#it's been hard to work with all the moving from one side of the world to the other

[withluvvenus]

　

　　𝐀 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 on 𝓬reating your first m͟a͟z͟e͟ ͟r͟u͟n͟n͟e͟r͟ reality 　　 　 written by a sixteen year old who 　　　　wanted to shift to TMR when she was twelve

　　

　well i sure do wonder why you're reading this , is it perhaps because you want to shift to the maze runner reality ? or is it because you are sooo bored that you will ready anything that is given to you right now ? well , if it's either of the above , or even a secret third option , i'm glad you're here ! enjoy the guide !

　i. 　 faq　

　　what even is the maze runner ? if i shift here , what can i expect ? is it more on the dangerous side ? do i have to be a boy to shift to the maze runner ?

　　hmm good questions ! first of all , i'd like to mention something before we start . a little synopsis on the maze runner if you will . basically , thomas wakes up in the box , almost gets killed by ben ( who was a runner who got stung by a griever ) , teresa comes up in the box , chaos happens , maze doors don't close , grievers raid the glade , people die , the gladers escape the maze , and other background details that i definitely glossed over !

　　i guess that knocked out the first question , right ? anyways , moving on !

　　what can you expect if you shift here : danger , friendship , hard work , passion , and whatever your heart desires ! it's your dr , do what you want with it ! but please , please , PLEASE make sure you know what you're getting yourself into when you shift here . this . will . be . YOUR . life . this won't be the books or the movies , this will be your LIFE .

　　and do you have to be a boy when you shift ? that is such a silly question to ask , i'm sorry . but yeah , you do NOT have to be a boy when you shift . remember teresa from above ? yeah , she's not a boy . there's some ideas below for what you can do with your drs , if you need some brainstorming juice .

　ii. 　 warnings , bright red warnings　

　　this is an emphasis on the bolded words from the section above . no matter how much you alter your reality , this is the maze runner . you're stuck in a place with a bunch of strangers , no memories , four walls trapping you in . there are monsters , evil , vile , vain monsters out there . ones you hope you don't cross paths with . you will see things you don't want to see , hear things you don't want to hear , and oh my god , you WILL smell things you wish you never smelt .

　　okay , this might have been an overdramatic emphasis , but seriously . please . know . what . you . are . getting . yourself . into . this isn't a fanfic on wattpad or a blurb on tumblr , ok ? understood ? good ! let's continue .

　iii. 　 slang . terminology . shank ??　

　　when you wake up with no memories of your past life and only basic facts , you will create your own slang . introducing you , to the glader's slang and other terminology that would be helpful to be aware of !

　　G͟L͟A͟D͟E͟R͟ ͟S͟L͟A͟N͟G͟

　　　　klunk - crap 　　　　shank - friend 　　　　slim it - shut up 　　　　greenbean/greenie - new arrival in the glade 　　　　jacked - messed up in the head 　　　　keepers - leaders of a particular job

　　M͟I͟S͟C͟

　　　　glade A - the ' boys ' group 　　　　glade B - the ' girls ' group 　　　　the flare - the disease spread over the world 　　　　the cure - cure for the disease 　　　　W.C.K.D / WICKED - organization who put the kids in the glade 　　　　cranks - people who are infected by the flare 　　　　grievers - monsters in the maze

　iv. 　 ( key ) locations in the glade　

　　they don't provide you with a map and a flask of hot tea when you show up to the glade . no , honestly ? they just leave you be as long as you don't act up . but me ? i'll give you the locations , your welcome ! or well , at least the key areas .

　　first , we have the box . the box is where the greenie of the month is sent up . it's a compartment in the floor and it makes the loudest noise ever .

　　and then we come to the gardens . the gardens . . . are the gardens ? this is where the crops and produce are grown in the glade !

　　okay , actually you know what ? i'm gonna speed run the locations . the homestead is where the keepers sleep , ONLY the keepers , first in command , second in command . the blood house is where the butcher stuff happens with the animals , the medjack hut is basically a hospital for the gladers . the deadheads is the woods but it has a graveyard in it . the map room is where the runners discuss and has all their resources . the slammer is basically the jail cell or the glader's version of the timeout corner . the kitchens is the . . . kitchen ! done !

　v. 　 rule #1 , everyone plays a part　

　　i probably mentioned random words above that made zero sense because there were no definitions on them in section three . well , here they are ! the definitions and job information .

　　first in command - leader of the wholeee glade 　　second in command - co leader , if that makes sense ? 　　keeper - leader of the specific job

　　runner - only people allowed in the maze , trying to find a way out 　　medjack - doctors 　　slicer - butchers 　　cook - cooks 　　track-hoes - gardeners 　　builder - builders 　　bagger - deal with dead bodies 　　sloppers - cleaners , other tasks people wouldn't want to do 　　map-makers - create the maps for the maze

　vi. 　 idea4u　

　　let's be so for real , it's sometimes hard to come up with who you are and what you want to be in a reality . lucky for you , i'm here ! haha , hey .

　　idea a .　　follow the plotline of the book / movies ! you're the first girl in the glade , or the first boy in glade b .

　　idea b .　　you were sent by W.C.K.D as a warning . the gladers do NOT trust you whatsoever . or they do ! your choice .

　　idea c .　　you're the first person ever to show up in the glade .

　　idea d .　　you were found by the runners in the maze instead of the box , how did you get there ?

　　idea e .　　scientist from W.C.K.D sent to the glade , kind of like teresa

　　idea f .　　you've never been in the maze , but the one time you did enter , the grievers seemed to be scared of you instead ?

　vii. 　 misc script　

　　-　　everyone has good hygiene 　　-　　there are good toiletries in the glade 　　-　　the box sends up period supplies every month 　　-　　the clothing is comfortable 　　-　　no bugs 　　-　　the food is delicious 　　-　　if you're immune to the flare or not 　　-　　your code ( like newt's is A5 ) 　　-　　there are private spots in the glade that's just not the deadheads 　　-　　you don't get random illnesses 　　-　　you don't get hurt a lot

　　　　　　　　　　　　　 𝘄𝗶𝘁���𝗹𝘂𝘃 ✶ 𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘂𝘀

[urdreamgirlangel]

The Summer I Become My Own Best Friend 🌺 🥥 🌴

highways of my life by lerma de la cruz

You know who’s going to give you everything you want? Yourself.

You know who always has your back? Yourself.

You know who’s never going to leave you? Yourself.

This summer is about creating space to feel comfortable in who I am and setting the tone for choosing the right people to allow into my life. I’m taking the time to invest in myself, not just to be alone, but to trust myself, show up for me, be my own safe place, and my biggest push forward.

Stepping Out of My Comfort Zone ₊˚⊹ᰔ

I like to challenge myself. I want to do that more often, but I’ve built this little safety box around me, and it’s hard to break out of. So I’m taking it one step at a time—slowly removing the box around me so I can grow.

Go places alone (cafes, beaches, theaters, etc.)

Starting conversations with strangers (and I don’t mean randomly going up to people for no reason. I mean if I want to find something out, I’m usually too shy and just thug it out but now I’ll slowly break out of this)

Wearing outfits and accessorizing the way I’ve always wanted to but been too scared to.

Doing something that scares me just a little

Every time I take a step, I grow, even if it’s seems scary.

Mother Nature is my Home ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Nature is so beautiful. Genuinely. It amazes me every time.

Being surrounded by it feels necessary- like a reset. Sometimes all it takes is looking up at the sky to remember how big the universe is, and how small my fears and doubts actually are.

Evening strolls with music or journalling

Taking a book to the park or an open field

Getting sunlight on purpose, to feel alive

Touching grass (literally) when life feels fabricated

Stargazing

Creating intentionally ₊˚⊹ᰔ

I want to create habits that feel like home.

Habits, rituals, and routines that help me feel like myself, but also give me a little boost when I need it.

Looking for and trying new recipes

Dancing around my room with no care in the world

Focus periods (just me and my thoughts)

Creating todo and bucket lists

Solo hobbies ₊˚⊹ᰔ

I’ve learned that the best way to love being alone is to make the time feel meaningful.

If I can fill it with things I enjoy- like hobbies that bring me peace or joy- then being by myself doesn't feel lonely. It feels full.

Learn a new language (basic French and Korean for me)

Reading (i manifested some new books so summer is on)

Beach trips (manifesting a cute beach bag!)

Crocheting (buying a kit from Amazon)

Catching up on shows and giving new ones a chance

Working out (yes I’m going to make working out a hobby)

Colouring

Plant identification + gardening (flowers mainly)

Scrapbooking

Hair care (ayurvedic hair growth spray: fenugreek powder, flaxseed powder, rosemary, hibiscus leaves powder, a small drop of jojoba oil)

Baking + trying new recipes completely - (lemon raspberry cinnamon rolls, irish cream pie, whipped honey coffee, ginger ale)

Boundaries that will always put me first ₊˚⊹ᰔ

Without boundaries, I move on autopilot. And when I do, I shrink into the girl who just wanted to be seen. But that’s not me anymore. So I stepped back from anything that made me feel invisible, too much or not enough. I decided to make a list. Not for them. For me. A quiet reminder to only hold onto what feels like love. No more shrinking. I deserve to take up space.

I won’t stretch myself thin just to keep up with everyone else.

If I’m tired, I rest. No guilt.

If scrolling makes me feel worse, I log off.

I’m allowed to mute, block, or unfollow without warning or guilt.

Just because someone sees my story doesn’t mean they have access to me.

If it feels one-sided, I stop pouring.

If someone’s presence drains me, I don’t force a connection.

I won’t chase anyone for clarity, love, or attention.

I honor my feelings even when others don’t understand them.

I don’t stay where I feel small or unseen.

I don’t abandon myself just to be liked.

If something feels off, I trust that.

I get to choose peace, even if it means disappointing someone.

I don’t wait for others to validate my dreams.

I’m allowed to outgrow people, places, and versions of myself.

I don’t apologize for choosing what’s best for me.

Intentions for the Season ₊˚⊹ᰔ

🍓🌴 I’ll listen to my voice louder than anyone else’s.

🍓🌴I will say yes to things that scare me in a good way

🍓🌴 I will make this summer count

🍓🌴 This summer is mine

@urdreamgirlangel 444 more!

[nizhspo]

together? together.

chapter ten: pink light & permission

m.list | next

synopsis: twelve years of friendship. you're leaving for college. okawa tooru has always been just your best friend. so why does it suddenly feel like goodbye might break the both of you?

pairing: tooru okawa x f!reader

you almost do it. you really, truly almost do.

his eyes are so wide, glass-slick and pleading, like maybe if he looks at you hard enough, you’ll just know. like you’ll forget what this is and what it could ruin and just let him have it. let yourself have it. let go.

his mouth is so close, parted just slightly, waiting. your gaze drops to his lips and then flicks up again, too fast, too obvious. he sees it.

your pulse is hammering in your ears. your breath catches. your heart is stuttering. your lungs barely work. everything about the moment is teetering—on the edge of the sink, the edge of reason, the edge of twelve years built carefully, quietly, unspoken.

but you can’t.

because he’s your best friend.

and maybe he knows every corner of you—knows your type, your tells, knows where you stash birthday money in case the world ends and pepper spray for when it doesn’t, but you know him too.

you know what he’s like when he gets bored.

how quickly he moves on when something’s too easy. how often he tells you you’re different while proving, over and over, that he’s still the same.

and he’s never gotten bored of you. but maybe that’s because he’s never had you. not the way he’s had others. never a hookup. never a mistake. never a morning-after.

just you. just his best friend.

you bite your lip. lean back. just an inch. just enough. his hand curls tighter on the sink.

