#but even before then hes not himself. more cheerful and personable but not HIMSELF

[idyllwave]

you had the patience of a saint, the kindness of a holy maiden, and the will of a tibetan monk. however, when you and vergil get into an unexpected fight, it truly feels like hell froze over.

The silent treatment was deafening, and out of everything that Vergil went through, fought against, and toiled over – the silent treatment from you was probably the worst out of all of that. It didn’t help that everyone at Devil May Cry noticed the shift as well. All it took was for Nero to say good morning to you that everyone instantly got the hint.

“Morning, Nero, I’m glad to see that at least his son has manners.”

Typically, you would greet everyone in a cheerful fashion. A smile on your lips and your voice saying good morning in a sing-song type of manner. How cheerful and perky you were in the mornings definitely helped set the mood on how the rest of the day was going to go.

But not this time, it seems.

Your greeting to Nero was cold-like, the warmth dissipating into the endless void of a frost ridden blizzard. If Vergil was the storm that was approaching, then you were the natural disaster that was already waiting.

Dante whistled, “what did Vergil do this time?”

Vergil, like anyone could guess, can make anyone mad. But with you and your patience and kindness, well, everyone sort of thought you were immune to Vergil’s antics as no one has ever seen you get angry at the half-demon before. Until now, that is.

You were about to tell Dante your woes until the man himself walked into the room. Taking one look at him, you huffed and walked towards the couch so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Good morning.”

That, however, did not stop him from following after you to greet you. (Everyone was used to you both entering the room together and judging by the blanket and pillow on the couch it was quite obvious that in your stubbornness you had slept separately from Vergil last night…)

You didn’t say anything back to him as you propped your elbow onto the armrest of the couch and rested your chin into the palm of your hand as you refused to look at him. Vergil, in his own stubbornness, decided to sit next to you. Your personal space almost nonexistent as he pressed his leg up next to yours only for you to move away from him.

Dante made a little “oooo” sound making Vergil send him a little glare. And that was how the rest of the day went. Vergil would try to get your attention only for you to completely ignore him. You didn’t even acknowledge him when he saved you from a surprise demon attack when you were called for an emergency demon hunting job.

It wasn’t until you were making your way back to the couch that you noticed that your pillow and blanket were gone. You rolled your eyes as you glanced towards the hallway. You could already tell Vergil was waiting for you.

“Whatever, I’ll just grab my things and go before he notices.”

You were trying to hype yourself up as you took hesitant steps.

Truthfully, throughout the whole day (ok, more like halfway into it) you felt like you were being a bit overdramatic. However, what Vergil said to you really was hurtful this time. Yes, Vergil wasn’t known to hold back what he thought before and there should be no reason for him to soften his words now, but…

You sighed as you pushed your shared bedroom door open, your eyes doing a quick scan of the room. No Vergil. Maybe he was showering? Well, wherever he was, you decided to take your chance and gather your pillow and blanket. And just as you turned to make a quiet escape, you ran smack dab into someone’s chest. You stumbled back a bit after making a small noise. Before you could fall though, Vergil had already gotten a firm hold on you.

His hands let go of you when he stabilized you, but only so that his arms could wrap loosely around your waist and pull you close. Your pillow and blanket being your only barrier between your chests pressing together.

You looked away from him, but from the quick look that you did get of him, you could tell he was shirtless and only cladded in his pants from the waist down. So, he was about to take a shower before he heard you come into the room then.

“Look at me.”

You refused to. A shirtless Vergil wasn’t going to make you fold! Despite your earlier thoughts on being dramatic, just being in the same room as Vergil renewed your anger towards his comments the day before. So nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to make you forgive-

Moving one arm from your waist, he grabbed your pillow and blanket and tossed it to the ground so he could press impossibly closer to you, your hands, with nothing to hold or grab onto, landed on his chest.

Don’t fold, don’t fold, don’t fold-

He was incredibly mean and disrespectful when you showed him nothing but kindness. He does not deserve-

“I’m sorry, will you please look at me.”

It took you a moment to register his words. You blinked a few times. A very big part of you not believing that Vergil just said sorry. You finally looked at him. Your eyes scanning his face carefully. Maybe the man in front of you was actually Dante. Because Dante was an asshole, but he was a nice asshole, so it wouldn’t surprise you to see him try to help his brother out. However…, taking one look at him, yeah – this was Vergil alright.

“Was me apologizing that shocking that it left you speechless?”

Your lips parted, the big part of you disbelieving that Vergil apologized to you was quickly becoming a large part.

“Say something. Yell at me, tell me I’m wrong. Just-“

Why was he so determined? Shouldn’t he have been used to the silence? The solitude? Or did your presence on a daily basis make that much a difference that he didn’t want there to be silence?

“Promise.”

You cut him off, but by doing so – you gained his full attention. It may not have been a full day yet, but you were talking to him, finally, and that was enough.

“Promise to never do that to me again.”

His promise to you was as disbelieving as his surprise apology. However, you never could stay mad for long.

Yeah… you folded. (Vergil would soon learn that being shirtless makes him win arguments way easier, what he didn’t expect though was for you to take your shirt off in order to get the upper hand too-)

But whatever, this would teach him not to eat your dessert after you would be looking forward to it after a long day. As for the others, when they learned that your argument was food related, well, let’s just say that only Dante took your side…

[levigarden999]

you're welcome ✘ psycho!dabi x reader

⋆.˚ word count : 3,6 k

⋆.˚ warnings : gore , horror themes , obsessive!dabi , split personality disorder , mental illness , mentions of abuse , angst , manipulation , death , murder

the day your abusive ex boyfriend suddenly went missing was somehow the most devastating yet the happiest day of your life. you had been together for years, so obviously, there had been a deep connection between you, even though the guy treated you awfully. in a way no human should be treated.

especially not you. someone so beautiful, kind and perfect, dabi thought. there was no way he would just watch you appear to work with a new covered bruise on your cheek, or ugly cuts and scratches from nails on your neck which you tried to hide with concealer.

dabi often imagined the face you’d make while you were being abused by your boyfriend – terrified and helpless, absolutely cornered and afraid for your life. he never thought he’d see you as ugly, but the thought of your miserable and horror filled expressions didn’t exactly sound beautiful to him either. even the thought made him feel sick, the obsessive need to protect you from any harm consumed his whole being to the point he made a promise to himself.

if you ever made that terrible, fearful face while being with him – he’d have to kill you to save you from dabi himself. since he thought dabi was the man you belonged to, there was no other way for you to keep living. if even dabi hurt you, you would never be treated well.

even though dabi was just a costumer at the bar you worked at as a bartender, he noticed everything. he even learnt to tell when you and your boyfriend had fought. the nights when you came to work looking more cheerful than usual, your lips in a wide smile as you served customers and made drinks even more frantically than usual, he knew you were hiding something. your fake smile that didn’t reach your eyes. too perky babbling and chit chat you had with other customers - it was all suspicious. dabi knew you had been hurt by that bastard just hours before.

his eyes scanned your face and neck which were the only thing visible under your work uniform and if he spotted a covered bruise or cut, he felt anger that was almost too much. he wanted to smash his glass right into that guy’s face and watch his eyes bleed away. he wanted to hear his begs and screams and apologies which came too late. dabi wanted to fucking kill him for hurting you. his sweet girl. dabi's girl.

”touya, you alright?” you suddenly asked, that adorable and genuinely caring look on your face. your eyes always glimmered with certain innocence, even though it had been slowly disappearing ever since dabi began to visit the bar. when he first saw you, you were the epitome of a goddess that made everyone’s day better. however now, you were slowly becoming something emptier, a hollow of a person. the abusive asshole was stealing the light of dabi’s life. he was ruining it.

dabi couldn’t have that.

”ah, yeah” he chuckled, noticing the way he had been tensing and gripping the glass tighter than he intended to. ”just stressed from work. the usual, you know”

you smiled at him while pouring a beer for someone else. you had always treated him differently, dabi thought. you talked to him more than the other customers, you looked at him with a certain something in your eye. something kind yet pleading, almost as if you were asking for him to save you.

and dabi did what you didn't know you were asking for.

you grieved your boyfriend’s death when his body had been found after a few days. it had happened in a gruesome, awful way, only the idea sending shivers down your spine. his pale and lifeless body had been found in a shore of the river a few miles away from the city, meaning that it had been tossed there in the freezing cold water. the doctors said he had died by drowning – lungs full of water and brain dead from the lack of oxygen. he had been tossed in the river, alive.

but it wasn’t even the worst part. his goddamn eyes had been carved out. legs and arms broken, probably so he couldn’t swim. hands, knuckles and fingers cut to the point only the deepest layers of muscle were visible. nails gone from his hands, too.

you had no idea who had done this and why, but the police thought it probably had something to do with someone bigger and more powerful you might’ve thought. such as a gang, stuff related to gambling or drugs etc. it wasn’t an impossible idea to you, since your boyfriend was sometimes involved in shadier stuff and drugs, which was a part reason for his violent antics.

you didn’t go to work for a couple months after that. first of all, you were too afraid to leave your home. what if someone who had killed your boyfriend wanted to do the same to you? what if they were after his loved ones too? second of all, you naturally needed time off. you frequently called your friends and parents and they visited you often, bringing you gifts and just trying to distract you from what had happened. however, it was obvious your friends and family were upset as well, since they never found out you had been abused. your mom often cried and mourned after your ex as well, since she thought you grieved after him as well.

the truth was that even though you felt devastated by all this and you were afraid to leave your home, you also felt freedom. a type of freedom you hadn’t felt in years. like the cuffs in your legs and hands had been cut, like you didn’t need to feel trapped anymore. you knew you would get over this awful trauma eventually, but back when you were with your ex, you never knew when the torment would end, if ever. your friends nor family didn’t understand this, which made you feel more distant to them than you expected. you didn’t receive the support you actually needed. from them, at least.

dabi had been visiting you as well. two days after his body was found, dabi called you and asked if you needed anything. you didn’t even remember you gave him your phone number, but you were too shocked from the last week to question it. you of course didn’t want to bother touya, because he was a mere acquaintance. you didn’t even consider him as a friend, even though you two chatted a lot every time he visited the bar on your shift. he was a customer, after all.

however, a few weeks after everything, when you were feeling more distant to everyone close to your life, you decided to allow him to come by. you were feeling lonelier than usual and it felt like the walls closed in and trapped you the same way your ex had. you couldn’t sleep and you couldn’t call anyone, because you didn’t have anyone to seek proper support from. expect him.

you were surprised. when your family and friends mourned after your ex and expected you to do the same – touya didn’t. when you had to lie to your mom and best friend about how much you missed him and craved him back – you didn’t lie to touya. instead of lying and putting on an act, you were crying and screaming against touya’s shirt and confessing everything that had happened before, gently punching his chest in both anger and pain, yelling how much you hated the man and how you were glad you were finally free.

dabi only hugged you back, allowing you to let out your emotions no matter how damn sick or twisted you felt saying those things out loud. of course, you were absolutely shocked by his gruesome death and it had traumatized you. however, this was literally the first time ever you had let out your pent up anger and frustration. it felt exhausting and painful but good.

”i fucking hate him so much, i… fuck – why did he have to go and die, though? i didn’t even get to tell him how much i fucking hated him and how much he hurt me and how he ruined my life! fuck!!” you screamed and cried, sobs and screeches muffled by touya’s shirt.

he caressed your back with his hands, legs crossed as you laid there on your bed and trembled from all the emotions.

”didn’t you just say you were glad he died?” he asked quietly, rasped voice barely above a whisper.

”…yes and i mean it too. i’m just… i don’t know, i’m so confused… i’m angry that he’s dead meanwhile i’m so fucking happy i’m finally free, like, thank you to whoever did that sick fucking thing-” you found your mouth saying, the words just coming out. it made you feel awful, meanwhile so relieved that you finally got it out.

dabi only smiled slightly, a devilish smirk on his scarred face as he looked down at your face which was buried in his chest so damn sweetly.

you’re welcome, my girl.

even after two years the killer of your ex boyfriend still hadn’t been found. the police now thought it was someone who knew exactly what they were doing, since there was no dna or anything left on the dead body and there was no evidence anywhere near the river he had been tossed in.

you had already moved away from the town, trying to get away from all the terrible memories and traumas that the city contained. you felt like your recovery was going well and the new, fresh chapter in your life was starting better than you ever could’ve imagine. you finally slept and ate like a normal human, got a new job at a grocery store and even worked out. for the first time, you felt like a strong human being who was able to overcome even the toughest things.

however, you knew that one thing was a fact as well. you could’ve not done all that without your new boyfriend’s, touya’s, help.

he had been there for you ever since that day you cried in his arms and confessed your ex had abused you. touya supported you every damn time you needed him to. he cooked and cleaned for you when you were too depressed to get up from the bed, he held you tightly against his chest when you shivered from the mere fear and trauma your mind had sucked. he listened to you, gave you advice and slowly but surely, pulled you out from your past.

you didn’t know how, but soon you found yourself dating him. even your family and friends were surprised you got a new boyfriend only after a year after your ex’s death.

but you didn’t care about their opinions. you were happy living with touya in your new shared home, even though you were sometimes afraid he was just a thing in your life which kept you away from the awful memories. you found yourself scared and crying in the middle of the night if he was away working the night shift. sometimes you felt like the memories haunted you only when he wasn’t with you, and you only felt at peace when touya was near you.

luckily, you didn’t have much time to think about that, since he was with you nearly all the time, despite the times you were both at work or he was working the occasional night shift.

dabi truly loved you, so he thought. he had loved you since the day he first saw you. to you, you had never been imperfect, he never saw anything but pure sweetness in you. despite the bruises and cuts your ex left on you, of course. he still hated some of the scars you had, knowing they were from his touches. the touches from another man, trying to ruin what dabi owned.

however, now this sweetness and perfection that were you, fully belonged to him. you were dabi’s and he was sure he’d never let you go, ever. he’d never allow anyone to hurt you again and if someone did, he was ready to do it all over again to anyone. dabi wanted to keep you safe and that was what he did – he made sure you were together as much as possible, only picking the shifts which were on top of yours so you wouldn’t have to be alone.

sometimes he did those night shifts, only to find out you didn’t survive even the occasional nights alone. the thought made him both extremely pleased yet a little worried – it seemed like you were even more helpless than dabi had thought. he’d have to give up the extra money and reject any night shift offers in the future. you needed him, desperately. and that was exactly what dabi had wanted since the first time you asked him what he’d like to drink.

dabi had accepted one last night shift, before he made a promise to himself to stay by your side literally 24/7. when he left home that evening, you were already in bed and ready to prepare for sleep.

however, once the apartment fell silent and lonely, the only sound remaining the hum of the fridge and the ac, the old forgotten feelings came back again. you felt your throat tighten and heart beating faster, your mind clouding with memories.

you were determined to stay strong, though. you wanted to prove to touya that you could survive on your own, that you didn’t need him to babysit you all the damn time. you were already about to call him to come back, but you didn’t. you put the phone down and took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

suddenly, you remembered something. your old plushie which was the only thing remaining from your childhood home – which you hadn’t had in your home when you were still with your ex. your mom had gave it back to you after you moved in with touya, so it didn’t carry any awful memories from that haunted city you used to live in with your ex.

maybe if you found it, you’d gain some security and safety from it which would allow you to fall asleep or at least calm down.

hopping out of bed, you walked over to the storage room which was basically hidden in the corner of your living room behind the book shelf. the door there was ugly and it only contained old boxes or stuff like that, things you didn’t want to put on display and touya's things which he told you not to touch.

you opened the cramped and tiny room and stepped in. your eyes were first met with boxes that had your name on it and you began to rummage. there were old pictures, photo galleries, some old ugly decorations and other unnecessary stuff. you thought why you hadn’t thrown these things away, you didn’t need them anyway.

