#YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW MANY TIMES THIS CROSSES MY MIND

[forty-servants-free-readings]

Pick a pile

Will your future spouse do little gestures like buying flowers?

Pick a group to find out, your reading is under the cut. If you're interested in a short, free oracle reading - feel free to send question to my askbox, anon is on. Answers are extremely slow due to demand and busy personal life, from time to time I go on hiatus. There is also paid offer, explained in my pinned post - those readings will be prioritised. If you want to support me there is a PayPal link in my bio.

Pick a pile masterlist

Group 1 - The Opposer

Your future spouse won't do such things, they will think it's kinda cheesy and cringe. They just don't understand romanticism too well and are a bit ashamed of showing their love in ways found in romantic comedies.

Group 2 - The Protector

They will do many little things for you, but it will be less about buying flowers and more about making sure that you feel safe and comfortable physically. They won't give you chocolates but they will cover the furniture corners when you bend so you do harm yourself, drive you everywhere so you don't get tired and give you their jacket so you won't be cold.

Group 3 - The Devil

They would do this kind of things for you, but they won't think of it. It just won't even cross their mind. You will have to tell them straight that you want such gestures from them or they will be completely dense about the topic. If you teach them how to love you, they might change their ways.

Group 4 - The Road Opener

Nothing stops them from showing love like this, and they like to show you their appreciation for you freely. Expect those little, romantic gestures, and from time to time even something special like a short, spontaneous trip together. They are very open about their feeling towards you.

[whumpsmith]

Due to a recent influx of spam I've temporarily disabled anon in my ask box in an attempt to discourage it.

If this continues I might just close it entirely again. My ask box doesn't really see a lot of action anyway lately.

[not-neverland06]

we're dating? ♡

logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've decided using the same X-men name/powers for the reader in my Logan fics is easier because coming up with superpowers is hard and stupid. They call you flux, like once, it's really just a nickname incoming warning for fluff so bad you'll get a cavity Summary: You're on probation from the team and official house arrest after a little accident with your powers. Logan knows you're going stir-crazy so he takes you to the arcade for some fun. And then your friendship takes a weird turn. (80's timeline in mind, but characters not from the 80’s will be mentioned) Clueless!reader

You’d had an accident, a few weeks ago. Well, accident might be downplaying it too much. You’d destroyed the garden and left a ten-foot crater in the backyard of Charles’ prestigious grounds. In your defense, you had warned them all that it wasn’t a good idea to take your cuffs off. 

The metal bands are entirely necessary to make sure you can’t lose control and wipe out everything around you. Manipulation at an atomic level is beyond fatal. You don’t want to think about what would have happened if you’d had the meltdown and the kids were anywhere near you. 

Charles had been able to shut you down, but now he’s keeping you on probation. You’ve been locked up in the mansion, unable to leave until you managed to get your abilities under control. There’s never been a problem with wearing the cuffs before. You don’t understand why he’s so against them now. 

You’re going stir-crazy. There’s only so many times you can pace your room before you start to lose your mind. He’s not even letting you teach classes anymore. You’re stuck training, all day, every day. 

“Focus!” Charles snaps and you resist the urge to turn his bones liquid. Maybe that would get him off your back. 

Instead of killing your friend, you glare at the large tank of water in front of you. You do what you’ve been doing for the past half hour. It fluctuates from liquid to gas to solid, and then liquid again. An endless cycle of repetition that makes you want to melt your brain so you don’t have to do this anymore. 

You drop your hand and huff. “This is pointless, Charles. What’s this even teaching me?”

He crosses his arms, walks over to you, and pointedly glares at the tank in front of you. You roll your eyes and look back at it. “Shit,” you hiss. In your frustration, the glass has cracked and splintered into dust. Water pools around your stool and leaks through the wood of the floor. You flick your wrist, the glass swirling around you before reforming into the tank. The water follows along, droplets lifting from the floor and dropping back into the container. 

“One moment of frustration, of distraction. That’s all it took.” Charles shakes his head and walks back over to his desk. He picks the cuffs up and you slip them silently back onto your wrists. “How can you be trusted to protect your team on the field if you can’t control this? What are you going to do when you’re panicked and fighting for your life?”

Shame bubbles in your gut. It makes you nauseous and forces your eyes to the floor so you don’t have to face him. He sighs, placing his hands on your shoulders and squeezing gently. You glance up at him briefly and he offers a strained smile. 

“This is for your protection, as much as you hate it, Flux. It’s necessary.” You scoff at the use of your X-Men name. Not much of an X-Man if you’re not even on the field anymore. 

“Right,” you mutter. “Thanks for the lesson in incompetency,” you don’t let him respond and slam the door to his office closed behind you. You feel bad the second you get outside and onto the porch. He doesn’t deserve your bitchiness. It’s your own fault you can’t get a handle on this. You don't have anyone to blame but yourself. 

You let out a dramatic sigh, throwing yourself into a rocking chair and running your hands over your face. The once comforting weight of your cuffs is now oppressing. It just feels like a constant reminder of your failure. You should already have a handle on all of this, but you struggle to even manipulate water. 

“Rough day?” You don’t open your eyes as Logan walks by. He takes a seat on the rocking chair beside you, letting out a low groan as he stretches. 

You let your hands drop into your lap, staring at the sunset so you don’t have to face him. You’ve already dealt with enough dejection today. You don’t need to look at him and be reminded that you want him in a way you can never have. 

“Mhm,” you hum, propping your head in your hand as you watch the sun disappear behind the clouds. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange that seem too hopeful for how you feel right now. 

Logan chuckles, the sound low and gravely. It makes your heart stutter in your chest and you cringe in embarrassment. You know he can hear the way your heart practically beats free of your ribs when you’re around him. You’re sure with that nose of his he can smell some sort of hormonal change in you every time you lay eyes on him. 

You swear you’ve never felt this way about a man before. You haven’t had many boyfriends before, it’s not really common among mutants. Not many people are accepting of you when they know what you are. And some people are too into you. 

But you've had crushes, and none of them have been as bad as this one is. You want to gnaw on him. It sounds fucking insane every time you think about it. But when you train with him and he tears his shirt off, you want to sink your teeth into him and never let go. 

You feel feral around him, a side of you surfacing that you’re not used to. Maybe it’s because of his mutant abilities. They are very animalistic, it’s easy to blame that on how desperately you crave him. 

You hate being around him and despise not being in his presence. It’s conflicting, and more often than not you sound like a bumbling idiot when you speak to him because your brain is going in a million different directions. 

You hear the familiar click of his lighter and then he shifts again. You risk a peek over at him and regret it the second you do. His head is tilted back, eyes closed in relaxation as he stretches across the porch. Smoke leaks out of his lips as he groans in satisfaction. 

You have to pick your jaw up off the floor and make sure there isn’t drool on your chin. This is insane. You’re a grown woman, how does he have this much of an effect on you? He’s not even doing anything! He’s just sitting there and you want to jump his bones. 

You whip your head around, mumbling incoherently to yourself to get it together. Logan peaks an eye open and you miss the mischievous tilt to his lips. “Something wrong?”

I need to have sex with you or I’m going to explode. 

You stutter for a few seconds, getting your mind back together. “Just training with Charles,” you mutter. 

He sits up a little straighter and quirks a brow. When you don’t continue he sighs. “And?” He prods, impatient for your answer. You hope you’re not reading into it, but you think he’s been as disappointed by your absence from the team as you are. He always complains about being partnered up with Scott. You like to think it’s because he misses you. But you’re probably just delusional. 

“And, nothing,” you sigh. Your hands flop against your legs and you glare at the bands on your wrists. “No progress. I still can’t control them without these on, and my abilities are watered down and useless with the cuffs.”

Logan huffs, you’re caught off guard by the sudden warmth on your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening ever so slightly when you see his hand on your leg. It nearly covers the whole thing and when he squeezes your thigh you think you’re going to pass out. 

You’re friendly. But you’ve never been touchy. At least not like this. The placement of his palm is very intimate and you are struggling not to just get on your knees and profess your undying love. You take in a deep breath, looking up at him so you can get your heartbeat under control. 

But looking at him just makes it worse. Because there is so much faith and fondness in his gaze as he looks at you. His lips are tilted up, eyes soft, and you’ve never had someone make you feel so warm and secure from just a look. 

“You aren’t useless,” he tells you. He squeezes your thigh again before he retreats back to his chair. You have to clamp your jaw shut so you don’t beg him to keep touching you and never stop. “You’re just stuck in this house all day. You’ve got nothing to do but sit in your failure.”

You scoff and throw yourself back in your seat. “Don’t remind me. I’ve begged Charles to let me out.” Your gaze drifts to the crater in the backyard. Some of the kids have been working on filling it in, but whatever energy you’d let go of has left a permanent mark. “He refuses to give me permission.”

Logan laughs, the noise teasing and a little mean. Your brows furrow and you glance over at him with a questioning look. He tilts his head in disbelief like you’re an idiot. “Seriously, Flux? Just fuckin’ leave, who gives a shit?”

“Uh,” you think on it for a minute before weakly settling on, “Charles?”

His face falls and you sink lower into your seat. He looks out at the yard, gaze distant. His jaw clenches a few times before he puts the cigar out on the ashtray beside him. He gets to his feet and you think he might just leave. Instead, he turns towards you. 

You’re caught off guard by the little smirk on his face. “Wanna have some fun?”

Only an idiot would say no. 

You grin and place your hand in his, yelping slightly at how easily he pulls you to your feet. You stumble into his chest and are hesitant to back away when his hand drifts to rest on your waist. He looks down at you, smiling, he squeezes your waist once before he backs up. 

“Come on, kid.” He tugs you inside the house, leading you downstairs to the garage. You already know what he’s going for before the door is even open. 

“Didn’t Scott tell you to leave his bike alone?” Logan takes a step inside. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder and grinning at you. It makes your breath catch in your throat, the happiness on his face. You never see him like this around the others. 

You hate thinking like that. Placing too much importance on your relationship with him will only lead to heartbreak down the road. But, you never see him act the way he does with you with anyone else.

“Since when have I ever listened to Cyclops, sweetheart?” 

“Good point,” you mutter, moving to stand next to him. 

He straddles the seat and looks over expectantly at you. “Don’t you need a helmet?”

You shake your head, “Oh, no, it’ll ruin my hair.” You laugh but he gives you a deadpan look. You don’t regenerate the way he does. An accident would be a lot more fatal for you than it would be for him. You huff, “Relax, Lo, I can use my powers.” When he looks like he’s not going to drop it, you let some energy swirl around your fingers. It solidifies the air around your skin, you reach up and flick at his skull hard enough to hear the metal ding. 

He grunts, glaring down at your hand while you grin. “See,” you whisper, sliding onto the back of the bike and wrapping your arms around his waist. “I’m perfectly safe.” He shakes his head and starts the bike. 

The ride to the arcade is spent in silence. Logan always seems to break every speeding law known to man whenever he takes Scott’s bike out. You’re not sure if he does it to purposefully piss the man off, but it makes you cling to him like a wild animal. You feel like if you hit one speed bump you’re going to go flying. 

By the time he parks your legs feel like jello. He laughs a little at the way your face has blanched. Again, he offers you a hand and holds the door open to lead you inside. You’re trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this whole thing is odd. 

You guys are friends. And you’re friendlier with each other than most of the mutants in the school. But this feels different somehow. For one, Logan kind of despises the arcade. It’s an amalgamation of bad smells and loud noises, and it overwhelms his already sensitive senses. You’ve heard him complain about the smell of body odor and fake cheese enough times when you went on a field trip with the kids. 

Secondly, he’s being more touchy than he normally would. You’re not complaining. You weren’t exactly hugged a lot as a kid, mainly just passed between different mutant fetish clubs. Logan isn’t known for handing hugs out so easily. But right now, he doesn’t seem to be ready to not have at least one hand on you. 

Maybe he’s just cheering you up. You need to stop drifting so far into your mind and just enjoy the night. “Alright, what’s first bub?”

You grin and drag him towards the claw machine. “I’m horrible at these things,” you inform him as you put your quarters in. “But, I hold out hope that one day I’ll be able to actually beat this monster.”

Three failed attempts later, it’s become embarrassingly clear that you will never beat the claw machine. Logan isn’t even trying to hide his amusement as you become increasingly more frustrated. There’s a certain point where this game stops being fun and starts to be an affront to your character. 

Logan peers into the machine and asks, “What are you going for?”

“The pigeon,” you mutter. Your tongue pokes between your lips, and your eyes narrow in concentration. You aim the claw over the pigeon perfectly and slam your hand down on the big red button. 

You’re allowed five seconds of celebration before the damn thing slips out of the claws grasp and tumbles into the pile of stuffies below. “Dammit, Bart,” you let the ridiculous name you’ve come up with for the toy slip.

Logan snorts, leaning against the glass while you jam another quarter in the slot. “Bart?” He teases. 

You shake your head and give him a look out the side of your eye. “What, you think I call myself Flux because I’m good at coming up with names?” You give up after the last failed attempt and turn to face him with a huff. 

He clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Tough luck, kid.” He slings an arm over your shoulder and pulls you towards the concession stand. 

“Shut up,” you laugh, slapping lightly at his chest. 

The rest of the night is nice. He doesn’t play much except for the strength-oriented games. And then you kind of just exploit him for more tickets. By the time you get back to the mansion, you’ve forgotten all about why you were upset in the first place. 

Nothing had gone wrong, you didn’t have a total meltdown and wipe out the entire arcade. You don’t know why Charles was so afraid of letting you out. 

Logan walks you back to your room, his hand heavy on your lower back as you head up the stairs. You’re talking endlessly, filling up any gap of silence with rambling you’ve lost track of. You don’t know what it is about him that invites you to yap the way you do, but you’re always embarrassed by it the second he leaves. 

You reach your door and smile up at him. “Thanks, Lo.”

He gives you a soft smile, his eyes wrinkling endearingly at the corners. He reaches up and brushes some hair off your shoulder. There’s a certain shift in his expression that has your breath stopping short. Whatever else you were going to say to him tumbles off into an incomprehensible whisper. 

He leans down and every inappropriate thought you’ve ever had about him suddenly surges to the front of your mind. Your lips part in anticipation, thinking he’s going to kiss you and your fantasies are going to come to life. 

