#he’s crying and he doesn’t even realize it

[jjkbambi]

the morning after luigi mangione x reader (18+)

summary!!! part two of is it new years yet because you do not get back together just cuz he has good dick OMG 🖕🖕🖕🖕😒 he also has a great personality and loves eating pussy

warnings: smut, kinda angsty, he’s manipulative but honestly he’s such a nice guy, you should really give him a second chance

^ not edited let’s alll just practice gratitude 🙏

seven days, thirteen hours, and nine minutes and thirty six seconds.

that’s how long it had been since luigi had seen you. not that he’d been counting, he was truly trying to be normal about the distance this time around.

he replays the morning after on a loop, searching for the slightest hint he’d done something wrong to no avail. as a matter of fact, your quiet body was beside him until deep into the afternoon, nothing but soft snores exchanged between the two of you. he wakes before you, kissing your forehead before taking his leave. his frat brothers whistle at him as he enters the wretchedly messy house, throwing him a water.

“happy new year, big guy,” one of them, hasan, greets. “did’ya spend your night thinking about new goals or scoring the same one?”

luigi rolls his eyes. “fuck off.”

another brother chimes in, bright-eyed. “when are we meeting her?”

“in your dreams.”

he had no intention of sharing you in any way; the thought of anyone else even looking at you irritated him. but starting the new year off by your side was far too great a fate to be stoic about. he grabs a plate of what’s left of their shitty communal breakfast (jar salsa from the night before, scrambled eggs, and two pieces of mostly burnt toast) and brings it into your room.

“y/n,” he calls out while entering. the door to the bathroom is now closed, and he sees your shadow shuffling around the room.

hesitant, the door creaks open. youre back in your black minidress, holding onto your heels. “hey, pretty.”

“hi,” you say tightly, the mistakes and soreness from the night before lingering in your mind. you’ve just wiped away the tears still streaked on your face, yet your ex-boyfriend hardly looks hungover.

“dressed up just for me?” he jokes, kissing your cheek. he offers you the plate of food but you shake your head.

“lacy’s waiting for me. i’ve got to go.”

“stay,” he says, his voice honey-sweet, like the boyfriend you knew months ago. it makes you feel sick, the familiarity of it all suffocating you. the room feels too small.

you push away from him. “i have to go.”

“baby,” he drops everything he’s holding to grab you again. “what’s wrong? is everything alright?”

he always blows your mind with his audacity. “no, everything’s not alright, luigi,” you spit back. “we shouldn’t have—none of that should’ve happened.”

“what do you mean?”

“luigi,” you sigh. “we’re over, alright? it’s done.”

“y/n—”

“i mean it,” you raise your voice so slightly, but still it breaks. “you cheated on me, then pulled all this shit, i can’t do it anymore.”

“you can’t do it anymore? are you serious?”

“yes!”

“you ignored me for weeks then showed up at my fucking party, dressed like that,” his voice was low, but angry. brows furrowed, he doesn’t lose his grip on you. it scares you. “you can’t tell me you weren’t bartering for my attention.”

“i wasn’t.”

his jaw sets. “then who’s?”

“oh my god. nobody’s!”

“don’t fucking lie to me—”

“lu, stop, seriously.” your voice trembles this time, and you both notice it. he drops your hand.

“i didnt mean to hurt you,” he says, soft at your upset. “i swear—i dont remember cheating on you. i’m not gonna mess up like that again, i promise.”

he leans in to kiss you, to seal the pledge with his gentle touch, but you pull back. “it doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hurt me—you did. you can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.“

his big brown eyes bear into yours and he swears, “i can make it up to you.”

“luigi,” you hadn’t even realized you’d been crying until he brings his hands up to wipe your tears away. “i just don’t think this is a good idea, i’m sorry.”

“come on,” he says, frowning. “i love you. only you.” his lean-in to kiss you is successful this time. the kiss feels much better—softer—than last night’s. he’s gentle with his desperation, intent on making you stay. “‘m sorry, okay?” he says between kisses. “let me make it better.”

“no, luigi, we shouldn’t—”

“you’ve got to hear me out, y/n,” he takes your lips again. his hot kisses move down your neck—and it all feels so different this time around. even the air in the room feels lighter. his voice is against your ear when he swears, “i’ll be good to you, sweetheart, i promise.”

saying no to him is near impossible—it’s why you shut yourself off of him for weeks, avoiding places he frequented, deactivating your social media, ignoring his constant stream of messages and calls. now, he has you, and within minutes, you’re pressed against the wall again.

“feels good?” he teases, grinding his hard-on into your core. you melt underneath him, you can’t help it, he’s so warm.

“lu,” you whimper. you’re still sensitive from how selfishly he took you the night before, you can’t help but react to his touch so quickly. it felt so raw.

“wait—” he never does. his hands are on your hips again, moving your body against his.

“just let me take care of you,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck again. this time, he was sure to leave marks.

he keeps the dress on this time. he places you back onto the bed, and as you gather the courage to take him in again, he moves beneath you.

“knew i recognized these,” his voice hot against the fabric of your panties.

you told yourself the lacy black panties were just meant to match the dress, but it all seemed so intentional—the party crash, the kitchen drive-by, the fact that you were wearing his valentines day gift. whether this was a manifestation of your greatest fear or desire, you couldn’t tell.

he kisses your thighs, then runs his tongue against your core through the fabric of your panties before ceremoniously ripping them off. he kisses and sucks at your wetness. you tremble at the suddenness of his movement. his big nose is so prominent in your pussy, you can’t help but grind yourself against his perfect face and whine as he drinks you in.

“you’re such a fucking mess,” luigi says, smiling into your warmth. his unshaven stubble tickles your sensitive cunt, sending a tremor through you. “so wet, i’ve barely even touched you.”

“i can’t help it,” you whimper.

he grabs your ass, pulling you closer to his relentless mouth. it’s ridiculous how good he feels. he’s completely shameless in his endeavor to ruin you.

“look at me,” luigi orders, so you do. you look down to see him, finding that he’s already gotten to touching himself. his hard length at the edge of the bed, furiously red, as he strokes himself. “i think about you everyday,” he admits in between licking at your core. “i missed how this pretty pussy tasted. i missed having you like this. holding you down so you can’t squirm away. missed hearing you beg.”

you’re almost there, fidgeting underneath his hands. “luigi, please. it’s too much.”

“you’ve taken worse,” he growls into you.

he feels like he’s on fire. one hand moves up and down along his cock fervently, while the other lends itself to fingering your frothing pussy. you mewl at the sudden entry, back arching.

“luigi,” you whine. “please.”

“i’m trying to do a nice thing for you, y/n,” he hums, “but you want me to be selfish, hm? want me to take you?”

“yes,” you say, breathless.

“fuckin’ slut,” he grumbles, pulling himself away from your wet cunt. he grabs your ankles and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “what d’you want from me, huh?”

“want you.”

“course you do,” luigi says, surprising you with hard slaps against your sensitive clit. you cry out at the sensation, the unfamiliar storm of bliss and torment, and he chuckles darkly. “you fuckin’ belong to me.”

he grabs your chin and forces you into another kiss, your wetness now staining you both. he lifts your leg up and slides himself back into your wet warmth. “you’re dripping,” he praises as he pounds into you. the exhilarating pain sets your senses alight, you grip onto him tighter without even realizing. “all for me, yeah?”

“all for you.” you nod. this is not how you expected this conversation to go. you writhe at how big he is, how hard.

“you can take it,” he grunts. he’s not fast, this time—his thrusts are agonizingly slow and tortuously deep—just as you think it’s all entirely too much, one hand grips your clothed tit, the other lifts to cradle your chin, forcing your lips to part open. he spits into your mouth. “swallow,” he orders.

you do.

“good girl,” he places sloppy, wet kisses along your jaw, your neck, then goes to bite at your tits. “so fuckin’ pretty.”

“i thought about you too,” you admit sheepishly, out of your mind. he looks up at you, raises his eyebrows, urging you to go on. “i missed you.”

to your surprise, he scoffs. “fuckin’ bitch.” he suddenly loses the interest in being gentle with you, returning to your body rough and angry. his fingers massage against your clit, unraveling you. “you’re just as crazy as i am, you know that? running around town like you don’t belong to me. like you don’t touch yourself late at night thinking about this cock. wishing those fingers were half as good as mine, huh? fuckin’ idiot.”

