#not reader insert

[softie-bat]

♡ security guards

notes !! this is a very very (!!!) self-indulgent fic for two of our headmates , and is based off a dream one of us had a week-ish ago !

includes platonic , not oc or reader insert , system centric (traumagenic) , five nights at freddy's (not canon specific) & does not match up with the timeline or events of the movie, not beta read we die like men , also small warning for the fact i'm writing this on no sleep and endless chocolate milk . bare w me </3

______________

a sound of pure frustration erupted from the opening to the left side of the office as nate stepped through the door.

"you good?" mike asked, spinning to face the man.

"mhmmm," nate hummed in response, taking a seat in the swivel chair beside mike's. "just can't seem to keep chica on stage. other two are more chill tonight than usual though, so that's nice..."

mike made a noise of acknowledgement as he pulled up the cameras. as suspected, bonnie and freddy remained motionless on the stage, but chica was missing.

"you check the kitchen?" mike's eyes drifted to his friend. nate nodded wordlessly.

a loud, metallic CLANG caught the two men's attention. nate's ears perked up, not unlike a curious dog's; a fact of which would make mike chuckle under any other circumstances. he instinctively rose from his seat first, subconsciously moving to stand in front of nate.

"chica?" mike called out. "you okay, kid?"

a slow, groaning mechanical noise gave mike all the information he needed.

"you fell, didn't you?" mike called out into the darkness before slamming his palm against the small button labeled 'lights', though the lettering has long begun peeling away.

nate desperately attempted--and ultimately failed--to conceal his giggles at the scene before the two of them. chica, in all her robotic glory, lay on her back on the cold floor, similar to a turtle being knocked over.

gently pushing past mike's wide shoulders, nate went to chica's aid.

"mikey, come help me, please," he called to his friend, still giggling. nate ignored the side eye chica threw his way.

"how'd you even manage that...?" mike whispered, a small smile on his lips.

once they'd finally straightened chica up once more, nate gently patted her hand. "wanna head back to the stage now?" there was a brief pause before chica turned back around and slowly treaded back to her spot.

after a few giggling fits, the two security guards headed back into the frigid, creaky office and took their seats. small conversation ensued until a comfortable silence fell over the two of them.

nate sighed dramatically before slowly rotating in circles in his chair. mike looked on affectionately, occasional chuckles leaving his lips as nate tried to build up momentum in the rusted old swivel chair.

"you're going to make yourself dizzy, and you'll fall, nate," mike laughed.

"no i won't. gravity's no match for me."

"ohhh, uh huh, sure," mike said, rolling his eyes with a grin. his eyes drifted to the analogue clock, the ticking a welcome and familiar sound after the many, many months working this job. "it's almost six, we should probably do a once over before we clock out for the night."

"oh, yeah, let's just-" nate came to a sudden stop before letting his legs fall from the crossed position he was previously sitting in. almost as soon as his shoes touched the cold tiles, he immediately lost balance and would have had a nasty fall had mike not jumped up just in time to grab him.

"gravity is no match for you, huh?" mike chuckled out, full blown laughter following once nate pushed his face away with his palm.

"thanks for catching me," nate laughed as he slowly regained his balance.

"anytime. want me to piggyback you?" the taller man offered, a grin erupting on his face. nate agreed, albeit reluctantly before he threw the straps of his bag over his shoulders and awaited the green light to climb onto mike's back.

after climbing onto the back of the taller man, nate rested his chin on the top of mike's fluffy, messy hair. "thanks for carrying me, didn't realize i'd get bested by gravity that easily."

mike laughed at nate's confession as he treaded out of the security office, turning off the lights as he went. they both made their way across the floors of the old, worn-down restaurant. clearing every room and making sure all animatronics were in their spots, mike continued on to the lobby of the long shut down diner until the glass of the front doors revealed the stunning view of the budding sunrise.

"almost there, kiddo," mike mumbled to nate, who sleepily hummed in response. once they exited the creaky doors, mike lifted nate's legs a bit higher on his waist before hooking his arms under the man's knees and locking the padlock, securing the chains protecting the front doors.

"lend me your keys, i'll drive, okay?"