“tooru,” you whisper, voice barely more than breath, “you’re drunk.”

the words hit like water on fire. and for a second he doesn’t say anything. he just looks at you, and the ache in his eyes says it all.

he leans back. just barely. not enough to make space, but enough that you feel it. that sinking. that ache in his chest that’s been stitched up and ignored for years. it opens all over again.

his shoulders drop. his smile slips—off his mouth, off his eyes. and suddenly, he looks so much younger.

not seventeen and cocky. not the boy who flirts and dances and makes whole rooms laugh without even trying.

he looks like the kid you met in elementary school, back when his teeth were too big for his mouth and his backpack was always half-unzipped. the one who cried when he scraped his knee but still offered you his ice pack. the one who got too nervous during class presentations and always scratched at his wrist, mumbled too fast, shifted side to side until it was over.

he looks like that now. small. scared. like he’s holding something in his hands and it might fall apart if you don’t take it.

“y/n,” he says quietly, no teasing, no smirk, just him. raw, stripped down. “i really like you.”

you don’t move.

he swallows. breathes. the air between you feels impossibly thick. “like… a lot.” his voice cracks just a little on lot.

and then, softer still: “i like the way you hum under your breath when you’re concentrating.” his eyes flick up, desperate to make you hear him. “i like the way you get all quiet when you’re sad, but not because you want to be alone—you just want someone to notice.”

his hand drops from the sink. hovers like he wants to reach for you. like he’s scared to.

“and i always notice.”

you blink.

“i like that you say goodnight like you’re afraid i won’t text you in the morning. i like that you memorize coffee orders and you hate the sound of styrofoam and you don’t take anyone’s shit but you always hold my hand when i get too in my head.”

he takes a breath. he looks like he might cry.

“please,” he says, broken and pleading. “just let me kiss you. just once. and if it doesn’t mean anything to you, if you regret it, we can forget. we can go back to being best friends and i’ll promise to try and forget, i’ll stop—”

but you don’t let him finish.

because while you know oikawa tooru and all his bad habits—his pretty mouth and fast hands, his flirty grin and restless eyes, you also know what he looks like when he’s telling the truth.

and this is it.

no masks. no games. just him. standing in a cramped bathroom with a heart too full and nowhere left to hide it.

so you don’t think. you just move.

your hand reaches up, fingers curling into the collar of his shirt, and you pull him in so fast it knocks the air out of both of you.

you kiss him.

hard. sudden. years of tension snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin.

he makes a sound, low and startled, before kissing you back like it’s the first breath after drowning. his hands slide into your hair, onto your waist, gripping like he’s terrified you’ll disappear mid-moment. your back hits the sink. his body presses against yours. it’s messy and too warm and perfect.

you taste pink whitney and mint gum and something purely, irreversibly him.

you kiss him like you’ve been waiting your whole life.

because maybe, you have.

so you don’t stop kissing him. you can’t.

his mouth moves like he’s starving, like he’s been dying of thirst and finally found water. like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pretending he didn’t want you.

and god, he’s good at this. practiced. confident. his hands know exactly where to go, waist, cheek, back of your neck, pulling you closer, anchoring you like you’ll vanish if he lets go. his tongue brushes yours, slow at first, until your knees buckle and you gasp into him.

your fingers fist in his shirt. he groans against your lips.

then someone bangs on the door.

“yo, who’s in there? someone throwin’ up?”

you freeze, but only for a second.

oikawa doesn’t even pull away. he just mumbles “fuck off” against your mouth and kisses you harder.

and you let him.

because it’s him. because it’s always been him. because the way he’s holding you, the way he’s gasping like this is breaking him wide open—it’s not drunk. it’s not performative. it’s not another oikawa tooru show.

it’s real.

another knock. someone laughs. more footsteps. voices fading down the hall.

you stay pressed to the sink, your body flush against his, your hands sliding up to his jaw, thumb brushing the skin under his eye. he feels so real like this, warm, breathing heavy, pulse hammering.

you kiss him again. and again. each time deeper. rougher. like the answers to every question you never dared to ask might be hidden somewhere between his lips.

your hands find his shoulders. the curve of his neck. the soft place behind his ear that makes him shiver just slightly. and his hands—god, his hands, find your waist, your hips, the small of your back like he’s been dreaming of this for years and now he’s terrified to wake up.

your chest aches. there’s something caught between your ribs, tight and burning and breathless.

and then—

you think it.

how many girls has he kissed like this?

your stomach drops so fast it feels like gravity’s been playing tricks on you.

you don’t mean to care. but you do.

he’s kissed so many girls. behind bleachers. in cars. at parties you didn’t go to. in bedrooms where he never invited you. with the same lips that are kissing you now.

and you care that you weren’t the first. that someone else got this before you. that someone else got him like this, sloppy, aching, real.

the thought burns.

jealousy? maybe.

rage? no.

just this bitter twist in your gut. this dull, hungry ache. because you don’t want to be one of many. you want to be the one.

and you need him, more than you’ve ever needed anything.

so you kiss him harder. fierce. greedy. desperate. like maybe if you press hard enough, it’ll make a mark. like maybe he’ll remember this one most. like maybe this will be the kiss he never forgets.

he groans into your mouth like he feels it too, like the world’s tilting, like something inside him is caving in and remaking itself in your name.

“fuck,” he breathes, ragged. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

his voice breaks somewhere in the middle, too tender for a line, too raw to be anything but real. his hands find the hem of your shirt, then slip beneath it, just your waist, just the heat of his palms on your skin—but it sends a shiver slicing down your spine. his thumbs rub soft, slow circles like he’s trying to memorize you with his hands. like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

you sigh into him, drunk on the moment, dazed by the weight of everything unsaid.

you want to ask.

did he think of you when he kissed them?

did your name ever get caught in his throat when he was with someone else?

is this just the liquor talking? is this just the heat of june and the sweat and the end of something you don’t want to end?

is he going to stop kissing you when the night ends?

is he going to pretend it didn’t happen?

is he going to leave for california and forget how this felt?

you almost open your mouth. almost ruin it. almost ask too much of someone who already gives you more than most.

but you don’t. you don’t say a word. you just pull him back in.

your hands fist the collar of his shirt again. your lips crash into his like they’re starving. you kiss him like your life depends on it—like if you kiss him hard enough, long enough, deep enough, he’ll forget the girls he kissed before. he’ll forget the years you pretended this wasn’t something more. he’ll forget everything but you.

like maybe if you just keep kissing him, you won’t have to wonder. you won’t have to ask. you won’t have to know.

and maybe, just maybe—he’ll never let you go.

tags: @x3nafix @getosba11s

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Jacob Black (9/10)

WC: 3.5k

“Bells! I’ve missed you!” R gasped, wrapping her arms around the woman. Edward gave Bella’s wife a curt and polite smile and nod which was quick to be reciprocated.

Bella hugged back. She had grown into her body and her eyes were naturally sunken and her jawline more defined. Her fashion had adapted to be far more masculine while her wife was a gorgeous woman named Adele.

Life had changed over the years. R finished university and then her and Edward moved up to Wisconsin. Bella had gone to tech school to become an electrician and had met her wife, so she had moved to Michigan for better jobs for both. R worked as a ecological construction manager and Edward picked up his role as a lawyer. Both women had flourishing social lives in terms of both personal and professional.

Familial relations became strained  on both sides; Mother was focused mostly on her relationship and had grown to be somewhat homophobic about Bella’s choice to not have kids. And Charlie tried his best, but after leaving, emails or calls were almost exclusively asking R to visit to get her childhood best friend off her back. This meant hardly no family gatherings from the Swan side, but that was easily replaced by the love the in-laws showed.

R and Edward had a small yet meaningful wedding at their favorite national park after she graduated and Bella’s followed soon after. Life had became mundane ands the past was the past.

That was, at least, until now.

The sister’s reunion was not met without loss. Although they were tight knit, meeting up had grown hard. So, naturally, for the first time in a few months, it was due to Charlie passing. R was about as sad as one would be from losing a distant uncle or cousin; but Bella looked rather down, her sadness showing in the hug she gave back.

“Big sis… I don’t know how you’re holding up so well… Even if you weren’t that close with dad, I know Forks doesn’t bring back good memories,” Bella sighed, pulling back.

As if their spouses mirrored one another, both wrapped a protective and secure arm around their lovers’ waists.

R smiled sadly and nodded. “I know, but I couldn’t miss it for the world. He was still our father and this was still the place who made me who I am today. I’m sorry I couldn’t help out more with the arrangements.”

“No need to apologize. I know you guys have been trying to interview to be foster parents. Even with Edward’s connections, that’s hard to enter.”

The couples loaded into Bella’s rental car. The drive was nostalgic yet held a lot of pain for R. Her and Edward had done an overnight flight to compromise for the worry he had so many years later about the local tribe; and naturally, a lack of sleep and the environment led to conflicted emotions.

R wondered how Jacob was doing - if he moved on, or at least found satisfaction from other aspects of his life. 

Edward squeezed her thigh tightly. Even Alice could not know what would occur due to the ‘wet dog stench,’ so the future was unknown.

They arrived at the venue. The lot for the church was still rather empty as the procession did not start for another hour or so. The pairs took the time to catch up and discuss more light-hearted topics until people began filing in. Some were Charlie’s old friends and others were distant relatives. Others, coworkers. Quite frankly, it was mostly coworkers, which startled R, considering that to her knowledge, most of his old geezer friends were tribe members that were absent.

But then he walked in.

R felt the air escape her lungs. She had been so swept away with social pleasantries she hadn’t noticed Edward’s intense hold until she met Jacob’s eyes. He had grown up, too. The suit was expensively tailored to his boy type which had become further toned. He had begun growing facial hair with a neat beard and mustache  shaping his sharp jawline. All the boyish features he once had were abandoned to the past, but his almond skin and combed back hair were recognizable, all framing the eyes of a man who has lived life.

She felt drawn to him. Jacob’s gaze found her immediately and she had hope that the past they shared had faded into a respect for one another, even if she could see the melting fondness in his expression.

“Jacob,” R greeted politely, extending a hand to shake and sending a firm smile.

“R,” he replied, taking it firmly.

His hands were warn and rough and nails cut short. By now, she had learned from the internet that his father’s business had been passed down to him upon passing and his business ideas took the brand state-wide. She wondered if he still lived on the reservation. So many questions muted her thoughts.

“How have you been?”

“I’ve been… good. You look happy.”

Although his words were observantly firm, Jacob had only mastered complacency. R seemed taken aback by his neutral words and he could sense how much she melted into relief. 

Over the years, Jacob had groomed and trained himself, even at the expense of others. He had been certain all the way back then that how emotional he had been over R was what inevitably drove her away. And although he was angrier and more spiteful than the desperate boy he once was, he had mastered the art of ‘self-improvement.’

“I hope you are too, cubby.” He almost caved then and there. He almost envisioned tearing off the head of that bloodsucker and the entire audience. But he didn’t. “How have you been? I’ve seen you on the news. Charlie told me about you on occasion, too. Are you holding up well?”

