#that just never came back again
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number-1-kuaidul-fanboy · 4 months ago
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I think I'd honestly prefer this motive to what I know his motive to actually be from spoilers oops.
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chiquilines · 3 months ago
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In honour of mha ending, have some old (and i mean OLD) miryumi scribbles i never got around to posting. They were the main characters in my heart
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bluerosefox · 23 days ago
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Another DPxDC idea with twins Danny and Damian.
'He knows.'
That was only message Danny received before he felt like he had dropped in freezing cold Arctic waters naked and felt if he remembered to breathe at this moment he would see his own breath, even though he had an ice core and no longer felt actual cold anymore, and for a moment the world around him faded into nothing.
No sound, no touch, not even smell.
Nothing.
Then like a supernova, everything around him exploded.
Everything was too loud, to strong, his skin felt hot and cold at the same time somehow. The feeling of dread crawled up his body.
He needed to go.
Run.
This message was his only warning. The only thing his birth mother could send him in regards of help. He knows it, he knows she can't do anything else but this. He also knows she wants to do more but in order continue to be the eyes and ears inside of the hellhole he once called home, a place he both hated and feared yet somehow still loved if only for the memories of his mother and brother, she could not do anything more.
"Hey Dan-no! Anything good in the mail today!?" Came the loud voice of Jack Fenton, his adopted dad, from the doorway. The same man who took one look at a muddy, dirty, tense, untrusting, almost fully feral little six year old Danyal al Ghul who held onto his only daughter hand when she dragged him home after finding him behind the Nasty Burger looking for food, and decided point blank that he was now a Fenton. That Danny, Daniel was his son as if he always was.
Danny could feel his lip tremble when he realized if he ran, if he booked it out of Amity now, the people he loved, the people he would happily die for, would be targeted. It wouldn't matter if he faked his death, or just left with no warning and never contacted them ever, ever again.
They would be killed for just knowing him.
For their deaths would be his punishment.
Danny could feel the rest of the mail in his hands, the ones he had went outside to get before breakfast cause his mom asked him to, fall out of them, the only one staying was the message from his birth mother. He took in a shaky uneven breath and turned around.
His face no doubt was pale, paler than it normally was, and his body trembled, and Danny had no doubt that despite all the training he had learned when he was in the League that even if he brought it out and pretended he was fine, his dad would be able to tell something was wrong.
Because his dad's happy cheerful face shifted to a concerned worried frown, a frown Danny hadn't seen in a few years, a frown that was common when Danny would wake in the middle of the night screaming, begging, or cursing in his native language or when he would be spooked enough to reach for a knife. But even with those moments the man never ever found fault in Danny, instead he would lower his voice and speak softly to Danny, waiting until he calmed down before asking if it would be okay to touch or hug him. Then he would sit with Danny for hours, keeping his normally loud and booming voice soft as he talked about random things, like family fudge recipes and how they came to be.
"Danny?" Jack asked softly as he took a small step forward, one of his hands lifted up as if asking permission to reach out.
Danny wanted nothing more than to rush into his dad's arms and hide in his large frame. Hide from the world around him but Danny knows he didn't have time, none of them did.
He took in one more breath and could feel his body stop shaking, his mind no longer chaotic, and his nerves steeling up. For the first time in a long, long time, he wasn't Daniel 'Danny' Fenton anymore.
He was Danyal al Ghul again.
"Dad. Get mom and Jazz into the GAV. Now." Danny ordered, his eyes narrowing as he clutched the message in his hand tight.
His dad knew something big was going down.
And he trusted Danny enough to do so quickly.
Danny closed his eyes as his dad ran into the house, yelling for Maddie and Jazz to get into the GAV. Danny opened them when he could feel the message in his hands slowly being covered in ice and knew his eyes were now glowing green.
He didn't have a lot of time. He needed to get his family, Tucker, and Sam out of Amity.
He needed to get them someplace safe.
He needed backup. More than his family and his friends.
He needed-
Danny nearly jumped when he realized who he can call to help.
In a flash he took his phone out of his pocket and quickly dialed a number he barely liked calling but needed to do so at this moment.
He waited, it felt like ages and it was agonizing, before the person on the other line finally picked up.
"What do you want-" came a somewhat same but rougher sounding of his voice but Danny cut him off.
"Dan, he knows." was the only thing Danny needed to say because he could hear the sharp intake of breath.
"Get them here now." was the order.
"Already on it. Is Ellie and Vlad with you?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll be there shorty. Keep them safe."
"And then what?" Came the gruff question.
"Then... Then we'll prepare and call in Father and Damian. We need all the help we can get."
".....He won't be happy... About everything. Our... your fake death you know."
".... I know. But hopefully Father and the rest of his batclan will keep him from lashing out too much, especially with civilians and innocent lives on the line."
The two, Danny and Dan fell into a silence for a moment. Danny could hear his dad trying to hurry his mom and Jazz into the GAV despite their questions
".... Explaining all of this is going to be a shit show isn't it." Came Dan's voice after a couple of minutes.
Danny winced because yeah, not only explaining his actual past as Danyal al Ghul to the Fenton's, Tucker, Sam, and to Ellie, and Vlad but also having to explain his new life to his birth father and twin brother, a brother who thought he was dead, was going to be a hell in a handbasket.
"Yeah... it will be." Came his only response as he heard the GAV starting up and the garage door opening. Dan must of heard it over the speaker phone and said "Get Sam and Tucker and get here soon. No stops. We'll fortified Vlads dumb place in the meantime."
