#nobody get me started. I won't shut up

[ministarfruit]

I also did mock CGs of them for fun!!

(doppelgänger magni and vesper concepts)

[keeps-ache]

guess who's computer is going back to the shop again! 👉 this guy 👈

[nochepsicodelica]

"All those drinks are gonna do you dirty, ma. You're gonna throw up if you don't get some food in your system, so eat," Toji says, pushing the box closer to you.

You giggle at his serious face, before standing up from your chair for the fourth time, trying to go around him. Toji's used to this by now and stands up, bringing you back down to your chair.

"Stop getting up and eat your food. You literally begged for this. Why aren't you eating it?"

"Why aren't you eating it?" You return, raising your brows at him, seductively. It doesn't come off too sexy when raising your eyebrows makes you immediately squint because of the light going into your sensitive eyes, but it does lure a chuckle out of Toji.

"I'm ignoring that. Just eat. I don't wanna hear you upchucking in a couple hours."

"You won't hold my hair back?" You pout. Your feigned little flash of sadness produces real tears in this state, so it's a little confusing for Toji when you start giggling while wiping at your reddened cheeks.

"Your food's getting cold. I know how you are about reheating fast food, so eat it before it goes to waste."

You smile at him, your eyelids almost completely shut in your drunken daze. Toji can't even lie, it's cute. It's the only reason he's not up the wall about this little situation. Then you decide to drop a bomb on him.

"I'm not hungry anymore. Too tired to eat." You rest your chin on your palm, shutting your eyes. It feels nice. It would take less than thirty seconds for you to fall asleep.

Fuck. Think, think, think...

"Hey." Toji pokes your forehead, lightly, earning a hum and a furrow of your brows. "What if I feed you?"

You laugh, giddily. "Ooo, you trying to romance me?"

"Sure, if you eat."

You laugh again. "Toji, you dog, you. I'm not putting out." You shake your head, eyes closed with a dumb grin on your face. "No, sir. It's food and then goodnight for me."

"You already put out for me, earlier, doll." He smirks at the way you blush, clearly having an 'oh, yeah...' moment. "Eat some more so we can go to sleep."

"Hm?" You hum, rolling your eyes open after your blink of sleep. You crack a grin as soon as you look at Toji. "You wanna kiss me sooo bad. Look at you."

"I'm not gonna kiss you. You're not listening. You think you deserve kisses for that?"

"Uh... yes? I mean no. Pshhh, nooo. Of course, not."

"That's right. So eat, or you'll go to sleep without kisses, tonight."

"Noooo," you whine, dramatically. "Wait! Fine, fine. Look." You take a huge bite of your sandwich, your cheeks puffing up as you chew. "Oh, this is really good," you say, muffled by your mouthful of food.

"Don't choke, doll. Small bites are fine," he says, picking up a napkin and wiping the excess condiments off your face.

You push through it and gulp down the bite. "That was a lot. Got bread stuck on the roof of my mouth." You take a sip of your drink to wash it all down. "Did I look so pretty for the party, today?" You ask, your lips curling as you put the cup back down.

"You did, mama. Stunning. Swept everyone there, off their feet."

You smile, the gesture transitioning into a giggle. "Even Shiu?"

"Yup. Even Shiu said he wanted a piece of you."

You gasp. "No... Did you fight him?"

"Nah, I wanted to, but I kept my cool. If he had put his hands on you, then I might have, but I had my eye on you all night, to make sure nobody did more than look at you."

"I wouldn't have followed him anywhere, anyway." You roll your eyes, suddenly so hostile against the host of the party. "Probably would've kicked him in the nuts and gone to find you."

"Yeah, that's a smart idea, doll."

Toji's elaborate answers to your questions kept you awake long enough for you to mindlessly eat while he talked. You were at the end of the sandwich when you realized how much you had eaten and how full you were.

"Can't... do it..." You groan, lying on the arm you have extended on the table. "Too full." You sigh, heavily, setting the rest of the sandwich down on the scattered fries in its box.

"That's good, ma. You don't have to eat it, anymore. We can go to bed, now."

You let out another heavy sigh, sluggishness washing over you before you force yourself to stand up from your chair, this time with Toji's 'okay'. He looks at your little belly as it protrudes from your dress, proof of how full you actually are, and pokes at it. Your usually soft tummy is temporarily stiff and it's adorable.

You grab Toji's hand so that you don't stumble as you walk. Before leaving the table, he finished the remainder of your sandwich in one bite and threw out the container with the remaining cold fries.

"Damn, you were right, baby. That was good."

"Mhm," you mumble, waiting for him to lead you to the room.

Toji helped you brush your teeth and wash your face, and when you finally made it to the room, he helped you dress down into comfier clothes. Now, you're in bed together and you're in his arms trying to doze off, but you can't with the way he's smothering your face with kisses. It's just kiss after kiss with him and you can't focus, but it is what you wanted. After all, you stuffed your face for this.

[homunculus-argument]

A scene for a random story I have no context for:

A group of people including a small kid are on their way somewhere, and the kid suddenly digs their heels in and absolutely refuses to do something the adults know is perfectly safe and aren't scared of. The more the kid's mother tries to drag the kid in kicking and screaming, the more obvious it gets that this child is willing to fight to the death over this. And another person in the party goes "wait, let me try" and swoops in, getting down to the kid's level, saying

"look, I know it's scary, and you don't have to go the whole way if you don't want to. All I want for you to do is to take this one first step, and see how how that feels, ok? If it's still scary, you can go back and we don't have to do this."

Meanwhile the kid's mother starts scoffing in the background, of course they're going to drag the kid kicking and screaming if they won't comply. And the person who was talking to the kid stands up and turns around, going

"CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP WHEN I'M TRYING TO RAISE YOUR KID FOR YOU, YOU UNGRATEFUL COW."

Like it's not even a question. Not a request, just a statement. And since now the whole party is staring at the person who was trying to help in startled silence, they internally go "oh shit, the kid", and turns around to check on this skittish child who must be twice as terrified now.

...and the kid is just standing there, beaming with awe and adoration, because nobody's ever done that before. The kid has never met someone who isn't scared of the mom, and they're now ready to follow this hero anywhere.

[witherby]

I need anything and everything of jason being Mouses favourite. (The Littlest Wayne AU)

They get a snack/ meal - Jay Jay has to take a bite first before they eat

They have a new toy- Jay Jay has to see and play

I’ll take anything you can think of.

I am obsessed. The AU is amazing

-🤍💜

Say less! I love Jason Todd and so does Flittermouse! By the way the word count is 3100+ lol oops

The Littlest Wayne: Fist Bumps

Masterlist is Here!

"This is stupid."

"Shut up, you're just mad you won't get picked."

Tim kicks Damian in the shin, who retaliates by kicking him back much, much harder in the ankle. Tim cries out, about to start a fight, but one stern look from Alfred settles them both down. They continue to sit beside each other without fuss, and soon everyone is all neatly lined in a row while Hal uses his ring to keep you safely suspended in a bubble, playing with a little rattle.

"Alright," Dick says excitedly, "we're going over the rules one more time! No jingling any shiny objects for Flitty to chase after, no getting out of line to get closer to them, and Bruce, no bare skin! We're gonna have Hal set them down and see who they come to first."

"This isn't gonna go the way you think it's gonna go," Bruce says, endlessly amused. "Please, none of you get your feelings hurt."

"Nobody's gonna start cryin', relax," Jason says, lounging on the floor between Damian and Hal. "Kay, we ready?"

A chorus of agreement follows, and Hal gently lowers you to the floor. They all immediately call your name, or variations of your nickname, waving their hands and patting their laps to get you to come to them. Your eyes widen, startled by the sudden rush of noise, and turn your head to assess everyone across the room.

You lock on to the man you want, the binky in your mouth bopping up and down excitedly, and you start speedily crawling to Jason.

"I KNOW that's fuckin' right!" He yells, scooping you into his arms and gently tossing you in the air a couple inches, then peppering your face with kisses. "I'm the favorite you little freaks. Kiss my ass."

"Okay, whatever, we knew that already," Dick says, "now it's time to see who the second favorite is. Put them down and go away so we can play again."

"Be nice to your brother," Bruce says. Dick flicks Bruce in the ear and he scowls. "Ow. Be nice to me."

"Fine. Gotta know who my competition is for the number one spot in Mousey's heart, even if I'm winning by a landslide." Jason carries you across the room and sets you back down. "You stay for a sec, kay? Pound it." He picks up your chubby arm and makes you give him a fist bump, then walks away from you.

Before they can even start a second round of the game, you're shuffling after him again. Christ, it's adorable.

"It's because they can still see you, Todd," Damian says, scooping you up to put back in starting position. "Duck behind the couch."

Jason rolls his eyes but complies, bending down until he's out of sight. When the rest of the family calls for you again, you shuffle forward like you're going to crawl to Hal, but you veer past him and around to the back of the couch to get to Jason again.

"Oh my god, they've developed object permanence already," Tim says. Jason's triumphant laughter fills the room as he lifts you up to give you more kisses. His endless delight and your happy squealing softens the blow to everyone else's egos.

"This game sucks anyway," Dick mumbles, crossing his arms in defeat. "What idiot even came up with it in the first place..."

--

"You ask."

"Uh, no? You ask? I don't care."

"Yeah but he tolerates your questions. I don't wanna get my jaw blown off."

"Then don't ask, dumbass. It's so easy."

Jason clears his throat, causing the two goons to stiffen up and turn to face him. One of them looks upset that he was caught unaware, and the other looks one wrong move away from pissing himself.

"Hi, boss," they both greet.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Jason asks, taking a half-step closer. "Cause last I checked, I sent you both over here to do quality control on our newest drug shipment. And I'm not seeing a lot of that gettin' done."

He turns to the more frightened man. If he didn't have his helmet on, he would've sneered at him.

"So what's the hold up? Need me to sew some mouths shut? Hmm? Want me t'cut out your fuckin' tongue? That'll motivate you real fast, I bet."

"We'll get right on it, boss," the other, clearly smarter, henchman states. "We were just. Uh. Wondering why there's... why there's a baby strapped to your chest."

Jason looks down at you. You stare right back at him, making a soft cooing noise around your Red Hood-themed binky, and reach up for his mask. He gently takes your hand instead, feeling your tiny fingers curl around the leather of his gloved pointer. He's smiling sweetly at you, despite no one being able to see it.

"This is M," he says by way of an answer. "Won't be an everyday occurrence — couldn't find another babysitter so I assured the dad I'd keep 'em safe for the night."

He doesn't mention that your dad is also his dad, and that when Jason tried to leave to do his vigilante work, you screamed the house down and would only calm down in his arms, therefore he had no choice. So here you are, strapped to his chest in a onesie padded with kevlar and vital-tracking tech, while your favorite brother carries your diapers and formula around in the same duffel he stashes his guns.