”damn it” you grumbled as you realized the plushie wasn’t there. with a sigh, you stood back up and placed your hands on your hips, trying to find any more boxes that would belong to you, but there was none.

then, your eyes shifted to touya’s boxes. there was only one, a pretty small one, that didn’t look particularly interesting. maybe you had absent mindlendly thrown the plushie there while you were moving? that happened all the time – people not remembering where they put things while they moved from apartment to another.

touya had told you not to touch it, you remembered that, of course, since it was a bit odd. but it wouldn’t hurt to just quickly look through it, right? this was practically an emergency, after all.

you crouched down again and opened the box. there was a few old t shirts folded, some cd’s and to your surprise, a tiny pink teddy bear lying on top of it all. you sighed from relief, a slight smile appearing on your face as you stared at your forgotten childhood best friend.

you picked the teddy up and you were already about to stand back up, until you noticed something was resting under the teddy.

a book. a diary, to be clear.

”aww” you said out loud, the thought of touya having a diary making your lips pout because the thought was simply so adorable. touya wasn’t exactly a person who often showed his feelings, so the idea of him writing in a diary about his day was simply making you feel overwhelmed. you couldn’t help yourself – you placed the teddy down and picked up the brown, a rather small leather book.

you opened it, and it started normally, him just telling about his days during the time you two hadn’t even met yet.

8.9

working at that damn company makes me sick. shigaraki makes me feel fucking stupid cuz he always pretends to know every damn thing meanwhile he doesn’t know shit. i don't get paid enough. fucking fake ass people everyone.

you chuckled to yourself – he had complained about shigaraki many times to you while he sipped on his drink at the bar.

15.10

y/n’s so beautiful. makes me annoyed that she serves other customers, though, especially men. dunno, they’re not worthy enough to even look at her. wonder if she’s single.

you raised your eyebrows a bit, totally surprised he had written about you. you remembered the timeline, it was around that time you had spoken to him for the first time.

you skipped a few pages, wanting to go through the whole thing a bit quicker.

22.11

today i saw y/n had been covering bruises from her cheek and eye again. i know it’s that fucking pussy she’s dating. this isn’t the first time and i can’t even explain how sick that makes me feel. i hate to see how she’s feeling miserable. i know she’s miserable, it’s almost creepy how she smiled but it doesn’t reach her eyes. all those other fucking bastards in the bars don’t even see it. i do. y/n, i do see it. i want to help you. you're kind and beautiful.

your heart nearly jumped to your throat. that was exactly around after the time your boyfriend's anger outbursts had became violent. at this point, you were beginning to feel a bit weird. he had known all this time, and he had never told you he knew? why?

25.12

y/n wasn’t at the bar today. probably spending christmas with that prick. makes me feel sick to know he could be beating the shit outta her rn. i want to go there and just make sure she’s okay. she doesn't live far after all. if she spent her christmas with me, i'd buy her anything and make sure she's safe. i'd do anything to keep her safe.

your eyes widened. he knew your fucking address at that time? you didn’t remember ever telling him any of those things. you barely told him you were even dating.

10.1

i feel like i’m at my fucking limit. dabi’s taking over. i feel like my head’s exploding and that i can’t just control it anymore. i need to save y/n. dabi wants to save her. she’s miserable and no one’s helping her. she needs me and she wants me to help, i know it. she’s asking me to help. she’s so beautiful and it makes me furious that her pretty face is being ruined by those fucking ugly bruises and cuts. i want her to be happy and pretty and glowing like she was in the first day.

who the fuck is dabi?

20.1

y/n had marks on her neck today. i promised to myself i’d never do this again, but now i have to. i have no other choice because no one’s doing shit to help her. i’m forced to do this, and it’s the right thing. i promise this is the last time. the last time i’ll follow these urges and the thoughts. i know i’ll go insane if i don’t do it. i can’t live with myself either if i don’t help her. i love her too much to ignore this anymore. i’m fucking sorry y/n but i’m doing it for you. after that, we'll live together and be happy. i'll make you so happy. dabi will never have to do this again, i promise.

at that, your hands were shaking so much you dropped the book. a shaky, choked breath escaped your lips. that was two days before you got the call from the police who said your boyfriend had gone missing. a week before touya called you and asked if you needed anything. that call which was the start of your romance.

when the book fell and hit the floor, the next page turned from the force of the hit. the paper made a noise, which determined that the nightmare you were witnessing was true.

the right side of the spread pages was deeply carved into a hollow hole, a see-through tape covering the hole. inside there, you saw something that reminded you of nothing but human nails which had been rotting there for a good while now.

then you remembered the police’s words – nails had been ripped off from your ex’s hands.

there was only a single piece of text on the page next to it.

22.1

he will never make an ugly cut on your skin with those disgusting nails again. you’re welcome, my girl.

you stumbled away from the storage room while still sitting, the air around you suddenly suffocating you to the point you felt like fainting. the whole home felt like it was twisting and trapping you in ways you had never felt before, the mere shock and disgust of it all making your every muscle shake, the insides of your stomach quickly coming up from your throat.

before you even managed to throw up, your back hit something. someone’s legs, actually.

dabi looked down at you, the work keycard in his hands which he came back to get since he had forgotten it at home.

dabi knew he shouldn’t had trusted you when he told you to stay away from that damn box. you were always so obedient to him, but now he just felt like a complete idiot.

your eyes met his, the look in your face something that could only be described as primal, animalistic fear.

touya’s blue eyes were filled with something else you were used to seeing – a sense of psychotic fondness that sent shivers down your eyes. he seemed unfazed even though he obviously knew what was going on.

hands were shoved in the pockets of his black pants, hair hanging over his forehead. dabi sighed subtly, a surprising small chuckle leaving his lips.

the look on your face. the pure paleness of your skin and the blank black horror in your eyes reminded him of his promise he made to himself long ago.

the promise where he'd have to kill you if dabi ever made you hurt or scared.

”i-i'm sorry, i promised you that would be the last time. but now i have to save you again, my sweet. this time, from dabi”

”w-who is dabi?”

[2b4st4r]

Heyo! Spot here! ^-^

I don't really have any scenarios in mind, but I'm curious: what are your headcanons for the ASL trio? Particularly in the Yandere aspect? (It doesn't have to be all yandere, it can be silly as well)

Hopefully this was an easy ask! I've been wondering what your headcanons on my favorite guys for a while, so, yeah!

Have fun! (☆v☆)/

ASL as Yanderes!

Luffy, Ace, Sabo, reader x Reader

────୨ৎ────

✮⋆˙ Warnings: manipulation, a significant amount. I’m unsure about others.

✮⋆˙ A/N: I’ve never done headcanons before, so I hope this is okay! Lol.

────୨ৎ────

Luffy

╰┈➤ Yandere!Luffy who doesn't understand the concept of personal space when it comes to his "special person." He'll always be right by your side, a constant, warm weight, even if it means squishing you against a wall or stretching an arm around you from across a room. He just wants to be close, always.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who views any friendly interaction you have with others as a personal challenge. Not in an angry, jealous way, but more like a bewildered child whose favorite toy is being looked at by someone else. He'll swiftly insert himself into the conversation, often by wrapping an arm around you or pulling you closer, effectively ending any perceived threat.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who believes all your problems can be solved by him. Someone bothering you? He'll punch them into the horizon. Feeling sad? He'll try to cheer you up with a feast, and if that doesn't work, he'll just hold you until you feel better, even if you're squirming. He sees himself as your sole protector and provider of happiness.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who uses his Devil Fruit powers to keep you "safe." He might stretch his arm to pull you back from a cliff edge you were simply looking at, or create a rubbery barrier around you if he perceives danger, even if it's just a strong gust of wind. His elastic body becomes an extension of his possessive love.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who expects you to be just as obsessed with him as he is with you. He'll constantly seek your attention, whether it's by pulling silly faces, asking for a piggyback ride, or simply demanding you look at him while he talks. If your attention wavers, he'll pout, but quickly escalate to physically re-orienting you to face him.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who sees your loyalty to his crew as a given, but your loyalty to him as paramount. He won't mind you interacting with the others, but if you prioritize anyone else over him, even for a moment, he'll become visibly distressed, acting out until he's firmly re-established as your number one.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who's "punishments" aren't malicious, but isolating. If you displease him or try to assert too much independence, he won't hurt you. Instead, he might "accidentally" stretch a part of the ship to block your path, or "forget" to untie you from a mast after a game, leaving you alone until you've decided to be more compliant.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Luffy who would never intentionally harm you, but his concept of "safety" and "love" is so warped that he might accidentally put you in dangerous situations through his overprotective and reckless actions, always believing he can fix whatever goes wrong because he's strong enough to protect you from anything... except himself.

Ace

╰┈➤ Yandere!Ace who uses his fire powers to create an invisible, yet palpable, wall between you and anyone he deems a threat. It's not a literal wall of flames (unless he's truly enraged), but a subtle warmth that expands around you, making others instinctively keep their distance.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who becomes fiercely protective and territorial, especially when others show you attention. He'll rest his arm around your shoulders, pull you closer to his side, or subtly position himself to block anyone else's view of you, all while maintaining a deceptively relaxed expression.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who sees any attempts at rebellion or independence from you as a personal affront. He won't yell or get physically violent with you, but he'll become incredibly withdrawn and cold, radiating an oppressive silence until you seek his forgiveness and promise to stay by his side.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who has a deeply ingrained fear of abandonment, stemming from his past. This makes his yandere tendencies particularly strong. He's terrified of losing you, and that fear fuels his possessiveness. He'll constantly seek reassurance that you won't leave, becoming anxious if you spend too much time away from him.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who would burn down an entire island if he thought it would keep you safe or prevent you from leaving him. His loyalty is absolute, but it's a double-edged sword; if he perceives anything as a threat to your continued presence in his life, he will eliminate it without hesitation.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who showers you with affection and attention when you're compliant, almost as if to "reward" you. He'll cook your favorite meals, tell you stories, and let you lean against him for warmth. But this warmth can quickly turn into suffocating heat if you push his boundaries.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who struggles with intense jealousy, but tries to hide it under a cool facade. You might catch glimpses of it in the way his eyes narrow when you laugh too freely with someone else, or how his hand unconsciously clenches into a fist. Eventually, the facade will crack, leading to an outburst of possessiveness.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Ace who believes he knows what's best for you, always. He'll make decisions for you, steer you away from "bad influences," and even "guide" your conversations. He sees it as caring for you, not controlling you, because in his mind, he's the only one who truly understands your needs and can protect you.

Sabo

╰┈➤ Yandere!Sabo who uses his Revolutionary Army resources and intelligence network to constantly monitor your whereabouts and interactions. He'll always know where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing, often before you even realize he's gathered the information. He considers it "risk assessment" to ensure your safety.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who presents a calm and composed facade, but underneath, he's seething with possessiveness. He'll subtly maneuver situations to isolate you, perhaps by "assigning" you to tasks that keep you close to him, or by gently but firmly redirecting conversations away from others and back to himself.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who sees any interest you show in the ideals or movements of others as a personal betrayal. He believes his cause, his vision for the world, and he himself should be your ultimate priority. He'll patiently try to "re-educate" you, highlighting the flaws in others' beliefs until you agree with his.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who is a master manipulator. He won't resort to brute force unless absolutely necessary. Instead, he'll twist words, create scenarios, and subtly influence events to ensure you remain dependent on him and see him as your sole source of guidance and protection. He's very good at making you think his choices are your own.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who has a deep-seated fear of losing you, intensified by his own past amnesia and the fear of forgetting important people again. This fear manifests as an overwhelming need to keep you close, to be a constant, undeniable presence in your life, so you can never slip away from his memory or his grasp.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who will eliminate threats not with flashy violence, but with quiet, efficient precision. If someone poses a genuine obstacle to his control over you, they might simply vanish, or their reputation could be systematically dismantled, all without a trace leading back to him. He operates from the shadows, ensuring his hands stay clean.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who sees your happiness as intrinsically linked to his control. He believes that only under his guidance can you truly thrive and be safe. Therefore, any unhappiness you express, or any desire for freedom, is merely a sign that you haven't yet understood how deeply he cares for your well-being.

