#and someone just thought that they didn’t exist?

[melliemell]

Pairing: Dazai x reader

Contents: SFW, sleep deprivation, CW for hints at depression, best way to get someone to sleep is the tried and true method of forced couch cuddling, Approx 800 words

You held your breath, trying to be as still as possible while Dazai’s unconscious body shifted, his weight nestling even closer against your chest. 

You counted in your mind, the seconds going by as Dazai slowly relaxed back into your embrace, face nuzzling right into the warmth of your neck. He was such a light sleeper usually, you weren’t going to take any risks now. Especially with how hard it was to get him here in the first place.

In retrospect, Dazai was such a good liar. 

You beat yourself up for not noticing sooner; letting him flail about through the week like it was his average Sunday when he was only functioning on pure stubbornness and blank stares alone. He was practically one stairway misstep away from ending up in a fucking ER.

You swallowed hard, turning to your side to leave a gentle kiss against his forehead. You pulled Dazai closer, your hands firm around his shoulders as you tried to shove those thoughts away. Dazai being bad at caring for himself was as bright as day, the self-preservation instincts carelessly discarded in favour of whatever crossed his fancy at the time.

Which includes and is not limited to forgetting basic human needs. Like fucking sleeping.

It was hardly ideal now, lying on a couch in the only spare room at the Agency. An hour of rest, tops. It was the best you managed, dragging Dazai away as he whined through the whole ordeal.

It bugged you a lot. Dazai was never the type to complain about slacking off, which was exactly what you were up to now. At least Atsushi was covering for you, hopefully keeping Kunikida’s strict presence away from your hiding spot. 

Pulling out any info about…this was just as fruitless; a sort of absent shrug accompanied by the most dramatic whine the only explanation Dazai provided. You could only purse your lips as you pulled him down, annoyance swirling in your chest while you made him lay beside you. Free will his ass. He was getting what he deserved and if you had to force it down his throat–so be it.

Until he rested his head on your shoulder, looking off in the distance with a face you hardly ever managed to see on him. Not when Dazai was so good at playing the jester, not a care in the world as he joked and teased away any worry you might have had for him.

And he fell asleep like this, quietly, after he gave up on playing it off against your unimpressed stares. Dazai’s eyes fluttered shut and he was out soon after. You wanted to grab at his jacket, shake him until he spilled his soul out. But your hands only trailed up, pulling him flush against you as you brushed his hair away from his face. 

You didn’t dare move after that, letting him melt into your embrace as the minutes went by. An hour passed and still no one came to look for you. Nor did Dazai move–out like a light. You could feel his warm breath tickle against your skin, even and calm. He was an absolute princess, always wanting as much attention as he could exhort from you.

But moments like those were… quiet. Sweet in the peace they provided, the gentle warmth of your bodies against each other. It made your heart ache.

Your hand trailed up to Dazai's jawline, cradling it as you pulled slightly to gaze at his face. He looked so innocent now, face serene in its rest. You hoped he wasn’t dreaming anything; Dazai’s the type to appreciate the absence of thought when he could. It was almost like deleting himself from existence, and he found comfort in it. 

Damn it. 

You needed to talk. Yes. Talking helped, right? Of course it did, you knew that from experience. But forcing it out of someone was a whole different beast. And Dazai never talked. Not really. He prattled and rattled on, yes, but not about the important things. Not seriously at least.

You closed your eyes, pressing your forehead to his. “I… you know I love you, you damn idiot?” you whispered against his lips. “Just… be okay. You’re okay, alright?”

Dazai didn’t move, oblivious to the world. Your thumb brushed against his cheek, the touch gentle. You stayed like that, face to face, temple to temple.

Let him rest now. You’d deal with whatever came when you had to. Now… 

Not now.

[livinghalfway]

Younger Years Pt. 2

Part 1

Summary: Damian gets temp de-aged to 6yrs old; cue him asking where his twin is. This is how everyone finds out about Danny's existence Word Count: 1608

If anyone were to ask how he reacted when Damian jumped from the bed to attack him, Dick would say that he reacted exactly as a vigilante who’s been on the job for years now would. Ask anyone else who was there to witness it though and you’d get a much different story of events. 

"Aaaahhh!" Both Dick and Damian slam onto the ground. Damian hits don't pack as much of a punch as they normally would, but that doesn't mean they're not precise when hitting a body's weak spots. "Dam- oof, Damian! It’s okay, you're safe! I'm your brother!" 

That did not have the desired effect he wished it did on the smaller boy; if anything Damian seemed to grow angrier at the mention of them being brothers. "Liar!"  

The others must have heard the commotion because the next moment the med bay door is being thrown open with everyone rushing in. Jason is the first one to get to them, and when he does he's quick to grab Damian. He holds the furiously kicking child to his chest while pinning Damian's arms to his side. 

"Dick, you alright?" Duke is kneeling by his side with a comforting hand on his shoulder as he helps Dick sit up. "Baby Damian really caught you off guard, huh?"

Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos happening Dick hears the sound of a camera click, and he can't help but smile. Another photo down!

"Damian," Bruce's voice is firm as he says, "You need to calm down; no one here is going to hurt you."

That of course does nothing to calm the child who just woke up with strangers surrounding him. "Since when has telling someone to calm down ever worked?" Tim questions as he watches everything from the doorway. 

Bruce sends a slight glare Tim's way before directing his attention back to his youngest child, "Chum, my name is Bruce Wayne, do you know who I am?"

"No, but I know that you've somehow managed to take me hostage," Damian growls out. He's stopped struggling in Jason's arms, and seems to be analyzing them all with a hard gaze. "Who are you working for?"

"Do you know about Batman?" Bruce counter questions instead of giving any kind of answer. 

"I might; is he the one behind this?" Damian for the first time looks unsure about what's happening,

Jason gives a little amused huff, "That is Batman, demon brat."

"Surely not!" Damian judgmentally looks Bruce up and down, "Batman is definitely taller than him." 

That of course got a laugh from everyone, and even Bruce had an amused smile on his face as he thought about how Damian said something similar when meeting him for the first time. 

"And do you know who Batman is when it comes to you?" Dick asks after a few seconds. It's clear at this point that Bruce is trying to see if Damian has been told who his father is. If they can establish that relationship now it might save them all from anymore attacks; at least for the rest of the night.

Instead of answering Damian tucks his chin to his chest and glares at the ground. What's really shocking though is how his body goes almost limp. It seems to shock Jason as well because his tight grip even loosen, and changes to a more gentle hold.

Asking questions probably isn't going to get the baby assassin to trust Dick thinks to himself; not with how his youngest brother was raised. They're going to have to try something else, "Hey Dami, how about we-" 

Before he can continue though Dick is cut off by a loud smacking sound. Damian had very suddenly thrown his head back so that it would hit Jason square in the face. He wouldn't be surprised if it even broke Jason's nose from the sound.

With Jason's grip already loose it doesn't take a lot of effort for Damian to escape his grasp, and make a run for the door. Tim, who was far more focused on his camera, didn’t even have a second to properly react before he was being knocked out of the way. Allowing the young child access to the whole cave.  

"Motherfu-" Jason cuts himself off with a groan before running towards the door as well, "You really let him run right past you, Timbo?"

"You're the one who let him go!"

"He broke my nose!" 

"Guys!" Duke shouts as he runs past the two of them, "let's focus on finding Damian before fighting with each other!" 

That kicked everyone into gear as soon all of them were now trying to find the escapee who had seemingly disappeared. The only thing they can hope for right now is that he doesn't find a weapon of any kind. 

Everyone has split off in different areas to search, and taking the situation more seriously knowing that the kid could pop out of anywhere and attack them. It's not until after 20 mins of searching that Dick decides to just start speaking, hoping that he can somehow convince him to come out of hiding at the very least. 

"Damian, I know that you know Batman is your father, and now you know that Bruce," He gestures to where the older man is standing, "is Batman; your father! I swear you are safe here."

The cave is covered in silence as everyone waits for a response to come. Just as it looks like nothing will happen a slight but deliberate sound comes from the side of where he is.

"Damia-" 

"Silence." Damian speaks forward enough to be seen, but making sure to stand out of reach, "Did Mother set this test up? Grandfather? Either way I'm not falling for it. If you wanted to make this more convincing you should have included my brother."

Dick felt a pain in his chest at that word. Brother? Did Damian really have a brother while at the league? Is he talking about a sort of battle brother, or did Talia have another kid? Is it Bruce's kid? Taking a glance to where Bruce is he sees that the man must be having the same thoughts as his face sits somewhere between anger and grief. 

"You have a brother!?" Tim is the one that finally asks the question on everyone's mind. 

"There is no need to continue this act; I've already figured out that this isn't real."

"Like the same mom, same dad type of brother?" Duke even looks aghast at the revelation of a second possible child of Bruce. 

Damian only looks more annoyed at each question, but answers anyway in a tone that makes it clear that he thinks the answer is obvious, "Tt of course. That tends to be the case with twins after all." 

Damian has a twin?

The de-aged child in front of him could lie about a lot of things right now to get an advantage in this situation, but what advantage does lying about a twin get him? Damian seems so sure that all of this is a test from the league. There is no way he could lie about something like this. 

Damian is a twin. 

As much as Dick wished it wasn’t true he couldn’t lie to himself about this. Between the ages of 6 and 10 something must have happened to the other boy. He’d bet money that whatever it was made Talia bring Damian to the manor. Why did she or Damian never say anything? Was his brother even given the chance to mourn the loss of his brother?

Damian had a twin. 

"Jason, you were with the league for a while, did Damian really have a twin?" Tim whispers quietly to the man standing next to him.

"I wasn't exactly in the right state of mind when I was there, and even then I never saw the brat or brats I suppose." 

"Enough!" Damian suddenly slams a foot onto the ground clearly done with everyone around him whispering, "the test is done, and I'm ready to return back to the compound." 

Tim now turns to Bruce with nothing but shock still on his face, "I think it'd be easier to just explain the truth to him. Otherwise this is what the next couple days are going to be like.”

"The baby assassin is just going to keep attacking us and trying to escape otherwise." Jason adds on as well as he takes a seat at the center table. “I for one would like to keep the demon spawn close by because I’ve got some questions he’s going to need to answer ASAP when he’s normal again.”

Bruce seems to finally snap out of his trance and slowly starts to make his way to Damian. Once he's just out of reach of his son he kneels down so that he's much closer to Damian's current height. "Son, this isn't a test, and I am your father.”

"You are a liar; my father wouldn't leave Danyal behind!" 

No one was surprised this time when Damian sprung forward to attack Bruce. In the end Alfred had to give him a light sedative to calm him down enough to be laid back down on the med bay bed. Duke even went upstairs, and brought Alfred the cat down to sleep in the boy's lap. Unsurprisingly, that cat still loves him when he's this small. 

For now they can only hope that things will be calmer when Damian wakes up again. 

The cave after that was met with suffocating silence as there was only one thought in everyone's head.

"What happened to Danyal?"

[leona-hawthorne]

FICMAS #1— WHAT’S YOUR TYPE? / theodore nott

december 22nd

theodore nott x fem reader

summary: theo is smart, but he’s an idiot when it comes to taking hints. sometimes, you have to just give it to him.

warnings: smut, unprotected piv, oral m!receiving, google translated italian (sorry in advance)

words: 2.7k

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theo had this way of existing—effortless, detached, like gravity bent to his whims. He lounged against the headboard, a cigarette between his fingers, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. You were convinced he didn’t even like smoking; he just enjoyed the ritual, the way it made his hands look purposeful.

The dorm was dim, the only light spilling from the bedside lamps. Everyone else was sprawled across the furniture, engaged in half-hearted conversations about Quidditch or the latest rumors circulating the castle. But your focus was locked on Theo. Always Theo.

“What’s that look for?” he asked, his lips curving into a smirk as he caught your gaze. His voice was low, teasing, pulling at some invisible thread in your chest.

“What look?” you shot back, tilting your head and feigning innocence.

He chuckled, a sound that sent warmth pooling in your stomach. He took a drag of his cigarette and passed it to you without a word. You accepted it, your fingers brushing his. The fleeting contact sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with a casual exhale of smoke.

“So, what’s the topic tonight?” you asked, your tone light.

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Define ‘topic.’”

“I mean, what bullshit are we debating? Everyone’s always got something to say about something.”

He glanced around the room, noting the fragmented conversations, before turning back to you. “I think we’re safe to create our own.”

“Fine,” you said, handing the cigarette back to him. “What’s your type?”

Theo blinked, caught off guard. “My type?”

“Yeah. You know, what you look for in someone. Or are you too much of a brooding intellectual to care about such trivial matters?”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “I’ll have you know I’m very discerning.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “But seriously, I want to know.”

He hesitated, the cigarette poised between his lips. “I don’t know. I guess someone who can hold their own. Smart, independent. Doesn’t take my shit.”

You snorted. “So, basically, someone who’s not a doormat.”

“Pretty much,” he admitted, shrugging. “What about you? What’s your type?”

You took a moment, pretending to ponder, even though the answer was sitting right next to you. “I’ve always thought intelligence is sexy. Like, really sexy. Bonus points if they speak another language.”

Theo glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Oh, yeah? What’s so great about that?”

“It’s just impressive,” you said, leaning forward slightly. “Shows effort, you know? And…” You trailed off, letting the tension hang for a beat. “I’ve always been a sucker for blue eyes.”

His expression didn’t shift, but you could see the gears turning in his head. “Interesting.”

“Isn’t it?” you replied, your tone light but your gaze steady. He didn’t look away, and for a moment, you thought he might finally connect the dots. Instead, he leaned back, as if dismissing the comment entirely.

“What about personality?” he asked, like you hadn’t just described him to a T.

You sighed, exasperated. “Theo.”

“What?” he said, his voice full of feigned innocence.

“For fuck’s sake,” you muttered, grabbing his wrist and yanking him to his feet. The room barely registered the two of you leaving; everyone else was too absorbed in their own conversations.

Theo followed you into the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you. “Care to explain what’s going on?”

You turned to face him, your back against the door. “You’re supposed to be smart.”

“I am smart,” he said, crossing his arms.

“Then why are you so bloody dense?” you asked, stepping closer. He didn’t move, his eyes fixed on yours, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Am I?” he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

“Oh, you absolutely are,” you said, your hands finding the front of his shirt. “But I think I can help with that.”

The realization finally dawned on him, and his smirk widened. “Well, by all means, love. Enlighten me.”

You didn’t bother with a reply. Instead, you tugged him down by his collar and crashed your lips against his. Theo responded immediately, his hands bracing on your hips as he pressed you back against the door. The kiss was heated, messy, all teeth and desperation. You’d been waiting for this, and judging by the way his grip tightened, so had he.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“And yet you’re all over me,” he shot back, his tone smug. Before you could retort, his mouth was on yours again, silencing any comeback you might have had.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head. Theo barely gave you a moment to breathe before he was on you again, his lips trailing down your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You gasped, your head tipping back against the door.