“luigi,” you cry out. was this him being nice?

“be a good girl f’me,” he grunts. he feels you pulse around his cock and drives into you with even more force. “cum all over me, baby. have my fuckin’ kids.”

“luigi,” you mewl again, desperate for release.

“come on, pretty, show me how good it feels.”

his lips return to yours, hot wet and desperate, as he cums inside of you. you’re a complete mess—squirming and whimpering as you unravel onto his cock, he catches your moans with kisses and leaves you shaking underneath him.

“good girl,” he hums, kissing your forehead.

for a fleeting moment, the two of you are perfect. everything feels just right. he slips into the spot beside you, the disarray of tangled sheets forgotten as he pulls you into his warmth. you sink into the nape of his neck, and though there are no more words spoken, the air is thick with an undeniable love, quiet but all encompassing.

but when he stirs awake, reaching for you, all that lingers is the soft, fading smell of your spring perfume.

send requests ! <3

[jiminrings]

MERRY CHRISTMAS MAYOR RINGS!!! can we mayhaps pls get some crumbs for mature!jungkook as a holiday gift pls pls pls 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

mature aka f2l fic aka push and pull fic sneak peek :D

the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back �� the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.

alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

You theorized that getting over Jungkook would be fairly easy on the chance that he rejects you after your confession.

You figure that Jungkook himself as a concept would be drastically difficult to move on from because he was just so lovable. He doesn’t know how to read a room and it’s one of his better quirks when you’re worrying over nothing. He doesn’t know much about knowing when to let up, and it comes in clutch when he’s pushing you to wholeheartedly do an assignment even if you’re already burnt out from crying.

Jungkook, as a concept, is indestructible. He’s the everyday variant of the goodness that some frat guys possess occasionally. He’s the realistic, attainable version of a main lead in a manhwa that’s only perfect 1/4 into the plot. 

He’s the manifestation of every good deed a stranger has done for you, except he’s someone you know with your heart and not just someone you could sketch from memory. 

With that, you also figured that moving on from Jungkook can’t be that hard because he was too out of reach despite being in the same friend group as you. Surely, it wouldn’t be so catastrophically hard to move on from a guy who just gasps for air every five minutes when he’s in charge of cooking in the BBQ hangout (instead of using the exhaust like a normal person), or from a guy who thinks citing references for a paper is only a suggestion.

The funny thing about it all is that you never actually confessed to Jungkook.

Actually (and contrary to the assumptions of the other friends you have from your circle), you’ve never said it to his face that you do have a crush on him. You’re ultimately known to be the friendliest person to ever walk the campus, and while not the most confrontational, they atleast expected for you to confess to Jungkook in your own way.

What actually happened was that Jungkook read through you — he does happen to be right about your feelings for him! He’s the second friendliest person right beneath you, and so the way he rejected you should never sting this much.

Jungkook thought it out meticulously. He read into the way you spent extra attention listening to him with your eyes practically gleaming. He read into the way you’d lag back behind him and hold him by his wrist whenever you were all crossing the street. Hell, he even read into the way you would take a shot at opening the extremely tight water bottle from the vending machine before everyone else.

The funny, tragic thing about it is that whilst Jungkook wasn’t wrong about pinpointing your feelings for him — you never confessed.

Jeon Jungkook, the second, ultimate friendliest man that your university has ever known, rejected you without even hearing the actual words from you.

He’s turned his back on you even before you could reach him, and the realization sinks in you unsettlingly. You never expected for him to like you back because it would be unfair of you, and you knew that; what just happened to hurt you most was that Jungkook didn’t even think twice.

He hadn’t given you the chance to pour your heart out at the very least.

He hadn’t even given you the space to breathe right after the rejection, because he skips and puts a smile on before winking, telling you that he’ll never speak of it again because you must probably be embarrassed.

The funniest thing about it all is that you aren’t embarrassed — you’re actually devastated about it.

It’s an odd event for Jungkook to feel lonely because with such a big friend group, he never thought he’d feel a little empty despite literally rubbing elbows in a circular table. He never thought he’d come to be a little annoyed at Jimin and his routine, playful, borderline offensive banter he’d always have with you at the top of the morning, and he never thought he’d even be more annoyed over the absence of it.

There’s one less laugh in the circle. One less bag strewn underneath the table, one less coffee order written on the notes app, and one less person to look for when hanging out.

You’re missing from the friend group, and oddly enough, Jungkook seems to be the most devastated about it.

“Why is Y/N not here?” he asks in the middle of Jin retelling his drunken fishing story, grabbing the attention of everyone in the table and maybe just about everyone else’s in the common area with the way his voice is frantic. “And why is she there with the new kid instead?”

Everyone flits through separate conversations after Jungkook’s interruption, some even wincing to themselves because although they know about your admiration for the guy and not your confession-that-wasn’t-one, they figure that nothing good could come out of Jungkook sucker-punching the new kid in his head.

“I don’t know, man. Buddy system, maybe?” Jin shrugs, stealing his food because it was obvious that Jungkook’s attention is everywhere but himself and the table.

Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms tightly to the point that even he feels a little suffocated. His entire face is crumpled with hurt, eyebrows furrowed out of frustration when you still aren’t looking at him; when you’re still not looking at him with confusion in your eyes, silently telling him off for glaring.

“Buddy system? We’re in uni. Who the fuck would bully that guy?”

“By the looks of it, probably you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffs, refusing to unclench his fists on his thighs.

“Well, what’s it to you that Y/N’s hanging out with someone new? What are you so heated for?” Jin elaborates, eyes flitting to you again.

Jungkook could only glare at you.

“What are you so nosy for?” he asks defensively, leaning back on his chair in a faux display of relaxation when all he wants to do is to remove the stupid smile on the guy’s face as he watches you talk.

Unlike Jungkook, Yoongi’s not stupid at all — in fact, he’s been vigilantly aware of Jungkook’s glare on the side of his face ever since you sat in front of him.

Yoongi’s not stupid, so he angles himself in a way that Jungkook gets to see him more. He doesn’t know the guy personally, but he does know of him and his “charm” that seems to make everyone go nuts for him. 

If looks could kill, then Yoongi would’ve already had mourners at his feet, but if provocation could posion, then Jungkook would already be frothing at the mouth.

.

.

.

EEEEE happy holidays!!! i've always wanted to write a push n pull fic bc it's one of my faves to read n here we are.. heh this is one out of the three fics i'll be releasing for the season :D

to get ahead of questions, YESSS this is a general fic, meaning it will be posted here on tumblr this december 28th, 12 am kst 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ but if u wanna read it now, along with a couple hundred exclusive pieces (get to know here), then head to my patreon :D (p.s. as a heads up, the two remaining holidays fics will be posted on patreon on the 28th n the 31st respectively, then posted on tumblr in january!!)

[vaultedoverthehorse]

Soda was five years old the first time he realized he was behind. His classmates were all taking turns spelling words - like cat, rat, pat - and he couldn’t do it. He remembered his teachers scoffs and hostile looks, but he just couldn’t get the letters to make sense in his head. He remembered he started crying so hard the lady at the front desk called his mom. She brought him to get ice cream and assured him that it was okay, he had time to learn it all. He didn’t have to rush.

Soda was seven the first time a teacher outwardly gave up on him. He had been trying to read the same sentence for five minutes, and even with the teachers guidance he couldn’t figure out what the words were supposed to be. They looked too jumbled up to mean anything. Sometimes when he doesn’t understand what he’s reading, he can hear the sound of his teachers sigh as she snatched up the paper from him and told him he should’ve been able to do this, it was easy, what’s wrong with him?

Soda was twelve when he gave up on himself. He still struggled with reading, and he was barely passing his classes. It was a common occurrence for him to cry by now, a common occurrence for his class to laugh at him, and a common occurrence for his teachers to yell at him in front of everybody. His parents tried to help him, but it was no use. Darry tried to help, but he’d eventually end up having to comfort a sobbing Soda. His little brother was already a super genius. Soda decided it wasn’t worth trying this hard.