✮⋆˙ Yandere!Sabo who uses his position and authority within the Revolutionary Army to ensure you are always within his reach. He might "request" your presence on missions, "assign" you to his personal detail, or simply ensure all your essential supplies and resources come directly through him, making sure you always have a reason to stay close.

[lucysarah1875]

If I tell you a secret, you swear to keep it?

Captain Levi wasn’t sure when all of this started, and he dared to say that it had never truly begun; perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. Was it due to stress, the lack of sleep, something he ate, or perhaps something in the air? Could it be some hallucinating mold he hadn’t heard of before, requiring him to deep clean the entire Scouts’ facility?

Somehow, it made him feel morally wrong and, overall, childish. Levi had drawn the attention of his own squad by doing so. He told Jean and Connie that it was inappropriate to stare at a person for so long, emphasising that, as their superior, you deserved respect. Hormonal teenagers, especially boys, saw a hole in a wall and wondered if they could stick their dick inside. They seemed unable to think of anything else when the other head was doing the thinking.

You haven’t been working for the Scouts for long, but Levi dared to say it’s been long enough for him to feel somewhat comfortable around you. You’re the nurse sent by the medical sector to fill the infirmary. Levi understood the nature of the job—a common fetishized and sexualized profession. It didn’t help that the male cadets from his squad acted as if they had never seen an ankle. The pristine white uniform was modest and always had been, but Jean saw a skirt despite its length, and his face turned red.

Even though Levi understood all of that and more, why was he reacting this way? You asked him if he wanted the flu shot that the government had sent, and he agreed. His hand gripped the edge of his shirt sleeve as he sat down in the infirmary, yet his eyes were fixed elsewhere. Your silhouette against the window, the still strong autumn sun coming through, almost making your clothes transparent. He could see the shadow of your legs underneath, your rosy lips as you played with the pencil while reading reports, your soft hands—why were they so soft?—against his arm as you prepared the skin, your big doll eyes looking up at him as you examined the skin for a good syringe penetration. “It may hurt a little, Captain,” you said. Levi had to remind himself to breathe and swallow the saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. His brain had decided to stop working; he couldn’t have a single rational thought.

“Oops,” you casually said as a few papers flew because of the open window, moving hastily to close it and then bending down to pick them up. Your modest skirt softly raised, allowing him to catch a glimpse of the tender flesh of your inner legs. ‘I bet they are even softer than her hands,’ he thought.

What was he thinking? Forcing himself to look elsewhere as she walked back to him to put a band-aid on after the shot, he hadn’t ever felt this way. “You may feel a little bit down today or tomorrow. If you feel like you are getting a bit of a fever, that’s also normal,” her voice came so soft. “There, green,” she chuckled, “so it matches your cloak.”

Levi’s eyes travelled down to admire the green band-aid as if he were a kid in need of colourful stuff to celebrate his bravery in taking a flu shot. “Thanks,” he grunted out as he lowered his folded sleeve. There wasn’t anything he wished for more than to run out of there. It was humiliating how he felt he couldn’t control his own thoughts. You were being your usual nice and cheerful self, sometimes a well-received contrast to the harsh life of a scout. But today, he simply couldn’t take it.

Levi groaned softly, tossing and turning in his bed. His mind was racing with conflicting emotions: shame, disgust, desire, and a hint of excitement. “It’s the shot, I must be getting a fever or something,” he tried to self gaslight himself out of it. He had plenty of paperwork to do, why did he decided to try to catch some rest? Eyes forcefully closed, trying to convince himself to use this time to sleep. When the idea of you kneeling between his legs, under his desk, big cheerful eyes looking up to him, teeth biting down and smiling. Levi shook his head vigorously, banishing the lewd thoughts for now. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

However it was too late, he could feel the tent in his trousers, demanding him attention. Levi groaned softly, his hand slipping inside his trouser’s waistband. It wasn’t long before he had freed his erect member from its confines, rubbing it against the fabric of his boxers. The sensation was driving him wild, and he rested on the side, arching his hips slightly to increase the contact. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, growing harder and heavier in his grasp.

The image of you bent over flashed through his mind like a cruel tease, his loins burning with desire. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shake off the thoughts. But the pull was too strong, and he couldn’t resist any longer.

Then, he sat up abruptly, unable to contain himself anymore. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it right. He kicked off the sheet and stripped. The last thing he needed was sleeping in stained sheets. 

Levi’s cock throbbed with need, his erect member stood tall and proud, leaking copious amounts of precum onto his stomach.

Heart racing like a wild animal penned up too long, leaping onto the mattress, he landed on top of it with a thud, arching his hips upwardwards. Mouth gathering the saliva before he spit on his right hand and let his head fall backwards.  “Fuck…” he groaned out, unable to resist it any longer. He wanted release so badly it hurt.

His hand moved on its own, fast and harsh. Closing his eyes imagined something better than his own hand, pushing the foreskin of his cock to reveal the head and began to pump it. Levi’s eyes remained closed as he let his imagination run free.  You were standing before him, a curvy figure illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window. His cock twitched in anticipation, leaking more of his sticky pre-cum onto his stomach. Reaching down, he wrapped his hand around his member, stroking it roughly yet somewhat tenderly. Perfect body crawling on top of him.

His hand moved faster as the fantasy turned more explicit. You sat down on his legs and his dick buried balls deep in your hole as you rode him with energy. “Yes! Mh-Ahg so big” you would say. “Captain!” moaning out his title, head thrown backwards, messy hair falling like a waterfall “Cap- ahh yesss, fuck me harder!”

You sucking him in, taking all of him so effortlessly as if you were made to take this cock. “You feel me right there? I’m rearranging your guts,”. Your mouth hanging open while letting out the loudest moans and your eyes rolled backwards.

Grunting heavily, he brought his other hand to his balls, squeezing them rhythmically to heighten his arousal “You’re a filthy whore, aren’t ya? this cunt loves swallowing my load” he murmured as if his fantasy could hear it. 

Levi’s hand quickened its pace, his cock throbbing in sync with his heartbeat. The head of his member was glistening with precum, leaking copiously onto his stomach. His breathing grew heavier, almost labored as he imagined fucking you rough and hard.

In his mind’s eye, you were panting heavily almost sobbing of how good it felt each time you sinked down and his hips snapped upwards. Your body quivering with each powerful thrust. “Enjoying that dick, pretty?” he growled, his voice low and husky.

You would be hanging your mouth open unable to think anymore, head bobbing as you hummend positively as saliva slightly dropped from the corner of your lips.  His cock was starting to twitch violently, warning him that release was imminent.

“Captain…” you would whimper softly in his mind, begging for more. “Please give me your cum, please… I won’t waste a drop.”

Levi’s hand tightened its grip on his throbbing member, moving faster and harder. His abdominal muscles contracted rhythmically as he neared his climax. “I’m close, Y/N,” he growled out your name raggedly. “Right there…”

With one final powerful thrust, he released his seed, shooting hot white ropes onto her stomach and chest. Panting heavily, he continued to pump his cock slowly until it was painful to keep going. 

Collapsing on the bed, Levi lay there for several minutes, catching his breath. Gradually, the post-orgasmic bliss began to fade, replaced by a haze of embarrassment and confusion. What had just happened? How could he have thought such filthy things about a fellow soldier? A nurse? He groaned softly, sitting up on the edge of the bed, trying to compose himself.

He felt embarrassed for multiple reasons. First, he had just seen a skirt raised up a bit and he got hard as a teenager. Even worse, as a teen he jerked off a couple of times and came all over his own body. It felt stupid how sexually frustrated he was. If it wasn’t because his hands were still filthy, he would be groaning with his head in his hands while questioning himself how he was going to face you in the hallways.

Was it the uniform? The skirt? You were undoubtedly gorgeous, but… Was it because most of the women in the Scouts didn’t have time to take care of their appearance, or they simply didn’t care? There was something stupidly arousing about your soft and clear skin, how you took care of yourself, the tight little waist highlighting the difference between your swinging hips underneath the skirt, perky breasts under the blouse.

“Captain,” your cloying voice whispered his worst intentions, “Captain, you need a hand?”

Levi’s eyes, looking to his left, caught your mischievous smile as you looked at him. “I… Um…” He was confused.

“Do you want a hand, Cap?” you asked again, looking deeply into his eyes. 'Well… if you want to…’ he wondered, lost as your eyes softly looked down and then back up.

“Do you need help?” The haze of sexually inciting began to fade. “With the tea, I mean… you had been staring at the kettle for ten minutes,” your voice now lacked all the previous sweetness, and he felt like an idiot.

“No, thanks,” he spat back, angry but not at you. Levi forced himself to get back into his senses and returned to brew his own tea.

“You sure? You seem a bit… lost,” you commented. He groaned an unworded reply and then handed you a cup. Soft fingers brushed against his before raising the liquid to your lips, letting out a pleased moan. “Ah~ nothing better than tea in the mornings,” you said before adding with an innocent smile, “Hot, strong, and deep, exactly as I like it.”

Levi swore he was trying to breathe, but he simply couldn’t. “Have a nice morning, thanks for the tea! You really know how I like it,” you said back before walking away. 'Maybe I should visit a church or something.’

Yet his eyes were still glued to your back as you walked away, skirt swinging as you moved. He didn’t mean to stare, but something smacked him on the head with strength, forcing him back to his senses. “Oi!” he turned around to confront the person, only to find Hange with a handful of papers rolled up in their hand.

“Stop staring~” they signed back with a mischievous smile.

“I wasn’t,” he replied while his hand caressed the top of his head. “Stop laughing, four eyes,” he insisted as he could hear Hange’s chuckles.

Suddenly, Hange wrapped an arm around his shoulders, resting their entire weight on them, and their heads touching. “You know… if I tell you a secret, you swear to keep it, right?”

“Get off my ass,” Levi replied, not interested in being dragged into Hange’s silly games.

“The other day, I was talking to Erwin,” their voice dropped as they began to whisper, “And we both agreed that Y/N has such a great ass.”

Both looked at each other from the corner of their eyes, Levi frowning deeply.

“Don’t tell the cadets, though… we don’t want to set a bad example.”

[wreckingtickles]

"Thank you for being here! I'm sure he appreciates it."

"No prob! He's always beat after his punishments..."

"Y-Youhuhu whwHEHEHHRre nohot suhuhuuPPOHOHOHSED to joihihIHIHN IHIHIN!!! HAHAhahahaha!" lamented a hysterical Deku, shackled to torture machine in Sir's office, which was reclined so as to give his tormentors easy access to all of his most sensitive spots. His garments offered him no protection against the offending fingers, his white t-shirt having been rolled up to his chest to allow Mirio to reach down from the head of the table and vibrate his fingers against the greenette's toned stomach, while Kirishima alternated between squeezing his kneecaps - his thumbs having found a particularly vicious spot in the inner part - and scribbling his digits up the legs of Izuku's way too baggy shorts. Shoes and socks were a thing of the past.

"I was getting bored!" chuckled Kirishima as his umpteenth incursion on Deku's thighs elicited more desperate kicking from the cackling hero. "And you look so adorable when you laugh!"

"It's not like everyone to offer to carry a friend home," remarked Mirio over one of Izuku's squeaks as he sneaked a finger into his colleague's bellybutton. "You are a very generous person!" he added, throwing one glance at Deku's scrunched-up, beet-red face as he pulled his hands away for a single moment, watching a hint of relaxation wash over his features... before his index fingers started to probe o-so-gently at Deku's underarms.

"NOHohoho! TohohogaHAHAHATA nohohHAHT Thehehehre! Thehehhahhare's twohoho ohohof yohohohuhhuhh!!! HahahahHAHAHAHA!"

"Hey, it's not your hips! You're strong, I know you can take it!" cheered Mirio immediately before spidering all ten of his fingers in the slick hollows.

Deku shrieked, but Kirishima all but ignroed him as he addressed Mirio instead, all without pausing his own share of the tickling. A multitasking skill that spoke to a certain degree of experience, with Deku contributing to a sizable portion of it, though it was well known that Bakugo was his favorite target. "Oh, so you know about his hips too? That's such a good spot!"

He thought it too cruel to give Izuku a moment of false hope before stepping up his tickling, so he did not miss a single beat in the transition from squeezing the greenette's thighs to scribbling his digits all over his soles.

Deku bucked, twisted, and unable to escape, let out a torrent of screaming laughter. "NOOOOOOOOAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHHAHAHA!!! NAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHERARARA!! NOHOHAHAHAT AHAHHAT THEHEHE SAHAHAHAHAHME TIHIHIHIHIMEEEE!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!"

"Wow, we're really putting him through it," mused Kirishima aloud as if he had no control over what he was doing.

"Yes, I will have to cut the duration of his punishment in half," responded Mirio, struggling to make himself heard over Izuku's tormented guffaws, having learned a long time prior that delicately and quickly skittering his fingers under Izuku's arms was the best tactic to elicit the most sputtering giggles. "Which is why... actually, do you want to do the honors?"

"Nah, thank you, I'm fine where I am."

"In that case..."

"HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! NANAHAHAHAHAH!! STAHAHAHHAHAHAHA--!!!!"

All was momentarily quiet in the eye of the hurricane as Mirio moved away from his current target to nestle his thumbs in those familiar nooks on Izuku's hips that would inevitably signal his descent into the lowest layer of tickle hell.

To nudge him out of that split second of silent laughter, Kirishima as activated his Quirk, turning his fingertips into points that tore even more tormented laughter from his powerless captive.

Deku shrieked, flailed, fell silent, coughed, wheezed, and laughed more hysterically than either of them had ever heard him. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH!!! NNNNNHHHHHH---!!! HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!"

Mirio had never felt more proud of his handiwork. "If this is not a good workout, I don't know what is."

"You're a pretty good tickler!" yelled Kirishima.

"Right back at you!"

"He doesn't get like this even when we double team him back at th dorms... Bakugo gets too rough, too quickly."

Deku was wholly incapable of speech. Did they remember they were supposed to stop at some point? Were they too distracted? How much longer?!