“I think I like it when you’re annoyed,” he murmured, his voice rough.

“Shut up,” you managed, but the words lacked any real venom. Your hands roamed over his chest, mapping out the planes of muscle and the scatter of freckles across his skin. He was impossibly warm, and you couldn’t get enough.

Theo’s hands slipped beneath your shirt, his fingers skimming over your bare skin. You shivered at the contact, your breath hitching as he pulled the fabric up and off. His gaze darkened as he took you in, his lips parting slightly.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands settling on your waist. “Così dannatamente carino.” (So fucking pretty.)

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t have time to feel self-conscious. Theo’s mouth was on you again, his kisses trailing down your neck and across your collarbone. Every touch, every movement felt like fire, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

“Theo,” you breathed, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with intent.

Theo didn’t hesitate this time. His lips found yours again, hot and desperate, his hands roaming up your sides and pulling you against him like he needed you closer just to breathe. The counter dug into your back, but you didn’t care, not when his kisses were this consuming, his tongue brushing yours and leaving your head spinning.

But you’d waited long enough for him to figure this out, and patience wasn’t exactly your strong suit. You broke the kiss, your lips brushing his as you whispered, “Why’d it take so long for you to figure this one out, hm?”

His smirk reappeared, lazy and infuriating as his hands settled on your hips. “Maybe I just like taking my time.”

You huffed, turning him around so his back was now pressed against the counter. “Then let me spell it out for you,” you said, your fingers already moving to the buckle of his belt.

Theo’s breath hitched, his smirk faltering as you pulled the leather strap free and let it fall to the floor with a soft clink. Your fingers worked quickly, unfastening the button and zipper of his trousers, and when you pushed them down his hips, the tent in his boxers told you everything you needed to know.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his hands gripping the edge of the counter behind him as he stared down at you. “You’re not messing around, are you?”

“Not in the slightest,” you said, dropping to your knees in front of him.

You tugged his boxers down, and his cock sprang free, hard and flushed and already leaking at the tip. Theo let out a sharp exhale, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the counter harder. You glanced up at him, meeting his eyes as you wrapped a hand around him, giving a slow, deliberate stroke.

“Still confused?” you asked, smirking when his hips twitched at your touch.

“Not even a little,” he said, his voice rough and tight.

You didn’t give him time to say more. Leaning in, you flicked your tongue over the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum there before taking him into your mouth. The groan that tore from his throat was low and guttural, his head tipping back to rest against the mirror.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair as you took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hummed around him in response, the vibrations drawing another string of curses from his lips. Your hand worked the base of his cock in tandem with your mouth, your pace slow at first, teasing, before you gradually increased the intensity. His breathing grew heavier, his hips jerking slightly as you set a rhythm that had him unraveling beneath your touch.

“Shit,” he groaned, his voice breaking on the word. “You—God, you’re so fucking good at this.”

His praise spurred you on, your free hand sliding up his thigh to steady him as you took him deeper. He was losing control, his grip in your hair tightening, his moans turning into something desperate and raw.

“Fuck—” His hips bucked as his head fell forward, and he looked down at you with wide, blown pupils. “I’m—shit, I’m close.”

You didn’t stop. If anything, you doubled down, your tongue tracing the underside of his cock as you took him all the way to the back of your throat. That was all it took. With a sharp cry, his body tensed, and he spilled into your mouth, a broken groan tearing from his lips as he came undone.

You swallowed, pulling back slowly and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. Theo’s chest was heaving, his hair a tousled mess as he leaned heavily against the counter, staring down at you like you’d just knocked the wind out of him.

“Holy fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair. “You’re insane.”

You stood, smirking as you leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

He grabbed your hips in one quick motion, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. “Oh, I’ve figured it out now,” he murmured, his voice still rough, but his smirk returning full force. “But I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Theo’s hands gripped your waist as he pulled you flush against him, his mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was frantic, his tongue brushing against yours as he poured every ounce of leftover tension into it. His hands wandered, sliding up your bare back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine before tangling in your hair to tilt your head back.  

“You’re too fucking good at this,” he muttered against your lips, his voice low and thick. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”  

“Maybe,” you teased, your voice breathless as his teeth grazed your bottom lip.  

He chuckled darkly, nipping at the corner of your jaw before trailing kisses down the column of your neck. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”  

“Pretty sure I am,” you quipped, your hands threading through his hair.  

Theo groaned, his lips dragging over your collarbone. His hands skimmed your sides, his thumbs brushing under the waistband of your jeans. “We’ll see how clever you are when you’re begging me to let you cum.”  

Before you could retort, he lifted and spun you around in one swift motion, your palms landing on the counter as he pressed your hips into the sink. You gasped, his chest flush against your back as he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear.  

“Guarda te stessa,” he murmured, his tone dripping with sin. (Look at yourself.)  

Your gaze lifted to the mirror, meeting your reflection. Your hair was disheveled, lips swollen from his kisses, chest rising and falling rapidly. Behind you, Theo was watching you with hooded eyes, his hair mussed and his pupils blown with lust.  

“Sei bellissima così,” he said, his hands sliding down to unbutton your jeans. (You’re so beautiful like this.)  

He pushed the denim down your legs, letting it pool at your ankles, and you kicked them off the rest of the way. His hands found your hips again, sliding over the curve of your ass as his lips pressed to your neck.  

“You’re already so worked up,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your thighs to brush over the damp fabric of your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaking.”  

“Do something about it, then,” you shot back, your voice shaking slightly.  

Theo grinned, his fingers curling into the waistband of your underwear. “Impatient, aren’t we?” He dragged them down slowly, letting them join your jeans on the floor.  

His hand slid between your legs again, this time bare against your skin, and you gasped as he slipped a finger inside you, his touch teasing and deliberate.  

“Così stretto,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear. (So tight.)  

You whimpered, pressing your hips back against him as he added a second finger, curling them just right. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you open with slow, calculated strokes.  

“Merda, sei perfetta,” he said, his voice rough. (Fuck, you’re perfect.)  

You moaned, your head tipping forward, but he clicked his tongue, his hand moving to your chin to tilt your face back up.  

“Guarda il specchio,” he ordered. “Voglio vederti quando vengo dentro di te.” (Look in the mirror. I want to see you when I come inside you.)  

Sure, you didn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but fuck, you couldn’t get enough of him talking to you like that. You didn’t fight against his hand, meeting his intense gaze in the mirror.  

Theo pulled his fingers away, and you heard the rustle of fabric as he kicked his trousers the rest of the way off. A moment later, his hands were on your hips again, guiding you back against him. You felt the head of his cock brush against your entrance, and he groaned, low and guttural, as he pushed inside.  

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his grip tightening as he bottomed out. “You feel incredible.”  

Your hands braced against the counter as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that made your knees weak. He muttered something in Italian, his voice low and breathless, but you couldn’t make it out over the sound of your own moans.  

“Che puttana carina,” he said, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he snapped his hips harder. (What a pretty little slut.)  

You gasped, the words only spurring you on as you pushed back against him, meeting each thrust.  

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, his voice rough and teasing. “To be fucked like this?”  

“Yes,” you managed to say, your voice breaking as he hit a spot that had you seeing stars.  

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hand sliding up to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place. “Take it all, bella. Sei mia.” (You’re mine.)  

His thrusts grew faster, harder, and the bathroom filled with the sound of skin against skin, mingled with your moans and his curses in both English and Italian. You caught snippets of his words—“così stretta”, “troppo perfetta”, “dammi tutto”—and each one sent a new wave of heat coursing through you.  (so tight, too perfect, give me everything)

Your legs trembled as the pressure built, your release teetering just out of reach. Theo seemed to sense it, one hand slipping between your thighs to circle your clit as he drove into you.  

“Come for me,” he murmured, his voice raw. “Let me feel you.”  

His words sent you over the edge, your body shattering around him as a cry tore from your throat. Theo groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you moments later, spilling into you with a shuddering moan.  

For a moment, the only sound was your heavy breathing, the two of you leaning against the counter, spent and satisfied. Theo pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his tongue swirling over the skin and his hands roaming over your waist as he caught his breath.  

“You’re my type,” he muttered, his voice still rough but laced with affection.  

You smirked, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Yeah, I fuckin’ better be.”

​​ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind @revesephemeres @esmerai-artemis @clar2aa @iamaconfusedpan

[wandering-winchesters]

First Moments: Kiss

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Summary: The first time Dean Winchester kisses you Word count: 861 A/N: I am debating on making this a series, covering different "Firsts" with Dean.. Any interest in that? Let me know!

The first time Dean Winchester kisses you, it happens in the least romantic place imaginable—an old gas station parking lot on the outskirts of nowhere. The sun is setting, casting an amber glow over the cracked asphalt and the Impala parked nearby, her paint gleaming like polished obsidian. The faint smell of gasoline mingles with the crisp scent of impending rain, a storm brewing in the distance.

It wasn’t planned. Nothing about Dean ever feels planned, really. He’s a mess of contradictions—cocky and self-assured one minute, guarded and vulnerable the next. You’ve been riding shotgun with him for weeks now, chasing down leads, salt-and-burning restless spirits, and fighting things most people wouldn’t dare to believe existed. Somewhere along the way, you became more than just hunting partners. You don’t know what to call it yet, but there’s a connection between you, an unspoken pull that you’ve both been too stubborn—or scared—to acknowledge.

Until now.

It starts with an argument. Of course it does. Dean has this way of pushing your buttons, and tonight he’s doing it with the precision of a master.

“You can’t just run in there without a plan!” you snap, your arms crossed over your chest.

“And what was your plan, huh?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “To stand around and wait until the ghost decides to play nice? That’s not how this works.”

“It’s called strategy, Dean. Maybe you should try it sometime instead of going full kamikaze every damn hunt!”

He scoffs, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. “You know what your problem is? You think too much. Sometimes you just gotta act.”

“And you think too little!” you retort, your eyes narrowing. “One of these days, your impulsiveness is going to get you killed.”

The words hang in the air, sharper than you intended, and for a moment, Dean just stares at you. His jaw tightens, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or regret—but it’s gone before you can be sure.

“Fine,” he says, his voice quieter now. “If you’ve got it all figured out, why the hell do you even need me?”

It’s not the first time you’ve fought, but there’s something different about this one. The air between you feels charged, like the storm rolling in above. You don’t answer right away, and Dean takes a step closer, his boots crunching against the gravel.

“Why, huh?” he presses, his tone softer but no less intense. “Why do you keep sticking around if I’m such a screw-up?”

Your heart pounds against your ribs, a wild, erratic rhythm that matches the storm clouds overhead. You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Because it’s not that simple. Because you don’t stick around in spite of his flaws—you stick around because of them. Because Dean Winchester, for all his faults, is the kind of person who will throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to save someone else. Because he’s loyal to a fault, fiercely protective, and has a smile that could light up the darkest corners of the world, even when he doesn’t believe it himself.

“Dean…” you start, but his name barely makes it past your lips before he moves.

It’s not hesitant or tentative—it’s sudden, like he’s been holding himself back for too long and finally snapped. His hands cup your face, rough and calloused but somehow gentle, and then his lips are on yours.

The kiss is everything you didn’t know you needed. It’s not perfect—Dean’s lips are a little chapped, and the angle is slightly awkward at first—but it’s real. There’s an urgency to it, a raw, unfiltered emotion that leaves you breathless. His hands are warm against your skin, grounding you even as the world seems to tilt on its axis.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly your hands are fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer as if the space between you is unbearable. He responds in kind, deepening the kiss with a low, almost involuntary sound that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s like the dam you’ve both been holding back has finally burst, and there’s no going back now.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together. The storm is closer now, the first drops of rain starting to fall, but neither of you seems to notice.

“Wow,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean chuckles, a low, self-deprecating sound. “Yeah, uh… sorry about that. I probably should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your fingers still gripping his jacket. “Don’t apologize.”

His eyes meet yours, and for once, there’s no wall, no mask, no bravado. Just Dean.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice soft and almost vulnerable.

You smile, your heart swelling in your chest. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine, and the tension between you finally seems to ease. The rain starts to pick up, but neither of you moves. For once, the hunt can wait. For once, the only thing that matters is this moment—messy, imperfect, and absolutely perfect all at once.

Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[moonlitwitchdaisy]

Boyfriend!Sukuna was definitely not a shy man.

As someone who had tried every possible way to embarrass him, neither your actions nor your words ever worked. Every time, he’d look at you with the same seriousness—or even mild annoyance. Did you truly believe you could make him blush? It was ridiculous. There was no way someone as towering and unshakable as him would ever feel embarrassed to the point of turning red. It was simply impossible.

But for you, “impossible” was just a word.

You were leaning against his broad chest, sitting in his lap, as the two of you watched the snow falling onto the garden from your terrace. Sukuna wasn’t exactly the touchy type, but when you insisted, there wasn’t much he wouldn’t do for you.

“So, you’ve never been embarrassed?” you asked, your gaze fixed on the snow as it blanketed the greenery outside. Your question earned a low grunt from him.

“I was wondering how long it’d take for you to ruin the moment,” he replied, pausing briefly before adding, “Three minutes and forty-one seconds. Congrats, brat, you broke your previous record.”

His words made you laugh so hard your body shook, though Sukuna couldn’t understand what was so funny about his dead-serious comment. You were a peculiar one, that was for sure.

Suddenly, you shifted in his lap, moving to straddle him. His large hands instinctively settled on your waist, steadying you.

Who would’ve thought being held by four hands could feel this good?

As your fingers trailed through his pink, messy hair, Sukuna’s eyes fluttered shut—something he couldn’t help but do whenever you touched his hair. It always brought him an unexplainable calm, a sense of peace he found nowhere else.

“I’m good at breaking records,” you teased, a bright smile lighting up your face. Sukuna didn’t open his eyes, but you caught the faintest upward twitch of his lips—a rare, fleeting moment of softness.

“I can see that. You surprise me more and more every day, you cheeky brat.” The crimson eyes that most people found cursed and terrifying locked onto yours, though you found them utterly irresistible. While he’d never admit it, seeing you smile made everything in his world feel a little brighter.

Slowly, he leaned in, nuzzling his head against the soft curve of your neck. His lips found the sensitive spot behind your ear, and he planted a gentle kiss there, letting his teeth graze your skin ever so slightly.

“Just one touch…” His warm breath sent shivers down your spine. “One single touch is enough to turn your neck red. I’d bet your cheeks are even redder than your neck right now.”

He was right. Your cheeks were undoubtedly burning like wildfire. You knew your face had turned a shade rivaling a clown’s red nose.

“Kuna—”

“I want you right here.” His deep voice resonated through you. “Watching the snow while I bury myself inside your warm, tight little pussy.”

If you stayed like this any longer, everything he said would probably happen. You were already sore from last night. Besides, it was Christmas Day, and you wanted to do something other than just have sex with your boyfriend.