His lips brush against your cheek so gently you almost don’t feel them. “‘Night Flux,” he leans back and your body goes with him. He backs off with a smile, walking down the hall to his own room. You feel dazed, eyelashes fluttering rapidly as you fan your cheeks and try to come to terms with what just happened.

He didn’t kiss you, but you oddly aren’t disappointed. You go to bed that night with a lovesick grin on your face. Well, you would have. Were it not for the annoyingly British voice ringing out in your head, “Training’s at four tomorrow morning. Consider it your punishment for sneaking out.”

“Fuck,” you hiss to yourself. Stupid fucking telepaths. 

You thought the arcade was a one-off moment. But Logan keeps sneaking you out of the mansion. Charles hasn’t officially lifted the house arrest, but he’s given up trying to keep you inside. Besides, you’ve essentially got a chaperone since Logan is always with you. 

You make lunch for the two of you and he’ll take you out to the woods for a picnic. Or you’ll go to the movies together. Sometimes you don’t even do anything, just linger around each other. You enjoy the company, and you love having these quiet moments together with no one else around. 

Your favorite part of all of this has to be the way he’s started touching you. He’s always got a hand on your leg or back. And if he can’t do that, then you’re tucked into his side. It’s feeding into a starved part of you that you’ve left neglected for far too long. 

It’s only been about two weeks of these fun little adventures and odd behavior. You’re dreading the moment they’ll stop. You’re not sure when Logan’s going to deem you properly cheered up, but you’re hoping it’s not anytime soon. 

There have been a few more moments where you think your friendship might turn into something more, and every time you’ve been interrupted. You’re actually starting to feel a little edged. You’ve been considering just grabbing him and planting one on him. But every time you think about it you get sick to your stomach. 

You don’t want to make a move on him and end up getting rejected. You know he’s just being a good friend and taking care of you so you don’t end up spiraling too far in your head. It’s happened before, when you’ve been struggling with your abilities. He’s just keeping you from shutting down again and you don’t want to make him uncomfortable because you’re hopelessly in love. 

When you walk out of your room this morning you’re immediately smacked in the face. “What the fuck, guys?” You yell at the two kids running past your room. Not the best language for someone who's supposed to be a role model. You can’t be bothered though, not when they’re running around throwing pink rolls of streamer at your face. 

“Sorry!” Mary calls over her shoulder, laughing as she pins a heart up onto the wall. You’re sure Charles won’t appreciate the hole in his old ass mahogany wood. It’s only as you watch her run down the stairs that you register just what is going on. 

There is pink and red everywhere. It looks like Dollar Store Cupid has thrown up all over the mansion. You’ve been so caught up in your attraction to Logan that, ironically, you’ve forgotten what month it was. 

You grumble bitterly to yourself as you trudge down the stairs. Another Valentine’s Day alone and single. How lovely. You spot two kids giggling to themselves by the banister, they lean in like they’re going to kiss and you gag. “Hey!” You snap, and they jump apart, eyes wide with fear. “Quit it, get out of here.” They scramble off and you feel just a little bit vindicated. 

“Not a fan of young love, Flux?”

You groan and roll your eyes, turning around to find a very smug Scott watching you bully teenagers. “Shut it, Summers,” you warn. You point an accusing finger at him and he raises his hands in surrender. Faux innocence played across his insufferable smirk. “When you’re in a committed relationship, you don’t get to judge me.”

His brows turn down in confusion, “Wait, but aren’t you and Logan-”

He’s cut off by the sound of a loud crash down the hall. You both turn around just as one of the classroom doors slams open. A bright pink explosion hurtles from the doors and a throng of coughing students follows. 

Jubilee walks out a minute later, a guilty expression on her face. “Sorry, I was just trying to make it more Vanetine-y.” 

You glance over at Scott, grinning widely at him while you pat his shoulder and walk past him, leaving him to clean up the mess. “Enjoy the young love, Summers.”

You actively avoid Logan all day. You’re already facing constant reminders of how lonely you are. You see kids walking around with baskets of bears and chocolates. Or you catch them passing notes in class with scribbled hearts all over the front. 

There’s only so much a girl can take before she loses it. The last thing you need is to be faced with the man you have the worst unrequited crush on in history. But he doesn’t seem to get the hint. He’s everywhere you go, popping up around corners and trying to catch your attention. 

You keep brushing him off and pretending like you have something urgent you’re going to be late for. Eventually, though, he was going to catch up with you. 

It happens in the kitchen. Most of the kids are in their rooms or the library. The noise has died down and you’re alone. You grumble to yourself, ripping down a pink streamer that keeps drifting across the top of your head and pissing you off. You grab a frozen meal from the fridge and are about to microwave it when he speaks. 

“Huh, thought you’d want something a little more romantic than a frozen burrito.” 

You gasp, clutching your chest and whirling around on him while your heart races. “Logan, Jesus, you scared me.” He’s frowning at you, eyes glaring at the frozen package in your hand. “Um,” you toss it back in the freezer but the look on his face isn’t going away. “Yeah, I might just go with cereal instead.”

He looks at you and then glances behind him. You peer around his shoulder but you don’t see anything. Without much warning, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the stairs. “Logan?” There’s no point in trying to resist him, he could just toss you up the stairs if he wanted to. Still, the silence is kind of creeping you out. 

You call his name a few more times but give up when he makes it clear he’s not going to be answering you anytime. There’s a rotten feeling in your stomach. You have this awful idea like you’re in trouble for something. Like a little girl who's gotten her hand caught in the cookie jar too many times. 

He stops you in front of his door and nods towards it. “You want me to go inside?” He crosses his arms and glares down at you. You huff and mutter, “Jesus, fine.” What the hell is wrong with him?

You grab the doorknob to his room, glaring at him while you do. You throw the door open dramatically, taking a step inside and surveying the area. “Wow,” you suck your teeth and shake your head. “You have not decorated at all.”

“Shut up, smartass,” he mutters in your ear. Chills prick at your skin from his proximity. A shudder goes down your spine as the low tone of his voice reverberates through you. “Look a little harder.”

You roll your eyes but acquiesce. Another run over the room finally shows you what you missed. You gasp and rush towards his bed, “Holy shit, Bart!” He chuckles behind you as you pick the stuffed pigeon up. 

“Went back for him after we left,” Logan tells you. 

You glare at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How many tries did this take you?” He mouths a smug one and you roll your eyes in irritation. You look back down at the pigeon and smile.

He smells like the inside of a claw machine. His head is sewed on crookedly and you’re pretty sure he’s missing an eye. But he’s absolutely perfect to you. You’re about to thank Logan when you spot something metal wrapped around the stuffie’s neck. “What’s this,” you mumble to yourself. 

You slide your fingers under the chain and tug it off Bart’s neck. Logan’s dog tags dangle off your fingers and you stare at him in shock. A sudden cold dread washes over you and you find yourself immobile. “Logan,” you trail off, an unspoken question following his name. 

He smirks, walking towards you and slipping the tags out of your hand. “I wanted you to have this,” he says, his voice low like this moment is too precious to break, “so you know you’re not alone. You’re always so afraid of what’s going to happen if you lose control out in the field. But you forget, you’re not alone. You have me, you’re always going to have me.” He places the tags over your neck, untucking your hair from the chain. 

You don’t even have words for him. It’s such a deeply personal gift. But this also feels incredibly intimate. There’s no possible way for you to reason this away. This isn’t something “just friends” do. 

He seems to prefer your silence, anyway. One of his hands drifts from your neck and cups your jaw. With the utmost tenderness, he lifts your face to his. “Wanted to do this for a while,” he whispers. You almost ask what he’s talking about, but his lips are already covering yours. 

It’s incredibly soft, this kiss, softer than you’re used to. He’s barely putting any pressure on you and it makes you realize that you’re still not moving. You’re just standing there in shock, eyes wide open while the man you’ve wanted since you’ve known him kisses you. 

You drop Bart to the floor and your arms come up to twine around his neck. You finally close your eyes, let your body melt into his knowing he’ll catch you. The second you reciprocate he really kisses you. Neither of you hold back, each of you pouring all the pent-up desire you’ve felt for each other. 

You’ve spent so long dancing around this, around each other. It’s like a missing puzzle piece is returned to you as Logan holds you. You feel full, complete, warmer than you ever have before. 

You part from him - needing air - painfully slow. You don’t want to spend a second away from him now that you have him. You wish you didn’t have to breathe. Wished you could have kept kissing him and never stopped. 

Logan chuckles, pressing a kiss against your forehead like he can read your thoughts. You can feel the dorky smile that’s about to split your cheeks. You bite your lip, hoping it might suppress it, but you know it’s pointless. 

You look up at him with a cheeky twinkle in your eye. “Are you asking me to be your Valentine, Lo?”

He scoffs and pulls away from you slightly. “Do you have to ask your girlfriend to be your Valentine?”

Your eyes widen and your mouth opens and closes rapidly. “I- Well- I mean,” you take a full step back from him and shake your head. “What?” You finally settle on. “I mean, I’m not objecting, at all, but what?”

Logan tilts his head, a disbelieving look on his face. “What do you think we’ve been doing the past three weeks?”

You shake your head, stuttering and struggling for an answer. “I don’t know. I thought you were being a good friend!”

He smiles, there’s no irritation on his face at your cluelessness. If anything he seems to be more endeared to you. “You think I take all my friends on romantic picnics in the woods?”

You sigh, letting out a long disappointed breath. You can’t believe you’ve been so blind. When you think about it, his behavior lately makes a lot more sense. You’re not sure how you were able to trick yourself for so long. 

“Well,” you start, walking back towards him as he pulls you into a hug, “certainly not Scott.” He huffs and shakes his head. You give him a sheepish smile, brows knitted together. “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

He just presses another kiss to your temple and shrugs. “It’s alright, sweetheart, you can make it up to me by being my Valentine again next year.”

There’s something unspoken in his voice. A promise that he’s planning to be around for a lot longer than a year. You smile at him, silently promising the same. “Only if you’re mine.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

a/n: i’m gonna gag actually. Made myself cringe there at the end. I want a valentine next year so bad, it’s sad. But what’s the point of a valentine if it’s not going to be Logan?

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

dividers by @/thecutestgrotto

[nightingale-prompts]

You are not Special- DC X DP Prompt

Interdimensional God-like beings are not known for their patience, however it looked like they had gotten lucky.

This being that had been summoned against its will to their universe was actually quite calm. They sat back on a makeshift throne made by the cultists that had brought them here. Its body was the form of a young man draped in silk. He paid little mind to the cult bowing and scraping at his feet as he absentmindedly examined his nails for anything under them. They were as pristine as his marble-like form.

"You know cults get a bad reputation in these modern times." He said not looking up at the heroes who had invaded his sanctuary intent on sealing him away. "Not without cause of course. But not every cult is evil. As oxymoronic as that sounds. But it used to mean a group of people devoted to their god of choice, no different than any other religion except they lived solely to dedicate their lives to it. No tricks or schemes, just beliefs. None of that sacrifice or blood here though. I like cleanliness and a good batch of dessert for my alters."

"We aren't here to give your offerings." Batman said simply.

The teen stretched lazily and shrugged.

"You are free to just pray, take a rest, eat, or do whatever you want."

"You don't belong here. You must return to your own realm." Superman said fimly but cordially.

The cultists panicked as they looked between their god and the heroes. Some had disdain etched on their faces others had sadness.

"Don't belong? I do what I want. Who are you people to tell ME what to do? Do you own this planet? This universe?" The god challenged.

"We are the protectors of this planet. Surely you understand that we can't let you stay here using humans like servants." Superman retorted.

Constantine had a bad feeling about what came next as he got between everyone to speak.

"Sorry, forgive him. We don't want to offend. It's just that our universe has had enough beings like you causing issues in the past. We are a bit exhausted because every major event seems to hit our planet. We are a bit defensive."

The teens's lip curled.

"Do you think you are the only planet with such woes? How conceited. What you believe that your little planet is so special that it is the only one subject to the powers of beings you can't control? As we speak there a thousands of beings influencing this world that have a bigger effect than what I'm currently doing. Are you tired of being the playthings of the universe? Bah! The universe doesn't care one bit what goes on on this little planet over the billions of planets in this universe. You are no more special than a bit of algae on a frozen world." The teen sneered.

"But that doesn't change the fact that we would like one less threat to deal with," Batman said as Constantine tried to shut him up. "Even if you do not care about humans, we care what you can do to us."

"A good point but I never said I didn't care. I'm actually fond of humans but no more fond of them than any other lifeforms. There are billions of aliens in this universe alone. But not one is special because all life is special. Not one is better. But any damage I could possibly do to you could easily be done by the many unseen gods of this realm. These beings have built this world from those that actively created it, ignore it, and those that don't even realize it exists. Could you believe that your own creator doesn't know you are there? It's actually very common."

"You're dodging the question and talking in circles. We just want you to leave." Batman sighed irritably.

"You keep telling me to leave. I have just arrived but I've also always been here. Is this how you greet me?" The teen crossed his arms.

"Are you a god of this world?" Wonder Woman stepped forward this time. "You dress like that of a Roman god."

"Do you like it? I got it from Rome a few thousand years ago."

Well, he never failed to turn something into a compliment, that's for sure.

"But that's a complicated question. If you're asking if I made your universe then, no. If your asking if it exists because of me then, yes. It exists because I do. It's my nature. So I'm not a god. I'm a law of nature." The boy leaned back and kicked his feet childishly.

"You look like a kid." Clark blurted.

"Well... you're right. But you didn't have to point it out." He pouted.

"I mean, you just look...like a person. Not a force of nature." Clark quickly corrected.

"I look like what you can perceive me as. Can't ask a two-dimensional creature to understand three dimensions. Think of me as an anthropomorphic personification of a concept." The teen stood up finally and walked around his bowing worshippers.

"And what are you?" Batman said stiffly as the boy reached him.

"I am the Void. The absence of force or untethered space and infinite possibilities. A place of raw unprocessed energy. So if I exist then a tethered space with one string of possibilities exists. Think string theory." The boy laughed.

"Wait, I know what you are. You're an Ancient, an Endless. I thought I'd get a break from your lot after Morpheus." Constantine said.