Soda was fourteen the first time he was really jealous of Pony. When Pony would come home talking about how much fun he had, how easy school was. It made him feel guilty, why couldn’t he just be happy for his brother? Darry assured him it was fine, it’s not his fault. But Soda still felt awful about it.

Soda was sixteen when he finally dropped out of school. Sixteen when he finally couldn’t take it anymore. He’d gotten made fun of one too many times. Called a last cause one too many times. He could never explain how much it hurt to see the unsurprised look on the office lady’s face. But he handed her the form and walked out of that school. And as he did so, he felt the ever-present weight he’s had on his chest since he was five lift off of him.

[kittyfrisk9]

The soup - Idea DpxDc

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

Dead On Main - Danny having an eating disorder, and Jason being a cute boyfriend.

---

He's breathing deeply, trying to forget the fever that torments his body. Heat and discomfort do their thing, and Danny writhes on the couch that serves as his replacement for a bed. He has no energy to go to his room, nor does he want to move. His head pounds, each pain makes him dizzy, and the burning sensation on his skin doesn't stop. The fever consumes him, and with it, the helplessness of not being able to use his powers to relieve himself.

He grips the blanket tightly, that piece of cheap fabric he bought at a third-rate store, so thin that it barely keeps him warm. He curls up in it, but the warmth of the fabric doesn't manage to take away the pain that runs through his body, nor the emptiness that hurts in his stomach. Each shiver makes him feel weaker, more disconnected from himself. His gaze slides toward the kitchen, toward the plastic bag of instant food he bought a few hours ago.

“Maybe I should eat…” he thinks, but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. Just looking at that food disgusts him. At some point in his teenage years, food started to taste bad, like every bite turned into a tasteless mass that he couldn’t swallow. He suspects it’s some psychological shit, some trauma that his parents are responsible for, but he doesn’t want to think about it now. He doesn’t have the strength to face it.

With a sigh, he turns around, determined to at least get rid of that annoying headache. He reaches for the small table next to the couch, where he left the bottle of painkillers, but stops when he notices something strange. Why is he so light? He frowns, sure he bought it yesterday. He shakes his head, exhausted. It doesn’t matter, he just needs something to relieve himself.

Without thinking much, he takes a couple of pills and drinks from the bottle of water he left nearby. He barely feels the pills go down his throat, a disgusting taste filling his mouth, as bitter as the food he can no longer stomach. He grimaces in disgust, but then… something is wrong.

A stabbing pain shoots through his stomach, like an invisible blade is ripping him apart from the inside. He instinctively doubles over, his hands gripping his abdomen tightly as he feels the tremors. His stomach makes low but intense sounds. Panic mixes with discomfort, and when he feels the liquid rise up his throat, he knows it’s too late.

He leans forward, covering his mouth with one hand as the contents of his stomach rush out. It’s not much, just bile and water, but the burning in his throat and the smell make him shudder. The vomit hits the floor, a mess that only adds more weight to his exhaustion.

Danny stands there, panting, cold sweat sticking to his forehead. The nausea persists, but something else worries him. His eyes focus on the empty bottle that had at some point fallen to the floor.

"How many pills did I take?"

The realization hits him like a brick, followed by a deep sigh filled with frustration. Shit. He's going to have to clean this up. It's not like he has the energy, but there's no one else to do it.

Oh, he's crying, he wants Jason by his side

...

Something is wrong. Very wrong. Extremely wrong.

Jason couldn't ignore it, that nagging uneasiness that made his stomach turn. He'd had a rough few weeks, he knew. More work than usual, more chaos in his territory. The appearance of a new drug—powerful, dangerous, and all too easy to get—had forced him to be everywhere at once. His body was exhausted, and his mind, even more so.

But that wasn't what was keeping him on his toes. No, what really had him worried was Danny.

His boyfriend. That word always brought a small smile to his face, even now, when everything inside him told him something was wrong. He shook his head, trying to focus on something else, but worry was a tight knot in his chest.

He looks up at the sky as he walks across the rooftops. The night in Gotham is especially ugly: thick clouds cover the moon, and the lack of stars makes everything seem even more oppressive. A bad sign.

Yesterday, Danny had been mugged. He could still hear the casual tone Danny told him in, like it hadn't been a big deal. But to Jason, it was something. He'd dealt with the guy, sure, but now he wished he'd hit him harder. He should have been there sooner, should have protected him. And now, Danny hadn't gotten in touch all day. Not one call, not one text. That wasn't normal.

Jason clenches his fists, frustration and fear mixing like an explosive cocktail. He didn't have time for this, but he couldn't ignore it either. Something inside him told him he had to move, that he couldn't just stand there waiting for answers.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but instead he makes a decision. With a quick movement, he throws out his grappling hook and begins to jump from one roof to another, faster than usual.

"Patrol can wait." His voice, barely a whisper, is laden with determination. First, he had to make sure Danny was okay. Everything else could wait.

Before long, Jason was outside Danny's apartment. The building was quiet, and the apartment windows were dark, not a single light on. Danny might be sleeping, but Jason didn't trust it. He needed to see him, to make sure with his own eyes that everything was okay.

Without hesitation, he slipped through the window, moving with the ease and stealth that came with years of practice. But what he saw upon entering left him cold.

Danny was on the floor, kneeling, wiping something down with a rag. His body was shaking slightly, and Jason immediately noticed how pale he was. Too pale. The fever was evident on his face, in the sweat that glistened in the dim light coming in from outside. But what caught his attention the most was the smell.

Jason looked away, and what he found made his hands clench into fists automatically. There was vomit on the floor. The acrid smell hit him hard, but it was the sight of Danny, weak and barely able to stand as he tried to clean up, that really ignited his fury.

Why the hell didn’t you call me? he wanted to scream at him, but the words were caught in his throat, choked by a mix of worry and rage. The reminder that he was Red Hodd right now and not Jason Todd hit him hard.

Danny stopped suddenly, noticing the presence of someone else in the room. He slowly turned his head, and his bright eyes—probably from the fever—fixated on Jason. There was confusion on his face.

“Hood?” he murmured, his voice hoarse and weak.

“Hey,” Hood greeted as he approached him, his voice deep and distorted by the helmet.

Danny let out a small laugh, though it was weak, and turned his head toward him, noticing his presence at last. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his mind still clouded by fever and disorientation.

“I was just passing by and came to take a look,” Jason replied with a smile hidden beneath his mask. He crouched down beside him, effortlessly taking the rag from Danny’s hand. “Why are you doing this?”

Danny, with no strength to fight, simply shrugged, the dizziness almost impossible to ignore. “The smell is disgusting.”

Jason didn’t answer right away, but he watched as Danny offered no resistance, his condition evidently more serious than he was trying to let on.

“Thanks for yesterday, by the way… you saved me, haha,” Danny said, forcing a tired smile. Danny’s laughter, even though he could barely stand upright, gave Jason’s stomach an uncomfortable twist. Danny’s eyes, disoriented and slightly glassy, ​​didn’t help matters.

Jason frowned as he noticed a purplish bruise beneath his eye. The mark was horrible, much worse than Danny was trying to let on. Anger grew in his chest, even more so as he saw how his boyfriend looked so… fragile. Why the hell didn’t I protect him better? He thought, gritting his teeth. Anger burned within him. To hell with hitting the guy harder, he should have killed him.

“Go get some rest,” he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Danny laughed softly, but it was more of a tired exhale than anything else. “I have to clean up.”

“I’ll do it,” Jason replied firmly. Danny’s response was a low snort, a trace of humor that seemed to fade quickly.

“Will you?” Danny laughed again, though harder this time, exhaustion still fighting to dampen his mood. “If your rogues knew I had you cleaning up my vomit, you’d be the laughing stock of Gotham.”

Jason gave him a steady look, not losing his composure. “It’s a reasonable price to pay for your rest.”

“I’m flattered,” Danny replied with a tired smile, and walked over to the couch, slumping down onto the cushion as if his body was about to collapse. He closed his eyes, trying to rest, but the pain coursing through him wouldn’t let him find relief. Every muscle in his body seemed to protest, and every time he moved, the pain intensified.

He groaned silently, gritting his teeth.

Jason watched him from the corner of his eye, still crouched in front of him. The concern did not disappear from his face, and his gaze remained fixed on Danny. It was obvious that something was not right.

“Why are you like this?” he asked again, this time with a more serious tone.

