#Major's head cannons

[majorproblems77]

Forgive me for just putting pieces together in my head but does Fi sound like a different instrument for every member of the Chain?

Do you have a list or do you prefer to keep it secret for writing projects? I just kind of like this head-cannon and contemplating adopting it.

ajscico beloved! Thanks for asking!

I love talking about my headcannons! / AU's

Yes! Fi does have an instrument for every member of the chain, plus some.

Time - Ocarina Warriors - Chello Twilight - Pan flute Four - Flutes (A group, 4 to be exact ) legend - Pan drums Hyrule - Bells Wind - Windchimes Wild - Piano Sky - Harp (More specifically the goddess harp)

I do also have a few im debating right now. But obviously, I've not got these characters anywhere yet so I'm not sure if these will change.

First? - Violin Zelda's? (at the moment I might do a pitch change of the Chains instruments ) - So higher pitch or more ethereal? Im not entirely sure. Entire chain - As of right now she uses the main member who is holding her (Ie the goddess harp if Sky is in possession) but I might shift this to an actual instrument to make it clearer.

If people are interested I'll happily go into more detail about each choice! I've been building this head cannon for a while and it means a lot to me. (Who knows maybe I'll have more concrete info about the three there by that point.)

Im so excited that you like it enough to be thinking about using it! That fills me with so much joy!

If you want to adopt them go right ahead! But if you could credit me that would be amazing :)

[milflewis]

Soulmate AU

1.

When Sebastian first meets Nico Rosberg — and his hair more specifically — again after the crash, he nearly pisses his pants laughing.

“I see you have a type, eh?” He asks Lewis. He runs a hand through his own blond hair.

“Tell me,” he starts, leaning forward over Lewis’s left shoulder. Bono is saying something in the seat beside Lewis. Lewis’s face is relaxed and calm.

“Did you jerk off to Michael too? Blond, German, very fast. He’d fit in your collection.”

Lewis’s face doesn’t even flicker. When he asks a question about whatever Bono is saying, his voice is steady and quiet. They could be back in their regular driver briefings. Something in Sebastian’s chest swells up, pushing at his heart and lungs, mean and sour.

“Don’t worry,” he tells Lewis. “We all did. Can’t have you thinking you are special, hmm?”

2.

There are stories — old ones — that one hears over the years.

Stories of those who don’t meet their soulmates properly in life, and so join them in death.

Sebastian used to love stories.

When he opens his eyes after going into the wall too fast and too hard, he is standing beside Lewis Hamilton.

Lewis is talking to Ted, the camera on. His eyes are shadowed and his shoulders are curved slightly inwards.

When he sees Sebastian next to him, he startles, mouth falling open. “I — You.”

“Lewis?” Ted is frowning, concerned. “Are you alright?” He has a hand up as if to tell the cameraman to get ready to stop rolling. Or to zoom in on Lewis’s face. Sebastian isn’t sure.

“Um.” Lewis blinks, swallowing. He glances at Ted and then back at Sebastian.

Never let it be said that Sebastian isn’t ever helpful.

“He can’t see me, I think,” Sebastian says, and then mimes a blowjob with his hand and mouth, tongue in cheek, in front of Ted, who doesn’t stop staring at Lewis.

“Right, yeah,” Lewis says, as shakey as Sebastian has ever heard him. “Um.”

“Funny story,” Sebastian says, furious. He wants his dad. He stays looking into Lewis’s tired shocked face. He thinks if he sees his mom, he will never be able to stop crying “Turns out we are soulmates.”

“Lewis, you okay? Do you need a minute?”

Lewis inhales. Sebastian can see him visibly remember there is a camera on him. When he smiles, it is a thin slight of a thing.

“Sorry, man, what was your question again?”

3.

Lewis gets more curled in on himself as the year goes on, face thin. Quieter too. Him and Nico snap and snap at each other’s heels. Toto nearly has a stroke keeping them from biting.

Sebastian is self aware enough to know that he is not helping. That his commentary — one sided that it is as no one other than Lewis can hear him and Lewis rarely responds, not through words nor expressions — is only making things worse for him.

He can’t bring himself to care.

It drives the cold away a little. That short spark of satisfaction and victory when he pokes and pokes and pokes and Lewis keeps a straight face through it all.

Sometimes, if Lewis breaks, either in a flinch or an aborted eye roll, or god forbid, a laugh, then Sebastian can even make himself pretend that he is still alive.

“I have a question,” Sebastian declares. He is standing over by the window, looking out at the paddock.

Lewis ignores him.

Nico is saying something in response to James Allison. He looks tense. The entire room looks tense. Sebastian rolls his shoulders.

“Did you stop fucking Nico before I died, or do you only not like exhibitionism? I could leave if you want privacy.”

This makes Lewis look at him. It is a quick glance, cutting and sarcastic, eyebrows slightly raised. He somehow manages to look pissed and amused and embarrassed, all at the same time.

Sebastian smiles sunnily at him. It is often exhausting to be around Lewis, especially when he is like this. Lewis might be quiet, packed in tightly, but he spills over most of the time. No one can ever accuse him of being small.

“You are right, I guess,” Sebastian muses thoughtfully. “I would not leave you alone. I would be too bored.”

Nico wins. Nico retires. Lewis disappears home for the break. Sebastian follows his brother around for a few months, chattering at him, even though Fabian doesn’t ever respond. It’s not that different from before if he is being honest.

There is a Lewis light in his chest, always pulling. It’s not that bad of a sore, Sebastian reasons. Only a little achey.

4.

Formula One has started back up again when Sebastian follows the tug back to Lewis.

Lewis doesn’t say anything at Sebastian’s sudden appearance in the garage. His shoulders relax slightly though when Sebastian makes a quick quip about Valtteri’s blond — Seriously, Lewis, Sebastian thinks, half fond — hair.

He looks less like a scrunched up tissue someone used to blow their nose with. Sebastian tells him this. He catches Lewis’s badly smothered eye roll in the sleek reflective black of Mercedes’ desks.

He even makes Lewis laugh, startled, when he asks him if he managed to get laid while Sebastian was gone.

“So,” Niki says, sitting down beside Lewis in his motorhome. Lewis hums, pulling out his earbuds. Sebastian is slumped on the floor, back against the opposite wall. They’re waiting to be called for the post practise debrief.

“So.”

The half grin, all teeth and eyes squishing up, that Lewis sends Niki reminds Sebastian of Formula Three. His fingers itch for a steering wheel.

“Are you going to introduce me to your soulmate anytime before I die?”

Lewis goes very still. Stupidly, damningly, his eyes dart to Sebastian before he looks back at Niki.

Niki raises his eyebrows. He, eerily, manages to look Sebastian directly in the eyes. Sebastian waves. Just in case.

Niki’s expression doesn’t change.

Sebastian’s exhale could be a laugh.

“Well?” Niki nudges. “I am not getting older, you know?”

“Jesus, Nik,” Lewis says, automatically, like it’s rote. “I’ve told you. Stop making those jokes.”

“You’re the one who calls me ‘old man’.”

“It’s a term of endearment!”

Niki stares at him down. For the first time in Sebastian’s life — and death — he watches as Lewis Hamilton gives in.

“I don’t need to introduce you. You already know him.”

“Knew him,” Sebastian corrects. Lewis ignores him.

Niki watches Lewis for a moment longer. Lewis, resolutely, refuses to look away.

“This is ridiculous,” Sebastian informs him.

“Hello, Sebastian,” Niki says, and for the second time in not even five minutes, Sebastian wonders if Niki can see him. He doesn’t bother waving this time but it is a little freaky.

“I hate you,” Lewis tells him, sulkily.

“Yes,” Niki says, patting him on the shoulder. “I know.”

“How did you know?”

Sebastian isn’t sure if Lewis is asking how Niki knew that Lewis had a dead soulmate or how he knew that dead soulmate was Sebastian.

“Hmm, last year, you were weird. Weirder after Sebastian. Not how Nigel was, with Elio, or Michael, with Aryton.” Niki doesn’t take his eyes off of Lewis. His voice and face is softer than Sebastian has ever heard or seen. “Just. Weird. And still too, after Nico left.”

Lewis swallows thickly. “Right.”

“Some of me hoped.” Niki stops. He looks over at where Lewis looked earlier, when he is steadily refusing to look now. “When James died, I looked out for him.”

He shrugs. There is something hanging heavy in his face. “We knew each other too well in life, maybe. Or that was all the time we were given. More than most.”

“Yeah.”

Lewis meets Sebastian’s eyes. Sebastian looks back at him.

“And,” Niki says. He reaches a hand behind them and raps on the wall. “These are a bit thin too. I heard you talking to someone, once or twice.”

“Fuck off,” Lewis laughs. He scrubs an open palm down his face.

Niki reaches over to pat his cheek firmly. “You are sleeping better, this is good. Keep it up.”

“Aye, cap’n,” Lewis says dryly.

5.