"m'kay..." nate slid his hand into his jean pocket before dropping his keys into mike's out-stretched palm. mike moved to gently place nate into the passenger seat, watching as nate essentially curled up in his seat. he shut the door and slid into the drivers seat, cranking the car and making sure nate was buckled up. he couldn't help the laugh that escaped as nate attempted--albeit incoherently--to piece together the words to form a 'thank you'.

the drive itself was near silent, save for the occasional bump in the road causing a deep 'thump' noise. mike decided, no questions asked, to let nate crash at his place while he slept. the door opened and mike was greeted with the sight of abby long asleep on the couch, her sketchbook messily discarded on the table. her soft snores made her brother smile as he traipsed up the stairs until he stood in front of his bedroom door.

carefully placing nate under the weighted blankets on his bed, mike lazily pulled the covers over him before haphazardly plopping down beside him, the coolness of his pillow a welcome luxury from the awkward sitting position he had to maintain during work.

swiftly drifting into sleep, mike smiled as he felt nate's hand slowly grasp onto the worn fabric of mike's hoodie.

♡♡♡

hii i'm sorry this is random and pretty short .. things have been hectic for us but more specifically for me since i've been front stuck so soooo much :( just wanted to write something kinda comfy after these past few weeks </3

#mike schmidt #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's movie #fnaf movie #mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt five nights at freddy's #mike schmidt fnaf movie #mike schmidt five nights at freddy's movie #osdd system #not a request #not oc #not reader insert #not x reader #sfw

[currebunz]

Vashwood AU: laundry

Buy me a coffee

The local laundromat was rather barren most of the days. Yet Nicholas chose to go there than to get his own washer. His suits needed dry cleaning after all, washing blood out of them wasn’t fun. He would rather someone else do it for him. The machines were also cheap and it was close by, he’d be foolish not to use the place.

He ignored the pointed glare of the owner as he lit a cigarette, the fans were blowing anyways. Nicholas was leaning up against his washing machine, showing where his territory was and enjoying the low rumble against his lower back. Somewhere, a radio was playing music with a lot of static.

The loud buzz of the fans were always too loud to hear it anyways. Not to mention the steady rumble of the washing machines reverberated in the whole laundry mat. Nicholas let out a sigh, smoke leaving his mouth in a long wispy cloud. It was always the same here.

“Is there a free machine I can use?”

Nicholas turned his gaze to the door. A rather loosely dressed blonde came stumbling in with two large bags of laundry. His glasses nearly slid of the bridge of his nose as he smiled sheepishly.

“Over there” the owner grunted as she flipped through her newspaper.

“Thanks lady!” the blonde chirped and began to awkwardly waddle toward the washing machines.

He bumped into a few of the baskets on wheels, yelping as he swung his laundry bags around. He jumped and hopped on one foot as he used the momentum to turn and avoid knocking over something. He ended up crashing into a washing machine, dropping all of his dirty linen inside.

“Whoops! Ah, well at least it made it in” he sighed quietly.

He dropped his bags and tied them to one of the baskets. He had bright blue eyes, shiny like a dog on a walk. Everything about this guy was overtly positive. He was either new to the city or an idiot. Or maybe both. Either way, he looked like more trouble than he was worth. 

And Nicholas was bored.

“Haven’t seen you around here, new face” Nicholas called to him.

The blonde looked up, snapping his head up like he had been taken by surprise. He blinked owlishly at Nicholas as if he hadn’t seen him standing there the entire time. He….he had seen him right?

“Yeah, I actually just moved in a while ago. So I am new, nice to meet you…” the blonde said.

“Nicholas, Nicholas D. Wolfwood. But my friends call me Nic” he replied.

“My friends call me Vash, it’s nice to meet you Nic” Vash grinned.

“Maybe you aren’t so green” Nicholas mused.

Vash scratched the back of his neck and laughed awkwardly. 

“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?” he asked.

Nicholas chuckled, realizing his washer had stopped a while ago. He began to shift his clothes to his designated basket while Vash loaded up his own. Nicholas noticed right away he was making a lot of mistakes.

“Okay, needle noggin. You aren’t gonna last here if you keep that up” Nicholas sighed.

“Needle noggin?!” Vash repeated in shock.