And because you're his favorite, too, he secretly hopes you throw more fits so he gets to hoard you all to himself again. Taking a few minutes to tickle your tummy or gently rock you in his arms stops him from losing his patience and blowing out the brains of several subordinates tonight — which his men clearly catch onto, because they all start telling him how nice it is to see such a cute and perfect and pleasant, life-saving baby hanging around.

Fuck yeah it's nice. S'cause you're the coolest baby ever. Jason gently makes you fist bump him.

--

"AHHH!"

Jason is out of his chair and bolting across the Manor before his brain fully registers your screaming through the baby monitor. There's surprised exclamations and footfalls not far from him as his thunderous steps stir up a commotion, but he doesn't care about that.

There are very few times in his life when he's moved this fast. Large, expansive rooms fly by him in a blur of color. He takes the stairs six at a time. If a door he needs to get through is closed, he's breaking it down with a well-placed hit with his shoulder and moving on.

When he gets to your room, he stops to yank the door open because he doesn't know if you're near it, and darts inside with a sharp shout of your name.

"What's wrong!?" He pants, zeroing in on you immediately. You've rushed into your wardrobe and climbed inside it, red-faced and crying as a crow flaps haphazardly around the bedroom. The shattered glass on the floor gives him the missing context, and he snatches the bird out of the air with more force than necessary while the adrenaline spike is still scrambling his nervous system.

Bruce is the second person to rush into your room just moments after, crouching by your hiding spot with furrowed brows and a soft, slightly winded voice.

"Are you hurt?" He asks. You whimper but shake your head, fat tears rolling down your little cheeks, and lift your hands. Bruce picks you up without hesitation and stands up.

"Jaylad?" He says, still in that gentle tone. "You alright?"

Jason doesn't answer. He's not alright, not really. The rage he'd built up thinking someone was in here hurting you is still burning through his veins, and with no outlet for it, he's struggling a bit.

Bruce doesn't take offense to his lack of response. He just offers you a small, reassuring smile and bounces you a bit in his arms.

"Let's go find Grandpa and snuggle up with some hot chocolate," he murmurs. "Jay-Jay will hang back and make sure your bedroom is safe for you."

"No!" You sob, leaning around your father's broad shoulders to reach for Jason. "Want Jay-Jay!"

"You can spend time with him in a little while, Mouse," Bruce says, starting to carry you out of the room. Your protests get louder and more frantic, pushing against him to no avail.

"Want Jay!" You repeat, sobbing openly. "Jay-Jay! Want, p'ease!! Jay-Jay!"

"Bruce," Jason utters through grit teeth. His father stops, only a few steps down the hallway, and turns back to him. "It's fine. I'll take 'em, you clean up the mess."

"...are you sure?" Bruce frowns, visibly cautious. He looks down at the bird still flapping helplessly as Jason holds it by the neck, firmer than strictly necessary.

Jason takes a step towards the broken window and tosses the crow out. After a second of frantic flapping, it straightens itself out and flies away with panicked sqawking.

He turns to you and holds out his arms. They're only trembling a little bit, but the edges of his vision are still tinged with green. Bruce hesitates to pass you over.

"I've got it," Jason murmurs, "I'm calm enough. Gimme my fuckin' sibling before you piss me off worse, B."

Bruce nods slowly. He brings you back into the room and hands you off to Jason. Your arms circle his neck and cling on tight, and you bury your face in his chest as you cry. It breaks his heart that you had such a bad scare. He can see the half-completed Lego build you were playing with on the floor in front of the window and hopes Bruce can get all the glass shards out between the bricks and carpet.

Jason carries you out of your bedroom and down the corridor to his. He leaves his door cracked open and flicks on lights as he goes, then brings you to the en-suite bathroom.

"Okay, Mousey," he mumbles, trying to set you on the sink's vanity. You clutch him tighter and whimper, and it drives a spear right through his chest. "Kid, I'm not goin' nowhere. Jay-Jay's right here, I just wanna make sure there's no glass on you."

A little more prodding and the compromise of you holding one of his hands gets you to relent. You sit miserably on the counter as your sobs slowly die down, and Jason tediously checks your hair and clothes for any bits of glass that may have landed on you when the crow crashed into the window. The slow, repetitive motions help quiet the last of his anger until he's just tired and concerned for you. He finds a couple tiny pieces, but your skin is unblemished and when he asks if you're hurt, you shake your head, which then calms him entirely.

"Alright, great job," he murmurs. "Come here, we'll go bother Alfie t'give us an icecream sammy before dinner and then cuddle in the main living room. Good plan?"

You sniffle, wiping the last of your tears away. Your cheeks are flushed and puffy. "Yeah, good pwan..."

Jason kisses the top of your head and offers you his fist. You gently bump yours against his, then lift your arms again to be picked back up. He obliges, refusing to put you back down for the rest of the day. When it's time for bed, you don't wanna go back into your room, so he spends the evening reading his current novel with a dim book light while you snooze away on his chest.

--

He's livid. Jason's got a hole in his leg and he can't run away from the rival gang leader pointing a gun at his head, and he's fucking livid.

"My first death was way cooler," he mutters. "Got blown up and everything."

"What the fuck are you saying?" The other man scowls. "I never could understand you through that thick-ass helmet."

"I'm saying, if you're gonna go down as the guy that killed the Red Hood, at least make the execution something fuckin' noteworthy," Jason rants, the pain making him bitchier than usual. He waves his hands for emphasis, pointing at the gunman much like a mother scolding her child. "Ohh I shot him and watched his brain splatter everywhere! So has every single marksman ever. I'm worth more than a bullet in an alleyway. The fuck do I look like, Bruce Wayne's folks?"

"Whoa, man," the shooter says, lifting his free hand to scratch the back of his head. "Let me get this straight. You're not mad I'm gonna kill you. You're that mad I'm not gonna kill you...in a cooler way?"

"Excellent listening ears, bucko! Gold star!" Jason coos, clapping. "Immolation, decapitation, tossin' me in an acid pit — fuck me, I'll take a stab wound over a bullet! D'you know how skilled you gotta be to get close enough to stab Red Hood to death!? If not for me, do somethin' that'll raise your own paltry street cred, shit. You're so fucking boring."

The man doesn't get another chance to weigh his options. The darkness of the alleyway pounces on him, sucking him into the void while he shrieks like an animal. Jason slumps against the wall and watches the shapeless darkness warp and twist, the gun abandoned on the ground in the gunman's initial panic. He feels his heart rate slow when you step out after a minute, wearing a thick jacket over your pajamas and a domino mask over your eyes as you hurry towards him. A flash of irritation makes him scowl as he realizes one of the others woke you up for this, when you aren't even a vigilante to begin with. The culprit's gonna get their ass beat as soon as he recovers enough to track them down.

"Okay," you stammer, kneeling next to him on the ground with a first aid kit. "Okay okay okay...Alf — umm, Agent A? I'm here, what do I do?"

"Remain calm, Flittermouse. All will be well," Alfred soothes you over the comms. Jason feels the adrenaline steadily exiting his body now that he's registered that he's safe. Now, it's a fight to stay conscious so you don't freak out even more than you're currently doing. He's so proud of you for coming out here despite the blatant fear.

Your hands shake as you pop the kit open and pull out the field tourniquet. Alfred instructs you on how to set it up, and Jason gently adjusts it when you wrap it a little too close to the bullet wound in his thigh. He grits his teeth as you tighten it, refusing to make a peep, and gives you a quick thumbs up when you tie it off.

"Okay, I stopped the bleeding. Do I bring him home, now?" You ask.

"As long as he has no other injuries, the medical bay is ready for you to transport him back to the cave."

"M'good, Mousey," Jason says, lifting his fist. "Sorry you had to come rescue your cool big bro. S'not your job."

"I was the one who could get here the fastest," you reply. After a moment's hesitation, you bump his fist with your own. "You're gonna be okay."

"M'gonna be okay," he echoes, knowing you need that confirmation. "Saved my life, kid. I'll do all your chores for the next week."

That gets a wet laugh out of you. You hug Jason tight and the shadows of the alley pool underneath your bodies. Jason closes his eyes and hugs you back, a steady anchor in the free-falling sensation entering your darkness gives him.

"My heroics are only worth a week of chores?"

"S'better than the rest get," he says. "They get one chore. Not even a whole day, just one chore."

You bury your face in his shoulder as the void swallows you and him up.

"You're my favorite, too, Jay-Jay," you mumble. Jason smiles as he loses the battle for consciousness.

--

"Good afternoon; welcome to Truce Juice. Would you like a moment with a menu or are you ready to order?"

Jason leans his hip against the counter and takes a menu off the small, laminated stack you've got sitting there, glancing over the options. Behind the helmet, he smiles as he remembers all the late nights you pulled him and your other brothers into the kitchen to taste test these drinks and snacks, desperate to make things that would appeal to many people. He remembers how proud you were to graduate from your culinary courses and the victory cry you let out when you found insurance willing to cover the building.

You smile warmly at him, waiting patiently for him to choose something off the menu for the first time in your brand new business.

"Black coffee," he says, voice warped by the modulator in the helmet, "two sugars."

"What size?" You ask, tapping it into the screen in front of you.

"Large. And a turkey panini, with avocado and pesto."

"Toasted?"

"What other fuckin' way would anybody get a panini?" He muses aloud. To strangers, he would sound angry, but you can tell he's genuinely asking. You just shrug and keep the soft smile on your face.

"You'd be surprised. Your total's on the screen; will that be cash or card?"

Jason reaches a gloved hand down. It glides past the pistol strapped to his thigh, eliciting nervous gasps from bystanders in the cafe, and into the pocket underneath, drawing out a plain, tri-fold wallet. He pulls out two hundred-dollar bills and huffs at you to keep the change, then saunters over to the pick-up counter to wait.

He crosses his arms and watches you scuttle around behind the counter, genuinely happy to make food and drinks for anybody that comes in. So far, you're uninjured and you've been able to stop any rising conflicts in seconds, which he's endlessly thankful for.

When his order is ready, you hand it to him with another bright smile.

"Alright, mister Hood, here you go. Have a great day!"

Jason nods, about to turn away, when he sees you hold your fist out in his periphery.

He grins, heart fit to burst, and bumps it back.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call. Quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress—along with the charger cord still attached to it—and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, laundry. Gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum—depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you—almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead—probably tonight when you do your daily login—you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming—but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell surprise and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend—nope, nothing unusual here—you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[differenteagletragedy]

Simon gets discharged after an injury sidelines him, and he’s sooooo annoyed about it. Sure, he’s older now, he’s not as spry as he used to be and the injury, a bullet that tore through some of the muscle in his leg, makes it worse, but he can still do the job.

Except he can’t, because the powers that be won’t let him, so after two decades of service, it feels like he’s back where he started. Aimless. It eats at him.

Eventually he lands on becoming a cop, figures the structure will be good for him. He knew it wouldn’t be exactly the same as the military was, but he’s not prepared for how boring it truly is.