Dan didn't wait after that and instead just disconnected the call. Danny removed his phone from his ear and quickly pull up the group chat he had with his friends, sending them a quick message to meet him now. He used the code they had set up incase the Fenton's didn't take to him being Phantom well, he never had to use it since they took the news good, well as good as one could be after finding out their invention had half killed their son and that they had been hunting his ghost side down, but since this was important he needed them to be ready now.
He frowned as the Fenton GAV pulled up towards him and knew that what happens next would be...
Stressful.
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aunmenosheteroenespanol · 7 months ago
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2.12 Chimney Begins - 2.09 Hen Begins - 2.16 Bobby Begins Again - 7.04 Buck, Bothered and Bewildered
Tommy's family arc
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slfcare · 13 days ago
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the most difficult thing about growing as a person socially, as in getting out of your shell and noticing that you are, is that there will still be times when it doesn’t feel like you’ve grown at all! times when you can’t really connect with anyone around you, times when you fail to enter into an existing conversation, times when you say the wrong thing (or nothing at all when in hindsight you probably should’ve). but that’s also kind of the best thing, because that’s the thing that helps you realize that sometimes, it’s not you or your lack of skills or any shortcoming. sometimes certain environments just aren’t for you and certain people aren’t your people, and that’s okay. that’s human. it’s okay to not feel the progress you have made all the time.
#and that goes for every type of growth#backstory of this post:#after I came back after a few months of doing my international internship I felt so much more confident#it was easier making friends and walking up to people#i took more chances#and generally just heard it a lot from those around me who kept telling me how much i’d changed#this was further supported by my first office job that went pretty well#but then came my grad internship. and while i love the work and have met some great people I noticed it was difficult again#there was one office lunch where no one spoke to me at all! it was my first week and I didn’t know what to say#if i should even say anything#we were all sitting at the same table#not one person even glanced my way#it made me doubt myself; i was doing so well before#was that even real? why can’t I just speak up? this is not the way to connect with people#especially in my first week!#but you know what#i was still doing well. i just had to factor in the fact that these were all middle aged people talking about reality shows i didn’t watch#and bikes i knew nothing about#as well as people who knew i was the new intern yet didn’t speak to me at all even though I’d introduced myself to them all individually#and even so#people I couldn’t really talk to about MY interests outside of work either#my point being:#it’s okay to not feel a connection with everyone you meet#it’s okay to fall back into old habits even though you’ve developed new ones#it will never unravel the process you’ve made and the connections you’ve built#you’re doing fine#after this internship I will surround myself with people who reaffirm that belief#growth in the self#self love#positivity
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saleeba · 1 year ago
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fool ; jude bellingham
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summary ♡ betting on the phenomenon of unrequited feelings, you and jude have never dared to make the first move with the other until a reunion forces new questions to be answered.
pairing ♡ jude bellingham x fem!reader
content ♡ 18+, smut, friends to lovers, alcohol consumption, cursing, kissing, both jude & reader are pining idiots, fingering, p in v sex, marking, missionary, unprotected sex (jude pulls out but still pls practise safe sex!!)
a/n ♡ she's baaaack :D but first☝🏽alexa play fool by nct 127 !!!! the lyric "you’re a goddess but i’m a fool, what should i do?" was written for this fic in particular i just know it was :] anyway hehe this fic is based off this request so tysmm to anon for sending such an exciting prompt !! i hope yous enjoy 🫶🏽💗 WAIT P.S this isn’t proofread bc i lowkey am not rocking with it so i didn’t wanna put myself thru having to read it again & again … im sorry for any mistakes :’)
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you had just gotten off work to a stream of relentless texts from your best friends’ groupchat — phone pinging off the rails whilst you were on shift, muffled buzzes from your bag making you wonder what on earth was worth blowing up in that whatsapp group on a random friday afternoon.
on the train back home, you tap open the green app, anticipating yourself easily spending the entire journey catching up on the three hundred-plus texts from your closest mates. you decide to start right from the beginning of the influx, thumb scrolling nonstop and eyes blurring from the rapid movement until they focus back on the screen where you stop, finally having reached the destination of the first text that set it all off. 
it was from none other than jude bellingham, and you were nearly embarrassed by the way your face instantly lit up upon reading his message. the groupchat’s golden boy had popped up after weeks of minimal contact, asking if he could take everyone for a night out tomorrow to make up for it, stating that he finally has some small gaps of free time between hectic pre-season schedules to allow him to do so.
it honestly warmed your heart that the first thing he wants away from football is to see you all. you’d been a band of good friends since the first year of secondary school, contact not necessarily strained as you all had a lot of love for each other but rather unspokenly reduced after leaving school two years ago and falling into busy university or career ventures.
instead of scrolling through to read and react to the plethora of follow-up texts after his, you ignore them and jump straight to typing your reply to his invitation, casting aside that nagging voice asking you: doesn’t that seem too desperate?
no, right? i’m just accepting his invitation, getting straight to the point, the convo ended half an hour ago anyway. you’re arguing with yourself now, feeling the need to give unnecessary excuses to nonexistent accusations. if you were to be honest with yourself, you were always self-conscious of the way you behaved around jude, even now debating on whether to add your signature heart emoji or if it’d come across as you trying too hard given your feelings for him; albeit them being feelings that no one knows about, not even him. you made sure for it to be that way.
with a mental note to get over yourself, you send an affirmative ‘i’m up for it!’, signature heart included, and quickly shut off your phone. heart beating so rapidly, you scolded yourself for getting so worked up over a mere reply and for definitely not getting over yourself. god knows how you’re going to handle seeing him in person. 