Danny did not open his eyes immediately, but his lips formed a slight grimace. “What?” he said, barely able to comprehend the question.

“Don’t you have anyone to take care of you?” Jason continued, the question laden with a hint of frustration. “If you’re that bad, you should have called someone.” Me, for example.

He thought about the last part silently.

Danny blinked twice and, after a while, opened his eyes to look at him. The doubt was palpable in his expression, and Jason couldn’t help but notice how much that simple look hurt him.

“I don’t have anyone…” Danny muttered, and for a moment, the sadness in his voice was all too evident. Then, as if trying to make the matter less serious, he corrected himself, “Well, I have my boyfriend, but he’s really busy with his job lately. I don’t want to bother him.”

Guilt hit Jason. “If you think that, he seems like a bad boyfriend,” he said, ducking his head, Danny’s words really getting to him.

Danny, barely lifting his leg, gave it a light smack. “Don’t say that about my boyfriend,” he said, somewhat annoyed, but with a weak smile on his face. “He works really hard at… whatever it is he works at.” He muttered, as if trying to defend him, but then added, more to himself than to Jason: “Old guys, his boss must be exploiting him.”

Jason couldn’t help but smile guiltily. Even in this state, Danny was still defending him, no matter how bad he felt. It was a sweet gesture, but it also made his chest tight to know that Danny was going through this alone.

Without thinking, he stood up suddenly, and with a quick, fluid movement, he lifted Danny into his arms princess-style. Danny, obviously surprised, let out a small cry of surprise.

“Hey!” Danny whined, as if he was about to protest, but Red Hood already had him well in hand.

“I’m going to take you to your room. You need to rest,” Hood said, not hesitating for a second. When Danny tried to protest, a strange sound, a rumbling from his stomach, interrupted them. Jason heard it clearly, and his face softened in understanding. “I’ll make you something light first. And you better eat it.”

Danny looked at him, a little confused but resigned. “You’re not giving me a choice, are you?”

“Nope,” Red Hood replied firmly, his tone almost amused now, as if it were a matter of fact.

...

Having a crime lord as a personal servant was not something Danny had expected for that night, but if he was to be honest with himself, he had to admit that it made him feel better. In an awkward and embarrassing way, Red Hood helped him change his clothes, brought him his phone, and even gave him water. Danny was sure that if he hadn't stopped him, Hood would have insisted on giving him a bath and even changing the sheets on his bed.

All this time, Danny tried to find the right moment to tell him something important: he couldn't stand eating other people's food. However, he didn't find the opportunity, and now he found himself in an even more awkward situation.

Red Hood, of course, was in his kitchen, making soup. Danny watched from the doorway, frowning.

Ah, what a waste, he thought, watching Hood move confidently around the kitchen. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, his usual little eating problem was still a pain in the neck.

And then he remembered the anti-hero's words: “You should have called someone.” Danny let out a small laugh, true enough. In retrospect, even if Jason was busy, he would have come running if Danny had asked him for help.

Because Jason loves him. Maybe it's because his ghost half makes him more sensitive, but Danny can really feel it. Not just in his words, but in every action, every gesture. He knows that Jason loves him in a way that is deep and sincere, and that's why he can only eat what he prepares for him. Because he trusts him, more than anyone, and he knows that Jason would never hurt him. Unlike his parents.

Lying on his bed, Danny let out a low laugh and reached for his phone. What a fool I am, he thought as he began to type.

Danny: Are you busy? Please come. I'm kind of sick here and I really will turn into a ghost.

Just as he pressed "send," he saw Red Hood walk in, holding a tray with what looked like a bowl of soup and a hot lemonade. Danny frowned, curious. Where had he found the ingredients to make all that?

A smile appeared on his face as he looked at the tray. He figured it was too late to say anything now. He might as well eat some, pretend to like it, and thank him.

"I didn't expect the great crime lord, Red Hood, to know how to cook," Danny commented, smiling as he sat on the bed, looking at the tray curiously.

"I have some hidden talents," Hood replied, placing the tray carefully on Danny's legs.

Danny couldn't help but laugh. "Like sneaking into other people's apartments and spying?"

"Aside from that," Red Hood said without losing his composure, as if the insinuation didn't affect him in the slightest. "I've been your Prince Charming twice, you should be grateful." He shook his head slightly, motioning for Danny to eat.

Danny looked at the plate, mentally prepared to pretend to like it. "Eh, I'm grateful, your majesty, but sadly this young lady already has a prince." He played along as he brought the spoon of soup to his mouth.

Red Hood laughed, raising his hands in surrender. "I understand, I guess this gentleman's heart has been broken," he said in a dramatic tone, feigning sadness. He expected Danny to continue playing along, but Danny stood completely still. "Danny?" He asked, now visibly worried.

Danny was in shock. This taste… He took another spoonful of soup, then another, and another. Without thinking, he grabbed the plate and drank it all, then did the same with the lemonade. This taste, this delicious taste. It couldn't be anyone else but…

"Dan—" But he was interrupted.

"Jason, when were you going to tell me you were Red Hood?" Danny looked straight at him, not angry, but shocked.

His eating problem, that little big problem he'd had since his teens, instantly recognized that this taste could only belong to Jason.

Jason, on the other hand, wondered how his boyfriend recognized him.

---

Note: I don't know English, please use Google Translate. Sorry for the bad translation.

They are two men in love, your honor.

[a5tr0n0m1cal]

👉👈🥺 Sebastian patching an expendable up and being grumpy about it?

A stray bullet had ricocheted off the vent and into your side, making you cry out and fall to your stomach, you army crawl as much as you can through the vent before pulling yourself into the blessed safety of Sebastian’s shop.

Sweat beads your brow and you’re high on adrenaline, you sit leaning against the wall, gingerly touching your side just to confirm your fears, you were bleeding quite profusely. Fiery sensations spread up from the wound, all across your torsos right side. You paled, pressing your hand back to the wound starting to panic.

“Ahem.” A voice finally cuts through your panic enough for you to hear. “You going to buy something or are you just gonna bleed all over my floor?”

Right.

In all your panic you almost forgot to acknowledge him. “Sebastian.” You say his name, looking up at the mutated shop keeper. He cocks a brow at you, glowing cyan eyes unreadable. He tucks a stubborn piece of hair behind his webbed ear fins, a movement you’ve become familiar with when visiting him.

“Yeah?” He finally says, sounding annoyed. You’d be indignant if you weren’t so weak. You try to stand up, eyeing a medkit on his tail before feeling pain jolt through you, making you crumble back to the floor, droplets of flood splattering out. This was bad. Serious. You couldn’t die again, you had no more ferry coins.

“Please.” You say, trying to crawl, half scooting across the floor. “I’ll pay. Help me.” You plead.

Sebastian makes an annoyed sound, long thick tail flapping against the far wall in what you assume is irritation.

“This isn’t a nurses office.”

“I’ll give you everything I have.” You say, feeling woozy.

Sebastian sighs, leaning down from the great height he holds himself. Long enough he doesn’t even need to move from his spot to reach you.

Large cold hands seat your hand from your side, claws surprisingly gentle as they probe the wound. “Over here.” He grumbles, not giving you a warning as he hooks a hand under you, lifting you easily with just one palm.

He sets you down on a couple of crates pushed together, pushing on your shoulders till you’re lying down.

You vision is spotty but you catch his focused look behind his dangling esca. He yanks the medkit from his tail, flicking it open and rummaging around before finding something and biting the top off it. He spits the lid to the side and pours something on your side making you jump, pain burning through you.

“What the f-“ he keeps his third smaller arm pressed against your chest, keeping you down easily. “Quiet, I need to focus.” He snaps, threading a needle with his free hands. He meets your eyes briefly, you almost could swear with pity.

“This will hurt.” He says, prying your bloodied torn suit away from the wound.

“No really I had no ideAAAA” you cry out, feeling him slowly start to sew up your wound. It’s agonizing, but his heavy hand on your chest keeps you grounded. “Almost done, you’re doing fine.” He assures, giving you a comforting(?) squeeze. He finally closes the wound, biting the string and pulling out some bandages. You grunt as he sits you up, wrapping the bandages around your waist for you.