He sits in his patrol car for hours sometimes, checking for people speeding or having the audacity to drive around without the right stickers on their vehicles. Sometimes he pulls people over just for the hell of it — he’ll ask “You know why I stopped you?”, just hoping for something fun to come from it. He’ll write tickets to assholes for no real reason, and he’ll let worried mothers with small children in the backseat off with empty warnings.

There are times that he sees some action, but it's always short-lived. A drug bust here, an assault there. There's a bit of adrenaline rush when someone resists, and yeah, it's a little exciting when he gets to use his strength, but it's nothing like what he had before. He can't find a way to sink his teeth into it.

Then he gets a call, a little hope of reprieve from the mind-melting boredom of a slow Tuesday night: drunk and disorderly female at a bar close to him. Yes, he can take care of that.

When he arrives, you're just outside the door, arguing with a bouncer. He can see immediately why police were called — you're clearly wasted, all flushed with messy hair and smeared makeup, but you've got some fight in you. Some fight that you're presently showing to the bouncer.

"This is so fucking unbelievable," he hears you sneer, words coming out all slurred. "I didn't do anything wrong! I'm not the one who should have gotten kicked out. This is bullshit and you know it, and --"

"Evening, miss," Simon interrupts, sauntering up to you. "What seems to be the problem?"

You turn, stumbling as you do, to face him, and he's immediately met with the vitriol you'd just been spewing at the poor bouncer, who looks at him now with a pitying gaze, his message clear: you're Simon's problem now.

"The problem," you begin, stepping closer to him, "is that all I was trying to do was have a good time and nobody wants me to."

"That right?"

"Yeah, that's right," you say, your voice a bit softer now. Simon knows what it is when you look up at him, lips pouty and lashes fluttering — it's just a tactic. But he still smirks, because at least he's not writing tickets.

"Actually, the problem is that you got drunk off your ass and when our bartender cut you off, you started causing a scene," the bouncer interjects.

"Nobody fucking asked you, Tom!"

Simon bites back a chuckle, but he can tell the conversation isn't going to go anywhere — just looks like you're a regular who had a little too much. He gives a nod to the bouncer, he tells him that he'll take care of you, then guides you back to his patrol car.

Or at least he tries.

But god, you're just so difficult. You're mouthy and stubborn, telling him that you know your rights, you're an upstanding member of society and he’s going to be sorry, just a constant stream of whatever nonsense pops into your head. He was just going to get you away from the bar, give you a ride home if you needed, but you won't shut up long enough for him to offer.

"This how you were acting inside?" he finally interrupts, leaning against his car. "No wonder they called me in, you're a bloody nuisance."

You gasp, and then you put your hands up, giving him a hard shove. He puts his hands on your arms, to steady you more than to stop you, then tuts, spinning you around and holding your wrists together with one large hand.

"Have it your way," he mutters, pulling out his handcuffs.

"Are you fucking arresting me?" you ask, bewildered. "Seriously?"

"Public intoxication and assaulting a police officer," he tells you. "Getting quite the rap sheet, aren't you?"

They’re empty words — of course he’s not going to charge you with anything. You’re just drunk, you’re not hurting yourself or anyone else. He’s a big boy, he can take a little pushing around. But the way he sees your eyes widen and your lips part when he spins you back to face him, a clear look of apprehension on your face, it makes him want to play, just a little.

“Assault on an officer … believe that’s a felony, yeah? You want to deal with that, or you want to keep your pretty little hands to yourself?”

“I’ll be good,” you answer automatically. “I promise.”

He considers. Imagines what you’d look like bent over the hood of his car, or draped across his lap in the front seat. He can see it in you — you would be good for him. He’d just have to pull it out of you first.

“One more chance,” he concedes. “But the cuffs stay on.”

PART TWO

[buggysummers]

hey babe 🩷 if you have the time or inspiration to write please consider fake dating to lovers with Clark Kent, like a to all the boys I’ve loved before typa situation

a/n: thank u for the request anon!!! sorry it took me a bit to get around to it - i can be a busy busy gal.

"you want me to what?"

clark's voice is unlike anything you'd ever heard from him, his shock nothing less than apparent. you shush him, looking around the hallway to see if anyone's noticed. it's lucky for you that nobody did.

"come on, clark. it's one night! not even! it's like, a few hours at most."

"can't you ask someone else? pete?"

"i don't want to ask pete. he won't be able to sell it."

"and you think i can?" he's exasperated, leaning closer to you as if he's suddenly aware how many people could overhear this conversation. "i'm a horrible liar."

"please? you know how my family can be," you whisper, looking up at clark. he sighs, hanging his head. he does know how your family can be—overbearing—which is exactly why he's hesitant. but you're you, so how can he actually say no?

"okay. okay, fine."

"really?" you ask, nearly jumping out of your skin. your arms slide around clark's neck as you excitedly let out a few small 'thank you's. clark's still frozen in place from his decision, but forces one of his arms to slide awkwardly around your hip. he's in for it, isn't he?

the ringing of the school bell pulls the two of you apart, and you quickly shut your locker, making your way towards your first class. clark keeps his place beside you. "so, what does this mean, exactly? what do you want from me?"

"jeez, clark, that sounds like i'm holding you hostage. it's just a favor."

"yeah, yeah. whatever. what do you need me to do?" he asks, taking his seat next to you at the lab table.

"i don't know. whatever feels natural," you say, bending to the side to pull your textbook out of your bag, a gesture which clark never would've took a second glance at. but today, with your hair falling in front of your face (and then you pushing it away), something's different. he doesn't even notice he forgot to say something in response to you until you glance back at him, confused at his silence.

"uh—" he clears his throat. "how am i supposed to know what's natural? we've never dated before." oops. overly sarcastic.

"have you never even considered it?"

"what?" clark's baffled by your question, but you ask it so casually, like it's not taking the ground out from beneath his feet. it's not that he hasn't considered it. it's that he has. he knows all too well how he wants to walk with his arm around your shoulders, how he wants to have you cuddle into his side as you watch a movie, how he wants to absolutely spoil you—as if he has the money for that anyway. "i—"

"you know what? forget i said that. i don't wanna know," you mutter. "just, like, pretend like you're obsessed with me, i don't know."

"hey, lovebirds! you done?" the teacher calls from the front of the classroom.

as clark starts, "oh, we're n—"

you say, "sorry! we're sorry." and then the both of you, red in your faces, stay silent. you barely even move, feeling reprimanded, even though your teacher was barely offended.

when the teacher lets the class work in pairs, clark decides to use the time to talk to you instead. he could do the work later. "can you just give me an idea of what the night's going to look like, at least?"

you take a quick glance at the teacher, making sure her eyes aren't on you and clark. "you'll come over and i'll introduce you as my boyfriend. my parents won't be suspicious, because i'll start bringing it up today. and they won't be too intimidating. my uncle might, but they'll love you. there's something about you that screams 'good guy' and they'll pick up on it." you twirl the pen in your hands. "it'll be fine. you have nothing to worry about, really." clark feels his heart skip a beat when you place your hand on his bicep—which is supposed to be a comforting gesture. what's happening to him? you've touched him before. plenty of times, actually. this shouldn't mean a thing.

a few days later, and clark is taking deep breaths as he walks down the path to your front door. before he can even meet the porch, you're outside, greeting him. he nearly stops in his tracks when he sees you, your hair half up, half down. the dress you're wearing is baby pink, and something about this sight—seeing you so... girly does something to him, even if he won't admit it.

"hi," you say, breaking the awkward silence. "ignore the dress, i'm trying something a little different."

"no, it's good. you look great," he forces. and then, he remembers he's supposed to be your boyfriend, he's allowed to flirt with you. "you look really pretty." he swears he sees your expression change, like you're nervous. it makes his hand tense, and he nearly crushes the stems of the flowers he forgot he's holding. "oh, these are for you."

"thank you. this is..."

"good enough, i hope?"

"better. i knew you wouldn't let me down."

"can't leave my girlfriend hanging, can i?" oh. oh. that gets you. and clark knows it, too.

"uh—" you start, looking at him with what can only be described as a mix of shock and infatuation. "we should go inside."

and as you're walking towards your front door—"i should call you something, shouldn't i?"

"what?" you turn back around, facing him.

"honey," he tries. "no, too mature. babe?" clark watches your reactions carefully, and even though you seem affected, 'babe' doesn't have the punch he was hoping for. "sweetheart?" bingo.

"sweetheart is fine," you mutter, trying to ignore the way your face heats up.

"okay, sweetheart. you ready for this?" you nod, walking towards the door with clark at your side. "what about princess?"

"too much. you can't call me that in front of my family."

"but i can call you that when we're alone?"

"clark!"

"it's just a question, sweetheart," clark teases, fighting back a chuckle. he could do this the rest of his life.

part two coming soon?!

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ post-sukuna fight: no victory comes without a loss, and his win came at the cost of his eyesight

contents: fem!reader. some combination of hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff.

author's note: inspired by levi at the end of aot ꨄ︎

7:58 PM

satoru gojo had always had the best eyes. sorcerer, curse, human – you could search the whole world, and nobody else would even come close.

but the aftermath of satoru's fight with sukuna changed everything. after a long, painful battle, satoru came out on top, but at a great cost. his eyes.

dying wishes are powerful, especially from a curse as strong as sukuna. right before the king of curses was done for, he pooled everything he had left into a final attack to ensure that satoru gojo would never be the same. he succeeded.

now, almost a week after the fight, long after the dust settled and peace had reclaimed the jujutsu society, satoru still insists on wearing his blindfold around the clock.

no matter what you try or how you ask, he stubbornly refuses let you see underneath. actually, it'd be more accurate to say that he doesn't respond at all. after all, to your dismay, he's a master at avoiding questions and delaying answers.

you weren't even sure if there was any change to how he looked. maybe he looked the exact same underneath. maybe he had a couple scars. fuck, for all you knew he didn't even have eyes at all anymore.

you just wish he would let you see the new him. he doesn't even have it that bad – thanks to six-eyes, he can still see the silhouettes of cursed energy. and he wore a blindfold most days anyway, so it wasn't too much of a change.

which is why you weren't sure why he wouldn't just take the damn blindfold off.

"satoru, please let me see," you beg, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "i miss your pretty face. and honestly, who wears a blindfold to bed?"

he laughs at your incredulous question, but it sounds forced and unnatural. satoru tugs his arm away and waves you off. "let me take a shower, 'kay? i just got out of work, and i'm probably covered in germs."

you hate this new satoru – the one who won't let you get too close or even see his face anymore. he just won't open up to you, and it's frustrating. "satoru, please? let me in."

at the sound of your pleading voice, satoru rests one hand on the bathroom door and sighs before turning around to face you. he's smiling, but it seems so off – like all his smiles do nowadays.

"you try'n to watch me shower, sweetheart?" he cracks, running a hand through his hair. "i know you love seeing me naked, but-"

"satoru." 

"get off my dick," he grumbles lightly, before strolling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. maybe you imagine it, but you could swear that you hear the soft click of a lock turning.