The group turned to Constantine in surprise, not surprised that he knew what the kid was but that he had done this before.

"Look, kid. Your lot don't show themselves often. Especially not in front of so many people. You'd usually lay low among mortals." Constantine said suspicious of the young Endless. "Do the others know you are playing around?"

The teen presses his lips together. He glares like someone has ruined his game.

"Should I try summoning them and ask." Constantine smirked, he knew he found his in.

"You wouldn't." He frowned.

"I would." Constantine said "Unless you want to go home on your own."

The boy tried to protest but a portal opened on its own and a hand reached out grabbing the boy by the ear.

"What are you doing in the mortal realm this time?! I told you to focus on fixing the timelines not playing god like a child!" The voice boomed.

"But Clockwork-" The teen whined as he was dragged through the portal "I was just pulling a prank. I swear!"

The boy's voice was muffled and distant as he got to the other side. Then the prtal closed and it was over.

The room went silent.

"He was right. There is nothing special about any life form over another. But that also means he is no different than a human child and held to the same standards." Constantine said lighting a cigarette before leaving the ruins. "You can handle the rest right?"

[himasgod]

hi hello how are you? uhm this is probably my first time requesting to you

but could I request on twst characters reacting to reader actually having wings but the reader actually hides it underneath their hair(like behind their ears iykyk) to not cause that much attention (because the last time they did it made a huge commotion and had to resist to not throw hands at everyone who keeps touching her wings-) and the boys ONLY noticed when a wind blows their hair aside to reveal it(you can change the way of revealing the wings since I have no idea-)

I don't mind how many you put in this, in fact everyone is fine! just please put Leona and riddle these boys hold a special place in my heart.

and btw pls take your time, I'll be waiting for you. tysm! 🫶

LEONA AND RIDDLE X READER

Where they discover you have wings behind your ears

I hope I understood correctly what you meant, something like this, right?

You were sitting under one of the flowering trees in the Botanical Garden, book in hand, half-lost in thought while Leona lazily lounged beside you.

It was supposed to be one of those rare peaceful moments between classes where he didn’t grumble about being awake. You always appreciated his quiet presence— even if most of it was spent napping.

You reached over to pluck a petal off his hair when the wind picked up suddenly, a gust brushing your long hair to the side.

You didn’t realize anything had happened — not until you noticed Leona had cracked open one eye.

No, not cracked open.

He was staring.

Not in his usual cocky way — but focused.

“...Huh,” he muttered, sitting up just enough to get a better look.

“You’ve been hiding those this whole time?”

“Wha—?” You reached up instinctively and felt the soft edges of your wings, peeking out right behind your ears. You cursed under your breath, immediately trying to fix your hair to cover them again. Leona grabbed your wrist.

“Why hide them?”

You glanced away, ears burning.

“Because the last time people saw them, they wouldn’t leave me alone. Touching, whispering, some wanted to pluck a feather like a souvenir. I don’t need that again.”

Leona’s emerald eyes narrowed.

“People are idiots,” he muttered.

“Touching you without permission... you should’ve let me deal with them.”

“You’re not... weirded out?”

Leona gave a exhale, almost like a laugh.

“You’re at a school full of beastmen, fae, ghosts, and literal magic. Wings are the least strange thing I’ve seen. Still… it suits you.”

“What does?”

He smirked, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“That skyborn look. Like you’re from somewhere higher than the rest of us. Regal.”

You gave him a long look.

“…Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe.” He leaned back down, arms crossed behind his head.

“If people try touching you again, just say the word. I don’t mind throwing hands.”

You were standing beside Riddle, helping with the attendance sheet and budget files, when a gust of wind whooshed through the hall.

Your hair lifted — just enough.

Just barely enough to reveal something delicate fluttering behind your ears. Feathers. Soft, unmistakably wings.

Riddle turned, eyes wide.

“Yuu,” he said lowly, tugging you aside, away from the rest of the group. “Your hair—behind your ears—those… Are those wings?”

You froze.

“…Please don’t make a scene,” you whispered, glancing around. “They’re real. I hide them for a reason.”

“A reason?”

“The last time people found out, they treated me like a pet. Asking questions, touching me, even trying to name them like I was some exotic showpiece. It was humiliating.”

Riddle’s eyes softened with immediate understanding— perhaps even guilt. You expected scolding, or questions. But what you didn’t expect was how gently he stepped in front of you and said, quietly:

“You don’t need to explain yourself, but… if anyone treats you like that again, tell me.”

“Would you collar them?” you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

He gave a small exhale— a mix of a sigh and a laugh.

“Only if they touch without asking. That's grounds for decapitation by Queen of Hearts rules.”

You smiled despite yours. “Riddle—”

“I mean it,you don’t need to hide what makes you different. But if you choose to, I’ll respect that. Just... don’t shut me out.”

You paused, then nodded.

“Thanks. For not freaking out.”

He adjusted his collar, trying (and failing) to look composed.

“I’m allowed one freakout. But only because I think… you're beautiful.”

You blinked.

“...The wings. I mean! The wings—!”

“Right,” you teased, “just the wings.”

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 02

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut in later chapters, fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of cigarettes in this chapter. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

"Will you come to my game this Saturday?"

Sukuna smirks that charming smirk at you again, and his voice is so velvety that it sounds as if he is asking you to come to his bedroom instead of coming to one of his ice hockey games.

You have no idea why you seem to keep running into him lately. Maybe you never were aware of how many times your paths crossed. Or maybe fate decided to play some funny little game with you and the resident hockey star, and now you keep meeting over and over again.

You shrug helplessly and smile at him,

"I don't know. I've never been to a game. I don't even know the rules."

"That doesn't matter. You'll understand it once you watch a game. And if not, you can always ask me to teach you. So, will you come and watch me play?"

Sukuna looks expectantly at you with those pretty eyes. They are a shade of brown you have never seen on anyone else before, that rich maroon color that reminds you of red wine and autumn. Those eyes and that damn boyish grin make it hard for you to say no to Sukuna.

You laugh to cover up how nervous he makes you when he is standing so close to you. Attack is the best form of defence, so you cross your arms in front of your chest, look up at Sukuna, and ask with a raised eyebrow,

"You really want me to watch you play, huh?"

Any other guy would probably get flustered and backpedal or act indifferent. But not Sukuna. His smirk grows even wider, and he nods confidently,

"Yes. Can you even say you went to college if you never saw a hockey game?"

And then he adds with a wink,

"If you come, I will score a goal just for you."

He flashes you another cocky smirk and doesn't wait for your answer but just walks away toward the gym. You stare after him, shaking your head. He is impossible! That confidence is insane! Almost infuriating.

Maybe you should watch Sukuna's game just to see him not deliver what he promised. Sure, he is the resident starboy, but how good can he be? It's not like he is a professional hockey player. Low-key, you want to see Sukuna fuck up just so you can confirm to yourself that he is just another of those arrogant guys who are all talk and no action.

That Saturday, you watch the game. Your first hockey game since you started college. The first game of the Tigers you see. The first time you see Sukuna play.

And you must admit that the stupid title they gave him is accurate.

Sukuna really is The King of the Ice. He is the King of this whole arena!

His playstyle is fast and brutal, which doesn't come as a surprise. But even as a hockey noob, you can tell that Sukuna's mind plays just as much a part as his strength and is just as dangerous as his physical attacks. Strong, ambitious, and intelligent. It's a deadly combination that makes Sukuna unstoppable.

He skates across the ice at breakneck speed, elbowing his way through his opponents and making the rival goalie yell in fear at his teammates in a desperate attempt for them to stop the devil that is speeding towards him. But nothing the other team does seems to work against Sukuna. He is always a step ahead, sidestepping them before they can reach him as if he can predict their moves. You recall him telling you that he does all the analytics and works out the tactics, and you can see now that he didn't just brag but truly seems to know what he is doing.

No wonder the whole team is built around Sukuna. He is the most important player of the Red Tigers. The center of the first line, which to your amusement, is called The Curses because they make their opponents curse their names for being so damn strong. And Sukuna is the King of Curses, which seems a very fitting title. His brother Yuuji is on his right, and Todo is on his left, and both of them are ready to beat up everyone who dares touch their star player.

That's something that seems to happen pretty often. Sukuna keeps getting into fights, but many of them aren't initiated by the rival team. Even without knowing how ice hockey works, you can see that Sukuna provokes fights. You can see his lips move behind the face cage of his helmet while smirking devilishly at a player of the rival team, taunting him until the other guy snaps and drops his hockey stick and pushes Sukuna angrily.

At first, you flinch when you see the fight that erupts from that scene. Yuuji yells something and yanks that guy off a still-smirking Sukuna, dragging him away while Todo brutally bodychecks another rival player who comes over to join the rumble.

But both Yuuji and Todo stop immediately when Sukuna casually skates over and says something to them.

You watch incredulously as Sukuna pulls his gloves and helmet off, revealing his usually slicked-back pink hair, ruffled and out of place. He cocks his head and jerks his chin challengingly at the guy who pushed him, saying something to him, and you frown in confusion as the other guy takes off his helmet and gloves too.

What happens afterward is more of a boxing match than ice hockey. The whole arena is yelling and cheering Sukuna on, singing the team's song anytime their King lands a punch on the other player. Sukuna is a dirty fighter. You can see that. He uses any means he has to win. But he is also smart enough to only do as much as he can get away with without the referee intervening. Though it is a riddle to you, why a fight like that is even allowed in the first place.

You look at Nobara, who is sitting next to you.

"Why are they having a boxing match? Why does the referee not give them a penalty?"

Nobara shrugs,

"I don't know! That's just how hockey works, I guess!"

Right at that moment, Sukuna's fist connects with his opponent's cheek, and the other guy tumbles onto the ice. Sukuna joins him immediately, pressing him down for a moment as if to show his dominance before he lets go of him, pats his cheek tauntingly, and gets up again, smirking broadly.

You only realize now that you held your breath the whole time during the fight, letting it out now and laughing as adrenaline flows through your veins.

You didn't expect to enjoy this game so much, but it's definitely an experience you wouldn't want to miss!

The crowd is cheering loudly, celebrating their King's victory in this weird, inofficial fight that somehow is part of the actual game.

Sukuna skates back to his position, his helmet under one arm and one glove between his teeth, while he puts the other back on. He casually glides over the ice while smirking around the glove in his mouth like a beautiful devil. His eyes wander over the stands, soaking in the admiring gazes and the loud cheers coming from his fans.

And suddenly, Sukuna's gaze brushes over you.

You draw in a sharp breath at the same time as Sukuna digs the metal blades of his ice skates into the ice, coming to a sudden stop. He turns his head to scan the crowd again, and your heart jumps to your throat.

What is he doing? Is he looking for me?

Your heart is hammering in your chest when his gaze finds you again in the crowd, and his grin grows bigger, causing the glove to drop from the hold his teeth had on it, but he catches it casually with his left hand.

For a seemingly endless moment, you stare back at Sukuna, involuntarily feeling your lips lift in a matching broad grin. Your pulse flutters nervously. And then Sukuna winks at you.

Yuuji skates up to his brother and claps him on the back, and Sukuna averts his gaze from you and says something to his brother, pointing at another player, and they both skate over to him. You still look at the spot where Sukuna stood a moment ago, feeling a bit dizzy.

Nobara's voice pulls you out of your daze,

"Did he just wink at you?"

And you shrug helplessly and chuckle to hide how flustered Sukuna's wink made you,

"I don't know. Maybe he was looking at someone else."

But you know he wasn't.

The players on the ice get into position again, and the game continues. But Sukuna's line leaves the ice to sit on the bench while the other players get their turn. You hate to admit it, but you catch your gaze drifting away from the actual game and over to the bench, where Sukuna is sitting, discussing something with Yuuji and Todo.

You watch Sukuna run a hand through his ruffled pink hair, slicking it back again while he takes a sip from his water bottle, which makes his Adam's apple bop in a very enticing way.

Occasionally, Sukuna yells something at his teammates who skate past him. There's an angry fire burning in his eyes. You can see how invested he is in the game. How he watches every move meticulously, probably so he can use it later when he thinks of tactics for the next game. You can see how passionate Sukuna is about ice hockey, and if you are honest, it fills you with respect for him.

Sukuna is back on the ice a while later, just as graceful as before with smooth, fast moves and brutal bodychecks, clearing a path through the rival team's defense, skating so impossibly fast that no one can stop him.

Your fingernails dig painfully into your palms as you watch in complete fascination how Sukuna hits the puck so hard that it almost tears the net when he scores the next goal. The whole arena screams, and you are one of them. So caught up in the thrill of the highspeed game that you jump up from your seat.

On the ice, Sukuna gets buried under a pile of his teammates as they celebrate his insane goal, but once he emerges again with a fist lifted in victory into the air, his gaze instantly lands on you again. And to your shock, Sukuna is smiling. A dazzling, beautiful smile that lights up his whole face. He looks happy and proud and so damn beautiful.

You remember what he said when he asked you to come see his game. If you come to my game, I will score a goal just for you.

Well, he delivered what he promised. And what a goal it was!

Somehow, it makes you giggle like a schoolgirl, and you feel your face growing hot, even as you grin at Sukuna like an idiot. He seems to have only eyes for you, locked in this intense gaze with you while he still smiles that smile that makes your pulse flutter excitedly.

The eye contact becomes too intense for you, and you avert your gaze, too shy suddenly to keep looking at Sukuna.

The game continues, and you lean back in your seat, sipping on your water bottle to calm yourself down.

You wonder why no one ever cared to inform you how exciting ice hockey is! The Tigers are really good. Sukuna is good. No, not just good. He is fucking amazing!

It's fun to watch him play. Watching him skate across the ice like some super-human. Watching him bodycheck his opponents with ease. Watching him score goals with so much speed and precision that it leaves your mouth hanging open as you stare at him completely in awe.

The game is over much faster than you expected. Time flew by any time Sukuna was on the ice. You still have no clue about ice hockey, but you know that you had a damn good time!

On the ice, you see the Tigers high-fiving each other and giving each other back claps, congratulating each other on the win. You watch Sukuna pull off his helmet and laugh at something his coach says to him.

The team takes a victory lap around the rink, waving at the crowd in the stands. But your gaze only follows one specific player with pink hair and face tattoos.