a sudden double buzz from your device does nothing to calm you down, instead dampening your hands with sweat when you grab it and see a pair of messages from him.
jude 🌟: heyy i’m so glad you can make it tomorrow :)
jude 🌟: can’t wait to see you!! ❤❤
he had messaged you separately for some reason and he had included two hearts… the overthinking starts for you again, without even beginning to think about what to reply this time, and you question why he couldn’t have just replied to you in the groupchat or why he couldn’t have just left the end of the messages with a ‘x’ like he usually does or why he would even say what he said in the last message. mind frantic and unable to clear itself, you thank yourself for having your read receipts turned off so you can have your mini meltdown without worrying about jude knowing you’d seen his messages multiple minutes ago. god, you were down so bad. 
you force yourself to open the messages app and send the most casual reply you can type.
you: can’t wait to see you too! ❤
you try to keep it short, sweet and nonchalant even if your fingers are itching to type more – more about how much you had missed him, more about what he was planning to wear tomorrow night so that maybe you could match your own outfit with him, more about your true, unfiltered feelings for him. it’s pathetic really; you hadn’t seen him in two years and the first thing you wanted to do was throw yourself at him, spilling all the secrets you’d been holding close for so many years. you leave it at that, put your phone on do not disturb mode and head on home, waiting for the long hours of friday evening to pass and saturday night to arrive.
***
and so saturday night rolls around and you just about finish touching up your makeup and smoothing out your dark blue dress before the doorbell rings, and you’re whisked away to the club by a couple of your girlfriends. 
as soon as you step your high heels into the building, you’re met with the sight of flowing booze and the noise of noughties r&b beats bouncing around the brightly lit walls. dragged by the hands of your friends, you find yourself standing next to a booth at the back of the club, the rest of the group now welcoming you latecomers with a loud cheer.
“finally, girls. you took your time!” one of your male friends remarks, ushering you all to sit down.
“oh god, what have we missed?” you beam, trying to scan the group amongst the strobing lights to catch a glimpse of the person you were really there for. 
“nah, you’re just in time because… first round’s on mister madrid!”
the callout breaks your friend group into a raucous holler as your gaze fixes onto the six foot-one footballer who stands up with an amused grin and a sigh of feigned defeat. your heart quickens and your smile turns into a state of near disbelief over how good jude looks right now – graphic white t-shirt hugging his biceps in all the right places and hanging over a pair of smart-casual black trousers.
“yeah, yeah, anything for my groupies,” he winks at no one in particular but your brain almost convinces you that he was looking at you while doing it. you send a shy smile his way just in case but what he says next has your mouth running dry. “help us out, will ya, y/n?”
you hesitate for a second too long for your liking, stumbling over your words while your friends peer at you. “uh… uh-huh, yeah, of course.” you answer as quick as you can, standing up on your feet slowly as to not trip over your now-shaking legs and send yourself flying into jude, and to avoid embarrassing yourself more than you think you already have.
he responds with a grateful smile and you follow him to the bar where he places an order for a round of drinks and some shots to be delivered to the group by the two of you. there’s an odd unfamiliarity to the silence between you both and you realise that you aren’t normally this quiet around jude, and neither is he around you; you would always joke that he’d be eligible to talk for england if he wasn’t already playing football for them. he’d retort with a comment about how his ears could almost fall off with the amount of chatting you do, and you’d dryly reply with a ‘well, they’re too big for your head anyway. look at the size of them!’ the pair of you were always as thick as thieves in the eyes of everyone else. which is why you didn’t expect it to be like this, especially after two years of not seeing each other – there was so much you wanted to catch up on from his world and so much you wanted to share from yours. you decidedly gain some courage and take the initiative to spark some conversation, get something going at least.
“soo, how have you been, then?” you’re both facing the bar, your head barely tilting in jude’s direction to indicate that yes, it is him that you’re talking to and not some random like he assumes you are with the way you’re positioned away from him, eyes just about turning to steal a glance of his figure but not to hold eye contact. “how’s la vida española?”
jude finds amusement in your sudden flaunt of the spanish language, a smile breaking out on his face, unseen to you since he’s still facing the same direction that you are, preoccupying his eyes with the myriad of bottles on the shelves while his mind searches for an apt reply.
“yeah, it’s been great, i think i wanna stay there forever,” jude laughs, his fingers tapping on the black surface of the bar. you can’t help the selfish feeling of your heart dropping at his confession. “i miss you, though, y’know… a lot.” 
this one confession forces your whole body to turn itself towards him, eyes now chasing after his to seek some form of sincerity, to see if he was just messing about or if he really meant what he just said. he shifts his head to face you now, a bashful look painted onto his features. the expectant silence says it all really; of course i mean it. 
you gulp and decide to break the quietness with a sarcastic, jesting “ugh…”, jude’s face dropping at what he thinks is genuine disgust from you. you realise your attempt to denounce the awkwardness has backfired.
“oh my god, you dickhead, i’m joking,” how is it that mere moments ago you were shaking at the sheer real-life presence of him but now you’d transformed into having this confident playfulness? and all of it without a drop of alcohol in your system as well – you’re quietly proud of yourself. “i missed you too, jude… a lot.” you coyly repeat his words. 
upon your turn of the confession, the bartender sets down your drink orders and the two of you wordlessly carry the trays over to where your friends are situated, the silence way more comfortable now that you’re both basking in assurance, unbeknown to the other that your hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour.