He’s very close. You dont think you’ve ever seen his face so up close. You notice small scars on his skin, scales that creep on the sides of his face, even gills that peek out from under his neck scarf. He clears his throat and you realize you’ve been staring at him.

“Th-thank you.” You say, lightly touching your side and feeling the bandages. He did a good job.

“Yeah well…” he lets go of you, leaning back and rising back to his usual height. “You owe me.”

You nod, moving slowly as to not rip your new stitches and retrieve all the data you’ve packed away on this run. You weakly hold it up to him and he takes it gingerly from your hand, claws brushing over the back of your hand. You swing your leg over the side of the crate, ready to leave.

“Be careful next time yeah? I don’t want that medkit to go to waste.” He says, with a lot less bite then you’re used to.

“Yeah. I got it. Thank you.”

He watches you leave, ear fins wiggling slightly.

[thenewestxmen]

I am convinced that Wade had a really hard adjustment when Logan came into his life.

After I called after Logan when we returned to my home universe, I welcomed him into that shitty apartment. The only thing I regret informing Logan of is that it was a one bed apartment with a pull out couch. The second I got home. I introduced Althea to Logan and Logan, Althea. That night as everyone was welcoming Logan, mini Logan, and I back home, I announced we would in fact be moving out. Al already sometimes pays rent, and her disability insurance and checks should cover her. Logan doesn’t have money so he will stay with me, at least until he scrapes up enough money or sobriety to get his own place. That night, Wolverine takes the floor. 

“You can take the bed, I can take the floor unless you’re feeing a little hot.”

“The floor will do fine.” He says in a firm voice. He’s pretty much too tired to argue or call me a bitch. 

As I lay awake, insomnia slapping me across my ugly nutsack of a face, weirdly the only thing I can think of is what Logan said in the Honda Odyssey. The few hours ago, Vanessa had come over, she started to brag about Dermot or whatever his name was. “You couldn’t save a relationship with a god damn stopper!” His voice rang in my ears. “Gimme the dog and talk to the girl.” He had said. What’s the point? Some boring guy at her workplace was able to land her and I couldn’t. Figures, when I met her I literally paid her to tolerate me. I have no clue why she stayed after that. I attempted to flirt, but honestly… I’m not interested. I know, I know. I was willing to go back in time to get her back when she died, I know I blew myself up too. But honestly, what is so great… not to sound rude, but honestly, I’m a world famous merc and literally unable to die, so messed up I got an amazing sense of humor. And she was a stripper and left me when things got a little rough. I chatted with her a bit at the homecoming party, but after that, my eyes wandered… to Logan. Aw shit. The guys is hot. Come one Wade, pull yourself together!

Now I’m laying on the pull out, he’s three feet from me, sleeping and snoring softly. But still even though I’m just now realizing how incredibly handsome he is, how perfect even, it’s not the first time I’ve felt attracted to him. In the void, he held my hand and decided to die with me to help me. But even after he did so, his hurtful words still ring in my ears. My stomach weirdly hurts, like a cold pit dropped down my throat. That when I realize my face feels hot, and burning teas stream down my face. This doesn’t often happen, or at least not usually when I’m insulted. But Logan’s words really hit me hard I guess, and just now, as the words sink in a bit more, they push and force the salty hot tears out of me.

“Hmm… Wade?” I hear from behind me. Logan woke up and heard me… quickly I wipe the tears and turn to face Logan, resting my head back on the pillow. I hope my face isn’t too red and puffy, even through the darkness and lighting my scars make.

“Sleeping soundly peanut?” I say in a sexual voice. Although my dumbass self forget that little Angelbaby has great senses. I can see it on his face. He smells my salty tears.

“Why the fuck are you crying?” Logan says in tired deep voice.

“Im not crying, it’s just the moonlight reflecting off of your sugary tits into my eyes, so they look all shiny.” I say, half assed excuse. Obviously he doesn’t buy it and gets up, walking over to me, and starts laying on the other side of the pull out. 

“What’s wrong bub.” Why the hell do people ask that question when I’m trying not to cry?! I just burst into tears. 

“You… I… I can’t do anything right… you’re stuck we me, in my own universe! In my shitty apartment, stuck with a nutsack faced fucking failure.” I say in gasps for breath. He just pulls me in, holding me for a moment as my chest hurts and strains. Everything’s a wreck, I don’t want this life. I don’t want to live forever, I don’t want to be a merc or car salesman, I don’t want to be depended on. Logan just hushes me.

“It’s alright…” he says. He’s awful at this comfort shit but his deep smooth voice and warm embrace is rather soothing. He allows me to cry, soaking his shirt. I cry until I’m trembling and my jaw and chest hurts. Even when I stop because of the pain, he holds me. Everything is a mess and I want everything to be all better. I’m moving and the Wolverine is depending on me for a place to live and I am a mess and can’t have a good relationship with anyone… the closest thing to one is with my blind elderly roommate who despises me. Logan rocks back and forth, hushing and humming. He will occasionally say, “it’s ok Wade…” or something. My chest starts to stop aching and I just let him hold me, letting my eyelids close. I don’t know what I’ll do tomorrow, and I’m not looking to finding out. Everything’s a mess, and it’s all my mess.

authors note: should I turn this into another fic series? This is going well, I think I could go off this into a series, idk. Sorry I didn’t post this earlier, it took a while to write this bcs I was busy.

[1425fivefive]

norstappen + begging please?

post-2024 austria norstappen begging (for the kink prompt ask)

Lando doesn’t say anything when he opens his hotel room door, just goes over to the desk chair and curls up in it, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his chin on his knees. Max can tell he’s been crying, his face a blotchy pink, his eyes red-rimmed.

“Fuck, Lando,” Max says, chest aching at the sight.

Lando makes a small, hurt noise, but he says, “Don’t fucking—don’t you dare fucking pity me.”

“I’m not,” Max lies.

Lando lets out a sob, bringing a sleeve up to scrub at his cheek. “I know you fucking do,” Lando says, voice shaking. “And you’re not even—you’re not even fucking sorry about it.”

“I am,” Max says. “I am, fuck, Lando, I—” Max trails off, running a hand through his hair.

When he’d made the move, he hadn’t thought it’d been over the line. He thought there was enough space, he thought Lando would brake, he thought Lando would back off and try again on the next lap. He hadn’t meant to puncture Lando’s tire along with his own. Hadn’t meant to send them both limping back to the pits. Hadn’t meant to force Lando to retire the car.

But Lando’s looking at Max like he doesn’t even recognize him. Max feels a flutter of panic at the idea that this might be something Lando can’t forgive. That maybe Lando thinks Max wanted to ruin Lando’s race.

Max takes a step forward, reaching a hand out. “Lando—”

“What?” Lando snaps. “What the fuck do you want Max?”

Max thinks about how it’d been early in the season, when Lando had been giggly and pliant in bed. When they’d fucked and played video games after, Lando’s feet in his lap. It’d been easy and nice and perfect, and Max hadn’t realized exactly how perfect it was until he’d lost it.

“Lando,” Max whispers, cringing at the desperation in his voice.

Lando wipes his nose with the sleeve of his sweater, glaring at Max. “You can’t fuck me if that’s what you want,” Lando says. “That’s—I’m not fucking doing that.”

“I wasn’t—” Max breaks off on a groan, desperately trying to work out the right thing to say.

Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all, maybe he should just—

Max sinks to his knees in front of Lando.

“Oh my god,” Lando mutters. “You are here to fuck me.”

Max’s cheeks flush and he shakes his head, frantic. “No, I—fuck, Lando, I’m trying—” Max grabs the arms of the desk chair, pulling it toward him.

Lando yelps, legs flying down to land on either side of Max, crotch directly in front of Max’s face.

“Let me suck your dick,” Max says. “Let me—I’m trying to apologize, Lando.”

Lando lets out an indignant little huff, but he’s staring at Max intently, like maybe he finally wants to hear what Max has to say.

“Please,” Max whispers, bringing a hand to slide up Lando’s thigh, playing with the hem of Lando’s shorts. “Please, Lando.”

“How bad?” Lando asks.

Max frowns, confused. “What?”

Lando flushes, sinking into his hoodie. “How bad, like—how bad do you want it?”

“Your cock?”

Lando bites his lip, nods.

