he more resemble his father? Complexion and eyes and lips poutier than yours? You need to know these things about your son. 

But you suppose you never will. Your vision is too blurry to make out his tiny form, but among Feyd’s shouts, you hear a beautiful little wail as your eyelids flutter closed. And that’s enough. 

—

The last thing you heard upon your death is the first thing you hear when you wake. And it terrifies you. Surely, you should not be hearing that sound. If you can hear him, then he’s with you, and he can’t be with you because you’re not here. Not really. You don’t exist on the plane he should be existing on. You exist in darkness now, and he was only ever meant to see the light. That’s what you saved him for. That’s what you used every remaining ounce of your will and soul and heart to do. You left so he could stay. So how could he be with you?

“Can you hear him?” 

Yes. You cannot see him, but you can hear him. He sounds so much like you remember. His coos are not the wails, but the noises are brothers. You part your lips to call his name only to realize you never got the chance to give him one. 

“He’s perfect,” the voice says. “Everything about him.” A tear trickles down your cheek. “I need you to meet him. He wants to see his mother.”

You want to see him, too, so badly, and as you feel the desire, a flash of light shoots across your vision. One flash, and then another. Another flash, and then one more. Brightness obscures every image as your eyes shift, attempting to take in your surroundings. You’re not sure this is better. In the darkness, you can rest. This is simply torturous, and your baby is not even here. 

Heat from a heavy, shaky sigh hits your skin. Relief. Lips land on yours for a long beat before finding your forehead. A skull presses to your skull. The breath is taken from your lungs by another kiss. A droplet splashes onto your cheek. 

“You don’t ever do this to us again.” When your vision adjusts, your husband is there. “Do you understand me?”

You nod before you can think not to, before you can think that Feyd is not meant to be here, either. But if he is here, then why does he look so happy? Would he really rather the three of you be gone forever than to raise your baby without you? You scold your idiocy. Of course, he would. 

“You were out for three days,” he says. “Longest three days of my life.”

Out. Not dead. Not gone. 

Feyd helps you sit up. He disappears and then returns with a bundle of fabric. “Look,” he says, smiling, sniffling, and then smiling again. Two of his fingers gently nudge a section of the blanket aside to reveal a tiny face. Tiny nose, tiny lips, tiny eyes. Lashes that rest on tiny cheeks. A much smaller spitting image of your husband. “He’s got your eyes, I promise,” Feyd says, and your son proves it when his eyelids flutter open. 

“Do you think you’ve got the strength to hold him?”

You nod again. “Y-Yes,” you say, like it’s your first word. 

Feyd uncurls his arms from the baby and settles him into your awaiting ones. He’s lighter than you expected—probably to do with coming a little early—but the weight of him snaps the bits of you that were lagging behind in the unconscious world to the present. You gasp.

You’re alive. Your baby is alive. Your husband is here. They’re both beautiful. “I’m alive.”

Feyd sits back down in the chair that is pulled up to the side of your bed. He swallows. “Yes. Barely, for a moment, but…yes.”

You cuddle your baby to your chest and run your finger down his nose. He’s softer than the blanket that snuggles him. Soft like you rather than his father. He’ll grow strong like the man you can’t help loving, but he’ll have more heart, and that balance will make him a great Baron one day. A great man. 

“Do you hate me?” Feyd asks. “For what I did?”

Your head hurts and you still feel groggy, but you’re aware enough to know that you don’t hate him. You can’t hate him. It shocks you that he doesn’t know that, but then again, he’d never done anything like what he did before, and if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t know that he wouldn’t do it again should you fall pregnant with another child. You don’t trust him right now, and there’s only one thing that could ever convince you to attempt repairing that trust. 

“Do you love him?” you say as you gently rock your baby. 

Feyd glances down at your son. There’s no contemplation. “More than anything.”

“You’ll protect him?”

His eyes flick back up to yours. “With my life,” he says. And you believe him. 

You became a mother the second you felt that little life growing inside of you, but you can accept that upon looking at your son, spending time with him, your husband learned to become a father. Had you died, you don’t know what would have happened, but you can’t dwell on that and hope to keep your family together at the same time. He loves the child you made together, and that’s all you ever wanted. 

“Then, no,” you tell him. “I don’t hate you.”