10:34 PM

"good night, sweetheart," satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your shoulder and rolling over onto his side. he still has his blindfold on, and the almost undetectable glow eminating from his skin shows that he has a very subtle form of limitless active.

it's been like this every night.

"satoru, can we talk?" you whisper, trailing a hand through his damp white hair. "please?"

"is it about the blindfold?"

"obviously."

he sighs and rolls over again to face you, the soft glow fading from his skin. "give it a rest, yeah?" he says, exasperated. "i'm not ready for anyone to see."

"satoru, even you don't know what your eyes look like under the blindfold," you murmur. "and do you really trust me that little?"

he lifts one of his hands and rests it on your shoulder, thumb tracing circles as he leans in and says "of course i trust you."

you shake your head and sit up, pressing your back against the headboard. "no, you don't."

"then why'd you as-"

"why do you sleep with limitless on now?" you interject, crossing your arms. "what happened to 'i never have limitless on around you'?" you whisper, quoting something he told you when you two first starting dating. back when he could look you in the eye.

satoru sighs again and sits up alongside you. "you know why."

"you seriously think i'd do that?"

"i..." he trails off, slipping a finger underneath his blindfold to rub one of his eyes. "i don't know. all i know is that i'm not ready for anyone to see me like... this." 

"satoru, you can't keep running away from everyone forever," you say, shaking your head again. "you-"

"i know, i know," he mutters. "it's not that simple."

he's stubborn – he always has been. and you're mostly used to it, which is why you know that the best way to get satoru to change his mind on something is to ease him into it instead of pushing and shoving.

so you switch gears, and instead of arguing more you reach out and take his hand. "what are you afraid of?"

"nothing. i'm the strongest," satoru replies automatically. the response sounds so automated, so pre-written that you can't help but smile. 

"okay," you say neutrally, trying to reword your question. "why don't you want to show me what your eyes look like? you've haven't even seen them yourself."

satoru smiles sourly and his hands curl into white-knuckled fists around the bedsheets. "and i never will. i'm blind now, remember, sweetheart?" his words are laced with bitterness, even (and especially) in the final word. 

but it wasn't you who satoru was resentful towards. it was himself. 

how could he have so foolishly let down his guard before sukuna was confirmed to be dead? how could he let his characteristic arrogance get the better of him? he made the same mistake when he was a teen, and now he's done it again as the strongest – although this event may have stripped him of his title.

a mixture of emotions crosses what little you can see of his face, and it's now more than ever that you wish you could be there for him. 

but he's the only one alive who knows what it's like to be the strongest.

so as much as you wish you could tell him that everything's going to be okay and that he'll always be the strongest, you know damn well that you don't know and that he might not be.

somehow, this conversation has evolved from your desire to see his face to something more.

a silent, mutual understanding passes between you and satoru, and the thickness in the air slowly dissolves. 

"sorry," you breathe. "i was being selfish, wasn't i?"

satoru shakes his head, a smile growing on his face. "nah, you're right. i don't even know what i look like."

he lifts a hand and slips his thumb underneath his blindfold, and after a brief moment of hesitation, slides it off.

to your surprise, satoru looks more or less the same. his eyes aren't cloudy and they still glow with that familiar bright blue. the only difference, which was expected, was how his eyes didn't quite settle on you. they were pointed in your direction, but his eyes didn't entirely focus on you.

"so?" satoru asks, running a finger over his eyes. "how bad is it?"

"satoru, you look the same."

he blinks and doesn't answer for a second, as if he's processing the information. "really?" he asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

"yep."

"oh. well, that was anticlimactic," satoru says with a lopsided grin. he leans forward and scoots down from his spot against the headboard, laying his head on a pillow and pulling you on top of his chest. "my bad."

"you idiot," you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. "i didn't get to see your pretty face for a whole week."

"ah, i believe it was only six days."

"and satoru, you even turned on limitless at night! the hell would i even do? cut your blindfold off in the middle of the night?" you grumble, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "and i can't believe that the only reason you didn't want to show me your face is because you thought you weren't pretty anymore!"

satoru grins lazily and rests one of his hands on your waist, slipping a finger under the waistband of your shorts and idly rubbing your skin.  "keep venting, sweetheart. it's cute."

he laughs when you swat him with another pillow and pulls you in for a long kiss. and that's when you know that things might never go back to how they were in satoru's glory days. 

but as the night falls and slips away in satoru's arms, you think that maybe, just maybe, this works too.

[maiko-san]

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 4 )

<<< Part 3

Relationship : Fluff

Warning : None (?)

Plot : Every time you enter the Playcare you feel eyes watching you everywhere you go. You feel stressed and start to become sick.

Recently, you feel uneasy and something tells you that you were being watched. Every time you go to work, you feel eyes on you.

It scares you.

Nobody likes the feel of being watched.

It made you stressed out.

You tried to get rid of these feelings by distracting yourself with work. You tried to keep yourself busy to a point you overwork yourself with all those papers or taking care of the Smiling Critters.

To a point it made your body ache and have a migraine from overthinking.

Not only that, Catnap has been acting quite differently too and his visit has become less and less each day. Not only that—

The lovely and sweet cat is avoiding you!

You finally asked the feline, what's the matter but only received—

"It's nothing...."

Nothing....nothing? Obviously there's something wrong!

Multiple questions began to swarm into your brain like a raging tsunami, did you do something wrong? It must be you, right? Yes, no? Maybe?

You had a slight feeling it has something to do with the higher ups.....

Did they tell Catnap to...avoid you? It has to be it, right? Why they do such a thing?

The stress starts to eat you the more you think about it.

Dogday and the other smiling critters saw that you've been stressed lately to a point it started to affect your health. It made them worried, especially Dogday. As a leader, it was his responsibility to care for everyone's wellbeing, including you.

"Angel, You look nervous lately. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, hey. Dogday....."

Dogday knew something was wrong. He comes closer to you and touches your shoulder.

You slightly flinch under his touch which made the canine even more worried.

"Angel, please tell me. Is something bothering you?"

"......"

"As a leader, it's my duty to help everyone in need. I won't forgive myself if anything happens to you"

"....."

Dogday holds your hands gently and holds them in his large ones.

You take a deep breath before telling him what's been bothering you, you know it will be useless to ignore the canine. He is stubborn and won't stop until you tell him what's wrong.

"I feel like something bad is going to happen. I don't know when. It might happen now, Sooner? Tomorrow?"

"......"

"I really hate this feeling, Dogday.....I-I can't get rid of it and no matter how many times I tried to forget it by distracting myself with work, I just.....couldn't— Not only that, Catnap has been ignoring me and started to avoid me! I— ugh, m-my head"

You suddenly drop to your knees causing Dogday to panic and he begins to whine worriedly.

Dogday's heart clenched the way you spoke. You feel scared, anxious and nervous. The canine pulls you into an embrace, in hope that it will help you calm down.

"Let's get you to the infirmary..."

Dogday makes sure that the school doctor treats you and gives you medication.

"Mrs. (L/n), I think it would be better if you take a week off from work"

"A week?!"

"Angel, it's for your own good"

"But—"

"No buts, end of conversation!"

The doctor said sternly you were causing you to snap your mouth shut.

The doctor also recommended you to rest someplace quiet and away from the city and your workplace.

It seems you have to go to your foster parents house, they always welcome you with open arms if you need anything.

"Alright...I'll take the day off..."

But still....that gut wrenching feelings still resides in you....

For today, you need to rest in the infirmary room until you are discharged.

Dogday leaves you to rest before proceeding to make his way back to his stage but before that, he wants to find Catnap first.

Dogday knows that Catnap is great at hiding, but it won't stop him since he has his canine sense helping him.

He sniffs around to find the feline until he sees the cat, snoozing around his stage like he always does.

"Catnap. I need to speak to you..."

"...Speak"

"(Y/n) is sick, have you not noticed?"

"...I know..."

"Then why did you help her with your red smoke? To make her sleep and at ease?"

"....."

Catnap looks away from the dog, Catnap knew that you were sick. It hurts him to see you like that.

He wants to help and comfort you, he really does but...

He had received an order he has to obey. His had to choose between two individuals that he adores. One he worships and the other he loves. Yet, he chose the one he worships, the one that saves his life.

Catnap knew that Dogday will help you and he trusts the dog with you in his care.

Other than that, using the red smoke on you will make everything much worse and potentially kill you in your sleep.

He doesn't want that to happen to someone who cares for him and loves him.

"Why?"

"Red smoke use...on stress person...bad could hurt and... possibly.........kill..."

"O-oh..."

Dogday rubs his arm before turning away, but before he leaves.

"Please, pay her a visit, Catnap. If you do, it makes her less worried and she would be happy to see you again"

"Also, She won't come to work for a week...."

Dogday leaves Catnap's stage, leaving Catnap alone to think about his decision to see you.

A/N : Another chapter finished 😁 . Also, a fair warning for all of you. The future chapters will become darker as it progresses since I want to stick to the plot of the game.

Also, the mascots have their own stages to perform for the orphans!

[minus-plus-zer0]

While You're Gone

♡ Genre: Fluff, not as sad as the title sounds ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader ♡ Tags: Aged up, established relationships, clingy/pining/dorky/needy/loser Bakugou (aka regular Bakugou)

You abandoned Bakugou at home to buy groceries alone, you traitor.

Bakugou couldn't forgive this. Currently, he laid flat on the couch, face down. Once you got back, he wouldn't let you rest your weary feet on such a comfy spot. You'd have to deal with him, whether you liked it or not.

He couldn't believe how truly callous you were on the inside. It went against everything he knew of you. Bakugou had dated you for a few years now, and had been in love with you even prior to that. He was dead set on marrying you at this point. And yet... you betrayed him.

He easily recalled the moment, like it was only five minutes ago (it was).

"It won't be long, Katsuki!" you said, while opening your apartment front door. "I promise I'll get you a nice, tasty snack!"

"I'm not a dog, I don't need treats." Bakugou's hands were shoved deep into his pockets as he approached you. "I need my fucking girlfriend. It's our day off!"

"You have your girlfriend every single night," you said, patting his cheek. "You live with your girlfriend every single day of your life. And you kiss your girlfriend every morning before work. You are too needy if you want more than that."

He scowled but did not fight back against your intrusive hand. "A girlfriend is supposed to love me, not leave. Why can't I just go with you?"

"Because if we go together, we'll get distracted again, or you might start another argument with an elderly shopper, or you might even prevent me from making bad purchases! That's why you can't go!"

"But that's--"

"Goodbye, Katsuki! I will see you in a few hours!"

You shut the door behind you. He still couldn't believe it, even now.

As you left, you wondered to yourself one question that had always been on your mind, "What does Bakugou do while you are gone?" If you had a pet camera installed, you would've seen the antics your boyfriend got up to in the following moments...

Time passed by while Bakugou held down the fort. Although Bakugou tried to continue defending the couch, his boredom overwhelmed his spitefulness towards you and it forced him to do something productive.