***
not even two hours and an innumerable amount of shots later, you’re all a drunken mess; definitely not a surprise to a single one of you. what is a surprise is the way you’re strewn across jude, right leg wrapped around his left, head on his chest, swirling and sipping from what’s clearly an empty glass to any sober, sane person. you grumble and mutter a complaint about the lack of liquor in the booth, taking it upon yourself to head to the bar and order another round for everyone.
“i’ll come with you,” jude announces over the pounding of the music, standing up so quickly that his next five steps are staggered and he has to cling onto your arm to steady himself. “i’m fine, i’m okay.” he assures nobody that asked.
the two of you stumble your way into the path of the bar, determined to drink until the sun comes up and forget every strand of stress until the hangovers come knocking. jude’s soft grip on your arm has you being led in the opposite direction all of a sudden, though. 
“uhm, where are we going?” you question, head still turned to where the bar is located, about to ask him if he was so hammered he couldn’t walk in a simple straight line to get to where you’d planned to go. “jude?”
he’s silent, save for humming his way to his desired destination, and you question if he even knows where he’s leading you. before you make the choice of going along with him or leaving his clearly confused self to go cop your next cocktail, you find yourself in the disabled toilets, pushed up against the sink with the door not even shut properly, gasping at how rough jude is handling your body compared to his soft touches from before, and how close his face is to yours, warm breath fanning the skin of your lips. you weren’t strictly against it all but how the hell have you ended up like this? The alcohol and the questions come at you fast, dizzying your brain but you can’t help but feel so keenly anticipative.
“i’m sorry, i just…” he pulls away from you, eyes fluttering closed so he can re-evaluate his actions, exhaling through his nose as if he was letting go of all doubts before continuing. “am i okay to do this?” he places his hands on your waist, pushing himself back into your space, his full lips more or less about to take yours. you have to refrain from letting the effects of alcohol take over your tongue and uttering back with a breathy ‘you can do whatever you want to me’.
instead, you answer with an earnest, eager nod, inviting his lips to finally do that one thing you had been dreaming of for so long, to kiss yours so silly that they’re left with the imprint of him. and jude does just that.
his mouth takes in yours so determinedly, shyness and hesitation now long-dissolved feelings for you both as your hands find home around the back of his neck, pushing his head further onto you, feeling the need to taste him more and more until you’re both consumed by each other. 
it’s a messy makeout, noses bumping and teeth clashing, but it’s oh so hot, the way he gasps into your mouth from breathlessness and pleasure, running and gripping his large hands over the material adorning your waist and hips as the need to rip it off you nearly overtakes him. to you, he’s so utterly intoxicating that a gallon of alcohol would pale in comparison to how dizzy his skin on yours makes you feel. 
you release a moan at the meagre thought of jude all over your body, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue over yours, filthy noises of wetness and carnality from the both of you reaching high pitch as jude somehow simultaneously pushes you against the sink and pulls you against his chest, his manhandling of you getting you even more hot and bothered before you’re both interrupted by the hub of people passing by and huddling right outside the bathroom, their self-occupied shouts and cheers dragging you out of the bubble that the two of you had wrapped yourselves in, almost sobering you up on the spot.
you push jude out of your way, gentle but abrupt, and give him a look of apologetic regret. “i-i’m sorry,” you say, jitterily walking past him and exiting the room without a second glance or word, heading straight to the booth where your friends are hollering and hurraying, occupied with shot-drinking contests. 
your girlfriends offer to go home with you when you lie and tell them you’re not feeling very well, but you decline them, instead telling them to have fun on your behalf and letting them know that you’ll try to text them once you get home safely. you can tell they’re confused by your shaken state and the absence of jude but you grab your bag and make your exit before the interrogation can even begin to brew.
you manage to grab a taxi back home, surprised by how competent you are despite the alcohol in your bloodstream and confusion in your brain. on the way there, you can’t stop the bouncing of your knee nor the racing of your psyche, asking yourself how and why whatever went down with jude went down like that. you curse at yourself for being so impulsive in starting and finishing the whole ordeal with him in the way that you did – you don’t know if it’s the empty, depressive drunk thoughts or just clarity from the whole jude thing that makes you feel like there’s no coming back from this at all. you feel like crawling into your bed and never coming out from it ever again. 
the taxi driver has to call for your attention multiple times until you reach earth again and pay him the journey’s fee. you go skulking all the way up to your front door, only letting out a breath that you feel like you’ve been holding since the beginning of the night once the door shuts behind you.
the rest of the night is quiet and orderly for you, telling yourself to not invite any more chaos into your brain and to simply drink some water and to go to sleep. waking up tomorrow morning is going to be painful in more ways than one.
***
you spend the rest of the weekend nursing a ferocious hangover and a frazzled heart, only contacting your friends to tell them that you got home fine and to joke that you probably need a century or two for this hangover to be gone. you thank the high heavens that they don't bring up the topic of you and jude 
you try not to think too much about jude, you really do, but sunday night has a couple of taps landing you on the instagram app and you learn that he’s already back in spain, pictures of him in training sliding across your phone screen on his story along with selfies with his teammates. usually, you tap that small red heart at the bottom and hope that he sees it amongst his millions and millions of notifications, a tiny ritual of yours that now has you feeling so pathetic that you don’t dare to do it anymore.
running a hand over your weary face, you set your phone down and opt to nap the night away, finding comfort in the non-intrusion from your friends and the no contact from jude, hoping to keep yourself busy and distracted with whatever the work week brings.
a ring from the doorbell rips through your flat just as you’re organising your pillows, forcing you to stop what you’re doing and ponder who could be at the door on a sunday while the clock ticks some minutes past one o’clock. you don’t recollect ordering any food nor are you expecting a delivery, especially not this late. 
trudging your way to the front door, you open it to find jude bellingham standing there and you feel an instant pang of regret, wishing you had peeked through the window to see who it could be, wishing you had pretended to not be in, wishing the ground would open up right now and swallow you whole  – anything to escape the confrontation that you’re now having to face. your face heats up with embarrassment and nerves but you manage to rupture the silence before your mouth can turn dry. 