Jacob displayed a handsome smile, one that he had chiseled until even a taken woman couldn’t help but admire it. “I have been alright. Life on the reservation was never made for me, so my father passing was the only thing holding me back from establishing my own… identity. And you… haven’t changed at all.”

“Based on what I’ve heard about your accomplishments, I would have almost taken that as an insult,” R chuckled politely. “But no, at least, not in the way you’re thinking.”

R felt her heart beat quickly in her chest. Jacob maintained a foot of distance between them and held his composure, but she could sense it; the imprinting had not left from how he still looked at her. Except this time, there was the intimidation of him being an entirely new man - one that was a stranger and one that she no longer understood.

“Where have you been?” he suddenly asked. “Charlie told me you graduated and moved. Where has life taken my local?”

R felt a sudden wave of nausea and heartache wash over her. Her smile fell and she gulped, blinking back tears. That nickname had triggered something in her; memories came flooding back - not just of what had sent her running, but what made her almost stay in Forks. The Boy she once thought she would be friends with forever.

She suddenly wrapped her arms tightly around the man. Jacob tensed visibly from her touch before reciprocating the hug, hands falling firmly against her back. He hummed so deeply it almost sounded like a trill. The hug felt like an eternity before R sensed to pull away.

Jacob’s expression remained neutral. Edward had caught up to R and possessively wrapped an arm around her waist. The eye contact between the two was cold and tense. Edward pulled a faux smile across his face and nodded. 

“I’m happy you’re well, Jacob. We’ll see you around.”

R turned, but not before Jacob reached and grabbed her wrist a final time. She paused and returned her attention to him briefly. 

“I hope he treats you good, honey.”

Edward released a snarl and R’s eyes darted to Edward. She did not respond to his statement before scurrying off to sit down for the ceremony. R felt Jacob’s eyes glued to her at moments. And during her speech, Jacob stared at her so intently. She wasn’t sure when Jacob left, but it was before the procession had concluded.

After the burial, people dispersed. The sisters decided to confer with special family time - both Edward and Adele were rather clingy (although for very different reasons), both girls insisted on alone time to catch up. R was certain that meant Edward stalking the woodland perimeters regardless.

She tried not to think too hard about Jacob. The encounter was simultaneously relieving and intimidating.

“I guess I’ll break my vegetarian ways for just this meal and get what dad always got, huh?” Bella chuckled, scanning the menu.

“I guess I’ll get my usual regardless,” R sighed. “I was surprised that Harry or Sam didn’t show up. Did you send them invites?”

“Yeah. Not even a reply. Jacob was the only one who replied and showed up… but what about you? How was it, you know, seeing him again?”

“Surprisingly distant,” R admitted. “It was like we were strangers or something. It made me a little sad, but I’m just happy he’s successful now.”

Silence fell over the table until the waitress clammer around to take their orders. Some things never changed; it was still the same woman R and Bella grew up with, except her hair had begun to grey and her skin had become wrinkled with life.

“I…” Bella started, biting her lips. “I wonder if I could have done anything to keep dad from dying.”

“What are you talking about, Bells? I don’t know how he died, but… I know it wasn’t your fault.”

Bella sent a saddened smile as R reached over to grasp at her sister’s clammy hand. “I know you don’t, but I watch the local news station and dad kept in touch with me pretty well. He was pretty unhappy here because of all the workload the animal attacks was giving him - especially after Billy died from one. I told him he could retire and come live with me and Adele, but he turned it down. I didn’t bring it up as often as I should, I think. Especially since he died from an animal attack himself.”

R’s blood ran cold. “Animal attacks…? What kind?”

“People have spotted a really large wolf in the area. They’re wondering if it escaped from a zoo or something… but it doesn’t really matter. I just wish I pressured him more, you know? All of his friends had either died or dropped off the face of the planet a while ago and work was making him so unhappy that I just wish —…”

Bella broke down in trembling tears. R was quick to her side to hug her from behind warmly. Onlookers observed but said nothing. Charlie’s death had put a damper on the town; those that did not know him knew of him. 

Her mind raced as Bella continued to mourn directly into R’s shoulder. She wish she had asked how he had died. She never looked into it, feeling it was better left unknown. But even Edward or Alice hadn’t - a flaw on their part. She wondered if knowing her childhood friend had been the imminent end of her father (and likely his as well) would have changed the outcome of her joining for the funeral.

But Bella would have needed her there, so she doubted it.

R gulped and sighed. “Bella… I don’t know if it’s safe for us to stay here overnight. I think we should go up to Seattle and just go.”

“What? W - why?”

“Animal attacks on this scale aren’t natural, Bells. I doubt the inn will afford us any protection… A - and I don’t think us sticking in the area will do either of our health much good.”

Bella’s mouth opened and then closed. “I don’t think I quite understand the urgency… If you want to leave so badly, we can just… Sleep for the night before leaving in the morning. We can book flights once we get back to the hotel.”

“Bells,” she mumbled. “Please. Trust me on this. I know I might sound crazy, but I don’t think it was just animals that did this. It feels too targeted. I mean, who exactly has been killed by the animals?”

“I think dad, Billy, some other reservation disappearances, and some girls and boys named Jessica and… - wait, didn’t you know them?”

Bella’s face paled as she recognized the pattern. “I… don’t know what that could mean, but… I think you’re right, R. I’ll trust you on this. It must be coincidence, but… I don’t think Forks is a happy place to be anymore.”

R’s heart mourned for her previous life; it was as though something - someone - was killing the happiness of the past. She reached into the back pocket of her suit pants, feeling for her phone.

It did not take long after for to realize it was gone.

“Bells, I know I’m not helping add to the mourning, but do you know where my phone is? I could’ve sworn it was in my pocket, but…”

“Did Edward have it?”

“He would never. He always insists I have it on me.”

“Maybe it's in the car. We can look after we eat.”

“No,” R suddenly boomed before biting her lip and slumping back into her seat. “I just - I feel weird about what’s happening. I think we should just go.”

“But we haven’t even eaten —“

The atmosphere was already quiet, but it became even more quiet as Jacob walked into the diner, no longer wearing a black suit. He adorned a tank top and jeans. R noticed that his tribal tattoo was covered up with something else now, although it was rather hard to distinguish what.

Bella’s eyes widened and recognized how R froze in fear. She could connect the dots that something weird was happening. R and Jacob made intense eye contact. He smiled at her kindly, frozen at the entrance. R only frowned.

Bella slammed a fifty-dollar bill on the table as Jacob made his way over to the bar, turning his back to the pair. R was broken out of her stupor and shivers ran down her spine. Bella grabbed R’s wrist.

“Fuck the food. We should go.”

R was speechless as she allowed herself to be dragged out to the car. Her phone was not there, but she used Bella’s cell to call Edward. Apparently he had already called several times. R was surprised he wasn’t in the area. He sounded panicked and concerned.

“I did snooping, R. The reservation is desolate. There is nothing there. I don’t know where they all went, or when —“

“I know, Edward. We need to get out of here. We’re driving to the hotel. Tell Adele to pack all their stuff up.”

“Yes.” Edward paused. “R… you did not give him any geographical information, did you? No state, no job, no friends you have?”