Sukuna is chatting with his brother, reaching out to ruffle Yuuji's hair while they casually skate over the ice. His left hand stays on top of his brother's head even as Sukuna lifts the other hand and smirks up at the stands, letting the crowd celebrate him one last time.

Nobara taps your arm and points to the stairs, and you quickly grab your bag and follow her, still feeling light-headed from the euphoric atmosphere in the arena.

You walk past the plexiglass separating the stands from the ice when you see a flash of pink from the corners of your eyes.

You turn your head, and your gaze instantly lands on Sukuna. He is skating casually next to you, slow enough so he matches your walking pace. There's a smug grin on his tattooed face as he lifts his chin in greeting.

You smile back at him and yell, "Great game!" and his smirk grows even bigger before he yells back,

"Did you like the goal I scored for you?"

You trip over your own feet, making a funny little dance to catch yourself, feeling embarrassment wash over you while you think you hear Sukuna's amused laughter.

You look at him sheepishly, nodding and giving him a thumbs up,

"It was very impressive!"

Sukuna grins proudly at you, flashing his white teeth with the slightly pointy canines at you,

"Oh, everything I do is impressive, princess, I can guarantee."

And you roll your eyes and groan at his arrogance, but at the same time you can't help but snicker in amusement.

Sukuna chooses that moment to grab the front of his jersey and lift it to wipe the sweat off his tattooed face, revealing his stomach with firm abs and more tattoos.

Your eyelashes flutter, and you quickly turn your head away, feeling strangely flustered at the sight of Sukuna's naked skin with the sexy tattoos and all those hard muscles.

Luckily, Nobara grabs your arm at that moment and tells you to hurry up because she wants to meet up with Maki. You let yourself get pulled along, lifting your hand to wave at Sukuna and yell a "Bye!" in his direction, which he answers with a broad, knowing grin.

"So, could I convince you that ice hockey is the best sport?"

You're on your way to class when you see Sukuna almost at the same spot where you crashed into him two weeks ago. But this time, he doesn't wear his white team hoodie but a black sleeveless shirt, which accentuates his broad shoulders and shows off his muscular arms. His red backpack is casually slung over one shoulder, and his maroon eyes sparkle expectantly at you.

You shrug.

"I had a great time. I still know nothing about hockey, though, so I'm not sure about it being the best sport. It was a bit confusing because you practically beat each other up, but the referee didn't do anything about it."

Sukuna laughs. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans and leans closer to you.

"Yeah, we have official rules and other rules. I'll explain it to you over lunch. Meet me here in four hours."

He makes it sound as if it is set in stone that the two of you will have lunch together. As if the option of you turning him down, is so crazy, that he doesn't even consider it.

You are suddenly very aware of how Sukuna is towering over you with his tall, broad hockey player figure. Imposing as hell. And his dominant personality only adds to the effect.

Maybe two weeks ago, you would have run, too intimidated by Sukuna's overpowering presence. But right now, he doesn't make you feel anxious. Instead, you catch yourself leaning even closer, looking up at him, barely resisting the urge to reach out and touch his bulging biceps with those sexy black bands tattooed on them.

Your lips lift in a smile, and you give him a nod and a soft,

"Ok, see you for lunch, Sukuna."

You quickly walk toward your classroom before you can do something embarrassing like really feeling him up or drooling on his stupid, too-tight shirt.

Sukuna is already waiting for you at the agreed spot, and he grins so smugly at you that, for a moment, you contemplate just walking past him to see that smirk wiped off his face. But you behave and stop in front of him, cocking your head and asking him if he is ready.

Walking next to Sukuna feels strange, but not exactly in a bad way. Your height difference is even more prominent when you walk side by side, and it does weird things to your stomach anytime you sneak a glance at him.

But the strangest thing about the whole situation is the way Sukuna walks through the hallways as if he owns the place, and everyone seems to play along. You notice that people step aside to let him pass. Some even lower their heads, like peasants bowing to their King. It's insane to see how much authority he holds and how much people respect or even fear him.

And now you got pulled into this whole thing, too, by walking next to the hockey star!

You can see curious glances getting thrown your way. Guys are checking you out as if you are suddenly interesting now that Sukuna has graced you with his company. And girls watch you through narrowed eyes as if they ask themselves why you are allowed to walk next to Sukuna, and they aren't.

The only thing that's missing is people snapping pictures like some paparazzi.

The thought makes your lips twitch, trying to hold back a laugh as you imagine pictures of you and Sukuna walking into the dining hall together getting posted on some shady Instagram account with a caption asking who the mysterious woman by Sukuna's side is. Spotted: The resident hockey heartthrob and an unknown girl. As if you are in an episode of Gossip Girl.

A soft grunt escapes your lips, and you sway slightly to the right, making Sukuna bump into you. He reaches around you reflexively, and you feel his large, warm hand land on your upper arm, steadying you.

"Careful, princess. Or do you have a thing for crashing into me?"

You huff at his cocky comment, muttering an apology as you shake his arm off, at the same time as he pulls it away again, before you fall into step beside Sukuna again.

The dining hall is bustling at this time, but you and Sukuna make it surprisingly quickly to the counter because several people make space in the waiting line after taking one glance at Sukuna. You aren't sure whether it's his status as the hockey star or the glare he sends their way.

You get your meal and follow Sukuna, who leads you to a part of the dining hall you have never been to. Technically, this is not a private section, but everyone knows this part of the dining hall is reserved for the athletes, so you never bothered trying to find a table here.

Sukuna gestures to a table at the far end, beside the window. It is surrounded by lush decorative plants and even has a comfy-looking bench.

"This is my table. Come on, princess."

You frown at him,

"You have your own table? Is this some hockey player thing?"

Sukuna huffs and a low laugh escapes his lips,

"No, it's a Sukuna thing."

He strides over to his table and sits down on one of the chairs, graciously leaving the comfy bench to you. You smile at him and sit down across from him, placing your tray on the table.

Your gaze lands on Sukuna's tray, and you raise an eyebrow at the huge plate in front of him, filled with cooked chicken breasts, rice, and a whole mountain of broccoli. Sukuna catches your gaze and smirks at you,

"What? I have to take care of my body. I'm an athlete."

"Yeah, sure, an athlete who only eats cooked chicken and rice but smokes cigarettes. Makes a lot of sense."

"It's all about the balance. Now stop being a brat, and let me explain things to you."

Sukuna grins teasingly at you, and you can't help but grin back while rolling your eyes playfully.

Sukuna opens his backpack to grab a pen and a surprisingly neat folder from which he pulls a blank sheet of paper. He slams it on the table next to his plate and writes Hockey rules – A guide for curious brats by Sukuna on the top, making you complain in mock annoyance.

You spend the next thirty minutes eating your lunch while watching Sukuna fill the sheet with his unexpectedly graceful handwriting as he explains the rules to you. He even draws a small rink and some funny little hockey players. You laugh softly when you see him add face tattoos to the figure in the center of the first line.

Occasionally, Sukuna looks at you, maroon eyes framed by beautiful, long black lashes, gazing at you with amusement and so much intensity that it makes you feel like you are the only person in this room.

You gulp, feeling flustered at having Sukuna's undivided attention. And it doesn't help that his cologne smells really sexy when he leans across the table to point at the small drawings on the paper, explaining in that sexy, low voice how hockey works.

He is a good teacher, even though his pretty eyes and the sexy tattoos on his arms and face are distracting as hell.

But the official hockey rules are pretty easy to understand. What's more complex are the unofficial rules that Sukuna refers to as The Code, which explains why the players can beat each other up without the referee interfering. It leads to an animated discussion during which you have a ton of incredulous questions, and Sukuna answers all of them with an amused grin on his tattooed face but with surprising patience.

As your lunch break is drawing to an end, you are pretty well informed about the official and unofficial rules of the beautiful sport called ice hockey.

"Thank you, Sukuna. Now I finally understand what you are doing on the ice."

He cocks his head, laughing softly before he smirks that sexy, teasing smirk at you,

"You mean apart from looking handsome as hell?"

You groan at his arrogant remark but laugh, too, before you shove the sheet of paper across the table again. But Sukuna shakes his head.

"No, keep it, princess. So you can look at it again in case you forget something. Who knows... there might be some surprise tests. Better be prepared!"

He winks at you, and you laugh, but you take the note from his large hand.

The two of you walk side by side towards the exit, where your ways part. You thank Sukuna once again for the hockey lesson, and he grins at you. One of his large hands lands on your head and ruffles your hair, making you exclaim loudly. You reach up and try to smooth your hair down again while Sukuna walks away with his hand lifted in a casual wave.

When you return to your dorm later that afternoon, Nobara is instantly at your side, as if she manifested out of thin air.

"Why didn't you tell me you were going on a date with Sukuna?"

"That wasn't a date! We just had lunch together because he wanted to explain the ice hockey rules to me..."

You trail off, shrugging helplessly, while a triumphant grin spreads over Nobara's face,

"What do you need the rules for? To go to all his games?"

"It wasn't a date, Nobara!"

You quickly leave for your room, but you can't help but grin from ear to ear, clutching the note with the hockey rules even tighter to your chest. You know it wasn't a date, but you must admit that spending your lunch break with Sukuna was surprisingly nice, and you think you can still feel the warmth of his large hand on your arm.

HE IS SO SEXY ON THE ICE AND OFF IT, TOO 😭😭 I had so much fun imagining Sukuna playing hockey! I hope you enjoyed watching him play, too, and that you enjoyed spending your lunch break with him ❤️

Thank you so much for reading Chapter 2! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet!

In Chapter 3 Reader gets to learn a bit more about our hockey star, and they have a little scene that is filled with sexual tension ;)

[bamsara]

Very personal vent, will nuke it after a nap I think

2024 was arguably one of the worst years of my life outside of having my heart and brain issues from 2020. I left an abusive situation, still recovering from it, left a *second* toxic friendship that resulted in my physical location being compromised, and right as I think 2025 will be better, one of them comes uninvited into my house *again*, and my step father gets diagnosed with heart failure, with the same exact issues that killed my birth dad. We had to buy a wearable difibulator since it can go out any moment

All that and we are in a hell recession

I am constantly afraid, both in online and in real life spaces. I dont think I have social anxiety in a normal sense, I think im really good at talking to people, but I'm never fast at it and I'm never natural at it.

I constantly worry about taking up too much space and that people I've never met online fucking hate me because I exist in the same sphere as them, that there are preconceived ideas of who or what I am as a person because I'm not seen as a person in the online space but just as a creator, and online: creators are not considered people. I wish some of my stuff never got popular, even SL, not that I don't like talking about what I'm passionate about, but I'm constantly afraid of crossing that line of 'random artist' into being seen as 'self absorbed big shot' because I posted too many au dumps or got too rambley. And if I talk about this, I fear any reassurance I get will because of those prior factors

I've thought about deleting this account before a long while ago, but then I'd lose Everything I've ever done for over 10 years. Not just artwork and community but real life milestones and memories and that's not worth losing over some stressful situations

I genuinely do not understand why we cannot be nice to each other either. I know it's a very vague and general statement and I feel like hard to explain what I mean by that, but I cannot imagine passive aggression, comparison or general rudeness to be the 'default' way people talk! I am so tired of people being mean for fun or to feel like they fit in on a conversation! And I'm not even recieving the mean, I just witness it and its upsetting! Real life and Online! But don't listen to me on that because I want people who've probably don't like me to like me and seek validation from people I have differences with so I am not a good example of judgement.

And my health I'm not even gonna touch that one. But at least I'm working on dental stuff, which is nice. I got health insurance again, right as they go to cut medicaid.

But in my mind I cannot stop thinking about if I can just get better at what I'm doing. If I can get better at artwork that I hate my style of, it's never polished and there's people younger than me who's work is so much better. If I can just write faster or draw better and remember to post things then I don't have to worry about anything else. But I've been drawing for so so long, and my art style that I've put so much time into I feel is the equivalent of a learn-how-to-draw-anime workbook you get in a middle school library. And yes I've been told it's good but all art is good. All art styles are good styles. I just don't like it when I'm the one who draws it.

In the last 12 months I've been IRL stalked, family medical, helping support them with what I do make and also myself and literally every coping hobby I have and have had for over a decade just feels more and more like I'm never improving fast enough or that I just Care Too Much at my big age and I should be doing something more substantial with my life, but if I don't craft something or draw or write even if I despise it in the end then it's so much worse

[justivik]

A LITTLE DEATH.

; yandere! twins x fem! reader

tw: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE. smut, cnc content, abuse, p in v, a lot of kinks if u want idk and not a lot of yandere stuff

You left your books in the locker, already old and worn out, and sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the fatigue accumulated from school. The teachers, with their endless homework, and the projects they left only added more stress, offering no respite.

Your school days used to be normal and relatively uneventful, until you met them...

They were twins, strange twins. They maintained a questionable reputation but were attractive enough to distract from your personality; the older one was outgoing with an obsession with bladed weapons, and the younger one was introverted but with a fascination for the warmth of fire.

They were both fascinated and obsessed with you.

You still didn't know the reason, but you hated the position you had found yourself in. Every day you saw them coming towards you, like two Siamese cats, and they tormented you like a little mouse. It all started from the time you talked to the first twin; you helped him with a chemistry assignment and showed interest in his knife collection. Soon after, the second twin came into the picture, as you became concerned when his arm was burned.

The familiar figures appeared in your field of vision and panic set in. You shoved all your notebooks in at once, leaving a mess in the locker, and ran out into the crowd. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the bright light of the campus, anxiously searching for the parking lot. The crowd around you didn't help calm your mind, but at least it kept you distracted. Before you could get away from the bustling area, however, you felt a sudden tug on the sleeve of your backpack, something that made you take a step back and stare in surprise at those eyes that, though they sparkled with a flirtatious sparkle, also reflected a darkness that unnerved you.

“Who are you looking for in such a hurry?” The voice of the older of the twins came through clearly, echoing in the air, as if it could make everything around you stop.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat instantly growing larger. You tried not to look directly into those piercing eyes, but you couldn't help it.

“Answer him, don't be rude” the other twin insisted, lightly slapping your back, you turned to see him with a dirty look but he just smirked at you mockingly.