“j-jude, hi,” you try and keep your greeting as polite and cordial as you can, even when all you really want to do is to chase him off your doorstep. “what are you doing here?”
your query has jude visibly gulping, hands fiddling with each other as he attempts to hold eye contact with you, his vision a bit blurry from exhaustion. “y/n… sorry, can i come in?”
you oblige, holding the door open wide before you guide him to the living room and invite him to sit down on the plushness of your sofa, settling yourself on the opposite end of it. you silently prompt him to say what he came here to say with a nod of your head. 
“uhm, i’m sorry for turning up unannounced, and so late…” ever the courteous. “i had to sneak away from the lads and catch the last flight to here so it was all a bit down to the wire.” he lets out a small, uneasy laugh.
you cut off his rambling with a curt “what do you want, jude?” you don’t mean for it to sound so rude but you still hold the attitude of wanting to get this over and done with, already feeling annoyance at yourself for even letting him into your home. 
“right, yeah, i actually wanted to talk about what happened on saturday,” he goes back to fiddling with this thumbs, eyebrows furrowed but he avoids looking at you this time. not that you can blame him because your own vision shifts to anywhere but his direction. “i’m so sorry for making you uncomfortable a-and please tell me if this is inappropriate, but i haven’t stopped thinking about last night, i haven't stopped thinking about you, i-i’m sorry, i know this is all so silly and you probably don’t even feel the same bu-”
you stop him right there, this time with good reason as you can’t bear holding back your real emotions, not when he’s practically given you the green light to spill the contents of your heart.
“no, jude, i didn’t feel uncomfortable at all,” you assure him, gaze now on the footballer in front of you and you almost can’t believe the words leaving your mouth right now. “i wanted it to happen, i’m glad it happened, you know, i think i’ve had dreams about it happening,” you try and offset any tension with a timid chuckle before turning quite pensive. “i really like you, jude, i have for a long time… god, sorry, this is so embarrassing.” you return to making light of the situation you’ve put yourself in, the timidness sinking back in as quick as the relief lifts you up. 
jude moves closer to your now-cowering body, knees touching as your heartbeat surges with worry and self-consciousness all wrapped up into a tight, miserable ball. he puts his sweat-dampened hands into yours and squeezes in silent assurance before raising them up to his lips and laying a chaste kiss on the heated skin.
he can’t help but break out into a sweet smile, eyes threatening to crinkle at the edges. your face is still sketched with tension and now confusion has joined the mix.
“i can’t tell you how long i’ve waited to hear that from you, how much i needed to hear it,” your eyes meet his, widening in surprise a little. “i’m a fool for not telling you sooner… i like you, y/n, i really like you.” he repeats your own words back at you, leaning in with a smattering of amusement dancing in his vision. 
“can i kiss you?” the question leaves your lips faster than you can even process it in your brain.
jude wastes no time in replying with a firm pressing of his mouth on yours, deepening it within seconds, the need to cement his feelings for you being told through the way he cradles your head in his hand, leaning you back onto the arm of the sofa to further intensify the kiss. your lips move along with his, the soft weight of his body pressed against yours making you whine into his mouth in ecstasy.
he lifts off of you with a puckering of his swollen lips, the both of you taking the chance to draw in some air and attempt to regulate your breathing pattern.
“please take me to the bedroom,” you beg, breathless from the sheer sight of his dark eyes and pretty pout. there’s no fight nor denial from jude as he picks you up and prompts you to wrap your legs around his waist, quickening his pace once you point in the direction of your room.
he lays you down on the bed so gently, lips latching onto yours once again before they travel down your jaw and over the warm skin of your neck. the light touch of his fluttering eyelashes married with the pressure of his soft lips has your head spinning, hands tentatively laid on top of your sheets since you don’t trust yourself to not grab his head and bring it back to your lips. his fingers tinker with the waistband of your pyjama trousers, stretching it off your skin before he asks permission to peel them down your legs. 
once they’re cast away in some corner of your bedroom, jude divides your legs by the underside of your knees, tucking himself into the now available space between them, turning onto his side and resting on his left forearm. he leaves a small kiss over your covered cunt and you try your best to not just clamp his head in between your thighs and smother him with your growing wetness here and now. 
“need to get you ready, baby,” the sudden mention of the petname has you throbbing, squirming even more when he traces a line from your clit down to where there’s a small damp spot forming on the dark material of your underwear.