Max lets out a slow exhale. He can do this. If this is what he needs to do to make Lando see how much he means to him, how much Max cares about him, fine. He’ll fucking beg.

“So bad, Lando,” Max murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to the inside of Lando’s thigh. “Fucking love your cock.”

Lando lets out a whimper but he stifles it immediately, frowning down at Max, clearly trying to seem in control. “Keep going.”

“Missed it so much, Lando,” Max breathes, pressing a kiss to Lando’s other thigh. “Love the way you taste. Please let me suck you.”

Lando whines, but he snaps, “You can’t come tonight.”

Max’s cock aches but he’s not a teenager. He can make it through a night if that’s what Lando needs.

“And you can’t fuck me,” Lando continues. “I won’t be sucking your dick either, so if you’re doing this because you, like, expect me to return the favor or something—”

“I’m not,” Max says gently, rubbing his thumbs over Lando’s skin, trying to soothe him. “Let me do this for you.”

Lando’s eyes are wide, pupils huge. Max knows Lando’s going to let him.

But Lando says, “I haven’t, like, forgiven you yet.”

The yet feels important. Like maybe if Max does this well enough, maybe—

Max brings his hands up to the waistband of Lando’s athletic shorts, tugging them down Lando’s legs, revealing Lando’s cock, thick and hard.

“Fuck, Lando,” Max breathes. “So fucking pretty.”

Lando whimpers at that, thighs spreading. “Say please again,” Lando orders, voice breathy.

“Please, baby,” Max groans, staring at Lando’s cock, imagining it in his mouth. “Please let me suck your pretty cock.”

“God, Max,” Lando moans, and he fists a hand in Max’s hair, dragging him down to his cock. “You can. Please, I—” Lando breaks off on a whine as Max drags his tongue over Lando’s length.

Max flashes his eyes up to Lando’s, holding his gaze as he sinks slowly down Lando’s cock. He manages to get all of it in his mouth, choking around it, eyes watering.

Lando’s staring down at him with a dazed expression, cheeks flushed, lips parted. But his fingers tighten in Max’s hair and he breathes, “Good boy.”

Max moans, brings a hand up to play with Lando’s balls the way Lando likes, and tries to show Lando exactly how sorry he is.

[kawoala]

IM SO SHY SENDING THIS RN OMG

Just saw you want requests, and I was thinking (not something good for me, btw) 😇😇 about 😇😇 kita w a really shy!reader and he asks the miya brothers for help, and they say that he should flirt w reader 😭😭😭

IK YOU DONT REALLY WRITE FOR KITA AND THIS MAY BE HARD FOR YOU BUT I LOOOOOOOOVVVEEEEEEEDDDDDD WHEN YOU WROTE MY LAST REQUEST W HIM IT WAS SO GOOD I WAS SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP RAINBOWS IT WAS SOOOOO GOOODDDD UUUGHHHH

𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐀 year and a half word count ; (719) content warning ; (request, more fluff haha, social anxiety! reader, asking someone out, advice from the miyans)

You’re nervous. But, for you, that’s normal. Your fingers are in your lap as you tug at your fingers— a response to your constant anxiety. Your classmate is almost finished with their presentation, meaning that you’re up next. Your heartbeat quickens. You hate speaking in front of the class.

Beside you, Kita bounces his leg. You know it’s not out of nervousness, like it would be for you. He’s always relaxed like that. You’re not sure if he’s ever been nervous in his entire life. His fingers drum against his desk. He looks bored.

Your classmate finishes their presentation and a round of applause startles you out of your nervous haze. Kita clears his throat and stands. You do the same.

After you finish the presentation, you realize you were making a much bigger deal than you should have been— like always. Your face is hot when you sit down and you know your cheeks are a different color than the rest of your face.

You lay your forehead down on the table and let out a weak sigh.

Kita knows you get nervous. He knows you get nervous, because he likes to stare. He knows you get nervous because of the way you change color so fast, the way you pull on your fingers. He knows because he likes to pay attention.

You started at Inarizaki in the middle of his second year. Almost immediately, he recognized just how smart you were. You didn’t advertise it like others, but your grades were always the highest in the class. He also recognized that you were beautiful. Kita had never been one for crushes, but he knew that what he felt for you was a crush.

Throughout the next year and a half, he had tried to get your attention. He had gone out of his way to try and get your attention. But nothing seemed to work. 

He would make you food under the guise of simply “making too much” and you would refuse to take it, saying that he might need it after practice.

At least you knew he was on the volleyball team.

When he would ask for help on his homework— even though he didn’t need it— you would tell him of another classmate that was far better at teaching things.

All of his attempts were unsuccessful and it was driving him crazy. So, the day of your presentation, Kita goes to the twins for help. He knows it’s a bad idea, but what has he got to lose?

“Ya gotta impress her, Kita-san,” Atsumu says, popping a potato chip in his mouth. “Girls like it when you do impressive shit.”

“No, you gotta be straightforward,” Osamu says with a sigh, shaking his head. “Girls like her— shy girls, I mean— gotta be told straight up, or they’re going to think you’re just being nice.”

Kita takes Osamu’s advice, because even though Atsumu seems like a ladies man, Osamu has had two girlfriends and Atsumu has had none.

So, the next day, after class, Kita asks you to wait a moment. When everyone has left the class, he turns to you and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to go on a date with me, Y/n?”

He watches you blink a couple times, watches your face change colors, and briefly wonders if he should have taken Atsumu’s advice instead.

“Um, me?” You ask, pointing at yourself. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and look away from him. “I don’t… Is this a prank? It’s not very funny, Kita-san. You’re supposed to be the nice one.”

Kita doesn't know what that’s supposed to mean, and he doesn’t want to. “It’s not,” he says simply. “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out for the last year and a half.” You look up now and he smiles softly. “It’s not a prank.”

Again, you blink dumbly. He can hear when you swallow. “Okay,” you whisper, nodding. “I mean, yes. That sounds, um, fantastic.”

Kita’s smile grows and he nods triumphantly. “Okay. I’ll text you the details tonight, alright?”

You nod again and, that night, when Kita goes to practice, he gives Osamu a firm handshake and makes Atsumu run three laps for the objectively dumb advice he had given.

[theglassesgirl]

I love how Penelope IS that girl like,

She’s the girl who has this mess of a man at her feet begging her to give him a chance after everything he’s done, and the thing is, this man is always the villian - on booktok he’s usually “misunderstood and morally grey” which makes him even less interesting than the fanfic girlies in the trenches shipping real villains and not sanitizing them at all which gives them even more opps because you have puritan antis telling them to kts and they have fake villain lovers insisting their UwU baby boy would never murder people even tho he does in canon ANYWAY

Odysseus himself considers his actions abhorrent no matter what led him to make those actions, he genuinely sees himself as the villain of his own odyssey (peep him referring his home being desecrated in the way he helped desecrate Troy!!!) so he can ONLY ask Pen is she MIGHT considering falling in love with the man he thinks he’s become, because he doesn’t feel like the man he was when he was with her

To which Pen replies I KNEW this is who you were when I fell in love with you. I KNEW what you were capable of. I TRUSTED that you would literally do anything and everything for me and our son because you told me once you would and I CHOOSE to love that about you instead of being scared of that. I’m not afraid of the things you’ve done, I’m sorry you HAD to do them, but I’m GRATEFUL you did because you’re here again, like you promised you would be, the same promise and the same man you were when you went to war.

She’s honestly the woman mainstream self-insert Mary Sue’s will NEVER be. A woman who looked into the eyes of a boyish man who said he loved her and realized oh this guy is SERIOUS to the point a weaker woman would cry and buckle about all the awful things that have happened, but no, not her, her husband said he was coming home no matter what and so he did.

You can walk away calling Odysseus an irredeemable monster but you will do so with his wife and son standing next to him because neither of them give a shit, the hands who committed those atrocities have also held them gently, and they will face this scrutiny together after two decades of being torn apart.

[inkyarcturus]

Oh you want us all to cry today don’t you.

To add a seasonal twist of the knife: don’t think about Mcgonagall being one of the few people to give Severus presents during Yule or his birthday. Don’t think about her withholding her gift that year, even though she had prepared it months in advance, hiding it out of sight and out of mind so she doesn’t have to confront the amount of care she had for this boy turned murderer.