Jenson: you cheatying slag

Jenson: i knoiw 4 a FACT that you dont know all the wdcs off by heart

Jenson: usinh seb as your own fuckinh wiki is wrong

Jenson: always knew you were a cheater aty your core. fernando warned me about you LOL

Jenson: also. tell seb hes a nerd

[i-suc-at-art]

HAHAHAHAH IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THISSS

hear me out, animatic, 3 parter, for 2 of the videos, all to TØP music

“I uncovered minecraft’s greatest secret”- Backslide

“I broke into minecraft’s most secure Prison”- Vignette

Idk if there will be others but when i first listened to the album i literally had visions of them in SAD-ist animation style to the songs.. SO maybe one day this will happen im not making promises bc I AM NOT an animator, and im in school rn soooooo ahhahahaha

[ken-katayanagi]

I’ve read your google docs of the katayanagi twins’ fashion. Super interesting stuff and I love it as both a fashion enthusiast and fan of the siblings. Your document really emphasizes the distinction between those two even with the very little info we have on them (kyle’s style could be late 80s japanese pop while ken’s style could be more leaning towards visual kei). Also matches their personalities (ramona mentioned kyle is the hothead of the two, so I guess the pretty and proper bad boy kind of look fits him)

Something about your endnote fascinates me, however. You mentioned something about the twins’ relationship being strained but then strengthened after ramona’s betrayal. Would you implore more on the idea? I’m now invested in it very much…. thank you and have a good day

Thank you!!! I mostly based my looks off this piece of concept art by O’Malley, which makes me think the personalities the twins had in their few anime appearances were just parts that weren’t as well communicated in Vol. 5

(I think that little doddle next to the crossed out “they’re not even Japanese” emphasizes that visual kei comparison you made)

But as for the second bit, I think the twins weren’t exactly on great terms, even before Ramona. A decent part of this has to do with my own personal head cannons surrounding Kyle and how I perceived his and Ramona’s relationship with alcohol, but also with just how different the twins seem to be under the surface. They seem like they would run in almost completely opposite social circles and be invested in similarly opposite things.

And it’s honestly really tied to their teens. Basically, their parents kinda unintentionally set up a dynamic where Kyle felt like Ken got away with everything (piercings, weird clothes, going out to band shows and having a more trusting relationship with their parents) and Ken thought Kyle couldn’t get his act together (partying, showing up back home late, getting in fight with their parents). Neither was true as in reality their parents let a lot of stuff with Ken slide that wouldn’t have otherwise because “well at least he’s not drunk” and Kyle was genuinely going through some serious mental shit but not telling anyone so his actions just looked super random and mean spirited. So by the time they get to college, they haven’t really addressed this weird image they have of the other in their heads.

And it explains how Ramona was even able to two time siblings. They’re not going to the same parties, they’re not really talking at length about their lives (since they never mention enough detail to make the other suspicious), they’re probably not really bothering each other much if they share a dorm. Ramona unconsciously sees and plays this divide, knowing they’re not really together enough for her to get caught.

It also emphasizes for me a very emotional aspect for all three of them. Ramona is hot off a messy break up (Roxie), the breakup that ended her first relationship with a women and also seems to be her first attempt at having something…maybe not serious but genuine (it seemed more important than anything with Matt Todd or Lucas). Shes hardly in the headspace to be in a relationship, and maybe after some nights out, she’s terrified and not sure what to do because whoops she’s in two! And the longer it goes on the less Ramona actually wants to fix it because it’s kinda fun in a messed up way, and the twins aren’t bad company…until it all comes crashing down and she’s out the door before they even notice she’s gone. I think Ramona’s relationship with the twins is her at her actual lowest, with her being most at fault for what happened and the least justified in bolting afterwards. This low point is exactly when Gideon finds her, unsure and upset at herself, in exactly the position to manipulate her. (Sorry if this came off a little Ramona bash-y, I love Ramona but this girl makes bad choices)

As for the twins, I think the really strong emotional beat here is the idea of how avoidable it would’ve felt for them. How if they had just been able to set aside their own bullshit, if they had even bothered to connect at all, they could’ve figured it out in a few days, rather than in a few weeks or a few months. Ramona’s betrayal is catalyst for them to sit down and just…talk out a lot of their own personal crap.

But yeah that’s why. Sorry this got super massively long, but I hope you liked it and it wasn’t too ramblely lol.

[underlordmenace]

These guys live in my brain rent free, and they refuse to leave!

[t4tieflings]

My obsession with the lack of information on Yusaku’s family eventually spiraled into me getting invested head-canoning parents for a lot of the cast. So here’s some of the moms I’ve come up with, also known as the “Strong Mother Son Resemblance” Crew. 

[manipulatorkaleidoscope]

you know… it’s sad I’m sad and everything is sad…buT

I swear to myself…

that I WILL play the SHIT OUT OF OMEGA STRIKERS UNTIL THE DAY I DIE/THE DAY ODDYSEY RELEASES A NEW GAME-

I invested too much of my time to just straight up stop playing the game rn/j

seriously though.

thank you odyssey

thank you for everything

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)

ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!

College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.

warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI

a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!

edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.

wc: 6k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice. 

Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window. 

So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman. 

When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.

Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment. 

You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.

You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara? 

Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning. 

On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach. 

"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was… 

You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying . 

The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist. 

"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!" 

~~~

He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring. 

The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.

As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask. 

It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him. 

The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep. 

Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him. 

This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class.  She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.

"Where's he gone?" She asks politely. 

You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."

"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day. 

You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.

"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."

Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it. 

"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo. 

"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.

You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."

A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

~~~

You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it. 

After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course. 

Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself. 

You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall. 

It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure. 

It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself. 

Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here. 

On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video. 

" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen. 

What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all. 

Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners. 

He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you. 

All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs. 

" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-" 

He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-

" H-Harder, Miguel, please." 

He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers. 

" Fuck, Miguel…"

He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall. 

~~~

He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.

A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home. 

And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.

Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions. 

You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night. 

He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy?? 

You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.

After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water. 

With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there. 

"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway. 

You wince."...F-Fine?" 

You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?" 

You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."

Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice. 

"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further. 

Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together. 

You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand. 

" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee. 

"You look… wet." 

"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze. 

"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed. 

There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression.  His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds. 

Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?" 

He's got a hand on your arm now,�� The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details. 

" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy. 

It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside. 

"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."

"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word. 

"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?" 

"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."

"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"

"...I'd like that, to be honest."

"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."

"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too." 

~~~

You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same. 

You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way. 

There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost. 

It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.

Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand. 

What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza? 

Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal. 

So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy. 

“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"

You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats. 

All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought. 

"Yeah?" 

"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-" 

"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"

There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…

"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!" 

With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "

"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"

"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-" 

"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.

He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips. 

You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.

"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you. 

His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand. 

"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close. 

You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.

"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile. 

"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side. 

"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."

His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.

"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular. 

He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?" 

"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it. 

He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty. 

"Huh. I guess they do." 

"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"

"Katie." He hums. 

"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name. 

You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch. 

"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ." 

Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest. 

"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-" 

"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."

Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own. 

"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.

Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?

"...and I heard you say my name." 

"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing. 

"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-" 

He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"

A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."

"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."

He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together. 

He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest. 

It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts. 

"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."

You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck. 

He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum. 

Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth. 

Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin. 

"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt.. 

"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara. 

"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.

He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"

Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"

He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?" 

You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."

"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?" 

It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction. 

"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach. 

You mumble something begrudgingly.

"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."

Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel." 

Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."

Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth. 

He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.

And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue. 

And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole. 

"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue. 

You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off. 

"Right there, fuck… "

Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily. 

You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him. 

"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him. 

"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs. 

Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck. 

"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."

His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."

You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should. 

"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head. 

"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."

He turns to you, lazily. 

"I could tutor you, if you'd like."

…

"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."

_

_

Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings

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edit: the full fic xx

[imaginedisish]

Inside Out (Logan Howlett x f!reader)

A/N: Oh my god I'm back again. This is another soft!Logan fic. I couldn't hold myself back from writing this one. The next fic I have planned is going to be devious and diabolical, I promise, but for now, here's another angsty, soft and smutty Logan one shot. Couldn't stop listening to "Inside Out" by Duster while writing this one. I think it fits. Hope you guys enjoy :)

Summary: After a tense battle, you and Logan have it out (in more ways than one).

Warnings: SMUT! 18+ Minors DNI! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, PIV (unprotected...wrap it up, this is fiction!), Allusions to PTSD/mental health, Frenemies to Lovers, Fem!reader, AFAB!reader, Mutant!reader, Telepathic!reader (with heightened senses/visions), cannon typical violence/allusions to death, non-sexual intimacy becomes sexual intimacy (not sure if that warrants a warning), angry!Logan, reader has hair (length/texture/color not described!) major angst, probably grammatical errors, I think that's everything.

Word Count: 4477 wow

You and Logan are surrounded. You can hear the other members of the team nearby in the forest, screaming, grunting, fighting. Guns going off, ricocheting against trees. And now, there is a circle of government-sanctioned mutant hunters pointing their machine guns and rifles directly at the two of you. 

Your heart beats out of your chest. How the fuck are you going to get out of this? It seems impossible. Sure, you and Logan can regenerate, but not nearly fast enough. You’re outnumbered 2 to at least 40, and more to come. Maybe this is the end. Maybe there’s no going home this time. 

But then, an idea crosses your mind. Briefly. A flash. A shot in the dark. But it’s there. And if you’re strong enough, it might just work.

You wince as another presence weaves itself through the fabric of your thoughts. No, Charles shouts in your mind. It’s too dangerous. 

You shake him off, forcing up your mental shields. Logan recognizes that look on your face. He can tell you’re up to something. He has always been able to read you like a book. 

“Don’t you dare put yourself in danger,” he mutters under his breath so only you can hear him. “We are all walking out of here, and you’re no exception.”

You close your eyes. “When I tell you to get down, you get down.”

“Absolutely not!” His nostrils flare. The government agents cock their guns. 

“Lo, get down.”

“Fuck no!”