“Listen up, don’t just leave your quarters out like that. People are going to steal them” Nicholas said as he swiped up the bag.

“Hey, give that back!” Vash lunged at him.

Nicholas easily dodged him, slipping the bag into his other hand as he caught Vash’s outstretched hand. He turned Vash around and gave him a light push back in the direction he came from.

“Simmer down, I’m not stealing from you. I’m showing you how easy you make stealing from you” he Nicholas explained.

“That sounds like something a thief would say,” Vash grumbled.

“I told you, I’m no thief” Nicholas insisted.

He tossed the bag of quarters at Vash, the latter catching them and holding them close to his chest. Vash pouted at Nicholas, putting his quarters in and starting the wash.

“Then what are you?” Vash asked.

“Single” Nicholas flashed him a grin.

“Real funny, I-I don’t want to know that” Vash said dryly.

“Your loss” Nicholas waved his hands in the air as he brushed past Vash. 

He gave his basket a kick, it rolling over to a dryer on the wall. As he loaded in his laundry, he peeked at Vash’s reflection in the glass door. At least he knew how to use the machines. Once he had the dryer going, Nicholas decided to bug Vash some more.

“You sure you don’t want some more of my advice? It might save your skin later” he mused.

Vash looked up, pouting and giving Nicholas a suspicious look.

“Yeah right, how much is that going to cost?” Vash asked.

“One lunch, dinner too if it takes long enough” Nicholas said.

Vash’s cheeks turned red but he remained vigilant.

“Okay then, deal” he said as he stuck his hand out for a shake.

Nicholas grabbed his hand, but not to shake. He turned Vash’s hand palm upwards. He grabbed a stray marker on one of the tables and wrote his number down. Vash choked as he realized what was happening but was too slow to pull his hand away.

“There you go, call me later” Nicholas smirked.

Before Vash could comment, there was a loud buzzer as the dryer came to a stop. Just as Nicholas had planned.

#vashwood #woodvash #vash x wolfwood #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun wolfwood #wolfwood x vash #not reader insert #Trigun #trigun stampede

[sherbet-shark]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐇𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

A twisted wonderland theory ft. @anevilbunnyinthehat and @twistthedias I (Sherbet Shark) 

@pianoperson /@pianostarinwonderland​ pspspsps h-here’s the theory I’m sorry idk which acc you use most for twst ;-;

Sources used: Shel_BB’s Twist fansubs on YT, ENG ver of Twist, JPN ver of twist, Twist Wikia, Disney’s Pinocchio (lore), The Last Unicorn (lore), Cinderella 2: Dreams come true (lore), and various Chats.

Trigger Warnings: The following post contains Dark themes such as Psychological damage, Sensory overloads, Torture, War, Laws, Breach of Animal rights, Human trafficking, and Human rights.

Word Count: 2.4k

This theory does not support the above reasons but rather an idea for finding potential reasons why transformation potions or spells have been outlawed or forbidden within the Twisted Wonderland world using lore and evidence within the game. By clicking the “Read More” cut-off, you consent to read this post and expose yourself to these topics.

Bunny first brought up this theory in our private discord server, with her theorizing that the talking animals are the ancestors of the beastmen we now see in the game. Then evolves into morality and potential dark history along with transformation magic.

      In Twisted Wonderland, many characters say that making transformation potions and spells is banned/outlawed, but there is no reason why. We, the player, have no background in the matter, and it’s implied that this law has been around for quite a while since the law’s passing. Hence the following screenshots of characters stating the matter. The talking animals from The Lion King, Little Mermaid, and many other Disney movies are often referenced by the characters they are based on; Ruggie speaking of a Warthog and Meerkat being the royal guards to the Prince the age of the King of Beasts (Scar). The characters in the game often mention the creatures of their respective areas and stories, talking, and actions the characters have done in their respective films.

  Still, with a slight twist, as seen in the below screenshots, as seen within these pictures, we can tell that the transformation market was huge and growing either by obtaining the materials or hiring a powerful magician to assist in this massive change for their clientele. The Sea Witch comes to mind in this game. The Octavinelle dorm students Azul, Jade, and Floyd, mention her story as someone that nearly perfected her transformation from a mermaid to a human but with the slight setback of her proper form would appear in mirrors. There is a plethora of referencing with the Twist cast of this ability and skill. So, this brings many questions into the light. 

