#ib x reader

[adolph649]

FANDOMS IM IN AND FANDOMS YOU CAN REQUEST X READER TO ME

I:

Ib

Inside out

I have no mouth and i must scream

Inside job

Rules & other letters:

[deathofacupid]

★ — creep!nerd!jo has a bad habit. he knows it's bad. he feels bad before he does it, and after. but, during? during, he feels great. during, he feels like he's on top of the moon, a euphoria like no other.

if he's being honest, sometimes, a pair of your dirty old panties isn't enough. it should be, it's a lot, everything — to him, at least. sometimes, he needs more. sometimes, everything isn't quite enough. it's a deep, almost animalistic need.

a need to sneak into your room at night, while you're fast asleep. you're a heavy sleeper, he's found. a need to make his way onto the edge of your bed, watching the soft rising and falling of your chest. a need to quietly palm himself through his sweatpants, another hand over his mouth, concealing his whimpers.

if you couldn't tell, he's never been good at keeping quiet.

it should be concerning, how hard he's clenching his jaw, as to not awake you with his noises, when his warm hand meets his angry, leaking tip. he smears the pre-cum, feeling it drip between his fingers. gently letting his eyes fall shut — letting himself pretend it's you. your tight, pretty cunt he's buried in, one that undeniably clenches around him.

it was a sinful scene; his muffled moans, glasses slipping down his nose, all the while he's stroking himself to the sight of his unknowing, naïve roommate. he's grown accustomed to it, now. it's like a twisted ritual he preforms overnight, hours after you've passed out.

"oh- fuck, fuck, fuck..." he'd murmur, and thus followed a string of your name. and, yeah, it doesn't feel bad, not as thick ropes of cum shoot out, covering his pale thighs in a sticky, white coat.

it's not quite the real deal, but it's a step closer. well, until it's not. until, even that, doesn't satiate his hunger. cut to him, impatient and needy, hovering over your face, panties stuffed in his mouth. balls slapping in your face, as his wrist is jerking down his length.

he can see the curve your lashes, the arch of your lips. the way your hair falls oh-so nicely across your pillow. the headboard might just splinter, what with how hard he's gripping it.

your mouth is parted, as if ready to take whatever he was about to give you. you let out a little hum, a sound of sleep, but if he closes his eyes, it's just like a little moan, and the though pushes him off the edge.

his seed spurts onto your blanket, and the top of your chest. it paints the lower half of your face, a trace reaching your bottom lip. it slips into your mouth, and he curses, breathing hard. the sight of his cum-soaked soulmate, right there, laid out in front of him.

the warmth of it stirs you, and your breath hitches. you instinctively wipe at it, tiredly knotting your brows, because, what's the salty taste?

click.

your eyes shoot open, darting around until they land on the figure in front of you. lanky and shaking, glossed over look in his eyes. tip of a cock that's, hardening in real time, shoved in your face. and, above it all, a familiar face—

"...'toru?"

creep!nerd!jo taglist: @k0dzu, @izumkay. ask to be added!

[just-some-user-hunny]

Thinking of nikto sleep headcanons cuz I'm so sleepy rn

. When settling for bed, he loves it when you slip your whole arm under his shirt to rub/feel/scratch his back. The closeness of your arm covering the expanse is the perfect amount of touch for him. He'll tuck his face against yours and grumble contently, nuzzling his broad nose into your cheek before settling down to snooze. His back is so warm, the skin there is hot and textured with rough scars, please trace your soft fingertips over them he'll be knocked out in seconds.

. He definitely snores due to his nose being a little broken. They're loud and muffled, and he's always apologetic if he keeps you awake. He has discovered however that nuzzling his face snugly into your neck or chest does make him snore less. Just hold his head there and he'll sleep soundly with you. Your arms wrapped tight around his head and neck as he breathes you in deeply.

. He's the opposite of a blanket hog. You'll always find them tucked around you in the morning, him somehow pushing them to nestle around your body whilst he's star fished on the mattress and knocked out with only one of his legs covered. He's insistent the cold doesn't bother him, dealt with much worse, he assures you. Usually he wakes up a lot in the night from nightmares, so he'll tuck you in for a smoke outside in the cold before returning to you. Gathering your sleeping body in his arms for a deep embrace, breathing in your scent to ground himself and calm down. His breath smelling of smoke and the skin of his arms still hot despite having been in the freezing cold.

. He twitches/spasms in his sleep or whilst he's settling down to rest. Either it be his foot twitching suddenly and nudging against yours before he apologetically locks ankles. Or his arm nudges against yours hard from him twitching, and he just tiredly grumbles and coos at you in a half-asleep hazed state as he rubs your waist and apologises in slurred mumbled russian.

. He struggles with sleep. It's a continuous battle for him. You do ease him and bring him peace, but sometimes it's not enough to keep the nightmares or insomnia at bay. He'll go through ruts of sleep deprivation where you'll wake up to him staring at you with bloodshot eyes, the early dawn light bleeding through the curtains and the birds chirping outside in the garden as he lays limp besides you, exhausted yet unable to rest. Looking at you brings him some comfort, knowing you're here with him, safe and sound.