“jude, please,” you whine out, lifting your hips in a desperate bid to get the boy to strip your lower half completely. 
he shushes you in his own charming way, making sure to comply with your demand by getting up onto his knees and discarding your soaked panties in a matter of seconds, the cold air generated by his large hands whipping them off you hits your exposed pussy, making you hiss through gritted teeth.
jude returns to the gap between your spread legs, sitting back but still on his knees, his higher position causing you to shift onto resting your body weight on the palms of your hands in order to peer at his actions – which start with him re-tracing that same teasing line from your aching clit to your hole with his thumb, the feeling now so intense on your unclothed skin. he hums in what sounds to be satisfaction when you throw your head back in pleasure, taking it in his favour to slip his index finger into the tightness of your pussy. 
you release a guttural groan at the feeling of finally having some part of him inside you; you of course don’t want this to be the only part but you’re still so very grateful, so fucking grateful he’s now rubbing at your clit in delicious rounds, thumb tracing circle after circle while his fingers form a pair, pistoning in and out of you so easily due to the way your cunt douses itself with every move of jude’s. 
“fuck, baby,” jude moans at the sight of his soaked digits every time they barely pull out of that pretty pussy, his thumb torturing your sensitive bud increasingly so, the cries and whimpers spilling from your lips an incentive for him. “feel so good and tight around my fingers, can’t imagine how you’ll feel around my dick.” 
his words have you absolutely reeling, writhing against his hand to try and chase that moment of release. 
“please, jude, i’m so close,” you’re warning and demanding at the same time, almost begging him to not stop or even think about moving his fingers out of you. “god, please, i need it,” 
jude suddenly retracts both of his hands, leaving you bare and empty. “no way, baby, need to have you cumming on my cock or not cumming at all,” he comments with a shake of his head, denying you the opportunity of leaking your cum over his hand. upon seeing your bewildered face, he makes up for it by putting on a show of licking your juices clean off his fingers, the digits popped inside his mouth and dragged right back out with a low moan, him praising the way you taste. 
“move up the bed for me, angel,” he orders, watching you while he stands up and unclothes himself as quick as he can. you scoot backwards, legs still spread open like they’ve been locked in that position, before pulling your oversized t-shirt off of you, chest void of a restricting bra . “good girl,” he praises, crawling up to hover his body over your laying one, cock in hand as your legs come to wrap around him. “are you still okay with this? we can stop at any point, okay?”
the sincerity of his voice has you melting. some would remark that the bar is in hell for you but the truth is that you hadn’t been with anyone like this for more months than you could count on your hands. you've been touch-starved and lacking words of affirmation for so long, and you needed something to be only about you for once. 
“i’m more than okay with this,” you smile up at him, nodding to make your approval fully known. “and yes, i know i can stop you if i need to.”
jude reciprocates the same smile before leaning in and smothering your lips with his, pushing his cock into your tight wetness, so tight that your pussy almost pushes him back out, not used to being penetrated by something so thick.
“oh my god!” the feeling of tightness/fullness has you both gasping out the same thing at the same time, erupting into quiet giggles when the two of you realise your matching reactions. 
jude’s mouth finds its way back home in the embrace of your lips and you swear this is heaven, the way his cock slides in and out of your sopping cunt, set at such a perfect pace, the slight friction causing you to grow even wetter – the filth of it all contrasts so well with the sweetness of his muffled moans and tender kisses on your neck, moving down onto your collarbones and tits.
a particularly harsh thrust of his cock has your back arching, chest pushed up to his heated face, and he takes this golden opportunity to wrap his lips around your erect nipple, spending a good while sucking and tugging on the skin around it. you’re amazed at how his cock doesn’t relent inside you, the speed still so quick and consistent even when he’s so occupied in painting splotches on your tits with his mouth.
“there,” he pants out, pulling his head back and marvelling at his own creation. “now, there’s no doubt that you’re really mine.” the smile he gives you is a killer.
you whine at his declaration of you belonging to him, scratching at his shoulders and calling out his name to indicate that it’s all too much for you, that you’re so, so close to cumming on his cock and really giving him what he wants rather than pleasing yourself. you figure that’s you gone now; you’re more willing to put the boy above your own needs because you’re down that fucking bad for him.
“fuck, jude, i’m gonna cum!” you sob, your moans becoming more frequent and higher pitched, legs starting to shake from the intoxicating mix of exhaustion and delight. you’re frantically chanting “please, please, please” into his mouth which parts to swallow your whimpering, wet lips kissing your trembling ones. 
“go on, baby, cum for me, cum all over this cock,” he groans out, eyes squeezing shut when the feeling of your pussy clamping down tightly on his thickness proves too much to handle, face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. he knows you don’t need his permission, he would’ve let you orgasm as many times as you wanted to, would’ve let you use him like your own personal sex toy, but the words were only there to keep you going when his hips felt like faltering – he needed you cumming on his cock like he promised before, and he wasn’t about to fuck it up himself.
a final scream rips from your throat as you cum hard around jude, pussy clenching and pulsating around his cock so sporadically you thought you were having two orgasms at once. jude can’t handle it anymore, pulling out with a myriad of moans as he pumps his shaft with a hand, decorating the expanse of your lower abdomen with warm, white liquid. you’re still squirming, slowly trying to wheeze out the remaining whimpers from your lungs which you’re finding hard to do with the way jude pants and moans above you, the boy so spent he can’t help but breathe like he hasn’t had access to air for the past hour.  
he flops down by your side, arms and legs sprawled like a starfish, chest rising and falling as he attempts to recuperate from the mindblowing sex you two just had. the image is so unserious that you can’t stifle your giggles but you decide to take another step of courage to lay on your side resting your head on his shoulder, fingers stroking his abs and playing with the curly hairs of his happy trail. 
the room is quiet now with the scent of sex wafting through your nostrils on occasion but it’s the most comfortable silence you’ve experienced with jude, the feeling of his hot skin on yours so soothing to you.
after a period of panting, jude clears his throat and your ears prick up at the presence of sound. he turns his head towards you and you lift yourself up and off him out of instinct – you want full attention on him.