While you were gone, Bakugou entered argument after argument with anyone he could to blow off some steam. His texts were filled with jabs at Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, and more. It wasn't long until they correctly guessed that Bakugou's bad mood was due to your absence. Bakugou swiftly blocked them.

When he couldn't complain to other people, Bakugou sometimes grumbled to himself, speaking to nobody as he vented about his day.

"Stupid couch..."

"Stupid food..."

"Stupid bills! Fuck you!"

Occasionally, Bakugou thought you came home early. He would then poke his head around the house, checking to see if you were home. But more often than not it was just the sound of his neighbors' doors opening and closing, and he grew even more irritated than before. You weren't answering your texts either.

What's worse, there were little reminders of you all around the house. It was only natural, seeing as how you two lived here together. Every time Bakugou started focusing on something negative, he'd be reminded of you and how you'd scold him for thinking that way. It felt like you were still scolding him, even now. He missed it already.

Without you around, Bakugou persisted in his negativity. He would walk down to the ground floor of the apartment complex you lived in to get mail and still managed to yell at a minimum of one person during the trip. Bakugou wouldn't stray far from home knowing that you could be back at any minute, and returned soon enough to double-check if you arrived while he wasn't looking. You didn't.

While cleaning up, Bakugou found some clothes that you stole from him in your dresser. He stole them right back and replaced them with other clothes he owned that he thought would look even better on you, hoping you would surprise him one day by wearing them. He thought of himself as quite clever for doing so, and couldn't wait to see when his masterful plots came to fruition.

After cleaning the house, prepping dinner, and fulfilling his daily quota of pissing off a certain number of innocent individuals, Bakugou was exhausted. He had nothing productive left to do. He couldn't get involved in his normal hobbies like working out or hiking because it would take too much time and the day was almost over. He needed you home.

Finally, you opened the door while lugging around heavy groceries. "Katsuki! I'm here!"

"Dammit, text first!" Bakugou rose from the couch to take a bag from your arms.

"Thank you," you said, as you both set the groceries down on the kitchen counter. You kissed him on the lips quickly, but he retaliated with a much stronger kiss that pushed you back a step.

"Your welcome," Bakugou said, teasingly. "Got so bored without ya here. There's only reminders of you around the house."

"Well, it's probably 'cause I live here." You laughed a little and hugged him. Obviously he hugged back. "You can think of me all the time all you want. I give you my full permission."

"So you're haunting my head now, are ya?" Bakugou kissed the top of your head.

"I've always haunted you!" You kissed his chin. "Even before we were together! And I'll haunt you long after I'm gone..."

"Don't say that. I don't want ya gone." He harshly kissed your sweet lips again to prove he was telling the truth. He held your precious face in his hands. "We'll always be together."

"Always. So, what did you do while I was gone?"

"Tch. Why don't you stay home next time? Then you'd know."

You really needed to install that pet camera one of these days...

(Inspired by videos of "what does your cat do while you're away?", only instead of a cat it's your boyfriend! I think the clingy separation anxiety of these cats left at home perfectly matches Bakugou 110%!)

[orionhelluvaranting]

And remember, kids, you should prioritize wisely!

Alright. I had some kind of tolerance toward these two before. Hell, I had been liked Ozzie even! Unfortunately, after "Mastermind" has released I can't stand them (or the way they're written, to be more specific) anymore! 💢

Bee and Ozzie both are supposed to be that nice and well-meaning individuals who actually care about the commoners unlike the other (bad) capitalists. In fact, they're just two bratty kids who'd rather bully some loser than do philanthropy. But Viv with the standom are so desperate to prove us otherwise. And that's so annoying!

Evidently Bee is a party gal. She's chill 'n cool. But most importantly, despite of being a royal she doesn't give a damn about stupid rules. She considers hellhounds as her equals and throws a parties for them. She cares about her people very much! And of course - OF COURSE! - she'd like to help Loona and co. but... Sigh! Her paws are tied! Besides, there are more important things to do. Like putting Mammon in his place. When else could you find perfect time for this if not at the court, right? Plus, Bee supports slave trade. Just saying.

And Ozzie... Uuuggh, please don't even get me started on him! The topic deserves a separate post because it's large and I don't mean to go deep into this right now. Instead, I'm going to rant about how Bee and Ozz stand up for Blitzø vs how they attack Mammon. So we could figure their true top priority out.

<<< Tw: acephobia and occasional sarcasm under the cut >>>

How they defend Blitzø:

Say "this lil imp guy isn't bad, let him speak up" (they immediately forget about this the moment Mammon interrupts them)

Rise a hand to vote for hearing out the testimonies (and there's nothing special since M&M and Loona did the same)

Bee gives four middle fingers to the crowd of pompous nobles... Wow. That was so edgy cringy!

Geez, what a great performance! So brave,so rebellious, so selfless! These guys are the bloody legends for real! The true defenders for all the oppressed souls. I think they dropped this 👑

Cough, cough! Excuse me, seems like I had a sarcastic attack. Cough, cough!

Okay, where was I? Oh, right! As you can observe the whole defense from Bee and Ozzie seems pretty weak. It's a bare minimum. You disagree? Then let's see...

How they attack Mammon:

Ozzie yells and threatens him with a literal fireball ​immediately

"Nobody wants to fuck you!" Yikes, that was EXTREMELY acephobic* from your side, Bee...

Bee throws a dick-shaped popsicle at Mammon (fail)

"Why won't you keep fucking yourself?" Woah, another corny insult! Bee, could you please stop acting like a cringy acephobic bitch?

Bee throws a dick-shaped popsicle at Mammon again (success)

There are a lot more passion and persistence, ain't it? And what has Mammon done to cause that kind of reaction? Well, he interrupted Ozzie's speech like this:

"Shut up, you two! We all know you enjoy slumming it with the low class plebs. Unlike the rest of us..."

And excuse me, but, uh... Where's the lie? Bee and Ozz both are banging with the lowest of the lowest. That's true. Their reaction seems kinda "You ask me for facing the truth, but you do it without respect" in that instance. Like??? Are they embarrassed by being called out? Or do they've got offended because Mammon marked their lovers as "the low class plebs"? 🤨

Well, sweeties, I have a bad news for you! There's the class system in your society. That system implies division into classes - low and high. Hence your baes belong to the low one. And they won't stop to belong to it even if you pulled them out of that environment. You can't "fix" them like that. Because the moment you've got bored with them they'll be left with nothing. As far as the system is still alive. The system in whose existence you - Bee and Ozz - are involved as deeply as Mammon. And his words about the "plebs" isn't just his individual opinion. It's the whole upper crust's point of view. So maybe you should try beating up the system? What's the use of your hassle with Mammon? You don't even reproach him for bigotry - that would be valid - but for being unfuckable. This whole situation seems not like fight for justice but like expression of your personal aversion. If so, then why the hell are you getting distracted from the court where the fate of one commoner is decided?

Oh! By the way Bee and Ozz doing it right in front of Satan. You know, that horrible and tough dictator who would shut anyone up the second they dare disobey him. Defend Blitz? Woooah, nooo, no way! Satan is a big meanie, he won't allow this! Bicker with Mammon like there's no tomorrow? Ha, easy-peasy! Satan won't mind. And surprisingly he actually doesn't! Instead, he just... suggests to take the vote + facepalms a bit later. Is this some kind of punishment for inappropriate behavior or is Satan simply fine with the whole nonsense he's surrounded by? I mean, Satan has brought Sins together for this event and now these idiots are sitting behind him and not paying attention (Bel's literally sleeping!). Can't this be seen as disrespectful? No?! Apparently Satan could get mad only if Ozzie speaks the truth out, right? Great 😒

Anyway, let's get back to Bee and Ozz. They were doing that childish nonsense... and what have they achieved? Well, they've managed to make Mammon suck a d. Wow, the true heroes we deserve! Now all the imps and hellhounds rotting in poverty and slavery could breathe easily. Bravo!

And look how frigging cheerful these mfs are! May I remind you they're doing this right after the Goetias have voted for Blitzø's execution and now...

HE'S ABOUT TO FUCKING DIE!!!

What were they even thinking about at that exact moment?!

"We've failed to help this imp and now he's gonna die??? Awww, nooo, poor thing... Anyway! Let's push a dick into the greedy pig's throat! Yeah, we're so cool and edgy. Besties goals!"

And then we're supposed to hate Mammon because he doesn't care about the trial and messes around. But when Bee and Ozz do the exact same thing we should root for them? Really!?!!?

My honest reaction for all this crap:

Conclusion: The narrative (and Viv) wants us to regard Bee and Ozz as the good capitalists, although they put in almost no effort. They do the bare minimum and the standom is justifying them by lack of power and "Satan is the law". However, the lack of power and "Satan is the law" don't stop them from bickering with Mammon in the middle of the trial.

Thus Bee and Ozz prefer to get distracted by stupid childish nonsense without any significant value (and they do this enthusiastically) instead of helping Blitzø and his team. They don't try to noticeably change the status quo on a daily basis as well, even support it (Bee's slave trade). Still, they're admired by the whole fandom as if they're victims of circumstance who are simply deprived of the opportunity to do anything. And this hypocritical rhetoric is pissing me off so much.

*No, I won't take the arguments "But Mammon is closeted! Bee didn't know he's ace! She would never say that if she knew!" Yeah, she didn't know, alright... But guess who did know about Mammon being the ONLY grown-up asexual character in the whole show? Vivziepop! Oh, also SHE wrote this episode. So she was the one who has approved the idea of a "positive" and beloved character mocking an asexual for not getting laid. Therefore the fact Bee PROBABLY didn't know doesn't really make this better for me.

[ronearoundblindly]

Hii! Idk if requests are open and it's okay if there not 🥰

but when I read this: "Also, Ari strikes me as a man who would enjoy road head or pull over to go down on you if he's horny or bored or just because. I don't have a reason for that, but it's true. The end."

It's making me feel like we need a full smutty fic of them going on vacation somewhere snowing and this happens because he's bored + horny 👀✋🏼

*ngl, I like the gif. idgaf. Warnings for smut (oral, m & f receiving), obviously. Based on this Who Would. WC 1280

You both absolutely suck at planning trips or time to yourselves--other than spending the night in after work--so, of course, you two over extend before your first legitimate weekend getaway.

Nobody packed!

It took until the wee hours to gather the things you'd need and prepare the home to be left unattended. There was no time for fooling around.

Ari passed out on the couch because clothes were all over the bed for you to visualize 'outfits,' and so he may not strictly be sleepy, just tired and antsy. His free foot won't stop bouncing on the cushioned floor mat.

He isn't subtle in his thoughts.

"How big of a bed did we get?" "Do you think the walls are thick or...?" "How busy is it this time of year? Could we have the hot tub to ourselves?" "Exactly how many layers will you need outside? Is that a lengthy process to take off?"