. Has a thing about socks in bed. He hates them. He's usually dismissive of his own comfort, but something about the fabric rubbing against his bare ankles beneath the covers makes him shiver. He'll literally peel them off your feet himself if you're stubborn. Yes even if you kick and squeal. Tire yourself out little one, he'll make sure of it. Your feet nudging and kicking at his broad chest is laughable, you're barely moving him. Please forgive him, he loves you. Just not the socks.

. Prefers to be the big spoon on most nights. He needs you fitted perfectly into the space between his arms and chest to fill it with warmth and security. You're like his stress stuffie. He needs to keep you protected and shielded with his body to bring him any semblance of assurance throughout the night. He's also adamant about sleeping closest to the door.

[doodlenoodleboi]

WELCOME SMALL FANDOM ENJOYERS!

Gonna be writing for my less talked about anime and manga babes maybe even cartoons and other media think of this of a master list of sorts. I will have characters from well known media in here but l it will just be about those characters because we don't get much exclusive material about our boys and possibly girls, they them's as well won't be excluded.

Characters/Shows/ Games/ Media etc... like:

- Shino Aburame - Naruto

- Jack the Ripper - Black Clover

- Characters in General - Hajime no Ippo

- Decim - Death Parade

- Garry - Ib

- Micah Yujin - ERROR143

- Cove - Our Life

- Sal - Sally face

Don't be shy to make a request I do prefer that you don’t it anonymous so that I can tag you maybe even become friends!

I’m not saying that I will exclusively make content for that purpose, but I will make a lot of my content based off of that since I cannot find that type of content!

I’m almost willing to write for every fandom and every character. If I’ve not watched the show or consumed the media, I’ll try my best to do research on it! Or even watch the show or consume media. Who knows I just might find my new hyper fixation!

Updates: I ALSO WRITE FOR POC PEOPLE & I WANTED EVERYONE TO KNOW THAT AS ONE SO DON’T BE SHY.

English isn’t my first languages guys so there might be a lot of typos.

[luckypunklemonade]

Nothing to Lose

| Did you ever realize how far apart you and Stiles grew, even as you spent hours together?

[smut MDNI 18+ established relationship; oral (fem receiving)] Classic overworked loser boyfriend! (canon) Stiles Stilinski

This work belongs to me, luckypunklemonade (Minte_Condition on AO3). I do not give anyone permission to distribute or share my work without consent.

You’ve always trusted Stiles to know his limits. Never badgered him if he wanted to stay up into the early morning hours researching niche supernatural events or when he’d say he survived off of microwave dinners and PB&J's and hasn’t drank water in a few days. Of course, he loved it when you sternly told him that wasn’t healthy, that he should get more sleep or get up to get him a cup of water. He loved that about you. Seeing you cared when it mattered.

It started when you took his hand in yours and brought it up to your mouth. Pressing small kisses to each of his knuckles, punctuating words he wasn’t listening to. “Stiles?” You frowned, giving up on the conversation.

“Hm?” He’d blink as if his eyelids were sticking together; slow, fazed and distracted.

“You’re not listening,” you’d said, kissing his fingertips.

“M’listening. I was…” he tested bending his fingers, smiling when your lips followed. “I was…”

You could hear the thought die in his throat, the remnants leaving in the form of a small moan as you take his ring finger between your lips.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Then he was resting his cheek against your inner thigh, eyes already glazing over and eyebrows knitted dramatically. An overwhelmed and weak expression. When you had told him you liked it when he looked like that, you suspected he started looking at you with those half-lidded eyes and slightly-parted mouth more often. Whatever makes you happy.

When he spoke in a needy whisper, his voice took on a gravelly static. His ‘M’s and ‘S’s slurring and spilling over into the next word after it. He lost the sense to enunciate words or put much work into the praises and instead focused his efforts into watching your face and sliding his fingers between your legs and letting out a deep exhale, something about how wet you are leaving with it.

It’s been a while for sure. Since you’ve had time for each other. Since you got time alone, really. Consumed by school, work, and helping the pack. You’d joked that the pack couldn’t survive without two humans, he laughed, and you both went back to work. It was comfortable. You hadn’t realized how badly you needed to just be with him until he’d coincidentally sat next to you in the bed for a small break. Reading through the notes you’d both taken, switching the notebook between backpacks every research session, you leaned into him.

Now, he was looking up at you from between your legs, almost cross-eyed at the slick covering his thumb. And when his head dipped down, ready to coat his mouth in you, he knew your mouth would fall open. He knew it did something to you, the boldness of his eye contact while he did something like this, lapping at you, hands holding your thighs down, and humming into you every so often as if he wanted this as much as you did. As your head lolled back, he smiled against you and reached up to hold your hand. He gently guided your hand to the top of his head, his moan vibrating against you as your nails scratch softly at his scalp. He lifts his head and gives you a crooked grin. His lips are wet and his eyes almost sparkle as his voice comes out cracking in need. “M’listening now, sweetheart.”

Before you could answer, his head dipped back down, sucking softly as your hands tighten in his hair. Stiles was indulgent. In his research, mostly, losing track of time and awareness of his own needs. He was often dehydrated, tired, and hungry, making you out to be his guardian angel every time you came over to remind him. He said his ADHD gave him an addictive personality, or his father’s genes. At the very least, he was obsessive. It was useful in research, but you never imagined how advantageous it’d be if he set his sights on you.