With great difficulty, you pulled his massive head away from you. If he wanted to stop you, he could have, but if he did, he’d probably have to endure you complaining to him for two hours.

Still holding his head, you scolded him, “Nuh-uh. Last night you nearly broke my back.” Furrowing your brows, you let go of his head and stood up. “I’m going to make us some hot chocolate, and don’t even try that ‘I don’t like sweet things’ excuse. I know who ate the Oreo Milka I bought two days ago.”

As you walked off the terrace toward the kitchen, you called out loudly, “Be a good boy, Sukuna, and maybe I’ll let you have me on the terrace later.”

Magic words didn’t always have to be “please.” After all, the word “please” didn’t even exist in Sukuna’s vocabulary. But if he had to pick one magical phrase, it would undoubtedly be “good boy.”

Those two words were enough to make your supposedly unshakable boyfriend blush furiously and feel his heart race in his chest.

It wasn’t the first time you’d called him “good boy,” but every time you did, he somehow managed to hide his face, avoiding your gaze.

Boyfriend!Sukuna who made others kneel at his feet, who inspired fear with his towering figure and unmatched strength, could turn into a shy mess with just two simple words from you: “good boy.”

a little note: can i get a little commotion for my red ribbon divider 😌

all rights belong to the @moonlitwitchdaisy do not copy, reproduce, or translate my work.

[arisluvvers]

Highschool Jimmy AU smut fic.

High School AU Jimmy belongs to me and @birdyisthewordyy /silly. Note that Jimmy and the reader are both seniors in this fic and are of age!

Jimmy x GN! Reader

Readers Genitalia is not mentioned at all and is entirely left up to interpretation!

Contains mentions of: Paranoia, bullying, watching porn, masturbation, virginity loss, missionary sex (It's both of their first times give em a break)

Not proofread!! Reader discretion is advised.

A/N: Do you ever sit down and tell yourself "I'm gonna write 1K words." And then end up with 3.6K words? Anyways I'm so sick rn.

Jimmy bit his lip, his hands shook slightly before he met your intense gaze. “Are you sure you want to do this? With me? I mean out of everyone… you could pick… anyone from our highschool - are you really sure you want your first time to be with someone… like… like me?” His voice came out as a soft whisper and his soft brown eyes met yours, pleading for any sort of non verbal confirmation that you were indeed - okay with this whole thing happening - at his hands nonetheless.

That you were okay with him pressing his lips against the skin of your shoulders.

That you were okay when his breath hitched and his eyelids fluttered shut when you pressed open mouthed kisses to his collar bones.

That you were okay with his hands mapping over parts of your body that he dreamed of touching - that he spent so many hours of every day and every night fantasising about.

He wanted to make sure that you were okay with him. Okay with him being here with you.

Okay with him loving you.

Jimmy was socially awkward, and what most would consider: a loser, or even a creep. Jimmy wasn't stupid, he knew that much already. He was a nobody, a shadow in the background of every class photo. His fellow classmates barely acknowledged his existence - save for his best friend Curly of course. 

He was called names behind his back. People whispered about him when he walked through the halls - and maybe he was being delusional, but Jimmy swore he could feel all the pairs of eyes trained onto his slouched form as they gossiped about him and called him weird or gross.

And you know what at this point - he didn’t mind it much anymore.

He never really cared about making friends, or appealing to anyone at all. Curly accepted him for who he was and that’s all he really cared about to be frank. 

He wasn’t set out to meet and potentially befriend a million people. He was content with just one.

But that all changed when you stepped into the picture.

He had originally considered you the poor and unfortunate soul that was assigned by your teacher to be paired with him for your shared chemistry project.

Jimmy found these sorts of group projects to be the worst - usually his teacher assigned classmates would either: discreetly drop all of the workload onto his shoulders - and then get mad when he was barely able to scrape up a B plus - out outright said that they would refuse to work with the likes of him and demand a new partner, not caring if he was sitting right next to them - listening in.

What he didn't expect was for you to sit down next to him, after grabbing all of your things, flash him a brilliant smile and in the most angelic voice he has ever heard, ask him, “So… where do we begin?”

From that moment on Jimmy was smitten. Your hair - your eyes - your voice - your lips - heck he even fantasised about how pretty your hands would look against his skin. Not all of it was sexual though, Jimmy frequently caught himself daydreaming about being your boyfriend - about taking you out on extravagant dates - that he definitely couldn’t pay for but hey- you can’t blame him for dreaming! He thought of holding your hand and kissing you under the shooting stars. Way too many times he caught himself thinking of the kind of suits he might wear to your shared wedding - or the colour of the tiles of the kitchen floor your shared house might have. 

It seemed that it was during one of his many daydream sessions when Curly pointed out that his best friend seemed so lost in thought lately - that it sounded like Jimmy here, was in love with his chemistry partner. 

Only for a very flushed and red Jimmy to shut him down. Yet Curly’s suspicion never left the confines of the blond boy's mind.

And it never left Jimmy's either.

In love.

Was he in love?

Or was just a fleeting obsession. 

A crush.

Nothing more.

It would go away.

That's what he told himself. “It's only just a crush, it'll go away. It's just like all the others, it'll go away.”

And yet - it never ended up going away.

Jimmy spent nights upon nights with your name echoed on his lips as sweat dripped across his moonlit kissed chest. His pants were discarded to the side, long forgotten. His body ached and was hot to the touch. He could feel his blood pulsating and thrumming under his skin. His hand was sore and he was tired - but he was almost there. It was practically on the tip of his tongue.

‘Jimmy.’ 

His subconsciousness blessed him with the memory of your voice - so soft and so fucking tender. And so full of love. He could practically feel your hands, sliding across his hot skin, pressing hot kisses to his body and ultimately - tipping him over the edge.

Jimmy bit his lip to muffle the sounds of his moans as he squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. He arches his back, his brown eyes rolled back as he muffled his groans, reaching the peak of pleasure. It felt like fireworks were exploding in every one of his blood vessels, his whole body grew hot and sweaty. 

The feeling of euphoria was nothing short of incredible. 

It was almost like he could feel your soft, loving caress as he slowly recovered from his high. And yet when he opened his eyes.

His bed was empty.

It was during nights like these where Jimmy would usually end up frowning slightly before ultimately shaking himself off and moving to clean the mess he had made. It's fine - ‘you were way out of my league anyways.’

You probably had loads of boys in your bed before.

And if you were going to be in someone's bed it definitely was not going to be with him.

But it looked like he owed Curly fifty bucks. Money he definitely didn’t have right now.

He lost the bet because of you. 

Because you were there.

You were here. In his bed. And it was real - this whole thing was real. He was really about to do this. 

With you. 

His biggest crush.

His wildest fantasies - the images that plagued his mind twenty four seven - were all unfolding right now in front of him. 

In his fantasies he knew exactly what to do - where to put his hands and where to kiss you. In his mind the countless hours spent watching porn weren't for nothing, because he gained information from them. And he would use all of that information to make you cum so hard and so fucking fast that you would forget your own name.

But that was in his fantasies. Truth be told, now that you were here - laying in front of him - ’Wearing nothing but your underwear’, Jimmy told himself - he had no idea what to do. His hands where shaking and fuck- why was he sweating so much?? ‘[Name] must think I am so fucking gross right now.’ What was he supposed to be doing? Was he supposed to touch you? Or was he supposed to kiss you? Where was he supposed to grab? Your hands? Your hips?��

‘God, if you’re up there. Please fucking help a poor guy like me out. I really think I might actually start crying right now.’

“Jimmy, are… are you okay? You're really red.” You mumbles, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek and brushing your thumb against his acne ridden cheek. “Hey it’s okay.. We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to-” Jimmy shook his head, cutting off your words by pressing the palm of your hand against his lips, tenderly kissing your flushed skin. 

There was no fucking way he was going to give up his one chance. He wasn’t going to throw away the one opportunity to love you completely - love you in the way he dreamed off.

“No no! I want to. I’m just… nervous is all...” He confessed, a whisper under his breath. Jimmy averted his eyes, casting them downward. Fuck- nervous was the understatement of a lifetime. Jimmy was down right terrified - what if you didn’t like it? What if you didn’t think he was hot enough? What if he wasn’t able to make you cum? What if you ended up hating him? What if you never gave him the chance to be your boyfriend if he screwed up? What if you never spoke to him again after this? What if-

“I’m nervous too… This is my first time y'know.” You confessed shyly, your body growing warm at your confinement of what you considered - your biggest secret. Your friends had their fair share of sex and weren’t afraid to spill any extra or juicy secrets. TMI was a thing of the past. Sure you watched your own fair share of porn in the past too but this was real, this was real life. This wasn’t a video that was going to end up being played on a screen. Nor was it over the top fake acting. But this wasn’t hushed whispers and slightly flushed cheeks in the back of the maths class either. Nor was it giggles and prodding each other for more information during lunch breaks.

This was real.

This was real and you were about to have sex with Jimmy.

Your chemistry project partner - turned lab partner - turned close friend - turned muse for any thoughts that lingered too long in the back of your mind and too many nights spent with your hands in between your thighs, his name leaving your lips like an empty prayer.

The same boy was now looking down at you - his hands shaking as he rested them against your bare hips. Jimmy’s eyes were wide. This was your first time? There was no way - there had to be a mistake - there had to have been someone else.

“This… is your first time…?”

Jimmy whispered.

You nodded and gave him a nervous smile.

“And you want to do this with… me?”

You nodded.

“And there’s no-one else you’d rather do this with - Cause I mean if there is I’d rather just get dressed y'know?… Don’t wanna waste your time with me when you could be fuckin’ oh I dunno… like Curly or someone y’know?.” Jimmy gave you a nervous grin, it was obvious he was trying to hype himself up but there was most definitely a layer of insecurity coated under his words. 

Because of course there was - he wasn’t Curly. Curly who could charm the likes of both the students and teachers alike - Curly who would win the praise of everyone. 

He wasn't ‘Overly Exceptional Curly.’

He was ‘Slightly Below Average Jimmy.’

You shook your head and smiled. “No. I can’t think of anyone else I would rather do this with. I want you to be the one to take my virginity, Jimmy.” 

Those words. Those few words. The words he so desperately ached to hear were spilling from your lips. 

Mist glazed over Jimmy’s eyes. Am I going to cry? He thought to himself. Fuck I’m going to cry. Jimmy sniffled and blinked quickly, trying his best to stop the tears from spilling. 

You sat up from your spot on his bed and cooed under your breath, reaching up with a tender touch to wipe his eyes. “I want this Jimmy.” You reassured him once more with a smile. “I want you...”

He felt more determined now. Nodding he grabbed your underwear and slid it down your hips, exposing you to him. He swallowed, meeting your eyes. “If uh… this hurts or anything please tell me. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He mumbled. You nodded and smiled. “I trust you. And if it hurts I’ll tell you to stop.” You whispered.

Jimmy nodded, pressing two fingers at your entrance. He observed your face carefully, watching your every reaction as he slowly pushed in one finger. You squirmed and whimpered a little but didn’t draw away. Jimmy was ecstatic! At least he was doing something right! Right? 

When you nodded again Jimmy began to thrust his finger in and out at a slow pace, he had read somewhere that sex required a good amount of preparation and lube too. Good thing he was prepared and bought a bottle of the stuff - and a few condoms too just in case. 

“You can… add another finger.” You whispered under your breath. Jimmy snapped out of his train of thoughts and nodded, slowly easing in another finger. It’s warm. He noted to himself. His cock stirred in his boxers - twitching slightly at the promise of what was going to come. 

Fucking hell he was so excited he could barely think straight.

You were so attractive and so nice and so hot and your kisses tasted like cherries and strawberry ice-cream. And you were here! And you were going to have sex with him. With him! Out of everyone you wanted your first times to be with - you wanted Jimmy to be your first! You trusted him enough to let him take your virginity!

You whimpered and his name escaped your lips in a pleading whine.

Jimmy could feel the precum pouring from the slit of his cock. His dick twitched and he groaned in delight drawing his fingers away. He smirked slightly when you whined at the loss of his touch. “Hey don’t worry, I just gotta prep myself and then I’ll be ready to properly fuck you.” 

You nodded, throwing an arm across your face. “Okay…” The moonlight from Jimmy’s window pooled over your bare body and it was strangely comforting. Sitting there and knowing that you were safe. There was shuffling coming from Jimmy’s side of the bed and he cursed under his breath. “Are you okay Jimmy? Do you need help?” You chuckled, pulling your arm away and sitting up. The sound of the lube bottle being opened echoed around the room, and you silently thanked your lucky stars that Jimmy’s father was out for the weekend. You could only imagine the kind of temper tantrum that man would throw if he caught you in his son’s bed.

A very nervous Jimmy shook his head. “No, I got it! It’s okay! Just relax!” He insisted, pushing you back down on the bed. “I just uhm… Can I uh… tell you something?” He whispered. 

“Yea?” You whispered back, looking up at the ceiling. The glowing plastic stars stuck on the ceiling made your heart flutter. Your eyes slid from one star to the other making constellations in your mind. ‘The star crossed lovers.’ You smiled as you looked up at them, two figures. Holding hands. How you managed to make that out from Jimmy’s plastic glow in the dark stars you wouldn't know. “Are you sure you won’t hate me?” Jimmy whispered. 

“I could never hate you.” You whispered back, meeting his eyes. “I could never hate you Jimmy. Never.” You said sternly.

Jimmy nodded and took in a deep breath, positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance. The tip prodded at your entrance and he took in a sharp inhale of air, slowly easing himself into you. “I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered as he gripped the sheets tightly. Jimmy let out a soft moan and pressed his forehead against yours, squeezing his eyes shut.

Your breath hitched and you bit your lip. “Fuck…” He felt so good and this feeling of being so… full. It felt so good. Your heart fluttered, thrumming against your rib cage. “I think I’m in love with you too.” You whispered back.

Jimmy’s eyes opened, his pupils were blown out and his cheeks were rosy. His breathing came out hot and bothered. “You’re… serious? You’re in love with me?” He couldn't help the stupid grin that spread across his lips.

You nodded, and smiled back. “Yea. I am. You’re amazing Jimmy. I would be an idiot if I didn’t fall for you.” You whispered back. 

Jimmy swallowed and grabbed the sides of your face as he slowly rocked his hips against yours. “Stop me if I do something wrong.” He breathed out before pressing his lips against yours. 

The kiss was desperate and messy and fuck was it hot. There was the feeling of tongues pressing against each other and teeth clashing. The feeling of the tip of Jimmy’s cock rubbing against that one spot inside of you - and the feeling of his tongue licking against yours - and now knowing that he shared the same feelings for you made your head hazy and- fuck it felt so fucking good.

Jimmy was making you feel so fucking good. 

And you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Jimmy groaned, pressing his forehead against your shoulder pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. “You’re so tight I- it’s so warm… feels better than I imagined fuck-” he panted. Jimmy groaned - at this point he might not be able to hold on for any longer. He was so fucking close - his head might explode.