[paper-mario-wiki]

Could you elaborate on how rhythm can greatly feminize a voice? I’d never thought of that and I’m very curious :o

hmm. im showing my ass here just a little bit with how i choose to phrase this, but this isn't really based on any "method" and all the "research" ive done into it is very cursory and for my own situational needs, so bear with me for a second:

you ever heard of "Gay Voice"?

it's an internationally recognized phenomenon-- crossing language barriers even-- that pinpoint a speech pattern, or cadence, which is most commonly associated with gay men.

the basics of the "gay voice" are 1) an increase in your spoken pitch variation (meaning you have a greater range in how high AND low your voice goes), 2) holding vowel sounds longer, and 3) a speech effect relating to the "S" sound, which people often lump into the "gay lisp" category of speech.

now, this may seem like an insane place to start, given the history of what the "gay voice" means in society, but like. that doesn't matter. the reason it's a "gay voice" is because it sounds effeminate. now, to be clear, "gay voice" does not mean "speaking like a woman"-- the research shows that the connection is slightly more complicated than just "gay men sound like women", but the aim of this exercise is to approach femininity from a familiar MtF perspective when you really don't know where to start otherwise.

as is almost always the case in the persecution of the Male Homosexual under a patriarchal social ruleset, their perceived flaws aren't based in how far from masculinity they stray, but instead how closely to femininity they approach. so too is the case with the trans woman: the inherent "shame" is your rejection of masculinity, and your embrasure of femininity. ergo, starting from a "gay" speaking standpoint is already in the direction of femininity.

if you're interested in how im becoming reacquainted with my own voice and would like to do the same, start there, if you can, and pay attention to what you do with your voice unconsciously. yes, im really asking you to sit in your room and do the Gay Voice to yourself.

how high up are you going? how low? are you speaking faster? maybe with more of a staccato in your enunciation? maybe you're speaking more softly, or more sharply. maybe there's a lilt that you don't usually put on that feels good. maybe you're flexing your tongue in ways you're not used to, hitting new sounds on familiar syllables. or maybe your lips are a little tighter, or looser than usual, projecting the voice outward differently.

pay attention to these things. become conscious of what you're doing with your mouth to make the noise called "speaking". pay attention to the words you choose, and the path your sentences follow. become aware of these things, and compare them against the kinds of people you hope to sound like.

you can also try different cartoonishly effeminate voices, like the sultry "Jessica Rabbit" seductress tone. try that on for size too. how does it feel to waltz around words? do you feel like speaking slightly slower helps you maintain a greater control over the delivery? or perhaps you feel it makes you sound too stilted? maybe you're also putting some vocal fry into it, how does that feel?

this, to me, is one of the most helpful places i've found to start on this particular issue. i apologize if some of this sounds silly, or even misguided, but doing this has been a very practical and affirming exercise for me. i hope you found it useful in some way too.

[hanjsquokka]

strawberry cake.

kim seungmin × fem!reader — high school! au, childhood friends to potential lovers, fluff

summary — seungmin only needs one present on his birthday, and it isn't the sugary dessert you made for him.

word count — 1.1K

warnings — fluff, fluff, FLUFF!!

author's note — happy seungmin day 🩷 i actually managed to post a fic on a member's birthday, who am i. initially thought of my baseball ksm fic but i know i'm not gonna finish that lol and his instagram posts were very inspiring. i think i watched this happen in some movie or tv show i watched, i don't remember 😭 but i thought it was really cute, lmk what you guys think <3

please consider leaving feedback in the comments or reblogs as they really make my day 💕

Kim Seungmin didn't like celebrating his birthday that much. Sure, he liked receiving a few gifts from his friends and a happy birthday here and there, but he didn't like the blowout parties that you loved. On your birthday, you would plan this whole thing, inviting friends from school and neighbors to celebrate your birthday. You were a social butterfly, so he understood why you did that. You loved being surrounded by people you cherished. Your birthday was just an excuse to call everyone over and spend time with them.

Seungmin, however, liked keeping his celebrations more reserved. His mother greeted him in the morning, making his favorite breakfast to eat and favorite lunch to take to school. His dad handed him some cash to buy something to eat after school, which he usually didn't do and opted to save it for a better cause. His sister offered to take him out for lunch on the weekend. 