You can feel it coming—feel their fingers bracing their triggers. Pulling. Pulling. Pulling. Everything is silent for a moment. You can hear everything. Nothing. There’s a squirrel running up a tree just a few feet away. A cold breeze sweeps through your legs. Peace. 

It never lasts long, does it?

“NOW!”

BANG! The shots ring out, echoing against the branches, the sound shaking the trees. 

With half your focus, you shove Logan to the ground, and with the other, you stop each and every bullet pointed in your direction. You stop the agents too, freezing them in their places. Dense, heavy sweat builds upon your brow. You’re trembling, your hands stretched out towards Logan and the agents, but you’re still in control. You can hold on a bit longer.  

You swallow harshly, forcing the bullets to rain down to the ground. With the twist of your hand, you remove the magazines from each of the guns and unload them, the ammunition falling to the ground, too. With the agents still under your control, you bend their wrists just enough so that they sprain; just enough so that they can’t fight back. 

And then comes that sudden, familiar shift in your body and in your mind. You’re weakening, losing control, struggling to breathe. You growl in agony, your head ready burst from the pressure of hanging on too long—but you have to finish this. You have to save your friends. 

You have to save Logan. 

With one final push of your hand, you send the government agents flying deep into the forest, screaming in pain at the sheer force it takes. You fall to your knees, down on the ground next to Logan. You try to catch your breath, your chest heaving rapidly. You cough, choking on your own breath and saliva as the taste of metal burns at the back of your throat. You swallow it all down. One more second of that, or a few more agents to fend off, and you might not have made it. You might have died trying. 

You regain some of your energy after a few moments on the ground. It’s not until you try to stand that you notice Logan’s hand on your back. He tries to help you up, but you shake him off. 

“I’m fine,” you protest, dusting off your uniform. 

“Fine?” Fuck. He’s angry. “You call that fine? You almost died!”

You turn to face him. He wants anger? Oh, you can show him what anger fucking looks like. “We would be dead if I didn’t do that! I did what I had to do!”

He prowls toward you. His claws are still out. “Are you fucking crazy?” He’s backing you into a tree now. “Tell me, what the fuck was that? What did you think you were doing?” He retracts his claws as he pins his hands into the tree, right next to your head. The bark scratches into the rips in your uniform. 

You condescendingly poke his chest with your pointer figure. If he’s going to treat you like a child, you’re going to do the same to him. “Saving your ass, that’s what!” You shout back. 

“This is not the time or place for you two to have it out.” Scott’s grating voice fills your ears. He is the last person’s opinion you’d like to hear right now.

You and Logan snap your heads to face him. “Shut the fuck up, Scott!” You spit in unison. He throws his hands up and backs away. 

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Logan practically growls. 

You shake your head, your nostrils flaring. “I was protecting you!” You shout. “And I did! It worked!”

The rest of the team starts to board the jet, but Logan shows no sign of budging. Storm crosses her arms as she stands in front of the ramp. “Logan, let’s go.” 

He doesn’t move an inch, still caging you in. “I’ve got the bike. I’ll take her with me.”

“My bike!” Scott calls from just inside the ship. Logan shoots him a death stare. Even you roll your eyes at the comment. 

“Logan,” Charles chides from next to Storm, his voice a warning. 

You tilt your head past Logan to see Charles. “It’s fine. I’ll go with him. We’ll meet you guys at the mansion.” 

Charles nods. You swear you can see a faint smirk spread across his face, but he’s turning around and wheeling himself up the ramp before you can truly make out his expression. 

The ramp shuts behind him, and the jet powers up to leave. “So how are we settling this, hm?” You ask, cockily. Logan works his jaw, staring down at you with a fury you’re not quite sure you’ve seen before. “What would you like to do, bub?” You smirk. “What, you gonna tell me we’re supposed to be a team or something? Thought that wasn’t your style.” You know you’re being harsh, using his own words against him, ripping into him, but you don’t care. The jet takes off, but neither you nor Logan pay it any mind. 

His tongue swipes his bottom lip, and you can’t help but watch. You try to ignore how much you like the sight of it. Of him. 

“Never,” he seethes, not wavering an inch. “Never do anything like that again.”

“Why?” Is all you ask, knowing full well you’re poking the bear. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done.”

He ignores you and presses on. “I swear to God, if anything ever happens to you, I will punch a fucking hole in the goddamn universe so big that…” He trails off, his eyes searching your face. There’s a shift in his expression. “So fucking big that…” But he still doesn’t finish the sentence. His eyes are glossed over, like he’s holding back tears. 

You’re suddenly embarrassed. You can’t keep his stare, his eyes locked on you. You look down at the leaf-covered ground, and you realize just how dirty you are. Blood on your hands, under your nails, caked into your skin. You’re finally understanding the gravity of the moment—of what could have been if your plan didn’t work. 

“It was the only way,” you pause, feeling tears sting behind your sinuses, burning as they reach your eyes. “Only way I saw it ending without you d-dying.” You have to choke the words out. “C-couldn’t lose you,” you mutter, hoping he can’t hear you. 

“And what?” He says, not backing down. “You think you’re the only one with something to lose?”

“N-no,” you stutter softly. “That’s not what I meant at all. I just—”

“I’d rather die than live in a world without you.” He says finally. He pushes himself off the tree and away from you. He turns, walking towards wherever he parked the bike. 

You look at his back in disbelief. “W-what?” “You fucking heard me,” he shouts, not bothering to stop and wait for you or to elaborate further. You push your back off the tree and follow him through the forest. 

“Slow down!” You call out, still not quite fully recovered from using your powers. But he keeps pressing forward. “Logan!” You call again. “Please, I—” You stumble a bit, almost falling over, but you catch yourself just in time. You reach out to a tree for support, gripping a low branch tightly in your hand. You suck in deep, shaky breaths as you let your eyes fall closed. 

Logan shouts your name in the near distance, his voice filled with panic. His footsteps crunch the leaves of the forest floor. You can tell he’s sprinting with every twig that cracks beneath his boots. “Fuck, are you okay?” He’s next to you now, his arms enveloping you, reaching around your waist to offer you support. 

You can feel your tears bubbling to the surface, threatening to burst. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, opening your eyes to look up at him. “I just didn’t see any other way.”

“I know.” His voice is gentler now, calmer. He helps you straighten up, taking a tentative step and watching as you take one too. He walks slowly, making sure not to rush you, keeping an eye on your every move. “I’m sorry too,” he says. “What you do…you just scare me sometimes.”

You hope he doesn’t see the tear that slips out the corner of your eye and down your cheek. “I scare myself. I still can’t control my powers. I know I’m a monster.” You can see the bike in the distance, so you take another step, but Logan stops. “I just feel so inside out sometimes, like I can’t be comfortable in my own head never mind my own skin.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice is steady now, firm. His grip around your waist tightens, keeping you in place. “You’re not a monster. You’re beautiful—” He cuts himself off. “What you can do, is beautiful.”

“Then what is it that scares you?” You need to know. 

“You’re just so selfless. What you did back there…” He pauses. “You knew you could die. I saw it in the way you were standing. The way you looked at me. It was reckless.”

He searches your face, your eyes, your lips for an answer. “You’re no better,” you huff out. Logan smirks, guiding you towards the bike yet again. “It’s just what you do when you care about someone.”

“I know.” His lips are pressed against the shell of your ear. “I know,” he repeats. 

He helps you onto the back of the bike, holding your hips as you straddle the seat. His hands linger longer than they should. He squeezes softly before letting go and walking to the front. He straddles the bike himself, grabbing the key from his jacket pocket and turning it into the ignition. The bike springs to life. 

“Hang on, alright?” He calls out over the roar of the engine. You nod against his back, slipping your arms under his jacket and around his waist. He kicks the stand up, and the bike rumbles underneath you as he presses on the gas. You tighten your hold on him as the bike jolts forward. 

You rest your head on his back, letting yourself fold over him completely. He’s warm and solid underneath you. You shut your eyes, too tired to watch the tires speed across the black pavement. Aside from the engine, the tires against the street below, and the wind, there’s no sound. No one around. It’s just you and Logan. Alone. 

You feel him breathe in deeply. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t make it.”  You can feel the words reverberate in his back. “I mean it.”

“But I did,” you say, lifting your head so that you can speak against his ear. “I’m right here.” He hums in affirmation, and you rest your head on his back again. You hesitantly reach your hands under his shirt this time, arms wrapping around him as tight as possible. You know this is pushing the boundaries of your “friendship,” but he doesn’t stop you—doesn’t push you away. He just hums again. “I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, and shut your eyes. 

“Good.”

The ride back to the mansion isn’t terribly long, and you wish it could’ve been longer. Logan drives the bike into the garage, taking the keys out of the ignition and kicking out the stand. You lift your head, and before you can even think of getting up on your own, Logan is wrapping his arms around your body and lifting you off the seat. 

You let him hold you there for a moment. You try to tell yourself that this is just a hug between friends, that this whole situation is what happens when you care about someone too much. But it’s hard to lie to yourself when you feel so impossibly strongly about someone. 

He drops his arms from your body and silently takes your hand in his. He guides you to the door that leads to the mansion, keeping you close. 

It’s dark once you step inside. Everyone must have gone to bed. It likely took you and Logan five times as long as the jet to get back to the mansion. Quiet fills the halls. There’s not a stir, not a creak, not a step. You can sense that everyone is asleep, or at least in their rooms. 

“Lo?” You whisper. He squeezes your hand. A surge of confidence racks through you. “Can you stay with me?” You’re not quite sure what you mean by that—what you expect him to do if he stays. All you’re certain of is that you don’t want him to leave. 