“i don’t want this to be a one-time kinda thing, y’know,” he proclaims, biting his lip from saying too much in one go.
“what, is this your way of saying you want round two already?” you joke, nose crinkling at the way he rolls his eyes playfully.
“shut up,” he delivers a poke to your side. “i mean, well, i don’t want either one of us to see this as a spur-of-the-moment thing, i just…” you look at him expectantly, silently telling him to continue. “i want you to be my girlfriend, y/n.” 
you’re nearly knocked back by his words, wondering if they’re real or if you’re simply just hearing things. you thought dialogue like that, coming from him, was only reserved for your imagination, kept secret and only spoken to you in late-night mental scenarios that would comfort you on your way to slumberland.
you let out a laugh that’s an odd mix of relief and disbelief, quickly replying “yes, yes, of course” to his awaiting face, which releases a look of relief itself before jude captures your lips with such passion you’re both knocked back onto the plush pillows, giggling into each other’s mouths until your hands find themselves running down the defined muscles of his abdomen and over his hardening cock.
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pippinscribs · 28 days ago
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Yearly reminder to myself that Veth died and came back wrong
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naamahdarling · 30 days ago
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I didn't get pics I didn't get pics my phone was in the bedroom charging but FANCY IS PLAYING WITH THEM. Not next TO them but INITIATING PLAY WITH THEM.
Not bitchily, not reluctantly, not with a short temper, not tolerating THEIR advances, but making her OWN advances! Inviting them in!!!!!! Even the detested Junie!
CRYINGGGGGG.
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lotus-pear · 1 year ago
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i think you guys are onto smth..
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i unironically got invested in this HELP
#WHERES THE FIC AT IF SOMEONE WRITES THIS I WILL PAY THEM A HUNDRED DOLLARS😭😭#kunikida serving the country while dazai's serving cunt😔#dazai was born to malewife but forced to manipulate and i think that's the greatest tragedy of bsd#anyway some facts i would like to share abt this au thay i came up w while drawing!!#takes place in 1939 (start of wwii) and there was a mandatory draft that required one male over eighteen from each house to serve#both of them are still twenty two and had been engaged for abt two years before getting married that year#newlyweds! unfortunately kuni had to go fight and they were seperated :(#before the war kunikida was a math teacher at the local high school and dazai obviously managed the household and didn't work#he's hopeless at cooking and meal prep even w recipie books so they either get those prepackaged meals or kuni makes dinner when he gets ba#so like when he's making lunch for kunikida he normally just packs a basic sandwich w raw fruit#kunikida always appreciates the effort even tho hes probably sick of having the same thing everyday but he won't complain abt it#when kunikida joined the army he was relieved that the mess hall had better food than dazai#he was the only one in his platoon that never complained abt the food so his fellow soldiers assumed it was bc he came from a tough bg#when in reality he was just used to being poisoned on a daily basis from his dumbass husbands cooking and was hardly fazed from army ration#they write to each other although its more dazai sending and kuni receiving bc hes off fighting and doesnt have time to write back#dazai talks abt life on the homefront and how he has to grow a victory garden (everything is DYING HE CANT EVEN RAISE TOMATOES)#and kuni writes abt his fellow soldiers and how the war is going and when he thinks he'll be home and how he misses sleeping in a bed#ANYWAY yea thought i'd share sry for infodumping in the tags again#this post is for like the four ppl that care abt this specific flavor of knkdz so hopefully this gets four notes at least#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#kunikida doppo#doppo kunikida#kunikidazai#knkdz#lotus draws#bro sry for posting at two in the morning i couldnt sleep until i got this out of my head they have infested my brain
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hellishgayliath · 9 months ago
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@heckitall HECKY I DID YOUR DTYIS!!! :DDD IM YOUR CO DIRECTOR FOR THIS COMIC HOW COULD I NOT DRAW OUR BOYS AT SOME POINT :D
Also people should go read Heck's comic Same as it Never Will Be, it is amazing and Heck is a really great story teller and artist :3 <3
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the-ace-with-spades · 1 year ago
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Eddie knew Buck was going to cry the first time Chris called him any variation of dad.
It'd been weeks since Chris asked Eddie about this and he'd been thinking about what to call Buck because I can't call you both dad, it'll get confusing. He had concluded that he was too big for daddy, father was way too serious for Buck, and they didn't talk enough in Spanish for papi to sound natural for Chris.
Despite that, Eddie wasn't surprised when finally, while Eddie and Bobby were lying the table at Athena's place and Buck was entertaining the kids with Maddie, he heard Chris grumble at Buck's lame joke, "Pops, that's so embarrassing."
He had expected Buck to cry and he did cry and he was holding Jee at that moment so she started crying, too, when she noticed her uncle crying and it looked comical.
Eddie couldn't not smile at the scene, fond.
He had expected Buck to cry but what he hadn't expected was for Bobby to cry.
And yet here he was, still holding a plate in his hands, practically sobbing silently next to Eddie.
"You know, Buck used to call me Pops too."
"He did?" Eddie asked because he didn't know what to do - he wasn't best at comforting people in general but that had just taken him aback on whole another level. "Why did he stop? I'm pretty sure you're more of a dad to him than his own father."
"I told him the station isn't a family," Bobby said. "Then I fired him."
Eddie had heard that Buck's been fired straight out of probation, but he had never heard the details. Definitely nothing about this.