“I'm not waiting for anyone, leave me alone”

You struggled some more to free yourself, but the older man held you even more firmly, as if he didn't plan to let you escape so easily. His hands were strong, his presence commanding. Something inside you stirred, you knew he was playing a game you didn't fully understand.

“Why are you like this with us? We just want to be with you, and this is how you treat us?” His voice sounded almost plaintive, though the frown and crossed arms gave him an air of defiance. The tone of his voice, that intertwining of frustration and desire, made you feel more uncomfortable than you had imagined.

You felt trapped, as if his every word was just another noose tightening your breath. You took a deep breath, seeking a moment of calm to collect your thoughts. Why did they keep insisting?

“I don't want to make you feel bad, but I just don't feel like I fit in with you” you finally managed to say, the words coming out with some regret, but also certainty. The feeling of being out of place, of not understanding why they were watching you like this, was even more uncomfortable for you than any other.

“Of course you fit in. If we're inviting you to spend the afternoon with us, it's for a reason. Do you know how many girls have tried to get into our plans? And you...you're just wasting the opportunity.”

The older twin's tone was becoming more persuasive, almost accusatory, as his eyes kept watching you with a mixture of frustration and a strange hopefulness. You could feel the tension in the air, as if every word out of his mouth was a challenge.

You felt caught between the desire to make them understand that it wasn't that easy for you and the growing discomfort of being under their constant observation. What did they really want from you? Why were they so insistent that you become part of their world?

“Do you really think it's that simple?” you asked, though the insecurity in your voice betrayed your thoughts. You knew their invitation wasn't as harmless as they were trying to make it seem. They were playing with your hair as you chose your words.

The oldest one let out a low chuckle, but his gaze was still fixed on you.

“You just don't get it, do you? We're not asking you for anything weird. We just want you to stop running away.” His voice, though warm, carried an urgency you couldn't ignore.

Silence settled between the two of you, and you could feel the weight of his presence, a warm sensation began to be felt on your arm, a noble but possessive caress. The younger one prostrated himself behind you letting his breath tickle you while the older one played with your hands.

“Come on, hang out with us for a while.”

You thought about it so much that you didn't have time to realize that they were already directing you to their carpool, maybe spending an afternoon with them might change your mind.

“Let me go, this isn't funny!” you moaned at the boys' warm touch against your button. The firm contact against your sensitive skin covered by your panties made a wet patch form.

They both started laughing excitedly, whispering various sick ideas of how to make you come or even the desire to take you by force and use you as their own living sex doll. They had such macabre ideas that they sounded sadistic and of course they were.

“Stop moving, love. You're going to have to take it whether you want to or not.” The younger one began to loosen his belt while the older one held your arms behind your back with one hand and the other painfully massaged your clitoris. You noticed the great length the youngest twin was carrying.

“God, I'm getting so hard”

He threatened as he smiled.

You protested uncontrollably but your nose was already touching the boy's hard abdomen.

“Open.”

Forcefully you opened your mouth as your hair was pulled hard to perform such an action, his member slowly entered to get used to the warmth of your mouth, lewd sounds rang throughout the room.

The older one complimented you and stroked your hair while the younger one grabbed your jaw and generated perverted comments. Your head was spinning as the tip of the cock hit your uvula, allowing you to breathe for four seconds before taking it again until your face became a mess of cum and saliva.

Now it was the other guy's turn, your head was crushed against the bed by the young man while the boy took off his boxer shorts and then lubricated his member with your liquid, he played with your entrance while you moaned with disgust but at the same time excitement.

You liked being held like this, you even liked them liking you and having them obsessed with you, being your stalkers and acting like an innocent lamb every time they came near you. Now they are taking you by force and without permission.

“Ah! f-fuck” you moaned highly when you felt his member open your entrance.

You felt so full having him inside you, you bit your lip as you looked at the boy who a few minutes ago abused your mouth and of course he would do it again. They were both moving their hips and their mouths were leaving sounds so high pitched they were driving you crazy, they were moaning your name and kinky nicknames like it was a love song.

“N-ngh, so fucking...g-good” heaving breaths only pronounced pleasure.

“I'm going to cum” pronounced both boys then moaned at length as their faces contorted in pleasure and your eyes turned white from so much pleasure too.

Your body collapsed at the end of that act, your breathing was up and down and you could only feel the long fingers of one of the twins playing with the dripping semen and reinserting it into your entrance.

It was going to be a long night.

hi guys 😔😔

[handweavers]

something that comes up for me over and over is a deep frustration with academics who write about and study craft but have little hands-on experience with working with that craft, because it leads to them making mistakes in their analysis and even labelling of objects and techniques incorrectly. i see this from something as simple as textiles on display in museums being labelled with techniques that are very obviously wrong (claiming something is knit when it's clearly crochet, woven when that technique could only be done as embroidery applied to cloth off-loom) to articles and books written about the history of various aspects of textiles making considerable errors when trying to describe basic aspects of textile craft-knowledge (ex. a book i read recently that tried to say that dyeing cotton is far easier than dyeing wool because cotton takes colour more easily than wool, and used that as part of an argument as to why cotton became so prominent in the industrial revolution, which is so blatantly incorrect to any dyer that it seriously harms the argument being made even if the overall point is ultimately correct)

the thing is that craft is a language, an embodied knowledge that crosses the boundaries of spoken communication into a physical understanding. craft has theory, but it is not theoretical: there is a necessary physicality to our work, to our knowledge, that cannot be substituted. two artisans who share a craft share a language, even if that language is not verbal. when you understand how a material functions and behaves without deliberate thought, when the material knowledge becomes instinct, when your hands know these things just as well if not better than your conscious mind does, new avenues of communication are opened. an embodied knowledge of a craft is its own language that is able to be communicated across time, and one easily misunderstood by those without that fluency. an academic whose knowledge is entirely theoretical may look at a piece of metalwork from the 3rd century and struggle to understand the function or intent of it, but if you were to show the same piece to a living blacksmith they would likely be able to tell you with startling accuracy what their ancient colleague was trying to do.

a more elaborate example: when i was in residence at a dye studio on bali, the dyer who mentored me showed me a bowl of shimmering grey mud, and explained in bahasa that they harvest the mud several feet under the roots of certain species of mangroves. once the mud is cleaned and strained, it's mixed with bran water and left to ferment for weeks to months.  he noted that the mud cannot be used until the fermentation process has left a glittering sheen to its surface. when layered over a fermented dye containing the flowers from a tree, the cloth turns grey, and repeated dippings in the flower-liquid and mud vats deepen this colour until it's a warm black. 

he didn't explain why this works, and he did not have to. his methods are different from mine, but the same chemical processes are occurring. tannins always turn grey when they interact with iron and they don't react to other additives the same way, so tannins (polyphenols) and iron must be fundamental parts of this process. many types of earthen clay contain a type of bacteria that creates biogenic iron as a byproduct, and mixing bran water with this mud would give the bacteria sugars to feast upon, multiplying, and producing more of this biogenic iron. when the iron content is high enough that the mud shimmers, applying this fermented mixture to cloth soaked in tannins would cause the iron to react with the tannin and finally, miraculously: a deep, living grey-black cloth.

in my dye studio i have dissolved iron sulphide ii in boiling water and submerged cloth soaked in tannin extract in this iron water, and watched it emerge, chemically altered, now deep and living grey-black just like the cloth my mentor on bali dyed. when i watched him dip cloth in this brown bath of fermented flower-water, and then into the shimmering mud and witness the cloth emerge this same shade of grey, i understand exactly what he was doing and why. embodied craft knowledge is its own language, and if you're going to dedicate your life to writing about a craft it would be of great benefit to actually "speak" that language, or you're likely to make serious errors.

the arrogance is not that different from a historian or anthropologist who tries to study a culture or people without understanding their written or spoken tongue, and then makes mistakes in their analysis because they are fundamentally disconnected from the way the people they are talking about communicate. the voyeuristic academic desire to observe and analyse the world at a distance, without participating in it. how often academics will write about social movements, political theory and philosophy and never actually get involved in any of these movements while they're happening. my issue with the way they interact with craft is less serious than the others i mentioned, but one that constantly bothers me when coming into contact with the divide between "those who make a living writing about a subject" and "those who make a living doing that subject"

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Don't Mess With The Doctor's Wife 💘 | Carlisle Cullen Snippet

Twilight Masterlist Part 1

Characters & Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x female!vampire!reader (romantic), Bella Swan x Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen x reader (platonic)

Content warnings: fluff, light angst, suggestive themes right at the end | female reader (she/her) | wc: 1.4k

Premise: Just some good ole fluff of a married vampire couple of a few dumbass teen immortals.

Note: So many people loved 'The Doctor's Wife' and asked if I could continue it! not sure if I'll make it long imagines but I definitely plan on making small snippets like this that is good ole fluff of the golden couple of the Cullens dealing with their chaotic teenage immortal children. Enjoy and thank you so much for the positive reception on my work!

--------------

“Honey….,” Carlisle leaned against the door of their bedroom, treading carefully on water he knew better than to cross. But their whole family dynamic was at stake and as the patriarch--and coven leader--he needed to fix it. 

Without any bloodshed.

Her glare, however, spoke against his hopes for peace. “Don’t honey me, Carlisle Cullen.” Clothes flung everywhere, the room in utter disarray contrary to its usually unkempt nature. “He is being ridiculous and you know it.” Tossing a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps into the suitcase she gave him another look, “And yes, I know he can hear me.” Carlisle had opened his mouth, but closed it, his wife not having to the mind reader in the family to know what he was about to say. 

“You have every right to be upset. I’m not happy about the situation either, but we have to do what’s best for our family.”

Carlisle came over to where she was, beginning to pack his clothes into his own suitcase. Brushing away the stray hairs that fell from her hair scarf, Y/n’s eyes turned serious, “What happened was unfortunate--and it is a shame Bella got hurt. He’s been beating himself over it the entire weekend and I understand that, Carlisle. But what I don’t appreciate is him uprooting us and using you as the excuse.”

Following Bella’s birthday party gone wrong, Edward didn’t waste a second in making the executive decision to the family that they had to leave Forks. Saying they were a danger to Bella and to ensure her safety and no more harm comes to her as a result of his doing, they needed to remove themselves from the picture. And Edward’s genius move was to tell Bella it was because the staff at the hospital were starting to notice Carlisle’s lack of aging. 

“His concern is valid. We’ve been here four years now. It was bound to happen.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve heard people talk at the hospital?” She challenged.

“I don’t need to hear them say it aloud, Y/n,” he tells her with a knowing look. “Their stares are enough confirmation. I had one nurse ask me last week if I had a skincare routine.” His attempt at a joke doesn't work. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile, but he tries again. “Soon they’ll be asking what botox doctor I go to.”

Y/n knew Carlisle had a point. It always happened wherever they moved. They settled down, spent maybe five or six years until all the kids graduated from high school for the hundredth time, then did it all over again. If it wasn’t nosy hospital workers, it was teachers. If it wasn’t the bakery owner she frequented asking how she managed to look 27 after seven years, then it was the engineer she was collaborating with on a project. 

“It’s not fair,” she goes on, carefully folding her dress shirts, skirts, and pants. Not looking forward to having to pack up her art studio. All the supplies, artwork, and projects she was working on. “And I feel so awful for her,” her frown made his own appear, “You see the way she looks at him. It’s utter devotion, as though he was a sentient being sent from the heavens. And Edward,” her voice drops to a whisper, “he worships the ground she walks on. And this decision not only punishes her, it punishes him.”

The pair fall into a silence when the front door opens and slams shut. Edward’s lingering scent disapparating, causing Y/n to groan and place her head in her hands. The anger and not caring if her adoptive son heard her rant suddenly vanished. Replaced with shame. 

Carlisle sighs, setting down the pile of towels he folded to walk over to her. Gently grabbing her shoulders, he brings Y/n into a comforting embrace, letting his hands fall to her waist, allowing her to sink into his arms with a content hum. 

“Listen to me,” she closes her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze where she’ll find judgement. “I sound ridiculous--and I’m being unfair to him and his feelings on the matter.”

“You care for him dearly,” Carlisle strokes her hair, “he understands that. And I think deep down he knows you’re right, but won’t admit to it because he believes he’s doing the right thing for Bella.” Carlisle leans back to look into her eyes, “Remember, he was turned at a young age--and has never experienced this type of love before. He’s learning all this for the first time.”

“I know,” she mumbles, deflated but understanding. They stayed in their embrace for a few minutes before separating to continue packing up. Edward returned later that night with brighter eyes, indicating he had fed to which resolved some of the tension between the two when they finally sat down to have the conversion they’d been dreading. Him apologizing for uprooting the family suddenly, and for the harm he was to cause Bella. And Y/n apologizing for the words she spoke before he left. They hugged it out, neither able to stay mad at the other, and Edward helped her pack the art room throughout the remainder of the night. 

The time away from Forks was odd but somewhat comforting. Carlisle and Y/n decided to spend their time on the island they owned just off the coast of Brazil. Rosalie and Emmett traveled to New York, Alice and Jasper in Mississippi and Edward in Rio de Janeiro. They spoke on the phone frequently, sent letters and postcards, or emailed. Edward would spend a night or two on the island to hunt, Y/n painted canvas after canvas, and Carlisle worked on a medical textbook he was in the process of writing.

“You hear that?” She asked one night when they were cuddling on the couch. A random movie playing on the TV.

“What?”

“It’s quiet,” she whispered, a grin spreading on her lips. “No kids. No animals. No workers. Absolute silence.” Carlisle mirrored her smile. 

“You’re right. We haven’t had complete silence in ages.”

“More like eighty years--give or take,” she snorted. 

When the shit hit the fan in Italy, Y/n nearly killed Edward herself. Not just for the danger he put himself in but for the whole family. Alice and Rosalie also met her wrath--Rosalie for not explaining clearly to Edward the vision, and Alice for dragging Bella to Italy. 

Yeah, none of them wanted the smoke. 

The sight of the three siblings sitting on the couch with their heads down and twiddling their thumbs while Y/n paced in front of them while shouting a motherly tangent had Emmett straining to hold back his laughter. Carlisle didn’t dare intervene. 

Back in Forks the family settled back into their routines. Carlisle in the hospital and Y/n working on projects. The kids in school and planning for the summer. 