He nods, leading you up the stairs. “Won’t go anywhere, sweetheart.” He guides you down the hall towards his room. “Let’s get cleaned up, okay?” 

He opens the door and guides you in, shutting it carefully behind him. He lets go of your hand, the sudden emptiness making your palm feel cold. How do people become so important, so quickly? How can someone letting go of your hand hurt so bad when they’re still just a few feet away? You’re not sure, but you know this feeling is dangerous. 

He’s rummaging through his drawers for a few seconds before he pulls out a t-shirt and places it on the dresser in front of him. He grabs another set of clothes, closes the drawer, and carries them over to you. He extends the shirt out to you, a soft smile playing on his lips. That’s what he is right now: soft. You’re not used to this side of him. 

You take the shirt from him, smiling back. “You should shower. You can use mine.” His head tilts towards the bathroom on the other side of his room. You nod and pad over, opening the door, turning on the lights, and closing the door behind you. 

You keep moving, undressing and turning the water on. It doesn’t take long for the water to heat up, the steam fogging every inch and surface of the room. You step inside the shower, letting the water run down your body. Your eyes fall closed while your mind searches for some kind of peace. You try to recall what Charles often told you: Calm your mind. But it isn’t working this time. Your mind is racing. 

You envision Logan’s angry, fearful face; his concern and panic. Charles’s call that it would be too dangerous echoes and reverberates. You see yourself dead on the ground, Logan holding your lifeless body in his arms. Even worse, you find yourself imagining that it didn’t work at all—that you couldn’t save the team, never mind yourself. This time it’s Logan’s body you see, on the ground, dead. Just like that, your whole world can slip out of your hands and turn to nothing. 

Choked sobs escape your throat as you let yourself fall to your knees. There’s a piercing, splitting pain somewhere deep inside your head. These visions, these feelings, this pain—it’s physical and mental. And it’s too much. It’s not the first time you’ve had visions like these after a fight or a mission, but it is the worst episode yet. 

There’s a knock on the door, followed by Logan calling your name. You try to answer, but your voice is caught in your throat. Logan knocks harder, but you still can’t speak. “I’m coming in!” The door swings open and his eyes widen as he sees your crumpled form on the shower floor, face stained red with tears. 

He shoves the shower door open, practically cracking the glass in the process. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how naked you are, but it’s clear Logan isn’t. His gaze is trained on your face. “I-it happens, sometimes,” you stutter, reassuring him that this is normal. “A-after missions.”

Logan’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with understanding. “I know what you mean.” His hands come up to your arms, rubbing gently. “Let me help you.” He gestures with his head toward the shower. You nod and watch as Logan takes his shirt off. He stands to take off his jeans, and you look away, taking the moment to force yourself to stand. You hear him step into the shower and slide the door shut behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, swallowing harshly. 

Logan stands behind you, less than a foot away. The shower is just big enough for the two of you. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just let me take care of you.” 

“Okay,” you whisper. You hear him shuffle a bit, squeeze a bottle, and shuffle a bit more. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah,” you answer. You wonder if he can hear how fast your heart is beating. But before you can think about it too much, his hands come up to your wet hair. He massages shampoo into your scalp, his fingertips scrubbing ever so gently. You feel your shoulders settle—your body relax. No one has ever done anything like this for you before. 

You watch as the dirt trickles down your body to the drain. After a few moments of massaging, Logan nudges you forward a bit, and you take the hint to step under the water fully. You close your eyes as he scrubs the shampoo from your hair. 

When he’s done, he removes his hands from your hair and slides them down to your neck, and then to your shoulders. You step away from the water, almost bumping into his chest in the process. 

“’M’sorry,” you mumble. 

“No more apologizing, darlin’.” His hands come off your shoulders. You feel lost without the contact. You listen as the bottle pops open again, and Logan quickly scrubs the shampoo into his own hair. You instinctively step forward to let him rinse, and he does.

You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate and calm down now that his hands aren’t on you. But it doesn’t last long. He opens another bottle, pouring more liquid into his hands. 

He rests his hands on your shoulders again. You can feel the body wash run down your arms. “Can I…” Logan trails off, his hands firm, unmoving until you give the word. 

“Mhm,” you hum. His hands start to work the soap into your arms, up to your neck, your collarbone, stopping just above your chest. “Logan,” you murmur, letting yourself lean into him. You feel his heart beating against your back. His breath fans over your shoulder.

You can tell he’s losing his composure, the way he slouches around you, inviting you in. This isn’t something friends do. You two aren’t friends. This is something more. 

And he knows. 

“There’s no coming back from this,” he whispers, his lips at your temple. “If we do this.”

You push back further into him. “Who says I’d want to go back?”

Your back is suddenly met with the cold shower wall, your chest flush with Logan’s. His lips press into yours, swallowing your moans as his hands come up to your breasts, pinching your nipples lightly. He moves down your body quickly, leaving a trail of kisses down your jawline, your neck, the center of your chest, your stomach, stopping just above your clit. 

“Relax,” he soothes, his thumbs brushing your hips. He spreads your legs with the palms of his hands before pressing a kiss to your clit. You shudder at the feeling, whispering his name and throwing your head back. 

He licks a long stripe up your cunt, landing on your clit, taking it into his mouth and sucking roughly. He laps at you hungrily, like a man starved. One of his hands resting on your hip comes down in between your thighs, experimentally sliding through your folds, teasing your entrance. 

It feels so good, but you want him—need him—closer. He inserts two fingers, gently pumping in and out, flicking your clit with his tongue at the same time. 

“Logan,” you whine. You look down at him, his head buried in your cunt. He looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with lust. You’re already close. But it’s not enough “Need you, now. Want you here.”

“I’m here,” he mumbles against your core. You’re shaking, melting underneath him. 

“N-need you,” you beg again. “Please.” 

He sucks on your clit one last time before removing his fingers from your cunt and standing up to meet you.

His hands rest on either side of your head. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him. “Are you sure you want this?” His voice wavers just a bit, a slight tremble shaking the usual steadiness of his words. He looks down to your lips and back up to your eyes—his jaw working, as if he’s searching for a sign that you’ve changed your mind—that you don’t want him anymore. 

But you’ll always want him. You always have. 

“Y-yes,” You stutter. He wraps one hand around the back of your neck and uses the other to hoist one of your legs around his waist. His hard cock rubs against your stomach as he moves to line up with your entrance. 

“Wanted you this whole time, pretty girl.” He thrusts into you, sinking down to the hilt. He stays there for a moment, pulling you into him, his free hand grabbing your ass and picking you up so that both legs wrap around his waist. 

He uses the wall as leverage, fucking you into the tiles at your back. Once he’s sure you’re stable against him, his hand leaves your ass and comes in between your bodies, searching for your clit. He begins to stroke, drawing perfect circles there, while his cock hits that sweet spot inside you. 

It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. It all feels so good. You moan his name, his hips rutting into you over and over again.

“Doing so good for me,” he husks, biting the skin just under your jaw, licking the spot where your pulse point is, peppering kisses there. You wonder if he does it because it’s a reminder that you’re still here, still alive, still breathing. “Taking me so well, sweetheart.” 

His words work to coax you off the edge, each swipe of his fingers and thrust of his cock bringing you closer to your orgasm. “L-Logan,” you stutter, his name—him—the only thing in your normally noisy mind. This is what peace is. This is the calm you’ve been searching for your whole life: it’s him. 

You can feel his pace growing faster, his cock pushing deeper, stretching you out as he plunges into you. “You feel so fucking good,” he groans, kissing your pulse point again. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Your walls flutter around him, your clit becoming overstimulated and sensitive as he flicks roughly. You’re so close. “Lo—” but you can’t find the words. 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he mumbles, his forehead pressing to yours. “Want you to look at me when you come. Can you do that for me?” 

You moan a yes as he buries his cock deep inside you, before pulling out and pumping back in again. 

You can feel your eyes growing heavy, but you keep them open, watching Logan as he pulls your orgasm from you. “That’s it. I’ve got you.” His words, the bass of his voice, him, it all sends you over the edge. He works you through it, still circling your clit, his pace growing sloppier as he chases his own orgasm. 

You wrap your legs tighter around his waist. He knows what you want. “Inside,” you whisper. 

“Oh f-fuck,” he moans, coming inside you, filling you up. 

His thrusts begin to slow, his hand leaving that space between your bodies. You feel like air, weightless, drunk off the way he makes you feel. He carefully slips out of you, but he doesn’t put you back down on the ground. He simply readjusts, picking you up in his arms and carrying you out of the shower. 

He sets you down on the bathmat and crosses the tiled floor to the towel rack, where two towels conveniently hang. He wraps one towel around his waist as he strides over to you. He starts to dry you off, rubbing you gently, kissing each spot he dries as he goes. He’s worshipping you, taking care of you. No one has ever taken care of you like this. 

Once he’s finished, he wraps you up in the towel, and picks you up again. He carries you back into his room, resting you gently on the already turned-down bed. He crawls in after you, discarding his towel in the process. You toss your towel to the side, too. You nestle in under the covers, and Logan does the same. 

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you to his chest. You can feel that peace again, that calm from before, when he was buried inside of you. It was him. It was always him. Your mind is quiet, no longer all loud and inside out. 

“I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, his legs tangling with yours. 

You bury your face into his chest. “Don’t let go.” But you know you don’t need to ask. 

His mind is already made up. 

“Never will.” 

[luxuki-1]

Head cannon: Death Marks!

