#like I just want to reach as many of them as possible and draw them in

[itspileofgoodthings]

The past couple weeks it’s been really hitting me how much harder it’s been teaching Pride and Prejudice this year—which was so disappointing at first? Because works I’ve traditionally had a harder time with I’ve felt like i’ve broken new ground while teaching and am teaching the kids BETTER. So initially I was so frustrated that my historically easiest work to teach was feeling so difficult! But there’s been some good days that have let me see that part of what was happening was that I have simply never reached this number of kids with pride and prejudice before and so consequently I have never had so many kinds of reactions before! In the waking up from the sleep of simply never paying attention there IS going to be plenty of stupidity, contrariness, crankiness, and almost arguing? Like even with themsELVES. And that’s a good thing.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

FYI artists and writers: some info regarding tumblr's new "third-party sharing" (aka selling your content to OpenAI and Midjourney)

You may have already seen the post by @staff regarding third-party sharing and how to opt out. You may have also already seen various news articles discussing the matter.

But here's a little further clarity re some questions I had, and you may too. Caveat: Not all of this is on official tumblr pages, so it's possible things may change.

(1) "I heard they already have access to my data and it doesn't really matter if I opt out"

From the 404 article:

A new FAQ section we reviewed is titled “What happens when you opt out?” states “If you opt out from the start, we will block crawlers from accessing your content by adding your site on a disallowed list. If you change your mind later, we also plan to update any partners about people who newly opt-out and ask that their content be removed from past sources and future training.”

So please, go click that opt-out button.

(2) Some future user: "I've been away from tumblr for months, and I just heard about all this. I didn't opt out before, so does it make a difference anymore?"

Another internal document shows that, on February 23, an employee asked in a staff-only thread, “Do we have assurances that if a user opts out of their data being shared with third parties that our existing data partners will be notified of such a change and remove their data?” Andrew Spittle, Automattic’s head of AI replied: “We will notify existing partners on a regular basis about anyone who's opted out since the last time we provided a list. I want this to be an ongoing process where we regularly advocate for past content to be excluded based on current preferences. We will ask that content be deleted and removed from any future training runs. I believe partners will honor this based on our conversations with them to this point. I don't think they gain much overall by retaining it.”

It should make a difference! Go click that button.

(3) "I opted out, but my art posts have been reblogged by so many people, and I don't know if they all opted out. What does that mean for my stuff?"

This answer is actually on the support page for the toggle:

This option will prevent your blog's content, even when reblogged, from being shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models.

And some further clarification by the COO and a product manager:

zingring: A couple people from work have reached out to let me know that yes, it applies to reblogs of "don't scrape" content. If you opt out, your content is opted out, even in reblog form. cyle: yep, for reblogs, we're taking it so far as "if anybody in the reblog trail has opted out, all of the content in that reblog will be opted out", when a reblog could be scraped/shared.

So not only your reblogged posts, but anyone who contributed in a reblog (such as posts where someone has been inspired to draw fanart of the OP) will presumably be protected by your opt-out. (A good reason to opt out even if you yourself are not a creator.)

Furthermore, if you the OP were offline and didn't know about the opt-out, if someone contributed to a reblog and they are opted out, then your original work is also protected. (Which makes it very tempting to contribute "scrapeable content" now whenever I reblog from an abandoned/disused blog...)

(4) "What about deleted blogs? They can't opt out!"

I was told by someone (not official) that he read "deleted blogs are all opted-out by default". However, he didn't recall the source, and I can't find it, so I can't guarantee that info. If I get more details - like if/when tumblr puts up that FAQ as reported in the 404 article - I will add it here as soon as I can.

Edit, tumblr has updated their help page for the option to opt-out of third-party sharing! It now states:

The content which will not be shared with our licensed network of content and research partners, including those that train AI models, includes: • Posts and reblogs of posts from blogs who have enabled the "Prevent third-party sharing" option. • Posts and reblogs of posts from deleted blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from password-protected blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from explicit blogs. • Posts and reblogs of posts from suspended/deactivated blogs. • Private posts. • Drafts. • Messages. • Asks and submissions which have not been publicly posted. • Post+ subscriber-only posts. • Explicit posts.

So no need to worry about your old deleted blogs that still have reblogs floating around. *\o/*

But for your existing blogs, please use the opt out option. And a reminder of how to opt out, under the cut:

The opt-out toggle is in Blog Settings, and please note you need to do it for each one of your blogs / sideblogs.

On dashboard, the toggle is at https://www.tumblr.com/settings/blog/blogname [replace "blogname" as applicable] down by Visibility:

For mobile, you need the most recent update of the app. (Android version 33.4.1.100, iOs version 33.4.) Then go to your blog tab (the little person icon), and then the gear icon for Settings, then click Visibility.

Again, if you have a sideblog, go back to the blog tab, switch to it, and go to settings again. Repeat as necessary.

If you do not have access to the newest version of the app for whatever reason, you can also log into tumblr in your mobile browser. Same URL as per desktop above, same location.

Note you do not need to change settings in both desktop and the app, just one is fine.

I hope this helps!

[wishful-sinful-9]

Love the idea that Logan (with his healing factor and adamantium) thinks humans with no mutation are like… extremely fragile. Maybe even thinks they are sickly. When he’s not in a cage match he’s like, very lightly gripping ppls hands in a handshake. Gets very concerned if a human is left out in the elements for too long haha

I agree and I'm going to run with this concept a little bit here lmao

NSFW content

I can imagine he's also never ever considered going out with one because he assumes they'd think he was some sort of animalistic freak.

so when he's at a bar, and this pretty non-mutant girl makes eye contact with him, he thinks oh shit.

he knows he's in trouble when you approach him, flashing him a coy smile and attempting some cliché line that tells him he's not just in trouble, he's in deep shit, because it's obvious you're not very experienced in this department. you flirt, and he half-heartedly tells you, “you don't want to get involved with me, kid.”

“I'm not a kid, and why do you think that, Logan?”

he meets your sparkling eyes, “because I'm a bad man.”

“How bad?”

“very, very bad.”

when you giggle at him he knows it's over.

-

despite your enthusiasm, Logan wants to take it as slow as he can so as to give you as many opportunities to back out as possible. but when you're on your fourth date, having invited him round to watch a movie, and you're giving him this dangerously playful smile every two seconds...

he has you under him in the couch, crying as he grinds his cock into you, his dog tags dangling over your face.

you realise that he's trying to hold back - he's aware of his strength and nature and is afraid he'll hurt you. but your pawing at his biceps moaning for more.

then you do something that makes him stutter in his pace: you yank him down by his tags and give him a searing kiss, biting on his lower lip as you pull away. a little shocked, he blinks down at you as you whimper, “you're not going to break me, I can take it, Lo.”

he hesitates. then he lowers his lips to your ear, “promise you'll tell me to stop if I go too far.”

“I promise, baby.”

And suddenly, he's ramming into you at this toe-curling pace and grunting like an animal. you cum quickly, crying out and coating his cock with your release. but he shows no signs of stopping: tears of overstimulation stream down your cheeks as he reaches down between you, to the creamy mess of your cunt, and spreads the cum drooling out of you up to your clit, where he rubs tight circles. the sounds of him pounding into you and making a bigger mess of your fluids are beyond obscene, it would make you blush hard if you weren't already flushed from the pleasure.

you let him manhandle you into a variation of positions and pull another two orgasms from you until he groans, gripping the armrest above your head, the sudden sound of metal slicing the air making your eyes widen as his claws unsheath while he spills ropes of cum into you.

he pants, drawing them back in and looking down at you.

he's still fully seated inside when he grunts, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise they would-”

“it's okay,” you cut in, “it was hot.”

he blinks at your beaming face.

oh shit indeed.

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐃𝐀𝐖𝐍𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒊𝒇 𝒊 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖

╰┈➤ ❝ dawnbreaker!zayne x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24 (backlog)

tags : pwp (with some plot), kinda porn with feelings, ambiguous relationship, that one "dawnbreaker slipping into dr. zayne's life" theory, angst (but…soft???), slight nipple play, needy/desperate sex, vaginal sex, creampie, breeding kink, praise, use of "my love". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1.8k

an : YELLS OK im like two days late on this… but… BUT !!! a belated birthday gift for my beloveddddd @dawnbreakersgaze !!! <333

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

The Zayne you know has not been the Zayne you know...

You don't fall in love with someone in the span of a few days.

It didn't work that way—love was a fickle emotion; complicated, unpredictable… Terrifying. To approach it meant silent steps. It meant biding your time, holding out your hand, moving forward little by little…

…Ideally.

But love was powerful.

Love did whatever it wanted.

Love could take you in like a storm while you were unprepared; love could crash through your windows and hold you hostage despite your attempts to be gentle with it.

Love could turn the tables.

And sometimes that was what it felt like to be with him.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but perhaps, this case was a special one.

Your eyes were soft, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. Gentle caresses moved over his skin, and you could see the way he melted under your touch. His own eyes were wide, lips trembling. An inexplicable emotion stirred within the depths of his gaze… And it was always like this.

It was always like this when he looked at you.

As if he could never believe that you were real.

"Zayne," you murmured.

He would swallow thickly, and give the slightest of nods.

"Zayne."

The same name, the same face, the same voice. Yet this Zayne, lying on top of you, caging your body between his arms… he was not the same.

Not the same… yet similar, nonetheless. A reflection of the other, you would think. He barely spoke, yet he barely looked away from you. He felt more expressive of his thoughts, but all the same time adamant on keeping them hidden. And no matter how many times you'd seen him, he felt hesitant, unsure, guilty… yet so, so, so full of the very same love that the Zayne you knew would always give.

You'd lost track of how many times this had happened.

They were sporadic, at first—moments fleeting and spaced apart, where you had learned to separate your Zayne and the other Zayne through the smallest mannerisms you'd notice to be different.

You watched the man before you draw in a sharp breath as your hand trailed down his face and over his neck, his collarbone… Such visceral reactions. He looked weak before you; so… broken. Every time he showed himself to you, there was a tense, unspoken sense of longing that hung in the air.

He was not your Zayne.

But he would reach out all the same to mirror your actions, run the pads of his fingers through your hair and down the side of your face… and you would let him.

He was not your Zayne, but he wanted to be. And seeing you in front of him made him feel so fragile. That look in his eyes told you that he could shatter at any possible moment.

"…It's okay."

Love was powerful, you thought.

He was not your Zayne, but he was still Zayne, after all.

You knew so little about him, but he was still Zayne. And if love was so powerful—then it could fix him, too. Couldn't it? Couldn't a little bit of gentleness… Couldn't a little bit of love… for him, as much as him—

Couldn't that help?