   Did strictly mages or Magicians create these types of magics for animals, or did the people that wanted this ability get the materials for the potions. This previous question then leads to the ultimate question: if the market for this was booming and bursting to life, who decided it was wrong and made it illegal. What transpired to make this a universal law in the world of Twisted Wonderland?  Yet no explicit explanation for the sudden downturn of this desirable commodity.

With these questions in mind, this is where our theory starts. Perhaps the reason for this implementation was a breach of mortality and humanity. An example from another piece of media is 1982’s animated The Last Unicorn. I, Sherbet, have an intense connection to this film. While its appearance may be lighthearted at first, it is very dark on a deeper psychological level. It is very dark but impactful in what I want to speak of within this post of rambles and moral greyness.

    For those that have not seen this movie or need a small recap of the basic storyline, is that the main character, an unnamed Unicorn is the last of her kind and is soon endangered by the Red Bull. She then starts her journey to find out why she is the last unicorn and evade the beast after her. Upon this quest, the mystical beast joins forces and befriends a wizard (Schmendrick) and a woman that loves unicorns (Molly). These two side characters are essential. Now bear with me. The Unicorn, later in the story, is transformed into a human by her wizard companion to escape the Red Beast. 

In the aftermath of what he had done, the wizard is elated that he ‘saved’ the last unicorn, yet Molly, the woman that loves unicorns, yells and criticizes his actions. I was very young when I watched this movie, and I didn’t understand why Molly was upset because the Unicorn was alive and safe, yes? She is physically safe from the Red Bull, yet as I rewatched it. I understood the reason for Molly’s outburst of anger and hate.

  Unicorns are not humans. Unicorns are otherworldly beasts, and in this setting of the story, they are not supposed to feel human emotions. Unicorns are immortal beasts with a protected mentality from human woes. Unicorns are supposed to be pure, oblivious, and unaging creatures. But immediately, as Schmendrick cast the spell to turn the Last Unicorn human, the wizard at the same time killed her, the last free Unicorn. He killed the innocence that these beasts are revered for having and blessed with having. The naive wizard exposed her to so many new things that she should have never been exposed to in the first place. 

   When the Unicorn wakes from exhaustion and realizes what was done, she has a crisis and an overload of sorts, saying she can feel this mortal body dying with every breath. This movie has a somber tone, and not all of these characters have happily ever afters at the end of this animated movie. But this does take the morality of the character’s actions and will affect the others’ lifetime. With this vital moral greyness and psychological damage that both parties would inevitably endure,  I will now bring into this essay a Disney Film that also tackles the same topic but in a more lighthearted manner than The Last Unicorn.

In stark contrast, the other movie I will be discussing is the spinoff of Cinderella. 2002’s Cinderella’s Dreams Do Come True. While is followed movie Cinderella three: A Twist in Time is undoubtedly the most popular of the two sequels. A segment of this is lighthearted compared to the previous movie’s topic of animal transformation, and I still wish to explain my reasoning and how it backs up my theory. This story is in the middle of the film, with Jaq, the mouse, as its star character. The little talking mouse deeply cares for Cinderella and wants to be helpful to her but believes that he is too small to lift the burden on the princess.

    The Fairy Godmother then transforms Jaq into a human man to get what he wishes. Jaq tries to help his friend Cinderella, yet he’s pretty inept in “being human,” he speaks in broken sentences while talking and forgets that he now isn’t a mouse, which leads his mouse friends to be scared of him when Jaq tries talking to them. Jaq has an evolved cognitive ability, and it’s shown in the beginning that the former mouse has a hard time walking bipedally. At the same time, you can argue that he shouldn’t be that inexperienced in walking on two feet since the movies showed him to be able to walk normally while in his proper form.

We can say that the size difference and cognition would be a huge problem for animals going through this tremendous change. Throughout this section of the movie Jaq is torn, stay human while he has to lie about himself and to Cinderella or return to his former self and be content with who he truly is as a mouse. Throughout this show, Jaq must come up with a lie about who he is, and he must learn of the social cues that we humans are already accustomed to, not including the societal norms of the time. Something that Jaq visibly struggles with as time goes on. Jaq then wishes to become his true self and return to his life.