Of course, being the wonderful and amazing best friend that you were (your words), you always went out of your way to do something. Like this year, you presented him with a small cake slightly smushed in your lunch box with haphazardly thrown purple sprinkles.

“I made it from scratch,” you added with a big grin as you sat in front of his desk. His friends had left a few moments ago to play on the school grounds. He'd stayed back, finishing up the last of his lunch and letting it settle in his stomach before he ran around playing soccer. A small smile formed on his face; he could never dislike your enthusiasm for his birthday.

“It looks... artistic,” he said in an amused tone, looking up from the lunch box to your face, which was scrunched up in a frown.

“I didn't know the box would be small... And hey, I baked this for you; at least show some appreciation!”

Seungmin laughed. “Sorry, thank you for making this cake for me.” He meant that; he knew that you knew it too, because your shoulders relaxed, and you prompted him to take a bite and tell him how it tasted. There was a little too much sugar for his liking, but he didn't tell you that, instead nodding his head in approval and eating more of it. It was strawberry-flavored, his favorite. It warmed his heart that you always went out of your way to do things the way that he liked.

When he looked back at you, you were tucking a strand of hair back as you ate a spoonful. The longer he looked at you, the faster his heartbeat went, his body feeling hot right up to the tip of his ears. It was a weird feeling, but not foreign. Lately, it had been happening more often. He started seeing you in a different light, something other than a friend—not just any friend, but a childhood friend. He wasn't naive; he knew what crushes were, and he knew he had one on you.

It was a realization he had come across a few months ago when his family and yours went to the carnival over the summer and the two of you had gotten separated. He came home that day, heart tap dancing in his ribcage and a never-ending smile on his face from the way you jumped with excitement after you worked together to win the obviously rigged carnival games and winning a plushie.

Some part of him knew that. You liked him back as well; he hoped his brain wasn't playing tricks on him when he saw the way your eyes lit up after seeing him. The innocent friendship you two shared was morphing into something different—a good different. 

That evening, while the two of you were walking home after the extra classes you had, the crisp evening air sent a tingle down his spine as he walked along the pavement, listening to whatever you were talking about and adding his own insights whenever he felt like it.

“Oh, hey, look! Tteokbokki!” You said excitedly, pointing to the food cart run by a middle-aged woman serving the steaming hot spicy rice cakes to a few customers. With a tug of his arm, you dragged him over and ordered one spicy one for both of you to share. He didn't like eating spice as much as you did, but he didn't want to say no to you. After a short debate, he used his birthday money to pay for the food, and the two of you walked along the riverside slowly as you ate.

“Mm, these are good,” you let out a satisfied hum and continued eating.

“They are,” he agreed. The spice was present at the back of his throat, but it was weirdly good after the oversweet cake he had during lunch.

“It tastes good after eating that sugar monster I made, right?” Seungmin turned his head to look at you. “What? Don't give me that look, that cake was so sweet, how did you even finish the whole thing? It tasted like I dumped a whole box of sugar in the batter.”

“True… But you made it, so I wanted to eat it,” he admitted, feeling his face flush lightly. If you teased him about it, he was going to brush it off and blame it on the tteokbokki, but your own cheeks mimicked his, tinging red at his sudden admission. 

“Still,” you protested, “I'll have to make a better one that doesn't taste like cavities.”

“I like the oversweet one. Maybe I'm an extra sugar kinda person.”

"No, you're not.”

“It wasn't even that bad.”

“Now you're just lying.”

The two of you dissolved into laughter, finishing up the last of your food. The walk home continued in relative silence for a while, him mulling over his words and wondering if he made you uncomfortable because you were too quiet. Before he could make an apology, you spoke quietly.

“I'm glad you liked it, but I still wish I could've given you a better birthday present.”

He stared at the path in front of them, the streets lit up by lamps and porch lights. “You already gave me the perfect birthday present.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What?”

“You,” he blurted out, regretting his words the next second, but once he saw your flustered reaction, his nerves calmed a little. “Now let's go home and act surprised at whatever my parents planned.” You giggled in response and nodded, your footsteps falling in sync as you walked beside him.

“Happy birthday, Seungmin.”

“You said that like ten times today!”

 

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