"…My love…"

Whenever he spoke, his words were short. It was hardly the matter-of-factness you were used to, hardly the witty quips and dry sarcasm that could parallel. This Zayne's words were short, his voice hoarse, and rough—as if speaking hurt him even more, as if speaking could drive him further into a puddle of guilt that he seemed to have dug himself into.

Your eyes closed.

"Zayne, it's okay," you murmured. "It's okay."

His touch grew bolder, dipping downwards, slowly pulling down the straps of your top, curling around the swell of your breasts.

Your breath hitched.

"Zayne."

He didn't speak again.

Instead, he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He didn't kiss you, almost felt as if he was holding his breath— something small, and wet, fell upon your cheek.

Your eyes opened.

Can I have you?

He asked the question silently, stray tears rolling down his face as he looked at you. His hips pressed into yours, and the outline of his erection grinded against you.

Can I have you?

He didn't speak, but his eyes told you everything.

"Yes."

Just this once.

And the whine he let out brought a slight thrill through your body.

It didn't take long before his lips were all over you, kissing you, tasting you, claiming you—down your chest to your abdomen, inhaling the scent of your skin, before proceeding to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses back upwards. All the while, his hands remained steady on either side of your body, both a sure sign of his hesitance as much as the hunger within him that had him trembling above you.

When his eyes met yours once more, he has his mouth hovering over your nipple. Slowly, slowly, he wrapped his lips around it—it was so tender, the way he sucked on it, loving, the way his tongue would swirl as he took as much of your flesh as he could. Heavy breathing mixed in with the sloppy noises of his ministrations, and you were arching into him, begging him, encouraging him.

One more pull at your nipple until it slipped away from his lips with a wet pop, trails of saliva connecting to your bud.

"Pre...tty…" he rasped.

You felt your heart soar; for the first time, he seemed happy.

And this time it was you who didn't speak.

You reached for his hand, leaving his balance to rest momentarily on the other as you trailed it down your body. Further, and further, and further… His hand rest over your mound, gentle petting movements gliding a finger over your folds.

"Mmm…"

As usual, even the softest touch had you melting.

Zayne had always been loving , and tender, and sweet with you…

This Zayne was not your Zayne, but even the careful way he treated your body felt very much like it.

He was not your Zayne. But he was still Zayne.

A mantra you would repeat to yourself.

His movements continued, gathering up your slick and spreading them all over your folds, eyes retained on your face and your expressions.

Are you feeling good? he seemed to ask, and you smiled softly.

"Very good," you whispered.

Look… I'm so wet for you.

Though you didn't say it, you saw the way his eyes traveled down to your cunt, finger raising as if to look in awe at the sticky mess you had made for yourself.

"…Beautiful."

He spoke again.

And this time, there was little to no hesitation left in his actions before he was in you, cock nestled so warmly, so perfectly, so deeply into your core.

The intrusion had you drawing in a sharp breath no matter how used to his size you would think you'd gotten, but before you could react, he had pulled you into a tight, almost possessive embrace.

"Please," he choked. You could feel his tears wetting your skin as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. "Please… just this once… Just for the last time, just… Please…"

You clenched your walls around him, legs wrapping around his waist.

Slowly, you brought your hands up to stroke his hair.

"Zayne," you murmured. "You're still Zayne, right?"

"… Not—"

"Mine. I know. You're the Zayne in his dreams. Aren't you?"

You felt him nuzzle into your neck with a certain desperation, a whimper tearing from his throat.

It was answer enough.

Yet you moved your hips, grinding against him, urging him to claim you more, claim you deeper.

"It's okay," you repeated, softly, "you can move."

Zayne was still Zayne. You had made the choice from the start.

You wouldn't fall in love with someone in the span of just a few days—but it had taken only a few couple of meetings, barely lasting hours, barely lasting minutes.

Zayne was still Zayne.

You would love everything of him.

Your hips continued to move, bucking upwards onto his, cherishing the groans he would make into your skin. It was you who set the pace—a silent voice of permission, of pleading…

And he followed suit.

"My love…"

He began to thrust.

"…My love…"

Harder, faster.

"My love."

You gasped as he pulled away from you, panting harshly, driving his length in and out of you—desperate. Desperate.

"M- mm—!" you moaned out, arching your back. "Zayne… Zayne!"

"Can I… Can I?" he groaned above you, eyes shut in pleasure. He didn't stop—didn't want to stop. Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin proved every bit of desire he had for you, if the image above you was not proof enough. "Please, my love…"

You held him tightly.

"Yes," you gasped. "Take me… You can have all of me, fill me up, cum inside, please—"

You mewled at a particularly sharp thrust, and your legs tightened around his waist. He was throbbing, his movements jerking erratically as you spoke your words.

"Fill… f-fill?" his eyes were wide, but he continued.

It gave you joy to know you were affecting him like this.

It's exactly the same…

"Yes, Zayne. You can give it to me. Please, please, I need it… Need it inside…" You begged, and clawed at his back, and moved to his thrusts the best that you could. "Inside, inside—!"

Please, please, please.

He whimpered as you tightened around him, urging him to spill, urging you to stuff you full like you wanted him to. His breathing became ragged, eyes nearly glazing over with pleasure at the mere thought of it.

He could claim you like this.

Even if it's not the real him, even if he's not doing this as himself—

You could see all manner of thoughts flash in his eyes as his gaze became hungrier. More desperate. More… resolved.

"I'll f-fill you up," he grunted. "Pump you… s-s-so full of me… All of me— My love, my love, my love—"

You cried out as he buried himself all the way into you, your hips colliding as hot, thick ropes of his cum painted your insides. Your body shuddered, slick trickling out of you and dripping down onto the sheets. You felt warm all felt; almost sore, your cunt pulsing around him as you tried to steady your breaths.

He collapsed against you, pulling you in for a kiss.

"If I can have you…" he breathed, "even just once… even just once, I… I'm happy…"

I'm happy.

Your eyes shone as you cradled his face, daring to place a small flurry of kisses over his cheek.

I'm happy.

This was all you wanted.

Love was powerful, you thought. And of you loved him—if you loved all of him, then everything would be okay. You wanted to believe that.

Perhaps in a fit overwhelmed by your acceptance, he gasped, and you felt him roll his hips in place—

You didn't stop him.

He could do this as many times as he needed, as much as he was here with you.

an : actually crying bc im hoping i did him justice why is zayne always so hard to write omlll

taglist! @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @ononpetitecroissant @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @rafayelsgf @spotted-salamander @love-and-deepstrays @oharasmommymilkers00 @rafslvr @keioxo @theanbitchless

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[aventurineswife]

sunday definitely. more cuz i wanna tease my friend, a huge fanboy for sunday lmao.

-Smooch Anon 💋

Sunday's Voicelines about his S/O

I hope your friend likes this! 🫣🤭

Ratio's ver | Aventurine's ver | Luka's ver

(aisbwksgensus HE'S SO PRETTY?!😭☹️💙)

First Meeting: Fate's Quiet Arrival

I remember the first time I saw them—an unexpected encounter, yet the moment felt... destined. They were different. There was a sense of calm in their presence, a kind of quiet strength. Most people would have been overwhelmed by the world around them, but they simply observed. I couldn't help but be intrigued by their composure. It was like they weren’t afraid to see the world for what it truly was. And yet... I sensed that behind their eyes, there was more. Something beyond what they let others see. It wasn’t long before I knew—our paths were meant to cross.

First Date: A Moment in Time

It was a quiet evening, the world around us so still, so peaceful. We walked together, side by side, as if time itself had paused. Their presence calmed me in ways I never imagined possible. The simplicity of it—a shared moment, no need for grand gestures. It was perfect in its own subtle way.

Thinking About Them: The Pull of the Unseen

I often find myself lost in thoughts of them. How they carry themselves—so composed, so grounded. I wonder if they see the world as I do, or if they have a different vision. Perhaps that’s what draws me to them—how they challenge my thoughts without even trying. They are a quiet strength I can’t quite understand, but I find myself wanting to.

Favourite Times with Them: The Space Between Us

There are so many memories, but perhaps the moments when we can just be, without the weight of the world on our shoulders, are the ones I treasure most. Whether it’s a simple conversation or silence between us, those times are where I feel the most... alive. When it’s just us, I forget about everything else.

Plans for the Future: Building a Sanctuary

I think of the future often, but my thoughts are never certain. I want a place where we can both be free, where the world cannot reach us with its cruelty. I want to build something lasting, where pain has no dominion. Perhaps in time, we’ll have that—together. A world where we can escape, yes, but in that escape, I hope we find something pure, something real.

The Instinct to Protect

There’s something about them that makes me want to protect them, yet I know they can protect themselves just fine. It’s not weakness, but rather an instinctive desire to keep them safe. Perhaps it’s the way they make me feel, as if I’ve found something worth holding onto, in a world where everything else is fragile and fleeting.

[dinogoofymutated]

Hi there! I'm currently watching the original X men series to catch up to 97, and I'm in love with Gambit.

Would it be possible to ask for Remy and reader to be on a secret mission, and the Ole "make out so they don't suspect us" trope comes in, and gambit kinda (obviously) has feelings...?

It could be sfw or nsfw, either is perfect! Thank you for all that you do, I've been trying to find fics for the xmen for a while 🙏🙏

Kinda spicy! Gambit/GN!reader

YESS!! YESSSS!!! I legit had a dream about this situation with remy the day before you sent me this ask and I was cackling in joy when I saw this! I basically hyperfixated on it because I love this trope.

TWS: sexual themes n shit, no explicit smut. As always, reader written while picturing fem! but no specific pronouns mentioned. Semi-public making out and touching. Nipples be touched but size and type of breast not mentioned.

-Ps- reader can see heat signatures for plot purposes. I usually try to keep powers ambiguous but it was a NEED!

"In here, quick!" Remy's thick draw catches your attention, just before he yanks you into an alley. The two of you were in New Orleans, looking for a specific mutant Xavier wanted to talk to. The only downside was that Remy still had a warrant out for his arrest, and wanted posters plastered all over the city from bourbon Street to the garden district.

"Don't worry Cher. You said. NOPD 'dumber than a sack of rocks, you said!" You gripe at him. Remy laughs, tugging you around the corner. The alleyways on Burbon street are mostly private areas, owned and sealed off by the bars that line the storefronts- but Remy knew this city like the back of his hand. However, things had changed since he was here last. That became apperent when the two of you reach the end of the alleyway and there's a brand new brick wall, a dead end.