“No, Edward. I would never. Just… be ready when we get there.”

~~~

“Edward,” R muttered,” I’m scared.”

The pair had arrived at home. R had alerted him of the disappearance of her phone, but Edward had found it at the motel. It smelled no extra of wet dog than it had when the two had spoken at the funeral. But Edward was thorough and diligent. He was insisting they had to drop everything and move; R was opposed at first, but compromise meant they would move to Michigan after R’s letter of resignation was accepted and her vacation days for the remainder of that time period was accepted. Granted, it would take a day or so, as nobody at work was thinking of R. She had taken off a couple of extra days for the funeral, after all.

“My dear,” Edward sighed, pulling R flush against her as they lounged on the grand couch,” there’s nothing to fear. My family will be back from oversees within the day to watch over us. And even so, Jacob could never win against me.”

“He killed his entire tribe, Edward! I thought he had matured when I met him, but clearly he just used that clarity for evil. And there’s no way in hell they were just picked off one by one from what I remember about their system. He must have taken them all down at once - or at least, quickly.”

“Do not fret, my dear,” Edward mumbled, nuzzling his head into her neck and peppering sweet kissed across it. Even after many years, R still had that school-girl crush on the man, flushing a dark red from his affection. Her worries were put on the back burner in that moment as she twisted her body to face him, allowing to shift intentions of his affection.

"Edward," R muttered passionately into his delicate kiss.

“Yes, my love?” Edward’s lips moved lower as his hands slunk up up her bare waist, pulling her t-shirt with them.

“Turn me.”

Edward froze in his movements. The flirtatious air shifted and he almost appeared to be offended. His hands cupped her cheeks. “Don’t say that, my love. He’s been kept at bay all these years. He is still harmless. You have no reason to feel boxed into a corner. I don’t want you be like me.”

“But you’re the kindest man I’ve ever met, Edward. Please turn me. I can’t just rely on you and your family’s protection forever.”

“You can and you will. You’ve never wanted to turn until this moment. Think it through first, but in the meanwhile, allow me to assist in clearing your head, my love.”

[luciemggio]

Need You Now

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Inspired by the song Need You Now by Lady Antebellum

Warnings: Angst | Emotional Reunion | Healing |

1:17 A.M.

The wine in your glass had long gone warm. You weren’t sure if it was your third or fourth, and it didn’t matter. The soft glow of the TV lit the living room in flickering shadows, but you weren’t watching. The only sound was the low murmur of late-night news you weren’t listening to.

You were wearing his sweatshirt. The navy blue one that still smelled faintly like his cologne if you pressed your face into the collar—something you swore you didn’t do anymore. Something you lied to yourself about.

You weren’t okay.

Not really.

You got up. You went to work. You smiled at friends. You laughed when appropriate. You said “I’m fine” so often it became muscle memory.

But every night, at this exact hour, you felt the emptiness settle into your chest like a second skin.

That was when the phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You didn’t move at first. You just stared at it, hesitant.

Bucky

1:17 a.m.

“You up?”

You read it once. Then again.

Your heart pounded so hard it felt like your ribs would bruise from the inside.

You hadn’t spoken in three months. Not since the fight. The one where he shut down so completely it felt like a door slamming shut on your chest.

You had cried, begged, asked him to stay.

He had stood there, jaw clenched, guilt written in the lines of his face, and said, “You don’t understand what I am. What I’ve done. You shouldn’t have to love someone like me.”

And then he left.

That night, you sat on the floor for hours, staring at the door.

You hadn’t cried like that since your mother died.

And now, here he was. A text. At 1 a.m.

You stared at the screen, fingers trembling.

Then without replying, you rose and crossed the room. You unlocked the door. And opened the window, the one he used to sneak through when the world felt too loud.

Because part of you always knew he’d come back.

1:43 A.M.

The knock was soft. Hesitant. Like he was already prepared for you not to answer.

You didn’t give him a chance to knock again.

The door opened to reveal him standing there in the yellow glow of your porch light. A hoodie pulled over his head, hair damp from the fog, shadows under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in days.

He looked thinner. Sadder. Like he’d been walking through hell barefoot.

You weren’t sure if you were angry or just relieved he still looked like your Bucky under all that pain.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said softly.

He nodded, eyes scanning your face, your figure, your bare feet on the wood floor. “I know.”

Silence stretched between you like a rubber band—taut and ready to snap.

“Then why are you?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. His voice came out hoarse, cracked like glass. “Because I’ve tried everything else. Drinking. Running. Fighting ghosts. And nothing’s worked. You’re still there. In my head. In my dreams. Every night, I see your face. I hear your voice.”

He hesitated. Looked down. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

You held onto the doorknob like it was anchoring you.

“You said you needed time,” you reminded him. “You said you weren’t good for me.”

“I thought I wasn’t,” he admitted, meeting your eyes. “I thought loving you would hurt you. That leaving would protect you. But I’ve been gone for ninety-four days, and I feel like I left my ribcage behind with you.”

Your chest ached.

“I still wait for your key in the door,” you whispered.

He stepped closer. “And I still sleep on the left side. Just in case you walk back in.”

You looked up at him, breathing shallow. “I didn’t walk away.”

“I know,” he murmured. “That was my mistake. The biggest one I’ve ever made.”

The street was silent. Only the distant hum of a passing car. The world had fallen quiet enough to hear hearts breaking.

“Bucky,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. “If you walk in right now, it can’t be like before. You don’t get to disappear again.”

“I won’t,” he said immediately, firmly. “I don’t want to live like that anymore. I thought cutting you out would make me feel in control again. But I lost more than I thought I could live without.”

Another step.

“I lost you.”

You stepped aside. And he walked in.

2:05 A.M.

The room was silent. Just the hum of the fridge and the rain beginning to whisper against the windows.

You stood in the kitchen, barely a foot apart.

He looked around like nothing had changed, and yet everything had. His eyes landed on the framed photo on the shelf—your birthday last year. You in his arms. His lips pressed to your temple.

“I saw that photo in my head every night,” he said softly. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

You leaned against the counter. “I told myself I hated you for leaving. But really, I just hated how empty everything felt without you.”

He moved closer. Gently. Slowly.

“I don’t want to run anymore,” he said. “I’ve done enough running for a hundred lifetimes. I want to stop. I want to stay.”

“Do you think you can?” you asked, voice trembling. “Stay, I mean?”

His hand brushed against yours on the counter. Warm. Solid. Real.

“I don’t know how to fix everything I broke,” he admitted. “But I’ll try every day for the rest of my life to make it right.”

A beat passed.

And then you reached out and touched his face.

His eyes fluttered shut. Like that single act undid every wall he’d ever built.

“I still love you,” you whispered. “Even when I didn’t want to.”

“I never stopped,” he breathed. “Even when I told myself I had to.”

You didn’t speak again. Not with words.

You kissed him like you were trying to stitch the cracks together. Like your lips could remind him what home felt like. And he held you like you were the only thing left tethering him to this world.

You didn’t go to bed that night. You curled up on the couch like you used to, legs tangled, his head buried against your shoulder, your fingers in his hair.

And when you finally slept, it was the first time in months you didn’t wake up crying.

Later, he whispered into your neck:

“It’s a quarter after one. I’m all alone and I need you now.”

You smiled sadly, sleep heavy on your eyelids.

“You’re not alone anymore.”

[rahuratna]

Sunshine of your Love

Synopsis: A cold rainy evening, and your longing for Taishiro reaches a fever pitch. [Fat Gum/Taishiro Toyomitsu x Reader]

Rating: M

Warnings: references to explicit sex

I've been recovering from surgery and writing for this man always makes me feel better, even if I'm drugged out of my mind, lol. Bear with me and my random fixations, friends.

When it rains like this, you think of him.

There is power in white lighting, in the orchestrated swell of thunder that rides in on its wake.

It reminds you of the way he moves, parting waves of people with his considerable girth, a bright yellow buoy carried by the shift of waves.

He'd never done well in contained settings, not with his loud voice, the boisterous mannerisms, the curve of his grin threatening to split the serious air of any gathering. You'd always wondered when he'd learned to feel comfortable with taking up that space, unabashed, to plant the flag of his presence and watch it unfurl with that steadfast pride he was known for.

It was what had drawn you to him, a remora snatching at fleshy scraps.

You're still not sure what power you hold over him. It is nice, though, to gain the occasional reminder.

On evenings like this, when the air itself seems magnetized by the faint traces of unspoken words, of subtlety lost to heavy laughter and an all-too-wholesome public persona, you wish for  him with an intensity that burns away time.

You know what his career demands; the patrols, the collaborations, the appearances, the red tape over shiny new doorways, gossamer ribbons over hard agreements. It's all part of the job, and he takes it in his stride. He'd built his agency from the ground up, and the humble facade, the black mask over round, fresh-faced reliability, has become a symbol that remains ingrained in most minds.

There are those, like you, who've seen what his work truly requires, though.

You've watched him plan the downfall of drug cartels with meticulous precision, the way his eyes scan a room and immediately draw up a mental list of all capabilities, the way he assigns roles with an ease that stems from years of leading missions, the calm and patience he exercises on stakeouts because he knows full well what rushing into things will achieve.

You've seen the complex charts of calorie intake he consults in order to be prepared for larger operations. You've watched him type painstaking emails as he replies to the messages he receives from public servers and supporters. You've seen him in shorts and vest, dabbing perspiration from his neck with an old t-shirt, steadily losing mass through the day as he spent hours painting and renovating the headquarters in his signature colours.

It still surprised you, that with the time and effort he'd put into all his endeavors, that he had any time to spare for his personal affairs. As much as Taishiro was one to tread on the lighter side of life, he took his responsibilities very seriously.

It was why, when you first encountered him, and felt that burgeoning attraction rise like some kind of irrepressible sea beast, you'd done your best to eliminate it.

Quash it, stow it, fling it out the airlock into the depths of space, where it truly belonged.

Your own research career left little time for such things, to be honest. 

But then, you'd been assigned to assist him directly and you were forced to re-evaluate everything you knew about tamping down the roiling waters of simple human magnetism.

What was it about him that drew you in so helplessly?

Maybe it was the way he eyed everyone around him (including you) with those golden eyes that perceived so much, sunshine molded to a razor that split the world asunder. Maybe it was the spread of his broad shoulders, so easily dwarfing everything in a room. Maybe it was the smell of him, sweat, sugar and honey-glaze after an afternoon in the summer, or the daffodil burst of his soft, soft hair, or the way he laughed with a motion that rippled through his entire form.

It could have been the touch of those heavy hands, calloused, a worker's roughened grip, sometimes slightly sticky with whatever he'd eaten. You'd come to know those hands, their hot, probing grasp, the way they'd cut through the  air when he described something animatedly, the gentle circling of a child's ankle who had insisted on climbing him like a tree, the lackadaisical flip of thick fingers through the pages of a report and the comforting slap of his large palm across your back for a job well done.

Maybe that was it, yes. His touch, and the way it had changed over time.

You were so aware of his every motion in your presence that it didn't escape your notice when he started to touch you less.

You could tell something had changed when he no longer clapped you on the back during a hearty laugh, when his eyes tracked your form when he thought you weren't looking, when he started to leave his favourite treats behind on your desk 'by accident', when his hunger spilled over into that molten gaze in ways that made your limbs feel like they were shifting through honey.

His touch became rare, but on the occasions he (or you) couldn't resist little forms of contact, his fingers would trace the line of your body, almost unconsciously. He seemed to have memorized the curve of your spine, the hollow of your waist when he stood close to you. The space between your bodies seemed to enclose you both in increasing claustrophobia, and yet, was never quite close enough.

You had become aware of his breath on the back of your neck when he leaned in to pore over schematics with you, of the rough, gentle graze of his stubble over your cheek when he turned his head (accidental), the way his voice took on a new, deeper, husky sweetness when he called you his darling, his sweetheart, his little bird.

He was strong, passionate, driven, a man who played the comforting fortress, all while wrapping you in the increasingly easy charm he didn't even seem to know he possessed.

He compelled your thoughts on rainy evenings like this, all because you were helpless to the courtship unfurling in all its honest primacy between the two of you.