The traffic thins as you leave the city, but then an accident brings everyone to a dead stop. Even the sky is blocked by the towering trucks on all sides which...can't possibly be why Ari is so irate.

"Come on," he gripes, smacking the butt of his hand on the steering wheel. "Let's just get there."

You have to laugh at such a tiny tantrum from a very big man. It'll be at least an hour and a half (at speed).

"I swear, honey, I thought we'd be..." he mumbles something, scraping through his beard before holding your hand "...by now."

"What was that?" Though you know where this is going, it's worth it to make Ari say it. "What were we supposed to be doing?"

You rub your thumb along his knuckles pointedly.

"Well," he starts, voice low and rich, "I would definitely be buried inside you the very second we were behind closed doors, that's for sure." He adjusts himself in the seat, pawing at his jeans where they grow uncomfortably snug. "If you could only fit in my lap..."

He trails off again, sighing at the mere idea.

click THUD.

You drop his hand to open and shut your side of the cab, a wicked smile curling on your lips.

"One mississippi."

He doesn't take your meaning right away.

"These qualify as 'closed doors' and we are behind them," you simmer. "I can think of at least one way to be buried inside me right here if you're...interested."

Ari freely stares at you and rakes his eyes up and down your body, squinting like the specifics of the offer elude him, but he is all over it anyway.

"Fuck, yes," he growls. "Please." His head swivels around to check all the mirrors before quickly unzipping his pants and pulling his semi-hard cock out.

You tap the gearshift to remind him of his lead foot. Ari gets twitchy when this horny, and there was that one incident.

He throws that sucker into park so fast the metal and plastic actually whine.

Tucking your legs under you, you shimmy to a good angle before replacing his hand with yours, leaning towards his lips only to drop when he moves in, licking the length of him several times, lubing him up to take in your mouth.

Ari's head drops, satisfied though you've barely begun. He's wound tight from all the rushed preparations and can't help but melt into your ministrations. He tugs at his jeans to give you more and more access. The man does appreciate thorough attention.

If there's one thing you can count on, it's that he'll be putty in your hands the sloppier you are, so slowly building up that slick saliva until it drips beneath your fingers at his base blows his mind, every time, without fail.

"Holy shit," he moans, letting one hand rest on the back of your head and the other spread out over your clothed ass. Oh so gently, both knead without pattern or control while his eyes stay slits to watch the road.

They don't really see the road, and he glances down to ration his fill of the naughty scene.

Ari, again, is not subtle in his thoughts.

"You're so hot. Gorgeous. So fucking sexy--right there--uhhnn yeah, sounds like you're enjoying this as much as I am. You wet?" He shoves his hand into your pants to check. "Oh fuck, you are. Careful. You keep doing that--" he doesn't need a lot of fanfare, just focus on the cockhead and coax him with steady strokes "--and I'm gonna blow, sweetheart."

His voice grows hoarse in all his panting.

"Holy shit, are you--so, so close--you swallowing? You're perfect. You're so fucking hot."

Ari's careful not to grip at your head when he comes, leaky and thick, with a roar of relief, but that doesn't stop his finger inside you from plunging deeper and holding you there.

You know exactly the combination to this lock; he knows the combination to your body as well.

He teases you while he comes down, too, absently spreading your arousal back and forth from your clit to your crack. Then Ari chuckles, giddy, a bit light headed, letting his thighs stop their shaking before releasing you.

"Okay...so...are we there yet?"

Only one of the surrounding trucks has begun to roll forward a few car lengths.

Ari hurries to right his jeans and shift into drive, turn signal ticking as soon as possible.

Though it takes a slow and sexually excruciating mile to find a turn off for a 'scenic outlook,' he keeps you on the edge with dirty promises. The parking lot--if one can call a single row of spots barely separated from the highway by a grassy strip a 'lot'--is empty because it's chilly with dense fog, and Ari backs into the very farthest place, ordering you to climb into the truck bed.

It's polite with an edge of desperation, but the phrase "your juicy ass" is used.

Heedless of the cold, he rips his jacket off toned, flexed arms, laying it down for you so that you're not naked against freezing metal. You'd be self-conscious if the entire area weren't obscured by weather and the general incline of the hilly road.

Ari's words have devolved into a series of grunts, groans and moans as he manhandles you into a good position. The way he wraps his arms around your spread legs keeps away almost all of the chill, thankfully, but the fervor with which he dives into your heat is really where the warmth comes from. His tongue and breath are pleasant before escalating to pleasurable. HIs beard roughs up your tender skin in all the right places before the sting is eased by his plush lips.

In no uncertain terms, he absolutely sucks the life out of you, kneading your leg slung over his shoulder and curling his touch into the right spot when you finally chase climax and hump his face. Ari loves Needy-you, Controlling-you, Happy-you, and there's no better way for him to see it than down the length of your body, staring with bright, sparkling, hungry eyes.

He keeps you warm beneath him until you're fit to move, helping to yank your pants back up inch by inch.

Jumping out to offer you a hand down, Ari gets the giggles again, pressing a kiss to your smiling lips. He lingers long enough that you have to slap at his chest.

"We'll never get there if you don't stop," you laugh.

"New rule," he huffs, shrugging his coat back on and running his fingers through his tangled hair, "no roadtrips anywhere over an hour away."

[Main Masterlist; Ari Levinson Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[k0juki]

pls some joost fluff (cuddling n maybe some making out??) headcanons bitte bitte🙏

🥴 danke danke for request!

Cuddles

Joost Klein x fem!reader

English is not my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! More posts here.

A/n: I wrote it a bit different, hope you won't mind much!🙏

Warnings: bit suggestive and making out, so be aware!

Wc: 736

---

Okay, so Lazy Mornings would probably look like this.

Joost loves to sleep in on any day, but what he loves more is when he wakes up to find you still cuddled up beside him, he wouldn't have it any other way.

He'd pull you even closer, wrapping his arms around you protectively, and nuzzle his face into your hair, content to stay tangled up in bed with you for as long as possible.

"Good morning to you too, Joost." You said with a small smile and felt him tighten his hold on you from behind.

"Morning." He whispered and kissed your neck. "I didn't want to wake you up."

"It's alright. I have to get up anyway." You answered and turned in his hold.

"Not possible, you're staying here, with me." He spoke and as he was about to kiss you, you turned your head to the side and said. "No, no, no, I will give you a kiss after we brush teeth."

---

Post-Eurovision Comfort would be absolutely necessary and nobody can tell me otherwise.

After a particularly tough last few days at Eurovision, Joost would come home exhausted.

You'd meet him at the door with a warm hug, leading him to the couch where you'd lay his head in your lap and gently massage his shoulders and back.

"It's gonna be alright Joost, it will be alright." You would softly whisper to him.

He'd close his eyes, letting out a contented sigh as he relaxes into your touch, grateful for your soothing presence.

"Thank you love."

---

Movie Nights are a must.

You and Joost have a tradition of having cozy movie nights at home. He'd make a big bowl of popcorn, and you'd snuggle up together under a blanket on the couch.

As the movie plays, Joost would absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair, occasionally pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"I know what you're trying to do Joost. It won't work." You warned him, clearly knowing what he was up to.

"I'm not doing anything love, you're just paranoid." He chuckled and threw himself at you, pinning you down on the couch.

He started kissing you as you put your hands on his shoulders and then to his hair, lightly tugging on it. Joost moaned to your mouth.

He suddenly pulled away and said. "If you're going to tease me like this, then it's not my fault. It's yours."

"No, it was you who started kissing me. It's your fault." You moaned, feeling him kiss your jaw and then neck.

"That sounds fair."

---

Unexpected Cuddles are like:

Whether you're cooking dinner together or just lounging around the house, Joost loves to surprise you with sudden cuddle attacks.

He'd sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his chest against your back as he peppers your neck with gentle kisses, making you giggle and squirm.

"It tickles!" You gasped and then you started to laugh, trying to pull away, but he didn't budge.

Now, that he was fully pressed against your back, he turned you around, so you were face to face. He bent down and took your thighs and pulled you up at the counter as you wrapped your arms around his neck for support.

"You realize I'm cooking, right?" You asked him, feeling all hot from sudden friction. Looking into his eyes, you see the hunger behind them.

You bit your lips and pulled him closer to yours lips kissing him with passion, but still soft enough.

"Who's the clingy one now." He laughed against your lips, kissing them again.

"Shut up."

"Make me."

---

Rainy Day Cuddles:

When it's pouring rain outside, Joost would suggest building a blanket fort in the living room.

And guess what? You agreed, because it is fucking good idea.

You'd gather up all the blankets and pillows you could find, creating a cozy nest for the two of you to hide away from the storm.

"It's cozy here." You whispered to him as you laid on his chest. He had his arm around you and his other was in your hair, gently playing with it.

"Yeah, it is." He quietly said and kissed the top of your head.

Inside the fort, you'd cuddle up together, listening to the sound of the rain on the roof and he was sharing stories with you until you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

---

Don't copy or translate my work! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

[venomvalley]

PILLOW PRINCESS — PART IV

DINNER WITH THE PARENTS ↬ councilor!sevika x fem!piltie!reader // 3k words

SUMMARY: Your mother hosts a dinner party, and an unexpected guest shows up.

TAGS: alcohol mentions, evil mothers

NOTES: this is the setup to the next huge chapter that ive already started on cause i wanted to get an update out asap after being MIA for so long

-> READ ON AO3 | PILLOW PRINCESS MASTERLIST

The annual soiree is in a week, and you've done little preparation outside of dress fittings. Mother and Father will be there, as well as all your aunts, so you must look your best—the finest jewels, the softest fabric, the prettiest shoes, the best hair and makeup.

Truly, though, you dread going. The prospect of spending a night in bed, finishing the book you lack three chapters of, sounds more exciting. Not only will every councilor be there (Sevika amongst them), but your mother loves to embarrass you at public events. Fawns over your husband, admonishes you in front of her peers, and drinks her weight in alcohol, but nobody can say a thing lest they incur the wrath of the House with assassination money.

You've spent a worrying amount of time holed away in your office, hunched over the desk, poring over paperwork. The self-exile has two purposes: avoiding Tristan, and avoiding Sevika. A coward's way out to escape from your flesh-eating guilt. You tell yourself that it won't happen again. That you've tasted bliss and you must contend with the grief of temptation. You have a family to build, children to bear, a legacy to uphold. Sevika holds no place in your destiny.

If only bliss didn't taste so sweet.

If only things were different.

A knock at the door makes you jolt, breaking your carefully-crafted concentration as you read over a request for a new streetlight. You call for the person to come in, and the door cracks open before Sevika bursts through, a stack of papers in hand.

"I need you to double-check these," she says, kicking the door shut behind her before strolling over.

Dressed in a pair of nice trousers and silk shirt halfway unbuttoned, the ends of the worn leather band around her neck falling deliciously over her collarbones. Beautiful. So stunningly beautiful that she takes your breath, anger notwithstanding.