If you've seen my stuff on YouTube, you'd know that I'm a Warriors animator. So, I took some inspiration from Warriors fan designs of the dead cats. These designs will show elements of how the particular cat died, for example Hawkfrost will often have a scar on his neck from where he was stabbed. I thought it would be a cool idea to incorporate this into Danny Phantom as well.

Death marks are physical marks of how the particular ghost died or elements of what caused their death. So for full ghosts like Ember, the ends of her limbs are blackened like they were singed by fire. The same logic works for Halfas like Danny and Vlad.

Vlad was blasted/burned point blank in the face, it was a major factor of how he "died". When in ghost form, only the deepest scarring shows and of course changes colour to match the ghost's colour of energy.

Danny I'd say would have been electrocuted, so he has a lightning scar along his back and a bit on his shoulders (I know Lichtenberg Figures don't actually look like that, I just simplified the scars for my sanity). And like Vlad, the scar turns green in ghost form, but because of his suit, you can't really see it.

And as an extra note, death marks don't go away, even for Half-ghosts. So even though Danny's scar should have faded within a few days after the initial accident, it never faded. So injuries Danny would sustain from fighting healed quickly but strangely injuries from the accident never did.

(Sometimes these marks will even glow when using a strong and significant amount of energy. Think Danny's ghostly wail or the face off against Vlad and Dan in AGIT)

I don't know if anyone has ever done this before, I think it's likely but I just think having these death marks can also make for creative designs. (And this is also an explanation in case people were wondering why there were scars on Danny's neck in human form lol)

[majorproblems77]

Um hi I was wondering if you could maybe explain Sky's background a little bit for me? I'm wondering if there's any information about his family situation and why he lives at the school. Do all the students live at the school, or only some of them? I also read your post about the beds and it said Pipit has his own house but it's dusty so does he just work all the time?

Sorry if this is a lot, I just wanted to ask what you think since not everything is in the fandom wikis and game guides.

Hi there!

So officially we dont know too much about these questions but I'll try my best to summarise what we know for you.

Links parents are not in the picture, assumed to be dead because they are never mentioned in the game or otherwise. We also know that Link is a childhood friend of Zelda and her family, (The headmaster Gaepora who is her father). He along with other students lives at the Knight Academy and from what I can find that is a choice for the other students. Link lives there because well he's got nowhere else to go.

It's possible he's lived there for most of his life like Zelda is assumed to have done, you can see he's a little more settled than the other students are which would indicate that he's more permanent than the others are.

When it comes to Pipit, he lives at home with his mother, pipit is the main breadwinner of the house which is why if you look around the knight academy at night time you can find him on patrol. (you find this out after helping his mother with cleaning the house after obtaining the gust bellows) it's understood that his mother is lazy and just doesn't like cleaning so will just live in a mess and then use's the money that Pipit earns for food and other household items to give to people to get them to do the cleaning. (The first time you do this for her she gives you a gratitude crystal)

I hope this helps!

I've got so many headcannons for Sky's backstory which I'll go into if people want me to. (As my fave I will ramble on all day)

[ldrfanatic]

Italian Theodore Nott Headcanons

So... by popular request (I think like literally one person commented on a post from ages ago) and also because I'm still working on my most recent part to the '13' Series (linked here) here's some Italian Theo headcanons to keep you sated.

sorry if this is inaccurate it's based off of my own knowledge of italians and what I think Theo would be like

slytherin boys masterlist works

So, unlike most, I don't think that Italian Theo would be a whore. Let me explain:

Sure Italian men like to flirt, (although Theo doesn't), but they do it because it comes so natural to them and because more than anything, they value their partner.

They're well dressed and take pride in their appearance (something Theo does do) but they don't always entertain the people of the heads that they turn

They also have a natural air of confidence that Theo has and doesn't even have to use

However, just because Theo isn't a whore doesn't mean that he doesn't have his own little clique of fangirls.

In general:

As a person, Theo is incredibly quiet. His English is not the best as he grew up in the Italian countryside and spends his breaks there. He spends most of his time observing, and the rest of his time, mentally translating sentences from English to Italian and vice versa (and yes that's exhausting).

He does however take food incredibly seriously (as most Italians do I feel). His favorite kind of pasta is Paccheri and he will die on the hill that the Italians were the first to make Pizza (who else could make bread, sauce, and cheese taste so good?). He was also incredibly shocked when he found out the drinking age in England was 18. Theo had a glass of wine with dinner every night since the age of ten.

Another thing he doesn't quite understand about England is the frequency through which they drink tea throughout the day. At most, he has a cup a day while some of his English friends have four to five cups a day and usually, one cup with every meal.

Theo also had a very strong connection to his mother. Now that she's gone, he spends a lot of time in his head with his memories of her. It's not all that shocking to anyone really that he doesn't quite have the time or the patience for girls.

Platonically:

As a friend, Theo is a little more open but not much. His two closest friends in the group are you and Lorenzo who's also Italian. He'll talk to either of you and open up a little, but only if no one else is around. He's a bit impartial to Mattheo although he does think the boy is a loose cannon and he actually secretly despises Draco and his blood purity nonsense as it reminds him too much of his father (whom he also hates). So yeah, he spends the majority of his time with Lorenzo and Blaise.

In regards to your friendship with Theo, he's a complete gentleman. He never sits too close in fear of startling or offending you. He opens all of the doors the pair of you walk through and carries your books to class when you have the same class.

In fact, despite being significantly more well mannered than any other boy in your year, the only thing that hinted to you that Theo felt anything towards you other than indifference were small smiles and shared secrets.

Romantically:

Before you even became friends you'd caught Theo's eye. The first time he'd noticed you, you were comforting a crying first year muggle-born that Draco had bullied to tears. You spoke so kindly and softly to the boy. Theo knew then that you weren't like everyone else in Hogwarts. Most people were too afraid to stand up to Draco but the next day, you punched him square in the jaw and told him to stop being such a prick.

The first person to find out about Theo's crush on you was Lorenzo of course. He didn't tease him for which Theo was grateful. Now as stated, Theo is an incredibly quiet person so it's not clear to you that Theo has crush on you.

Also, once Theo has decided that he likes you, other girls don't even approach him anymore. Not after the Ravenclaw incident. A Ravenclaw from your guys' year approached him and asked him out. He didn't even acknowledge her. Just stood up and left.

He does however, make an attempt to spend more time with you whenever her can. He sits with you at meals and during lessons, he asks you for help in charms (even though he's already receiving high marks, but you don't know that). He brings you soup when your sick.

The way that you find out Theo has a crush on you is actually really surprising for you.

Lorenzo came running up to you after Potions one day, completely out of breath. "Y/n! Come quick." He didn't give you any room to disagree as he grasped your wrist firmly and began dragging you down the corridor towards the courtyard. When you got out there, your stomach dropped.

For the first time since meeting him, you saw Theo fight. He had Addrian Pucey on the ground and was currently pummeling the poor boy. The scariest part was that he remained completely calm, cold. Mattheo and Draco were standing on the sidelines egging him on while Theo ruthlessly delivered blow after blow in dead silence. He didn't even wince as his knuckles began to split open and bleed.

Blaise was desperately trying to pull Theo away but he wouldn't budge. Finally, you snapped out of your stupor and approached the boy. As he was throwing punches with his right arm, you approached him from the left and placed a hand on his left shoulder apprehensively. "Theo."

At the sound of your voice, Theo stopped immediately. He didn't look at you immediately. Instead, he stood and kicked Adrian who was on the ground rolling in pain. "Stay away from her." The crowd dispersed as the fight ended. When Theo turned to look at you, his eyes were blazing. For the first time since you'd known him, Theo was burning with rage.

"Theo come on." He let you lead him away in complete silence. Worse than what Adrian had said to you, Theo was ashamed. He couldn't believe that he'd let his emotions take over like that. Now he may have lost you for good. When you finally stopped in a secluded corridor, Theo turned away from you.

"Theo?" He was silent and your concern grew. It wasn't Theo's usual kind of silence, it was a silence that made your heart feel heavy. "Theodore."

"Don't."

"What?"

Finally Theo turns to you and his eyes are glossy. It was startling almost, to see the normally calm and collected boy tearing up. "Don't do that tesoro. Yell, push me, hit me if you need to, but I'm not Theodore. Not to you."

"What happened?" He sighed.

"I overheard Adrian say something completely vile about... you. I couldn't let him talk about you like that. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me cuore. You are the only light in my dark life."

You reached out and grabbed Theo's hands in your own. "That's incredibly sweet of you Theo. But why would you do that for me?"

"Isn't it obvious! I am entirely and irreversibly in love with you. I cannot live without you and I will not allow anyone to say such things about you."

After that, Theo took you out on a date. Thanks to his Pureblood lineage, Theo's family was quite wealthy. And his father had always taken to making sure he was well cared for financially, perhaps out of guilt from his emotional abuse.

For your first date, Theo took you to a London shopping district with his Black Card. At first you refused to spend any of his money. That is until Theo became resigned to buy you everything that your eyes lingered on for more than five seconds despite all your protests.

To end the date, he treated you to a nice dinner and then brought the pair of you back to Hogwarts.

As your boyfriend:

As your boyfriend, Theo's go-to nickname for you is either tesoro (treasure). He spends a lot of time staring at you which Mattheo teases him endlessly for of course.

He wishes you could meet his mother, but he adamantly refuses for you to meet his father. Instead, he introduces you to his grandmother. She teaches you how to make pasta from scratch and you and Theo often sneak into the kitchens at Hogwarts to try and make it there.