He grinned against you and pulled away again, impatient to get his words out. Your eyes fluttered seeing him lick his lips and the words that come out are barely heard, “Missed you.”

The sight makes your heart flutter. His awkward smile because he’d stopped to tell you. His chin was still shiny, and he licked his lips again, enunciating for the first time since you’d kissed his neck,

“I missed you, honey. Am I makin’ it up to you?”

[inkblot-inc]

DEATH ROLL

Summary: When you're at the end of the rope and you're given one last chance, what lengths are you willing to go to climb your way out?

Pairing: Crocodile!Hybrid!Reader x Snake!Hybrid!Wanda Maximoff

Warning(s): Dark Themes; Depictions of violence, a general warning for racketeering and all that that entails my guy, strong language… extensive Identity Theft I guess?

Note(s): It’s a brand spankin’ new AU bud! Hell, I've seen the movie Bobby Z about a billion times since I was… probably too young to understand what I was watching, but rewatching it as an adult led me inevitably down this particular rabbit hole, of course with my own changes and shenanigans and all that good stuff. Reader written as a butch lesbian that uses he/him pronouns for clarification. All of that being said, I hope you enjoy :3

Word Count: basically 2.5k

ALSO: *squints* I give NO ONE permission to repost or translate my work. Make your own shit

Louisiana State Penitentiary (Angola, Louisiana)

It’s not like you were ever  meant for greatness. Born to a croc hybrid mother who could never hold onto a man, raised in a city where even the rain felt sticky and oppressive most days. You were  a burnt end, a measly little asterisk in a world that couldn’t pretend to care long enough to reference properly. You grew up on the streets of New Orleans, moving from foster home to foster home until the system gave up on you entirely. By the time you were eighteen, you may have been a two-bit thug, but you’d already accumulated a rap sheet longer than most politicians' promises.

But if there was one thing you weren’t gonna do, it was give a damn. About anything. Especially the people who told you what to do. And by the time you were closing out your twenties, you were locked up on death row for a slew of robberies, assaults, and eventually manslaughter. It sounded about right, you going out this way; a selfish coward that came into the world with a crack and a whimper about to fizzle out with no impression to leave behind.

But then, on one particularly hot night in a cell that felt more like a coffin, you’d gotten an offer.

Inside a dimly lit prison cell, You sat with your back pressed against the cold cement wall, staring at the flickering bulb highlighting the peeling white paint above you. It’s all you really could do in the  cramped space, the scutes along your tail scraping against the concrete floor as it lashed idly back and forth. The rhythmic tick of a clock echoed through the room, its sound blending with the distant hum of the crickets outside. It was a lonely, suffocating place — but at least it was a familiar place after all this time.

The unlocking of your cell door broke you out of your thoughts.

The warden entered, his face expressionless as always, but there was something different about him tonight. He sighed before he spoke. “Y/Ln. You have a guest… With  a proposition for you,” the warden said, moving aside to make room for a man behind him. This “guest” wore a pressed suit and his eyes hid behind sunglasses propped up on his face like the poster boy for some secret agency. The man held a file with him that he  dropped onto the small table in front of you.

You didn’t answer immediately. You’d heard enough rumors around the penitentiary. Deals made in the shadows, trades that only the desperate and the damned would consider.

“You’ve been selected for a special mission,” the guard continued. “A chance to get out of here alive.”

Despite everything, your brow raised in intrigue. “Get out alive?”

“That’s right,” the guard replied, pushing the file closer. “We need you to become someone else,” the agent continued, his tone casual, as if talking about a simple job. “More specifically, we need you to impersonate Boon Ballou.”

You stopped fiddling with the corner of the manila folder. “Boon Ballou?” You had heard the name. Everyone had, human and hybrid alike. The infamous drug and arms dealer with charisma that could charm a snake and a temper that could end a life. The kind of person who operated in the shadows of the world, pulling strings and ruining lives. “I’m sure he’s probably off in the Bahamas doing fuck all, ain’t he? Why don’t you just go and hunt the real thing down and leave me out of it?”

The agent's words were blunt and left no room for debate. “Because Boon Ballou is dead. He was killed a year ago during a botched escape attempt from a Colombian prison.”

Well that was definitely a reason…

“No one other than the authorities knows this information. So that’s why you’re gonna slip right in to assume Boon’s identity, Y/n”

They sure sounded like they had this all figured out for you. It didn’t even sound like you had a choice. “I don’t even look like him,” You eventually spoke up, your voice laced with wariness and a bit of disbelief.

The agent smiled, a cold, calculating expression. “I’d beg to differ. Aside from you both bein’ crooked crocs, you got the same general build and the same scales. You two even have the same damn face, Y/Ln. You could walk right into his operation, and no one would know the difference.”

“I’m sorry, can we double back to the part where you want me to play a dead guy?” You leaned forward, your voice laced with incredulity. “Why do you even want me? Is it slim pickins out there in Quantico or wherever the hell you’re from?”

The warden smacked you upside the head as the agent ignored your jab and opened the folder after he flipped it around.

You stared at the folder, reaching your cuffed hands forward to leaf through its contents. Photos of Boon, the swagger in his walk that translated even through static photographs. The designer suits and gold chains he wore glinted in the light of the pictures taken in the daytime. The file also had pictures of Ballou’s associates, with detailed entries on Boon Ballou’s exploits, his connections, and his patterns of behavior. There was even a small baggy that held the gold custom-made piercings he’d had in his face. Hell, it was as if his entire existence had been reduced to these documents.