You weren’t doing any better either, with every delicious drag of Jimmy’s cock inside of you was bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body was hot - too hot, like your skin was on fire and felt like Jimmy was the water that existed to only quench your thirst.

Like he was your second half. The part that completed you The part that made you feel whole. Your reason for existing. When you held his hand you felt alive, the feeling of his pulse against your palm was the reason you felt so alive.

And now this - the feeling of him inside of you - the way his cock dragged through your sticky walls was enough to make you feel like you were floating. Airy… light… like you were in cloud nine. 

Jimmy was the drug.

And you were already addicted.

“I’m… close.” He panted, sinking his teeth into the delicate flesh of your shoulder using it to muffle his moans.

You groaned, eyes rolling back, gripping at his shoulders and digging your nails into his skin. “Fuck me too-” 

Jimmy nodded his words slurring, his vision growing hazy. Sex drunk. It hadn’t even been five minutes and he looked like he was about to pass out. “Cum with me.” He whimpered. “At the same time. Cum together with me.” He groaned pathetically, rutting his hips against yours, desperately trying to make you reach your high. 

You nodded eagerly, moaning as you threw your legs around his hips, trying to stop him from accidentally pulling out. “Jimmy- oh fuck Jimmy ‘m so close.” You whimpered, eyes growing wet. Fuck it felt so good- he felt so good. You felt so fucking good. 

Life felt so fucking amazing right now. 

Jimmy bit his lip, his grip on the bed sheets growing even tighter - to the point his knuckles were going white. He threw his head back and moaned when he came. The filling of Jimmy reaching his peak was enough for you to follow, with your back arching and your legs shaking - you came with him. 

It took a minute for you both to compose yourselves, the air in the room was stuffy and warm and reeked of sex. But neither of you really minded. “Did you… are you- I mean did you enjoy it?” He whispered, he was kind of hoping you’d say yes - seeing as he did make you finish after all. But still, he wanted to hear it. 

He craved that sort of validation.

You smiled and nodded. “I did. I really enjoyed Jimmy.” 

Jimmy grinned and pumped his fist. “Yes!!” He hissed under his breath before catching himself. “I mean uh… yea good that’s good. I wasn’t too rough or anything right?” He smiled when you laughed and shook your head. “No, I'm fine. Thanks for worrying though.”

“Good! I’ve uhm… never done this before so sorry- I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He mumbled under his breath and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Me neither.” You chuckled, flushing slightly. “But hey! We’ll get through it together.” You hummed, offering him a grin. 

Jimmy grinned back, pulling on his boxers before helping you get dressed, moving to lay beside you in bed. “Yea… Oh that reminds me! Did you uh… mean it when you said you liked me back - I mean you can say no y’know I’m like- not gonna force you to be with me if you don’t want to or if it feels like I’m forcing you to be with me!”

You laughed and shook your head. “No I meant it! I really did.” You cut him off and watched the words die on Jimmy’s lips. You watched his face contort from joking fear of rejection - to confusion - to elation. 

“You… you want me to be your boyfriend?” He whispered, tears brimming in the corners of his eyes and you nodded, smiling at him.

Jimmy grinning and grabbed you by the shoulders, tugging you into his arms with an ‘omph’. “This is the best day of my life!” He laughed. You smiled back and nuzzled into his side, body growing heavy with sleep. Jimmy threw an arm over his face. His cheeks were beginning to hurt from all the smiling he was doing but he didn’t care. This was the best day of his fucking life. ‘Thank you God. Thank you for keeping me alive. This is so worth it.’

Tagging: @birdyisthewordyy @tim-tam-jumbalya

[gardenwalrus]

Paul McCartney at Wings' Christmas photo shoot, 1979(?)

PaulMcCartney.com Q&A (19 December 2022):

Q: When you first released ‘Wonderful Christmastime’, did you think it was going to be a Christmas hit that would come back every year? Or does it surprise you that it’s still so popular now? Paul: I like the idea of Christmas songs purely because they only come around at Christmas! They remind us of the fun atmosphere of the whole season, and when I was writing ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ I was trying to capture that party aspect. I did hope it would keep coming back – which it has. Sometimes people will go into a shop and hear it a little too much, but I don’t care! I’m happy!

Q: We really wanted to ask you about this ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ fan theory that has gone viral on social media. The theory suggests the song is about people practising witchcraft, chanting ‘the moon is right, the spirit’s up’, and when someone walks in, they must play it cool and pretend they are ‘simply having a wonderful Christmastime!’. Is this theory true? Paul: Oh yeah. Well, thank goodness they found me out. This is completely true and in actual fact I am the head wizard of a Liverpool coven. (Paul laughs) Either that… or it’s complete nonsense. And you know it’s the latter! Q: This theory may have come from people mishearing the lyrics. Could you confirm if the lyric is ‘the moon is right’ or ‘the mood is right’? Paul: It’s ‘the mood’! This is the mood; I’ve gathered together the witches and wizards… I’ve got ‘the mood’, which is what we in wizardry call it (laughs). The thing is about this stuff, it’s so easy to convince half the people in the world. You do have to be a little bit careful! No, it’s ‘the mood’. And you know what, I’m thinking about Liverpool Christmas parties, that’s really all I’m doing with that song. “The mood is right, let’s raise a glass, the spirit’s up” – you know, all the stuff you do at Christmas. Particularly with my old Liverpool family parties. Q: You’ve spoken before about singing around the piano at parties in Liverpool, and in ‘Wonderful Christmastime’ the choir ‘sing their song’ - but do you have any memories of going carolling at Christmas? Paul: I can’t remember ever having done it, so I probably didn’t. The fun thing about Christmas carolling, that probably would have influenced my decision NOT to do it, was that my dad always used to make fun of them. He'd say, ‘Here’s a shilling to go sing in the next street’. He was not a big fan of Christmas carols. I quite like them! Q: Are there any Christmas traditions from your childhood which you have continued into adulthood, and shared with your own children and grandchildren? Paul: I have actually started some new traditions. When the kids were little, I suddenly thought there wasn’t the ideal Christmas record, in my opinion. There’s some great Christmas records like the Phil Spector one, and Nat King Cole and Bing Crosby on the old standards, but I just wanted an instrumental of all the tunes. So, I ended up recording one for the family in my studio. And Eddie Klein, my engineer at the time, helped me. I now have this album I pull out every year, and it’s a bit of fun for the kids when we’re carving the veggie roast. I’ll stick it on and it means Christmas is here. It’s quite a cute little record actually! But it’s just for the family. Q: Some fans already know this exists, it’s part of the Paul McCartney folklore! I think they’re hoping to hear it one day. Paul: I’ve often thought it’s good enough if people would like it released, and I’ve thought I could do it for charity or something, but never really felt strongly enough to make a decision. It’s just a family record, and I’ll pull it out again this Christmas. My main job is to carve the roast. That was one of the things I liked when we became veggie years ago. I said it would be nice for me to able to do what I thought of as the traditional ‘dad’ job, so that’s the carving of the turkey in the old days, and now it’s the carving of the veggie roast. I normally do that – unless someone gets in there first, and I get miffed! Steady on! So yeah, I put on the Christmas record, carve the roast, and then we do all the normal Christmas things. Christmas crackers and reading out all the terrible jokes and trying to really be happy with the little gift that comes inside, which is something you’re never going to use or keep. This is the spirit of Christmas! We mainly do all the stuff that everyone else does at Christmas time.

[theunsinkableship1]

DENIAL IS NOT A RIVER IN LUKOLALAND

⚠️DISCLAIMER: This is Lukolaland only. Skip if you don't believe.

Denial is a river in LUKOLALAND?

This has to be a joke, right? Some responses that I have received on my latest posts on TT and Tumblr leave me perplexed. Let me make something clear: I’m not here to convince anyone of anything. You have the right to believe whatever you want, that’s your prerogative. However, this is a Lukola space. It’s a space that exists to celebrate their connection, to nurture it from afar, because it shines brightly and is uniquely beautiful.

I don’t know them personally. I can only judge from what I’ve seen and heard, and I fully acknowledge that my perception is biased. My interpretations come from the way I read into their actions, their words, and their patterns. What I share here isn’t fact, it’s speculation based on observation. The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t know what’s really going on.

First and foremost, they are colleagues and FRIENDS. They’ve said that multiple times, and I believe them. For those who doubt their friendship, I don’t know what to tell you. That’s the foundation here. If you don’t even believe in their bond as friends, this probably isn’t the space for you.

But here’s where it gets complicated: they’re not just platonic friends. You may have missed it, but the signs are there, publicly available. You just need to pay attention. I’m not talking about outlandish theories; I’m talking about what’s right there if you’re willing to see it.

I believe they’re in love with each other. As for their current situation? I’m not certain. But the level of plausible deniability in their story doesn’t make sense to me. Maybe it does to you, but for someone who thinks in layers, patterns, double entendres, and undertones, someone who loves words and has studied communication and PR, this whole narrative is anything but straightforward.

Leaving this much space for misinterpretation is a choice. If they wanted to shut this down entirely, they could’ve done so with clarity and finality. It’s not that they can’t make themselves understood without being misconstrued, they absolutely can. But they haven’t.

It’s wise to keep a level of doubt, it maintains objectivity and prevents overreach. However, when coincidences stack up and patterns emerge, it becomes increasingly unlikely that they’re all mere misunderstandings or products of plausible deniability.

The more coincidences there are, the less likely they are to be unrelated.

On their own, one or two could easily be explained away, “just friends,” “PR,” or “fans reading too much into it.”

When similar themes arise repeatedly over months or years (e.g., their timing, shared themes, subtle nods to one another), the likelihood of them being mere coincidence diminishes.

The concept of plausible deniability hinges on actions that could be explained in multiple ways. However, the more layers of ambiguity and deniability built into their interactions, the more intentional it feels.

The subtleties of their public dynamic suggest a shared awareness of fan interpretations. They know how their actions are perceived. To repeatedly engage in behaviors that could be "misunderstood" suggests either: a) Intentional messaging within safe boundaries. b) A significant lack of care, which doesn’t align with how thoughtful and calculated they seem to be.

Take Nicola’s recent Times interview as an example. She could have ended all speculation right there,

“A lot of people really want me to marry Luke,” she says with a laugh. “We have this gorgeous friendship. We have such a love for one another and this experience that I’ll never have with someone else again. Isn’t it gorgeous that a man and woman can have that sort of relationship with one another?”

but she didn’t. Why? There must be a reason. And no, it’s not just PR. PR campaigns don’t operate on layers of plausible deniability that stretch across years, interweave with personal moments, and rely on such specific timing.

Isn’t it strange that for two people who have been so close, their social interactions have significantly decreased compared to before? Over the past two years, especially after the world tour, they appeared to have solidified a deep friendship. If the intent is to disengage fans from the idea that they might be secretly in love, wouldn’t it be wiser to interact more naturally and perhaps even acknowledge each other’s perceived partners?

From a strategic perspective, a like, a follow, or a simple interaction on social media could have gone a long way in dismantling the Lukola narrative. Such actions would feel natural for close friends, especially ones under public scrutiny. Their reluctance to adopt this approach only adds to the curiosity. Why not lean into a strategy that would be less detrimental and more effective at quelling speculation?

Perhaps they are more active on private social media accounts, but publicly, the absence of these gestures stands out. If the goal truly is to clarify their relationship and put fan theories to rest, this perceived distance feels counterproductive. The choice to refrain from such actions, at least for now, is, at the very least, curious. Could it be that there’s a reason they haven’t done so yet?

Both Luke and Nicola have had ample opportunities to firmly address and deny the Lukola narrative. While they’ve made passing comments about being friends, these have lacked the clarity and directness that would fully quash the speculation. Why leave the door ajar if they truly wanted to shut it?

Their reduced interactions seem to have coincided with the conclusion of the promotional period for Bridgerton. During promotions, they were actively engaging with each other and the fandom, fostering the image of a close bond. The sudden change afterward could indicate a deliberate decision to recalibrate public perceptions of their relationship.

The decrease in public interactions after the “papgate” could be their way of managing fallout from the incident, yet it raises questions: Why would two close friends need to distance themselves so noticeably? It suggests a calculated retreat to reduce speculation. However, this strategy seems counterproductive, as the abruptness of the change has drawn more attention. A gradual shift, paired with natural acknowledgments of their respective supposed personal lives, might have been more effective.

It’s possible they’re still VERY close privately but have chosen to limit their public interactions to avoid misinterpretation, or for privacy reasons. If so, this deliberate choice to create distance publicly could point to a deeper connection they’re trying to shield.

This brings us back to patterns. If you observe their public interactions, their timing, their word choices, the double meanings, they’re not random. These coincidences pile up to the point where it’s hard to believe they’re all meaningless. Their bond transcends the boundaries of PR, platonic friendship, or even ordinary relationships.

If you reason in layers, you’ll see it too. The amount of room they leave for interpretation is extraordinary. It’s not just about what they say, it’s about what they don’t say. It’s about the undertones, the pauses, the way they navigate questions, and even the things they choose to share (or not share) on social media. All of this seems to be deliberate. The picture is larger and more intricate than it seems on the surface.

For example: Am I truly supposed to believe that Nicola, who has a higher degree in English and a major grasp of language, would post a Scrabble board with so many elements that could be interpreted through a Lukola lens purely by coincidence? Yes, she’s an avid player of word games, but let’s examine the board itself. It reflects competent but not advanced gameplay, logical and adhering to Scrabble rules, yes, but lacking the level of complexity, strategy, and nuanced word choice you’d expect from someone of her linguistic caliber or from a player displaying their skill.

For me, this was never just about showing off her love of Scrabble. It felt intentional, like an intended message rather than a casual post. If the goal was simply to share her hobbies or an aesthetic moment, she could’ve easily posted a picture of herself playing Scrabble, perhaps with a pint of Guinness in hand. Or she could’ve showcased a more advanced board to reflect her skills or creativity. Instead, she chose this specific board with these specific words, words that align so conveniently with a narrative many of us have come to associate with Lukola.

And let’s not forget her self-awareness. Why would someone who knows how deeply her posts are analyzed by fans continue to share things that are repeatedly misconstrued? If she didn’t want the association, why add layers of ambiguity, such as the now infamous “the very demure, very mindful” quote? What was the reason?

Just two days ago, she posted a photo in her best of 2024 the phrase "if you know, you know." Let’s be honest, how many Lukola edits have we seen that riff of "when you know, you know"? If this wasn’t related to that, what exactly was the point of the “random” quote?  Is it public knowledge or is it something only some know? Nicola is anything but random on social media. She’s chronically online, she’s clever, and she’s incredibly aware of the narratives circulating around her.

These patterns, Scrabble boards, cryptic quotes, wordplay, and selective ambiguity, don’t feel accidental. They feel curated. For someone so skilled with words and communication, there’s intention behind these choices. If it were just for fun, she could have chosen countless other ways to express herself that wouldn’t leave so much room for interpretation. But she didn’t. And for me, that’s speaks volumes.