"Actually," adjoined Kirishima as he scratched at the base of Izuku's toes while simultaneously tormenting the arch of his other foot, "he really needs the laugh too. Would you mind helping me out with him at some point?"

"Not at all!" said the redhead's coconspirator before mouthing '1 minute.' And both instantly knew what that meant: that in those last 60 seconds, they would have to tickle Izuku harder than he had ever imagined was possible.

[hvackisser]

Lordddd ok so obviously my fnaf ship would have a lot of angst, naturally, but I'm watching jacksepticeyes sister location playthrough and I have Thoughts.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Ask Around in the Morgue

Most times, Tim is not a fan of social interaction. If he can acquire the necessary data from literally anything written in text, without the need to actually talk to people, he does that. It's the logical thing to do, come on! People lie, or, even if they don't, they take ages to get to the point, and you can't put them on pause or set aside to return later. Some written resources lie as well, but that is, at least, way easier to prove by relying on several of them instead of a single one.

That saying, he can work in a team — Young Justice is great proof of that. Batfamily, not so much, but then, none of the Bats like working together. Because they are all hypercontrolling, manipulative, and paranoid.

And yet, keeping all that in mind, right now Tim is about to go and speak — using his mouth and words — to a GCPD mortician whom he's never seen or met before in his life.

All because of this report.

More precisely, because of the line 'pls come talk to me if u r a bat' that was inserted right into the file, just between the description of contents of the victim's stomach and the rather unappealing photo of the same thing. Tim supposes the placement was intentional — most people skip over that kind of information, jumping straight to the cause of death. Which is a homicide, by the way.

Not that it's anything unusual in Gotham.

Tim walks through the hallway, keeping his steps silent. Daniel Nightingale, the mortician, more accurately a pathologist, works graveyard shifts — very ironic and no less convenient — and most days, he does so all alone, so Tim is not expecting company. He is just keeping quiet out of habit.

And yet, as he gets closer to the autopsy room, he hears it. The chipper, amused voice from inside.

"You can't just make that shit up, I swear," it laughs, "Oh, Minerva. You were way too old to pull it off." There's a pause, and then it starts speaking again, filled with hidden laughter, "You don't say?"

The door is, thankfully, already half-open. Tim takes a quick look inside, hoping to figure out who's the other part of the alleged conversation, but the only person there — erm, the only alive person — is a guy in a gray uniform and a lab coat. Supposedly, Mr. Nightingale. There's also a corpse of an old lady on the table in front of him, of course, but Tim doubts she can hold up the conversation. A phone call? Or maybe he's just talking to himself?..

The guy raises his head briefly, turning to the door.

"Come on in, lurking in the shadows doesn't suit you," he calls, almost cheerful, and Tim pauses.

He's pretty sure he hasn't made a single noise.

Oh, well. Maybe he did. Maybe the pathologist has an alarm system in case of a zombie apocalypse. Maybe he sees the future. The possibilities are endless.

Tim steps inside.

"I'm here about your note," he says, cutting the greetings and niceties. The pathologist hums, his eyes still on the bare, skinless ribcage of the woman before him.

"Cool. Which one?" He asks without missing a beat. Tim stares; the guy looks entirely too nonchalant, given the circumstances, but that's not the only reason. Daniel Nightingale is way younger than Tim expected — twenty, at most — and he is... well, if Tim had a type, which he doesn't, he would definitely check all the boxes. Most of the boxes. A lot of boxes.

Okay, he's just good-looking, what is he even thinking about, this is getting sidetracked.

"There was more than one?" He asks because that's the logical, reasonable thing to ask. Daniel glances up at him. A tiny strand of hair escapes his pinned down bangs, and the guy huffs, shaking it away from his face. Shouldn't he be wearing a hat?

"Yeah, I put the bat alert in at least five reports I've written. Only two recently, though, so, if you could specify?" He asks. The loose strand of his hair moves all on its own, brushing itself up over Daniel's head. Then, one of the bobby pins comes out, hanging in the air briefly, and goes back into Daniel's hair, securing it from falling again. "Thank you, Minerva," the guy smiles politely, casting a glance to the side.

Tim is not sure what's going on but he has a hunch.

"I'm speaking about John Doe from last week?" He attempts, but Daniel only hums.

"Unfortunately, that doesn't narrow it down," he turns back to the table, looking down into the old lady's open abdomen with a critical eye. "Darling, do you think you'll be fine here all on your own while I speak with our dear guest?" He asks, almost demurely, and Tim is not dumb. Minerva is definitely the name of the lady on the autopsy table. The question is, has the GCPD hired a schizophrenic man during such dire times, or is the guy really some kind of ghost-whisperer?

The chances are, honestly speaking, 50/50. It's Gotham.

There's no response that Tim can hear, but Daniel straightens back up and takes off his gloves before turning to the other side, still away from Tim. "Mind cleaning up?" He asks again and then throws his gloves into the nearest bin. They don't land, but just as Daniel huffs and goes to retrieve them, the gloves float up from the floor like someone invisible picked them up and dropped them into the bin.

"Ah, thank you, Minerva," the pathologist smiles.

Tim feels an uncomfortable chill run down his spine.

"How many ghosts are in here?" He tries for casual, but fails spectacularly, judging by Daniel's chuckle.

"Five," he answers without any pause, "Six, if you count the nonverbal kid that's hiding in Page's cold locker. Anyway, John Doe?.."

A few of the instruments Daniel has used float up from the table and start moving towards the nearest sink.

Tim takes a deep breath.

Either he's gotten himself a new contact in GCPD forensics or a very alarming new meta. 50/50.

But Daniel's smile is 100 percent going to be a pain in his ass.

[missdynamighttt]

AGHHH sitting on bf! katsuki's shoulders while he cooks to make up for skipping the gym.

katsuki was supposed to hit the gym today. he really was. but the moment you wrapped yourself around him in bed, all thoughts of training went out the window.

“shit,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head. “didn’t even work out today.”

you, still groggy but entirely unrepentant, grinned and nuzzled into his neck. “you worked out your patience.”

"yeah? and you worked out my ability to say no.”

you grinned wider. “exactly.”

even after every time he tried to move to adjust himself, you clung to him like a koala, nuzzling into his chest, whining about how warm and comfortable he was. and damn it, how was he supposed to leave when you looked so damn cute?

so yeah, gym? skipped. gains? delayed. but cuddles? so fucking worth it.

now, in the kitchen, katsuki is making up for it. sort of. with you sitting comfortably on his broad shoulders.

he'd already deadlifted you a few times while waiting for the pancake to cook, grumbling half-heartedly when you cheered like he was performing in the olympics.

"you're way too happy about this," he muttered, flipping a pancake with precision despite your weight balanced on his shoulders.

"that's because you're my personal chef now," you teased, playing with the strands of his hair like you were styling them. "and i'm basically remy."

"tch... the rat from ratatouille?"

"yeah!"

he snorted, shaking his head slightly to mess up whatever you were doing. "the hell you are. you ain't cookin’ shit."

"excuse you! i am the mastermind behind this whole operation, thank you very much. you're just my hands."

katsuki rolled his eyes, but he couldn't hide the smirk tugging at his lips. "yeah? then where's my little chef hat, huh?"

you gasped dramatically. "oh my god, we need to get you one!"

"like hell we do," he scoffed, adjusting his grip on your legs as he effortlessly lifted you up again, just because he could. you let out a small squeak, gripping onto his hair, and he chuckled.

"okay, okay, you're strong, we get it," you laughed, ruffling his hair. "now, my strong, muscular, incredibly attractive boyfriend—flip that pancake before it burns."

“i ain't lettin’ you control me," katsuki clicked his tongue but did as you commanded, all while holding you up like you weighed nothing. he should’ve gone to the gym today, sure—but honestly? this was way better.

"i practically do," you tug lightly on his hair, and to your delight, his head moves slightly in the direction you pull.

katsuki freezes. “...did you just try to steer me like a damn car?”

you laugh. “maybe.”

“hmph, you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, adjusting your weight like it’s nothing. “but if you try to puppet-master me again, i’m droppin’ your ass.”

you grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. “i love you too. and no you won’t.”

katsuki sighs, but you feel his shoulders shake with a quiet chuckle. yeah, okay, maybe he won’t.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ saw this on twt but i cant find the video again☹️☹️ hope you enjoyed!!💜

[popzev]

𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄 | baby saja x reader

🎫 sum. imagine being a member of huntr/x and having to sit next to baby saja during the fan event. / tw. nothing / a/n: hyperfixation let’s goooo

a joint signing?

you take a look at the people you’re going to have to be seated next to, shooting rumi an “are you crazy?” look before settling your eyes on the blue-gray haired guy to your right.

you watch as he sets down his water bottle, giving you a quick glance before immediately looking away.

he’s… kind of cute.

you internally scold yourself as you take a swig of water to distract yourself.

however, you can’t stop yourself from glancing every now and then at him, and it seemed that he couldn’t help himself either.

a fan came up to you both, making you snap your head up from its original brooding position. “hi! ohmygosh, you both look stunning. could i get both your signatures please?”

you took the fan’s paper in front of you before he could and smile sweetly. “thank you! of course, let’s see here…” you quickly scribble your name, about to pass it to the other person next to you before flinching a little at how close he seemed to get.

with his face near yours, he gave you a small smirk hidden from everyone else’s views as he leisurely took the paper from you and signed it with his name, handing it back to the fan with a sickeningly saccharine smile.

you resisted the urge to face palm because he looked so good doing so.

he takes the next fan’s paper before you do, signing his name with a little plus sign underneath, leaving space for your signature.

and when he hands it over, it’s as if he purposely makes sure that your fingers brush against each other when he does.

you can practically feel the fans’ reactions to this event, more particularly your reactions with baby saja, and for some reason your head buzzes with something akin to excitement at the prospect.

you sign your name, thanking the person albeit a little shakily for coming as they hurry off.

the next time you get the paper first, you add the little plus sign he first added, earning yourself a small smile when he leans closer to watch you write.

although not much is said between you, an unspoken peace with each other is set, with an even greater tension of something blossoming.

and speaking of blossoms… when a bouquet is thrown to him you watch as he moves it out of view of the fans (after doing a half heart with his hand to his cheek), taking a couple flowers out and forcing them into your hands resting on your lap before getting up.

you scramble to get yourself together as you feel your face heat up, in disbelief that that just happened. you force a cheerful, innocent smile to play on your lips as it starts replaying in your head; his softer than you thought hands, the flowers he molded your fingers to grasp, and the cheeky smile he sported as he left.

although your thoughts were more frazzled than his more collected, but still slightly nervous, ones; you shared one same thought.

maybe, just maybe, this person is someone i can spare.

˗ˏˋ 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐙𝐄𝐕 ˎˊ˗ do not plagiarize/steal, repost, translate, and/or claim any of my works as your own.

[rindreamery]

it's just instinct, all i want is you.

how long it takes for the blue lock men to realize you’re the one. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku ─ content: fluff, suggestive

note. desperate and yearning hcs next??? who knows

it takes itoshi rin 6 months.

rin likes to think that he’s slow and deliberate with his relationships— that he’s not the type to have such decisive thoughts about someone so early on. he’s spent years building up a wall to protect his feelings, and he’s not about to let a (potentially fleeting) person ruin what he's worked so hard to maintain. he's only been with you for 6 months, and he has his doubts about whether you would want to stick around. but all it takes is, “i’m so proud of you, rin,” and his world is completely tilted off its axis.

he tries to tell himself that it's nothing; he's been complimented by other people before.

you probably didn't even think much of it when you told him. it’s just a simple phrase, one of many that people say without thinking. but it's different, it's special, when it's coming from you. your words repeat in his head, like some mantra. it's like his senses are overwhelmed by you. he finds himself focusing solely on your voice, the way you look at him with such gentle eyes, the sincerity behind your words— you. it’s scary how much it affects him. it rattles something deep inside of him, and it shakes him to his core.

he doesn't want to hear it from anyone else, he quickly realizes. those praises don't mean much when it's not coming from you. they don't make him feel unstoppable, like he’s on some high that he’ll never be able to get down from. and he's hit with a jarring realization—

“say it again,” he's standing in front of you, ignoring the incessant flashing of cameras that surrounds him and the deafening cheers of the crowd. he's only looking at you.

“i’m so proud of you,” your voice is quiet, but all he can hear is you, “rin.”

—he's fallen for you, much deeper than he thought he would. he’d be damned if he let you slip away.

it takes itoshi sae 1 year and 3 months.

sae had no intention of falling in love with you. needless to say, his affection for you wasn’t some calculated move. the thought of liking you hadn’t even crossed his mind, and he’s not even sure if he’d ever considered you as a friend. you’ve just been around for long enough that he’s stopped questioning it, that he’s grown to tolerate your presence. at least, that’s what he tells himself. he lets you come over when you want, eat all the snacks in his pantry, use his netflix account— to everyone else, you’re basically a couple. before he knows it, you’ve settled into his life the way a familiar song gets stuck in his head without him noticing.

it’s hard to deny the noticeable shift in sae’s behavior whenever he’s around you.

the way the frown on sae’s face vanishes to a more passive state whenever he’s talking to you, and he's much less irritated at the aspect of having to answer your random (but stupid, in his opinion) questions. he’s not aware, but a part of him subconsciously looks forward to it. “would you still love me if i was a worm?” comes another one of your stupid questions, and he answers without thinking.