There was one photo that caught your eye: a woman, stunning, with dark brown hair and the telltale piercing eyes and scaly accents of a snake hybrid. Wanda Maximoff. She was listed as one of Ballou’s last known lovers, someone he’d had a deep connection with before his rather lackluster death.

“What do I get outta this?” You quipped, your voice sharp.

“The deal’s simple. We get you in with Boon’s crew, and get you close to his operations. You help us take down Ballou’s empire, take down the members of his circle who’ve also been slipping under our radar for years, and put this shit to bed dead in the dirt. They have one of our operatives captive as we speak, and your final test will be the trade off to get our guy back in exchange for you. All of Boon’s biggest players should be there, so this is a one and done deal. You play this right, you walk free. No more death row. No more prison. You’ll be free to go with a clean slate.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And if I fail?”

“You won’t,” the guard said, his voice suddenly cold. “You’ll be dead before you realize you made a mistake.”

----------

Eight months later

It wasn’t as easy as it sounded… And it didn’t even sound easy in the first place-

You had to change everything — your voice, your mannerisms, the way you carried yourself. You’d spent the last few months in seclusion, with a team of experts helping you get the look just right. Every detail was crucial.

You idly fiddled with the two new golden snake bite piercings while biting the inside of your lip. They were the first thing you were made acquainted with during your damn near right after your agreement left your mouth. You got new ink moths ago too, all pieces the OG Boon had, but they weren’t nearly as much of an adjustment as the fucking metal in your mouth.

The cosplay aside, Boon Ballou wasn’t just a name; he was an institution. Every piece of the kingpin’s past had to be learned and studied, every habit adopted. It was like walking around with your gut sucked in until you forget you were doing it at all.

Nobody even called you Y/n anymore.

You’d spent hours in front of a mirror, practicing Boon’s sneer, the tilt of his head, the slow drag of a cigar between his fingers. Your diet had shifted to match Ballou’s preferences — whiskey instead of beer, crawfish instead of steak.

You were fed stories of Ballou’s notorious escapades, his love life, and, most importantly, his final days — how he’d disappeared from public view for more than two years now, last heard going off to The Philippines for business before his body turned up in Colombia where he’d very quietly died. Fortunately or unfortunately (depending on who you ask), the underworld kingpin of the Hollywood South had an operation that practically ran itself while he was gone.

And now Boon Ballou was coming back.

-----

Then came the night of the deal.

The night was humid, the sky hanging heavy with the promise of rain. Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you could hear your heart pumping in your ears.

The deal was supposed to go smoothly. Now dressed in Boon Ballou's signature black leather waistcoat over a suit, you stood surrounded by armed agents, the tension crackling in the air. You were about to be handed over to the waiting criminals, Boon Ballou’s people, in exchange for a government agent who looked like he’d seen better days. You didn’t know how long he’d been over there or what he’d seen, but it was painted thick on his face. The melodramatics aside, it was supposed to be a simple handoff.

But most things start off simple until they’re not.

You had been betrayed. You inevitably outlived your usefulness to the government agents escorting you across the territory line. They’d planned to shoot you while you walked across the invisible line, gun you down, and leave your body behind as evidence that the criminal empire was dismantling itself.

“Boon Ballou” was meant to die here and tonight.

The first shot came from behind you. For the first time in your life, you felt a real rush of fear. But you had a way of surviving. You didn’t think—you just acted, charging through the chaos and breaking free. You spun, using your tail to knock an agent off their feet and then tore through the surrounding chaos, all teeth and claws. Gunfire erupted around you, but your strength and speed had always been your advantage. You were a croc, after all—built for survival.

You dashed into the thick shadows of the bayou, moving through the dense foliage, but no matter how fast you ran, the shots never stopped. In the distance, you could hear the shouts of your would-be killers as your massive tail sliced through the muck and submerged beneath the murky waters.

For a long while, you just swam through the bayou, the only sound being your own breath and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. Eventually, when you surfaced against the endiscript bank, you caught sight of a blacked out SUV. You weren’t sure if it’d always been there, but an owl hybrid, grizzled and rough-looking, stepped from the cover of the nearby truck. His eyes locked onto you, recognition sparking.

“Boon?” the man asked, his voice low but urgent. “That you?”

You didn’t respond verbally at first, still catching your breath. Nobody called you by your name anymore, but it startled you how quick you responded to being referred to as Boon Ballou.

“Get in, man. ’Less you tryna get shot out here. You straight?” The barred owl grabbed you by the arm, still soaked, and pulled you toward the SUV. 

That seemed to pull You out of your stupor. “I’m fine,” You grunted, your voice rough, trying to mimic the deeper tones of Boon’s Southern drawl. “Just get me outta here.”

 "Two years talkin’ to nobody an’ ya still act like youse untouchable." the older man grumbled as he opened the back door to the SUV and ushered you inside. As you sat in the back of the vehicle in wet clothes and squelching boots, you watched the glimmering lights coming from the edge of the French Quarter. This city was now both your prison and your possible salvation.