In the sanctity of your home, far from the flash of intrusive cameras, the shuffle of booted feet and the sirens that blare through city streets at night, he finds a haven in you.

His touch is no longer uncertain, feeling along the uncertain edges of what is acceptable to the both of you.

He knows what you want, and he gives it to you with all the grace you never knew his eight foot frame could contain.

Taiahiro knows how much you love his large hands tracing your form fully, his mouth latched to your shoulder, his hot breath ghosting along your collarbones. He knows how much you love the metallic zing of his zipper coming undone, the heat of the fire on both of you. He knows how much you long for the feel of his body on yours, the fine golden hairs raising under your fingertips.

On rainy days like this one, he knows how you wait for him, to mop up the water from his hair with a towel, the way the moisture from his skin transfers to yours as he presses you against him, no clothes forming unnecessary barriers.

Taishiro loves when your body arches and bends for him, when your fingers leave scarlet traces down his back and shoulders, when your teeth sink into his bicep and you slap and clutch at his chest. He loves how you cry and writhe and beg him to stop, stop, no keep going as he grinds and swivels in breathtaking abandon against and inside you.

He knows how the evening swallows your gasps and his pants, the endless dive of lovemaking into a hazy afternoon sea, your entwined fingers reaching for the distant shore of sanity that neither of you really want to reach. 

Taishiro knows how much you want, want, want, an endless break of your body's waves on the reef of his desire.

He knows he can make you come endlessly, one sobbing breath bleeding into another as he loves you, moves you, presses you face-first into the bed sheets. He knows that your appetite for him is ceaseless, for the swell of his stomach against yours, the creak of the bed beneath his weight, the trembling in your thighs around his waist as he eases himself deeper, earning every broken cry from your lips.

You know that it's only over when you've both been thoroughly satiated, which takes a considerable time, considering both your appetites.

He is yours, and you, his. The simplicity of it is delineated, traced out in the clear lines of the window frame that reveal the storm raging outside.

In here, you give him everything of yourself, a surrender of all that is you. How can you provide anything else? When it comes to him, you're not sure how to give any less.

An hour has passed, and the rain shows no sign of letting up.

A key slots into the latch and the door swings open, somewhere downstairs. His voice ascends to you, a convection current in a pre-warmed oven.

"Sweetheart, you up?"

"Here," you call down to him. "Leave your wet clothes in the hamper. I've run you a bath."

"Now that's what I'm talking about. Say, you got towels up there, or you need me to bring up some - "

The words peter out in his throat, as he spies you, where you await him at the top of the stairs. You are dressed in one of his large shirts, the material thinned with age, the outline of your breasts making it clear that you aren't wearing anything beneath. One of your hands traces up your inner thigh, lifting the hem, moving up, up, to where you want him the most.

He is silent now, remnants of the downpour outside dripping from his golden hair to the mat below, one of his shoes half off.

Then his foot is on the first stair, and afterwards, in seemingly no time at all, he is beside you.

Thunder cracks a heavenly whip, loud and with no sign of easing off. You don't look away from him.

"Sounds like the storm's going to go on for a while."

He breathes his answer out, reverent, heat washing over your throat.

"Sure hope it does, sweetheart."

[dokidokistart]

link to the store here

[fromdove]

THINGS YOU DO THAT THE BATBOYS FIND ATTRACTIVE ! batboys x reader

“God, you’re impossible. And I’m so screwed, because I think I’d let you ruin me.”

— fem!reader, suggestive thoughts in jasons & bruces part (maybe dick too??)

© fromdove— All rights reserved. Reposting, translation, or modification of these works is strictly prohibited, regardless of whether credit is given.

∿　 　 . `💭` ㆍ

JASON TODD

the way you hold eye contact when you're angry

It started as a slow simmer—your voice, low and clipped, each word deliberate, sharp enough to slice through the heavy Gotham air. Jason wasn’t even sure what the hell you were mad about anymore. The way your eyes were locked on his, unwavering, lit from within by something electric—it drowned out everything else.

You stood across the room, spine straight, chest rising with each measured breath. Not yelling. Not crying. Just...burning. And looking at him.

There was something about that. The way you didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Like you could take every jagged, bloodstained part of him and still meet him dead-on, like you’d never blink first. It made his heart twist in his chest, something old and animal uncoiling inside him. He’d faced down murderers, monsters, lowlife scumbags—but the fury in your gaze made his throat go dry. Not because he feared it. Because he wanted to touch it. touch you.

You took a step forward, the kind that didn’t echo but reverberated, and that subtle movement—how your hands stayed relaxed at your sides, how your mouth didn’t tremble when you spoke—undid him.

“Don’t try to bullshit me, Jason.”

There was a beat. One taut, blistering moment where the only thing louder than your breath was the pounding in his ears.

And then he laughed. Just a breath of it, almost involuntary. The kind of laugh you get when something hurts and turns you on at the same time. He didn’t even mean to. It just escaped him.

You frowned, and that only made it worse. He wanted to bite your lip just to see if your mouth would still taste like fire when it was pressed against his. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you so hard it left bruises.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful when you’re pissed,” he murmured, voice low and hoarse, almost reverent.

You blinked at that—but didn’t back down. And the way your stare softened just a fraction, that flicker of confusion folding into resolve again... yeah. That did it. That almost ended him right then and there.

He stepped closer, slow, deliberate, like approaching a lit fuse. His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to touch, to pull, to anchor.

“You gonna hit me?” he asked, tone dark and dangerous and barely hanging on.

You tilted your chin up. “Wouldn’t waste the energy.”

God. That. That right there. The grit in your voice. He could live off that kind of defiance. He wanted to.

Jason had never been good at softness. He didn’t know what to do with people who crumbled. But you—? You held his gaze like a storm, like a girl who could kill him with her silence, and suddenly, all he wanted to do was beg for a second chance to make you smile again.

Not because he deserved it. Because he’d die trying to.

DICK GRAYSON

the way you reach for him in your sleep

It starts small. Always does. You shift once, twice—barely there. Then your hand moves, unthinking. Across sheets warm with your shared heat, it searches.

You don’t know you're doing it. That’s what makes it criminal. You’re not asking to be loved in that moment. You’re assuming it. Trusting the world to place him where he belongs: next to you.

And Dick—poor, cursed Dick—is already awake.

He lies still, pretending. Letting you find him. Every nerve is alight, tuned to the sound of your breath, the whisper of cotton as your wrist brushes the inside of his arm. Then—finally—your hand finds his chest, right over the scar where a blade once tried to make him quiet forever.

Your fingers twitch. Then still. Then curl.

And that’s it. That’s all it takes.

He’s not thinking about villains or masks or the weight of his last name. He’s not worried about who’s watching, or whether he’s enough. He’s just a man now.

A man undone by the way you, unconscious and vulnerable, reach for him like he’s home. Like your body knows him, wants him, chooses him—without performance, without pride.

And it’s just so fucking sweet. The sweetness that life had never thought him deserving of—never bothered to offer, as if the universe had forgotten him in some quiet corner—was suddenly there, in you. And only then did he realize what he had been starved of.

There’s something maddening about your vulnerability—how you press against him in sleep, skin warm and scent-heavy, mouth parted just slightly. Innocent, yes. But not harmless.

Not to him.

He could write an entire religion based on the way your breath hitches when his hand covers yours. He could burn entire cities if someone tried to pull you away while you sleep.

Because this—this secret, sacred moment where you choose him without knowing— is the kind of thing he’s never let himself want.

But now that he’s had it, he knows.

He’ll want it forever.

BRUCE WAYNE

the way you tilt your chin when you're defiant

It is the tiniest gesture—a tilt of the chin, so slight it might pass for nothing at all. But to him? It is semaphore, a flare in the dusk, a gauntlet tossed with exquisite subtlety.

You do it when you disagree. Not with loud words or theatrics. No. You just raise your chin. Barely. As if your body is saying, “I’m not afraid of you.”“I’ll meet you there, if you push.”

And God help him, he wants to push.

You do this thing where your jaw tightens just slightly, where your eyes go sharp and patient at the same time—like you’ve already calculated the cost of standing your ground and decided to pay it anyway.

You look… royal. As though Gotham’s grime never dared graze your skin. Like tragedy tried and failed. Like you’d walk into fire if it meant protecting what’s yours.

And that infuriates him.

Because Bruce—Bruce—knows what defiance costs. He’s worn it like armor. Bled for it. Buried people because of it.

But when you do it?

It doesn’t look like self-destruction. It looks like purpose. Power. Something beautiful he was never allowed to have.

He wants to touch your face when you tilt your chin like that. Wants to grab your wrist and pull you into him—not to overpower, but to understand. To memorize the blueprint of that defiance. To feel it against his mouth.

You make silence feel like war. And he’s losing.

Because there is something deeply, dangerously erotic about a woman who doesn’t flinch when she should. Who doesn’t soften to make him comfortable. Who looks at the darkest thing in him—and doesn’t look away.

He’s not used to being watched like that. He’s not used to wanting to be watched like that.

And every time you lift that chin, he’s reminded of exactly how easy it would be to give up the act, the mask, the fiction of the untouchable man—

—all for one person who sees him and doesn't look away.

[tojipie]

˚ ✧ ────────

you’re 5 minutes into your first round and to be quite honest, you’ve never been more sure that fushiguro toji and his god given ability to dirty talk is something you’ll take to your grave.

you’d been with other guys before, ones with a nasty habit of running their mouths during sex. ones that’d grab you by the neck and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were, how they couldn’t wait to fuck you again.

toji is entirely different. nothing, and i truly mean nothing, compares to that old man when it comes to mouthing off in the bedroom. he’s formulating sentences you never thought possible, spewing stuff that would have you clutching your pearls and running for the hills any other given day.

you’re holding onto your composure by your teeth hearing him say the things he does, thighs and arms burning as you rock back and forth on his dick.

“take what you need pretty. uh huh, keep fucking me,” he chuckles, winding a fist into your hair to pull you back onto his cock when he notices you trying to crawl away.

you honestly don’t think you can take it anymore. if the way your guts were currently being pummeled into oblivion wasn’t enough, the way he’s talking to you right now has you in crisis.

it’s all too good, suspiciously good, and embarrassingly enough, you think you might be nearing your edge only 7 minutes after making it to his bed. your arms fail you as you try to crawl up the bed and away from the too-good feeling currently frying every wire in your brain.

“awww, you runnin’ from me?,” he laughs, letting your hair go to cage you in from behind, two solid arms settling on either side of your head.

your words escape you each time you muster up a response, eyes rolling back and he takes over again, shoving you face down and absolutely destroying that special spot tucked away inside of you. toji’s like a furnace, cooking you alive with the heat the radiates add his abs and chest.

“told ya you couldn’t handle it,” he teases, watching you writhe under him. “not with this dick.”

you feel something wet—a tongue you realize— traveling up the base of your spine and tapering off at your neck before solid teeth clamp down on the skin there.

okay, wow. fuck. you realize he’d lapped up the moisture settling in the dip of your back, licking the sweat from your skin like an animal.

“gonna let me taste every part of you? hmm?” he says in that too sweet voice you only hear when he’s teasing. he lets go of your neck with a pop to admire the bruise his bite leaves in its wake, sucking another one right under it for good measure.

you fall over the edge with no warning, so overwhelmed with pleasure that your mind and body continue to work separately.

the sound toji makes is beautiful. low, long, and guttural. radiating from the deepest part of his chest like a fan, and for a minute, you think he might be feeling the same overwhelming pleasure you are.

“ughh-hah don’t move, don’t move,” he whispers over and over, massaging the fat of your ass while your body flutters around him. you feel something viscous leak out of you, dripping down the seam of your heat and onto the sheets.

“when the fuck did you have time to cum?,” you finally muster. you don’t think you’d be able to move if your life depended on it, limbs sinking into the mattress like tubes of jelly. you really can’t move once you feel 200 pounds of laughing muscle settle on top of you, keeping you grounded like a paperweight on a measly little envelope.

“what, y’ quitting on all of this?” he laughs, gesturing up and down himself so you know just how irresistible he thinks he is. the worst part is that he’s right, just based off of how hard he’d rocked your world in the last 10 or so minutes.

you feel invigorated by some stroke of a miracle, pressing back on his still-leaking dick as a silent invitation.