I’m mainly talking about Nicola here because there’s simply more material to analyze, her posts, interviews, and public interactions offer more clues and layers to unpack. However, Luke’s activity, or rather, his noticeable lack of activity, is equally intriguing and worth examining.

Luke has always been more reserved on social media compared to Nicola, but his recent silence or carefully curated posts stand out. He’s not just absent; he’s selectively absent. There’s a difference between being inactive and deliberately staying under the radar. For someone who previously shared glimpses of his personal life and participated more openly in fandom engagement, his current approach feels intentional.

When he does post, the content often seems neutral, leaning into professional promotion or generic life updates. Yet, the timing or lack of acknowledgment of certain things, whether related to Nicola or even his supposed personal relationships, leaves room for speculation. It’s almost as if he’s consciously avoiding feeding into narratives while simultaneously not shutting them down.

For instance, why hasn’t he addressed certain rumors head-on, as he has done in the past with other relationships? Luke has historically been upfront about his. It’s a choice.

Considering that Luke has been involved in other projects and worked with other co-stars since the end of the Bridgerton world tour, the ratio of content related to Nicola remains strikingly high. Among the limited glimpses he does share, Nicola accounts for the largest percentage of reposts and interactions. What’s even more telling is that the majority of this content is Lukola-focused, centered on his dynamic with Nicola as individuals, rather than strictly Polin-related, which would be tied to their characters and professional pairing. Yes, she is his MAIN co-star within the Bridgerton universe, but this level of engagement is noteworthy.

This isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate or acknowledge his other co-stars; it’s just that the weight of attention, however subtle, consistently gravitates toward Nicola. Whether it’s the choice of what he reposts or the absence of comparable attention toward other colleagues, the pattern emerges loud and clear.

If we analyze this through a lens of probability and statistics, the numbers paint an even more intriguing picture. Let’s say Luke has worked with five to seven notable co-stars in other projects and in Bridgerton, if he has been tagged in or had the opportunity to engage with 100 pieces of social media content since the world tour. If Nicola accounts for, say, 60% of the interactions and reposts, despite being one of many co-stars, it defies the expectation of a more even distribution.

For context, if he were equally invested in all professional relationships, the engagement with Nicola might hover closer to 15-20%, proportional to the size of his broader network. The fact that this number is so much higher, let’s conservatively estimate at least three to four times greater raises questions. Is this simply because of their shared Bridgerton fame? Perhaps. But then why focus on individual Lukola moments, bypassing more neutral or inclusive Polin or broader cast content?

From a mathematical standpoint, the odds of this being purely coincidental diminish significantly when you layer in the context:

Nicola has the highest percentage of reposts across Luke's social media activity.

The type of content intimate, personal, or Lukola-specific reflects a curated choice, not random selection.

Even in a professional context, where Polin content would be the obvious promotional focus, the Lukola-centric moments shine through.

Given the numbers and probabilities, it seems less likely that this pattern is accidental or merely reflective of professional obligations. Instead, it suggests an intentionality that aligns with the depth and uniqueness of their connection.

Promotion for Bridgerton Season 3 has come to a halt, creating a quiet period where we can observe and compare how Luke approaches the promotion of his other projects.it could highlight how unique his dynamic with Nicola truly is.

The nature of the content he shares for other projects will be equally telling

By comparing these promotional efforts both in terms of frequency and tone to the patterns established during the Bridgerton promotional cycle, we could gain insight into whether his approach to Nicola was truly unique or simply part of his broader professional routine.

When coincidences pile up, their probability of being just coincidences shrinks dramatically. A single instance might be random, but repeated instances with similar themes, timing, and emotional undertones suggest a deeper meaning. While maintaining doubt is reasonable, the sheer volume of these moments suggests that there’s more at play than mere misunderstanding. It’s not about overreaching, it’s about acknowledging that where there’s consistent smoke, there’s likely some fire. What type of fire is there currently? I’m not sure. Are you? Probably an Eternal flame.

[fangdokja]

The man in your apartment knows you better than you know yourself.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Stalker x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 908

The night swallowed the city whole, wrapping it in the kind of darkness that only amplifies your breathing. He had been watching you for hours now, hidden just beyond the edges of your comprehension, a master of shadows and silence. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, but he had memorized the fragile line of your existence—the tremble in your voice when you spoke too quickly, the way your hands fumbled over themselves when you thought no one noticed. You were art in its most raw form: vulnerable, flawed, perfect.

He thought about you every second every single day. You had no idea.

The first time he saw you, it had been accidental. A fleeting moment—your back turned to him, your hair catching the low golden light like the divine threads of some celestial loom. His breath had caught, just for a second, but in that second, his world shattered and reformed around one singular truth: you were his. He didn’t know your name then, but he didn’t need to. A predator never needs to introduce himself to his prey.

Tonight, he stands in your apartment, the silence of your slumber heavy in the air. You don’t hear him, don’t feel his gaze burning into your sleeping form. You’ve sprawled out on the bed like a lamb offered up for slaughter, limbs loose, breath even. He’s been here long enough to memorize the rise and fall of your chest, the vulnerable hollow of your throat, the pulse-point just beneath your jaw. His gloved fingers twitch, aching to reach out, to press down, to claim.

But he won’t—not yet. No, not yet. Anticipation is a wine best aged, and he has patience honed by decades of knowing how to break things.

His own reflection in the mirror catches his eye. He’s huge, monstrous compared to you—broad shoulders, scarred hands, a face carved by the violence of time and regret. He looks like someone who’s torn lives apart, because he has. The juxtaposition is delicious, isn’t it? You, all soft and warm and untouched; him, sharp edges and blackened depths. The lamb and the wolf.

He steps closer, boots silent against the hardwood. Every fiber of his being screams to touch you, but he resists, fists clenching at his sides. The air feels heavier the closer he gets, charged like the moment before a storm breaks. His voice, low and guttural, cuts through the stillness, though it’s barely a whisper.

“You don’t even know, do you?”

You stir faintly in your sleep, a soft sound spilling from your lips. His chest tightens at the noise. He doesn’t want to wake you, not yet, but the idea of you opening those innocent eyes and finding him here, towering over you like the monster in the dark, makes him shudder. Fear looks good on you. He knows it will. He’s dreamt of it.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmurs, the words more for himself than for you. “I could crush you with a hand around your neck, and you’d still be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The knife at his hip is a comforting weight. He doesn’t intend to use it—yet. It’s there as a reminder, a talisman against his own spiraling thoughts. He wants to keep you. He’ll have to hurt you, yes, break you a little to make you fit in his world, but he won’t destroy you. Not entirely. The line between possession and obliteration is thin, razor-thin, and he walks it with a surgeon’s precision.

You shift again, this time closer to waking. A soft noise escapes your throat, and his breath hitches. He steps back into the shadows, watching as your eyes flutter open, unfocused, scanning the darkness. You sit up slowly, the blanket falling from your shoulders. The room feels wrong, doesn’t it? You’re not alone, even if your logical mind is screaming that you are.

“Who’s there?” your voice is hoarse, tinged with fear. He doesn’t answer, of course. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, lets your panic bloom like some exquisite flower. You reach for your phone on the nightstand, but it’s not there. He has it. He’s been reading your texts for weeks, combing through every word for evidence of someone who might take you from him. There’s no one. Not yet. And if there ever is, he’ll handle it.

You’re standing now, edging toward the door, your breath quickening. It’s intoxicating, watching you like this. The fear, the confusion, the dawning realization that something is deeply, irrevocably wrong.

“Why are you running?” his voice comes from the corner of the room, low and smooth and dripping with menace. You freeze, your eyes snapping to the darkness where he stands. You can’t see him, not fully, but you feel him.

“Who are you?” your voice trembles.

He steps forward into the dim light, slow and deliberate, letting you take him in. He sees the fear bloom in your eyes, sees the way your body tenses like a rabbit caught in a snare. It’s beautiful.

“I’m the only one who will ever love you the way you deserve,” he says, voice soft but cold as the grave. “You’ll understand soon enough."

And then he lunges.

[xetlynn]

an artists muse- a viktor fic.

eleven.

[ten] [eleven] [twelve]

faithful to its nature, its power never diminished.

Arms wrap around you sweetly, you lean into it. Wanting nothing more but to stay in the moment. “you’re so pretty.” And you look over to see Viktor. You smile, going in to place a kiss on his lips. It was perfect. The room was dark, only dimly lit by the laptop screen that played…

That played um… What is it playing? You pull away from the kiss, to look over at the device that was beginning to look weird. “What the-” “[Name]?” You look back over to Viktor who was now replaced by Powder. Your best friend. You furrow your eyebrows, slightly in disgust. You blink a few times.

“What?” You rasp and you hear Powder laugh, her arm rested on your waist as the two of you lay together on your bed watching a show. “Dude, you passed out.” She announces. “We’ve only watched one episode.” She tells you and you scrunch your face. Trying to register what was happening. “Sorry.” 

She raises a brow at you. “Have a nightmare or something?” Powder sits up, her arm going back to her own side. You frown momentarily at the loss of her warmth. “No, I- it was stupid.” You shrug your shoulders, sitting up as well. Staring down at your fingers as your face grows flustered. “Tell me about it.” 

You think back to the short, painfully short dream. “It was about Viktor. For the hundredth time.” You sigh, annoyed with your own brain. Creating such imagery in your own head that you now have to think about when you’re conscious. “Mm, not surprised.” Powder huffs out a laugh, leaning into you as she also pauses the show. “Thanks.” You scoff, sliding off the bed to stretch out your limbs. 

“No problem, but seriously I have a question.” Your best friend follows suit, jumping on the ground. Surely to give you guys another complaint by the people underneath you. “What?” You ask, heading over to your desk, plopping down on the rolly chair.

“Do you love him or something?” The question catches you off guard and your eyes almost pop out of your own head. “Love?” You repeat.

“Yeah, if I’m wrong you can tell me but I only ask because this is like a heartbreak [Name]. I’ve never seen you this… disheveled over any break ups you’ve had.” Powder explains her reasoning. 

And thinking back to it, she’s right. With your past relationships, that was official, you’ve never really given it another thought when it ended. It was over and yeah you were sad for a little bit but this is different.

Your chest ached with the mention of Viktor. In most dreams there he existed, holding and loving you, and each time you pleaded it was real when you wake up. Only to be left with the harsh reality that you ruined that chance of being tangible.

You beat yourself up every second you're alone. 

“I don’t know. It had only been two-three weeks of getting to know one another. I feel love is a strong word for that.” You tell her truthfully. “Did you love him when he was your online friend?” She inquires and your eyes travel over to your phone. “I had love for him. He was a close friend but can you fall in love with someone you technically never met?” You question, it was something you asked yourself quite a lot. Did you love Ma? Could you fall for someone you never saw face to face. Was that possible? And if it was, is it pathetic? 

“I think so, I mean you know who he is now. Is the feeling the same for both?” 

“Why are you interrogating me?” You ignore the last sentence, now feeling on edge on how deep this was getting. “Just curious.” She hums. “I don’t know the answer.” And truthfully you didn’t. 

Love? You don’t even know if you’ve ever truly loved someone. As time passed you believed you weren’t capable of loving someone more than a friend. With your exes it never felt right. In those relationships you were honestly miserable. No motivation, putting on a mask, and not being true to yourself. 

You couldn’t enjoy your interests. Your art is forgotten about.

With Ma… or Viktor. Both. That never happened. If anything you were more motivated.

In high school you stayed up until ungodly hours, painting, sketching out sculptures based on the sound of Ma’s voice. The colors you saw, the feelings you felt all put into your art. 

Specifically the crowd paintings you created. Crowds of people. Crowds of familiar faces but not the one you wanted to see. A face that you hadn’t gotten the chance to meet blurred out but facing you in each painting. Only one figure that stood there, staring back at you. No features attainable to recognize.

And you hated it. You wanted to know who it was.

“Wonderful ideas, wonderful models. I don’t think I’ve had such intelligent and creative students as I do this year. Take this time to inspect others' projects and mingle with one another.” Your biology professor tells the class, everyone of you standing up to his directions. 

Viktor and you stick together, unintentionally throughout the room. No words said between either of you.

You admire your fellow classmates' work, clicking through the slides on each laptop. Reading thoroughly through their slides. Silently gushing at the way they decorated their boards. Viktor observes you the entire time. 

The words of his friends stick in his mind. You don’t entirely seem upset? But if they had seen it themselves, surely they’re not lying to him. His eyes scanned your face closely. A hardened gaze, his jaw clenching subconsciously.

Did he want to see you upset? Why would he want that? To know you’re hurting just as much as he is? Would he wish that pain on someone he lo- he respects? 

No, he wouldn’t.

You look back at him with a polite smile. “Right?” His eyebrows furrow, confused. “What?” He asks hesitantly, his cheeks fell warm as he is put on the spot by you. You snicker. “I said, their work is so organized, maybe the two of you would hit it off.” You repeat, your breath now caught in your throat. Wondering if that was too friendly too soon. He glances over to the people’s work. 

It had no color, monotonous and tidy. Is that what you think of him? Bland, tasteless and… boring? 

His head bows down, a ghost of a nod. “Sure.” He dryly replies, unfortunately feeding into your worries. “Did I say something wrong?” You quietly inquire as you guys head to the next board. A clique of students pushing past you. 

“No?” He averts your eye contact. Was he actually upset that you think of him like that? 

“Oh.” You puff out your cheeks, not knowing what else to say.

The voices of others cover the awkward beats of silence between the two of you.

“Am I that mundane to you?” He was almost inaudible when he asked the sudden question. You cock your head to the side. Your mouth opens to answer but he lets out a scoff shaking his head.

“Don’t answer that.” He walks ahead of you. 

Mundane? Why would he think that? You pointed out the person’s tidiness because of how put together Viktor is. You admired that.

He preferred things a certain way, his room showed that. He still had a personality outside of that. His energy drew you in. The way he held himself, the enigmatic essence but also the familiarity you felt.

And now you know the familiarity was Ma. They were the same person.

Ma used to tell you about the moon and constellations for hours. He enjoyed star gazing. He enjoyed reading and learning about living beings. Their struggles. But also their potential to be more than who they were raised to be. 

He was far from mundane. Viktor was more than who he thought himself to be. In your eyes he was far better than perfect. There wasn’t a word for how you perceived him. Because every word seemed minimal in comparison to what you felt.  

“You found your muse?” You hear your professor behind you. You glare down at your paper then up to them. “What? No, look at this.” You express, lifting up the sketch and shaking it dramatically. “I am. It seems you found it.” They place a gentle hand upon your shoulder. 

You drew a crowd. Just like your millions upon millions of paintings posted on your instagram. How is a crowd of people your muse? Your eyebrows knit together and you look up to Dr. Shoola once more. “This is just a random sketch?” You say in more of a question. You were confused. You drew this often, but it’s not your muse. 