Then shit hit the fan again.

This time in the form of a newborn vampire army created by the red-headed lover of the tracker they disposed of the year prior. Victoria. And she was out for revenge against Edward and Bella. 

Y/n was not the fighting type, but that didn’t mean she did not know how to throw down. She could get her hands dirty if she desired. Emmett and Jasper taught her the ropes, Edward taught her how to anticipate opponents moves. 

“C’mon old man!” she dodged Carlisle’s attack, giggling as she pivoted to kick lightly at his chest. “Don’t be getting sleepy on me now. That’s not like you.” Carlisle smirked, catching her off guard by grabbing her waist and flipping her onto the ground.

“I’d watch who you call old, sweetheart,” he mocked right as Jasper yelled, “Never turn your back on your enemy!” 

Let’s just say…they did more than spar that night once the sun went down. 

[ghost-bison]

you guys have nothing on me I love all the doctors

nine? fave. if you go around telling people to skip him you understand nothing. i love how everyone says he's emo when he's just a ptsd ridden little guy with survivor's guilt and is actually so silly and fun and at the same time so intense and scary. they spent 26 series posh picking the cast and when they finally choose working class actors as the leads after a 16 years hiatus and a film that failed, the show's back for another 20 years. think about that. christopher eccleston had the worst time shooting because of his health problems, his dad's dementia and cancer, and the production behaving like shit towards him. billie piper was a very young popstar (younger than me, and im still just a child) who got exaggerated negative feedback following the casting announcement, she had nearly no acting experience and furthermore was put right next to a 40 y/o actor whose name was already big in the industry. and they both aced it. they had bonker chemistry, and the writers managed to make the age gap so unimportant (aka not make nine weird to rose) to a point where I forgot the 20-year gap when they shared a kiss.

ten - well, I think there's a reason he's so many people's fave. tbh david tennant's the reason I started the show. and even though nine stole the podium of my brain, ten is up there as well. he is the most human out of all his incarnations and yet he remains one of the scariest as well. tennant has this respect for previous actors who played the role and which made him easier to warm up to as the new face of the show. he managed to find a balance between mimicking his predecessors' quirks (crossing his arms with his thumbs out like eccleston, saying "well" and tilting his head like - I think - tom baker etc) and finding his own thing which made him both familiar/loveable and unique. not to mention his chemistry with catherine tate in series 4 is absolutely mind-blowing. series 2 is the weakest in terms of plot per episode, but if you take it as a whole, it's so fkn smart. people shit on series 3 and martha but her series has so many bangers (including martha herself) and same as the last 2, plot continuity is bonkers. and don't get me started on series 4. i think ten is rightfully up there and fk people who say he's overrated

as for eleven, i have to admit i had my ups and downs with his first series, but you really do get attached to this manic pixie dream girl/night terror demon like damn baby. he seems all cute like a puppy but this man is actually deranged and somehow that makes him even cuter. just like the previous two, matt smith is an incredible actor with a surprising range. i'm not too fond of moffat's insistence on making him say overly sexual stuff all the time when he seems like one of the more asexual incarnations... but then again, i'm ace and one of the beings with the most disgusting dad jokes up my sleeve that you'll ever meet (i just don't like the reason behind eleven's sex jokes is all). eleven's funny, stupid, ridiculously loveable, completely adhd-ridden (which is very relatable). there's a word for him in french, "attachiant". i couldn't find an equivalent for it in english but it's basically a combination of the french words for "endearing" and "annoying". anyway i love him (i wanna put him in my pocket and feed him twix)

twelve... aaah twelve *fond eye-roll*... what a piece of work. i love that he seems all gruff and grouchy with his eyebrows and aversion for hugs (and blatant autism), but he's actually one of the more humane incarnations. he is, deep down, what eleven tried to pass himself as (a loving, gentle being), but tries to pass as what eleven actually was (a tired rough old man). i love that both clara and bill see straight through the bs. also, peter capaldi is mind-blowing in the role. strangely enough, i would trust him more than i'd trust the previous three. i love the no-nonsense exterior when deep down, he is the most nonsensical person in the universe. i love that he breaks character everytime he's confronted with a child, and that he's forgiving even when he shouldn't be, and that he insults people so honestly when they piss him off (he reminded me of nine in that respect). my sister hasn't even reached his era yet but she already loves him (and i just know he'll be her favourite)

thirteen has a lot of controversy around her and you know what? scratch that. she's my baby boy and that's it. i agree that her series are not the best (the last 2 were more than ok though) but thirteen? she slays. first of, i love jodie whittaker. man, she's good. i love that sometimes she looks like ten and sometimes like eleven and sometimes even like nine, but that she has her own little thing that makes you go "yeah, she's her own doctor, and she's great at it". i love the little whim that she brings to the character. i love that deep down, she's fucked in the head (she's the doctor, after all). just like for eleven, it took me a whole series to truly start to appreciate her, but man did she grow on me. i love the self-awareness when she realizes she's been putting graham, yaz and ryan in danger, and how it makes her act, and her accent is great and kind of reminds me of nine's. anyway, thirteen defender all the way. fuck yall who don't like her

fourteen: i don't have much to say about him since he was only there for 3 eps but just know that i would give my life for him without an ounce of hesitation. he's so precious <3 i'm glad they didn't make him 10.2, he's his own little doctor and he's cute af and he owns a lot of people's hearts including mine

fifteen: the moment he got on screen, i knew i loved him. ncuti gatwa is such an incredible magnetic force istg. none of the problems i have are with fifteen, they're all with the writing of his 2 series. cause fifteen was bonkers amazing. what a laugh he has. what a presence. i'm not even attracted to him but he still makes me go all "hehe" inside. i would follow him anywhere <3

[ssareiids]

HIIII OMGGMG i love ur theme its sauurr cutesie i love it!1!1 i wasnt sure if you take requests or not so feel free to ignore this erm.💔💔

i was wonderign if u could write for spencer reid (PLEASEPLEASPLESE) like definitelt domestic fluff and like it's the two of them baking and uh it goes wrong but reader and spence just giggle like idiots at the mess they made

SWEET ON U!

pairing: s2! spencer x reader

summary: spencer and you both excel in many things in life– just... not baking.

tw/cw: if you're scared of fluff then back off /j LITERALLY NOTHING TO ADD AS A TRIGGER, if smth does count as a trigger here though please tell me.. probably innacuracies in the baking, sorry bakers i had google and a dream

shayli's ted talk: guys i swear i've been writing since my casey oneshot it's just that i'm... i'm employed now🙁.. also I LOVE YEW ANON, guys request things plz... im going through a writer's slump . we dont mention the dilauded here he's happy okay

Today was one of the days that God– or whatever being that resided in the clouds, gave Spencer a day off.

Well, it was more like the day off was forced on him. If you knew Spencer Reid, you knew he didn't take vacations, didn't use up sick days, and would probably win an award for perfect attendance if it existed for the FBI. He had denied himself of a freedom office workers would love to have, up until this very moment.

Hotch has made his words clear, and easy to understand.

"Take a day off, Reid."

Said in that same poker face Hotch always wore, the one that was burned into his eyes with how often he saw it. It was rare for the Unit chief to ever smile, and when he did, no one would be there to see it.

Getting back on track though...

You had a much more positive reaction to his day off, it may only be one day of freedom from case files and coffee mugs that were filled with a caffeine that bordered nowhere near luxury. But you would take it, you just didn't know what to do with it.

When he had first informed you of his day off, you had been overjoyed at the fact you'd finally have your boyfriend to yourself instead of playing a never ending tug of war between the job and you.

The excitement quickly faded when you realized.

You had no idea what to do with him.

I mean, you could just cuddle up all day and sleep the entire day away. But, that wasted alot of time, time that you and Spencer rarely had together.

You then wondered if you should ask him what he wanted to do, but unfortunately, ever since the two of you had begun this relationship– Spencer follows behind you everytime.

Literally and figuratively.

His half awake mind had once followed you to the kitchen when you woke up to go get a glass of water, and let me tell you. Seeing a 6' foot man behind you at 2:00 AM does things to you, and not the good type. You screamed and he screamed back, both in fear.

You knew that he'd go along with whatever shenanigans you had in mind for your couple bonding time, so you brainstorm, maybe not as fast as your boyfriend but you think.

You sit on the couch, criss cross applesauce, while looking down onto the floor. Eyebrows furrowed in deep thought as you scour the files of your mind for an idea on how to spend this rare Saturday.

"You look like me" Spencer tries to joke, it falls flat and slams face first into the floor when you don't respond. Too lost in the rabbit hole you've created to try and say something witty back.

Spencer furrows his eyebrows too, and approaches you warily– slowly, like you were some sort of threat he had to neutralize before sitting down next to you on the couch. "... Are you okay..?" He probes, trying to see if his profiling mind can do him any good in guessing what's up with you.

Then, as if the electrons– or atoms, whatever. Lined up in your brain to form the first idea that would suffice, you sat back up straight. A peaceful glint in your now not squinted eyes as you turn your head to face Spencer.

He looks confused, like... really really confused.

".. Love...?" He tries the pet name as if it would snap you back into reality, and you simply grab his hand before smiling at him.

"We are going to bake."

"... 'Kay."

As you had planned he had agreed to the idea without much second thought. Which was funny since he's so meticulous with the things in his life, maybe he's just gotten used to you bringing chaos into it.

You two had spent maybe about 30 minutes or so wondering what you should bake, you thankfully didn't need a search engine for ideas this time because Spencer was on board with being the recipe holder.

"How about chocolate chip cookies?"

"We don't have chocolate chips."

He responds curtly and you snort before rolling your eyes at him.

"I wonder who's fault is that.." You reply back, and he opens his mouth in protest, but he never actually says anything back knowing that you're right. Giving him a smug grin that said "Exactly."

"How about a Pie?"

"Well... I suppose we do have the ingredients for a normal pie, but we'll also need a variety of fruits, maybe more chocolate, and–"

"SPENCER."

"Okay, let's make a pie."

The two of you retire to your kitchen, getting all the baking necessities and tools out. You didn't even know he had all this stuff in his apartment, and when you asked he said they came with the place when he moved in.

You two learn alot of things about each other through small talk while trying not to get shells in the mixture when cracking the eggs.

You learn that Spencer has a sweet tooth, but you figured that out when you caught him putting 4 packets of sugar into his morning coffee.

Spencer learns that you almost broke your jaw on a jawbreaker once when you were 16, he furrowed his eyebrows and asked why you did it knowing it was called a jawbreaker.

You learn that Spencer has read your favourite book approximately 143 times and counting. You nearly teared up and almost got your salty tears in the melted chocolate.

And Spencer learns that you had a pet chameleon who ran away. He suggested it could still be in the house but just camoflauged, and you threw the cupful of flour at him.

You both stand there in silence, unmoving, like a showdown between 2 cowboys with only flour and sugar at their hands.

Spencer stands there, ruffled in the white powder that now adorns his pyjamas like snow, his face covered in so much of it he nearly looked like a ghost. He only reacts when you start laughing.

You don't laugh gently, or chuckle at the sight. No you laugh like you've just seen the most funniest thing in your life, and in a way... it kind of was. You hold onto the counter and hunch over, laughing like you were hysterical.

He looks over to his back, trying to find a weapon to launch back at you until he lands on the melted chocolate sauce, he glances back at you. Completely unaware of his plans before reaching his finger towards it, ew.. but it'll be worth it.

Once his finger is coated in the gooey sweet treat, he smudges it on your cheek, not carefully nor affectionately, he rubs it on your cheek– shamelessly.

You look up at him and pause your laughter, a look of faux offense swirling in your eyes as you try and find something to retaliate against him.

The innocent unbaked pie crust on the pan lay there, unaware of it's fate to come as you peel it off ready to lunge it at him. Spencer reacts just as fast though and gets his own piece of the pie crust

"Uh uh, don't you dare." Spencer says, raising his piece of pie crust like it was a shield against yours. You squint your eyes as if in focus before flicking your share of the pie crust at him.

He dodges, barely, before trying to swat you with his own. You jump back and almost bump into the kitchen island before grinning and reaching for an egg.

"I have a weapon and I am not afraid to use it!" You reply, holding the egg at him as if it was a knife, Spencer plays along and drops his pie crust onto the floor and raises his hands into the air "Ok! Ok! I surrender!" He says, his voice squeaky in defeat.

You two eventually agree to a ceasefire before getting to work on recreating the pie crust that you two had used in your food fight.

This time you work in silence, a comfortable one that came easy after the little playful banter you just had, you worked better this time since you both had gotten used on how to start and how to use all the baking tools.

After the pie crust had been filled with the melted chocolate and had been sent away to the oven, you two both fall back onto the couch.

Or it's more like you land on the couch and Spencer lands on you.

"Ah– hey!"

You shout when you feel his body weight practically jump on you, he grins toothily in his little victory when you let him stay ontop of you, knowing that you really didn't mind.

The two of you sit there in silence, waiting for the timer above the stove to ding so you both can try out your creation, there isn't much conversation.

But you didn't need to talk, your touches on his carefully done hair, and his head buried into your neck spoke enough of the love that blossomed nicely between you two. It got you thinking.

It had you imagining what you would be doing if you never met Spencer, if you never had a sudden surge of confidence to ask the pretty boy at the library out, or if he had rejected you. It had you wondering what fate held for you, the idea of fate itself.

DING! DING! DING!

You nearly push Spencer off of you when you hear the alarm's call, apologizing hurriedly before rushing along to the oven, with Spencer following right behind you, even if he was in the middle of having a very good nap.

He grabs you the oven mittens and urges you to be the one to get the pie, you don't question it, he was clumsy with his hands– half awake or not.

The oven door opens like the gates to heaven, in it's wake an aroma of chocolate and sweetness follows, sending you and Spencer into a momentary trance before you finally get it out of the heated space.

You both try to reach for it until you remember the thing is still... extremely hot.

Neither of you have the patience to wait for the sweet treat, so you leave it out on the fire exit, hoping that the windy breeze of the night cools it down enough, and that there aren't any pie swipers nearby.

The two of you giggle like little kids waiting for the smoke of the pie to dissipate and the heat to finally turn cool. When Spencer announces it's been 15 minutes, you finally grab it back into the safety of your home.