As the car screeched to a halt outside a lavish estate, Your mind was spinning. The game had just changed. The owl hybrid that drove you here got out of the van and opened the car door for you to get out, both of you walking up the steps leading up to the front door.

Inside the house, amidst the luxury and wealth that seemed so far removed from the prison cell you’d left behind, you found yourself face-to-face with her. Wanda Maximoff.

Her eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, you saw something in them — something that made your breath catch. The woman who had once been Boon’s lover, the woman who had been a part of Ballou’s past.

But now, she was standing in front of you, looking at you with the same intensity.

This is the woman that Boon Ballou left behind.

And in that moment, you realized something: You weren’t just impersonating the deceased croc. You were responsible for breathing new life into his name.

You were Boon Ballou now. And in this world, that might just be the most damning thing of all.

“You’re back,” she said softly, her brows furrowed in disbelief and voice trembling slightly.

You swallowed hard, your heart heavy. You were way beyond your depth. You don’t know how to run a fucking drug ring. Sure you studied for the test, but you didn’t know a damn thing when standing in front of people with no choice to interact. You couldn’t go back out. There were no takesies backsies. Not if you wanted to live. And when everything you’d worked for for over half a year, when your freedom depended on her and all the people around her believing that you were Boon Ballou? You have no choice but to step up to the plate.

So, you lied. You embraced her.

��Wanda,” your voice was rough with just a hint of unspoken guilt as your fingers brushed the deep red scales that fanned across the outside of her neck and her cheekbones as they gleamed even in the warm, dim light. You didn’t have to pretend to admire her. You’d run into a lot of snake hybrids in your own time, but you hadn’t met one that had so quickly held your attention like she did. That tempted you toward her gravity like she did.

“I’m back.”

No one knew Y/n, the orphan slated for lethal injection. They only knew the man that was their lover, their boss, their friend, and even their rival. Could you really fill those shoes when your foot was essentially forced into them? And more importantly—could you survive long enough to figure out your next move, or would the past of a dead man, and the lies that came with it, consume you until there was nothing left of you?

You were playing a game with stakes that were beyond deadly– and if Boon Ballou proved anything, he proved that no one gets to play forever.

[lust4lore]

finnick odair is tough. he is corded muscle and calloused hands, a true victor. everyone knows that— you know that— it’s just hard to believe when that very same finnick odair is carefully braiding your hair before bed so it doesn’t tangle itself while your sleeping, when he pulls you close to trace ‘i love you’s and lopsided hearts onto the skin that covers your shoulder blades. the same one that presses kisses to your forehead and the bridge of your nose before even touching your lips, the one that doesn’t kiss you hungrily like the others, but rather as if he’s giving you all the love he has to offer. he certainly doesn’t seem tough to you, crawling on top of you after a long swim and letting you gently detangle his salt-ridden waves as he hums softly against your collarbone. finnick odair is tough, but your finnick— your finn— is soft as they come.

[fairyhaos]

[16:23 PM] — vernon .

306 words, fluff, childhood friends to ??

"I think we should get married."

Your best friend, lounging around on your bed, flinches so hard that his phone slips from his hand and hits him in the face. "Ow. Uh, what? Like, right now?"

“No, silly," you say, rolling your eyes. "I mean when we're older. We should marry each other."

Hansol sits up, frowning. "Why do you want us to get married?"

"Just because," you say, shrugging. "I wouldn't mind marrying you. If we don't get married by, I dunno, 27, then why don't we marry each other?"

Hansol tilts his head. "I dunno, Y/N. I think you should marry someone you love, rather than someone you 'don't mind'. Marriage is kind of a big commitment, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," you say, spinning around and around in your desk chair, "but I can't think of anyone else I'd like to make the commitment with."

"Yet," Hansol adds, and you shrug in acknowledgement.

"Sure. Yet. And if that 'yet' never comes, for me or for you, then we can marry each other. Right?"

You watch your best friend mull over your words, eyelashes fluttering thoughtfully before he nods and then turns back to his phone. "Okay."

"Wait." You blink. "Just like that? You're fine with it?"

Hansol shrugs, tapping away at his game once more. "If you wanna, then yeah. I wouldn't mind marrying you."

He looks up at you, eyes caramel gold in the light streaming through your bedroom windows, the corners of his mouth lifting upwards slightly.

"But really, I'd love you to marry me, not because of tax benefits or anything, but because—"

Hansol pauses there, and you slow down the spinning of your chair, bringing your ankles upwards to cross your legs. "Because what?"

He hesitates again, before smiling once more, soft and pink. "Because you love me."

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @sakufilms @eightlightstar

[deathofacupid]

BEYOND CLOUDS. ᡣ𐭩 content — satoru gojo. depression, poor mental health. hurt + comfort, fluff. requested!

satoru's noticed that look. it starts with a slow blink, your eyes glazing over, as if everything is fading. satoru isn't sure if you even realize it, but you do. that's how it always begins. you grow quieter, like the world's volume is being turned down, replaced by a faint ringing in your ears.

every single time. so, when he sees the energy draining from you, satoru can't bring himself to leave your side. you insist you're fine, but there's that flicker of uncertainty, and that's enough to keep him rooted.

you don't know where it comes from, this feeling. one moment, you're fine. better than fine. you've got the love of your life sitting in front of you, laughing at some silly joke, and then… you're not. suddenly, you're swamped by an overwhelming dread, a weight that drags you down. thinking too much and too little, all at once.

you're curled up on the couch with him, tired. not the kind sleep can fix, and believe you, you've tried. it's the kind that settles deep in your bones, stealing your ability to do anything.

it's quiet. not uncomfortably so, but you wouldn't mind hearing his voice. as if he's reading your mind, he opens his mouth, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back.