But there is something more to consider in this theory. All animals show some semblance of human attributes. But there are normal animals in the Disney franchise and in real life. These reasons make me think of the possible outcomes of forcing a feral animal into humanity,  another life form into feeling things they shouldn’t, and experiencing things they shouldn’t know. Would making a human into an animal make the person in question lose their cognitive ability to speak, think, reason, and abstract thinking. Would these capabilities slowly deteriorate the longer the person was forced into this other form? Would the power and potency of this magical spell or potion affect the person?  

In contrast, this Disney film is lighthearted in this fictional topic, what if in Twisted Wonderland. These ideas came together and clashed in the aftermath of these transactions—the psychological damage, the choices, the laws, the magical power, morality, and humanity. Must be put into consideration. These previous reasons have led me to theorize that there was a possibility that magicians forcibly transforming humans may have been used as a weapon, most notably as a piece of torture and war. Sam added to this theory that it’s pretty angsty if you think of the difficulty of an animal group morphing into a human population and vice versa. How would society label a former beast as strange or odd in the eyes of other humans if, say, the former beastmen or women had no trace of their true heritage? Say, for example, we take the mouse example, and they do use transformation magic with no mouse ears or tail. No one would suspect that this person was any different from other humans. However, depending on many variables, this person’s former animal would have an isolated life because of their lack of knowledge.

Let me speak more about this taboo magic. Imagine war and war crimes. There are no doubt wars and atrocities in The Twisted Wonderland world, and a canonized example of its history is Lilia Vanrouge and Professor Trein. Let me illuminate that Lilia is a decorated soldier and implied to be very aged. No doubt he has seen, heard, or done things that are atrocities in modern times of Twisted Wonderland. Transformation magic could be a form of torture.

 If you’re a prisoner of war, a wizard could hypothetically turn you into multiple animals and give punishments. Through this hypothetical situation, the powerful wizard or the soldiers would put you through the torturous experience of slowly losing your humanity throughout the duration of their punishment. Another example of a Disney Film that has tackled this transformation problem is Disney’s 1940s Pinocchio. Two cases in this movie are the little wooden puppet himself and the Pleasure Island. Pinocchio’s story is an excellent example of what this theory could have done in this game. Previously a wooden doll, Pinocchio must discover what is right and wrong. 

    Drawing from these details, Pinocchio, now a sentient boy and mentally still a tiny child, he’s starstruck and whisked away by his desire to be human with the glitz and glamor of fanciful lies told by adults. Pleasure Island is a cursed island that turns the little children into donkeys the longer they stay and play on this cursed land. Later in this movie, we can see a scene where the ringmaster sells the children turned donkeys but not before he checks that they can still talk and have their humanity. Because there is a reference and event in the game, Wish Upon a Star. The idea of human trafficking being the reason for this taboo is a viable reason, but since this is Twisted Wonderland, the lore may be different.

  This law wasn’t created to protect animals solely, but to ensure this theorized event would never happen again, it does its best to encompass its protection for all beings.

   Now let’s look in-depth once more. Would implementing this law have a paper contract showing a magician’s and the buyer’s proper consent to show that both parties have permission?

While polishing this theory and taking sufficient evidence with eng TWST, I had a thought come to me, and this would cover the other end of this dark theory but still sorrowful. In Floyd’s chats with Azul, he asks his dorm leader why the Great Sea Witch changed her appearance, and from his words, “She’s cute and strong as an Octopus.” 

     This evidence leads me to think, what if a merperson or beast-men down the line wanted to become fully human, shed their animal-like traits, and form for love or, more like, the infatuation of another person. Changing yourself because you believe that the one you’re in love with would hate you for who you are isn’t a foreign concept, even in this twisted game and in real-life media. The change always leads to the character’s discovery of self-love or an unparalleled amount of regret. This transformation could easily be a small detail that also contributed to the illegality of this type of magic.

But there is a difference between a species with the same capabilities as humans, for example, Mer-people, as we can infer these people have been elusive. However, they can still be classified as humans compared to animals with no comparable cognition.