"He got the job back on the same day but he has never called me Pops again since."
"Maybe you should tell him to call you that again, then," Eddie said, pointedly. "You know he's not the sharpest tool in the shed about this stuff."
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neolxzr · 3 months ago
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i knew you'd come back (i never had any doubt)
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artemisxrose · 1 month ago
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FUCK Liam Payne! I will no longer support OT5 and I don’t even want a 1D reunion anymore. It’s so disgusting how so many of you defend these boys actions, but especially Liam, in light of everything that has come out. Maya Henry has every right to speak about her experiences. And it’s gross that I’m seeing literal threads and tweets upon tweets of people calling her a liar and saying all these horrible things. You’re proving Liam right! “No one will believe you anyways and the fans will always defend us!”
Is that not absolutely horrifying to yall? That this man is weaponizing his fanbase against women that he has treated poorly? And yall continue to enable him! Everything Maya said in her recent TikTok was true! Yall defend this abuser because of boy band nostalgia? What the fuck is wrong with some of yall? It makes me sick. It’s always “believe women” “believe victims” until it’s your fave, right?!
We don’t know these people! “He would never do that…” YOU DONT KNOW HIM! These parasocial relationships are going too far.
What’s scary is based on some of the stuff Maya said, I wonder if this is only the tip of the iceberg with Liam. He’s probably done so much shit we don’t even know about. Maybe even the other boys???
I know I’m ranting and no one probably cares but some of the tweets I saw defending Liam were so triggering and upsetting. Trending hashtags like #FreeLiam and #WeLoveYouLiam when a woman CONFIRMED that he abused her is just so sickening. This is why women don’t come forward. This is especially why victims of celebrities and people in power don’t come forward. Because this is how they’re treated. Maya literally even confirmed that Liam and his team have tried to silence her and didn’t want the book to come out. I just… there are no more words.
This whole situation is so triggering… I’m so angry and upset.
Fuck Liam Payne and Fuck all of yall defending him.
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spider-man-2o99 · 1 year ago
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individual stills of miguel Scampering on all fours and showing off his more distinct individual movement style (that he has because of his spider-man's Similar-but-still-distinctly-Weird-and-unique powers as compared to the more-graceful Others) so that i don't have 2 keep rewinding the clip(s) to see it. im REALLY excited to see him scuttling and skittering all over the place in the film just like he does in the comics-- and, like, seriously, Miguel Specifically being just. made Massive for some reason in his atsv design will never NOT be funny to me hes SO freakin Bouncy why did they Do That.
don't be Weird on my post or i'll kill you for real
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sidesteppostinghours · 1 month ago
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ok. question.
ortega ended up hallucinating sidestep after they "died", but sidestep doesnt know about that. they know it got bad, but never the full extent of how their death affected them. so if your sidestep Did learn, if they found out ortega looked for them in every little piece they could, would that change anything for your sidesteps? would their relationship with ortega be any different?
#pulp speaks#Am i thinking of my “ortega sees sidestep posthb” fic again? perhaps#shameless plug btw yall should read it its called 'seen' on ao3 and i still like it#but anyway the important bits: ive been thinking about it with my sidesteps and its really interesting to me how different they are#but theyre all some variation of “i didnt know you /cared/”#caine is. uncomfortable with the idea#i genuinely dont know why but i do know that in the end their feelings on the matter are “whats done is done and im back now” with a small#“ill try not to leave again” mixed in#meanwhile cyrus is a deer in headlights over it#itd be way worse if he learned it when they met again- i feel like if he learned ortega was still that attached he wouldve left and never-#-come back. he would still want to Now but hes too tangled in his relationships and ortega is his /friend/ and leaving would just explode i#-his face‚ god Damnit ortega you son of a bitch‚ he shouldve just run. you werent supposed to drag him into caring about people again.#cecilia would have mixed feelings about it. i think shed resonate with it a lot for reasons she doesnt want to face#but it would also hit her like a goddamn Truck that he chose to move on/replace her rather than try get her back and its easier to get mad-#-about that than question her own feelings. but also maybe she could use this to her advantage? maybe this time he knows theres always a-#-chance hell come back for her next time. maybe. shes hoping there wont be a next time.#cynthias an interesting case because shes in love with ortega. deeply. but ortega /never came for her/ when she /promised/ and cynthia-#-is still furious about it#ortega hallucinated her in death but she couldnt put the pieces together and go looking herself? she cared enough to look for her but-#-not enough to save her?#she would still end up settling on bitterness for abandoning her but the information would shake her to her core#anyway. i think ortega should be used as a squeaky toy 👍#caine lynzal#cyrus becker#cecilia rider#cynthia garcia#ortega#sidestep#fhr
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emry-stars-art · 1 year ago
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Once again. I don’t know when I’ll be able to color this but here’s the full wip (corresponding to this whump post)
Usually Abram’s recovery goes about as expected but sometimes there’s stretches where he kind of slumps, just part of the ups and downs of recovery. Part of that is the constant vigilance he was forced to have in Evermore catching up to him again, so his health deteriorates and he gets jumpy and anxious and most of all exhausted. He figures out his brain remembers the mealtime breaks; and even if Andrew would never allow it at the table, the prince can recognize when he needs to give a little and let Abram sleep on the floor. It’s the only way he’ll fully relax. When he figures this out, there’s suddenly and mysteriously a few nice floor pillows and other furniture and blankets added to his room, and more for Abram to take to his own.
(Can I count this as whumptober 25 if one of the prompts is flashback 🤔)
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