Remy curses and skids to a stop, causing you to slam into his back. You send him a dirty look as you whip around, eyes adjusting to the brick surroundings. It's hard to make out the figures of the cops through the walls of the busy bar in in front of you, too many people crowding the street for drinks even this late at night. You strain your eyes a bit, but are able to make out the stiff-shouldered men, heat signature slightly elevated from booking it after the two of you. Unfortunately, they're headed towards the mouth of the alleyway.

"Damnit." You mutter, turning back to Remy. He understands what you mean just by looking at your face. He hums, thinking for a moment before he begins to take out a playing card. You grab his arm to stop him, trying to ignore how warm his skin is against your own.

"Don't. The explosion will just lead them to us." You say. Remy nodds, glancing at the corner before suddenly caging you against the wall of the alleyway. You try not to blush as he does so. Remy smirks at you, and you think your heart might just explode. You remind yourself that this is standard Remy behavior, but it doesn't stop your face from heating up. You can only hope it's too dark for him to see you properly.

"Well, there is another way we could fool those pigs." Remy says, quieter than before. You cock an eyebrow at him before looking back over in the direction of the alleyways opening, able to spot the cops as they begin to enter. In your peripheral, you see Remy running his fingers through his hair to flatten it. You open your mouth to ask him what he has in mind, but the sound of footsteps cut you off.

"-Well, if you're going to do something, you better do it quick!" You whisper back at him. Remy pushes you further against the cold brick, his hands drifting down to your waist as he leans over to wisper in your ear.

"Trust me, Cher. I'll take care of you." His words cause goosebumps to rise at the back of your neck, and you hardly have time to react before he's kissing you. Your eyes are blown wide, heart thumping wildly as you start to slowly relax into the kiss.

Unsurprisingly, Remy is a really, really good kisser. It's hard to focus while he's touching you like this, kissing you deeply like he loves you. He nips at your lip, and you gasp, having forgotten about everything else already. His tongue darts into you mouth, caressing the skin he finds there. You let out a small moan as one of his hands drifts lower, caressing your thigh and hiking your leg up just a bit. Your own hands slowly slide up his chest, drifting to his neck.

The heat in your chest is unbearable when Gambit separates from the kiss, a string of spit connecting your mouths before he wipes it away, nothing but affection on his eyes. You're panting for breath while he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, and then lower. Remy places wet kisses on your neck, sucking and biting as he tries to swallow you whole. You thread your hands through his soft hair as his does so, fully encouraging him to ravage you in whatever way he would like. One of his hands begins to slide under your shirt when a cough startles you out of your heated state.

Your first instinct is to turn towards the noise, but Gambit is quick to cup your cheek and pull you into another heated kiss before your head could move a centimeter. He keeps you occupied as his other hand fully caresses the skin beneath your shirt, squeezing and caressing your chest. You hear another exhausted sigh from the cops. You crack and eye open slightly, knowing they cant see you do so in the dark. One of them begins to raise his voice, but the other smacks him on the shoulder.

"Just another pair of drunks. We've got bigger things to worry about right now." The cop says. You could practically hear the other roll his eyes before they turn to and walk away. Gambit brings your attention back to him and only him when you feel a finger brush lightly against your nipple. You gasp, and Remy chuckles, playfully biting your lip as he pulls away. He's smirking as he looks at you, and you can only imagine what you look like right now.

"Looks like you enjoyed that." He teases, voice low and husky. You can't seem to pull your thought together properly when he's looking at you like that. You nervously look away, hands playing with his collar.

"And if I did?" You ask, glancing back at him to gage his reaction. He looks surprised at first, face morphing into a lovestruck smile before he tries to cover it up with a smirk. Didn't stop you from being able to see the heat rise to his cheeks, however.

"Then gambit thinks we should do this more often."

[andhumanslovedstories]

I've been running this writing experiment lately to cut out phrases like "I felt" in my fiction writing. Like I was looking at a sentence in a draft that said, "he felt as if character's eyes were pinning him in place." And then I was like, "well, does he think that or is it true? As a result of this person watching him, he's froze. It's not like a thing, it is that thing."

Oh and "almost"! I'm always going, "He felt almost relieved that it hadn't happened." Well, did he feel better that it didn't happen or didn't he? Or "somewhat", I'm always going, "she felt somewhat perturbed."

And like none of that is wrong, to be clear. I don't know if it'd improve your writing, I don't even know if it'll improve my writing, but I use this sentence structure all the time so every viewpoint is from a voice that thinks about what it thinks, hedges its statements, and offers the same ability for wry little jokes formatted in the exact same way. And I have a lot of writing like that and I think (!) that they're good, but read as a whole, I'm like, "god, they all sound the same." Like there's one melody that I write songs to, so even with different lyrics, it's almost (!) the same song. Something I've been struggling with in regards to my writing and why I've felt so blocked is how boring I found writing my usual way. I'd read something and enjoy the individual parts of it, but then I'd step back and I didn't like the whole. And I got good at this enough at seeing that I didn't like it to do it in real time as I was writing, which as you can imagine didn't improve the process of writing because now I was bored AND dejected about being bored.

There's this sentence-level structure fact that I use unconsciously. A pattern I find easy is short sentence, short sentence, short sentence, long sentence. So I write that. "He [verbed]. He [verbed]. Then he [verbed]. As he [verbed] to his [consequence], he [verbed] that [noun] was [statement of condition]." Which could work, it often does make for a nice rhythm, but it's something I reach for often because it's easier for me.

Just last sentence, I originally typed, "I find it easier for me." But if what I mean is "using this pattern is less effort than another pattern," then it's easier for me. One voice is hedging its bets and the other asserting. Either is fine! But they're different! And, again, GOD you would not believe how many words I've cut out of this paragraph as I write it. I'm so chatty. I love using twelve words when six will do. And that gives my writing a specific tone to my ear.

So if I am bored of that tone, why not try using just the six words? Why be understated? Why be afraid of stronger opinions? So right now with my fiction, I'm experimenting with cutting out as many self-reflective words as I can. Sometime you do need to draw attention to the face that this is the character's interpretation, but like you definitely don't need to do it as much as I naturally want to do it. You don't need to always go out of your way to allow the possibility that the narrative voice is wrong. During editing, I trim the weaker ones (I originally typed, "what I consider the weaker ones" Is that more accurate?). But I think them being there in the first place shifts my language which shifts my character's which shifts my plot. It's sentence structure all the way down!!

(this barely applies to my writing on here, btw. i try to do good but yknow this is a tumblr blog. i'm not trying to get a lit mag to accept it.)

Anyway blah blah (chatty!) the point is I've been trying to write in a way opposite of my interests. Something that doesn't take itself too seriously, that emphasizes EMOTION and ACTION instead of minimizing it, and that clips through scenes at a good pace. Doing this been amazingly fun. I've been having such a good time doing it. I am writing so much because I really enjoy doing it. The process of writing is so fun again.

This post is about two things. One is my new mood stabilizer and therapy day camp. The other is about the benefit of pretending to be MXTX.

[r0-boat]

Ok what about the kings rut headcanons? Please please please please please please 🥺

You asked and you shall receive!!

Whb Kings Rut Headcannons

Cw: darker than I anticipated, breeding, biting (hard biting like drawing blood), mentions of cannibalism, yandere behavior, Demons becoming more primal in rut, especially asmodeus, free use, Dubcon/noncon

Satan

If you didn't think he would get any more violent. You're dead wrong with all this extra testosterone coursing through his veins. All he wants to do is fight things. With a legion of loyal subordinates who also want to fight and destroy, Gehenna's streets become the purge; all their rage and stress are released at once.

And they like this! Starting brawls in the streets, clashing horns and gnashing their teeth as they wrestle each other with their bare hands. Demons are challenging Satan for his claim on you bonus points if they get beaten up in the process.

But Satan wants more. He wants to fight something and feel like he's in danger, with no weapons, guns, or flamethrowers, just him and his bare hands going against something much stronger than himself. He wants to prove his strength to you and take you after winning a brutal fight. To smear his blood and semen onto you, claiming you as his.

The other kings are the only ones who can equal his strength, either in magic or in muscle. His temper somehow becomes shorter as he is itching to jump across the table and fist-fight Mammon.

His subordinates fear their King will hurt you, but it's the opposite. He's so gentle and needy that he whines for your attention. Dragging his tongue across the nape of your neck and burying his face to smell your sweet scent. Spinning you down with all of his strength, wrapping a muscular arm around you before harshly grinding his hips into you to reach as deep as possible. Unless he becomes provoked... Then that's a whole other story. You won't be sitting right for weeks.

Mammon

You are his possession as much as he views himself as yours. And he takes great care of all of his possessions. But you seem not too keen about being his... It's not like it's your choice to make anymore. Humans are fickle and don't know what they truly want. He can give you everything. So why haven't you submitted to him yet? Mammon becomes more pushy with his advances. He may be a pacifist, but he knows how much stronger he is than you are and is not used to the word no.

Of course, Mammon will worship you like any other night when the two of you get frisky, but you notice that his touch becomes more and more rough, from gentle caresses to harsh, grabbing and handling you like a doll. He not only likes to take care of his possessions but also uses them to their fullest extent. A demon of greed is still a demon of greed, And you are his favorite toy by far. Part of him wants to display you for all to see. Another part of him wants to drag you off into his bedroom chambers for you never to be seen again.

Maybe he sees you more as an exotic pet or a commodity. No matter how much he tells you that you own him, all demons are slave to their instincts when rut season is here. With the deep urge to mark you He will not hold back to how many teeth marks and hickeys he'll put on your body.

Once he feels those squeezing velvet walls around his cock he will never let you go. His body will quickly overwhelm you as he loses himself to pleasure. He will dress you in the finest silk gold and jewels. Then soaks his cum all over it. He doesn't care The price will probably go up with his seed seeped into the fabric.

Leviathan

In Hades, Few nobles show how much their rut affects them because that usually means feeding into their king's jealousy. Especially when they just so happen to have the same rut as Leviathan's

During this time, no one looks or talks to you in his presence. Mammon thinks about locking you away forever. Leviathan would actually do it.

I think Rut Leviathan becomes borderline yandere as he becomes more open about how much he wants you. Murmuring scary thoughts out loud of how he wants to lock you in a nice cage, throw away the key. Or cut a little piece off to always have with him. Or threaten to kill people close to you. All the while, he's balls deep inside you with little care of how fast he's bucking his hips (very wholesome, very romantic 💞)

He is hanging on by a thread, and all it takes is seeing you with another for him to lose it. And once he does, He will fuck you without mercy, drill his hips with every ounce of his being until the two of you can't think of anything other than each other. If he has to break your mind with his dick, he will.