The sound of plates being taken from the dish rack and a knife being taken fills the kitchen alongside your giddiness, you bring it onto the counter with an eagerly waiting Spencer with a knife.

"You sure you can cut it?"

"I'm not 6."

He replies stubbornly before squinting his eyes and focusing on the slice he's about to cut, you look away to pass time as he cuts his own slice, but then look back when you see that he's taking... forever.

"Spence?" You ask when you see he hasn't even made an indent on the pie, raising an eyebrow when you see the focused glint in his eyes usually reserved for crime scenes and cases– not for cutting a pie.

"Shh..." He hushes you with a raised finger before finally making the cut, clean and simple, before handing it to you.

"I cut the pie for you in pi." He says proudly, as the joke flies over your head, which is usually supposed to happen to Spencer, not to you.

"... What?"

"You just don't get it." He shoos you away from the thought with a gesture of his hands.

extra:

"Hey, Spence.. about your joke earlier." You bring it up as the two of you lay in bed, social battery well drained after the events of today.

He only hums in acknowledgement of your conversation starter before allowing you to continue.

"Did you try cutting it for me.. in the size of pi or something? Like... pi as in the number..?"

"ты никогда не узнаешь."

"STOP DOING THAT."

shayli's ted talk: i used google translate for the russian so don't judge me... heh.. ok bye i'm gonna disappear and not write for another month.. maybe..

written by @ssareiids

[miyukisu]

On Camera .ᐟ

❤︎ | You just love teasing your best friend—even better now that he's frustrated and can only see you through a screen (2.1k wc) ╰ feat. narumi gen (kn8) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 1 | kinktober masterlist

tags - best friend! narumi, virgin! narumi, reader also works in the force, cybersex, mutual masturbation, so much dirty talk, flashing, nipple play (kinda), swearing

minors do not interact

You and Narumi Gen go way back to your trainee days. Much to everyone's surprise, you two became quick friends—really good friends at that. I mean, who would've thought?

There's you—a fiery little thing, loves to poke fun and tease her friends. Then, there's Narumi Gen—bit of an oddball. Truth be told, you two had almost nothing in common, except for the fact that you were both strong.

You, Narumi, and Mina led your trainee batch; everyone looked up to you. Mina respected the two of you. Narumi, of course, couldn't accept that there was someone tailgating him at his position at the top. And you—who admired Narumi quite a lot. Although, that admiration came in the form of endless teasing. It wasn't just Narumi who was annoyed, but the rest of your fellow trainees as well. They were forced to be a witness of your 'disgusting and coy display of affection.'

Narumi said he hated it. He hated how strong you were and how you were always up in his business. Yet, you two were attached at the hip. It was a paradox, but neither of you addressed it. That was until you both graduated and got assigned at different bases which were hours apart.

Your feelings for each other were thrown into disarray. But that didn't mean you lost all correspondence.

────────────

"You look like shit."

Narumi groans from the other end of your video call. You were teasing him, but it was partially true—his eyes were sunken and a deep frown persisted on his face.

He glares intensely at you. "You wouldn't understand the burdens of the strongest kaiju killer, would you?"

His arrogance was only met by a laugh. That same laugh was one he despised, but sought after because... it just felt right. There were many things in his head that made no sense and the common denominator was you. "Why do you have to mess up my mind?" he'd often think, especially on his sleepless nights.

Narumi leans back in his chair, a pensive sigh escaping his dried lips. "But y'know... I've really been frustrated lately..." he admits.

It was a rare show of vulnerability. Most of the time, he's too prideful to admit his true feelings, but after knowing you for so long, he has learned to let his walls down sometimes. At the very least—you were nice enough to pause the teasing when it gets serious.

"Overworked huh?" you ask.

He turns his chair to face you again, tilting his head and letting out another fatigued breath. "That and life is just so BORING," he exclaims. You raise an eyebrow, anticipating a hissy fit which wasn't uncommon for this guy.

"I feel like all I do is work and work... and work. God, even the younger members of this base have more fun than I do."

A smirk crosses your lips, amused that you predicted his impending meltdown. "What? Like they don't deserve it?"

"Duh! I'm out here busting my ass off—killing kaiju left and right—and these kids are the ones having a social life?"

"When did you care about being social, Mr. Shut-in?"

He clicks his tongue. "Okay, first of all, fuck you. Second, I don't care about social relations. I am WAY above that, okay? I don't care about what they do. They can fuck like rabbits in the dorms for all I care but—"

Narumi was cut off by the sound of your boisterous laughter. As much as you tried to keep the serious facade, it was impossible... especially after figuring out his true cause of distress.

"Oh my God... don't tell me you're mad because the younger soldiers are getting more action than you?"

His face felt warm all over. Narumi didn't mean to blurt that out, but envy had been consuming him for the past few days after he had heard some younger members of the base... getting dirty in one of the dorms.

Narumi was the strongest soldier—admired and idolized by many. Yet, here he was—a raging virgin with a seemingly unreciprocated crush on you. Yes, you, but he'd rather die than admit it to your face.

He turned to look away, stunned into silence by his own actions. He was unsure of how to salvage his reputation at the moment. "That's not what I meant..."

All the arrogance had faded from his voice—replaced by a uncharacteristic softness as a result of embarrassing himself.

"Oh c'mon. There's nothing embarrassing about that. We're only human; we can feel those things, y'know?"

"Even you?" he counters.

An uneasy smile spreads across your face. "Yeah... even me."

But the look on his face says that he isn't convinced. In his head he's thinking about how impossible that is considering how attractive you are. You had to be lying about being in the same boat as him.

Though you weren't sure why you wanted him to believe you.

"I'm serious. Look, I'm in a base far away from all the people I know and the guy here aren't exactly my... cup of tea," you added.

With that, your best friend's face seemed to lighten up a bit. Part of him was glad that even someone as hot as you was in the same predicament as him, but mostly because the person he likes isn't being taken by anyone else.

As high and mighty he sees himself, he always thought himself unworthy of you. The simple fact that you were unclaimed gave him a sliver of hope.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The poor guy was confused and it was clear as day. You felt mostly responsible for it. As you prepared to say something, you crossed your arms—pushing your boobs up in the process. Wearing a tank top suddenly made you conscious of your body.

An intrusive thought invaded your brain. It was perhaps the result of you wanting to tease him, his frustration, and you being secretly pent up as well. It was a futile attempt to shake off that thought as it kept bombarding you.

You were able to hold it in, until you couldn't.

"Hey... Gen?"

"What?" he says, sounding a bit dejected by his circumstances.

You stifled a smile, knowing that he'd be thrown off by it. "Can you turn around? I wanna show you a surprise."

He raises an eyebrow, skeptical of whatever you have up your sleeve. Throughout your years together, he has learned to take your so-called sincerity with a grain of salt. But his affection towards you makes him abandon all rational thought.

"Okay?" he says, turning around in his swivel chair.

You let out a breath—giving yourself a quick mental pep talk. You quickly lifted your top, thrilled and anxious of the risk at the same time.

It was now or never. "Okay, you can look now."

Narumi quickly turns in his seat, eyes widening upon seeing a pair of tits—your tits—on his screen. He frantically looked away, covering his eyes with his hands—though he wasn't doing a good job at it.

"H-hey! What the fuck? Put those away!"

His words betrayed his actions; you could see him peeking through his fingers. You figured you were at a point of no return, so you did the only appropriate thing: squishing your boobs together for him.

Seeing your boldness, he let his hand fall—finally admiring what you displayed for him. "Seriously... what are you doing?"

"We're both frustrated, aren't we?" you ask as if your situation was ordinary.

"So what? I stare at your tits?"

"Dumbass. Is that all you do when you're frustrated? Stare at shit?"

He rolls his eyes, trying to act blasé, but there was a growing tent in his pants. "No... well, I guess I... jack off... sometimes..."

As if saying 'sometimes' softens the blow of his words.

You let go of your tits and lean back into your chair. It was entertaining—how his eyes never seem to leave your chest. Almost as if he were entranced by it.

His body moved on its own, palming the growing erection under his sweats. It ached; it was painful and it wanted relief.

With the angle of the camera, you couldn't really see him pull his cock out from under the desk, but you just knew. The momentary o-face he made presumably when the cold air of his room hit the warm and sensitive skin of his cock was a dead giveaway.

All shame was thrown out the window as he started to slowly fist his cock at the sight he could only dream of. It almost felt unreal to him that all of this was happening—you willingly showing off your tits while he jacked off and you watched.

It was exhilarating in all the best ways.

But he wasn't the only one excited. This all started because you were frustrated too. Your eyes were fixed on his face. Unlike him—who had visuals—all you could go off on was the fact that you were doing something so dirty.

A hand slipped under your shorts and beneath your panties. It was damp, of course it was. You slowly rubbed the pad of your finger against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Narumi must've noticed your own movements as well because he let out a low groan. "Fuck... that's hot."

You huff your chest out with a smirk. "Bet you're so hard right now huh?"

"Like you're not a fucking waterfall down there," he retorts.

The back and forth goes on while the two of you played with yourselves.

Eventually, the stimulation wasn't enough for you. Quickly, you pulled your hand out and popped your fingers into your mouth. He watched intently, mesmerized by you.

After sufficiently lubricating your digits, you snuck them back in and plunged two fingers into you. The pleasant intrusion had you throwing your head back against your chair and letting out a soft moan.

He rubbed himself faster than before. Narumi was desperately reaching his high, wanting to quell the ache in his cock.

"Play with your tits," he demanded.

You had heard him well enough before you got lost in the sensation. Your other hand made its way up to cup one of your breasts, slowly massaging it in a teasing manner. His jaw went slack at how easily you obeyed his orders.

The ego boost that he got while ordering around his subordinates isn't even on par with this at all.

Every time you flicked or tugged your nipple—he swore that his dick twitched. "Yeah... keep going. Are you rubbing your clit huh?"

"No..."

"Oh," he breathes, "Fucking yourself on your fingers then?"

"Y-yeah, but I can't reach deep enough," you whine.

He sucks in through his teeth. Narumi had never seen you so desperate before and awakened something primal in him.

"If that were me... you would've came minutes ago, wouldn't you?"

You nod, now wishing that it was his fingers making a mess out of you. But this was all you could get for now.

"Yeah... you're the strongest after all. You can do anything, right?"

"You fucking know it," he says almost breathlessly. Seeing that fucked out look on your face while praising him almost made him cum. But he wanted to last longer—to savor this moment which he wasn't sure if it would happen again.

"You gonna cum with me?" he asked.

He was close. Oh so painfully close. But he was a bit of a romantic in that he wanted the both of you to cum together.

You peel your back off your chair, shifting angles to coax out an orgasm and after a few moments, you do. The sensation flooded your senses, spreading warmth all throughout your body. You weren't sure if you came this hard because of having 0 action for so long or if it was because of how lewd you were with your best friend.

And as you moaned sweetly through your microphone, he let out hot ropes of cum and a breathless moan to match. He felt his abdomen cramping after unconsciously being stiff and on edge for so long.

Both of you let out labored breaths, trying to calm your racing heartbeats. It was only then your eyes met again. Though it seems like post nut clarity hit him too soon as he looked away with a bashful expression.

"Still frustrated, captain?" you teased.

He was glad you didn't call him that earlier, otherwise he would've came right on the spot. "Shut the fuck up... I am though."

"Greedy. That wasn't enough for you?"

"You mean seeing you play with yourself through a fucking monitor? Go figure."

You laugh once more and it was now mostly music to his ears. "Say—how about I visit you some time? Let me show you the real thing?"

"...Sure."

"For someone who was speaking so dirty earlier—you sure do get shy huh?"

"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" he quips to which you laugh again.

The prospect of getting to hold you and feel you around his member was tantalizing. But for now, he'll have to deal with his cock hardening again.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note a short one... with no p in v... to start of the month

[alice-angel12x]

The Blue Knight pt. 4

The complicated heart arch

<- Part 3/ Part 5 ->

After exploring the kingdom and gathering all the shards of freedom. Pure Vanilla and co, finally regrouped with Elder fairy and Y/n at White Lily's case.

"Y/n cookie how-," Pure vanilla pauses.

Y/n looked, frazzled a bit. Their eyes stared off at something far away, and they hugged themselves.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Pure vanilla rushes over to Y/n.

"I... We... We should be focusing on the task ahead. I can tell you later," They weakly smile, as they join gingerbrave and his friends.

"Are you sure you're Okay?" Gingerbrave asked.

"I'll be alright," Y/n smiles the best she can.

Pure Vanilla turns his attention to Elder Fearie Cookie, who proceeds to explain how to help White Lily Cookie.

"We need a powerful life force," Elder Fairy Cookie disclosed.

“B-but that would mean… A cookie would have to sacrifice their own life powder?!” Pure vanilla gasps.

“It seems that way,” Y/n says slowly. “Makes sense in a way. A life for a life.”

“Magic so sinister, and yet so just,” Elder Faerie adds. “But because dark entrances cookie exists, White lily will only have half a life. And neither will be whole.”

“How is that a fair exchange?!” Pure Vanilla questions.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” Y/n says as they place a hand on his shoulder.

“When white lily cookie left for the witches Banquet… She said.. If my life is the price… it is a worthy sacrifice. Use my life powder,” Pure Vanilla offers.

“No,” Y/n Cookie says sternly.

“Y/n Cookie is right!” Strawberry cookie adds.

“We need your help to fight dark enchantress cookie!” Wizard cookie jumps in.

“Don’t worry, it won’t crumble me, but only-“

“Absolutely not,” Y/n cuts him off.

“Y/n Cookie,” Pure vanilla sighs, a slight edge to his town. “White lily was willing to do whatever it takes to help cookie kind. And… And as her friend I -“

“You are also a king and a source of hope for cookie kind. You have a kingdom that relies on you. You have friends who will worry about you,” Y/n Cookie stands their ground.

“To tell you the truth, those questions bothered me for a long time. Why was it that White lily cookie had to become dark enchantress cookie. And why was there nothing I can do to help. Whether I should have insisted more on stopping her,” Pure vanilla smiles sadly.

“What white lily cookie really needed… was a friend who understood her,” Pure vanilla finishes.

“Do you understand her? Or do you think you know?” Y/n challenged.