Stone-faced like nothing ever happened, and disappointment coils bitter around your ribs. Maybe this is for the best. The gods' way of telling you to move on. If it meant nothing to her, if she can greet you so nonchalantly, then why should that night occupy your ever-waking tought?

You nod, standing long enough to fetch the stack before hiding behind the thick wood of your desk. Distance is preferable right now. Necessary.

"You're a shit mentor, by the way," she says in that deadpan tone of hers, making no move to leave.

"I have other responsibilities besides you, Sevika."

"You've been avoiding me for a week."

"I haven't—"

"So who are you more angry at?" She cuts you off, leaning forward to place her hand flat on your desk. "Me or yourself?"

Her heavy stare pins you in place, furrowed brow bathing her eyes in shadow beneath the glow of the chandelier. Pretty grey eyes, the way they looked at you when she made you—

Your head falls into your hands, fingers digging into your scalp. Come back. Stop thinking about it. "Gods, what do you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you. Just giving you something to think about."

Frustration heats your cheeks, her ceaseless staring driving you mad. "There's nothing to think about. It was a mistake."

"Then get your shit together." She points to the papers on your desk. "And look those over. I need 'em by tomorrow morning."

You wish nothing more than to speak your mind, but years of your mother's conditioning taught you to be silent in the face of disrespect. As angry as her words make you, you don't want her to hate you.

(Always leaving the door open for troublesome guests.)

"I'll finish them when I can," you hiss, setting them aside to continue reading the mayor's request.

She coughs out a bitter scoff, and a few moments later, the door to your office slams shut.

You miss her already. Good riddance.

 .

.

.

You lay next to Tristan in bed and all you can think about is Sevika's weight upon you. The squish of her brea—"they're called tits around here, princess"—tits against your own, her soft mouth on your neck, her thick fingers thrusting so expertly inside you. You ponder upon a different reality, in which your differences do not matter. In which the circumstances of Piltover and the Undercity do not exist.

You would live somewhere lush and rural, in a small cabin on the cusp of a babbling stream. The forest on one side and a vast, flowery meadow on the other. In this reality, your mother doesn't hate you, Aunt Elise lives a life free of children, and you can love whoever you please. Nothing bad happens here.

What would happen, then, if you could succumb completely to the piece of you kept locked away? Would you learn to love, to accept yourself in the process? You could finally be with her. The woman of your dreams. Maybe then, she might want you. She would be kinder in your cabin, free from the chaos of the Undercity.

But would she want you?

Would she want you?

Would she—

Tristan rolls toward you with a loud snore, thick arm slinging heavy across your chest. You close your eyes and pretend that it's her.

Gods help you. Please, rid you of this. She holds no place in your destiny.

.

.

.

Mother invites you over for dinner a few days before the soiree and orders you in her letter to wear your best dress for the occasion. You show up to the mansion on Tristan's arm, greeting the guards with a warm nod as they wave you both inside.

Aunt Elise lounges on the chaise in the corner of the living room, her son and daughter sprawled out on the couch across from her. Your father talks with her husband near the open window, trading stories over cigars and whiskey. Two more aunts congregate in front of the bookshelf, muttering about your mother's horrific taste in literature—the woman nowhere to be found.

You leave Tristan to spark up conversation with your cousins and head for the kitchen. There, you find a scene that weakens your knees.

Sevika.

Sevika laughing with your witch of a mother.

You've never seen her smile. The gap in her teeth in all its adorable glory. And you find yourself jealous. You're many things, but you aren't a fool. Sevika views your relationship as a means to a better end for her people. A transaction trading social currency. Truthfully, you can't blame her, would do the same in her position. Are you not doing the same to your own husband? And yet, you stew in a rot years in the making, and you clasp your hands together, and beneath the flash of a warm smile, you grit your teeth.

(Is there anywhere in the world you truly belong? Does a single person in the whole of Runeterra welcome your presence, or accept you as you are? Are you loved without condition?

You don't want to know the answer.)

In that moment, your mother catches sight of you stood stilted in the doorway, and hums around a mouthful of wine that she quickly swallows. “My dear girl, you're finally here!” She steps around Sevika’s form with an arm outstretched, gaze darting once, twice, thrice from your head to your feet. “Don’t you look lovely, if a bit dark beneath the eyes. Did you use the face powder I gave you last week?”

“Yes, Mother.”

She pulls you into a suffocating hug, her choice in perfume itching the back of your nose to the severity of madness. “Perhaps you need a fuller coverage, then. Have you been sleeping well?”

You would rather plummet straight to hell than admit to your mother the reason behind your sudden-onset insomnia: the woman standing but a few feet away. So instead, you lie just as she taught you.

“Things have been quite busy at the office. Late nights and early mornings, unfortunately.”

“That explains the sour mood your husband's been in as of late.” With a steady hand between your shoulder blades, she whirls you around toward the sprawling event table laden with glasses of all shapes, filled with different liquids. “Why don't you grab a drink and touch up your face before dinner starts?”

The seat of her palm dents your skin in her effort to push you forward, solidifying her words as an order rather than a request. But you already knew that. Mother lives—and will surely die—by the shallow sword of physical appearance.

“Oh, and take our guest with you, dear. She could benefit from a few books in the library.”

You turn with a fresh glass in hand, schooling your expression into one of neutrality despite the frown that threatens to split your lips. What manner of conversation were they having to bring up books of all things? Mother doesn't like to read, and Sevika reads too much paperwork for the idea of more words to interest her. Suspicion prickles on the back of your neck. Perhaps an unfair assumption of Sevika's intentions, but she hasn't been particularly kind to you. Always candid to a fault—there’s something refreshing about that.

Gods, you've lost your mind. For decades, your family held all the answers for your future, and you were perfectly content to follow the stepping stones they laid out for you. But now, with her in the picture? You've begun to sink. Indecisiveness precedes failure, and you succumbed to its disease: a contagion that her kisses gave you.

Sevika follows you wordlessly down the winding hallways of your parents’ manor, plush green carpet muffling two sets of footsteps. Their library sits between the ribs of the house as the beating heart of your lackluster upbringing. A sanctuary of comfort, filled with books and tomes both new and old. The scent of paper and fresh ink. Handmade shelves built floor to ceiling, accented by an intricate pattern carved into the wood.

You’ve had many good memories in this place, and now… well, you’ll point her to the section she needs then quickly take your leave. No reason for you to linger.

At the end of the hallway stands two great doors flanked by a guard on each side. They greet you with a slight bow of their heads before allowing you entry.

The library is just as you remember, if a bit neater in your absence. No more ink stains on the writing desk, or forgotten books piled high on the floor. Every piece of you now gone. You try not to let your disappointment show, facing away from her as you stop in the center of the room.

“What are you looking for, exactly?” you ask, fingers fiddling with your wedding ring.

“Your mom said you had a good collection of textbooks.”

You grunt out a humorless laugh, turning to finally face her. “Speaking of, I wasn't aware the two of you were… close.”

Those pretty grey eyes of her roll to the back of her head, and she takes a seat in the cushioned chair nearby with a heavy sigh. Says, “We aren't. I'm making connections just like you told me to.”

“I never told you to cozy up to my witch of a mother.” Despite the anger that muddies your thoughts and numbs your extremeties, you keep your voice low, whisper-yelling so your words can't carry past the four walls of the library to the guards outside.

"Listen. I don't give a shit about whatever grudge you're holding. I’m doing this for my people.”

A wicked, devastating thought comes to mind. One that craves freedom from the cage of your teeth.

She feels the same about you. Used your desperation for the intimacy of another woman to manipulate you and befriend your family. After everything you've told her, still, she doesn't care.

But why should she?

You swallow thick, melancholy rooted around your ribs. “The textbooks are on the back wall next to the fireplace.”

“Don't do that.”

“Do what?”

“You're sulking.”

“Sulking? I am a lady. Ladies don't sulk.”

She gives you a hard-as-stone glare, brows dipping to shadow the whites of her eyes. The two of you linger in stalemate for a long few moments, her too stubborn to move on, and you too prideful to admit the actual issue. But she figures it out anyway.

“I don't even like the woman. You know that, right?”

You huff, the fat around your heart tender, ego ineffably bruised despite the part of you that wanted her to know. It's a difficult thing, confessing to such a strange emotional weakness. Your mother doesn't deserve the breath it would take.

“It still—” your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth, and you drain half the wine from its glass in one gulp, “it still hurts.”

“It doesn't mean anything.”

“Rationally, I know that. I suppose I’m just… sore about the whole thing. You’ve never smiled at me like that.”

You feel much like a teenage girl in the throes of her first crush, and in a way, you are. It's weird and uncomfortable. So unlike your usual prime and proper countenance that you're left reeling in the aftermath of her presence. These silly, useless butterflies—the things you've only heard about in romance books, that you always wrote off as lies.

“That means I don't pretend around you.” Her focus has shifted to a glowing lamp nearby, its metal made of sharp edges. Squares and rectangles.

“Oh.”

Looking back, the butterflies showed up at different points in your life. The girl you shared your first kiss with. Family friends over the years. But never with the knowledge of your sexuality, always tinged with guilt and denial. Sevika is the first crush you've fully indulged in.

How pitiful. Pathetic, even.

Sevika stands up from her chair and strolls over to the section of books you previously designated, and you take her silence as your cue to leave.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. You remember the way to the dining room, yes?”

She huffs out an amused breath. “I’ll figure it out.”

She will get lost before she turns the second corner. You bet gold on it.

After finishing your first glass of wine and adding a second layer of powder to your undereyes, Sevika waits for you outside the bathroom door, legs crossed at the ankle, a stack of books tucked beneath her arm. You can’t help but grin at the sheepish expression on her face, an almost adorable thing to witness.

“Let me guess. Your memory failed you.”

“Shut the hell up.”

The dining room is a gaudy expanse of excess: long table and a dozen chairs hand-crafted from the finest mahogany, brocade place mats, flowers of all sorts potted in detailed vases. A plush green rug beneath your feet passed down three generations on your mother’s side of the family.

You take your seat to the left of your husband and the right of your father. Sevika follows suit, choosing the only chair available between your two younger cousins. Right across from you. Lovely.

Your mother stands, clinking a steak knife on the side of her glass, and all chatter in the room ceases.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering why I’ve brought you here on such short notice. And to that, I’d like to remind you of the upcoming soiree to honor the Piltover’s progress. The event coordinator contacted me just this morning and informed me that our House will be recognized as honored guests due to our generous donations to the city this year.”

Sevika leans forward in her chair, forearm flat atop the table. “What’s that gotta do with me?”

Your mother smiles in a flash of bright, predatory teeth. “Well, you’ve been our greatest source of progress this year. All thanks to my lovely daughter.”

A round of applause fills the room, and Tristan curls an arm over your shoulders with a proud grin. Presses a kiss to the top of your head as you glance around the table, barely supressing the urge to flee when you catch Sevika's neutral gaze. The weight of it suffocates you with equal parts guilt and longing.

You want this to be her, and you hate yourself for it.