Needy and petty, willing to do anything to get just a sliver of that attention. The usually refined, elegant demon becomes nothing but a moaning, drooling beast. He will fill you up. You will be claimed.

Beelzebub

That ferocious sexual hunger is tripled. No matter how much you seem to satisfy and he just wants more more more more more. And keep in mind this man has clones, too. He will let go, and his clones will swarm you.

He bites; if it weren't for his other clones tending and touching you, distracting the sharp pain of his teeth and breaking your skin with pleasure, you would be screaming in pain. It's honestly a miracle how he didn't lose control and consume you. Only because he finds the taste of your juices even sweeter, once he's between your legs he is never coming back up. A hand vigorously stroking his cock as he tries to ring you out and suck you dry. Coke sing you to cum on his tongue again and again until you physically can't give anymore. And he'll still want more after that.

Having a more sensitive nose than any other demon in hell, He is drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He'll smell you from anywhere. No matter how far you are, he'll still find you. He'll bury his nose in the name of your neck and start rolling his tongue across your flesh and wanting just a taste of you—the taste of something he'll never have.

It's almost as if he loses control of his powers since his clones don't disappear after he finishes. They stay with you, tend to you, touch you, fuck you, suck you, Constantly until their rut ends and their control returns. His dick will not leave you not. Even if you leave to go to the bathroom, he'll jump on you as if he hasn't seen you in years. He'll even be inside you when you're trying to eat or drink water, just slow grinding as he promised you he'd give you a break. He's trying to hold back.

At the end of his rut, he'll get super hungry since he rarely eats during his rut because all he can think about is fucking you. His subordinates and His people worry that he might lose control and eat you, so food will always be provided at his convenience when in a rut.

Lucifer

Obsessive dangerously obsessive. His angel body is not used to the intense hormonal heat that is a demon rut. He was not expecting His rut to come so strong... It has to be because of your influence. He tries so hard to fight back but all he could think about is you.

He could barely control himself and his body around you as is now it seems like his rut is trying to get him to mate with you to claim, punish and worship you. It's like two sides of him are fighting with each other. To bully you till you scream and cry for him. Another part of him screams to to praise and take care of you.

He punishes and overwhelms you to the point you cry. All the while, he praises and worships those tears that fall down your cheeks. Kissing them away as he fucks you harder, muttering about how well you're taking him, and you look so divine like this, like you were made to be nothing else but a cock sleeve.

Lucifer has been getting the increasing desire to learn every little bit about you put you under a microscope and examine every little hair on your head. To memorize every little twitch in your body and squeal you make. To learn what reaction you make when he tilts the angle of his cock just a right inside you.

He may or may not have a secret binder filled with detailed facts about everything you do or about you in general. But he always goes back to during his rut either to fill out more or read to himself to.... Relieve stress. His rats would have been a lot worse if it weren't for this binder so you're welcome... I can't imagine what the other Kings will do to get their hands on this.

Belphegor

It's cold and you're so warm... Would you be a doll and be his little cock warmer? His toys are nothing like the real thing. Sadly he can't sleep and masturbate at the same time and his wet dreams just make him wake up wanting more so why don't you stay here for a while and be there so he could use you as he pleases.

In meetings? He's snug right inside you! You're trying to sleep? Well he just woke up any needs to start thrusting right now, He's laying down and reading? Now don't be shy start grinding...

The farther in his right cycle the more active he becomes no longer are you just warming his cock now he's starting to grind into you. Feeling your walls milk him murmuring how you're his favorite toy.

Belphegor in rut is very needy. You can't leave for a second without him trying to follow you in some way. He can't bear to part with that warm tight hold of yours. Every time you try to move away from him he whines and cries out in displeasure.

I wouldn't try pushing your luck if I were you. If you tease him anymore he'll just flip you over and go crazy. Fucking you back into submission showing you who's a really in charge of you. If you keep misbehaving he's going to have Beleth join in and trust me you don't want that. He's not as nice as Belphegor is.

Asmodeus

Losing all control, He is no longer a demon at this point now a feral beast wanting one thing. A Mate. Not just anyone though... No not just anyone will do, He wants you... He wants you in the most primal way, drill you into the soil the both of you howling and pleasure. And of course since it is the season to feel lust his power is significantly stronger to the point where if he were to escape all of hell would Make people have orgies in his path. For the safety of you and frankly everyone else

So, at the start of the demon rut season, They chain Asmodeus up and lock him deep underneath the Abaddon red prison. If you still want to visit him that's your death wish but the guards think perhaps maybe you can calm him down since his rut only had gotten worse since he came back to hell.

Asmodeus is now completely naked His form in the middle of his human form and beast form as he struggles to maintain control. His smile widens as you see. His nostrils flare at your scent as he books his hips, his cock with a swollen knot at the base.

However, if you didn't visit him... He would break out and find you... Hunt you down like a hungry animal. There is no high; there is no How are you? There's just chasing and breeding. He looks at you with wide, unblinking eyes, stalking closer, ready to pounce. A beast with a sadistic thrill of the chase so much so that he'd rather toy with his prey before taking you completely. He'd rather slowly make you known of his presence that he draws near and you better find an escape plan before he gets you.

You better pray that you are not out in hell alone at night. Any other time, he would love having the kings underneath him, but now His instinct screams that they will take you from him. He will fight them with his bare hands and prove to you that he's the better male and hopes you'll choose him, give your body to him, and let him mark you as his mate.

[hurtblossom]

No time to die

Pairing : Lando Norris x F1 Driver!Reader (Female)

Summary : A desire to keep their relationship secret, but for all the wrong reasons, and at what cost ?

Warnings : ANGST, Swearing, the english is still terrible, inchident on the race, blood. Confort?

NO HATE TOWARDS ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, IT'S JUST FICTION, AND I NEEDED VILLAINS.

Masterlist

Lando Norris and Y/N Y/L/N were both drivers for the McLaren racing team. They met when Y/N joined the team. While Lando didn’t know her at all, she had known who he was from a very young age, having already raced against him and other current F1 drivers when they were children in karting. From their first meeting, there was an undeniable spark between them, but their journeys had been very different.

Y/N was the only current female driver, which made it easy for her to catch the eyes of people around her. Not only due to her exceptional skills but also because of her beauty, which left many speechless, including Lando Norris. He remembered his first impressions of her: her confidence, determination, and captivating smile. Y/N carried herself with a grace and strength that commanded respect on and off the track.

When she met Lando, Y/N fell for him almost immediately. If you asked her, she would tell you it was love at first sight. For Lando, it took a bit more time to open up to her. Since she joined right after Carlos, he felt like she took his friend's spot, but as time passed by, he realized she deserved her place in McLaren. He recalled the moments they shared, talking about their past karting races, sharing jokes, and laughter that brought them closer each day.

The two grew closer each day, and finally, they both decided to let that chemistry become romance and started a relationship. Everything was perfect in Y/N's eyes, especially in the beginning. She wanted the whole world to see how in love with him she was. For her, they were endgame. But whenever the conversation about announcing their relationship came up, Lando simply brushed it off. He was always polite about it, saying it wasn’t the right time or that it could complicate things with the media and the team.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

A month passed, then two months, six months, and still nothing. Y/N started to notice how Lando would distance himself from her, drawing an invisible line between them. The kisses became less frequent, he would come to her apartment less often, and Y/N had stopped asking about announcing their relationship a long time ago. She missed the early days when everything seemed possible, and their love felt like a secret treasure.

Professionally, Lando kept his distance at work, being careful not to be seen with her by other drivers or staff members. When they had media duties, Y/N saw through his act. Over time, she learned when Lando was pretending. It broke her heart a little each time she tried to reach out to him, and he didn't give her the time of day. She remembered the countless nights she spent alone, wondering what went wrong, replaying their conversations, and hoping for a sign that things would change.

When Lando won his first ever GP in Miami, Y/N was ecstatic, smiling ear to ear, proud of the man she called her boyfriend. She couldn't hide her excitement and immediately jumped into his arms as soon as she got out of her car, telling him how proud she was and how she knew he could do it. He, for once, reciprocated her hug, only squeezing her a little, thanking her quickly before running away to celebrate his victory with the team. At the club after the race, Lando barely acknowledged her as he partied with his friends, other drivers, and some other girls. She watched from a distance, feeling like a stranger in a place where she should have felt at home.

A few weeks later, it was Y/N's turn to succeed, winning her first ever GP in Canada. Getting out of her car, she expected the same treatment as Lando when he won. She was jumping up and down, hugging a few team members, but she felt a certain coldness. Lando, being P2, not far from Y/N, got out of his car. Y/N walked towards him, a smile on her face, waiting for him to do anything really. He just passed by her, patting her shoulder. On the podium were herself, Lando, and Max. She was the only one not being sprayed with champagne. That night, Y/N found herself all alone in her hotel room, silent tears streaming down her face as she read the message from Zak Brown: "It was supposed to be Lando's win today. We expect you to help him win the races, not steal them from him. Be careful next time, or this win will be the last of your career." She felt a deep sense of betrayal and loneliness, wondering how things had gone so wrong.

Two weeks went by, and Y/N and Lando didn't talk much. She tried reaching out, but his replies were short and dry, so she didn't insist much, still hurt by the events in Canada. Their once vibrant connection felt like it was fading into a mere shadow of what it used to be.

Spain's GP came quicker than expected for the young female driver. She didn't want to go, feeling her spark for driving leaving her slowly. She was in her driver's room, sitting on her small bed, getting lectured by Zak, who was reminding her of what she was supposed to do. Lando, who was coming in, heard a bit of the conversation. Zak left, and Lando entered the room.

"How are you feeling about today's race?" Lando asked, looking at his girlfriend, trying to sound casual.

"Don't worry, I won't overtake you. You don't need to pretend you care how I feel," she said, getting up from her spot and adjusting her outfit, her voice tinged with sadness.

"What are you even talking about? Of course, I care," Lando said, raising his voice slightly, frustration creeping in.

"You don't care, Lando. I was so stupid thinking you loved me," she raised her voice too, tears ready to fall.

"I care," Lando argued, trying to bridge the growing gap between them.

"Yeah, like you cared when I won in Canada, or like you cared when I was all alone in my room during MY special night? You don't hug me anymore, you don't kiss me, you don't talk to me. Are we even together anymore?" Her voice broke with the weight of her emotions.

"You're so selfish, Y/N. Not everything is about you," he said, his own pain and confusion coming to the surface.