Don’t think about Severus having to realize that he’s completely alone, no one to spend Yule with, no one to spend his birthday with, no more monthly tea sessions, and no more inside jokes or immediately looking at her whenever someone else says some stupid shit. He’s pushed everyone in his life away from himself.

After finding out Snape killed Dumbledore, McGonagall mourns not only her mentor but also her memories of the bright young boy she taught and worked alongside. She blames herself for not seeing the signs sooner or for not finding a way to prevent young Severus from going down a dark path. When he becomes headmaster, she swears she sees a sad glint in his eyes when he looks at her, but she can't allow herself the idea that the man who helped the Order and had tea with her is still behind those eyes.

[broidobe]

𝔯𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! thank ya!

☾90s axl is cold with a quiet, shy reader he’s drawn to, but after being cruel to her one day, he makes her cry and apologizes, showing a softer side as he comforts her☽

☾warnings: emotional abuse, verbal aggression, alcohol use☽

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

you don’t understand why he’s like this, why he acts so hot and cold with you. most days, it’s like he can’t decide whether he wants to be a total jerk or just leave you alone altogether. he doesn’t let you in—doesn’t let anyone in—but something about you makes him keep you close. you’re different, and he knows it. your quietness, your softness... it’s not something he’s used to, but he’s drawn to it, in a way he’s never been before.

most days, he’ll snap at you for no reason. a rude comment here, a sharp word there. it’s like he’s testing you, trying to get you to react, to show him something. you never do. you just take it, because you don’t know how else to be. you’re not like the others, the ones who fight back or laugh it off. you stay quiet, always, like you’re not sure how to exist in this chaos that surrounds him.

and he hates it. he hates that you won’t push him back. but more than that, he hates that you never seem to care. you’re different, and he can’t figure you out.

then, one day, it all snaps.

he's drunk—too drunk, as usual—and you’re sitting there, just trying to get through another tour night. you’re tired, and the tension in the air is unbearable. you’ve been quiet for too long, and axl notices. he leans in, his words slurred, his breath too close to your face.

“why are you always so damn quiet?” his tone is harsh, cutting, like he’s trying to provoke something. anything. “what’s wrong with you? you think you’re better than us?”

you flinch, the sting of his words settling in your chest. but you don’t say anything. you never do.

"god, you're such a fucking ghost," he mutters, his eyes narrowing in frustration. “don’t you ever get pissed off, huh? do something.”

you can feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. it's too much. the insults, the coldness—it’s too much to take today. finally, a tear slips down your cheek, and before you can stop it, another one follows.

he stops, his expression shifting from anger to something softer, something like guilt, but it’s only for a second.

“shit," he murmurs under his breath, taking a step back. he runs a hand through his messy hair, looking at you like he’s just realized what he’s done.

you can’t control it anymore. you cry. the tears are hot, embarrassing, but you can’t hold them in. not anymore.

he sighs heavily, cursing under his breath. you don’t look at him, don’t even dare to. you just keep crying, the soft sobs shaking your shoulders.

then, before you even realize what’s happening, he’s there. axl. standing in front of you.

he doesn’t know what to say. he’s not good with this—he never has been. but he wraps his arms around you, holding you tight, pressing his face into your hair.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “fuck, i didn’t mean to…”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand trembling slightly as he wipes away a tear from your cheek. his usual arrogance is gone, replaced with something raw.

“i’m an asshole. i know that. but... don’t cry, okay? please.”

his words are soft, genuine for the first time in a long time. he doesn’t want to hurt you. not really.

you nod, sniffling, still not sure what to make of this sudden shift. but you don’t pull away. you can’t. not when he’s holding you like this, like you actually matter.

[aesthyuckic]

🌻💐 sunflower! ┊͙✧˖*°࿐

me being delulu as always… fem!reader tw: one swear n deluluness. this is fan x idol okay. wc: 1k

Oh, it was almost too exciting to be able to see Haechan again. A smile unknowingly blessed your face as you tried to breathe. Truthfully, you never understood how fans would pass out at the sight of their artists but then last year you saw him… In absolute awe as you saw him up on that stage, being so close felt so surreal and suddenly you understood those fans as you became lightheaded as he just walked by.

After being a fan for years, never thinking you’d get to see him perform live… Somehow you didn’t cry but after the fact, you cried so bad as you felt overwhelmed with many emotions that you didn’t completely understand. Being able to hear him sing live, his voice so much more sweet and lovely in person with his dancing somehow looking even better in real life… Something in your inner teen felt healed by the experience. He truly shined on the stage and seeing it with your own eyes you were in utter awe.

Being a sunflower since the Neocity: The Origin tour and only getting to see him for the first time at The Dream Show felt bittersweet. You remember watching the content from that tour almost religiously as it gave you some comfort and always made you smile. Seeing how he was gifted sunflowers by fans then and with every tour in every country, slowly you wished for that to be you. You were never good with words, a gift was always the best way to express appreciation for you. And then it was you as you calculate the toss of the sunflower you held all night onto stage to make sure it doesn’t cause issues with him or any of the other members.

He sees it and then he somehow knows as he looks back and smiles at you for just a second before he goes to pick them up. Your legs shake under you as security approaches you to tell you to go back to your seat. Only months later, watching your concert videos back do you notice how his smile appeared brighter that night after the fact. Only did you realize perhaps the head pat he gave out as he said goodbye to your side of the stage was possibly meant for you by the way he looks in your direction.

And then, here you were again only with send off this time. Somehow you found yourself at the barricade in a sea of other fans that chatter as they waited for the boys. You felt nervous but knew you’d managed to be able to talk to the other members but if you could actually get words out to Haechan, would they be coherent? That was the question.

While in your own world, the door opened and the room filled with screams as they came out single file. Every member looked around to wave and smile, the very last member being him… He looks so sweet as he smiles and his eyes are filled with a light as he kindly greets everyone he sees. When he turns, you feel petrified as you feel his eyes lock with your own. You feel the world slow just like you did in the moment you tossed those flowers to him months ago… His smile seemed to drop and in turn, you felt your heart drop. There’s no way…

Then you see him swiftly move pass the others to get to you. Oh shit…

He points at you and an even bigger smile is seen as he stands on the other side of the gate as a simply says, “Sunflower?”

For some reason, your mind instantly went he must be talking about the clip in your hair which you reach up to run your fingers over. How stupid were you to think for a moment he’d remember you?

“Oh, yeah!” You laugh, nervously. “I’m a sunflower.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You gave me sunflowers last time I was here...”

“Oh!” You managed to say, now well aware of how you shook. “I’m so sorry about that. I-“

“No. It made me very happy!”

He smiled at you. Oh my, how you looked so sweet towering above you and how you were not crying you don’t know. Yet, what he said was all you wanted to know…

“I’m so glad…” You admit. “How do you remember me?”

“You left…” He struggled with the right word. “A memory? You laughed about it after and you hid whenever I looked at you.”

You do remember laughing at his security as they came up to you. It was also true whenever he looked your direction you’d hid behind the girl in front of you. He even tells you he didn’t expect it from someone who seemed so shy.

“Where’s my gift today?” He asked. “You didn’t throw it up today…”

Without much thought, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter which you hand to him. He looks around before he sneaks it under his arm as security’s focus is elsewhere. Before he goes to others, you ask for a photo and he quickly signs the photocard you have of him.

“What’s your name?” He tilts his head a bit and you actually feel weak by it as he looks at you.

“Whatever you want it to be.” You shrug.

It gets a laugh out of him as well as the others surrounding you.

“For now, I’ll call you sunflower girl.” He nods as he finishes signing the photo card in his hand before handing it back to you. “Every time I see you, I look forward to a gift from you.”

He smiled before he winked and walked down the line. You didn’t fully process that until the girl beside you gave you the video. You don’t remember how long you screamed into your pillows for. It’s not like he had to tell you that, you would’ve ended up doing it anyway.

[icwasher]

This scene doesn't show up for a while, but I've been really excited about it so I decided to write it. Merry Christmas!