“yeah.” the expression on his face remains the same, he’s as indifferent as he always is. but his answer takes both of you by surprise. under his cool facade, his mind is scrambling to make sense of his answer, as if he hadn’t expected himself to say such a thing.

you’re flustered, and it’s evident in the way you stumble over your words. a part of you begins to wonder if that was simply a figment of your imagination, like some hallucination from sleep deprivation. “what— huh?”

so he plays it off, he acts as if he meant to say it. “you heard what i said.” he realizes his heart had decided on you longer than he’d ever been aware of.

it takes nagi seishiro 3 months.

nagi’s used to being alone— he’s used to neglecting himself and every aspect of his life because no one is there to tell him not to do so. he’s not used to having someone be a constant in his life, to have someone who isn’t thrown off by his apathetic and lazy attitude. sometimes he wonders if he acts this way to keep people out, and he wonders why you choose to stay despite. but slowly, you color your way into his bleak routine.

at first, it’s subtle. you linger around him, but your presence isn’t demanding for his attention. you’re there, but you let him be.

and then your presence becomes something a little more prominent. he starts to notice the little post-it notes you leave in his locker, and how you remember to sneak in his favorite snacks. or how his pillows start to smell like your shampoo, and the way he becomes used to having you there in his living room as he plays video games. or even the fact that he finds himself waiting by the gate when classes end, and how he doesn’t mind being pushed around by the crowd as he searches for you in the endless sea of students so he could walk with you. so he could be with you.

he starts to feel like he’s truly living, like there’s something to look forward to every day.

when you say, “see you tomorrow,” he deflates at your words. it’s a weird feeling— he feels weird at the thought that he doesn’t like being alone anymore. that he misses you in the way he misses his phone. he feels bored without you there, and a part of him feels so empty when he doesn’t have you beside him.

when he drops you off at home that day, he realizes it feels strange to be alone again— “can you stay with me?”— he needs to be with you.

it takes michael kaiser 7 months.

kaiser lets his ego get in the way of his relationships. he thinks he can have anyone he wants, and that's why he wholeheartedly believes that he's above the idea of yearning for someone. the idea of wanting someone so much that his thoughts would be consumed by them, and only them? it’s unimaginable. he’s used to being admired, worshipped even, by others. he doesn’t need anyone— he doesn’t need you.

so the prick of irritation he feels, when he sees you laughing at another man’s jokes, catches him off-guard.

it shatters his pride, and he tries to ignore the heat that bubbles under his skin. but he can’t ignore the feeling of possessiveness that washes over him at the sight. you’ve always been his— the heated touches, the way you wear his cologne on your skin, the way you linger around him like it’s natural. you're mine, he always thinks to himself, but he never says it out loud. he’s above yearning— but the idea of you being with someone else makes him feel sick. and he’s not about to let another man take you away.

“come with me.” his voice is sharp and demanding, his mere presence filling the space with an unspoken challenge. but before you can speak, kaiser’s gripping your wrist, pulling you into him without another word of explanation. you don’t fight him, you don’t fight the excitement that it brings you. there’s something in his gaze, something so possessive and raw, that makes you follow him wordlessly. you’re mine, the thought echoes in his mind and for the first time in months, he can’t deny the feeling that has been brewing under the surface.

he yearns for you, and he’ll never let anyone strip this feeling away from him.

it takes oliver aiku 4 years and 2 months.

oliver would never deny the fact that he enjoys having you around. but you’re simply his friend— nothing less, and definitely nothing more than that. you’ve been in his life for years now, lingering in his orbit in a way that keeps you both close, but so far. you’re a constant in his life because he doesn’t need to act around you. he never needs to impress you, never needs to win you over with sugary words. you’ve never given him the typical attention he’s used to, the type of attention that he naturally demands. and that bothers him in a way he won’t admit. yet, it’s this disinterest that pulls at him like gravity. it keeps him coming back, keeps him by your side.

but he doesn’t want anything more from you— he doesn’t need it. it’s these words that keeps him from tainting you.

he doesn't like the dangerous and greedy feeling of wanting to have more of you, wanting to see you in ways that no one else has, and that dangerous feeling that makes him want to devote himself to you wholly. and that’s what gets to him. he’s used to being the one in control, the one who dictates the terms.

it's a futile attempt, he realizes. it's always been you who's had the upper hand.

he can no longer deny that he wants you, more than he’s ever wanted anyone. no one else has his heart racing ‘til he can hear his heartbeat in his ears, no one else has him hooked in the way you’ve been stringing him along. and suddenly, all those meaningless flings feel like distractions, like he’s been wasting time when what he really wants is right in front of him.

it’s not about lust, not about the chase—he just wants you. and this time, he’s not about to let fear or pride hold him back.

© rindreamery, 2024

[purple-plum-petals]

Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂

⊱ Homicipher Characters’ Reactions to MC Winking at Them and Blowing Them a Kiss ⊰ || Multiple Character Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped, Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella (Homicipher/文字化化) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns) Warning(s): Spoilers for Homicipher (MC’s Lore), Brief Canon-typical Mentions of Violence (Mr. Machete’s Part), Canon-typical Horror Elements (Mr. Gap and Mr. Scarletella's Parts), Cultural Barriers (None of Them Understand the Gesture). Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, Platonic or Romantic Relationship Word Count: ~1,880 Request: “Homicipher request for the Homicipher starved fans pls? 🥺 Is it okay to ask for the reactions of Mr. Silvair, Mr. Chopped(as he gets wheeled past us on a cart after being kidnapped, again), Mr. Gap, Mr. Machete, and Mr. Scarletella with a reader who winks and blows a kiss as they pass by them? Like for some reason reader seems to be in a really good mood and they're skipping around with their trusty crowbar in hand then they see one of the boys then mwa~💋. I can imagine that they'd be confused at the unfamiliar gesture but I'd like to get your thoughts on it. 😂” Author’s Note: They all would definitely be confused by the unfamiliar gesture, so I kind of did headcanons about how each of them would react to you blowing them a kiss/how they would go about trying to understand what the gesture meant by using context clues (or just straight-up asking you about it haha). Sorry if they’re not great! I’m still trying to figure out how I want to balance the characters’ personalities as they are in canon while adding some more fun/whimsical aspects of your ask.

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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💉: He smiles softly at your cheerful demeanor, yet it falters slightly when you press the tips of your fingers to your lips and squeeze one of your eyes shut in response to him looking in your direction. You remove your fingers from your pursed lips and blow out a puff of air before continuing in the direction you had been walking towards. While he could infer you were in a good mood by your body language, he was curious to know what exactly the gesture meant. 

💉: Instead of lightly treading the question or observing you for any longer to see if he could figure out what the gesture meant by using context clues, Mr. Silvair instead just asks you directly to get an answer as soon as possible the next time he sees you. He deeply enjoyed research and observation, yes, but there was no need to wait to gather information when you were a perfect source of it. 

💉: Of course, it wasn’t easy to explain what “blowing a kiss” was, especially since they didn’t even have equivalent words in their language for “blow” or “kiss,” but you tried your best with what you had to work with. It’s almost funny how earnestly Mr. Silvair is hanging onto every word you speak. He chuckles after you finish explaining, amused by the gesture and its meaning – how quaint, he thinks to himself. 

💉: He found humans to be fascinating and their diverse cultures even more so, so he was of course interested in learning whatever you were able to recall from your previous life in your old realm before you ended up in this one. He treats everything you tell him with an air of respect, and he even documents what you share with him so he (and you) never forget that part of yourself. 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds the gesture to be an entertaining one, but deducts that it’s not usually one humans do with strangers or those they are not comfortable with from your explanation. Does that mean you are comfortable enough around him to express yourself in that manner? How fascinating... Do you care to tell him why you feel the way you do toward him? He’s very much interested in learning the reasoning behind your thought processes. 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped smiles so widely when he sees you in such a chipper mood, making your way down the hall with a noticeable spring in your step. He likes seeing you happy, so it makes him feel good, too, watching you skip by with such a bright expression on your face! Then, you press your hand to your lips and wink, blowing something he couldn’t see in his direction, and suddenly he’s confused. 

🗣️: Huh… well, that was strange. For some reason, though, the playful gesture seemed almost familiar, yet he couldn’t remember why. He can’t exactly chase after you and ask what that meant, so he’d have to wait until the next time he saw you (which he hoped wouldn't be a long wait – he liked spending time with you). 

🗣️: The next time he saw you, he asked if you could explain what the gesture meant. You did the best you could, but you’re pretty sure he comprehended what you were telling him if the giddy expression on his face was anything to go by. His excitement was quite adorable. However, his expression suddenly falls, and you watch him begin to sulk. How was he supposed to blow you a kiss in return? He didn’t have a body!! The poor man is so distraught. 

🗣️: He gets either Mr. Silvair to help him out or Mr. Hand to, well… give him a hand to enact his plan. The next time you see him, he calls out to you with such a delighted look on his face. So, you make your way over to him and kneel down to his level, watching as the sentient hand comes up to Mr. Chopped’s lips, making the same gesture you did, before he blows you a kiss and winks. He did it! He blew you a kiss!! 

🗣️: Mr. Chopped is very proud of himself and the pleased expression on his face is far too charming for you. He feels a warmth in his metaphorical chest knowing that you felt comfortable enough with him to blow him a kiss, especially since it seems like something humans do with those they are most comfortable with. 

🕳️: He’s honestly somewhat impressed you knew he was there, observing you through the small hole in the wall while you walk around like you’re on top of the world. He can’t help but wonder what happened that has you so chipper, but his thoughts are derailed a bit when you press your hand to your mouth and blow something at him, closing one of your eyes as you do so… What the hell was that?? 

🕳️: He feels somewhat offended, honestly, and gets that semi-disgusted look on his face before disappearing into the darkness. Mr. Gap understands it’s some kind of weird human gesture, but he can’t really put two-and-two together about what it means. Though, he finds himself continuing to watch you from any nook-and-cranny he could find, observing you to see if you would do the gesture again – you don’t.

🕳️: Mr. Gap ends up startling you while you’re walking down a long, grimy hallway, his hand darting out from a vent to grab your ankle. His grip isn’t tight, but it most certainly scares the life out of you and effectively catches your attention. He finds your scare amusing but ends up cutting straight to the point and asks you why you blew something at him. 

🕳️: Even after explaining what the gesture meant, Mr. Gap still doesn’t fully understand why you did it, so you just tell him it was supposed to be a nice gesture that showed you enjoyed him – playful. That is something he does understand, and it’s almost amusing how the smirk on his face grew. He must be special, he thinks, and his smugness is radiating from his face peeking out of the darkness. 

🕳️: Mr. Gap doesn’t do the gesture back, but he strangely enough finds himself hoping you don’t blow anyone else your kisses. He doesn’t know why the thought of you sharing the gesture with another annoys him a little bit – after all, it wouldn’t make it special anymore if you did it with everyone. He even begins bringing you things, like more crowbars or even pieces of candy he finds lying around. It’s almost like he’s trying to bribe you…

🔪: He sees you happily skipping around and finds himself having to do a double-take at the strange sight. It wasn’t a bad sight, not at all, it was just weird seeing you so bright and lively. However, his mind buffers a bit when you look at him, pursing your lips and giving him a wink before your fingertips press to your mouth and then flick towards him. 

🔪: Mr. Machete is immediately annoyed, not knowing what the gesture meant, and he assumes you were trying to pick a fight with him. So, he takes his large sword and reels it back, throwing it at you with a strength that still had your eyes boggling. You duck with a yelp as the sword implants itself into the wall behind you. 

🔪: He makes his way over to you with incredible speed, blocking your body between his and the wall as he looks down at you, his head tilted to the side as he asks you if you wanted to fight him. Mr. Machete finds your frustrated expression endearing as you tell him the gesture was meant to be playful and fun. He’s low-key kind of disappointed you didn’t want to fight, but he steps away from you after your explanation without another word. 

🔪: However, while looking down at your angry expression, Mr. Machete suddenly has the urge to squeeze you (I imagine he experiences cuteness aggression regarding you). So, he reaches down and squeezes your cheeks between his large and calloused hand, causing your lips to purse. Even though you hadn’t been in the mood to fight him, now you were. He smirks widely as you two begin to spar all because he misconstrued what your gesture meant. 

🔪: Mr. Machete doesn’t see the point of blowing kisses, and he doesn’t feel any particular way about the gesture. It’s kind of whatever for him, even though he does notice that you don’t seem to do it with anyone else. After the first time (that ended up leading to a spar), though, he notices you hadn’t blown him another kiss since… He ends up coming up to tell you in his gruff, almost rude way, that he wouldn’t mind if you did it again. 

🩸: He tilts his head to the side at the gesture, his shaggy red hair swaying with the movement. Well… that was new, he thinks. He liked you quite a bit (far more than just a bit, really… my man is kind of obsessed with you), and he had been following you throughout your entire journey in this realm, yet he had never once seen that expression or gesture from you before. Now, he was curious to know what it meant, and he was going to try and figure it out one way or another.  

🩸: He continues to keep his eye on you, following you as you go about your day. Mr. Scarletella likes seeing you so chipper and full of life, especially considering you were someone who tended to take life from others. The dichotomy between your behavior and actions had his heart racing. However, despite what he expected, you never did the gesture again. So, he couldn’t gather information by observing you – he would need to simply ask you directly, then. 

🩸: Mr. Scarletella effectively manages to corner you after some time, catching you completely off-guard. While you two had certainly started off on the wrong foot, you had gotten to the point where you were relatively calm and comfortable around the strange man who was so incredibly down bad for you. He gazes down at you with his lifeless eyes, inquiring about the gesture you made earlier. 

🩸: You explain to him what the gesture meant for you, that you were simply in a good mood and felt a little bit playful at the moment when you blew him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella smiles at your words, feeling very pleased with the information. So, it meant you liked him, correct? It meant you felt comfortable enough to express your happiness towards him in such a way, right?

🩸: Well, you inadvertently ended up making him even more obsessed with you, and now his feelings become even stronger every time you blow him a kiss. Mr. Scarletella finds the act an interesting way to express your interest and enjoyment of another being, so he begins to blow you his own kisses in return. He is one of the characters I feel would want to learn more about human customs to deepen his relationship with you even if he doesn’t fully grasp why some gestures mean certain things. 

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve be enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[happy74827]

Feels Like Home

[Logan Howlett x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: You decide to take it upon yourself to become best friends with Wade’s new grumpy addition to the family (much to Logan’s dismay).