"the weather's nice today," satoru muses.

you give him a look. "you haven't been outside all day. how would you know?"

"well, the weather's always nice when i'm with you," he grins. you think he's trying to be romantic, and you appreciate it. even if it doesn't make much sense. but he's got that giddy look, eyes bright and gleaming, that deep blue you love.

you snort in response. it's enough encouragement for him, enough to keep him talking. "it's true! i feel… sunny," satoru insists, and you indulge him, shaking your head.

"yeah?"

"yeah. you make me feel sunny."

that gets a chuckle out of you, though it's more sarcastic than he intended. "seriously? i'm not a sun. i'm, like, a giant looming raincloud."

"no, you're not. you're a giant looming sun-cloud."

you sigh. you always feel guilty. guilty that satoru's pulled into this mess, your mess. he tells you not to think that way, that he loves you and he's always here. a part of you feels selfish.

you haven't gone through a fraction of what he's endured, and yet, he still fares so much better. so, what right do you have to curl up in a ball, curtains closed, sheets messy, pillows scattered, dishes in the sink unwashed, laundry overflowing?

"sorry," you murmur.

"for?" he asks, genuinely confused. does he really want you to spell it out?

"this. you know. you're supposed to be at school."

"don't apologize," satoru says, dismissing it immediately. you're about to protest, but he cuts you off. "remember when sugu died?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"i was a wreck. you were the only one who saw me like that, at my weakest, when i shouldn't ever be."

"satoru…" you breathe.

"you got me through that, because you love me. how is this any different?"

"well, i didn't lose anyone," you protest, weakly.

"so? hurt is hurt, baby. doesn't matter how you get it."

you fall silent. what can you say? satoru tilts your chin up, his gaze meeting yours. "why don't we go check out the weather, then? see if i'm right?"

and, as you stood in your lawn, squinting up at the vast sky, hand-in-hand with satoru and his goofy grin, you realized he was right.

[doodlenoodleboi]

Hello! I have a request for Sal Fisher! Can you please write something about him with a reader who suffers from anxiety and that leads to her eating a bit faster than other people? She feels really embarrased when someone points it out. Comments like "Are you done already?" get to her, but she doesn't say anything and instead ducks her head because she is too shy and non-confrontational to stand up for herself. Thank you! <3

Sal Drabble

The vibe

Sal

It was a high school summer, these summers you could choose to either be a kid again or grow as an adult. We have a difficult time choosing these things. Why must we choose things that we don’t want to why not just live the moment?

“Hey! Hey! Bro, wake up!” I was Welcomed by the faces of my two best friends Sal and Larry, a rather interesting duo. The night before or rather shall I say a couple hours ago we had a sleepover at Larry’s house. I was tired and confused by the sudden disruption of my sleep.

“What?” I said, practically still asleep, rubbing my eyes from the crusty buildup of rheum.

“We’re leaving!” Sal said his smile evident in his voice, even though his prosthetic covered his face. I had never been out at night, especially with these two friends. Apparently it was a common thing amongst Larry and Sal. Sal even took off his prosthetic couple times. Nobody could see you in these dark streets, nobody was there to breathe in the air instead of that suffocating mask as Sal described.

Funny enough, Sal might dislike his appearance but the only thing that he truly appreciates about it, it is how it finds him real friends. Ones that couldn’t care less about his appearance. Those ones still tight, so now we’re strolling late at night down these streets I can’t remember. Soon I’ll never see the streets and will have to go away we have to be independent adults. Maybe even barely seeing each other and that sucked, just even the thought.”

The cold air braised everyone’s skin, obviously cool, but nothing close to freezing. Sal’s shoulder, blue hair covered his face for the most part. The way his face had been obscured as a child scared the creeps away but kept his friends closer. The way his right cheek torn reminded me of Mileena (MK reference).

The walk down the cold streets were quiet the only interruption being Larry every so often comments. And the sound of Sal’s skateboard against the road, streetlight and moonlight being to be only source of illumination.

I simply followed, along like a lost puppy going along with the flow, not wanting to ruin the vibe. It was uncomfortably quiet until Larry made his extroverted comment about being hungry. We stopped at a (insert place), probably close to our destination.

Larry ordered for everyone being the extrovert, he is of the group. Then we left, soon we made it to our destination. An abandoned skate park, right next to it was a building covered in graffiti. It was a comforting vibe about the place, because even if it was abandoned, I’m sure many people have still came here even though such information had been given.

I sat on the top of the Quarterpipe, a rather vacant area until Larry decides to sit next to me. I wasn’t fond of eating in front of people, maybe feel uncomfortable and watched. They could have absolutely no interest in me, but for some reason, I feel like all eyes on me. I am the best person in the world because I could be the absolute worst. I’m scared of people’s perception of me.