“You’re a silly one, [Name].” They pat your shoulder, moving onto Ekko’s sketch in front of you. Your eyes land back at the sheet of paper. Found your muse? Where?

You observed your own drawing. What are you not seeing?

This is short, I did it on purpose because twelve and thirteen are going to be longer. :) And honestly I do have a concussion and this took me hours. I probably shouldn't have been on my laptop the way I was but I had to post thisssss.

Two more chapters left.

Taglist: @policedeer @ang3lz-lov3 @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @confusedgemposts @corpsepies @almostdrowningdown @obittwo @ren-ni @xx-siren-sings-xx @donnie-is-here @urmommt

[willowed-wisp]

gaz as a dad (part two) [ kyle garrick ]

part one |

- Puts on a brave face to you and he’s leaving for deployment but you know he’s dying on the inside- running the statistics through his head of his chances of survival

- Your daughter’s first word was in facts, “Dada”, she’s such a daddy’s girl.

- It’s hell for you when he’s away having a one year old who doesn’t know where her dad is, playing old videos of him to keep her sane

- All the while you were pregnant with your little girl. Kyle misses kissing your stomach every hour of the day, even when you weren’t pregnant he’ll do it

- You’re about 4-5 months along when he leaves.

- Kyle has two older sisters (he’s the baby of the family) and they treat you like their own blood in the best way possible

- They are taking you out baby shopping while he’s away, they’re staying over to spend time with your daughter

- Don’t get started with Kyle’s mum, she may be the in-law ever. Kyle’s dad left and never came back when he was young

- Everyday is a party to them, they’re so joyous and you see why Kyle is so well adjusted and a proper gentleman

- They live just around the corner and you go round every other night for dinner with your little girl and little bump

- They sympathise with you when Kyle is away, his mother didn’t understand why he enlisted into the army to begin with but over the years she saw the glint in his eye

- Like you had- he lived to fight the shadow wars… though he preferred to spend time with his family in more recent times

- After having a child, his relationship with his family, his mother especially, healed.

- He’s low-key jealous that his sisters steal you away and spend more time with you than he gets to

- But he’s so glad you get along with them- they can be picky and have never liked anyone brought home before

- Kyle returns when you are about to pop, 8 months pregnant and he doesn’t know when he’s getting redeployed

- No matter how many times it would happen, Kyle isn’t sure he’d ever remain composed in the delivery room.

- But what had remained the same with your birthing is that he feels so still and grounded when holding his children in his arms

- Your eldest is a mini him and your youngest is a mini you

- He’s sent back out four months later, but for a shorter time period.

- When he comes back, you’re not okay… he found you crying in the shower away from your kids in the middle of the night

- “Please don’t leave us…” He must be the most understanding partner, he battles demons in his head everyday but it hits different when it’s the love of his life, mother of his children who is suffering outwardly

- Sobbing in his clothed arms

- He had read about post-partum depression and he is an actual angel when it comes to dealing with it

- He takes on more tasks so you can have your own space but always curls up around you on the sofa

- Your eldest girl attempts to climb up and Kyle helps her

- Is so good with kids dealing with his nieces and nephews

- Grew up in a house full of women, that’s why he’s so endearing and thoughtful about you

- Kyle was so nervous to ask his Captain such a bold question, Price had seen photos of your daughters so he knew they existed

- He also lived not too far from your house so he came over and got into a wrestling match that your eldest won (definitely let her win lol)

- “Sir, since we’re speaking casually… Y/N and I were wondering if you were wanted to be the godfather to the girls…”

- John had never been asked that before and hold back the tears welling. A hand on Kyle’s shoulder, a nod, “Of course I will, Sergeant.”

- His sisters are the godmothers and maybe someone close to you as the other godfather

- About three years into the relationship when your eldest daughter is about 2 and the youngest is nearly 1, you tie the knot.

- Nothing too extravagant, he didn’t like being centre of attention…

- Only the closest people there: his mum, sisters, Simon, Johnny, Price and your closest family you’re in contact with

- You may or not be pregnant with bubba no. 3…

- Spoilers! Baby boy on the way

————

cod m.list | request guidelines | gaz m.list

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can we get a doctor phosphorus X reader where the reader has power similar to Deadpool. Example of unable to die and sometimes has ability to pull things out of thin air for comedic effect

You were a curious case to most, from your inability to die, to your unique ability to seemingly pull things that people needed out of thin air as though by pure coincidence. When asked about how you did what you did, you merely shrugged your shoulders - you sipped a drink you plucked out of thin air through a silly straw- and replied with something that only left the rest of the monsters even more confused;

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the audience reading this fanfic that author took far too long to actually get to writing.’

Many left you alone after that, deducing you a tad mentally unstable, all but Dr Phosphorus who also thrived off of the chaos and unpredictable nature that you brought to every situation you found yourself in. He found comradery in you and your ability to piss of basically everyone by getting under their skin, even him at times but he knows when to laugh with you as while everything that came from your mouth might sound insulting, that’s just how you came across and it only takes someone with a likemindedness to understand when you were being genuine or not.

Dr Phosphorus remembered the first time you interacted with one another when you scared him by accident, making him grab your shoulder with his exposed radiated hand, thinking you’ll die a violent death but imagine his surprise when you only shrug his hand off to reveal a healing shoulder where his hand once was. ‘Is it hot in here or is it just you? Oh who am I kidding it is you because of your…yeah.’ You said as you gestured to all of him and while he couldn’t smile since he was a literal skeleton, he couldn’t help but chuckle at your words now that the initial scare was over.

‘Oh you’re the wise ass who thought it’d be funny to scare the irradiated Skelton?’ Dr phosphorus says as he crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his head as he took you in and the burnt cloth at your shoulder from his touch, your skin however -now fully healed at this point- looked untouched as though he wasn’t close enough to even hurt you. ‘Who are you newbie, I would think that I would remember a person like you.’ He adds with an almost flirtatious purr.

You smiled as you offered out your hand. ‘Of course you wouldn’t as I was hauled off here just this morning, but for the sake of keeping this fanfic a reasonable length as to prevent the possibility of stretching the readers attention span too thin, I killed a bunch of bad guys and lost a couple of limbs in the process.’ You said as though it wasn’t as big of a deal as it would be to others, ‘people were screaming, I was screaming. and here I am being called a freak, monster and whatever even by people who should probably look in the mirror before saying shit. It’s like the pot calling the kettle black.’ You finished.

Dr phosphorus looked at you then back down at your hand before looking back at you once more, amused. ‘I’d take your hand sweetheart, but I don’t want to hurt you…again.’

‘Oh then take these gloves.’ You said.

‘What gloves-‘

‘These silly!’ You exclaimed as you shoved a pair of irradiation proof gloves against dr phosphorus’s chest.

‘How did you-‘ dr phosphorus tried to ask, only to then decide that logic wasn’t all that important to you when you seemingly worked outside of logic as a person, logic and sound decisions didn’t exist within you, and it shows in the most subtlest ways that one wouldn’t notice unless they were paying attention as to how you seemingly controlled an unforeseen narrative to your very will.

‘How did I what?’ You asked.

‘Pull shit out of thin air.’ Dr phosphorus replied as he slides the gloves over his hands.

‘Plot convenience and comedic effect for the them.’ You then pointed towards a part of the room, almost as though gesturing to an audience , only for there to be no one there at all but cold walls. You two were the only ones in the room and dr phosphorus thought he was the only mentally unstable one in this facility. ‘Who are we looking at sweets?’ Dr phosphorus says as he tried to see what you were seeing, but all he could see was the cold walls that he was far too familiar with then the outside of the very structure he was trapped within, which sounded sad but to his knowledge no sane mind would blink twice at the mistreatment of a monster.

‘The audience reading this very fan fic.’ You informed him with a smile before seeing that he had put on the gloves and boldly grabbed his hand, making the skeleton jolt as he then relaxed when remembering he did put on the gloves. ‘But never mind them, it’s good to meet you dr phosphorus.’ You add as though knowing his name without him telling you was all apart of your character and dr phosphorus had to say that he was liking you more and more you spoke.

‘I don’t think I disclosed that to you sweetheart, but it’s good to meet you too.’ He chuckled and in that moment he knew that your relationship was going to be unlike any other. And he was right.

There would be times where all of you were gathered in the cafeteria, where one of the monsters nudged past you rather rudely while sneering at you. You were use to this as technically while you had abilities that went beyond human comprehension, you were still the closest thing to being a human in comparison to those who had physical appearance that screamed monster.

‘Watch where you’re going human.’ They’d spit at you venomously.

You only smiled back at them while Dr Phosphorus looked between the two of you from the sidelines along with everyone else. ‘Someone who’s going to get bitchslapped by a fish says what.’

The bat like creature scrunched up their face. ‘What-‘ before they could finish their sentence, they were then smacked across the face with a fish rather violently as they were sent to the floor. They hold a hand to their cheek, clearly unaware of what had just happened along with the rest of the room, before looking at your hand that was once empty now was grasping the tail a dead fish the length of your arm; which explained the disgusting smell that soon hit their senses a second after they realised that they were hit in the face with a dead fish.

‘Where did you get that thing?!’ They’d spit exclaimed but you shrugged.

‘That’s on a need to know basis.’ You replied as you shoved the fish into the hands of a gargoyle like being as you took your place next to dr phosphorus, who had been trying to hold back his laughter but couldn’t when you were close enough if g for him to ask. ‘A fish? That’s what you come up with when insulated?!’ He wheezed. You shrugged ‘thought you would like the image of someone getting slapped with a fish and so I went with it.’ You explained as though it was something that happened on a daily basis for you.

‘Well it was definitely a sight to behold for not just me sweetheart.’ Dr phosphorus tells you as you both carried on with your day, all the while everyone else could only watch as the irradiated skeleton and you continue your conversation before being joined by weasel who had the fish firmly liked in his jaw.

[w1w2]

Skating the Divide

Myoui Mina x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 5k

Synopsis: On the ice, every move tells a story. For two skaters with opposing styles, the competition is more than just a test of skill. It’s a clash of worlds.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 - Cracks in the Ice | Part 3 | Part 4

The tension between Y/N and Mina had been simmering since their first practice, and by the end of the week, it had reached a boiling point. The rink had become a battleground, their clashes echoing louder than their skates cutting into the ice.

They stood at the rink, catching their breaths after yet another failed attempt at the lift sequence. Mina pinched the bridge of her nose, her frustration barely contained. Y/N leaned against the edge of the rink, her hands gripping the boards tightly as if trying to keep herself from shouting.

“Let’s go again,” Mina said, her voice clipped and businesslike.

“Again?” Y/N shot her a disbelieving look. “We’ve done it a million times already. Maybe the problem isn’t me.. it’s your precious plan.”

Mina turned sharply, her gaze like ice. “The problem is that you refuse to follow it. If you would just listen—”

“Listen to what? More lectures about how I’m not good enough?” Y/N interrupted, her voice rising. Her chest heaved as she pushed off the boards and skated toward Mina. “You’ve been nitpicking every single thing I do since day one. Newsflash: I’m not a robot!”

“And thank God for that,” Mina retorted, crossing her arms. “Because if you were, we might actually make progress.”

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, throwing her hands in the air. “Oh, so now it’s all my fault? Maybe if you stopped micromanaging every second and let me breathe, we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

“I wouldn’t have to micromanage if you took this seriously,” Mina snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

That did it. Y/N’s eyes burned, her face flushing with anger. “Are you kidding me? I’m the one who’s been busting my ass trying to make this work while you stand there acting like you’re too good for all of this!”

Mina’s jaw tightened, her calm facade finally starting to crack. “I’m acting like I’m too good?” she repeated, her tone low and dangerous. “At least I know what it means to work for something instead of just hoping my charm will carry me through.”

The words hit harder than Y/N expected, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let Mina see the sting of her remark.

She doesn’t know anything about me, Y/N thought angrily, but her inner voice wavered. Beneath the anger, there was a flicker of doubt. Was that how Mina really saw her? As someone who didn’t deserve to be here?

Her throat felt tight, but she refused to let it show. Instead, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Mina. “At least I don’t skate like I have a stick up my—”

“Don’t,” Mina interrupted, her voice quiet but sharp enough to stop Y/N mid-sentence. Her gaze bore into Y/N, and for a moment, the air between them felt impossibly heavy.

Mina clenched her fists at her sides, her nails pressing into her palms as she fought to keep her composure. Y/N’s chaotic energy grated on her nerves in a way that was both infuriating and... unsettling. She told herself it was frustration, that it was the clash of their approaches to skating but she couldn’t ignore the deeper, unspoken emotion simmering beneath the surface.

It was a flicker of something she didn’t want to name, let alone acknowledge.

She doesn’t understand what’s at stake here, Mina thought, her chest tightening as familiar pressure wrapped around her like a vice. This isn’t a game. This is everything.

For Mina, skating wasn’t just a sport. It was a lifeline, a discipline that had shaped her entire existence. Every hour spent perfecting her craft, every blister and bruise, every fleeting moment of joy on the ice, it all built toward the singular goal of being the best. To win. To be untouchable.

But Y/N’s approach was the antithesis of everything Mina believed in. Her free-spirited movements and unpredictable improvisations felt like chaos wrapped in glitter. It was beautiful in its own way, but it lacked the precision Mina had spent years honing.

She doesn’t take it seriously enough, Mina thought, her gaze narrowing as she watched Y/N skate in frustration, her arms gesturing wildly as she argued. How can I rely on someone who doesn’t understand that perfection isn’t optional?

And yet, as she looked at Y/N, standing there with her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing with determination, Mina felt a pang of something foreign.

How does she do that? Mina wondered, her mind briefly slipping from its carefully controlled script. Y/N’s defiance wasn’t just loud, it was fearless. She made mistakes and brushed them off like they didn’t matter, and she skated with a freedom Mina hadn’t felt in years.

For a fleeting moment, Mina envied her. Envied the way she seemed to embrace imperfection, to pour herself into the ice without fear of judgment. But that thought was dangerous. It lingered in the shadows of her mind like a whisper she refused to hear.

That kind of thinking wouldn’t win championships, Mina reminded herself firmly, forcing her gaze to harden. There was no room for freedom. No room for chaos. Only discipline and control. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared at Mina, her chest tight with frustration. She hated the way Mina always seemed so calm, so composed, like nothing could touch her. It made Y/N feel like she was constantly playing catch-up, like no matter how hard she worked, she’d never be good enough.

Mina’s cold, clipped remarks were the worst. Each one landed like a blow, subtle but sharp, carving away at Y/N’s confidence.

How does she do that? Y/N thought bitterly, her fingers curling into fists. How can she make me feel like an amateur with just a few words?

But beneath her anger, Y/N felt an ache she didn’t want to name. Mina’s constant criticisms stirred up ghosts from her past. Memories of every coach, every judge, every competitor who had looked at her and told her she didn’t belong.