"How can I be selfish when all I do is try to please you?" Y/N exclaimed, hurt and bewildered.

"I wish I never met you. You're such a waste of time," Lando screamed, not thinking, letting his anger take over.

"You don't mean that," Y/N whispered, crying, her heart shattering.

"I mean every single word. I should have never given you a chance. I always knew I could do better than you anyway. Why do you think I never go out with you? I'm ashamed. Who would want to be seen with you?" Lando continued, his words like daggers.

Y/N didn't let any other word get out of her mouth, getting out of the room, tears streaming down her face, having a full-on panic attack. She sat down, trying to calm her breathing. After what felt like an eternity, she wiped the tears and went straight to the garage. Once she entered, Lando's eyes immediately went to her, guilt written all over his face. She quickly put her helmet on, trying to block the cameras from seeing her puffy red eyes.

When all the cars were parked in the right places on the starting grid, the lights went green, and the Spain race started.

It was on her tenth lap that Y/N started to feel something was wrong with the car.

"Something is wrong with the car," she said loud and clear, so the engineer could hear her through the radio.

"What do you mean?" The engineer said, his voice laced with worry.

"I can't slow down. I don't know what to do," she started panicking, her mind racing.

"It's going to be okay. Try to bring back the car," the engineer said in her ears, trying to keep her calm.

It was a matter of seconds before Y/N's car ended up rolling all the way toward a wall. The public went silent as the accident happened. The car behind her, which was George's, stopped, and the man came running to her. A red flag was quickly drawn, making all the other cars retire to the pit. The scene was chaotic, with everyone fearing the worst.

Lando arrived and got out of his car, looking around, not understanding what was happening. He went to Carlos, who was standing just in front of him.

"What's happening?" he asked, anxiety clear in his voice.

"Accident. We don't know who it is," the Spaniard said, looking at the big screen, trying to get a better view of what was happening.

Lando was looking around, trying to find Y/N. When he didn't see her car anywhere, he looked back at the screen. He recognized George's car and saw what looked like an orange car, upside down, stuck between the wall and the tires. He ran to the McLaren facility, his heart pounding.

"Y/N? Are you conscious?" Lando heard Zak say, his voice tense.

He picked up headphones and listened carefully. He heard weak breathing.

"Y/N? It's Lando. Please reply to me, baby," Lando said, earning looks from the team.

"It hurts," Y/N struggled to say, her breathing uneven.

"Where does it hurt, baby?" Lando asked, trying to keep her awake, his voice trembling.

"Everywhere. Please get me out of here. I can't move," Y/N was crying, fear in her voice. "Lando?"

"I'm here, love. They're trying to get you out," he said, his heart breaking.

"I don't want to die, Lan," she sobbed, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're not dying, baby," Lando murmured, tears streaming down his face.

The safety team got Y/N out after several minutes of struggling. Once she was finally out, George helped her stand. Everyone let out a breath, thinking it was finally over. Lando was looking at his lover, trying to control his own breathing, not to break down right there and then.

But everything came crashing down again when Y/N stopped walking, her orange suit becoming more and more stained with red around her abdomen. She collapsed, her body giving out.

✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: * :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: *

"I'm not asking you to apologize, I'm asking you to explain to me how the fuck did you let this happen?" Lando was screaming on the phone. "Zak, she almost died. There's no good excuse for that." He hung up after that, returning to his sitting position next to Y/N's bed, who was still unconscious.

He looked at her, his hand reaching for her hair before grabbing her hand, intertwining their fingers. He felt an overwhelming sense of regret and sorrow.

"You have to wake up, baby, I can't live without you," he whispered, bringing her hand to his lips and kissing it gently, his voice breaking.

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N remained unconscious. The doctors were doing everything they could, but the prognosis was uncertain. Lando stayed by her side every single day, his heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. He whispered to her about the future they would have, the places they would go, and the love they would share, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

One quiet evening, as the sun set outside the hospital window, Y/N’s fingers twitched slightly. Lando’s heart leapt with hope. "Y/N? Can you hear me?" he asked, his voice filled with desperation and love.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked around the room, her gaze finally landing on Lando. "Lando," she whispered, her voice weak but clear.

"I'm here, love. I'm here," he said, tears streaming down his face.

"What happened?" she asked, confusion and pain evident in her eyes.

"You had an accident, but you're safe now. You're in the hospital," Lando explained, his voice shaking with relief.

"I was so scared," she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know, baby. I was scared too. But you're going to be okay," Lando reassured her, holding her hand tightly.

As the days passed, Y/N slowly started to recover. Her physical wounds began to heal, but the emotional scars were deeper. She couldn't shake off the feeling of betrayal and abandonment she had felt from Lando before the accident.

One evening, as they sat together in the dimly lit hospital room, Y/N finally broke the silence. "Lando, we need to talk," she said, her voice firm despite her frailty.

"I know," he replied, looking down at their intertwined hands. "I've been a terrible boyfriend. I took you for granted, and I hurt you. I'm so sorry, Y/N. You didn't deserve any of it."

"It’s not just about the accident, Lando. It's about everything that led up to it. The way you distanced yourself, the way you made me feel like I didn't matter," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.

"I was wrong. I was selfish and stupid. But I love you, Y/N. I want to make things right," Lando pleaded, his voice breaking.

"I love you too, Lando, but I need time. I need time to heal, not just physically but emotionally. I need to figure out if I can truly trust you again," Y/N said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Lando nodded, tears streaming down his face. "I'll wait for you, Y/N. No matter how long it takes. I just want you to be happy, even if that means letting you go."

She looked at him, her heart aching. "I appreciate that, Lando. But you need to understand, it's not going to be easy. You hurt me deeply, and it's going to take time for me to process everything and decide if I can move past it."

"I understand," Lando said, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll do whatever it takes to prove that I'm worthy of your trust and love again."

[chuluoyi]

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, age gap, one-sided pining, mentions of injury, comfort, teacher!gojo x student!reader

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

general masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

[blue-jisungs]

hi hi hi!!! is it possible to request for long distance relationship with piwon? and thank you for your contributions within the p1ece community with all of these masterpieces you've made 🫡

[ 💌 ] long distance relationship w piwon

# author’s note ... ahhh sorry it took so long:(( TYSM FOR RQING THO N FOR UR NICE WORDS HEHE!!! i got a bunch of piwon reqs and u dont even know how excited i am to write them mwhaahahah <333

┆彡 KEEHO [ 기호 ]

i feel like he’d be the strongest soldier amongst them all

because he’s just so chronically online LMFAO 

no but even if you don’t text everyday (which happens, given his busy schedules), there’s always a way that keeho will reach out 

sends you reels on insta, sends you tiktok’s he found or he filmed, you can see his bereal, you can see what he’s listening to on airbuds … like he makes sure you know he’s safe n sound (i hope that makes sense?!) 

and he clings to every notification from you as well!!! 

like oh, you just hit another milestone on duolingo?? he’s texting you asap !!!

also the type to spam you with photos of things that remind him of you:(((( 

he loooves to face time you but more often than not the call always ends up interrupted by one of the boys 😭😭😭

┆彡 INTAK [ 인탁 ]

he’s so loverboy im actually gonna cry 

he was not build for this please save him from this misery 😿😿😿 

cannot survive without calling you at LEAST twice a day. like for real. 

will spam you with i love yous and i miss yous so so much because he just wants to be sure that you know his feelings for you are unchanged:(

facetiming is a must as well, he’ll often do that at the end of his (or yours if you’re in diff time zone) day so you can talk before going to sleep:( 

won’t admit but loves when you fall asleep on ft:( like at least he can adore your sleepy face like he does when he’s with you:(

deffo buys everything that he thinks you’d like so when you reunite he has BAGS of gifts:(

(can you tell i love him so dearly.)

┆彡 THEO [ 테오 ]

he’s so:< 

checks up on you everyday!!!!! tracks your lil icon on find my and calls you sometimes like “oh i saw you’re in your fav cafe, what are you getting?” 

i believe he’s a romantic okay? so you two deffo have those apps for couples that like ,, you can draw something and it’ll pop up on his screen 

or locket! :( like he loves getting notifs n he deffo stares at the silly selfies you take:(((( 

he also sends flowers for you, sometimes no matter the occasion <\\3 may or may not send a bottle of his cologne because he just knows you’ll feel less lonely if you can smell his perfume🥹🥹🥹

he’s sooo nostalgic❤️‍🩹 will scroll through your pics and videos… watch them all the time… m smile so fondly at the screen (while others make fun of him >:T) 

has bought tickets to your place impulsively… at least three times 

(and obv used them ?! like hellour he won’t waste the money now that he bought them !!! )

┆彡 JIUNG [ 지웅 ]

please end his suffering pt2 

he is physically sick when you’re not around !!! (his tummy hurts… well, his heart too…) 

spams you all day everyday – he saw a cute cat? sent. cool clothes? sent and asking for advice. a dead frog on the street? sent with caption ‘me when you’re 372028193 km away’ 

selfies too!!! you’ll get soooo many selcas bc he just knows you miss his face (and worry not, you send yours in return!! he kicks his legs like a teenage girl whenever he sees them~~) 

facetimes you (or you him) even when doing the most mundane things ever… you could be studying in silence and he’ll be playing on his switch, none of you talking because you’re locked in… but he steals glances at the screen and your face,,, mentally counting down days when you’re gonna meet again 🥹

literally thinks about you sm that he can’t help but mention you whenever he can:( “omg yn would love that!” “oooo this is yn’s favorite snack!!” “i need to take a pic for yn!!!” 

atp his friends scheme how to get him to you ASAP!!!

┆彡 SHOTA [ 翔太 ]

i feel like he’d handle it the worst actually:( but only bc he’s just such a lover boy, he needs you close:( 

keeho or other members will often send you pictures of sulking shota once you hang up on face time <\3 

will spam you even with single kaomojis so you’re an expert with those, professional translator if you will

definitely spams you with lots of content too, like pics of plushies, his short blogs, food pics 

requires food pics in return (secretly makes sure you do eat this way) 

when he’s feeling like a little tease, he’ll send lots of pics with keeho when they’re hugging and caption them with something sassy 😭 

deffo tracks you on find my when he’s bored but deep down he just checks up on you and makes sure you’re safe 

┆彡 JONGSEOB [ 종섭 ]

you’re literally vlogging to each other 😭😭😭 voice memos or insta stories just for him !! 

and you bet your ass he’ll reply to every single one 

loves face timing you when he’s writing new songs… you’re his muse (but it’s not like he’ll say it out loud) 

definitely looks at your pictures with a whipped smile (and got caught sooo many times but they don’t tease him that much since he’s just so in love it hurts

another one to use every app possible to keep in touch w you HOWEVER he’s not very cheesy,,, so expect him to doodle theo with a big butt in return to your hearts and flowers 

sending memes and reels is his love language, will send lots with the caption “us when i get back” :(( 

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,,

@mon2sunjinsuver ,, @litepowee

[etherfabric]

Why things will be easy now

Choose a pile by which picture you resonate with the most.