“I suggest you all dress your best, and contact everyone who couldn't be here tonight to do the same.”

And with that, she sits back down. Dinner begins shortly after, with little conversations sprinkled throughout. Your cousins, nosy teenagers they are, ask Sevika question after question about living in Zaun, to the point that Aunt Elise snaps at them to eat their food. Mother and Father talk amongst themselves. You sit in silence for the entire two hours, eyes glued to your plate.

Afterward, everyone moves to the living room for a bit of late-night gossip. But your mother stops you on the way out and pulls you aside to stand behind the bar.

“My dear, I forgot to mention that you’ll be in charge of readying your fellow councilor for the soiree.”

You allow yourself half a second to panic before schooling your face into one of muted (believable) surprise. Arguing is fruitless. If she’s telling you, then she’s already made up her mind.

“I take it you enjoy her company, then?”

"Oh, I adore her to bits, so I thought: why don't we offer to prepare her for such an important gathering?"

This is not good. Getting her ready means spending a lot of time alone, and a lot of time with her undressed. It means dance lessons, suit fittings, hair styling. All in less than a week.

Shit. Shitshitshit.

Your lips stretch painfully, fighting against their instinct to grimace. "I'm sure she doesn't need our help, Mother."

"I beg to differ, dear girl. The woman wears rags every time I see her. She's utterly clueless when it comes to fashion."

Given the fact that a single bejeweled button on Sevika’s dress shirt is worth enough to purchase Zaun outright, her current manner of dress could never constitute rags in your eyes, but your mother has never known a life outside the gold spoon in her mouth. Many Piltovans have never witnessed true poverty in the flesh.

Well. You, too, embody the heart of the issue, no matter how good-natured and progressive you try to be. Your ivory tower was still built upon the pain and suffering of Zaun. If the history texts and personal anecdotes speak the truth, then your fortune was taken straight from their pockets (and yet, you revel in your life of luxury).

So you consider this a small step in the right direction.

“Of course, Mother. I'll take care of it.”

[periprose]

Hi! :)

I’m craving some Logan Howlett angsty fluff and I really like your writing style… Do you think you could maybe do a fic where either Logan and reader are in the heat of the moment and his claws come out and he scratches her. Or where Logan has a nightmare and the same thing happens. Either way the reader ends up comforting him.

Thank you! 🩷 :)

Hi!! So sorry for getting to this so late 🥹 loved the idea btw :) ended up doing a bit of a mix of both? If that makes sense.

/

"Out with it."

Your voice rings out clearly among the X-Men, the throng of battle no longer around you all. It was a more exhausting battle than you would've thought, but nothing irks you more than knowing that Logan has been apparently thinking of you as someone to play babysitter to. He hadn't trusted you to make your final blow to the enemy, and instead scooped you away to safety before lashing out with his own claws.

Logan clearly has something to say to you, and you want to hear it. You're not going to let him escape again- the way he always does, nonchalantly, refusing to acknowledge how he treats you.

Charles stiffens next to you in the helicarrier. Watching the tension, feeling the palpable heart-wrenching sensation between you and Logan. He doesn't know how you got to this point.

"Listen. Just because you didn't have it doesn't mean you're not a good X-Man-" Logan starts dismissively.

"But I did! I did have it!" You shout back at him, and then inhale carefully. "Nobody told you to rescue me, Logan. If I was about to die, then I was. I wanted that to be on my own terms."

"Don't talk like you're a fucking martyr when you've never had the privilege, kid." Logan's unnecessarily harsh tone has you flinching. "Do you know how many people I've seen die, for no good reason? Do you really want a bunch of Pentagon psychos to be your last memory?"

"Shut up." You shift in your seat, feeling small. "We don't get to choose when we die. Not like you."

Logan becomes visibly angered with that, the little taunt you've made towards his immortality. "That doesn't mean you have to go seek it out, dumbass."

"Oh really? Don't tell me you're getting soft, Logan." You glare at him, and Charles and Jean and Scott look at each other uncertainly. "Just because your life is so long doesn't mean the rest of us have forgotten what it means to be alive."

There's an unspoken, sudden charge in the air, now that you've mentioned what everyone else has the good sense to shut up about- Logan having lived so long and not caring about the consequences of his actions. Logan's eyes narrow until you feel sure that you've pushed him too far this time- he looks more animal than human, more Wolverine than ever- and you feel yourself inching forward, letting the anger of not being understood push you to fighting him- and Charles suddenly raises his hand in protest.

"Please, you two. I'm not sure what has transpired today, but I know you are better than choosing to have a physical altercation on a helicarrier flight." His calm, soothing tone makes you feel a little disappointed in yourself, and you settle back in your seat, refusing to meet his or Jean's glances of concern.

/

All you really wanted was an apology. A "Sorry, I won't do that again." Or even an explanation for why Logan keeps tabs on you all the time, never letting you be a real part of the X-Men, always safely on the sidelines. Were you just too weak?

Should you even be here?

You feel guilty for what you said to him. It's not a bad thing, you know, that Logan doesn't want you to get hurt- it's just that you want to do your job. You're not a kid.

It almost, almost justifies how you treated him, but even you know that was too far. You can't act as if you know Logan's life story- not even Charles or Jean would claim to do that, and they've searched his mind for memories several times.

Like it or not, the man was mysterious. He kept to himself on a lot of things, citing past hurt as his reason why- and you should've respected that.

"Maybe I am weak." You mutter to yourself, wondering why you can't restrain your emotions around Logan.

You're practicing shooting small, psionic blasts towards the target in your room- it's a great way to pass the time when you can't sleep- when you hear a groan, a shudder, an angry, deep growl-

It sounds like Logan. His room is right above yours, and the sounds are definitely coming from there- you hear him yell, and before you can stop yourself, you're bounding up the stairs to the third floor of the X-Mansion, bursting through his room's door with a ready hand, in case you need to fight.

/

Logan watches as you berate him in his dream.

Actually, it's not quite you- it's some venomous, evil, witch wearing your face. You giggle at him- you call him old- you don't take him seriously.

With every taunt, you fire another bright purple blast at him- and for once, his body doesn't heal instantaneously. He is getting old, getting hurt, watching as blood pools out of him. It's agonizingly painful.

He's going to die this time, without making it right with you- he's afraid that you're right about him, that he's a washed up sad old man who can't ever let people in.

"We don't need you anymore, Logan..." The not-you whispers softly, smiling a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes, and Logan can't help but believe it.

His self preservation instincts kick in, and he launches forward, snarling, claws out with a sharp snikt sound. He feels that even though he'll regret your death, he'll miss you immensely, it's just one more tally mark to several others.

/

"Logan. Logan!"

You're leaning over Logan's sweaty, clammy body in his bed. You watch as his hands fist in the sheets, and he tosses and turns in agony- you breathe in hesitation, in fear that he's not going to be okay- he grunts suddenly, and you're reminded of how Rogue tells you about his nightmares. They're frequent.

How out of touch could you have been today?

You gently-yet-firmly grab Logan's arm, shaking, and his arms move forward in a self-defense mechanism that seems practiced, as if he's been attacked in his sleep before, and before you can move away, there's a sharp snikt sound, a quick wave of claws, and a searing pain in your side.

It all happens before you can even blink. You fall off to the side, on the floor, writhing in pain. Logan's claws just nicked your side, it's essentially a scratch- but the pain is so much worse than you're expecting, and you fall to the floor again as you try to get up.

You breathe in harshly, holding back a sob, as you feel wet blood pooling through the side of your night dress.

"Jesus Christ." Logan pounces off the bed, waking to blood all over his claws, and he's leaning over your body, as you blink up at him hesitantly. He immediately panics, lifting you up and resting you on his squatted thighs. "Kid! Hey, kid, don't close your eyes-"

"..." You're just barely hanging on, but you listen.

And Logan feels that same sense of shame he felt when he attacked Rogue, when Jean "died", every single time he had accidentally unsheathed his claws towards someone who didn't deserve it.

Doubly so, considering it's like his terrible nightmare has come to life. But you absolutely didn't do anything wrong- he can't believe he was so angry with you.

He calls for help, in a slightly broken tone, and no one seems to be coming.

"Just a scratch." You try, but Logan shakes his head.

"No, no, no." Logan spits out. "How could I- I never meant to-"

"I'm sorry, Logan." You cough, and Logan feels awful that you're apologizing while bleeding out due to his actions. "I shouldn't have said what I said. You're not some unreliable old man who doesn't care..."

You flinch at a sudden, sharp pain, and Logan motions for you to stop talking, but you keep going.

"If anything, you're the opposite. You're there for me. And I'm sorry that I got so... so angry at you for that." You mutter to yourself, not aware of how Logan hangs onto your words. "You're protecting me from making mistakes, and I'm grateful."

"No, kid. You had a point before." Logan interjects, but you shake your head.

"Did I? Or was I being a brat?" You grimace at yourself.

"You did have a point. I was being selfish," Logan shakes his head and then swallows that urge to push you away. "I don't always know how to leave people well enough alone. Sometimes I'm too much."

He hesitates, and then continues on. "Like, I treat you as if you're a nuisance, right? But I always... I always want you next to me. And I know I should just sort my shit out like an adult. But I'm scared."

"Scared?"

"Of what happens. What always happens." Logan sighs in defeat. "I fall in love, and they die. I find my people, and they leave me because I'm such a jackass. There's too much surrounding me that just... ruins everything."

"No, no. I won't leave." You tighten your hand around Logan's, and he, despite wanting to say that you're wounded because of him, believes you. He's so grateful to hear you say it- he had no idea that's what was weighing on him so badly.

He loves you, he knows he does. Logan has never been the best with feelings, but for once, he's glad he was honest.

The first thing Scott sees when he finally makes his way to Logan's room, from all the way across the X-Mansion, is Logan whispering "I'm sorry," and... he thinks (he's not 100% sure), "I love you," to your very forlorn, softly curved-around-him body.

It's a very tender moment, and Scott feels he should leave.

Then Logan presses a firm, shaky kiss on your forehead, and then your lips, and you, with your limited reserve of energy, kiss him back, and then Scott interjects with:

"Hey!...?"

He seems taken aback as you both look at him. "I heard screaming? What is this, some sort of weird cult sacrificial scenario?"

"Logan... had a... nightmare..." You wince, and Scott sees the red on your night gown. "I need... medical attention."

"On it." Scott glances at Logan for permission, and he's currently trying to push all these mushy feelings back into his chest where they belong, and he wants to be there to help you in the clinic, but he's flustered with everything that's happened and he can only hand you to Scott without looking at him.

Scott smirks to himself as he runs you to the clinic of the X-Mansion.

"You and Logan, huh? I knew there was something in that fight today." Scott remarks as you cling to him.

"It's taken an embarrassingly long time for me to figure it out, but yeah." You blush. "Has everyone else...?"

"Jean's been running a bet for the last year." Scott laughs. "She says you both are two sides of the same coin."

You can't help but agree.