He makes it pretty clear that you're the only girl for him. He even tells you one night how his mother's dying wish was for him to find someone that he loved wholeheartedly and who loved him as much. Theo knows that this person is you, and he has no shyness in telling you.

He hates to see you cry, but if for any reason you're feeling sad, he recites Italian poetry to you in a soft and devoted tone.

Questo nostro amore, vita mia

lo prospetti felice

destinato a durare per sempre.

Dei del cielo, fate voi che lei dica il vero,

che lo prometta sincera e dal cuore,

che si possa per tutta la vita

mantener questo patto inviolabile

(This love of ours my life; I predict will be happy; destined to last forever.; Gods of the sky, do what you deem to be true; that promises to be sincere and from the heart,; which can be for a lifetime,; keep this inviolable covenant.)

When Theo speaks his native tongue it makes you a little weak in the knees. The way that his lips curve around the words and his tongue effortlessly forms each syllable makes your heart swell.

Overall:

Italian Theo is a complete cutie with impeccable manners and expresses more romance in ten minutes with you than most men express in their entire lives. He sees you as a light that brightens his life that he will do anything to protect.

----

help this is so bad

[woaza]

Skully J. graves X Yuu!reader

Contains : Head cannons (Mostly J. Graves coming back to live with Yuu in ramshackle)!

Word count : 460 (super short!)

Warnings : None!

A/n : I want to make a fic about him soon and post (more) Twst content! I’m definitely gonna do multiple fandoms on this account but I’m just trying to write more! So if you have any Twst request please lmk!

Also more Delico Nursery fics for sure, just trying to post shorter fics while I’m still busy.

— He retains confusing knowledge, and is strangely thoughtful. He won’t know how to do some basic things sometimes. Yet you’ll be struggling on an advanced assignment from professor Crewel and he’ll somehow know the answer???

“Skully! This assignment is so confusing? Magic theory is confusing, it hardly seems fair to give me a an assignment on advanced magic theory when I can’t even use magic!” He simply Nods his head and leans over your shoulder and glances at the paper. “Oh this is rather simple (then gives an in depth explanation)” which has you stunned for a moment “Skully you didn’t know what a casserole was yesterday? How do you know this?”

— Yet he will never forget facts about you. From your birthday to your preferences on certain foods. Especially if you’re picky he has all your icks memorized.

You and Skully were growing bored on a weekend. Normally time that would be spent with your friends was unfortunately taken from you. Everyone seemed to have plans. Including Grim which is strange (he had detention). So you two walked down to Sam’s shop. You and him stand in an isle looking at various different options. “Skully which ones should we get?” You say turning slightly to look at him. Without a beat of his hesitation, he instantly reaches for your favorite ones. “These ones.” Holding out the bag to you. “Those are my favorites! Good choice.” You smile happily and he quickly responds. “I know.”

— Adores grim! Despite Grims attitude towards him. Grim was neutral towards the man until it he decided to “Get to close to his henchmen”. Alarms went off in Grims head when he was told that Skully would be coming back to NRC with Yuu. He was extremely unhappy, but then he was told he would be staying in ramshackle? Grim practically lost it and pouted for weeks. Though Skully just thinks it’s amusing and earns his trust through tuna cans. (As you had instructed him to do.)

— I literally imagine life with this man as the Adam’s family. If you choose to marry him you all are going to be different in the best way possible. The whole nine yards, cutting off the head of the flowers and only giving you the stems. Your children sharing their father’s obsession with Halloween.

— Best friends with the ghosts in ramshackle. Often times you can overhear them gossiping through the thin walls. He compliments them on their abilities to scare people.

— Major Gentleman! He pulls out all your chairs and opens every door for you. Seven forbid you ever take off your coat without his help. He is simply so deeply Enraptured with you. When he takes off your coat he always takes a couple of moments to admire you. Always having to ground himself.

Another A/N: I’m so excited for Halloween!!

[mooncleaver]

Love Is The Reason

ღ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, familial fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

ღ warnings: MAJOR JJK268 SPOILERS. pls don't read if you don't wanna know!! slightly cannon divergent

What the hell.

His ears didn't stop ringing as he brought his body up from its position on the surprisingly soft surface, feeling every ache known to man throbbing all over. Megumi felt the cosmic numbness ebbing away like a flash, and suddenly, he could discern the warm cotton wrapped around his upper body along with the linen sheets that lay beneath him. The three—out of many—scars on his face pulled his skin tautly, so close to his eyes where that devil's face wore his for however long this limbo period was. It hurt to open his eyes. Well, it hurt to do anything, but he's thankful that he can see the world through his own view.

Megumi's ears perk up to the sound of poorly attempted hushed arguments. The sound was so familiar that for once in his life, he felt relieved to hear it. To feel that irritation ticking in his chest, the mindless crease that's fully starting to make itself known on his forehead, and that growing scowl—he could truly cry at the return of bodily autonomy.

Nobara was trying to fit herself inside a present-shaped cardboard box while Yuji stood next to the thing, pushing down the lid on top of her head, which ruffled the strands like crazy. Of course, the girl would not stand for this butchering of her beauty. She spent a lot of time trying to look presentable, not that this pink-haired fool would understand.

Megumi is hit with a deep sense of dejavu as he sits up against the headboard, looking back at the memory of Gojo doing the same exact surprise tactic to announce that Yuji was, in fact, not dead after his literal heart got ripped out of his chest. The boy can feel a smile forming on his lips, and he makes no move to try and stop it.

"What are you two doing?"

He sees Yuji and Nobara freeze in their spots, both eyes widening comically. A second passes before the two let go of whatever it was they were contending about, rushing forward to stick their faces into Megumi's. The former vessel looks—well, he looks like he's had better days. He's thankfully clean of all the blood oozing out of his skin when he fought Sukuna for the last time, his usual uniform with the red hoodie looking incredibly pristine, absent of any rips or blood. Still, some are sticking onto his face, notably a darker shade cutting down across his eyebrows as the dried blood clings onto his wounds. Nobara looks happier. God, he thought she died. He was ready to mourn her with all the losses he'd suffered, but for once, Megumi was glad to hear her voice. He welcomes it. She's wearing a black eyepatch on top of the eye that she lost fighting Mahito, and her uniform is equally as clean as Yuji's—Megumi can tell that she's relieved by that fact.

Finally, they're back together again. The trio of first years with lost dreams who've gone through horrible, terrible things now have found hope again—hope that never died within each other.

"Fushiguro!!" The two yell in unison, going in to hug him despite knowing he didn't usually like that kind of thing. But to their honest surprise, Megumi returned the gesture, fully and truly, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. Yuuji and Nobara didn't hesitate to tighten their arms around the spiky-haired boy, be damned the near-death exhaustion clinging to their bones. They may be battered and bruised, but they survived.

After a quiet moment, the momentum was back again as Nobara looked at the two boys with a disgruntled expression, her exaggerated self on display at the lack of reaction to her return. "You know, the class's Madonna, who everyone thought was dead, by the way, turned out to be alive?! You two should be either wetting yourself or crying with joy!"

Megumi didn't even bat an eye, unlike Yuji, who was scrambling out of his mind, replying to her in his usual stoic and flat voice. "I see. My bad."

"So, the bastard is dead then." The Fushiguro didn't phrase that like a question, more so stating a fact. The fact that he was here in his own body, alive and breathing, undoubtedly meant that the curse was dead. It was still surreal to utter, knowing that this was the one thing they'd all been fighting for since forever. Maybe now, everyone who was gone didn't die in vain.

Nobara sounded like she was still in disbelief, shaking her head slightly while she grinned and exclaimed, "Ha! Yeah! Itadori beasted that guy like it was a piece of cake!"

"Eh.. well, it was pretty tough, I'm not gonna lie. I cried a little when resonance was hit." Yuji himself could only scratch the back of his neck at the rare praise, his eyes crinkling into thin lines as he admitted his own emotions. It was kind of daunting to be the one who killed Sukuna with the fact that he used to be the curse's vessel. But out of everything, making that final blow was something he didn't once hesitate on. Yuji was going to finish all this madness. It all started with him and ended with him—the way it should be.

Megumi didn't sound too surprised at the boy's admission, only giving him a look in response. "I know. I saw everything happening inside Sukuna."

"Ugh... don't even remind me. Well, at least you two have the shared experience of being a vessel now." Well, no matter how sour the fact was, it was true.

Breaking his thoughts, Yuji suddenly lit up as he shifted through his pants pockets, haphazardly pulling out the crumpled pieces of paper in his hand. "Oh, wait, guys. I have something for you two. It's from Gojo-sensei. Gojo-san, too, I think."

The pink-haired boy grew incredibly sullen at the mention of both his teachers. He'd miss calling out to the two Gojo's, mixing the couple up despite your previous urgings to the students of simply calling you by your first name. Of course, your husband would not absolutely have that, sneakily going behind your back and basically forcing his students to call you Gojo, too. If he couldn't get the second years to follow, he'd make his own kids do it. The man would not pass on the chance of hearing people call you by your shared last name.

"A letter.." Megumi looked shocked at the fact. His sensei (and self-proclaimed dad who stepped up) never did this kind of thing—seriously, that is.

Growing up with Gojo and his wife, Megumi knew the white-haired sorcerer never strayed away from being lighthearted and childlike. Despite witnessing the lanky heir change from the bratty 18-year-old who approached him as a child in the streets into the mature, married man he was the last time, it just wasn't in his nature to be doing some sentimental things like this. That was more like something you'd do. From the daily lunch notes, deep-meaning gifts (that he still kept to this day), and the affectionate texts you'd always send, he would wager that you might've been the one to drag your husband to write the letters. But, knowing that Gojo probably had a feeling that he wouldn't make it out of the fight, it's not impossible that this truly came from him.