If your mind is too busy to clearly decide, take a few deep breaths, and use the finger of your non-dominant hand to hover over the images. One will give off the most subtle yet prominent signals, like tingles, a magnetic pull, or temperature. This is your pile. Multiples are also possible.

more PACs

Pile 1

Queen of Swords, The Emperor

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Things will be easy now because you learned what works for you, and are confident to ditch the rest. Your intuition is razor sharp and wielding it is second nature to you now. Other's opinions don't sway you anymore. You know everyone has their own path, and them doing thing A has no influence on your thing B. You are a master now with drawing boundaries with others as well within your own thoughts - you know which ones are from your true, authentic, eternal, beautiful self, and which one are just silly downward spiraling habits you can opt out anytime. Those doubts are like fluffy clouds on a breezy summer day - superficial, fleeting, never able to stop the sun from reaching you. You know where to put your energy and your focus, and feel the results instantly. How come mood is now so easy? And the best part - it doesn't actually feel new. You remember how this was always at your disposal. How you just forgot about it. But it was always there. Memories of past successes are cut and dry proof of all the blessings to come. It feels powerful, it feels true, it feels good - it feels you. Like actually you.

Pile 2

The World, Page of Pentacles

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Things will be easy now because the minute somethings stops feeling satisfying, another perfect thing will pop up. Talking about divine orchestration, and this is your symphony. You enjoy every step of the journey - the idea, the initiation, the progress, the habit, the finish. You marvel at the infinite combinations of those currents through your perception, and the world is your oyster now. So many prospects that hold reliable promises! It's all up to you. Things that used to be dull and monotonous suddenly bring a sparkle to your eye again. Food tastes rich, water refreshes you with every sip, your body is a miracle you have access to every living second. The physical plane got its magic back. With the eyes of the eternal child, you feel abundant beyond limits. I get the feeling specifically of having beautiful interactions with nature, with an emphasis on animals. Spotting a rare bird, petting a cat, a butterfly landing right next to you. Serendipitous timing with weather - sun right when you want it, rain right when it adds to the athmosphere, a breeze caressing your back as encouragement on a stroll towards something exciting. Beautiful sunsets, stargazing, moonlight moments. You have everything you could ever want, and then some. This is what life is about, and it's so easy. And you know how to stay in it.

Pile 3

3 of Cups, 2 of Wands

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Things will be easy now because it finally clicked: You remembered how freaking likeable you are. Social interactions that used to confuse you now suddenly make sense - people are intimidated and nervous around you! They really want you to like them, and they can't fathom how you don't see that. Well, those times are over now. A calm and confident warmth emenates from within you now, and what used to be a source of anxiety and stress is now a constant uplift in your life - the people you meet, how they look at you, the words they say, just their body language from across the street are all surefire signs you can read like a children's book. They reflect what has finally once againrevealed itself to you: You are beautiful, impressive, radiant, capable, deserving, magical. This makes time by yourself like a serene island of recuperation and contemplation. Your dreams and plans with people are just as easily achievable as opening the door to your room. Mundane, easy, self explanatory, a given. Not ever a focus of your worries. Why worry about the doorknob? Why worry about things that are certain? Why worry about just the right people entering your life at just the right moment, with just the right circumstances, right words, right gifts, right intentions? That's right. As easy as the inhale and exhale. As sure as the next breath. Welcome to the truth.

Pile 4

5 of Cups, The Hierophant

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Things will be easy now because you know you don't have to fake anything to get what you want. Feel sad? Cry. You are still God's favorite and your blessings are on their way. The more authentic you are, the faster they will come. You have found comfort in what others would falsely read as "bad signs". There are no bad signs when you are set on the right path. There are only different stations all with their own rhythm, themes and energies. All parts of you are necessary and welcome. Your joy, your fear, your sadness, your frustrations - they are no longer being pushed away, but embraced. That's how they power your manifestations. The more you, the merrier. You can suddenly feel the beautiful relief and cleanse your tears bring, the empowering holy fire within your rage as it propels you forward towards what you deserve, the soothing hum of your tiredness replenishing every cell. No more thwarted sense of self that breaks you - you are perfect and sacred as you are. The less pressure, the more rewards are coming your way. Life flows through you, you are an expression of the divine, and carry yourself accordingly through all phases of life. You will suddenly see texts and teachings reflecting exactly that. You will feel validated in a way you never felt before, but it will feel just like home. Your true home of eternal love and possibilities.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When They Accidentally Bring Up an Insecurity| Jisung

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You had always admired Han's loving spirit and his ability to find inspiration in the smallest things. He brought light into your life in ways you never thought possible. And he helped you see the world in a way most didn't. You loved that you had that in common with Han- an appreciation for things that breathed life into your creative works.

You had never been very good at drawing. Or writing. Or anything having to do with the fine arts. Rather your creativity came more in a problem solving way. But in order to connect with Jisung, you decided to take up sketching to connect with Han a little more, because you loved him.

But that just created a deep-rooted insecurity about your creative abilities. Surrounded by so many talented people - as you were around the kids -you often felt your own contributions paled in comparison, and it was a fear you kept to yourself.

One evening, Han was over at your place, working on some new lyrics while you attempted to write poetry. He was sprawled on the couch, notebook in hand, humming a melody under his breath. You sat at your desk, scribbling down words and then erasing them feeling increasingly frustrated with your lack of progress.

You had long given up drawing, and you thought it might be easier to write a poem, since it was words that described your feelings. You could easily write a poem about something you knew well right? It couldn't be that hard.

You scratched your head as you tried to think of rhymes.

"How's it going over there?" Han asked, glancing up from his notebook.

"Not great," you mumbled, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

Han chuckled, not noticing your tone. "I figured."

His casual comment felt like a sting, a reminder of your perceived inadequacies. You forced a smile and nodded, but inside, you felt your confidence crumbling.

He got up and walked over to you, picking up your paper in his hands. He chuckled. "Poetry now huh?"

You felt your cheeks burn and tried to take it from him. "No-"

"No jagiya I want to read it." He said holding it above your head and reading it. "You make me laugh when I am sad, Your jokes are the best I've ever had. When you smile, my heart feels light, You make everything so bright." Han giggled again. "It's like one of those poems we had to write in elementary school."

That made your cheeks burn even more. "Jisung give it back-"

"Your hugs are warm, your eyes so kind, With you, I leave my worries behind. You're my sunshine, my best friend, With you, I hope the good times never end." He gives you a cute pouty face in a teasing manner. "Awww Y/N... it's such a cute little poem. It's like a little nursery rhyme."

"Jisung stop!" You called out again, feeling your eyes burn as you put your fists to your eyes, the embarrassment you had taking over.

"I know my poem's not that great, But loving you is my favorite fate. Thank you Jisung..." His smile fell and he swallowed. "Thank you...Jisung for...for being you. My love for you is always true." He looked up and seemed to realize what he was teasing you about and his lip trembled. "Y/N-"

"I want to be alone." You mumbled through your tears. Jisung wanted to reach out, but he knew he had hurt your feelings, but knowing you he also knew you needed space.

The next few days were a blur of self-doubt and creative blocks. You avoided drawing and writing, and found excuses to stay busy with other tasks. Han noticed your change in behavior and even if you guys had talked a couple hours after the incident, he still didn't think his apology was enough.

One afternoon, while you were both working on a puzzle together, Han brought up the subject again. "Hey, you know I'm really really sorry right?"

You nodded. "I know. I'm not mad anymore, Jisung."

Han frowned. "But you haven't been writing at all. Or drawing...I feel like it's my fault. No...I know it's my fault. I'm sorry I made fun of your poem- I loved it. I really did. It's the sweetest thing anyone has ever written me..."

You felt a pang in your chest, wishing you could believe him. "Thanks, but sometimes it feels like I'm just not good enough."

Han looked taken aback. "What do you mean? You're incredibly talented."

You sighed, finally letting out a bit of your frustration. "It's just… I see how talented everyone else is, including you, and I can't help but feel like my work doesn't measure up."

Han's expression softened, and he reached out to squeeze your hand. "You're amazing in your own right, and comparing yourself to others isn't fair to you. I wouldn't ever want you to compare yourself to me. That's like comparing a doctor to an actor. Both are genius in their own right, but do you expect an actor to be able to perform surgery like a doctor? Or the doctor to recite the entire second act of Hamlet? You have your talents that I could never even begin to measure up to, Y/N. Its the same with everyone who walks this planet..."

His words were kind, but they didn't fully reach the core of your insecurity. You forced a smile and nodded, hoping the conversation would end there.

A week later, Han invited himself over to your house, hoping to put an end to both of your guy's misery. You hated feeling like you had to walk on eggshells around him, and he hated thinking he was making you uncomfortable.

You guys ate dinner and started watching a drama. After the fourth episode Han pressed the pause button.

"Baby...can I show you something?"

You nodded, slightly confused as to why Jisung would pause your binge.

He grabbed his laptop from his bag and came back towards you, placing his headphones on your head.

He unlocked his laptop, clicked a few buttons and a soft melody filled your ears. Your eyes widened.

"Did you guys wrtie a new song?" You asked excitedly, but Jisung shushed you gently and motioned for you to listen.

You closed your eyes and let yourself go, embracing the music fully.

You felt your heart almost stop when you heard the words of your poem masterfully intricated into the song.

"Why did you show me that?" you asked, your voice trembling. You didn't dare open your eyes, or you were sure the tears you had would fall.

Han sounded puzzled. "Because it's great and I wanted to share it."

"But it's not great," you snapped, tears falling from your eyes as you opened them. "People will know you just used those words. You're so much more well versed and-"

Han stopped in his tracks, realization dawning on him. "I didn't mean to make you feel that way. I just wanted to show them how talented you are.” You shook your head.

"Ouch, Y/N..." Jisung chuckled, his voice breaking a little. You looked at Han, whose chubby cheeks were encompassed by his pout. His boba eyes sad.

"No- No baby I meant... I feel like my words are stupid. Not your voice. Your song was absolutely beautiful... I just feel like I made you waste such a good backtrack."