Pure vanilla’s tightens his grip on his staff. Everyone could feel the tension between the king and his knight.

“I have the chance to meet white Lily cookie again. Not as a memory, not as a vision, not as Dark Enchantress cookie, but as the real white lily cookie,” Pure Vanilla said finally, looking Y/n in the eyes. “ This time. I won’t let her g-… I won’t let her down.”

Y/n flinches at his words. Her stubborn stance drops as her eyes threaten to tear up. Breathing in and shoving all her feelings into the basement of her mind. She huffs in as she returns her stare.

“Fine, do whatever you want… Your highness,” Y/n grumbled as they walked away.

Pure Vanilla stands still, his grip loosening. Yet he didn't find any joy this this petty victory. The hero slowly looks back as Y/n crosses their arms and rest against a tree. Their eyes closed tight, Pure Vanilla knew that was Y/n's way of holding back tears.

With a sad frown, Pure Vanilla turns to Elder fairy, ready to offer his life powder once more.

"Your knight is correct. There is still many things left for you to do. And many cookies will be counting on you. I will offer my life powder. Pure vanilla I will hold you to that promise. Don't let her down," Elder fairy interrupts.

Pure vanilla frowns sadly as the fairy king carries out the witch's ritual of life. Waking White Lily cookie from her slumber. Everyone gather in excitement as White Lily opened her eyes. Asking if she is okay, and what she last remembers.

Y/n lingers at the back of the crowd, seeing that she would be well taken care of. They decided to find a place to compose themself.

------------------------

Y/n wandered the Fairy kingdom aimlessly, eventully wandered to the silver tree. They ran their hand against the magical trunk, when.

"Hahaha, I smell some real good Drama," A voice giggled.

Y/n jumps back as they stare in shock at the tree.

"Who was that?! Show Yourself!" Y/n shouted, searching for the source.

"You'll never be enough for that thief. His heart will always be with the white flower," the voice continued to mock.

"Wow, thanks for the sage advice," Y/n spat sarcastically.

"Am I wrong, thou?" The mocking voice chuckled. "He is a greedy little thief."

"Interesting choice of words to describe Pure Vanilla Cookie," Y/n said with an edge. "You must be Shadow Milk Cookie."

"Oooh! You're a smart little cookie, aren't you?" Shadow Milk Cooed. "But you see, Thief is the perfect word to describe that 'hero'. He only got to where he is today cause he stole MY soul jam. "

"I don't know, maybe you shouldn't have lost it," Y/n quips back.

It was silent for a bit, like Shadow Milk needed a minute to take in what was said.

"HAHAHAHA!!! A smart Alec too!! Hahahaha!" He laughs.

Y/n squints slightly, the laugh seemed forced somehow.

"You will be the first one I crumble first," Shadow Milk threatens.

Visions flash across Y/n's eyes. Shutting their eyes tight, suppressing the powers.

"We'll See," I all they say, turing to leave.

"See you soon," the voice promised.

-------------------------

continuing their mindless walk, so caught up in thought that they bump into someone.

"Oh, Sorry. I was just," Y/n pauses as they see who it was that they bumped into. "White Lily Cookie? What are you doing here?"

"Umm... Do I know you?" She asked softly.

"No, but I am friends with Gingerbrave. I'm Y/n Knight Cookie," They introduced themselves.

"Nice... To meet you," White Lily said slowly, her mind currently occupied.

"Trying to take in everything?" Y/n asked as they leaned against the bridge railing.

"Very much so. I... I ruined the world," White Lily sniffled.

"What you saw at that banquet must have been horrible," Y/n says slowly.

"Do you know why cookies were first created?" White Lily slowly asked.

"Honestly, I don't know, and it depends on the witch you're talking about." Y/n shrugs.

"Which one?" White Lily asked, confused.

"My mother, Blue Lily Cookie, told me that there are many witches. Each one is unique. Some good, some bad, others too curious." Y/n said as they looked up at the sky. "Each one had their own reason why they made cookies."

White Lily looks to the sky, too, at the endless twinkling sky.

"But that's not entirely important. For as long as I can remember, I never once met a witch to tell me why I was made. So why should I care what some giant says about me?" Y/n says.

White Lily gasped at their words, turning to them as Y/n slowly stood tall.

"What is important right now is that half of you is out there causing harm to many. What do you plan to do about it? Are you going to let Dark Enchantress and the witches determine what cookie kind is, and should be?" Y/n pauses to stare into White Lily cookie's eyes.

White Lily's eyes were filled with sorrow, regret, fear, and some determination.

"Or are you going to protect the cookies you love, and you shape your purpose," Y/n adds.

"I-.. I want-"

BOOM!

It was the tree, and a large gaping hole had formed in the trunk.

"AAAHHHH! Doesn't the fresh air feel DIVINE! I'm so sorry for keeping my audience waiting," A giant cookie said, as he pulls himself out of the hole. " But Know the wait is Over, Your Favorite jester is here. Shadow Milk Cookie."

[svtiddiess]

Hiii I’m back hehe I just saw that you said you in the mood to write a Drabble and I went through the list and the one that caught my eye was

126. “They gave us... One bed?” “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” (could end in smut, or simply fluffy teasing) I was thinking maybe with Mingyu *I just love him* us being low key rivals (nothing too serious)

"They Gave Us...One Bed?" + "Don't Pretend You Don't Like It."

Pairing: Mingyu x gn!reader

Genre: suggestive, non-idol! au, drabble

Rating: suggestive

Word count: 0.4k

Request a drabble from me using these prompts!

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

You drop your bag in utter disbelief as you step into the bedroom you’ll be calling home for the next week. You were supposed to be on a fun trip with a group of friends, but thanks to some last-minute chaos, you ended up having to share a room with someone.

And not just someone—no, of course not. It had to be Kim Mingyu, the one person who gets under your skin like no one else. Some might call you dramatic, but they don’t get it. They weren’t there when Mingyu humiliated you on the first day of university, an incident that still sends a cold shiver down your spine whenever it crosses your mind. They don’t know how he manages to annoy you to the point of wanting to rip your hair out every single day. They don’t understand how he refuses to give you a moment of peace, no matter how many times you tell him to "fuck off".

And now, here you are, forced to share a room with him for the next week. Curse your mutual friends for putting you in this situation.

You frantically scan the room, hoping your eyes are playing tricks on you. This can't be real. There’s no way this is happening.

"They gave us…one bed?" you mutter, your voice dripping with disbelief.

Mingyu, ever the picture of nonchalance, drops his bag and flops onto the bed with a chuckle, stretching out like he owns the place.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," he smirks, his tone teasing.

Damn him and his stupidly handsome face. It makes you want to wipe that smug grin right off his face.

"I'd rather sleep on the street," you snap, crossing your arms.

Mingyu clutches his chest dramatically, as if your words have physically wounded him.

"Ouch, doll. You're so cruel," he fake-pouts, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your cheeks burn at the nickname. No matter how many times you've told him to stop calling you that, he never listens. And you hate the way it makes your stomach flip, the way it sends a traitorous flutter through your chest.

"I'm not sharing a room with you," you hiss, turning on your heel to leave.

But before you can take a single step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back. In one swift motion, he pins you against the wall, his tall frame caging you in. Your eyes widen as your heart races, your cheeks flushing under his intense gaze. He leans down, his lips brushing dangerously close to your ear as he murmurs,

"Don't even think about it. You're stuck with me all week, doll."

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[bushwskq]

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW X WITCH!READER

Part 1 🕯️

cw: smut, 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm back! I just want to say that I'm really happy for the likes of part 1 💜 I hope you like this one too

There you were again, smoking a cigarette outside the church. Your leather boot making noise with every stomp you made on the anxious sidewalk. It was Wednesday, as Father Charlie had said, the day of confession in which the faithful came to the house of God to confess their sins and their souls were absorbed from the fires of hell until the next week like a vicious cycle. You reached out your hand grabbing the coffee cup on the floor, making sure no one had witnessed the little display of magic. Waiting a few more minutes you entered the church as soon as the last person left. Unlike your first visit, the place was now dark with few candles lighting the space. His eyes wandered around the place before finding the confessional, this time the pentagram on his chest was completely exposed.

“I see you took my offer seriously,” Father Charlie Mayhew began in surprise as you sat in the confessional. When he made the proposal, he didn't believe you would actually accept it. You noticed him shift position on the other side by the creaking of wood. “I’m all ears, start whenever you want.” Again you felt his cologne, oh my god, how it gave you a good and restless feeling at the same time.

An exciting agony His eyes caught your movements through the small holes, imagining the contours of your body, the way your curves would press against him. His grip on the wooden cross in front of him tightened, the need to touch it overwhelming.

“You really believe in God. Father?” You asked suddenly, looking at the holes in the confessional that gave access to it. Charlie paused for a moment, composing himself before speaking “I have many reasons to believe in him, he saved me and he can save you if you let him.” he said in a low voice. You smiled awkwardly, without any effort a flame lit up on your index finger. It didn’t burn you, just a tingling on the tip that you were already used to. “There are things… things that many are not yet ready to understand, Father.” seconds later the flame disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

Father Charlie's heart raced as he watched the flame dance on his fingertip, a flicker of light in the dark confines of the confessional. Mixture of fascination and fear coursing through his veins as the fabric of his robe strained against his arousal, a physical manifestation of the turmoil within. His breath caught in his throat, and he found himself drawn to you in a way that both thrilled and disturbed him. As a man of God, he knows he should denounce her abilities, expel her from this sacred place. And yet... a part of him longs to understand, to unravel the mystery you present.

You can't react when he opens the confessional door abruptly grabbing your body with ease, his beautiful eyes darting to the pentagram like the first time. You don't react when he pulls you hard, breaking it, leaving only the cross on your chest.

"What...what are you?" he sighs, his voice rough with barely contained lust. “Some demon sent to disturb the peace, surely.” But even as he speaks, his hands are roaming your body, gliding over your curves with a hunger that belies his words.

The heat of his touch burns your skin, even through the fabric of your clothes. He leans in, his lips colliding against yours in a bruising kiss. It's a dance of passion and danger, the forbidden fruit he knows he should resist but can't. A witch and a priest, an impossible combination, and yet…

You can see the lust burning inside Charlie. It's intoxicating because you still feel his grip. His features are like a fallen angel, he was in the wrong vocation. His hands slid lower, pushing up the skirt of your black dress. The smell of your arousal mixes with his, an intoxicating scent that clouds his mind and weakens his resolve. He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily, his eyes dark with need. “Tell me,” he says harshly, “are you real, or am I losing my mind?”

He knows he should stop, he should push you away and run away from this temptation. But he can't. He is lost, drowning in a sea of forbidden desire, and he is powerless to resist. “I can be real for you tonight.” You say boldly, you had nothing to lose. It would be another night of fun.

You see the realization flash through Charlie's eyes. Slowly, he releases you, allowing you to take a step back. He looks at you, desire and fear tangled in his gaze. His hand shakes as he runs it through his hair, an attempt to regain some semblance of control. And then, as if he had made a decision, his resolve breaks. He walks towards you, closing the gap between you, and whispers huskily, “Show me… let me know the truth of your words.” The rational part of his mind screams at him to stop, to push you away and escape this temptation.

But his primal, carnal side longs to surrender, to lose himself in the forbidden pleasures you offer. He looks into your eyes, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

But all he sees is a mirror of his own desire, a reflection of the hunger that burns within him. Father Charlie's heart races as he unbuttons the buttons on her dress, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He pulls the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, supple skin of your collarbone. Leaning down, he presses a searing kiss to your flesh, claiming you as his. His hands roam your body, exploring every curve and contour with desperate hunger. He can’t get enough of you, the feel of your skin under his fingertips, the taste of your flesh on his tongue.

“You’re beautiful,” he sighs, his voice rough with desire. "More than any mortal man could deserve." He reaches out, his hand gliding over the curve of your breast, tracing the delicate curve of your waist. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine and lighting a fire deep within your core. Father Charlie's own clothes appear tight, a reminder of the vows he made and the life he chose. With a growl of frustration, he hurriedly begins to remove the fabric, exposing his chest to your gaze.

With that, he pulls you close once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is both desperate and possessive. He pours all his longing, all his desire, into that one moment, and you can feel the intensity of his passion coursing through your veins. A low growl resonates in his chest, and he grabs you roughly, his hands gripping your hips with blunt force.

He pushes you against the wall, pinning you in place with his body. His mouth crashes against yours, the kiss is fierce and demanding, a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. His hands roam your body, groping and squeezing, leaving no inch of skin untouched.

He tears at his underwear, tearing it off with wild desperation, not caring about the damage he causes. You can feel his arousal pressing against you, strong and insistent, a physical manifestation of his desire. He grinds against you, the friction delicious and maddening at the same time.

With a final growl, Father Charlie lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he positions himself at your entrance. He stops for a moment, his eyes boring into yours, a silent question in their depths.

And then, with one thrust, he enters you, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and pain that borders on the sublime.

He sets a brutal pace, pounding into you with a ferocity that steals your breath. Each thrust is deeper, stronger than the last, bringing you both closer to the edge of oblivion. Father Charlie buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth sinking into your flesh as he loses himself in the rhythm of your copulation. He is a man possessed, driven by a hunger that cannot be satisfied, a need that consumes him completely.

Father Charlie's grip on your hips tightens, his thrusts become more erratic as the line between pleasure and pain blurs. You can feel the desperation in every move, the need to claim and be claimed in return. The sound of their copulation fills the air, skin against skin, the wooden structure rhythmically echoing the charged atmosphere. Father Charlie's breathing is ragged, his body shaking as he approaches the edge of release.

He grinds against you, his cock pulsing inside you, the heat of his release building. With a final, guttural groan, he spills himself inside you, the profanity of his actions washing over him like a tidal wave.

As his orgasm subsides, he collapses against you, his body slick with sweat. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, a testament to the forbidden pleasure you've just shared.

For a moment, there is only the sound of their heavy, labored breaths as they cling to each other in the aftermath. Father Charlie's fingers run gently through his hair, a stark contrast to the ferocity of moments before. Slowly, he pulls away from you, his gaze never leaving yours. In that moment, there is a newfound vulnerability in his eyes, an admission that this transgression has changed him forever.

@mlt2000