WC: 2453

Category: Fluff, Sunshine!Reader x Grumpy!Logan trope {TW: Bar Fight, Handsy Drunk Dude, Mentions of Blood + Bruising}.

[Dedicated to: @iluvloganhowlett] I finished it for you!! (I’m shocked at the speed too don’t worry 💀). Hopefully this fluffiness will help add onto the low supply out there.

And incase anyone hasn’t seen it yet: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

『••✎••』

You’ve always had a keen eye when it came to others. It’s mostly why you and Wade get along so well; you’re the one person who can see straight through him. And while it means you are very close, it also meant that you can easily tell when something is going on with someone you don't know that well, like the tall, brooding man named Logan, who had just joined the club of misfits.

You could tell by the way he carried himself that he had been through hell and back. He was quiet, grumpy, and had a tendency to snap at Wade, which, most of the time, was a well-deserved snapping.

You could also tell that there was more to him. He wasn't just a grumpy guy; there was something about him that made you want to be his friend. Maybe it was the sadness in his eyes, or maybe it was how lonely he looked.

Either way, you knew he was in need of a good friend, and you wanted to be that friend. Not a pestering one like Wade, but the kind of friend that just makes you feel a bit better.

So, when you spotted him, downing glass after glass of whiskey for the third day in a row, you just knew you had to help.

And he hated it. Oh, man, he absolutely hated it. You were such a happy ray of sunshine, always smiling, always laughing. He found it so fucking annoying. He couldn't deal with you and your constant positivity. It was like you were the PG-13 version of the breathing ballsack next to you.

But you wouldn't give up. Every time you saw him, you would try to cheer him up by making silly jokes, giving him small gifts, or even just sending him encouraging smiles.

He didn't want any of it, but it seemed you were too stubborn to listen. Every small note you’d given him was left crinkled in the trash; every gift was placed away without ever being touched. Your smile never got a response.

That is, until one day, as you walked by him, he mumbled something that almost made you trip over.

"Thanks."

You stopped in your tracks and turned around to face him, a look of disbelief on your face. You had tried so hard to cheer him up for the past few weeks, and this was the only thing you got from him? You couldn't believe it.

You had spent so much time and effort trying to make him feel better, and this was all he could say to you?

You wanted to hug him. To scream to the skies and celebrate that he finally accepted your kindness.

You held the restraint to do so, though. You didn’t want to cause him to close off again, and so instead, you sent him a soft smile, and a small nod, before you resumed walking (running) to your friends.

The next day, however, you were met with the biggest surprise of your life.

Logan was sitting at the bar, drinking. He didn't look too different, still dressed in his trademark blue jeans and flannel shirt, but his face was still holding that sadness you had grown used to seeing on him.

You walked over to him and sat down beside him, that classic smile of yours plastered on your face.

"Hi!"

He groaned. "You're not going to leave me alone, are you?"

"Nope!" You replied cheerfully, popping the 'p.'

He grumbled under his breath and downed the last of his drink, signaling to the bartender for another.

"Come on, Wolvie," you said, nudging his shoulder. "Lighten up. Life's not that bad, is it?"

He turned to glare at you, his dark brown eyes piercing into yours. "It's Logan," he said, his voice a low growl.

You shrugged and leaned closer to him, propping your elbow on the counter. This was the usual part—the part where he would give vocal responses while you carried on your one-sided conversation with him.

The difference this time, the surprise of it all, was when a person approached the both of you. Mind you, a very drunk person.

"Heyyyyy, baby girl," he slurred, his hand landing on your shoulder.

You turned to him, and he was looking you up and down with that gaze you knew had only one intention. You still smiled, though, and politely moved his hand off your shoulder.

"Uh, hi?" You answered unsurely.

He slammed his elbow on the counter, his palm on his fist. "You are gorgeous," he commented, and you had to hold back the laughter that was bubbling in your throat.

"Thank you," you chuckled.

Logan scoffed, rolling his eyes, but you paid him no mind. Usual behavior from him, nothing new.

"No, really," the stranger continued, moving his arm around your shoulders, "I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Well, I'm glad you think so," you answered, still chuckling. "But, I think you're a little drunk."

"Drunk on love," he responded, "Say, wanna get out of here? I'll show you a real good time."

Here comes the awkward part, you thought.

You shook your head, and removed his arm from around your shoulders. "Thank you for… uh, the kind offer," you answered, "But, no, thank you."

You expected him to shrug it off and leave or to just be a dick, as many drunken guys are. But no, this guy did not know how to take a hint.

Instead, he tightened his grip around you and pulled you closer to him, his free hand moving down your waist. "Come on, baby," he said, his words slurring. "You know you want to."

You sighed. You were really hoping it wouldn't have to come to this.

You were about to speak, to politely, yet firmly, tell him to leave you alone, but before you could open your mouth, a gruff voice beat you to it.

"She said no,"

He didn’t even look at the man or you. His eyes were still fixated on the counter as if he was talking to his glass, but he had turned his head a bit to the side so that you could hear him clearly.

The drunk stranger was startled by the sudden intervention. He let go of you and looked over at Logan, confusion clear in his face.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"Does it matter?" Logan grumbled.

"Yeah, it does," the stranger retorted, his slurring voice suddenly getting serious. "If I'm gonna be having fun, I don't want an audience."

Oh, how you hated confrontations.

Logan just scoffed with a slight hint of a smile, shaking his head as he still refused to turn around.

"Trust me, pal," he replied, "I ain't interested in watching you do anything."

"Good." He went back to his obnoxious grin, now directing his attention back to you. Oh, man, he was an eyesore.

"So, how about it, beautiful? Wanna head somewhere else?" He slurred.

You were about to reply, again, with a polite rejection, but your shoulder was being grabbed at again, and if it wasn’t for the small training session that Colossus had put you through, you were sure you would have lost your footing.

"Can you let go of me, please?" You asked politely, but the man was a brick wall.

"Nah, sweetheart," he shook his head, and the movement was so intense, you could almost hear the alcohol sloshing around in his head, "You're comin' with me. Trust me, you’ll be perfectly taken care of."

That was when the sound of glass slamming against the counter reached your ears, and you didn't have to see the source of the sound to know it was Mr. Grumps.

What you struggled for what seemed like an eternity, he took that needy arm away from your shoulders within a fraction of a second. It was almost shocking how quick he was, but then again, you knew what he was capable of.

With you safe against the counter, Logan turned to face the stranger, his face still showing that same neutral expression as before, though his eyes held an intensity that made the man flinch.

Normal people would believe he had the patience of a saint. But you weren’t a normal person. You knew this was dangerously close to making him lose it.

"Uh, Logan… maybe we should—"

But your words fell on deaf ears. The only thing that Logan could hear was the weak excuses the guy was trying to give as he tried to pull his hand from the tight grasp Logan had it in.

"Hey, man," he stuttered, his words slurring as the panic set in, "What’s your problem? Let go of me!

But Logan had no intentions of doing so. He held the stranger's arm firmly, his grip growing tighter until he could hear a small crack coming from the guy's bones.

"What's your damage, huh?" the guy continued, trying his best to keep his voice from breaking. "It's just a little fun, right, baby?"

You cringed as his eyes fell back onto you, and the pleading tone of his voice was beginning to make your skin crawl.

"Look, uh," you started, looking anywhere but his eyes, "I don't think—"

"Listen," the man continued, and your eyes fell shut. God, he was just not going to stop. "Maybe you can join us? Huh, big boy? That’s what it is, right? You want her all for yourself?"

Uh, oh.

"Logan, don’t—"

It was too late. He had already snapped, and with a grunt, he pulled the man closer to him, his other hand forming a fist around his shirt.

"Wanna say that again?" He growled. "Do it. I dare you."

The man was trembling in his grasp, but he was clearly too drunk to understand the danger he was in.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you her boyfriend?" He taunted, and the fact that he had the guts to do so while his hand was in a painful hold was astonishing, even for you. "Or are you just some guy with a crush? Cause, honestly, it's pretty pathetic. You can't even ask her out."

His words had Logan seeing red, and before you could do anything, the guy was pushed away and was about to be on the receiving end of one of the strongest punches you've ever seen.

So, riskily, to protect yourself and him from being thrown out of his favorite place, you jumped off the stool and slid in between them as he launched his punch, just stopping inches away from your face.

"Please," you said, your palms up and in front of you, as if that would do anything to stop the rage he was feeling, "Please, calm down."

"Calm down?" He repeated, his voice rising. "Are you kidding me?"

"You need to let it go," you told him. "He's drunk, Logan. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"And, what," he retorted, his anger slowly fading away, "Does it look like I give a single fuck about that?"

You sighed, your eyes meeting his, and that was enough for him to finally give in. His clenched fist dropped, and he released a frustrated sigh.

The dude behind you started laughing, his voice sounding as if he was trying to make fun of a fight scene.

"So," he chuckled, "That's it, huh? You're not gonna do shit? You’re just as pathetic as a—"

He gently moved you aside, and in an instant, the man was lying on the floor with a bloody nose, a black eye, and a few broken ribs.

You could only hold your head in your hands, knowing very well the mess you were about to have to deal with.

And it didn't take long.

As soon as Logan stepped away from the drunk idiot, security was on him, grabbing his arms and restraining him. He couldn’t care less, though, as he held a sadistic grin on his face, pleased with his work while being escorted out.

And, so, there, the two of you were on the steps of the apartment building. You, holding your hands in your lap, and he, staring up at the night sky.

The air was warm, the city lights were dim, and the sky was covered in clouds. There was an odd silence between the two of you, which wasn’t really all that odd, but the events of the night had changed the atmosphere.

"Thanks," you spoke, breaking the quiet. "For, you know, standing up for me."

"He was a douche," he stated, his voice gruff. "Someone had to send that fucktart crying home to mommy."

"You shouldn’t have done that, though," you told him. "Now, you’re probably banned from the bar. I know it's your favorite."

"Eh," he shrugged, "Booze is booze. There are plenty more places to get drunk."

You didn't respond. Instead, you focused your attention on the small bugs flying around the dim light next to the door.

"You shouldn't be thanking me, anyway," he continued, turning to you. That was new. "I should be the one thanking you."

You looked at him, your brows furrowed. This whole conversation was getting weird. "Uh, what for?" You asked, confused.

"For putting up with me," he replied, shrugging.

"Putting up with you?" You repeated, not understanding. "I don't understand."

"Y'know," he continued, his gruff voice a little less gruff. "Sticking around. Being friendly. Having… patience. I can be…I can be a real dick. Honestly, I still don't get why you keep trying."

The smile that found its way to your lips waa the most genuine one he's ever seen. Your eyes were full of kindness and understanding, and your lips, which usually held a grin or a smirk, were turned upwards in a soft, gentle smile.

"Logan," you said, your voice low. "You may be a grump, and you might not be the friendliest guy, but that doesn't mean you don't deserve kindness. Everyone deserves that… or at least a little bit of it."

He scoffed. "That's funny," he replied, turning his head away.

You furrowed your brows and cocked your head, confused. "What is?" You asked.

"I used to think," he began, "That no one would ever look at me in the way you do. Not after what I’ve done… not after what I am."

"You're a good man, Logan," you told him. "You proved who you were when you willingly helped Wade."

"Maybe," he sighed, his gaze meeting yours. "But, there's still a lot you don't know about me. I'm not exactly a knight in shining armor."

"Oh, my dear, Wolvie," you said playfully, leaning closer to him and placing your palm on his shoulder, "You never were."

[theonottsbxtch]

TIMEZONE | OP81

an: i promised after oscar’s pole id promise fluff and also because i got peer pressured by @amyelevenn im a victim fr, enjoy our soft boy - warning it does start off a bit angsty. this was a request from @n0vazsq for my 2k celly thank you ml <3 ALSO THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD IM SORRY

wc: 3.1k

synopsis: oscar let the one go, but the longer he spends away from her the more he realises what a stupid mistake it was.

OSCAR WAS MISERABLE.

He'd just won his first ever pole-to-win conversion, and he was bloody miserable.

The champagne was still dripping from his race suit, the taste of victory lingering on his tongue, but it all felt hollow. The cheers from the crowd rang in his ears, deafening, but none of it mattered. Because she wasn’t there.

She should have been. She should have been in the paddock, wrapped up in his fireproof jacket, rolling her eyes at his cocky post-race grin but kissing him breathless anyway. She should have been the first person he saw when he climbed out of the car, arms flung around his neck before he'd even peeled off his gloves.

Instead, she was seven thousand miles away, living a life that no longer included him.

The realisation hit him like a punch to the gut as he stood on the podium, trophy in hand, the cameras flashing. He should have felt elated, triumphant. Instead, he felt empty. He'd sacrificed so much for this—pushed himself to the absolute limit, given everything he had to his career. But in doing so, he’d lost the one person who made it all mean something.

He barely heard the post-race interviews, barely registered his own answers. His PR manager nudged him at the right moments, and he went through the motions; smiling, nodding, thanking the team. But his heart wasn’t in it. It was still in London, curled up in a tiny uni flat with a girl who used to wear his hoodies to bed and steal his socks when hers went missing.

She used to joke that they spent more time apart than together. At first, she’d said it with a laugh, teasing him about their ridiculous time zone differences, about how she’d wake up just as he was finishing free practice on the other side of the world. But as the months passed, as the late-night FaceTime calls turned into missed texts and unreturned voicemails, the laughter had faded.

And then, one day, she’d stopped waiting.

He should have fought harder. He should have told her she was more important than all of this. That she was the only thing in the world that felt like home.

But he hadn’t.

And even now, standing on the top step of the podium, the world at his feet, he had never felt further away from where he truly wanted to be.

By the time he finally escaped to the driver's room, the buzz of victory had been drowned out by the quiet hum of regret sitting in his chest. His race suit was damp with sweat and champagne, the adrenaline fading, leaving nothing but exhaustion.

He grabbed his phone from where he’d tossed it earlier, the screen lighting up as he pressed the button. No texts. No missed calls. Nothing.

His jaw clenched as his eyes flicked to the clock widget at the top.