“And he didn’t even grieve when you died,” said Anakin. He punctuated the last word by punching the wall softly, as if he didn’t want to wake the sleeping Padawans in the next room. “I didn’t see him cry once. He acted like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just lost the closest thing he had to a father.” He sat down heavily on the sofa, glowering. Qui-Gon crossed his arms over his chest. “Well,” he said, leaning against the counter and looking at the ground thoughtfully, “from what I’ve heard, he was pushing aside those feelings for you.” Even without probing, Qui-Gon could feel Anakin’s realization quivering through the room. Qui-Gon turned, catching a brief glimpse of Anakin’s thoughtful face, and opened the cabinets, finding a teapot and two cups nestled behind a half-full bottle of Correllian whiskey. He took them out and set them on the counter, saying, “I haven’t known Obi-Wan very long, but I do know that he tends to internalize. He doesn’t know how to deal with his emotions any other way. I imagine that he felt his grief would keep him from caring for you properly, so he tucked it away.” Qui-Gon filled the teapot with water and set it on the stove to boil. He looked back, seeing Anakin frowning, deep in thought. “It’s very different from how you process emotions, is it not?” Anakin scoffed. “Yeah. It is.” Busying himself with the collection of tea leaves in the cabinets—this older version of Obi-Wan had certainly gathered quite the collection—Qui-Gon continued speaking. “It’s not healthy to constantly internalize. Eventually, those emotions will find their way out, whether you want them to or not.” He turned a reproachful eye on Anakin, who was looking rather smug. “And neither is it healthy to let your emotions rule over you.” The grin on Anakin’s face fell. “You tend to lash out,” continued Qui-Gon. “You let your feelings govern your actions, and that can be just as detrimental as bottling them up.” The teakettle began to whistle and Qui-Gon lifted it from the stove. He poured hot water into the cups, the tea leaves already inside rising up, then settling at the bottom. He set the cups on a tray alongside the tin of sugar, then carried it to the low table beside the sofa. Anakin took a cup tentatively as Qui-Gon sat in the chair across from him. “It’s far healthier to acknowledge your emotions, examine why you feel them, then accept them and share them with the Force,” said Qui-Gon.  “Obi-Wan never explained it like that,” said Anakin, his voice bearing more than a hint of accusation. He sipped his tea carefully—it was still very hot. “What did he say?” asked Qui-Gon, picking up his own cup of tea. The older version of Obi-Wan had very good taste; the flavor was subtle but rich. Anakin frowned. “He just said to let my emotions go—into the Force.” He took another sip of his tea. “That never made much sense to me.” “Obi-Wan probably didn’t know what it meant either,” said Qui-Gon with a hint of a smile. “He probably thought it meant ignoring them. I suppose I never succeeded in instilling healthy methods of dealing with emotions.” He sighed. “Ah well. I suppose this is my second chance, then.”

[eepwtf]

Hi eli!I'm not asking for a part 3 of the fanfic,. a bit of an explanation maybe, it's cool when you just yap or whatever, but I was wondering— and I hope it's not annoyijyng I don't mean to drag anything out 🤕🤕🤕 but after all the degrading, overwhelming emotions, shame and guilt, do you think Ben would do some kind of aftercare? How would he go about that?

hihi anon! not annoying at all—it’s a great question, and i lub exploring the layers of dynamics like this.

benjamin isn’t the type to immediately think about aftercare; he’s naturally abrasive, cocky, and doesn’t always consider the emotional aftermath of his actions. but he’s not entirely heartless, and if he noticed that the shame and guilt he’d stirred up in you started to overwhelm you in a way that genuinely pulled you out of the moment, he’d probably shift gears. however, his version of “aftercare” would still be flavored with his personality—teasing but softer, with a begrudging sort of tenderness.

he’d probably take his time winding down, not because he’s calculating but because it takes him a second to recognize when things have gone too far. he’d notice you looking small, or quiet, and it would click for him.

“you look like you’re about to cry,” he’d say, sitting back and watching you for a beat, his tone less sharp, more curious. “jesus. did i actually break you?”

it’s not immediately comforting, but he’d soften when he sees your reaction, realizing he’s hit a nerve. with a sigh, he’d stretch out beside you, his warmth pressing against your side. “alright, don’t start bawling on me now. c’mere.” he’d pull you close, maybe resting a heavy hand on your chest or your hip, grounding you with his presence.

he’s not the type for flowery apologies, but he’d make an effort to ease the tension in his own way—likely with rough-edged reassurances. “you’re fine,” he’d mutter, running a hand over your arm or your back, the touch surprisingly gentle. “you liked it, didn’t you? don’t act like i dragged you into something you didn’t want.”

if the shame lingered, he might tilt your chin up to meet his gaze, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “hey,” he’d say, his voice low. “don’t get stuck in your head about it. you’re here. ‘m here. that’s all that matters.”

it’s not traditional aftercare, but it’s ben. he wouldn’t completely lose his teasing edge, but there’d be an underlying care in his actions—like wiping you down without making a big deal about it or pulling the blanket over both of you. he’d let the moment settle, holding you close in a way that feels less like an apology and more like an unspoken acknowledgment that, for all his cockiness, he does care.

so yes, ben would provide aftercare—but in his own way. and if you need more comfort, if you asked for it, he’d try, even if it didn’t come naturally.

[happypartytrain]

apollo had somebody who loved him enough to send him away to somewhere with people he doesn’t know, food he doesn’t like, holidays he doesn’t understand, and a promise that was as worthwhile as candy. it’s so, so sweet for a moment, but then it is gone — gone beyond his realm of understanding, blood shed while he lays awake feeling betrayed.

the days go by and suddenly you’re taller, stronger, and not really cute anymore

kids are so mean when you’re learning to be nice

they take your things because you’re smaller than them and hold them so high you have to stretch yourself until every muscle is screaming

they talk about their dads, they talk about their plans, they talk about their clubs, they talk about their girlfriends, they talk about sports, they talk about school, they talk about how useless you are on their dodgeball teams

but while it never stops, he’s brave enough to get your mother’s bracelet back from the kids that stole it. his timid face and his crooked bandage atop his nose warp into something unrecognizable. he’s so shy, so sad, so scared of life yet enamored by it — yet he pushes them over and before you know it you’re both high-tailing it out of the courtyard with bloody noses and their lunch boxes.

you’re crying. he’s crying. he jokes about stealing their cosmic brownies so that you don’t cry. you cry harder. you know they won’t snitch, but you’re a little scared of what’s to come. still, you promise to protect him, just like you have for the last few years. just like he protected you.

and you’ll see it until you die. you’ll see the light in his eyes, the gap in his teeth, the way he only smiles for you and his cheeks squeeze his eyes half shut

you’ll wake up one day and realize you can’t hear his voice anymore, but his smile is just as bright as the day you lost him

how could you even begin to think anyone, anyone at all, could remotely understand? how could you ever find solace in someone that isn’t him? how could you reintroduce yourself in the hopes of reliving at least a shred of that high, of being known, of learning how to be american, of hearing him burp in restaurants and then egg you on to try to do it louder, of spending late nights out when your parents couldn’t care, of stealing his clothes, of keeping his secrets, of this and that when there are wounds in you bleeding from everywhere he once touched? no one will ever love you enough to try to learn how the heck to make congee like you had over a decade ago when you can’t even remember what it tasted like. no one will ever love you enough to memorize the stars in your zodiac first when he had a full lifetime to absorb it all. no one will ever love you enough to protect you, not anymore. in a way, maybe that was the lesson you should have learned the second you got off that plane when you were so small and skinny you could barely hold onto your bag. this is the real world and no one will be there for you. no one will ever perfectly learn the shape of you.

but, with these wounds clawing you apart and the stars always watching, you vow to be all that and then some. you’ve got splinters in your hands from that damn prop dragon, you’re running out of pens because you keep trying to make it through the loops in her hair bow, you always get a large soda ‘cause someone in this weirdly close office is gonna chug half of it, and you always give it your all to paint the world screaming neon & clear up the clouds in the sky.

you love despite it all, all because he loved despite it all

[grunklefordpines]

Dr. Stanford F. Pines, here.

I’ve just regained consciousness on the shore of Lake Gravity Falls—My lips have the faintest fish taste on them, and every bone and joint in my body feels like they’ve been ripped apart and put back in-place.

There is an aching in my chest, a tangle of knots in my stomach—Something is caught in my throat. I can barely speak.

Mabel.

Mabel?

Where is Mabel. I need to find Mabel.