She thought of the rink back home, the cracked ice and the borrowed skates she had to make last for seasons at a time. Of her parents sitting in the freezing stands, cheering her on even when she placed last. Skating wasn’t just a passion for Y/N; it was survival. It was the one thing she had fought to hold on to when everything else felt out of reach.

Mina doesn’t know what it’s like, Y/N thought, bitterness creeping into her chest. She doesn’t know what it’s like to fight for every second on the ice. To always feel like you’re one mistake away from losing it all.

But there was more to it than that, wasn’t there? It wasn’t just Mina’s words that got under her skin. It was the way she carried herself, like she was untouchable. It made Y/N feel... vulnerable.

Y/N shook her head, brushing the thought away. Vulnerability wasn’t an option. She couldn’t afford to let anyone see the cracks, least of all Mina.

No way am I letting her win this. Y/N lifted her chin, her defiant glare locking onto Mina. If Mina wanted perfection, Y/N would show her something better.

They tried the lift again, Y/N’s hands firm on Mina’s waist as they prepared for the sequence. Y/N steadied herself before lifting Mina again, her knees bent with effort as she tried to match Mina’s timing. But as Mina stretched into position, Y/N’s grip slipped slightly. She tried to adjust, but their movements collided in an awkward tangle, sending Mina sliding awkwardly out of Y/N’s grasp.

Y/N let out a frustrated growl, catching herself on the edge of the rink. “This isn’t working,” she said, her voice taut with anger.

“Because you keep improvising,” Mina snapped, skating a tight circle before coming to a stop in front of Y/N. “If you would just stick to the plan—”

“Oh, here we go again with the plan!” Y/N interrupted, throwing her arms wide. “God forbid I add a little flair to this robotic routine you’ve cooked up.”

“This isn’t about flair,” Mina retorted, her voice rising ever so slightly. “This is about trust. I can’t work with someone who doesn’t take this seriously.”

Y/N froze, the words hitting her like a slap. Her mouth opened to respond, but nothing came out. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hum of the arena lights.For Mina, the words had slipped out before she could stop them, but they carried the weight of her deepest fear: failure. She couldn’t afford to lose control, not in her routine, not in her partnership, and certainly not in front of the judges.

For Y/N, the accusation cut deep, feeding into her worst insecurity: that she didn’t belong here. She skated to prove herself, to show the world she was more than an underdog. But now, those fears gnawed at her, leaving her feeling smaller than she’d ever admit.

They tried again, and again, and again. Each attempt only seemed to widen the chasm between them. Needing a moment to recharge, both were physically and emotionally drained, their movements sluggish and their tempers frayed as they stepped away for a brief respite.

As Y/N sat on the bench unlacing her skates, she muttered to herself, “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Mina overheard, her gaze flicking toward Y/N briefly before she turned away. “Neither can I,” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible.

The rink was eerily quiet that night, the usual hum of activity replaced by the soft hum of the arena lights. It was late, well past the time most skaters had gone home, but Mina and Y/N remained. Neither had planned to practice this late, but both had silently agreed to stay after their latest argument earlier in the day.

Y/N skated in slow, lazy circles at one end of the rink, her mind a storm of frustration and doubt. At the other end, Mina methodically practiced footwork, her movements precise and controlled. For a long while, they didn’t speak, the silence between them heavy but oddly comfortable in its stillness.

It was Y/N who broke the quiet.

“You’re always like this, aren’t you?” she said, her voice carrying across the empty rink.

Mina stopped mid-step, turning to face her. “Like what?”

“So... perfect.” Y/N skated closer, her tone somewhere between bitterness and curiosity. “Everything you do is so flawless, so polished. You’ve probably never even fallen in public, have you?”

Mina’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing. “Falling isn’t an option,” she said, her voice calm but guarded. “Not if you want to be the best.”

Y/N tilted her head, studying her. “Must be exhausting.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than Y/N intended. Mina hesitated, her usually poised expression flickering with something more vulnerable.

“What’s exhausting,” Mina said finally, her voice quieter, “is trying to make it look easy.”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the admission. “What do you mean?”

Mina sighed, gliding to the edge of the rink and resting her hands on the boards. For a moment, she didn’t speak, her gaze distant as if she were seeing something far away.

“When you’re at the top,” she said, “everyone expects you to stay there. You can’t make mistakes. You can’t show weakness. Because the moment you do...” She paused, her grip tightening on the boards. “Someone’s waiting to take your place.”

Y/N skated closer, stopping a few feet away. She hadn’t expected this. This glimpse of vulnerability from someone who always seemed so untouchable.

“That’s why you’re so hard on yourself,” Y/N said softly. “And on me.”

Mina turned her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “Perfection isn’t optional,” she said. “Not for me.”

Y/N leaned against the boards beside her, their shoulders almost touching. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t know what that’s like,” she said with a wry smile. “Perfection’s never been an option for me. I’m just trying to survive out here.”

Mina glanced at her, the faintest trace of curiosity in her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, then exhaled deeply, her breath fogging the cold air. “I didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t have the fancy coaches or the perfect skates. I had to borrow skates that didn’t fit, patch up my gear, and hope for the best. I’d practice on this crappy little rink with cracked ice and no heat, and I’d watch videos of skaters like you, wondering how the hell I’d ever get to where you are.”

Mina listened in silence, her usual mask of composure replaced by quiet attentiveness.

“I mean, look at you,” Y/N continued, her voice tinged with both admiration and frustration. “You’ve got everything. The talent, the polish, the... the presence. People look at you and see perfection. They look at me and see some scrappy underdog who doesn’t belong.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Mina’s gaze softened, and she looked down at her hands, her fingers tracing the edge of the boards.

“You think I don’t feel like that sometimes?” she said quietly.

Y/N turned to her, surprised. “What?”

Mina’s shoulders stiffened slightly, as if bracing herself. “You think I don’t feel out of place? Like I’m just... playing a part?” Her voice wavered, just barely. “Everyone expects me to be perfect, but sometimes I feel like I’m one mistake away from proving them all wrong. From proving I’m not good enough.”

Y/N stared at her, the ice between them melting with every word. She had never seen Mina like this.. Vulnerable, human.

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Y/N said softly.

Mina glanced at her, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “And you have a funny way of making me question everything I thought I knew about skating.”

They both laughed, a quiet, tentative sound that echoed in the empty rink.

For the first time since they’d been paired, the air between them felt lighter, less fraught with tension.

“So,” Y/N said, nudging Mina playfully with her shoulder. “What do you say we try again? No lectures, no rules. Just... skating.”

Mina hesitated, then nodded, her smile softening. “Just skating,” she agreed.

Together, they pushed off the boards and onto the ice. And for the first time, it felt like they were skating as partners.

The sound of their skates slicing across the ice filled the rink as Y/N and Mina attempted a particularly challenging lift for what felt like the hundredth time. The late-night practice had stretched even longer. This wasn’t just about the competition. It was about proving to each other, and perhaps themselves, that they could make this work.

“Ready?” Mina asked, her voice steady but softer than usual.

“Let’s do it,” Y/N replied, nodding as she adjusted her position.

Y/N positioned her hands firmly around Mina’s waist, her grip tense but determined. Mina bent her knees slightly, readying herself as Y/N exhaled sharply and began the lift.

For a brief moment, everything felt perfect.

But then, something shifted. Perhaps Y/N’s footing faltered, or Mina overcorrected her balance. The shift threw them into a dangerous wobble, and for a terrifying second, Mina felt herself tilting backward.

Instinct took over. Y/N tightened her hold, steadying Mina just enough to lower her to the ice safely. Mina’s feet touched the ground with a jarring thud, and she stumbled forward, clutching Y/N’s shoulders for balance.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Mina’s chest heaved as she caught her breath, her hands still gripping Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N’s hands remained steady at Mina’s waist, trembling slightly from the effort of holding her partner aloft.

“You okay?” Y/N asked, her voice low but steady, a flicker of worry in her tone.

Mina nodded, her cheeks flushed from both exertion and the unexpected closeness. “I’m fine. Thanks.”

Their eyes met briefly, the usual friction between them replaced by a tentative understanding. The adrenaline still thrummed through Mina’s veins, but it wasn’t just relief that held her in place. It was the realization that she had trusted Y/N in that moment, and Y/N hadn’t let her down.

Y/N, the chaotic whirlwind she had often dismissed, had proven herself capable, someone she could count on, even when the stakes were high. It unsettled her.

There was a fearlessness in Y/N that Mina couldn’t deny. An unwavering trust that, even in the midst of chaos, things would work out. And Y/N had trusted her in that moment. Despite all the friction between them, despite the tension and arguments, Y/N had trusted Mina to catch her.

It unsettled her. And yet... it felt right.

“You should trust me more,” Y/N said, her voice softer than Mina had ever heard it. Her breath was warm against the cold air, and a small, almost teasing smile tugged at her lips.

The words caught Mina off guard. Trust had always been a loaded concept for her. Something earned through precision, control, and discipline. Y/N embodied none of those things. But at that moment, Mina didn’t bristle. She didn’t overthink.

Instead, she smiled back. Just a little. “Maybe you should stop making that so hard,” she said, her tone lighter than usual.

It was a rare exchange for her, a moment of levity in a sea of pressure and perfection. And for the first time, Mina didn’t feel the need to guard herself.

Y/N’s hands lingered on Mina’s waist, her fingers curling slightly as she caught her breath. Her heart pounded, not just from the effort of the lift but from the realization of how easily Mina had placed her trust in her.

Mina had always seemed untouchable: cool, unyielding, and always in control. But in this moment, Y/N glimpsed something else, a vulnerability she hadn’t expected. Mina’s posture, though steady, carried a softness that spoke of trust.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t feel at odds with Mina. Instead, she saw the flickering possibility of real teamwork.

She glanced up, and her breath hitched slightly when her eyes met Mina’s. There was something unspoken in the other woman’s gaze, a softness Y/N had never seen before.

“You know,” Y/N said, breaking the silence with her usual humor, because humor was the only way she knew how to handle moments like this, “for someone who’s all about control, you’re pretty good at improvising.”

The corner of Mina’s lips twitched, a flicker of a smile that felt warmer than the rink’s frozen air. “Don’t get used to it,” she replied, but the words lacked their usual bite.

Y/N grinned, her chest lighter than it had been in days. “Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like this side of you.”

Mina exhaled softly, but she didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she allowed Y/N a moment to regain her footing, her usual critique conspicuously absent. There was no biting comment, no impatient sigh, just a quiet acknowledgment of their shared effort.

Y/N’s heart softened. She’d spent so much time seeing Mina as a wall she had to climb, but maybe Mina wasn’t a wall at all. Maybe she was someone who understood what it meant to carry weight, even if she carried it differently than Y/N did.

They tried the lift again. This time, Y/N’s movements were measured, her hands steady as she guided Mina off the ice. Mina, in turn, adjusted seamlessly, their timing finally beginning to align. The lift wasn’t flawless, but it felt solid, closer to success than it had ever been.

By the end of the session, they were both exhausted, but the atmosphere between them had changed.

As they skated off the ice together, Y/N nudged Mina with her elbow. “Not bad, Myoui. Not bad at all.”

Mina smirked, the warmth in her eyes belying her usual cool demeanor. “You weren’t terrible either.”

It wasn’t a declaration of friendship, nor an admission of trust, but it was something. A crack in the walls they’d both built around themselves.

For the first time, they weren’t just skating partners thrown together by circumstance. They were a team.

The world outside was dark and quiet, the city lights twinkling faintly against the night sky. Y/N walked a few steps behind Mina, the tension that had previously hung between them replaced by a tentative calm. They didn’t speak until they reached the vending machines near the exit, where Mina paused, frowning slightly as she studied the options.

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked, her tone curious.

Mina glanced at her. “Getting something.”

“From this ancient thing?” Y/N stepped closer, tapping the vending machine with a grin. “It barely works. Half the time it eats your money and gives you nothing in return.”

Mina arched an eyebrow. “Sounds like someone I know.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily stunned before a laugh burst from her lips. “Wait, was that a joke? Myoui Mina, did you just try to roast me?”

Mina smirked, a barely-there expression that Y/N almost missed. “Maybe.”

“Wow.” Y/N put a hand to her chest, mock gasping. “I’m impressed. The ice queen has a sense of humor.”

Mina rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched. She turned back to the machine, pulling a few coins from her pocket. Y/N watched her select a pack of strawberry Pocky, the machine groaning as it dispensed the snack with a mechanical clunk.

“Strawberry?” Y/N asked, tilting her head.

Mina nodded. “It’s my favorite.”

“No way.” Y/N leaned over and pulled a similar pack from her bag, holding it up triumphantly. “Mine too. The superior flavor, obviously.”

Mina blinked, her gaze flicking between Y/N and the candy in her hand. For the first time, she looked genuinely surprised.

They sat together on a nearby bench, the cold air biting at their faces as they shared an unspoken truce over their mutual love of strawberry Pocky. Y/N broke the silence first.

“You’re not what I expected,” she said, leaning back against the bench.

Mina raised an eyebrow. “What did you expect?”

Y/N shrugged, biting into a stick of Pocky. “I don’t know. Someone... meaner? I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still infuriating, but... you’ve got layers.”

Mina didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she looked down at the box in her hands, her fingers toying with the edge of the packaging. “You’re different than I thought too,” she admitted softly.

Y/N glanced at her, caught off guard by the honesty in Mina’s tone. “Yeah?”

Mina nodded, her gaze distant. “You’re... fearless. It’s frustrating sometimes, but it’s also...” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Inspiring.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, trying to deflect the compliment. “Careful, Myoui. You’re starting to sound like you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it,” Mina replied, but her voice lacked its usual sharpness.

Later, as they walked to their separate cars, Y/N glanced at Mina and asked, “Do you ever do anything just... for fun? Like, outside of skating?”

Mina tilted her head slightly, the question catching her off guard. “I don’t have much time for fun.”

Y/N stopped in her tracks, turning to face her. “You’re kidding, right? No guilty pleasures? No goofy hobbies? Nothing?”

Mina hesitated, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “I like puzzles,” she admitted reluctantly.

Y/N burst into laughter, the sound echoing in the quiet parking lot. “Puzzles? That’s adorable.”

Mina frowned, crossing her arms. “There’s nothing adorable about it. It’s logical. Strategic.”

“Sure it is,” Y/N teased, grinning. “Next time, I’m bringing you a puzzle of, like, kittens or something.”

Despite herself, Mina smiled. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re uptight,” Y/N replied with a wink.

For a moment, they stood there, the tension that had defined their partnership slowly melting away. Mina found herself charmed by Y/N’s infectious energy, her ability to find humor and joy in the smallest moments.

And for Y/N, Mina’s quiet humor and growing warmth were a revelation, a reminder that there was more to the ice queen than meets the eye.

As they parted ways, Y/N called after Mina, “Don’t let me catch you practicing without me tomorrow, okay? Team effort, remember?”