London: 10:00 AM

He could never bring himself to delete it. No matter where he was in the world—Australia, Japan, the Middle East—he always knew exactly what time it was for her. He used to check it before calling, before sending stupid voice notes at ungodly hours, before whispering a sleepy “Goodnight, love” when she was already halfway through her morning coffee.

Now, it was just another reminder of how far away she was.

With a frustrated sigh, he chucked his phone onto the massage bed and peeled off his race suit, yanking it down to his waist before grabbing a towel. The knock on the door came exactly two seconds before it was shoved open.

"Oi, I'm changing!" Oscar snapped, instinctively pulling the towel higher over his shoulder.

Lando stood in the doorway, completely unfazed. "Yeah, don’t care." He strolled in like he owned the place, tossing a sweaty towel onto the table before flopping onto the small sofa in the corner. "Right, what’s your problem?"

Oscar frowned. "What?"

Lando gestured vaguely at him. "You won the race, mate. First pole-to-win conversion, team's over the bloody moon. But you look like someone just ran over your cat."

"I'm fine."

"Bollocks," Lando said flatly. "You barely said two words after the race, you legged it out of the debrief like your arse was on fire, and you’re sitting here staring at your phone like you're waiting for it to apologise to you."

Oscar exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair. "Just... tired."

Lando snorted. "Tired, my arse. Come on, out with it."

Oscar hesitated. He could dodge, change the subject, pretend that he wasn’t slowly losing his mind over someone who didn’t even call him anymore.

But then, before he could stop himself, the words came tumbling out.

"I broke up with her." His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "I mean, she broke up with me. But only 'cause I was never bloody there. Time zones, flights, races, all of it—it was too much. She got sick of waiting for me to show up, and I—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I let her go."

Lando didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching him with a look that was more knowing than Oscar would have liked. "Shit."

"Yeah." Oscar let out a humourless laugh, shaking his head. "I won the biggest race of my career today, and the only thing I can think about is how she should’ve been in the crowd. She should’ve been the first person I saw when I got out of the car." He exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "But she wasn’t. And that’s my fault."

Lando was quiet for a beat, then sighed. "Mate, that’s brutal."

Oscar let out a bitter chuckle. "Tell me about it."

Lando leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "So... what are you gonna do about it?"

Oscar blinked. "What?"

"You love her, right?"

Oscar opened his mouth, ready to protest, but stopped himself. Love. The word sat heavy on his tongue, because of course he did. He always had.

Lando shrugged. "Well, then. Go and fix it."

Oscar shook his head, exhaling sharply. "I can't."

Lando raised a brow. "I can."

And with that, he stood up, clapped Oscar once on the shoulder, and walked out of the room—leaving Oscar sitting there, half-dressed, with a thousand unanswered questions.

What the hell did that even mean?

He stared at the door for a moment, running through every possible way Lando could have just ruined his life. But there was no time to dwell on it. He had a flight to Nice that night, back to his apartment, back to his too-quiet routine of training, simulator work, and pretending he wasn’t thinking about her.

Except an hour later, when he was in his hotel room, shoving his clothes and essentials into his suitcase, there was a knock at the door.

Frowning, he padded over, running a hand through his damp hair before swinging it open.

Max stood there, hands in the pockets of his team-branded joggers, looking like he had about two minutes of patience left before he lost interest and walked away.

Oscar blinked. "Uh—"

"I'm leaving for London at six," Max said.

Oscar frowned. "Okay?"

Max tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for Oscar to catch up. When it became clear that wasn’t happening, he sighed, shifting his weight onto one foot. "I've got a spare seat on the jet."

Oscar's brain still wasn’t putting one and one together. He looked over Max’s shoulder, half-expecting Lando to be standing there smirking, but the corridor was empty. "Right. And why exactly are you telling me this?"

Max exhaled through his nose, already looking like he regretted getting involved. "Lando said you were miserable. You broke up with your girlfriend and need to get back to London to fix things. I know you probably have a flight to Nice booked, and Lando seems convinced you’re just going to sit there and wallow until the next race." He paused, glancing at the half-packed suitcase on the bed. "So finish packing. Let’s go. I don’t do well with tardiness."

And with that, he turned on his heel and started walking away.

Oscar stood there for a solid five seconds, staring at the now-empty hallway, his thoughts scrambling to catch up.

Lando. That meddling little—

He huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. Then, without hesitating, he turned back into the room and shoved the rest of his things into his suitcase.

London. He was going to London.

To fix things.

To fix everything.e

It was 7 AM when they landed, and the first thing Oscar did—besides being absolutely jetlagged—was check her schedule.

He never deleted it from his camera roll.

It was an old photo, scribbled notes in her handwriting detailing lectures, seminars, deadlines. He used to check it religiously before calling, making sure he wasn’t waking her up before an important class or messaging when she was in the library. Even now, he found himself doing the same, as if he still had the right to.

Mondays. No morning lectures.

That gave him time.

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face, then turned to Max, who was stretching his arms over his head like he hadn’t just crossed multiple time zones. "Cheers, mate. For, you know… all of this."

Max just shrugged. "You can thank Lando. I don’t usually offer free therapy and private jet rides to sad bastards."

Oscar let out a breath of laughter. "Duly noted."

With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder, headed outside, and hailed a cab.

The drive to her flat was a blur of grey London streets, his heart pounding harder with every passing second. The nerves only set in when he stepped out of the taxi, staring up at her building like it was a bloody racetrack he’d never driven before.

What if she didn’t want to see him?

What if she had moved on?

What if he was about to make an absolute fool of himself?

Still, his feet carried him forward. Up the stairs. To her door.

He raised his hand and knocked.

There was shuffling from inside—soft footsteps, the creak of the floorboards. And then, the door swung open.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat.

She stood there, blinking at him in sleepy confusion, dressed in nothing but his hoodie, a pair of socks, and—Jesus Christ—his old boxer shorts, worn as makeshift pyjamas.

His hoodie was too big on her, hanging off one shoulder, the sleeves bunched up where she’d pushed them past her wrists. The sight of it, of her, in his clothes like she always used to be, knocked the air from his lungs.

His throat felt tight. "Hi."

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at him, like she wasn’t sure if he was real.

Oscar swallowed hard, heart hammering. "Can I come in?"

She stared at him, wide-eyed, gripping the edge of the door like she needed to steady herself. "What are you doing here?"

Her voice was quiet, still laced with sleep, but there was something else beneath it—something raw, something hesitant.

Oscar swallowed. "I—" He exhaled, shaking his head like even he couldn't believe it. "I needed to see you."

She blinked again, like she was still processing his sudden appearance. Then her brow furrowed slightly. "You were in China yesterday. You won your race. Now you’re here."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You watched?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Of course, I did."

Something in his chest squeezed tight. He didn't deserve that—didn't deserve her still watching, still caring. But he was selfish enough to let it fuel the courage he needed to say what he’d come here to say.

"I’ve been miserable," he admitted, voice rough. "Since the moment I let you walk away. Since the moment I realised I was losing you, and instead of doing something about it, I just let it happen. I thought I could handle it, you know? Thought I could just keep my head down, focus on racing, distract myself with the next flight, the next circuit, the next podium. But it didn’t work. None of it worked. I won, and it didn’t feel like winning, because you weren’t there. You weren’t insulting me for making you cry and ruining your makeup. I'd check my phone and see the time in London, and I’d realise I had nothing to text you anymore. I kept waiting for it to get easier, but it never did. And I—"

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck, I don’t even know what I’m saying, I didn’t plan this—"

And then she kissed him.

Just like that. No warning, no hesitation. She reached up, grabbed the front of his hoodie, and pulled him down to her. His words died instantly, swallowed by the warmth of her lips, by the way she pressed against him like she’d been waiting for this just as much as he had.

His bag hit the floor with a dull thud as his hands found her waist, gripping tight as he walked her backwards into the flat, not bothering to close the door. He had barley registered the sound of his bag, too caught up in the way she sighed against his mouth, the way her fingers curled into his hair, tugging just enough to send heat racing through him.

He backed her up until she hit the wall, a quiet gasp escaping her as he pressed closer, deepening the kiss. He’d had dreams about this. Stupid, torturous dreams where he’d wake up in hotel rooms alone, still reaching for her. But this—this was real. She was real, warm and soft under his touch, her nails raking lightly over his shoulder blades as his hands slid up beneath the fabric of his hoodie—his hoodie—to feel the warmth of her skin.

Then—

"Ahem."

They froze.

Oscar pulled back just enough to see over his shoulder, his stomach immediately plummeting.

Mrs Hart—her elderly neighbour—stood in the hallway, wrapped in a thick cardigan and holding a shopping bag. She raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"If you're going to take part in passionate rendezvous before 8 AM," she said dryly, "at least do it with the door closed."

Heat flooded Oscar’s face. He heard her let out a mortified laugh, peaking from in front of him just enough to mumble, "Sorry, Mrs Hart."

Mrs Hart hummed, clearly unimpressed, then shuffled off down the hallway, muttering something under her breath about "young people these days."

The second the front door clicked shut, she turned back to Oscar, biting her lip, eyes full of amusement. "That was—"

"Mortifying?" he supplied, still half-dazed from kissing her.

She grinned. "Hilarious."

And then she kissed him again.

Oscar was so gone for her.

He let out a breath, still slightly dazed, before remembering his bag was still abandoned in the corridor. He pulled away, bent down, grabbed it, and kicked the door shut properly this time. When he turned back, she was watching him, arms crossed, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"So," she said, tilting her head. "You flew across the world to tell me you’re miserable?"

Oscar exhaled a laugh, dropping his bag by the wall. "I guess I did."

"Idiot," she murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just fondness.

His chest ached. God, he’d missed her.

They stood there for a second, neither speaking, neither moving. Then, wordlessly, she reached for his hand.

She didn’t hesitate. Didn’t question. Just curled her fingers around his wrist and pulled.

Oscar followed without resistance, letting her lead him down the hall, into her bedroom, and straight to her bed. He barely had time to react before she gave him a firm shove, sending him tumbling onto the mattress with a surprised grunt.

She stood at the edge, hands on her hips, looking down at him with a raised brow. "First," she said, voice firm, "sleep. Those bags under your eyes are giving me a run for my money, and I’m a uni student."

Oscar huffed a laugh, opening his mouth to argue—only for her to crawl onto the bed, straddle him, and press her lips to his before he could get a single word out.

It wasn’t a soft kiss this time. It was deep, heated, like she was trying to make up for all the time they’d lost.

Oscar groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding under her hoodie, fingers skimming warm skin. He felt her shiver, heard the little gasp she let out when he pulled her closer, felt her shift slightly and—

Yeah. Yeah, she definitely felt that.

She broke the kiss with a breathless laugh, grabbing his wrists and shoving them away. "Naughty!" she scolded, grinning as she sat back. "First, we’re sleeping."

Oscar let out a dramatic groan, letting his head fall back against the pillows. "That’s just cruel. You’re a cruel woman."

She smirked, rolling off him and slipping under the duvet. "You’re the one who looks half dead. Get in."

Oscar stared at her for a moment, something warm curling in his chest. He hadn’t realised just how much he’d missed this—the casual intimacy, the way she just knew when he needed to rest, the way she could tease him one second and make his heart ache with how much he loved her the next.

He exhaled, then kicked off his shoes and climbed in beside her.

But Oscar didn’t hesitate. The second he was under the covers, he pulled her tight against him, slotting her perfectly against his chest. His arms wrapped around her, one hand splayed across her back, the other tangled in her hair as he breathed her in.

She was warm, soft, real.

For months, he’d fallen asleep with nothing but the hum of hotel air conditioning and the occasional distant city noise to keep him company. No whispered conversations under the covers, no sleepy kisses before sunrise, no warmth beside him. Just cold sheets and silence.

But now—now she was here. In his arms. Where she belonged.

She let out a small sigh, nuzzling into his chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his side. "You know, I meant what I said earlier," she murmured.

Oscar hummed, his thumb brushing along her spine. "What?"

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with a teasing glint in her eye. "That you’re an idiot."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

She huffed a quiet laugh but didn’t argue, just curled in closer.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out, her body relaxing completely against his. Oscar lay awake a little longer, just holding her, letting it all sink in. The ache that had lived in his chest for months—the one he’d ignored, buried under podium celebrations and press conferences—finally eased.

No win, no pole position, and no championship could ever make Oscar feel as happy as he felt then and there.

the end.

taglist: @lilorose25 @obxstiles @iimplicitt @carlossainzapologist @iamred-iamyellow @curseofhecate @number-0-iz @dozyisdead @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @n0vazsq @dying-inside-but-its-classy @hzstry8 @oikarma @amyelevenn

[autumnscribbles]

come back | r.c

summary: you and rafe get into a fight on a night out, when you’re left to find your own way home, you find yourself in a bad position

warnings: drinking, creepy men, i think that’s about it

wc: 2k

a/n: my first official rafe fic!!! thank you so much to the person who sent in this request, i’m a little rusty but had so much fun writing this! pls send more :) enjoy

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

You let out a loud laugh as JJ continued to tell you one of the most ridiculous stories you’ve ever heard. Between fits of laughter, you took small sips from your red solo cup. You were starting to feel tipsy, the alcohol coursing through you. It made everything funnier, and you found yourself leaning in towards JJ, unable to control your laughter. You clutched your stomach as he laughed along with you, his own laughter triggered by how much you were laughing. It was always an endless cycle with JJ, when one of you started to laugh, it was over.

“I’m gonna go get another drink,” you hiccuped, as you stared down at the empty cup in your hand.

JJ patted your leg and nodded at you before you stood up, making your way over to the table where the drinks were. The room spun slightly around you as you clumsily poured yourself another drink. You were mixing it yourself, and chuckled at how heavy handed your pour was. You tilted your head back as you took a sip, nodding to yourself in approval.

As you turned around to head back to the couch you were sitting on, you bumped into a familiar chest. You looked up at your boyfriend, smiling drunkenly at him.