“what, more? y’need more of me you little minx?” he laughs, grrriiiinding his tip right up against that fleeting spot you would have never been able to get to on your own.

and just like that he’s back to fucking you, pulling you into him like a toy at that same perfect pace.

“bite me hard if y’ want me to stop, you hear me?” he commands, shoving your face back into the pillows once he sees you nod.

[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

[dollfacefantasy]

kinktober day 20 - size kink jason todd x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, size kink, tummy bulge

"That's it, baby. Take it all. Oh, look at you go. Being so brave for me."

On the surface the words are soothing, but the tone of Jason's voice fills each syllable with condescension. Not in a bad way. The sickly sweet lilt strikes the perfect chord that has you wetter than any body of water on this earth.

Your hips rise and fall in measure rolls, your cunt embracing his thick cock with every motion. You have to take it slow. Otherwise, you feel like you'll tear yourself in half.

"Jay…" you whimper, lip wobbling and eyes gleaming with the need for him to coddle you, "You're so…"

A sharp whine from your throat cuts off your own words. Your head tilts back and then hangs forward. His tip brushes your sweet spot every time you sink down on him. It makes it nearly impossible to remain coherent. You'd never met somebody who could make you malfunction like this.

"I'm so what?" he coos, prompting you to finish your statement. He already knew the words on the tip of your tongue, but he still wanted to hear them spoken into the drafty air of your apartment.

"You're so big," you choke out.

Another moan falls from your lips before you grit your teeth. Your face scrunches up in tandem with your walls clenching around his length. Vaguely, you hear him chuckle. He then pulls you close and cradles you against his chest.

"And you like that, don't you?" he whispers.

He slumps further down on the couch. His feet press hard against the smooth wooden floor beneath the two of you. The muscles in his thighs flex as he begins to pump his hips up and down. You whine and clutch at his meaty bicep, melting against his warm skin and letting him do all the work right now.

You nearly forget he asked a question at all until he continues speaking.

"I know you do, doll. You like that when you're with me, you're helpless. Don't have to think. Don't have to move. Don't have to do anything but let me use this sweet, little pussy till I'm satisfied," he says.

Your toes curl, your thighs clamping around his own. The pressure doesn't stop him from moving though, not in the slightest. You inhale sharply before nodding against his neck. Of course, you like this. You love it.

You could never get enough of Jason's body. You'd study it forever if he let you. Your pupils felt magnetized whenever they had the chance to drift along his chiseled torso or mentally map the pathways of his scars. Adoration wasn't a strong enough word for how you felt in regards to his figure. Obsession seemed more appropriate.

Fortunately for you, Jason behaved much the same about your body.

In the mornings when he thought sleep still had a strong hold on you, he'd run his fingers over every curve he could find. He'd knead the swell of your ass and press tender kisses between your shoulder blades. As you'd start to wake, he'd wrap his hands around your waist and nearly pop a boner right then and there from how large they looked in comparison.

His favorite thing in the world after a long grueling patrol fast became coming home to you. Not even thirty minutes with your delicate body washed away all the stress caused by hard and rough people he dealt with beyond these walls. Some nights he'd prop your dainty legs over his broad shoulders and dive into your slippery cunt. Other nights he'd get right down to it, shoving his fat cock inside you and watching your belly bulge with the intrusion.

Tonight hadn't been either of those. He'd been home for a change. But having you curled up to his side and pressed against him while he read a book got him worked up pretty fast. It wasn't his fault the two of you just seemed to fit so naturally together.

"My good girl. Soft and sweet all for me," he praises as he continues fucking up into you. His heavy balls lightly slap against your ass with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulder as the repetitive strokes start to build on one another. Small, whimpered expletives drip from your lips like a leaky faucet. He knows you're getting there. All he has to do is ramp up his efforts a little.

His hands lock around your waist like they do on hazy mornings. Just like then, he's obsessed with the way your skin dimples beneath his digits now. He boosts you back and starts bouncing you up and down in addition to his thrusts.

Your eyes roll back at the sensation and you take your bottom lip between your teeth. You don't have to do anything in this position still. He's strong enough to hold you upright all by himself. The only thing you had to do was like he said - stay still and let yourself be used.

"Can never get enough of you, baby, fuck," he grunts. His head falls back against the sagging cushion as he keeps working himself into you over and over. He glances back up at you slightly. "Is it feeling good?"

"Mhm," you whine, "So fuckin' good. So deep. All the way inside."

Your head bobbles around with the way he jerks you up and down on his lap. He smirks at your words and the airy way you say them.

"I know. I can see it," he responds, eyes flitting down to that faint and familiar bump. Evidence of his place inside you.

You only whimper in response. He drops you back down against his chest so one of his hands can slot against your center and rub your clit in fast, tight circles. The flickering feeling draws even more noises of pleasure from you.

The edge sneaks up on the both of you fast. You fall over it first. Your body spasms and seizes between his hands, but his strong grip is enough to keep you in place. For him, it explodes in a muted burst of ecstasy before burning into a brighter one. He wraps his arms around your smaller frame and keeps you flush against his sweaty skin as he fucks his load deep inside.

The both of you stay there while you come down. His chest puffs up and down with deep breaths. Even with all his exertion, his hand rubs soothing stripes along the column of your spine. You lie against him completely motionless, limp against the muscles of his chest. A little pleasure doll all for him to play with.

[papayadays]

my man - ln4

⋆˚✿˖° lando just won monaco, but it was supposed to your night with him ⋆˚✿˖° inspired by miss possessive for my so close to what event ⋆˚✿˖° wc: 2.1k+ | a/n: this was finished at 12 am for lando monaco win so sorry it took me forever (so happy for lando)

SASS CAFE WAS BUZZING WELL INTO MIDNIGHT. lando had just won monaco, and of course, it called for a big celebration with his friends. honestly, was it really a lando norris win without a rager? there were celebrities galore, such were lando’s connections, and you even saw kylian mbappe hanging around. rounds of shots had been passed around, with most partygoers buzzed within the first hour or two.

it was how you expected—bass thrumming, lights down low, people crowded together as they attempted to dance to the beat. and there in the middle of it was your boyfriend, the race winner. from lights out to lap 78, it had been a whirlwind, but it ended with you tearing up as you watched lando beam, triumphant, so it was all worth it. had you almost pulled out your hair due to nerves? no comment. had your heart pounded with glee and pride? most definitely.

but it all worked out in the end. lando deserved the stars, in your unbiased opinion, and you knew how much this meant to him. c’mon, it was the monaco grand prix. historic. iconic. magic. and lando, your lando, had won it. in a beautiful, perfect victory no less. how were you supposed to be normal about that? 

the whole time you were fidgeting with whatever was on hand, and a few curse words were muttered, but god, was it worth the anxiety. cisca and adam were also there, a highlight of your day as cisca gave you one of her unique bangles for good luck, and adam narrated everything in extreme detail. they were genuinely some of the sweetest people you’d ever met; it was clear where lando got it from.

you headed back towards the center of action, where lando and his mates were cheering and making a poor attempt to dance to the music. drinks in hand, you stopped in your tracks as you saw what was in front of you.

baby blue eyes wandered up and down your boyfriend’s figure, and a red lip caught by teeth made your blood boil. her outfit certainly didn’t help either; a skintight dress that landed high on her thigh with a slit. the girl leaned over, and you almost rolled your eyes. it was clear she was trying to get lando’s attention, and you didn’t like it. to be honest, it was like watching the fia make decisions: annoying, irrational, and pointless. now, you didn’t—couldn’t—move as you watched her blonde hair sweep over her shoulders, model physique moving closer to lando in that short orange dress of hers that you knew was for attention.

she was beautiful, anyone could see that she had the kind of natural beauty many women would envy. but you kept watching, frozen, as she squeezed his shoulder and giggled way too hard at whatever joke lando was making, shoulders shaking. and your boyfriend was too kind and outgoing to notice, bless his soul. he was oblivious, much to your surprise.

but the initial shock washed off, and a spark ignited inside you. you had already let the rest of the world have their moment with lando after his win. you let zak brown terrorize him. you stood off to the side and let the team have their share of champagne showers and helmet pats. you saw his parents squeeze him tightly, pride shining in their eyes. you went with him to interact with his fans and noticed him taking some time with the random famous partygoers. hell, you even watched on in disbelief as jenson button brazenly flirted with him, charm in full force as he teased lando about “monaco, baby”. everyone else had gotten their time with lando, and it was finally your turn now. or, it should have been.

it was akin to watching a wildlife documentary or something of the sort as the girl’s eyes flitted over your boyfriend yet again, a kind of ravenous desire in her eyes, like watching predator and prey. you knew what she saw—a famous and handsome f1 driver who had just taken a big victory here in monaco. yeah, you knew what she, and countless others,  wanted: to run around and go home with a winner, someone with the status and fame. she wanted a star. she wanted your boyfriend.

something twisted under your ribcage, not a sharp pang but a slow, torturous grind. this wasn’t the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last. the tabloids had made it clear that you were different from the women lando had dated before, that you were cut from a different cloth. the “not a model and more of a normal person” cloth. and honestly? you didn’t expect lando to stay forever; you knew there would be an expiration date. his lifestyle was a magnet for girls like the one with your boyfriend right now, and let’s be real, athletes clearly dated models. part of you thought he saw you as a new challenge, a new kind of conquest that was nice before he went back to his old ways. and you supposed that you were fine with that, despite how it sounded. you liked lando, and it would be good while it lasted.

but tonight, he was yours. not hers. and she really needed to get her hands off your man before you were about to snap.

“lan, baby, here’s your drink,” you hummed, voice dripping with honey as you draped your arm around lando’s neck. you gave the girl a once-over, but if she noticed, she didn’t let on.

“thanks, love,” lando grinned, pecking your lips quickly but still giving you a taste of the champagne he had been drinking. you cast a side glance at the girl, smug as you ran your fingers through your boyfriend’s hair. lando waved his hand, the corner of his mouth quirking up at the sight of you as he introduced you to the girl. “this is my girlfriend, who i really appreciate got me drinks.” you snorted, playfully hitting his arm.

“nice to meet you,” the girl beamed, but you knew she couldn’t have been that happy to see you, as evident from the way the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. she reached over and patted your arm, nails skimming over your skin in a way that made you stiffen. quite frankly, you didn’t know why she was keeping up the pretense that she really seemed to like you. you hardly knew her, how was she acting like you two were about to become besties? “lando’s such a great guy, you must be very lucky.”

lucky. ha. if only she knew that was actually how you felt. as irritated as you were, you weren’t about to let her see that she had struck a nerve. “oh, i don’t know if it’s luck,” you chuckled, trying to ease the tightness in your jaw. you were already a few drinks in which made you much less cautious than how you usually acted, more reckless and unbothered. “you know fate has a way of bringing two people together.” you took a sip of your drink, trying your best to feign nonchalant indifference and not let her get what she wanted.

“and i’m glad it did,” lando chimed in, a soft, reverent gaze in his eyes.

 he tended to get sentimental when he got drunk, and today was no exception. you chuckled, cupping his cheek for a second as if to ground him. he was making things easier for you, making it easier to prove your point. your hands left lando, fixing your outfit with indifference as you sat down on the couch next to him, one of his arms instinctively wrapping around your waist.

before you could do anything else, max and pietra walked over, with the latter smiling and rushing to hug the girl who had been hovering around lando. so apparently she was p’s friend. okay, well, so be it. your legs shifted closer to lando, and his hands went under your knees, pulling your legs over his, amusement sparkling in his eyes. with a knowing smirk, he leaned forward, voice low and teasing. “i know what you’re trying to do.” his lips almost brushed the shell of your ear.

“and?” you huffed, tilting your head as if to dare him to quit first. “you got a problem with that, lan?” to add to it, you splayed a hand across lando’s chest, playfully kissing his cheek and pushing him back as he tried to be a little shit and get up.