    While there are slight changes between the Fansubs and Official translations, the message is clear: transformation magic is illegal. You have to be highly powerful to concoct a spell or potion, even if you don’t have magical powers. It’s implied that Crowley, a headmaster of one of the prestigious Magic institutions, has some leeway. These academies have exceptions because some students may not be able to be on land for long periods. An example is the Octavinelle Trio, which has said that they take medicine or potions to stay human. As seen below screenshots.

(Shel_BB’s Fan Sub) (Eng Ver)

(Shel_BB’s FanSub videos, Chapter Two part 26)

(Azul’s chats with Floyd)

(Jade’s Chat with Azul) 

(She_BB’s fansub video; Prologue Chapter 5) 

Note: I looked up the difference between “Transformation” and “Transmutation,” and Transformation is where the genes in a lifeform are altered through gene transfer. Transmutation is changing the appearance entirely through a mutation, and most likely what the ancestors from Sunset Savanna experienced. 

That’s the end of my tangent, please if you have anything to comment or question please go ask it! (As long its not veiled harassment its all good!!) Again, thank you for reaching the end of this theory!! I’m pretty proud of how it ended up looking like and how I worded things. 

#sherbet writes #sherbet discord #Sherbet's theories #sherbet talks #tw: animal abuse #tw: psychological abuse #Dark themes #Twisted Wonderland #disney twst #Lilia Vanrouge #Octavinelle #Savannaclaw #twst lore #Azul Ashengrotto #Floyd Leech #Jade Leech #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #not reader insert #twst theory #twst ruggie #twst leona #twst floyd #twst jade #twst Jack #Twst Azul

[iamstartraveller776]

This is a repost of my own original fiction. This is a short romance written in 2nd person (not a reader insert). Rating T. Word Count: 897

A LOVE STORY IN SIX PARAGRAPHS

You're not supposed to like her, not like this. She's your friend, has been for many years—long before you became the public's darling. Whenever you convince her to be your plus-one for an industry event, she affectionately calls you the brother she never wished she had—to the paparazzi, to each contemporary or sycophant she's introduced to. You laugh every time, as you always have, though lately it's become forced. The others adore her, relish in her sarcastic wit. Too curved and too plain compared to their plastic glitz and glamor, she's no threat to them. But if they knew the lens that you view her through, if they knew how your heart pounds whenever she is near, they would tear her apart like a wake of bloodthirsty vultures. 

You're not supposed to touch her, not this much. You find a reason to invade her home whenever you're in town, wrapping her up in a tight embrace that lasts a hairsbreadth too long. Because you like the feel of her softness against your hard planes. There are tickle fights that devolve into wrestling matches that end with your knees straddled precariously close to her hips, her hands pinned above her head. She breathes out soft laughter, eyes shining as she looks up at you, and you almost lean forward to taste her sassy mouth. You want to—so much that it is eating you alive—but then she yells at you to let her up, playfully names you a cheater because of your size. The moment is lost, or so you tell yourself. But the truth is, there was never a moment for her, and for you, the moment always hangs at the precipice of something, but never falls, never ends. 

You're not supposed to want her, not with this yawning need. You go on dates, have an occasional dalliance—all from the list of those approved by your publicist—but it's just another role you're playing. The artifice is thin, tedious, as you dine at all the right restaurants, attend the right parties, dance at the right clubs. All of it feels like a dream slowly turning sour. She's becoming one of the few things left in your life unsullied by this unreality. You try not to think of her when engaged in this sham, but any decent actor knows that you have to draw deeply on personal experience to put on a stellar performance, and sometimes, thoughts of her are the only way you can get through this show. It's all so empty, so unremittingly unsatisfying, that you're left wanting ever more. 

You're not supposed to be jealous, not of the men she dates. She's never been yours, after all. And you have everything you could possibly want at your fingertips—nearly. But that green-eyed monster still consumes you whenever you learn of some guy or another from work, from the bar, from so-and-so's party who has her twinkling and gushing. You understand why they are chasing her; beneath that quirky, saucy façade is a Fae-like soul, breathing life into all around her. You're in danger of becoming the arrogant, conceited pretty boy she teases that you are, though. Because you don't understand what she sees in them—not when she could have you. You're the bastard who shows up unexpectedly at her place just before her date does, who happens to run into her while she is out with another, and you lay on too thickly that comfortableness, that easy affection between a pair who claim to be like brother and sister, ignoring her companion altogether. The goal is to intimidate, and you wield your celebrity and your shared history with her deftly for the cause. You almost get away with it. 