“Hey! There you are!” you cheered, leaning your head on Rafe’s chest as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“Took you long enough,” he scoffed, stepping to the side and approaching the same table you were just walking away from.

“What does that mean?” you asked, furrowing your brows as you took another sip.

“It means you should probably lay off the liquor and maybe don’t hang all over JJ like an idiot,” he retorted, his eyes glued to the table in front of him.

You thought it was hypocritical, him telling you to stop drinking as he poured himself another rum and coke. He drank as much as he wanted, whenever he wanted and you never said a word to him about it. JJ had been your friend since childhood, your family taking him in when he had no one else. You grew up together. Your friendship would always be special.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered under your breath as you walked away from him, going back towards JJ.

“Running back to him?” Rafe called out to you.

You turned around, seeing his bright blue eyes darken as he looked at you. His jaw twitched as he clenched it. You knew he was biting his tongue. Holding himself back from saying something he would really regret.

“You know what Rafe? You’re childish. JJ is my friend, and you know it. Maybe you should stop drinking and you wouldn’t be so fucking delusional,” you bit back.

Rafe rolled his eyes and you walked back over to JJ, plopping on the couch beside him again. He looked concerned as he asked you if everything was okay. You assured him you were perfect, and tapped your cup against his as a cheers.

You ignored Rafe as you saw him walk passed you, not even sparing you a glance. You knew you upset him, and that he was bothered. For once, you didn’t care enough to do anything until you got home. You didn’t want to cause a scene, and more importantly, wanted to have fun with your friends.

After a few rounds of pong with John B, Pope, JJ, and Kie, the alcohol was really getting to your head. You realized you hadn’t seen Rafe since your argument, anXd thought maybe you should look for him.

“I’m gonna get some air and look for Rafe,” you said to your friends, voice raised to be heard over the music. They nodded at you before setting up for another game.

You weaved through drunk, sweaty bodies before stepping outside. You breathed in the fresh air, closing your eyes as everything spun.

“You should lay off the liquor,” you muttered to yourself as you stumbled down the front steps.

You assumed Rafe would be outside. He usually stepped out for air when things were tense between you. He used it as a way to calm down. You were surprised when you didn’t find him.

You glanced down the street full of parked cars. You couldn’t spot Rafe’s truck. Did he leave? Would he? You felt tears springing to your eyes, suddenly feeling guilty for what you said to him. You pulled out your phone, calling him. It rang and rang, but eventually left you on voicemail. You shot him a quick text before sitting on the steps, spinning head in your hands.

“Hey…” you heard an unfamiliar voice behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see someone you didn’t recognize. Obviously a kook, based on the polo shirt and khaki pants he had on. You had never seen him at one of these parties before. Or maybe, you just never recognized him.

“Hey,” you muttered, pulling out your phone to see if Rafe answered.

“Lost your boyfriend?” he asked, sitting down comfortably beside you. You felt yourself slide over, wanting distance from him.

“No,” you shook your head. “Just waiting for him.”

“Don’t think he’s coming back, sweetheart. I saw him get in his truck,” he chuckled. “I could drive you home though.”

“I’m good,” you answered shortly.

You stood up, taking a second to regain your balance. You had to go home. To find Rafe. You realized you didn’t have the keys to your place. Rafe had them. You came together and were going to leave together. You guessed you’d just knock until he answered once you got there.

You knew you should tell your friends you were leaving, but in a drunken haze you were too focused to go back inside. You’d just text them later.

The boy on the stairs was in a conversation with a clone of himself, so you started walking. The cool evening hair sent a slight chill down your spine, your shoulders exposed. You tried to walk as quickly as possible without falling.

When you heard footsteps behind you, you reluctantly decided to look behind you. You were surprised to find the boy from the stairs and his friend walking a few paces behind you.

You felt your heartbeat pick up a bit, your hand clutching your phone tightly, willing Rafe to call. You took a turn, and realized they were not too far behind you. Enough distance to try to make it seem like they weren’t following you, but you knew.

You decided you’d take the short cut. You had to go through the woods, but it wasn’t too far. The boys behind you wouldn’t know the path, even if they saw you turn off. You’d just run, you thought to yourself.

As you dashed quickly into the woods, your breath was loud in your ears. You were trying not to panic. You would be fine. You heard the footsteps behind you, branches cracking under their feet as their pace picked up. You’d run as far as you could.

Eventually, you slowed down, catching your breath. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to listen for the boys following you. Your heart beat hard in your ears as you took deep breaths. You didn’t hear them anymore. You were in the clear.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and flashed the light, realizing you had no idea where you ended up. You were surrounded by trees, no path in sight.

“Fuck,” you whispered.

You started walking where you thought you had come from, hoping to end up back on the path. You’d tripped over something, landing harshly on the hard ground. You hissed in pain as tears started filling your eyes.

You dialled JJ, thinking maybe you had a better chance of reaching him. No answer. You tried Rafe again, and again, and again.

The third time, he picked up. His voice choppy on the other line because of the bad service.

“Rafe?” you cried, overjoyed that he answered. “I need help I-I was walking home and I cut through the woods to get home but I’m lost.”

“Y/N?” Rafe answered. “Where are you?”

“The woods, I-I don’t know where exactly. Please help me, baby,” you cried.

You couldn’t hear his reply as the call dropped. You cursed under your breath again as you began to cry. You didn’t even know if Rafe heard you. You felt yourself starting to crash, the adrenaline wearing off and the effects of the alcohol hitting you all at once. You felt your eyes flutter shut, and succumbed to the exhaustion.

You eyes opened again to a faint sound in the distance. You sat up, disoriented, your head pounding behind your eyes. You winced as you tried to figure out how much time had passed.

You heard a voice in the distance, and as it approached you realize they were calling your name.

Rafe.

He came.

“Rafe!” you screamed as loud as you could, trying to signal to him where you were.

You heard his footsteps pick up as they got closer, and you kept calling out. Eventually he was in front of you, crouch down as his hands cradled your face.

“Baby, oh my god,” he breathed. “I’ve been looking for you, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I acted like a bitch,” you cried, falling into his chest. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.”

“Shhh I shouldn’t have left you there. I was a fucking asshole. I’m so sorry. What if something happened to you?” he rambled, holding you close.

“These guys were following me so I cut through the woods. I tried to get away,” you breathed. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“What? Who?” he asked angrily.

“Doesn’t matter,” you sighed. “I just wanna go home.”

*

Rafe brought you inside and into the bathroom, turning the light on.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered. There was a cut down your leg, bleeding from when you tripped. You were covered in dirt, leaves, and branches.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you told him.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m so sorry baby, I can’t say it enough.”

He turned the shower on, the steam starting to fill the room. He helped you gently peel off your clothes and step in, where he joined behind you. He rinsed off all the dirt and blood, and gently massaged your head with shampoo to wash out the dirt. You began uncontrollably sobbing as the warm water fell down your body, and you were so worn out you didn’t even know why anymore.

Rafe dressed you into your favorite pyjamas and brought you to bed, tucking you in gently. All while whispering that you were okay, that he was sorry, and that he loved you. He set down a glass of water beside you, urging you to drink it.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Cold?” he asked.

You shook your head, reaching your arms out to him. He fell on the bed beside you as you lay on his chest, his heart beat faster than normal.

“It’s okay, baby,” you whispered to him, your eyes beginning to close. “I’m okay.

“I don’t know how I can forgive myself,” he said. “What if those guys..” he stopped himself before continuing. He didn’t want to voice what he was thinking. It was unimaginable.

“I shouldn’t have ignored you, or walked away when you were clearly upset. It was stupid,” you muttered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he whispered. “I was just being jealous and stupid. I overreacted.”

“As always,” you chuckled, making the corners of his mouth turn up.

He watched as your eyes began closing, your previously stressed out facial expression smoothing out.

“Just rest, baby,” he cooed as he rubbed his hand along your back. “I won’t leave you again.”

You finally gave in to your exhaustion, just happy to be safe and warm in Rafe’s arms. You didn’t care about the fight anymore, or anything that happened. All that mattered was you were safe. You were okay.

He came back. He would always come back.

[nsuyeula]

Rundown of the more interesting parts from the Necrits live stream with Christian Linke (Creative Director and Co-Creator of Arcane) :

There was a longer version of the Caitvi sex scene but they got bonked by the ratings people, and because it would have raised Leagues rating to mature, it got brought down to what we got.

The entire Caitvi sex scene was directed and animated by Fortiche with zero input by Riot. Christian says, "That was French people being French."

Riot making Arcane canon didn't change where they were taking characters or the story, it just made them more aware of how it would affect other Riot projects.

Christian refused to confirm exactly when the events of Arcane take place in the existing timeline.

The Arcane doesn't originate from Hextech. It is just one - in universe - interpretation of magic.

Christian doesn't view Viktor and Jayce's love as romantic, and that romance wasn't the intention when writing their relationship. However, by the way he talks, it doesn't seem he's against people shipping them romantically - just as a creative team, they were more interested in exploring a close, complex male friendship / brotherhood.

The 250-million dollar show budget number is not accurate as marketing is included in that fund. Fortiche's goal from the beginning was to bring the level of animation found in feature animated films to serialised content. While the show was very expensive for an animated series, it was way cheaper than an animated feature film because they try and work efficiently. As an example, Christian says how often in Hollywood, it's not uncommon for sometimes 40-50% of what is animated to end up on the cutting room floor while with Fortiche they try and keep it around 5%

Ekko's hair was changed from a mohawk to dreads because the artist who worked on him told them that black hair doesn't work like that (in reference to the mohwak), and here's how it would actually work.

Legends of Runterra affected Arcane in terms of giving the team inspiration for how the everyday street life is for people in the regions.

Caitlyn's LOR Tactical design (2021) and Warwicks VGU Voicelines (2017) were made to reflect what was going to happen in Arcane - production of Arcane just took a long amount of time.

They've said from the beginning that the only person who could ever defeat Viktor at the height of his power was Viktor himself. His story is about the glorious evolution, the pursuit of that, and what it actually means to remove these human elements until there is nothing left.

All projects Riot is working on - whether the MMO, Games, Written or Animated projects - are in talks with one another at all times.

Christian comments on how very few games have remain in service as long as League has, and because of its ever growing and evolving story, it's hard to bring everything together cohesively since everything was made at different times, in different era's, by a multitude of different people. So, while many things may be very cool creatively, it makes it impossible to successfully bring it all together more often than not. So for new projects, they are more focused on making something good and successful with the team and talent they have, even if it retcons or replaces content made in the past.

Christian pitched singing Heimerdinger.

Arcane's scripts for S2 were locked in before S1 was released, so they were not impacted by fandoms or online reactions. Christian thinks maybe some animation choices were influenced by things the animators saw online, but not the story.

When watching the premier of the final arcane episodes in LA - the entire 4000 seat theatre cheered when Maddie died.

The butterfly motif shared between Jayce and Viktor specifically was used to represent transformation.

Christian talked about how they don't think about really whether people will like something or not, but whether it's the right consequence for the story (this is in discussion to Caitlyn losing an eye). What makes a character likeable to an audience in his eyes is their decisions in the story; the choices that they make.

Continuing on from this, he comments on how the choices Caitlyn makes now are so different now compared to the beginning of the show. She is now willing to take risks and sacrifice parts of herself for people, for Piltover and for what is right.

When asked about Caitlyn's signature hat, Christian says that the team saw it as somthing that didn't really fit this version of Caitlyn they were writing and the person she becomes and that's why it was never incorporated into her designs.

Back in the beginning, when they were first working on Arcane, Christian would constantly going back to Jinx and Vi's original design artists & Riot August who was their champion designer to make sure they weren't messing anything up with these characters.

Christian goes on to tell an anecdote of when Paul 'Zeronis' Kwon was drawing the first concepts for Vi. This was back when Christian was in music. She didn't have a name at the time, but when Christian looked over Paul's shoulder at the art, he comments "she kinda looks like a Violet to me." They never spoke about it, but months later, when she became a serious character concept internally, she was gifted the name Vi. To this day, Christian doesn't know if his comment resulted in her name or if it was just a coincidence, but Violet became stuck in Christian's brain as Vi's true name. Riot August (who was in chat) then confirms that her name came from her tattoo, which came from one of her key design elements, being that she had the number 6 on her face. So, just a happy coincidence.

Talking about the tattoo. The tattoo was shrunken in size so, from a distance, it would look more like a beauty mark and the brain can more easily disregard it. One of the many things that they had to think about when translating the designs over as, is animation, you would be looking at a characters face a lot more than you do in league where the camera is situated top down.

As they were wrapping up the stream, Christian talks about how there always needs to be a bit of space between what content creators / content consumers do (pointing at Necrit) and what Riot does. He thinks it's good that there is space for criticism and a critical view of the things Riot does. In order to succeed, he believes they need to listen to their audience but also that they need to have their own vision, take risks, and be bold. It's a delicate balance in his eyes, and projects tend to fail when these two sides are too in cahoots.

He iterates that they are not trying to shove anything down anyone's throats. They are just trying to find what makes these characters cool, tell their stories, and be true to the regions they come from. With taking the characters from League to Arcane, it was important that they translate these stories and characters so they can hold up with the best storytelling in the world.

This circles back to the earlier point about retconning things and replacing past stories and content. He comments on how some characters are very outdated or too archetypal, but they still have an essence that people love about them.

Arcane was something Christian worked on for 9 years, and he was getting clearly emotional near the end. He also adds they're just getting started and he wants to make sure they do a good job with this IP and the characters we really love.

To those who are not happy with certain decisions, he's sorry they didn't hit what you personally wanted, but there is simply no way they can please everybody. While they are trying to make as many of the Riot / Arcane audience happy, they as the creators and artists need to follow their own compass, be the shepherds of this IP; that being creative is hard. They will keep doing that even if they sometimes have to ruffle some feathers.

He closes the stream by confirming that they are investing quite a bit in Noxas, Ionia, and Demacia for the next regions they explore.