You wiped away a tear, feeling exposed and vulnerable. "It's not your fault. It's just… I can't help but feel like I'll never be as good as everyone else. And I feel like you did that to make me feel better..."

Han pulled you into a tight hug, his voice gentle and soothing. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. You're incredibly talented and creative, and your art is a reflection of who you are. It's unique and beautiful, just like you."

You clung to him, the sincerity in his words slowly breaking through your walls. "I just want to feel like I'm enough," you whispered.

Han held you at arm's length, looking into your eyes. "You are more than enough. Your worth isn't defined by how perfect your art or writing is or how you compare to others. It's about the passion and love you put into what you do."

His words resonated with you, and you felt a sense of comfort and reassurance. Han's unwavering support and belief in you made a difference, and you realized that your insecurities didn't define you.

"And I didn't make that song to make you feel better...I made it so you could see just how much inspiration I find from you. Y/N I love you more than anything. So, I was over the moon when I wrote this. And even more elated when I got to use the words the love of my life wrote. That's only the demo..." He grins sheepishly. "I was thinking...it would sound cool if you could leave that poem as a voicemail. I could make it the outro of the song..."

You looked at him with wide eyes. "You mean it?"

"Of course I mean it baby. I mean... I know Stay speculates I'm in a relationship...it's been a year now so I feel like this would be a fun way of confirming that. And I want the world to hear the beautiful voice of my baby." He coos, squishing your cheeks.

You giggle and nod, as Han peppers kisses all over your face.

One evening, as you both sat on the couch, Han handed you a sketchbook he had bought for you. "I got this for you. I want you to fill it with whatever makes you happy. No pressure, just pure creativity. It doesn't even have to be art. Maybe you could write me more poems..."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you, Ji. For everything."

Han wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "I'm always here for you. And for inspiration. Because you're my inspiration." He says nuzzling his nose against yours.

You leaned into him, feeling a sense of peace and contentment.

His inspiration. You thought.

What an amazing thing to be...

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

@shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin

@whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun

@ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael

@skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads

@jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld

@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

@minsungsthirdwheel

[after-witch]

Dreaming Seamless Dreams [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Title: Dreaming Seamless Dreams [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: Follow-up to And The Danger Danger Drawing Near Them. what happens when Shigaraki Tomura decides he gets to keep you?

Word count: 3000ish

Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, non-graphic noncon, noncon groping, depression, loss of appetite

When it’s quiet–which is not always, depending on who decides to stay awake and how soundproof the current hideout is–you think too much.

Like right now. It’s too quiet, and your thoughts are starting to hop around. Jumping from thought to thought. Thoughts about the rose-tinted past, the uncertain future–though the future was perhaps not any less uncertain than your present. 

It becomes too much, too easily. Tears inevitably pool in your eyes. Your throat gets tight, your stomach hurts. You curl up and curl up until you can’t possibly twist inward anymore than you already are, leaving you with one pitiful lament: 

Why do you have to think so damned much? 

Maybe it’s because Shigaraki isn’t here at the moment. He’s talking to the League, you think. It must be at the other end of the building, because you don’t hear a peep from anyone. No arguments, no shouts, no excited agreements on what hero they were going to try to kill next. 

Just you and your thoughts and the dim buzz of the world at night. Insects, somewhere outside. The occasional groan of a night wind. The sound of the world itself, fuzzy, buzzy in the background. 

And when you’re actually alone in bed like this, arm curled up against the pillows propped under your head, tucked into a blanket, you can pretend. Pretend that it’s your bed, in your room, and with the quiet and lack of your captor here, well–

It’s almost like it was before.

The thought hits your gut hard. Tears instinctively reach your eyes, and you’re glad Shigaraki isn’t here to wipe them away. You do it yourself, like you would have done before all this. You didn’t appreciate your life enough, you’ve since realized. 

A quiet life where all you did was work your job and come home and occasionally go out with friends for little things. Coffee dates, heading to the bookstore, shopping for clothes. Ooing-and-ahhing over the little changes of life dropped into every conversation. 

A quiet life where you were free to do what you wanted, when you wanted. Where you weren’t a prisoner (not that he’d call you that, no matter how many times you said it earlier on) bound to the whims of someone who claimed to love you, even though his love was more want than love.

A quiet life where you didn’t hear people talking about destroying the world through the wall. 

The thought gets choked out when your breath hitches. It hurts too much to think about, the loss of your old life. 

And anyway–

The door creaks open and Shigaraki pauses in it. Like a monster in the closet doorway, hovering, waiting for just the right moment to strike.  

Your eyes squeeze shut like a child, willing the image of genuine sleep to project over you like some sort of hazy fairy tale. Willing yourself, too, not to take a peek and look at him. If you don’t see the monster, it doesn’t see you. Or so you used to think, as a child. When naivety was normal, and not wish-fulfillment. 

Maybe tonight, he’ll go to bed without demanding something from you. Maybe you can pretend to be home, in your own bed, and ignore the hum of his wants. 

The weight of his gaze covers you like an extra blanket before he mumbles, “I know you’re awake.”

Ah. It’s pointless to keep pretending. So you shift yourself up in the bed and let the blanket drop from your chest, exposing the used t-shirt he gave you to sleep in. One of his, of course. You still don’t look at him, not directly. You settle for staring at his legs. He’s wearing shoes.

“Where were you?” The question comes out softer than you meant it. If you’re too soft, he thinks you’re being sweet on him. The reality is that you’re just too damn tired to argue sometimes. Maybe he knows that, actually; maybe he likes it better that way.

You can hear the damned smirk on his mouth when he finally speaks. 

“Did you miss me?” 

That damned smirk fades, you know this through sheer muscle memory, when your unspoken no hangs in the air between you.

He’ll be annoyed, that you weren’t more receptive to him. That can be bad. It can be good, though, on occasion. When he’s too annoyed, he sometimes decides to huff and puff and leave you alone.

But not always. It can make him angry; make him grab your arm and yank you around, pull you close and remind you of his quirk. Death under his fingers, rot and dust, so stop acting like such a damned brat all the time. 

In the middle, though, there is a strange sort of ambivalence in him when you don’t do what he wants. It’s worse, in some ways, when he acts like this. Like nothing you say has any effect. You’re nothing, weak, a buzzing, useless thing that might as well be quiet for all the good protest does you.

It reminds you just how little say you have in everything.

Because sometimes–like tonight, you realize, in just a few moments–it doesn’t seem to matter much to him at all. Because in the stretch of a few moments, he’s on the bed, tugging off his shoes and tossing them to the floor with a loud clunk. 

Because he doesn’t just remove his shoes–his trousers and shirt goes with it, leaving him in his boxer shorts and worn-out socks and nothing else. 

“I don’t–” you begin, when he begins to crawl his way up the mattress, towards you, towards the blanket you feebly bring up against your t-shirt clad chest. The words get stuck in your throat as he grips the blanket, a finger on each hand carefully tucked to the side, and yanks it down.

You don’t miss the warmth so much as you miss the ghost of protection it gave you. 

“Wait,” you try again, as his body takes the place of the blanket. Just as warm, but far more intrusive, caging you in with nowhere to go. His hair hangs down against his cheeks as he takes 

you in, and even in the dimness of the room–the moon filtering in through tattered curtains letting you see enough–his intentions are apparent. 

Before you can protest further, his hands are on you. He unceremoniously gropes your chest and you let out an awkward sound that is far too much like a pathetic bleat as his fingers grope and squeeze; first your chest, then down, down, past your stomach and lower. Tickling and itching and unwanted.

“Stop.” The word finally comes out, peeled off like an old bandage. “I don’t–I don’t want you to–not right now. Not tonight.” You can’t fend him off forever. You know that. But when he’s good–and this is a stretch of the word, you know–he does listen to you. 

He’s not listening now.

Because he doesn’t stop. Instead he leans forward, and presses a hot kiss against your mouth. There’s too much warmth, from his breath, his tongue, his body against yours. 

“Not tonight,” he tells you, batting aside your protests like a gnat. Another kiss against your mouth, and you fight the urge to press it shut. “I want you,” he continues, voice lower, darker. His fingers flutter against the edge of the shirt and lift it up, pushing it against your collar bones, exposing you fully.

His breath comes in slow and he leans back just a little, taking you in. What must be your flushed expression, you think. Helpless and prone under him, bound to his whims.

Bound to listen to his thoughts, too, when they come low and sickly sweet. 

“You’re so pretty, you know?” 

So you’ve said, you think, bitterly, as his hands go to pull down the waistband of his trousers.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura,” he corrects. There’s a force behind his voice that wasn’t there before, and you feel yourself shrink inside. 

“Tomura,” you force out, even though the name tastes dry on your tongue. But maybe if you act sweeter, he’ll listen. Maybe so. “Please. I don’t want to.”

Maybe he considers it. Maybe not. Regardless, he leans in again, this time pressing his kisses against your neck. Your chin jerks up slowly at the sensation. It’s not the first time, not the last time either, that he gives you hickies. 

“Well, I do want to,” he murmurs, the words melting into your skin with his breath. He must feel you still underneath him, the way you stiffen, the way your breath comes in tighter. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure it feels good. I promise.” His teeth drag against your skin and you feel his fingers fumble against your underwear.

You will hate yourself in the morning for the relief you find in his promise. 

–

It gets harder to live like this. Harder to do anything other than sleep and cry and regret. Some days, you don’t get out of bed at all. You don’t eat, you can’t be bothered to ask for a shower or even a toothbrush. Thoughts of treats–books you want to read, a game you’d like to play–get pushed to the back of your brain with anything else that no longer matters much. 

Why bother, when the world is coming out so wrong? 

It is Tomura who tries to drag some life out of you. Tomura who makes you shower, who watches you eat, who tells you to get up and walk around the room. Who sits you down in front of a video game and shoves the player two controller into your hands and says, curtly, “Don’t make me die on this level or you’ll regret it.”

One day you even tell him that it’s hypocritical, because he doesn’t take great care of himself. How often does he subsist on scraps of junk? How often does he sleep too little, or not at all? It’s bullshit, to expect you to do all of that when he can’t be bothered.

At this, his expression shifts and you almost start to feel sick with worry, but then, it becomes clear. He looks–happy. Not happy like he is when you submit underneath him, a greasy sort of joy that makes your stomach hurt.

But almost–light. Almost bright. Almost a sort of happiness that peels away a layer on him and shows you something else underneath. 

“You’re worried about me, huh?”

It’s a slap in the face. It’s also, sort of, maybe, a little bit true. 