I started to eat next to Larry not wanting to confess that I am uncomfortable with the situation. I had been made fun of in the past because of my eating habits. As I ate my food, almost finished with it, Larry responded. (damn little lady you sure can pack it away. Jk) “Yo Bruh you look like Kirby right now, fucking that shit up.” in between the time of now and then, Larry was high, and that truly made me laugh forgetting about the previous situation given his state.

“Shut up Larry.” sal had said as he skated over to him. “He’s probably just high don’t mind him.” For a while, I would be dealing with a high Larry and a Sally who couldn’t care to do more than skate to get his mind off everything.

That night she realized she was surrounded by people. She wouldn’t have to worry about being embarrassed around. After all, they all are flawed.

(I am so sorry this was so rushed and so last-minute)

[theseerbetweenus]

Why is there no John Munch fanfiction anywhere?

[vraisetzen]

Now that JJK is over, I can finally rewrite that Gojo x Reader Insert that I orphaned and give him the love and justice he deserved.

Things I'll fix:

His character development

The timeskip between his return and battle with Sukuna

His entire conflict with his family, the other clans, and Jujutsu High

[heytherelysia]

sampo throwing a smoke bomb at you during your stroll in belobog with march and dan heng. by the time the smoke clears, you see sampo on one knee, winking at you with a rose in his mouth, and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. sampo attempts to speak, but he forgets the rose in his mouth.

march and dan heng are glaring daggers at him. they could at least get some flowers for enduring that unbelievably irritating smoke, no?

[bratzsturns]

#bigmama ; nineteen. angel. actual y2k. french tips. pink. writer. pink. caramel iced coffee. square nails. gold jewelry. 444 old drake. chris sturniolos baby mama. idgaf. latto. miniskirts n baby tees. dej loaf. frank ocean lover. cats. money.

reqs; OPEN. | CLOSED.

masterlist 🪽

©️ bratzsturns 2025.

[littleplantfreak]

Hiragi & an S/O with stomach issues

(I made the stomach issues vaguish because...the stomach is insane and many things can happen to make you feel like crap lmao personally mine makes waaay to much acid so im just constantly feeling spicy and..not in a good way, so here's to all you reflux, gerd, ibs, peptic ulcers, and other stomach issues people Hiragi and I feel your pain.)

Hiragi Toma

-One of the first times you met up with Toma, you saw one of his flare-ups. Stomach clenched, hunched over, popping pills out of a small package, only to start chewing them whole had you stressing yourself. At lease he didn't try to dry swallow them, but still it's gotta be bitter. Handing him, your unopened green tea, he grabs it and twists the top. Only to give it back to you with a soft here you go even though he's literally gritting his teeth right now.

"Huh? I was giving it to you! To get the medicine taste outta your mouth." But he just smiles at you, a rough chuckle rumbling in his chest, telling you he's used to it, and that it doesn't bother him. You start carrying candies in your pocket for the next time he does that, insisting he takes one as a palate cleanser if he's not gonna get a drink. Gas-kun 10 is able to be taken without water but that doesn't mean anyone should have to!

____

The first time he sees you have a stomach thing, he's full of concern, though you tell him you're totally fine. A drink and the medicine from your bag will have you semi-decent, but he's insistent on taking you home earlier from your date which has you so upset it makes your stomach worse. He ends up having to calm you down, saying once you're feeling up to it, you can put on a movie and cuddle instead. From that point on, he starts paying attention to what triggers it (if anything, sometimes the universe just decides to give you a shitty hand no pun intended) and your tolerance for certain foods and drinks.

____

If you have bad impulse control, you really don't have to worry with him since he'll grab the coffee you got from the vending machine right out of your hands before lecturing you about it. If you absolutely insist, he'll give it back, just grumbling about how reckless you are with your body, but you shoot back that you don't wanna hear it from a guy who regularly comes back bruised and bloody from fights and he shuts up real quick. Later as he's holding you in bed, you're sobbing and sulking because the coffee WAS a bad idea, and you're so sick and he's saying told you so in his head.

____

If you're stuck in the bathroom and absolutely don't want him to come in? He's outside the door, phone in hand texting you and asking if you need anything. No he doesn't care if you clog the toilet, and yes he'll hold your hair back if you puke. There's not a thing he won't do for you, all you gotta do is say the word because he knows when he's on the other end of it, you're just as attentive and caring.

[hyuneskkami]

masterlist

💌┊₊˚⊹꒷ TOO SWEET PT. 1 .ᐟ

�� leo valdez x fem!reader ‧₊˚ ⋅

ᝰ. 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 . . . percy jackson and the heroes of olympus

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 . . . street racing au

ᝰ. 𝐤𝐞𝐲 . . . y/n: your name | y/l/n: your last name | n/n: nickname

ᝰ. 𝐰𝐜 . . . 946

ᝰ. 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 . . . y/n and leo are the queen and king of the shinjuku and shibuya street racing circles, respectively. they meet for the first time at the annual tokyo races to see who's better. (ft. best friend!percy fanboying over racer king!leo + an appearance by passenger princess!leo <3)

ᝰ. 𝐚/𝐧 . . . uhtgufshew tokyo + leo + street racing is such a fever dream for me,, and this one, I wrote bc of my love for leo and fast and furious (esp tokyo drift <3) and I totally based y/n's car off han's from td sue me I love him (: so, enjoy! i'll start working on part 2 soon (:

✮⋆˙ y/n’s pov

'the next station is . . . shinjuku.'