Nobara chuckled at his tone of voice, silently agreeing with his disbelief. Gojo was definitely not the type to do this.. it unsettled her.

"I feel you.. this is totally not like him. It's slightly gross to even imagine him writing letters.."

Though, after reading, she crushed the piece of paper in her hand, pursing her lips. Yuji noticed this, facing her to ask what it said. With slight hesitation, Nobara revealed that it contained information about her mother's whereabouts. To be honest, she wasn't sure how to feel. Some part of her still longed to feel her love.

"Oh, did you even want to know in the first place?"

She shook her head as she looked down, leaving no room for the topic to be continued. "Not at all."

Suddenly, they heard the very, very rare sound of Megumi's laughter ringing out from the bed. Gojo would've bawled knowing he made his son laugh. It took a moment for them to snap out of the shock, seeing the fresh face of their friend's smile. He looked like a brand new person—content, young and carefree. It was refreshing.

Megumi hasn't felt this happy in a long while. He expected that the message wouldn't be some deep, meaningful thing, but out of everything, it was a joke about how he killed his biological dad. He wasn't sad, surprisingly. Megumi never really knew the man that left him and his sister to fend for themselves, and the memories he had of him weren't great. At least he found some closure. The boy shook his head, reading the familiar and large handwriting of his father figure. You'd think that it'd be messy, but as the former heir of the Gojo clan, Satoru was a trained guy in the art of handwriting. He wouldn't be caught dead with scribbles.

Unfortunately your father isn't around anymore!! Cuz I killed him!! Sowwy!! :P

Short, simple, and kind of foolish.

He bit back a grin. Even in death, the man couldn't take anything seriously.

Beneath it was a softer and more serious note. From you, of course. Megumi did not doubt that you wrote this to make up for your husband's short message, writing a heartfelt one that he could sense even before reading. The two of you must've known that this was not a fight you would come out of. And as much as that hurt him, Megumi was glad that he was in your last thoughts. It meant a lot to know that you and Gojo believed he, Nobara, and Yuji would live through everything.

Firstly, don't take this idiot too seriously. If you're reading this megs, we're probably gone, but hey, you're okay! Live your life fully okay? Don't forget that you're still a kid in the end. We're always looking out for you, sweetheart. ♡

There was a chibi doodle in the bottom and a sweet greeting that said,

— Love you beyond infinity, mom & dad

Megumi could tell that this was Gojo's handwriting. It was meant as a joke (the boy didn't call Satoru dad very often, despite calling you mom. It was kinda cringe.) but he accepted that sincerely. You two were his parents, biological or not. He loves you so much.

And he'd promise that for you. For Satoru, too, to be honest. To live life fully. Ever since he knew what living meant, he never intended to live a proper life. The absence of his biological father and the death of his mother left an untreated wound in his heart, altering his mind in a way that left him isolated—a recluse from the world, almost. The only thing that used to keep him going was his sister, Tsumiki. Now she is really gone. But then, everything shifted when he first saw Gojo Satoru.

It was a big change to have people to look up to. To have a mother. Megumi called you mom way before he even considered Satoru as his father figure, and it was one of the most precious things in life. You never took that for granted, always spoiling him and treating him like he came from your own womb. You knew you'd never take the place of his biological mother, but you wanted to be someone the boy could rely on in such a cruel world. It was a bit strange when Satoru first brought up the idea of raising the Fushiguro boy. You were both still 18, barely even adults with so much pressure and responsibilities. But you knew, from the moment you saw this poor boy getting dragged home by your boyfriend, that you'd love him like no other.

You and Satoru gave him and Tsumiki a home. An unlikely one, but a home nonetheless. You gave him a love like no other, an unconditional, wholehearted, and absolute kind of love, even when the two of you were struggling. It was a type that couldn't be described by words and only felt. That, along with the friendship and true family he found within Nobara and Yuji, made him realize that even if he didn't live his life for himself, there were others in the world. Other people, whether that'd be a mother, a father, a sister, or a brother could give everything meaning. A reason to keep going.

At first, he only lived for Tsumiki. To use everything he had to save her. But then he found himself living for you, for Satoru, for Nobara and Yuji. Once more, he would try again. This wasn't a chance he'd take for granted.

Reading the note made Megumi feel a kind of warmth he hadn't felt in a long time. The kind that he last felt when you hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead before everything in Shibuya happened. That was probably the last time he saw you happy and alive. The world was dull when you died. A victim of that son of a bitch curse Mahito. That was a loss like no other, so incredibly painful and numbing.

At least you died in an honorable way.

After that, he didn't know how to function. Tsumiki, Nobara, and now you. The boy felt half of his soul chip away.

Your husband was even worse. Inconsolable. Watching his wife die in front of his eyes before getting sealed the second after. When the man came out of the prison realm, anyone could tell he wasn't the same. There was no chance the old Gojo would ever return. And sure, he was still lighthearted, but Megumi could tell there was a weight in his gait—the heavy burden of the loss of his darling wife dragging down every word that came out of his mouth. He saw the sadness, longing, anger, and pure vengeance in his eyes. It never did go away. Not even when Sukuna butchered the man in half. At least now, the two of you were together in the afterlife. Megumi truly hoped that. He didn't believe much in that kind of stuff, but for his mother and his father, he prayed for a final peace to be granted.

That hope—along with the one amongst the living pushed Megumi to go on. To not just survive but to really live. Even beyond that, there were others too. His cousin, Maki, who was thankfully alive, and even Toge and Panda.

This was love. That unanswered purpose of life. It's to give love and find love in others. Love is why people do crazy things: to sacrifice the world, to sacrifice themselves. That's why he kept living even when his own dad disappeared or why he kept fighting to keep his sister alive. Love is why, despite the grief, Satoru still fought for you, for your memory, and for your efforts. Love is the reason he's alive.

And if anything, Megumi learned that when you have people in your life, you'd do anything to keep them in it. That's what you and Satoru taught him. Waking up in his own body again and greeted by the sight of his best friends—that was one of the biggest blessings he has ever received.

For his family, he would do anything.

i'm fucking crying. like actually. 3 chapters to go until this manga ends and i still can't fathom everything happening bruv

btw, this is what i imagine the letter would look like haha. half cannonical cuz it's the panel translation!! excuse my handwriting um

also sorry this isn't really proofread lol, i really wanted to post!!

dividers @cafekitsune @i-mmaculatus

[soupuurr]

𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟-𝑚𝑎𝑛!𝑐ℎ𝑟𝑖𝑠 head-cannons

pairing. spider-man!chris x sub!reader

genre. smut

⟶ cw. explicit content, masterbation, dirty talk, praise, web play, dry humping, overstimulation, oral. MDNI

note. back (hopefully) from my hiatus everyone… sorry for leaving y’all high and dry LMAO but here’s a cool concept i thought about after playing spider-man on my pc

spider-man chris who comes home after a tiring day to see you snuggled up on your bed, wearing nothing but his t-shirt and a pair of red panties. his favorite. he can't help but walk over to you and sneakily trace his fingertips over your hip. the heat of his fingers seep through the cotton material, prompting a startled gasp to fall from your lips. "shh, jus' me." he slips his hand under the fabric and pulls his mask off of his head before his eyes greedily rake over your moon bathed body. "wearin' my favorite panties huh? 'turns me on."

spider-man chris who pins your hips against the mattress and fucks you stupid whenever his mission doesn't go as planned. all of his pent up anger and frustration erupts and is directed at you, but you love it. "nothin' ever goes my way—fuck—at least i got you, yeah?"

spider-man chris who desperately pumps a hand over his cock in a nearby restroom because you sent him lewd pictures of yourself, texting him about how much you missed him, and that you wanted to feel him inside of you. you knew that he was in the middle of something important, but you couldn't care less—and chris was infuriated by how you had him wrapped around your finger, because he always found himself touching his cock at your words. he’d be hidden from sight, bottom lip slotted between his teeth with the majority of his suit bunched at his thighs. his mask would be carelessly draped over a random surface while his fist would furiously tug at his length.

spider-man chris who webs your hands behind your back, rivaling in the way you sat helplessly while the sticky substance held your wrists together. his tongue would slowly glide across his teeth as he felt undeniably aroused at the sight of your curious eyes gazing up at him, obediently waiting for his next move. he'd rummage through your bedside drawer before pulling out a tiny bullet vibrator, pink lips curling into a wicked smile as he eyes you like you were his fucking prey.

spider-man chris who grinds your hips over his cock while his suit was still fully on. his length would prod at your cunt while his fabric covered fingertips guided your trembling form. “doin’ so good f’me… gonna make me cum in my suit—shit.” he’d roll his head back, masked eyes shutting as his skull thumps against the wall. it wouldn’t take long for lengthy spurts of cum to darken the red material by his crotch. you’d pull his mask off—nearly cumming yourself as you observe the way his hair messily pooled at his forehead, tears of pleasure welling up at the corners of his closed eyes. his jaw fell slack as his hands gripped the flesh of your moving hips, hissing at the overstimulation. “t-too much.”

spider-man chris who eats you out with his mask on. he’d smirk against your pussy with his mask bunched above his nose, strands of his brunet hair pooling out of the bottom and curling at the ends. you’d claw at his head, pulling him into your body as he hums and purses his lips around your pulsing clit. his blue eyes would hungrily lock onto your own—not that you could see them—and his hands would rest at your inner thighs, occasionally pushing them apart when they’d close around his head. he thought it was just the hottest thing ever to have you falling apart against him while he tongue fucked you with his mask on. “you’re so beautiful like this, you know that?”