“I’m not,” is all you can say, but he only smiles and shakes his head. 

“It’s cute,” he says, before pointing at your half-finished meal. Some yogurt with a vague fruity flavor, a piece of bread, some slices of beef that was too overdone. “Now eat the rest. You need protein.” 

It’s ridiculous, the way he hovers over your meals sometimes. Usually just on the days where you don’t want to get out of bed or do anything but stare at the wall and contemplate how life led you here. 

You stab at the yogurt with your spoon and have half a mind to throw it at him. Only half, though, so you have to be satisfied with your yogurt-stabbing. Petty thought it is. 

“Don’t test me,” he says, that edge of warning still there–always there, you think. Always ready to be pulled out of his pockets like a bare hand, all 5 fingers at the ready. “Just because you’re cute doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want.”

He’s right on that mark, at least. What you want doesn’t matter anymore. 

What hurts the most is the question that immediately comes afterward, like an unwanted fly in the house: 

Did it ever matter? 

–

“It hurts.” Your voice rings hollow, even to your own ears, despite the earnest wish to put some truly nasty petulance behind it. But true petulance, the kind that made your gut warm and brain smarmy, required an energy you no longer had; not here, in these cramped spaces, this isolating life. 

(Isolating, you think, but not isolated. Not with the leader of the League of Villains clinging to your every breath. Not with the constant chatter and clatter of the League, sometimes far away, sometimes right on the other side of the wall.)

Tomura Shigaraki’s hands still, and the comb gripped in not-quite-all of his fingers goes still against your scalp. For a moment, you think he’ll huff out a sigh, and threaten to punish you. Tie you to the headboard or the radiator and leave you there to think about things; 

“It wouldn’t hurt,” he says, continuing to tug with the comb, “if you would stop squirming.” A nearly fruitless effort on his part: while you’d relished the initial gifts of self-care you were given once you “calmed down enough,” you eventually realized there was no point to it. 

Why bathe, why keep your hair nice, why do anything at all but lie down in whatever bed you were given at the latest League hideout and contemplate the utter shithole of your existence?

Easier to rot in bed, to cry yourself to sleep, to squeeze your eyes shut and try to block out his arms around you, his breath on your neck. His words in your ears; how much he loves you, he wants you, you’re his-his-his.

Nothing to be gained, from a life like that. No, that’s not quite right, is it? You do have one thing–and it’s a modest consideration, in your isolated, depressing world. But even you can’t deny the satisfaction of bothering him.

It’s the one thing you still have any control over, after all. 

“I wouldn’t be squirming,” you shoot back, voice tight and tart, “if you weren’t combing my hair.” 

There is something satisfying in the brief stillness that follows–the quiet shock when your barbs have just enough audacity to make him shut up–before the air crackles with a familiar heavy irritation. 

You know what’s coming even before he does it.

“You–” He bites down on the word, foregoing the comb to scratch at his own neck. When you crane your own neck to see, there they are: the scratches, which might turn into deeper gouges depending on how his mood shifts. Enough to bleed, sometimes, depending on how hard he digs. 

It’s enough to make your breath hitch. Uncomfortable memories come flooding in. The days when you were unruly. When you spit in his face. When you told him you hated him, you hoped All Might would kill him, that you’d never feel anything but spite and hate and–it was like you were back in your house. 

Back in the closet with fear making your stomach clench so hard you thought you were going to puke. Back when he destroyed your door and your life in one fell swoop. Back when you heard those damned words–”You’re pretty”--and the world went upside down.

You’d felt nothing but fear that night, being dragged away from your life among strangers–the girl kept tittering and someone made an ugly remark about what he wanted with you and all it had taken was a stern look from Shigaraki and everyone went silent. Except for you, sniffling, crying, begging for this not to happen.

But it did happen, and he took you, and he could be mean but not always. You could tell, when he was going to be mean. There were signs. His voice got tighter and tougher, he snapped more easily. And he scratched, usually. 

Like now, his fingers digging into the skin, with–

Blood. Suddenly there is the familiar taste of it, all warm iron leaking onto your tongue. In your fear and flinching, you must have bit down on your cheek without realizing it and Shigaraki must have realized. 

Must have seen the way you flinched and shrunk into yourself at the sight of him getting too annoyed. Bordering on angry. Bordering on being the Shigaraki on the news who kidnapped you that night, not the one clings to you in bed, who presses kisses to your cheek with scratchy lips, who offers to let you play his video games if you eat your whole lunch this time. 

He likes it better, you think, when you see him like that. 

Because now he’s cursing, crouching, kneeling in front of you with thumbs wiping away the hot messy tears.

“Shh,” he croons. It’s a familiar sensation, too, this feeling of his thumbs rubbing down your cheeks. He does this on the days you don’t get out of bed, sometimes. When the tears simply fall, leaking onto the pillowcase, and you can’t tell him exactly why you started–other than the basic truth. That you want to go home. That you don’t want to be here. 

He keeps it up, this ritual, until you stop sniffling; until your body comes down from the mountain high of anxiety and lets you sail down to something a bit more like a gentle calm.

He waits until you look at him again, eyes all puffy, to speak. His voice is softer now. Less irritation, and more instruction. Like you’re some beloved pet who needs to be talked to before they go off to the veterinarian for their shots.

“If I don’t take care of your hair,” he says, and a thumb reaches over to tuck a piece behind your ear, “you’ll get knots.” He picks up the comb again, and this time you feel too worn out to fight. “You could get infections on your scalp.” To this, you murmur, something noncommittal. 

A bit of a smile in his voice–and on his face–now that you’re quiet, letting him do it, even when he hits a knot and it tugs your head sideways. When you sniffle, he coos, and you vow not to sniffle, whimper or anything remotely pathetic for the rest of the night. 

If you can manage it, with what he says next. 

“After this,” he says, and the smile takes on an edge you don’t like, low and warm, “we’ll see about getting you a bath.”

[threadbearsweater]

one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan

When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.

Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.

“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.

“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.

“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”

You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.

Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.

“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”

The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.

“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.

“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”

“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”

She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”

You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.

Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”

You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”

Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”

A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.

“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”

“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”

“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.

Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”

There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.

Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.

“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.

Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.

“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.

“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.

“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.

“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”

He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”

You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.

There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”

“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.

The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.

“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”

You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.

Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.

“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.

Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”

You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.

“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”

“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”

The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.

You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”

It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.

“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.

“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.

“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.

Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)

You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.

“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.

“Could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, you started it.”

“And you finished it.”

“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”

“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.

“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.

“It's a promise,” he whispers.

You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.

The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.

“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.

He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”

You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.

“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”

It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.

You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”

Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”

Now you remember it in vivid detail.

“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”

“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”

“I ain't no damn–”

“Kiss me.”

He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.

Things get heated quickly.

His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.

“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.

“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.

Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.

“Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”

Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.

There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”

Your moans are what drive him over the edge.

He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.

Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.

You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”

Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”

“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”

“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”

You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”

He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”

[rageserenity]

It's 2024. Are you still thinking about movieverse!Cherik? Because I am.

For the past several months, there's only been a very slow trickle of posts/fics in the xmcu cherik tag. Let's try to breathe some life back into this incredible pairing!

With one clear winner of my poll, here's thirty prompts for the thirty days of April. (This is a super chill, laid-back event---do these in any order, interpret them as loosely as you like! Create in any medium! Fic, art, gifs, meta, incoherent screaming about the otp…all winners in my book.)

The only rule here is to cherik too close to the sun. Alright. Here are the prompts.

Mutual Pining

Doesn't really even need elaboration! Write that horrifically slow slow-burn. Gif every time McAvoy made insane fuck me eyes on screen. Make a playlist of songs about impossible love.

2. Alternate Meetings

There are endless quotes about how these two complete each other in a way no one they'd met before or after ever did. How else could they have met?

3. Erik Has A Telepathy Kink

This is basically canon. Let my boy get freaky!

4. Canon Fix-It

All the times Fox fucked it up. There are endless options.

5. Hurt/Comfort

Put them in that Situation. Put them in that Blender. Break them apart and put them back together ❤️‍🩹

6. Canon Compliant

Draw that missing scene! Gif your favourite cherik moment!

7. Beach Divorce

Make it worse. Make it better. Show it to us exactly how it was. Break it down in a 3,000 word meta. Go wild!

8. Domestics

Sometimes you just want to see them doing normal couple things. Erik put the gun down.

9. Found Family

The real heart of x-men!

10. Time Travel

There are SO many possibilities here. Stick them in a time loop. Give them a chance to change their past.

11. AU

Love a good AU!

12. There Is Only One Bed

Had to get this one in here. What better way to amp up the tension?

13. Genosha

By some miracle, cherik actually did end up together at the end of 2019s trash bag disaster Dark Phoenix. We aren’t making a big enough deal about this.

14. Declaration(s) of Love

Who says it first? How do they say it and when? Have they said it…without saying it?

15. Jealousy

Need I say more.

16. Reunion

These two have absolutely no chill.

17. Soulmates

Classic prompt, had to get this in here too.

18. The DOFP Aircraft

The TENSION here. Break it down for me. How does Charles feel about his injury? How does Erik feel about his injury?

19. Gay Mutant Road Trip

You already know.

20. Body Swap

SO fun when people have superpowers.

21. First Kiss

When? How? Who initiated it?

22. The Mansion

Mansion!content is a genre of its own.

23. Conflicting Ideology

Give me your theses. Who’s right? Can they ever reconcile completely? Write a fic where it drives them apart.

24. Sebastian Shaw

A trope unto himself.

25. Team As Matchmaker

They had to have known something was going on, didn’t they?

26. Cooking

Charles deserves a good meal. Also, imagine Erik using his powers in the kitchen. The sheer domesticity…

27. Hurt No Comfort

Plenty of scope with these two 🥲

28. Growing Old Together

Giving Sirs Ian Mckellan and Patrick Stewart their props as well!

29. Making Up

*pushes chess board across the table* sorry babe

30. Charles Xavier Did More For Mutants Than You'll Ever Know

Rising to each other’s defense. Only I can insult this man.

I will be tracking #revivecherik to reblog stuff! Here’s a fic collection for the same. Let’s get this ball rolling! Please feel free to send me an ask if you’ve got anything to say! And most importantly, let’s all have fun 😁

*I know a few of you preferred something like a gift exchange because of the commitment factor—I’m super down to organise a tiny one for the handful of us! If this promptathon doesn’t flop horribly, we can hopefully do a whole bunch of stuff :)

If you read this post all the way through, please reblog for reach! Thank you! Hoping you participate come April.

Shoutout to @inmymagnetoera for reaching out and helping with this!