Mina paused, looking over her shoulder with a faint smile. “Only if you stop improvising.”

“No promises!” Y/N shouted, laughing as Mina rolled her eyes and walked to her car.

The night marked a turning point, not just in their partnership, but in the way they saw each other. They were still opposites in many ways, but beneath the differences, a bond was beginning to form.

A few days had passed since the tentative understanding between Y/N and Mina at their late-night practice. The air between them was still fragile, like the ice beneath their skates, and both women tread carefully. Their sessions were more productive now, but far from seamless. Y/N’s daring improvisations still clashed with Mina’s perfectionism, but there was less venom in their arguments and an unspoken effort to meet halfway.

The rest of the rink, however, was less accommodating.

It began subtly. Side glances and hushed conversations that trailed off when Y/N or Mina entered a room. At first, Y/N ignored it. She was used to being the odd one out, the wildcard in a sport dominated by elegance and precision. But as the days went on, the whispers grew louder, harder to ignore.

One day, as Y/N sat on a bench lacing her skates, the words finally pierced through her focus.

“I don’t get it,” one skater said, her voice carrying just loud enough to reach Y/N. “Why would they pair someone like her with Mina?”

“She’s going to drag her down,” another replied, the sharp edge in her tone unmistakable.

Y/N’s fingers faltered on the laces, her chest tightening. She kept her head down, pretending not to hear.

“Can you imagine?” The first voice laughed. “Mina, the queen of precision, stuck with someone who can’t even land a consistent triple loop.”

“It’s a joke,” chimed a third. “They’re only doing this doubles thing to shake things up, but pairing them together? It’s cruel to Mina.”

Y/N bit her lip, her stomach churning. She forced her fingers to keep moving, tugging at the laces with more force than necessary.

The voices continued, oblivious or uncaring that she could hear every word.

“She’s all flash and no substance. It’s embarrassing to watch.”

“Maybe they thought Mina could whip her into shape.”

“Or maybe they wanted to give Mina a challenge. You know, like a handicap,” one added with a smirk, and the group burst into laughter.

Y/N’s hands stilled. The words cut deeper than she wanted to admit. She’d always prided herself on her resilience, on not letting the opinions of others dictate her worth. But this felt different. It wasn’t just about her; it was about Mina, too.

She glanced up briefly, catching her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her usually bright eyes looked duller, weighed down by doubt. Was she really dragging Mina down? Was everyone right?

Later that day, during a break between sessions, Y/N sat alone at a table in the skaters’ lounge, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee. The room buzzed with activity, skaters stretching, laughing, and reviewing their routines. Y/N tried to focus on the notes Mina had left her about their sequence, but her mind kept replaying the voices from the locker room.

“Hey, Y/N,” a voice called, too sweet to be genuine.

She looked up to see Nayeon, one of the more vocal skaters, sauntering over with a sly smile. Nayeon was flanked by two others, all of them radiating the kind of confidence that came from years of polished performances and unshakable scores.

“How’s it going with Mina?” Nayeon asked, leaning against the table. “Must be... challenging.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “We’re doing fine,” she replied, keeping her tone even.

“Really?” Nayeon raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Because from what I hear, it sounds like she’s doing most of the work.”

One of Nayeon’s friends snickered. “I mean, she’s Mina Myoui. She can handle anything. But it must be hard, carrying all that dead weight.”

Y/N’s grip on her coffee cup tightened. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Nayeon tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “I’m just saying, doubles skating is about synergy, right? And it’s hard to have synergy when one partner’s a champion and the other... well, you know.”

The laugh that followed felt like a dagger. Y/N stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“You don’t know anything about us,” she said, her voice low but trembling with anger.

Nayeon smirked. “Oh, I think everyone knows exactly what’s happening. You’re lucky to be skating with someone like Mina. Too bad she’s stuck with someone like you.”

The room fell quiet, the tension palpable. Y/N’s chest burned, the weight of their words pressing down on her. Without another word, she stormed out, the door slamming shut behind her.

She didn’t stop until she reached the empty rink, the cold air biting at her flushed cheeks. She needed to move, to release the storm swirling inside her.

Pacing the rink’s edge, Y/N muttered under her breath. “Lucky? Stuck with me? They don’t know anything.” Her voice cracked, and she stopped, gripping the boards tightly.

Her mind raced with doubts. Maybe they’re right. Maybe I am dragging her down. Mina’s perfect. She deserves someone who matches her, not... me.

But alongside the doubt was anger. At the skaters, at herself, and, though she hated to admit it, at Mina. She’d overheard some of Mina’s earlier comments, the veiled criticisms that had fed into her insecurities. Even if things between them had softened, Mina hadn’t gone out of her way to defend her, either.

“I’m not dead weight,” Y/N whispered fiercely, as if saying it aloud would make it true.

She stayed there for a long time, the quiet rink swallowing her frustration. When she finally moved, it was with a determination burning in her chest. If the world thought she wasn’t good enough, she’d prove them wrong. Not for Mina, not for the judges, but for herself.

[calitears]

𐙚 be my angel

“they say it's me, that makes you do things you might not have done”

megumi x reader • birthday fic

word count: 1,141

Unboxing the small cake from the cardboard box that had held it, you carefully slid it out, turning it by the edges of plate. You smiled at the final result of the order you had placed last week, dark chocolate cake with the least sweet option of frosting the bakery offered, the baker really out did themselves. The next step was to unbox the candles, the white 2’s with a dark blue outline, and carefully placing them on the cake, making sure the words ‘happy birthday megumi’ spelt in navy blue jelly didn’t get messed up.

Today was your boyfriend’s 22nd birthday, and coincidentally just so happened to be your first year anniversary. It was hard to believe an entire year had already passed by since the night you accidentally confessed to him at the ‘surprise’ birthday party Yuji had thrown for him.

That night Megumi had already known about his best friend’s scheme, and it honestly crossed his mind to avoid it. But at the end of the day, it was you who convinced him to attend. It was always you to drag him along anywhere and everywhere.

When you first met him, could compare Megumi to the personification of melancholy. You know your love hasn’t had an easy life, which you assumed is why you almost always saw him thinking off into space, refreshing his mind of happy memories, yet what seemed to be a sad longing. That was just the way he was. You would learn he didn’t find joy or interest in much materialistic things, instead he’d seek comfort and reassurance in actions and words. And slowly, you introduced him to the idea of touch as a love language.

Experiencing something new and so nice in the present, maybe helped him move forward from the past.

People often considered you the most affectionate in the relationship, you’d hear teasing comments come from his friends, Yuji or Nobara, about how it was always you to initiate anything between you guys. It was always you who forced him to be included. The thought that maybe you loved him more than he did you had crossed your mind before.

But you knew that wasn’t true. Because Megumi Fushiguro wasn’t the type to love empty. He would do acts of service, he would repay people he felt he owed, even when he didn’t. In his mind, if someone was injured or hurt due to something he could’ve prevented, even when he had no responsibility too, he owed them.

Yet one thing he’d never do, is give his heart as a form of payment. And so you thanked whatever religion out there for the ability to be able to love a man that loved you harder. Because there was no one else he would spend hours into the night talking to, there was no one else he’d surrender his body too, no one else that he would put aside his own opinions for and buy whatever material thing you wanted, no one else he’d turn his casual acts of service into romantic gestures for, and no one else he whispered ‘i love you’ to while drifting off to sleep.

And yet knowing this you always feared he’d leave you, not for another woman, but for the dark reality that existed outside of your relationship. The thoughts that plagued his mind if you let him sink that far deep into his own head. But you swore exactly one year ago, when he had for the first time in his life spilled his heart out to someone, to you, when you both had wandered away from the party, that you wouldn’t ever let him drown. You wouldn’t let him be lonely, and so that’s why you try so hard to include him, to fit him in.

You placed the gifts you had gotten your boyfriend next to the cake on the table. A wrapped vinyl he had been eyeing every time you wandered past the record shop, a bag of books you knew had been on his reading list for ages that he himself probably forgot about, and a pendant you had carefully chosen out for him, the main reason being the stone matched his eyes almost perfectly.

Just as you stepped back you heard the front door of your apartment open, signalling your boyfriend’s arrival. After choosing to celebrate your anniversary earlier in the day, you planned him to come over at the end to celebrate his birthday. Making whatever excuse to have a buffer of time between to be able to pick up his cake, and bring out his gifts.

Megumi was surprised at the sight of the set up, his heart skipping a beat at just the idea of you taking a moment to appreciate him. He was almost startled when you moved next to him and held onto his arm.

“happy birthday ‘gumi….”

Megumi looked at you, his eyes meeting yours and his lips twitching into the small smile you had grown to recognize.

“…thank you.”

You smiled back at him, tugging his arm and pulling him over to the table, sitting him down in the chair in front of the cake. Megumi letting out a short amused huff watched as you picked the lighter off the table, and quickly lit the ‘22’ candles placed on top of it.

“…make a wish!”

The smile was still spread across his lips, before he blew gently, mainly to amuse you. You ruffled his hair in response, before wrapping your arms around his shoulders and placing your chin on the top of his head.

“what’d you wish for?”

“can’t say.”

You huffed playfully, placing a small kiss on the top of his head, “Why?”

Megumi wasn’t superstitious, in fact he didn’t really have any sort of beliefs like that at all, but even then he would admit that he wouldn’t risk anything to have his wish not come true. Because he couldn’t handle if you loving him forever didn’t become a reality.

“‘cause then it won’t come true…”

You laughed, before reaching out to the cake and scooping frosting on your finger only to smudge it on his face. He huffed and pouted, only to immediately return the favor, turning around and smudging frosting acrossing you cheek.

Both letting out a quiet laugh as you pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, scooping up frosting on your finger again, but this time smudging it on his lips, only to lean in and clean them through a kiss.

The taste of Megumi and the slight sweetness of the frosting was intoxicating, and when he pulled back first, gently cupping your face, the glint in his eyes made you understand he was more than happy.

“happy birthday angel,” you whispered, wiping the leftover frosting off the tip of his nose.

[lemonlimestar]

I love love LOVE your art style -- it's so chunky and fun and lowkey reminiscent of woodcuts almost? Plus the amount of thought you put into your Anita costume redesign was just 🙌 so cool to read -- it really makes me wanna ask though: do you have any thoughts on Cassie's design (either current or previous)?

tysm :D <33 my anita costume is genuinely one of my favorites i’ve ever done so i’m glad to hear it :]

as for cassie’s designs, i’m not the biggest fan of her current one. under the cut bc i got kinda rambly

it reads very bland to me i guess, especially compared to the other amazons. the gwen-stacy-esque haircut is not doing it for me (and honestly worked better with her late yj98 & yj19 costumes, even if i still didn’t necessarily enjoy it in those either). i believe i saw someone say that she just looks too childish? which rings true for all of the core four rn to be honest. i’m also sad they scrapped her most recognizable color palette (red, gold, black, and white) that matches her friends :( like the blue added in Could work (and has before) but it falls flat imo.

her yj98 costume works a bit better as far as not being bland, but the skirt is just kinda there. this is more of a personal grievance but i really hate when costumes just have skirts just to have them when the character wouldn’t do that? did the person who designed this even read ww87 #153 smh. same with the color palette but honestly i think the jacket works better here, and i’d like to see this flipped into a aviator jacket rather than the jean as a nice middle ground between this and her leather jacket.

tt03 is it’s own can of worms & where the barbie-fication of her design is made the most egregious. these are pretty ok to me though! i think the way she’s presented is more of the issue + the long hair.

this one is 0/10. so many notes. i swear it gets worse every time i see it. only comparable one is the awful skintight n52 suit but at least that one has potential to be made into something cool.

these are definitely my favorite cassie costumes :) i lean more toward the one on the left but i love the shirt on the right. i tend to pull the most inspiration from these two when i draw her.

lastly, i’m a sucker for baby cassie. look at her stupid wig. look at her shorts and her skater gear. u wanna love her.

my adult cassie design from a while back combines her older yj outfits with some armor from other amazons + artemis specifically if only bc i’m sad that their relationship got deleted out of existence. i pulled in a teal as a nod to her blue jeans + to compliment the deep reds and blacks :^) i just really want her in armor… she’s grown up! she can have more details in her costume!

[cepheusgalaxy]

We need more trans and gnc whumpees!

Trans whumpees that are post-everything before they are even captured, yes, but not just that!

Whumpee that didn't even realize she was trans and was captured as a "boy" and then after she was rescued and started to heal and feel safe after so long she started figuring out things about herself. Does she have a caretaker? Does she tell them? Does she not, in fear of their reaction? So many options!

Perhaps whumpee even figured themself out during captivity. Did they let whumper know? Did whumper care? Did whumper pretend to care?

Maybe whumpee isn't trans, but he is gnc. He always dressed fem and then he was captured and whumper used him as a dress up doll for the dresses and laces they wanted and that made whumpee sick. In recovery, is caretaker perhaps expecting whumpee to be a little more conforming after those experiences? What happens when instead, Whumpee goes back to their loved fem style or perhaps a new one altogether, but this time on their terms, way different than what whumper forced them into. Does whumpee perhaps even figure out he likes dressing fem in recovery after trying to find his style after enduring captivity

Or maybe slavery setting! Slave or bbu/pet whumpee who is transgender and as they realize that they have a moreso nice handler that lets them slowly transition. "Hey did you hear 20391 is a she now" "Dude idk that one is Dave's trainee but he knows what he's doing—have you seen his reviews? I'm not gonna be the one doubting his methods" and "Hey did you grow out your slave's hair" "Nah, found out they handed me a girl and thought it was a boy. She asked me to grow it out and it's pretty easy to yank now, ya know, why would I deny it" or something like that

Whumpees who had their "silly trans thoughts" beaten out of them in captivity and are afraid of being themselves during recovery!

Mad scientist who blackmails whumpee with affirming care as a way to ensure they'll stay in line?

Agender whumpee who's had a gender imposed onto it during its whole life and after a stranger, caretaker, rescues it, she doesn't want it to be anything and when they ask its gender at some point (it was not like she knew it before) it just sighs and asks if they can go back to pretend that thing didn’t exist, before caretaker got to ask. Caretaker chuckles and says it can be genderless, if it wants. So many possibilities!

Male whumpee dehumanized for a long time and after a while getting the guts to ask Caretaker—who's been so kind as to never call whumpee anything but a "he" or a "they" when they weren't sure—if they can start using it/its. Caretaker is confused, why would you want to go back to that? And whumpee's face is red with embarassment, but they feel a twitch in their gut everytime someone calls it sir, or lady, when it was confused by a girl at the grocery store once. It doesn't know why, it just—Caretaker doesn't understand, but they want whumpee to feel comfortable. They ignore the guilt on their tongue when they refer to whumpee by that, which instantly vanished the second they catch its surprised smile.

Anyways I just—TRANS AND GNC WHUMPEES YALL