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hitchhiker SFW & NSFW Headcannon’s:

a/n: getting my wisdom teeth out in like ten minutes so imma be offline and recovering for a few days. enjoy these head cannons until i get back <3

Tim | SFW:

-lives off of coffee & cigarettes. half the time can’t digest regular food & ends up throwing it up from stress :( poor bby

-despite being a proxy for years, still has reoccurring nightmares that keep him up at night. certain things trigger ptsd episodes, specifically memories of jay or brian (who brian used to be before the operator came along)

-rough exterior, doesn’t believe he’s even worthy of being in your presence or anyone else’s. firmly believes that anyone he interacts with The Operator could and would kill just to fuck with him

-major anger issues that he mainly keeps under wraps, masky’s the one who REALLY shows that side of him

-memory is spotty, but he puts more of an effort to remember things since meeting you

-drinks straight black coffee, absolutely despises cream & sugar. its a miracle this man has any water intake at all

-overly protective, to an intense degree

-enjoys bands like the smiths, the neighbourhood (idc bite me), and cigarettes after sex

Tim | NSFW under the cut:

-tim wants to absolutely worship you. a shameless munch who wants to do nothing more than make you cum on his face

-prefers missionary, wants to bury his face into your neck as he pounds into you

-This man loves nothing more than to hear your pretty noises

‘Fuck, keep moaning my name princess’

-doesn’t care too much about receiving head, would rather please you

-ADORES watching your facial expressions as you cum on his fingers. the little o shape your mouth makes drives him feral

‘Yeah? Gonna cum on my fingers?’

-best after care on the PLANET. baths, snacks, cuddles. whatever you want he’s got it ready for you.

Brian || SFW:

-vegetarian (loves tomato soup because it reminds him of what his mom used to make him when he was sick)

-distrusting; even though he tries to attempt from speaking his mind is absolute madness

-lots of ptsd, genuinely fears what happened to him will happen to you

-depressive tendencies. allows hoodie to front when he starts getting too upset

-he doesn’t allow himself to have too many interest or too much of a personality. he lives in constant fear anything he may grow to like or show interest in will be destroyed by the operator

-you instill an unknowingly amount of happiness into his life. an amount so much that he fears he may be beginning to claw his way out of the trenches of despair

-enjoys bands like linkin park, papa roach, and green day

Brian || NSFW

-a TEASE

-this mf wants you to beg for his touch just to turn around & give you what you want & more

-adores the feeling of your nails digging into his back. he gets so turned on by it, it’s borderline nauseating for him

-praise to the absolute MAX

-‘you can take it pretty girl, such a good girl for me’

-possessive & determined to make you feel better then anyone else, especially in group activities

-‘go on, tell tim how good i make you feel’

-loves to overstimulate you to the point of no return. if you aren’t a squirming mess on the brink of passing out from pleasure, he feels like he didn’t do his job right

-wants to manhandle you. something about picking you up as if you weighed nothing to readjust you into the position he wants you in is so addicting to him

-good aftercare, thinks more about cleaning you up than anything else

Masky || SFW

-he’s so tired of being the ‘leader’

-like seriously, he’s sick of it

-firm believer since Hoodie came around first he should be forced to lead the band of misfit toys but he digresses

-thinks tim is a big softie and borderline pathetic, but after he saves you, he thinks more highly of his decision making skills

-when fronting he is absolutely not sleeping. real life is terrifying enough. the last thing he needs is the creativity of nightmares haunting him too

-carries wads of cash in case he’s in a bind. will just throw them at people before storming out of where ever he is

-did i mention anger issues? like to an unhealthy concerning degree? masky believes in punching or shooting his way out of any situation that pisses him off

-delusional but in the best way, imagines you and him to eventually become a bonnie and clyde like duo

-enjoys more edgy bands like three days grace, skillet, and hollywood undead

Masky || NSFW

-there is not a submissive bone in this man’s body

-spitting, spanking, slapping, and choking you really gets him going

-humiliating you and degrading you turns him on so much it’s unbelievable

-‘Fuckin slut. Get yourself off on my tongue. Get on with it before I change my mind’

-Either overstimulation or orgasm denial. No in between

-Gun play. I said what I said. You giving him head while he points a loaded gun at your head drives him feral

-‘Suck it harder or i’ll pull the trigger. Dont think I won’t. You’re not special’

-if you’re into it as much as he is, he’d like to fuck you with his gun🫣

-Lowkey is kinda cruel, enjoy the idea of putting his cigarettes out on you but won’t since he shares you (he doesn’t want to argue with toby/hoodie/brian/tim)

-leaving you covered with bruises in particular is satisfying to him. the shapes of his fingers digging into your waist being there the next day make him hard all over again

-decent aftercare. if we’re being honest you’ll be too dazed to remember most of it. he won’t necessarily cuddle you but he’ll at least clean you with a washcloth before putting you to bed

Hoodie || SFW

-silent but aggressive

-doesn’t enjoy fronting unless it’s to complete a mission or task for the operator

-enjoys stalking his victims just to see what they’re doing before they’re killed🙈

-that ski mask? yeah prefers that mf to stay ON. things that involve you are the only exception he’ll make once he grows fond of you

-him & brian are in an agreement having any real interest is too much risk. of course, they combat this narrative once you come along

-will tell you he doesn’t like music but secretly enjoys shinedown, breaking benjamin, and seether

Hoodie || NSFW

-sadist

-orgasm denial. the sight of you squirming beneath him while begging to cum? euphoric.

-cnc (sorry mom)

-‘shut up and take it. pathetic whore’

-breath play. likes choking but he’d prefer to have you on all fours with a belt around your throat if he’s being honest

-loves recording you. not only to watch back later, but to threaten you with the blackmail

-‘you better behave or i’ll show everyone how much of a slut you actually are’

-hair pulling. whether you pull his hair or he pulls yours. the whimpers that come from it are like heroin

-bondage. if hoodie could have it his way he’d have you tied up and spread out like a starfish on a bed so he could play with you until you break

-probably the worst aftercare out of everyone on this list. doesn’t care for it, thinks it’s your problem. at most will just tell you to pee

Toby || SFW

-toby is pretty much your loyal guard dog. he’s at your disposal and you don’t even realize it

-he never really got an opportunity to be a teenager. now that he’s roughly 21-23, you make him feel like the flustered horny teenager he never got to be

-before you he’s extremely unhinged. toby didn’t have a lot of motivation besides the thrill of a kill. now that you’re around and practically a ball of sunshine, you make him feel something other than blood lust or boredom

-has nice curls but never knows how to take care of them so they always turn out straight since he immediately brushes his hair after a shower

-out of the three proxies he’s the most content with the situation. he views tim and brian as his best friends, even if they don’t feel the same way

-don’t let any of the fluff headcannons deceive you though, there’s a reason he’s a proxy. the unknown strength this man has is concerning. chopping up bodies doesn’t tire him

-enjoys russian roulette. masky and hoodie will play with him on special occasions

-likes to play with fire. if he has an opportunity he will commit massive amounts of arson

-his music taste bounces around everywhere, similar to his personality. top three is violent vira, grimes, and bones

Toby || NSFW

-hardcore switch leaning towards sub

-toby has his dominate moments, most of them just enjoying seeing you blush from his teasing

-‘you like m-me fucking y-you huh? such a p-perfect pussy’

-likes to see you take control.

-i’m sorry but despite being a sub he’s very vanilla, minus a few very specific kinks

-hickies. wants tim and brian to see you’re just as much as his as you are theirs

-cream pies. not even necessarily contributing to a breeding kink, he just likes to watch his cum drip down your abused cunt

-pulling his hair drives him feral. he can’t necessarily feel pain but he feels your eagerness and that’s enough for him

-considering toby can’t feel things his sex drive is extremely high considering it’s one of the few things he can’t actually feel

-one of his fantasies is fucking you with the handle of his axe

-aftercare is peak. he’s just as exhausted as you, but will wait on you hand and foot to ensure you’re taken care of

Nova || SFW

-her dad was a detective, she simply followed in his footsteps

-her parents were very academic driven. praise and affection was only shown to her when she excelled academically

-bi sexual. leans more towards women

-protective, blunt, and head strong

-working in a field that’s pro dominantly men, she ensures to be full of bark AND bite to make sure she’s taken seriously

-became a detective to help people. despite her tough exterior, she genuinely just wants to bring people peace through her work

-obsessive tendencies. once she starts a case she has to finish it. will not rest properly until it’s done

-has a fantastic memory. memorizes all the little details of anyone and everything

-out of the three proxies she likes tim the most, but will never admit she likes any of them

-enjoys hozier, asap rocky, and adeline troutman

Nova || NSFW

-THE BIGGEST SWITCH TO EVER EXIST

-either wants to be called mommy or a good cum dump

-an absolute freak in the bed

-this woman has a chest of sex toys at home of all varieties and sorts

-pegs men

-‘your whimpers are so cute baby boy’

-either wants to put YOU in handcuffs or have you put handcuffs on HER. either way she wants them involved

-doesn’t believe in vanilla sex. if she’s fucking she’s going all in. no lovey dovey shit. just pure feral behavior

-on the other end of the spectrum, loves being fucked into the mattress until she’s dizzy

-‘please keep going, fuck, i’m so close’

-has attended several bdsm sex parties on the down low

-aftercare is peak. she doesn’t gaf ab herself. you’re the star of the show