I was busy icing the bruises on my forearm from last night’s race when my best friend barged into the bathroom without knocking.

“HE’S COMING TODAY, N/N!” he screamed, and giggled like a school girl.

“I could’ve been naked, you know,” I muttered, shutting the first-aid box and shoving it into the cabinet under the sink. “who’s coming?”

“ignis-”

“percy, come on, not this again,” I groaned. “you’ve been fanboying about him for the past 48 hours, and I really just want to sleep. and besides, I really don’t see what the big deal about this guy is.”

“uh, hello? he’s the king of the shibuya street races!” percy exclaimed, following me as I walk out, and flop onto my bed. he stops at the foot of it.

“and the people have crowned me the queen of shinjuku’s. so what?” I asked.

‘ignis’, as the others call him, is someone called leo valdez. and apparently, he’s a pretty good racer.

“look,” I continued, interrupting percy before he started fanboying again, with hearts in his eyes or whatever. “if he’s that good, he can come and beat me at the annual tokyo races.” I declared.

“oh yeah, he probably will,” percy commented. I flung my pillow at his head, and smirked when I found I didn’t miss. “OW!”

“whatever. tell me more about him. what’s he like?”

it was almost as if I asked him to marry leo. and this time, he really did have hearts in his eyes, I fear.

“okay, so supposedly, he builds his own car, like you, and started racing at 17! isn’t that cool? I mean, you did too, but still. it’s cooler when he does it. anyway, he’s locally the undefeated champion of street racing, and oh my god, he drives a 1966 ford gt40, it’s so cool-”

“okayyy, i’ve heard enough. I guess it is going to be fun meeting him at the car meet for the races.” I smirked. “let’s battle it out on the roads, ignis.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

✮⋆˙ leo’s pov

'the next station is . . . shibuya.'

“jace, how much farther is the hotel?” I asked, knocking my legs onto the dashboard, and crossing them at my ankles. simultaneously, I pulled down my sunglasses.

“relax, passenger princess, just a few more minutes and we’ll be there.” he replied.

jason glanced at piper in the mirror and smiled.

I would never admit it, of course, but it was terrible being so good at one thing and horribly bad at another. honestly, who would ever believe that the king, ignis, had never been in an actual relationship? the one-night stands didn’t count, obviously. I’d never felt anything close to… love.

pondering my status of being single, I fell asleep in jason’s car.

“dude, bro, homie, my man, whatever, WAKE UP, WE’RE GOING TO BE LATE-”

“did you… did you carry me into bed, jason grace?” I opened one eye and grinned at him lazily.

“you were sound asleep, even worse than a log. I tried kicking you awake, but it didn’t work, so I had to pick you up, ufortunately.”

“aww, don’t sound so happy.”

“shut up. if you don’t get ready to get to the car meet, we don’t get a ticket to race for the entire next month,” he said.

“what- OH, I forgot about that. one ticket’s enough for all 23 races, right?”

“yeah, i’ll explain the details to you in the car, go get ready, dumbass.”

I grinned. “jason grace is cursing, the world is healing-” a pillow hit my face. “i’m going.”

timeskip

“okay, the serious ones you need to look out for are python, shooting star, and tsunami.”

“shooting star?” I choked on my water. “what-”

“weird name, huh?” a girl chuckled behind me, and I whipped around.

“oh no no no no, i’m sorry- are you shooting star? uh, shit, I apologi-”

“nah, but it was funny seeing you get so flustered, valdez.” she smirked.

“do we… know each other?” I asked, confused. her smirk widened.

“not yet, but real soon,” she said, her smirk never faltering and confidence never wavering. she turned and began walking away, and I stood there, mouth open.

“she’s pretty, but she’s also tsunami,” piper commented. oh.

“who said she’s pretty? I didn’t. did you? I don’t know,” I rambled. whatever. “she’s my competition. she’s just in the way of me and my golden trophy.”

“there’s no trophy, dumbass.” jason reminded me.

“a 700$ cash price is equivalent to a trophy, man,” I corrected him.

“ok, well, listen up. she’s called tsunami for a reason. she’s vicious, takes everyone by surprise at every race, and is the queen of shinjuku’s street racing. and most importantly? she’s never lost a single race.” piper explained. I took in every bit of that info, and filed into a part of my brain labelled ‘dangerous and pretty competition, stay away’.

“what’s her ride, then?” I asked, a little curious.

“1997 mazda rx-7 veilside fortune.”

“damn,” I whistled. before I could find out more about her, the announcer on the stage started talking.

“welcome, racers and audience! today is day 1 of the annual tokyo races! here’s a quick rundown about it, in case you haven’t a clue: starting today, there will be 23 races for 23 days, each race held in a special ward of tokyo. we start here, at shinjuku, and end the 23rd race at shibuya!”

everyone cheered and whistled at the mention of shinjuku and shibuya, the two hubs of tokyo’s street racing.

starting at tsunami’s turf, and ending in mine, huh? this was going to be fun.

tags! — @sunnitheapollokid @puffoz

kozumesphone © 2024 | don’t repost my works onto other platforms, or edit and post them even on tumblr, without asking me first • don’t steal my works, steal my heart instead • reblogs and comments are more than appreciated !