lando opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as max nudged him, bringing you two back out of your bubble. “oh, we were just talking about you,” the girl added, not bothering to add further elaboration until the awkwardness started to settle like a cold front. “i was just asking p why we didn’t see you at all during the race.” wow, now you knew what it was like for lando in the media pen and the horde of press that loved to stir random things up.

composing yourself, you smiled and laughed like a champ, twisting a ring on your finger to ground yourself. “i’m not one for the spotlight,” you shrugged, leaning into lando, who was animatedly chatting with max about something he saw in the paddock. for a heartbeat, your breath caught at the way the purple light caught on the angles of his face and his wide beam as his hands were gesturing, clearly in the middle of telling a story. you couldn’t help but smile, your boyfriend was happy, and that’s what made you happy as well. he was just…a star, the dazzling sun, and you loved him.

the girl wasn’t impressed, blue eyes narrowing at you as she fixed her hair. she could act indifferent. still, you were so sure that she’d lay a hand on your boyfriend again. “lando, are you staying in monaco for a bit?” she asked, voice saccharine, almost a croon. “maybe the race winner should do a victory lap sometime.” the implication in her tone was obvious; if not, the way she was looking at lando like she was asking him to do her a favor was clear.

you almost rolled your eyes to the back of your head at the girl’s giggle. why the hell was she all over your man? kylian mbappe was literally right there. anyone else except lando, in your humble, unbiased opinion. “i’d appreciate it if you kept your hands off my man.” your eyes met the girl’s, hoping your glare didn’t waver.

lando moved his hand to your knee, giving you a small squeeze as a shit-eating grin stretched across his face, leaning back with an air of superiority. knowing him, he probably thought it was entertaining watching you fight off other girls.

the girl opened her mouth to say something before turning back to lando. “you know where to find me,” she purred in lando’s ear, metaphorically swiping her claws at you with the barbed smile she gave. with that, she walked off with an air of arrogance, presumably to find pietra.

you scoffed, wrapping your arms around lando’s neck. his grin widened, enjoying your extra attention. he closed his eyes as your fingers ran through his brown curls, gentle and bold, a juxaposition. as lando trailed soft kisses to your jaw, you shot a glance at the girl over his shoulder, blowing a mocking kiss to her. she so wished she was you. but alas, she could only wish.

“y’know, you become so vicious when you’re jealous,” lando smirked, the sound low and teasing, nuzzling into your neck. his hands roamed up and down your sides, squeezing your hips in a way that tempted you, looking like the cat who got the cream. “i love it. trying to stake your claim on me?”

it twisted something in you, some part of you that was happy at his pride over you being jealous. everything he did seemed to cater to your needs, honestly. “just didn’t like the way she was looking at you,” you mumbled, suddenly bashful as you ducked your head. “like she wanted the winner to herself when you’re mine.”

something flickered in lando’s eyes, some emotion you couldn’t place—it made you want to reach out and fall into the abyss of his eyes. he leaned forward, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him. “yeah? yours?” he grinned, voice soft as his eyes sparkled. and really, how were you supposed to not love him?

“yeah, mine.”

[chastiefoul]

love and deepspace men when you (playfully) reject their kiss ft. zayne, xavier, rafayel

fluff, fluff, FLUFF

zayne

his kiss landed on the outer corner of your lips instead as you turned away at the very last second as he leaned in

he just stared at you for a solid five seconds.

“was this because i left you on read this afternoon?” his voice was soft, uncertainty danced across his feature. you just shrugged, turning away from him to hide the smile you’ve been trying really hard to suppress.

he grabbed a hold of your waist first, keeping you in place. he saw the shameless smile on your face, couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle of his own. “should’ve known.”

you laughed, “but you did left me on read, how dare you?” his thumb moved up and down on your side as he made no change on his expression, like doing a gesture he didn’t even realize doing it. “alright then, i apologize for not replying within twenty minutes, since i did give you a call as soon as i was available.”

you put your hands on either side of his cheeks, he leaned into the touch. of course, it didn’t bothered you one bit when he didn’t reply right away since you knew very well how demanding his job was.

you planted a sweet kiss on his lips, you could feel his little smile as you pulled away. “good work today, zayne.”

“hm, then surely you would indulge me more of that for a moment longer?”

xavier

he’s quiet for a moment; he did kiss you, but he didn’t know why you’d turn your head on the last second like that as he kissed you on the cheek instead.

he casted his gaze downwards, looking like a rejected kitten in a pouring rain searching for its owner.

your heart squeezed at the adorable act, lifting his chin with your palm. he tilted his head questioningly, the words was obvious on his face. did i do something wrong today? were you mad?

xavier stared at you as he recalled today’s events, but he reached his wits end pretty fast since he still had no idea why you’d reject his kiss.

you then giggled at his clueless expression, and xavier immediately understood that you’re being playful. he let out a little sigh of relief, embracing you. his neck deep at the crook of your neck, his soft hair tickling you in the best way possible.

“you’re too playful at times,” he mumbled, he looked like he had all the peace in the world. “sorry, will you forgive me?” you ran your fingers through the back of his head. “i’ll forgive  you if you promise not to reject my kiss ever again,” he said.

you laughed, “okay then, if you insist.”

rafayel

oh. he looked so offended beyond belief. you’d think someone had insulted his painting; a product from his passion and effort. but to think it’s just a face he made because you didn’t want him to kiss you.

“i see what this is,” he started, the dramatic side of him just wouldn’t let this slide. you challenged, “yeah? what is it?”

“you tell me. this is just the beginning isn’t it. first you reject my kiss, next thing i know you’d be packing your bags, telling me you’ve fallen out of love.” he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his pout was the most exaggerated as it’s ever been.

you had to hold your laugh so hard, you covered your mouth with your fist. “it was just a kiss rafayel, i wasn’t feeling it.” you replied, trying your best to sound serious.

“wasn’t feeling it?” he gasped, like you just insulted his whole entire bloodline. he put up a palm in front of your face, like refraining you to say more controversial things. he took a deep breath to calm himself, “it’s fine, it’s not like i was eager to kiss you either.” he mumbled like he was talking to himself, although it’s obvious he’s being a little loud on purpose. also, lies. he practically bounced on air when he approached you.

finally a laugh escaped you, rafayel looked at you and he just fumed. “just so you know i expect you to make up for all the emotional distress i just went through.” you laughed a little more as you grabbed a hold of his face. “i would kiss you many times to make it up but i think someone just said he wasn’t really that eager to kiss me?” you raised an eyebrow.

his eyes lit up for a moment at the mention of a kiss, and next second he looked around frantically to make an excuse. “it’s okay i understand, fighting that many wanderers who make a lot of strange screeching noises? it’d disturb your hearing a little. i said i was eager to kiss you.” he smiled, nodding to himself. you laughed once more at his ridiculousness.

“sure, let’s go with that excuse.” you kissed him and when you pulled away he held your head, giving you multiple kisses before he let you go with a grin.

[stellawish]

precious

summary: just cuteness thats it

MY LOVE❤️‍🔥

he’s not up yet?

nah steel sleeping😴

okay omw

Satoru looked away from the phone and glanced at his son. He rubbed his still-closed eyes with tiny fists. Gojo expected crying, but his baby just sighed.

Your son almost always woke up without fuss, greeting you or Satoru with his sweet smile. But lately, he’s been crying more often during that fine line between the sweet remnants of sleep and waking up. Teething is to blame.

Satoru turned to his side, placed his large palm on Haru’s plump belly, and slowly stroked it. "Papa’s here."

Although Gojo always sulks when the little boy sleeps (since his baby is so cute and he always wants to play with him), there have been times when he accidentally woke Haru during naps because he kissed and poked his chubby son too hard. You always scold him for that.

But now he understands that his little one sleeps restlessly, so he tries to protect his light sleep.

Lost in thought, Gojo didn’t notice any movement beside him until he felt tiny fingers wrapping around his much larger one.

Haru turned his head and smiled sweetly, revealing dimples on his flushed cheeks.

"Hi, baby! Did you have a good nap?"

Your son stretched his short arms, then rolled onto his stomach, smiling shyly. Gojo pulled him closer, supporting his back. Sitting next to him, Haru rubbed his sleepy eyes and yawned.
Gojo kissed his son’s soft tummy.

Haru moved even closer to his father, rubbing his chubby cheek against Gojo's like a kitten.

"Aww, my baby!"

Your husband definitely passed on the gene for the love of physical contact to his boy.

Satoru cooed, "I missed you too! Now tell Papa, what dreams did you have? Was Mama there?" Haru babbled as if answering the question.

When you said you gave birth to an exact copy of Gojo, you weren't even kidding. Besides the identical appearance, your son was just as talkative as his papa.

Gojo lay on his back and put his son on top. Haru reached out his hands to Papa's face and patted his cheeks while giggling. Satoru wiped the drool from his rosy lips and stroked his soft cheek.

"You're the most precious baby in the whole world," Gojo cooed.

"Ahuu"

more dad!gojo and Haru HERE

guys if you want me to add you to my taglist lmk

luv you!💫

all rights reserved ©stellawish. do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.

[teojira]

[Click Click Boom] [Shadow x Reader short stories]

Summary: You're set to be Shadow's companion to keep an eye on him and keep him in line, a courtesy from the goverment for him saving the world with Sonic and the others.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: Can be read as platonic or romantic! Shadow/reader romance is implied though! You're human in this, age is vague but you're meant to be in your 20s.

Disclaimer: Shadow is an adult, and as for the furry debate, he's literally an adult who can consent and is sentient, don't like? Don't read!

A/N: I've literally been obsessed with this fucker since I was a literal child and it's the first time I've written for him!! The trailer yas me going insane. This is written well before the movie has come out, literally all I got to work with is Shadow in the trailer and the bits and pieces of info I psychoanalized so I don't wanna hear shit about it not being accurate tbh, this is self indulgent!!

Shadow isn't the worst task you've been assigned, you both are more akin to awkward roommates more than anything.

I'm talking randomly lingering in the corners of the room, his bright red eyes glowing and they always seemed to be locked right onto you.

You screamed the first dozen times, but now you just glare at the black hedgehog and spit out a "fuck you." and go about your business.

He'll never admit that it brings him infinite amusement, it's hard to tell, but the huff he lets out is evidence enough.

Shadow will never admit he cares for you, he loses everyone he cares for, and humans don't live that long. It's terrifying to think about how much he's come to like you.

He's not nearly as slick as he thinks he is.

You're sitting down at the dinner table, typing away on your laptop, editing the mission report from the other day when Shadow makes his way towards you. Sending him a nod in his direction, you don't think of anything when he moves in close.

A huge slam takes you off guard though, jumping damn near out of your skin as you twist your head to look at him.

"What the fuck-"

"Take it."

It's one of Shadow's guns, his emblem being engraved along the stock.

"What? No, I have guns." You raise an eyebrow at the hog, his face is perfectly still, eyes locking onto yours as he waits for you to grab the heckler.

"Your guns are worthless, you need something better."

"Well excuse me, I so happen to like my guns." You try and joke back, but the offense is taken.

Shadow rolls his eyes so hard you're scared that he's gonna blind himself. Jutting his chin towards the table once more to get your focus back onto it.

"If you have one of mine, I know you're safe." He doesn't elaborate. Not that he needs to.

"...Thank you, Shad."

All you get is a grunt in response, and he's on his way back to his room.

Gingerly picking up the weapon, you take in how pristine it is, a thumb caressing your small initials that you missed on the other side of the stock.

With Shadow saving the world, the reeking of havoc makes it to where he's limited to what he is allowed to do in the public eye.

Not that he listens, he isn't supposed to be out after curfew. But to be fair, it is extremely hard to keep a teleporting hedgehog confined to a meager two-story house.

You can hear him teleport above you, he's on the roofs of the nearby building, leering down at you.

It was a small errand you were on, simply stocking up on the essentials for the house.

Namely, snacks for Shadow, he doesn't ask for a lot other than coffee beans and Doritos.

You are choosing to ignore the fact that he eats the coffee beans straight up, the crunch echoes through your head and it sends a shudder down your spine.

He was adamant against you leaving the house this late, standing in front of the front door.

"No."

"Fuck you mean no?"

"I said no."

"....I don't listen to men."

And you weaved around him to leave the house, ignoring his shout of disapproval.

That leads you both to here now, you pretending you don't see him trailing you from the rooftops as you walk your way back home from the small shopping center.

You feign surprise when he opens the house door for you, begrudgingly sticking a hand out to help you with your bags.

"Oh! Thank you my knight in shining armor~"

"Shut it."

He's never told you his birthday, which you can understand, living for 50 years and not having your family around must be hard. No matter how he may fake that it doesn't bother him.

That doesn't stop you, not in the slightest really. You damn near kick him out of the house for the day, shoving him over to Tom and Maddie's house so he can be with the others. Despite how much he protested.

"I don't want to go over there. Not with that blue fake."

"You don't really have a choice bub, I need you out of the house."

"I don't understand why I have to-"

"Keep arguing with me and I will make it a point to not buy you shit next grocery trip."

It's an empty threat, but he grunts nonetheless.

"...."

"That's what I thought."

When he finally gets home from his long and admittedly overstimulating day with the Wachowskis, he's ready to recharge in his room.

He teleports through the house door, sighing and rubbing at his temples as he moves to kick off his shoes, knowing that if he doesn't, you'd chastise him for not doing so.

Something about tracking dirt and rocket fuel into the carpet.

Whatever.

After trying to massage his brain through his fur, he opens his eyes up to see a colorful banner strung across the mantle.

'Happy birthday!' It screams, in its disgustingly neon color palette.

Shadow wracks his brain for any information of it being your birthday, he knows for a fact it isn't today. A friend you're throwing a party for? Well, that makes no sense, he knows very well you don't have many friends, especially any that you'd invite your house up for.

You're antisocial to a fault, not that he has absolutely any room to talk.

He hears you before he sees you, turning the corner into the living room, carrying some balloons in your hands. A stupid little party hat on your head.

"Shadow! What are you doing back so early?"

Kicking off the last shoe, he stands at his full height, staring into your eyes with a shrug.

"I wasn't aware I had a time."

"....fair enough, anyways, fuck, goddamnit. Stay here. Okay?"

And you're off, running into the kitchen, his ears flick at the slamming of the fridge door, followed by the cabinets being no doubt, hip nudging it shut way too forcefully.

He's awkwardly standing there still until you yell for him to come in.

Shadow has half a mind to ignore you and go into his room, but curiosity kills the cat, so he takes in a deep breath and makes his way to you.

He finds you sitting at the little kitchenette, a nervous smile spread across your lips as you gesture to the plate in front of you.

The smell is apparent, it's a coffee cupcake.

The hedgehog feels his ears flick again, staring down at the desert, then trailing his eyes back to meet your own. Wordlessly asking you what was going on.

"You've never told me your birthday, but it's been a year since you've been here, with me. After the whole trying to destroy the world shit. So since you won't tell me, we can kinda treat this as it?" You keep rambling, eyes flitting around the room, very clearly nervous as to his reaction.

Shadow doesn't say anything, or move even. Just staring down at the cupcake.

It looks amateurish, the frosting is lopsided, and the toppings on it look messy. But you made it for him. You even added a big black "1" candle in the center.

He doesn't know what to say, he can feel heat rush through his body, rushing to his ears and his face, and his fur feels constricting.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

You go to open your mouth again, no doubt to apologize, but he beats you to it.

Moving to scoop up the treat, he gently sniffs it before taking a cautionary bite.

A beat passes between the two of you.

"...it's good."

Shadow does his best to ignore the smile that blooms across your face, not wanting to remember just how pretty he finds you like this.

Disgusting.

Shadow doesn't like touch, you know it, he knows it, and everyone knows it. He's threatened to break Sonic's wrist for even so much as patting the older hedgehog on the back. Baring his sharper fangs and hissing out to not touch him ever.

He avoids group hugs from Team Sonic, avoids Tom and Maddie like the plague, dodging every invitation to be a part of the family, it makes him sick to think about it.

With you, it's a little different.

You're not like them, you don't push him to change, you don't have a problem with how closed off he is, giving him space, never once pushing his very strict boundaries.

Something churns in his chest at the sound of you crying in your room, you probably think you're being incognito, holding a pillow to your face to drown out your sobs.

The internal debate is heavy, Shadow used to be able to comfort, to provide warmth, but he hasn't done so in years. Flashes of memories where he would comfort Maria on her bad health days, letting her run her fingers over his quills, to lend an ear to Gerald when he was frustrated about treatments not working.

It's not to say he is replacing you in their place, but it's scary. To open himself up like that again. He can feel his anxiety rising as he goes over the pros and cons of crossing this line. Eyes squeeze shut forcefully as he tells himself he doesn't care about you, that you're an adult, and you don't need to be babied.

His ears twitch when a pathetic little whimper drops from your lips, and his resolve cracks.

You don't look up when he makes his way in, too stuck in your bubble.

Startling a little when two, much stronger and larger hands grab at your own, peeling them away from the pillow. Your puffy bloodshot eyes looking at the hedgehog in front of you, his face set as it usually is, stoic. But his eyes are different, and his body language is different, when has he ever looked at you so softly? It's jarring.

Oh, he's moving closer. Okay. Weird.

"Shadow? Uh, I'm ok-"

You try and lie, it's a pitiful attempt. Your voice is scratchy and the tear tracks down your cheeks aren't helping your plight.

"No, you're not."

He shuts you down immediately, hands sliding up your arms to drag you into him.

The instant your bodies touch, you feel a fresh wave of tears well up in your eyes again.

Shadow has you resting against him, your head resting on him as he wraps himself loosely in your arms, giving you the space to move away if you so choose.

It's the first time he's allowed you to hug him, the first time he's ever initiated contact with someone in years. A fact that you both are well aware of.

A sob works its way up your throat, immediately tightening your grip on the hedgehog, curling into him as you shake.

Shadow doesn't say anything, doesn't make fun of you as snot pours from your nose, doesn't point out that your mascara and eyeliner are getting everywhere, just sits there and lets you cling onto him like he's your only lifeline.

He thinks that this is okay, he's strong enough for you both, and you don't need to worry when he's here.

[eufezco]

bucky's sexual drive had been in negative numbers for so long.

it might be because of the antidepressants his therapist was prescribing. he’d read the side effects on the label, and decreased libido had been listed there in tiny, as if it were just another minor inconvenience—like dry mouth or dizziness. but he couldn't complain about that because he needed those pills, as much as he tried to deny it. they kept away the nightmares, the spirals... but they also kept away everything else. the desire, the excitement, the flicker of interest when someone laughed at his dry humor or looked at him like he was something more than a ghost of the past.

it might be because of him. relationships required energy, patience, trust—and he was still working on having that with himself. some nights he wondered if under all the layers of trauma and cold metal there was still a part of him capable of wanting the way he used to, back when things were simpler. back when he was just bucky barnes, before the war, before hydra, before all of it.

but bucky rather think that it was because he never met anyone like you before. of course he had met cute girls. kind, smart, even a few who had given him that lingering glance that invited something more. but it never quite clicked. not in the way it should. not in the way that it used to.

you were all of that.

kind, smart, you matched his dry humor, laughed at his dark jokes because you knew that was his way of copying, and you laughed in a genuine way, not with the awkward politeness others gave him. you also didn’t shy away from the scars, you didn't stare at his metal arm and make him feel like a freak, like he was beyond repair. you didn’t flinch when your fingers brushed against his cold metal hand.

and you were beautiful and so sexy. was he allowed to think that? because, god help him, he did.

sam always told him that he had a staring problem but with you? bucky was pretty sure you could call the cops on him for how much he stared. it wasn’t intentional—at least, not at first. but then the wind would catch your skirt, revealing just a few more inches of your leg, or you’d push your hair behind your ear, exposing the soft skin of your neck, or bite your lip when you were deep in thought, and suddenly, he was gone, swallowing hard and forcing himself to look away before his thoughts could betray him any further.

after a long day, bucky let himself fall onto the bed.

the second he was alone, he let out a big huff and ran his hands over his face, like that would somehow erase the thoughts running wild in his head. it didn’t. nothing could. because you were still there, burned into his mind. the way you had looked this evening—the way you always looked—had him all kinds of messed up.

the entire town had gathered at the harbor to celebrate that the boat was finally restored, thanks to him and sam. it had been a good day, a rare kind of day where he felt normal, not a soldier, not a weapon. and, of course, you had been there.

bucky had tried—really tried—to focus on everything else: the music, the food, the way the people clapped him on the back like he belonged. and then you had hugged him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. his hands found your hips. he felt the soft curve of you beneath his touch, he inhaled the faint scent of whatever perfume you always wore and his brain short-circuited.

now, in his bed—the one he had bought only because you told him he could no longer sleep on the floor—bucky rubbed his face, trying to calm himself. the heat crept up the back of his neck, spreading down his spine. hours later, he could still feel the shape of you against his hands, the way your body pressed tight against his. the knot low in his stomach twisted and he felt his pants get tighter. fuck, he mumbled to himself.

bucky took a breath through his nose and moved his hands to palm himself through his jeans. his breath hitched, he was already so hard it hurt. it was pathetic.

he should feel ashamed for letting you—the thought of you—completely unravel him. but he didn't because, goddamn, the way you had looked today, the way you had smiled at him, the way your dress hugged your body in all the right places… his fingers found the buckle of his belt, hesitating for only a second before undoing it. it was too much for a man who had spent so long pretending he didn’t want. pretending he didn’t need.

bucky lowered his zipper. god, would he even remember how to do this? he had tried before, he had let his hand wander, hoping that maybe he could feel something again. but it never worked. his body never responded the way it should, his mind too lost in thoughts. but this time, when he slipped his hand inside his underwear, he exhaled sharply as his fingers wrapped around himself, his head tipped back against the pillow and his chest rose and fell slowly.

his eyes closed shut. that way it was easy to remember you dancing as the sun went down, the way you moved your hips, completely unaware of what you were doing to him as he stood there, beer in hand, watching you with a hunger he barely understood, much less controlled. the way your lips had parted slightly when your gaze met his, like maybe you knew, like maybe you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

his hand moved up and down his length, slow and deliberate. he felt the thick vein beneath his fingers, the way he pulsed into the warmth of his own palm. bucky tried to breath through his nose to stay quiet, biting his lip down, but his mouth parted and a shaky moan slipped free as he gave in.

he imagined your hands on him instead of his own, your fingers tracing down his stomach and wrapping around him with a softness he hadn’t felt in years. he imagined your voice whispering his name like a prayer and what it would feel like to have your lips against his.

fuck, he was so sensitive. his hips lifted from the bed as his hand moved faster, his grip tightened and his breath came in sharp, uneven pants. his mind was completely lost in the pleasure, it had been decades since he had felt something like this. the years in hydra, the years in wakanda, the years he’d been blipped, he didn’t even think he���d have enough peace to search for pleasure.

but now you were in his life.

his hips continued lifting from the mattress, his body desperate for more. his muscles tensed, his stomach getting tight, tighter— his metal arm reached out blindly, grasping for something to quiet himself. his fingers found the pillow beside him, and he pulled it close, pressing it against his mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle his moans.

he was close. too close.

bucky squirmed on the bed, his body caught between the pleasure and the overwhelming sensitivity. his hips jerked as he attempted to escape his own hand, but his body had other plans—chasing the friction even as it made him shudder.

his head pressed back into the pillow, his entire body shaking as he came with a loud moan against the pillow, and the only name on his lips was yours.

the next few seconds, bucky tried to catch his breath. he dropped the pillow that he used to cover his mouth, his chest rose and fell slowly. he dragged his metal hand over his face, the other one still inside his jeans, fingers sticky. god, he came in his pants. he swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he used his cold metal fingers so massage his temples.

even now, when his body still felt too sensitive, his mind still hazy—he couldn't stop thinking about you. with your laugh, your kindness, your stupid little smirk whenever you caught him staring—because sam was right, he did have a staring problem. but how could he not?

bucky let out a sharp breath and forced himself to move to clean up. he had no idea how the hell he was supposed to look you in the eyes tomorrow after your name broke from his lips when the first orgasm in years hit him.