You're not supposed to fall in love with her, not when she's screaming invectives at you. Your tactics became too bold, too audacious when you took her latest beau out for drinks—the slimy player who seemed oblivious to subtle warnings you've been giving off for several weeks. You're about to go on location for three months, and desperation is churning in your gut. It galls you that this man so unworthy has already worshiped your goddess at the altar of her quiet moans and sweat-slicked skin. You refuse to let this vile thing continue unimpeded in your absence. You told him the truth, that you're throwing your hat into the ring. What kind of chance does he think he still has with her when you do? But she despises your intervention, shrieks every hateful thing she can say. Her words don't touch you, though. She's so damn breathtaking, pink-faced, hair wild, and you cut off her raging tirade with your mouth crushed over hers. She's surprised at first, and you're afraid for a heartbeat that you've made the fatal mistake you've been avoiding for more than a year—that to her, you are nothing more than an adopted sibling and now that sacred friendship is destroyed. But then her legs are around your waist, and she's inhaling you as if she hasn't been able to breathe until this moment. You cannot become one with her fast enough. You cannot become one with her often enough.

You're not supposed to jeopardize your career by choosing to romance someone deemed so terribly pedestrian by the public, by the industry, but you know her. You have her. The rest can go to hell. 

#original fiction #my writing #romance #a love story in six paragraphs #2nd person pov #NOT reader insert

[am-i-obsessed---maybe]

hey!! I was wondering if I could request a headcannons of some of the 501st boys ice skating? I know it's random... But like it's cute!?! So yeah! ❤️❤️

Oh absolutely! This is adorable!

Rex

he had to be forced onto the ice by the others

He was stiff at first but after he fell once and realized it wasn't so bad he got better

He tried to jump, failed and realized it was probably just better to skate around without trying the big tricks

It's probably for the better, he would've gotten hurt anyways

Fives

The first one on the ice

He's a natural, he claims he's never done it before but nobody believes him

He doesn't do jumps but he manages a few cool tricks and absolutely shows off

Echo

He's stiff but doesn't fall

He wasn't too sure about it but if Fives can do it so can he

He got dizzy trying to do tricks so he just skates around in big circles with Rex

Kix

He didn't even get a chance on the ice, Hardcase fell and got cut by someone else's blade so he had to fix him up

Hardcase

He was having fun spinning around until he fell trying to make a jump and got his finger sliced off

Dogma

Is the one who sliced off the finger

#the 501st #clone troopers #jesse #hardcase #rex #kix #dogma #ice skating headcanons #star wars headcanons #clone trooper headcanons #not reader insert

[nerdsareperfect]

Ok... I have a confession... my favorite use for Chatgpt is to create imagines for Tom "Iceman" Kazansky and my Top Gun character Ella "Frostbite" Ryan (Carol's sister. Since we don't know Carol's maiden name, I just made it Meg Ryan's last name). Would anyone like to see them? I have two saved vi screenshots right now, working on getting a third one too.

#tom kazansky #iceman fanfiction #top gun au #romance #tom iceman kazansky #og character #not reader insert

[honeycombstrawberry]

You'd better show us Sims!Anton and Sims!Viago if they have been created, you coward (affectionate)

No plwease, really. If you made them, we'd love love love to see them. :)

Have a good day/night!

okay. okay. okay okay okay i'm going to show you but please PLEASE remember that they were never meant to be observed by anyone but me. not a single other living human person. so YOU CAN NOT JUDGE ME FOR THIS. YOU JUST CAN'T. NOBODY IS ALLOWED TO JUDGE ME FOR THIS

anyways here they are:

please i know they're not very good but do not perceive me with judgment i know i am bonkers

#wwdits anton #wwdits viago #viago x anton #viago / anton #wwdits #what we do in the shadows #sims #sims 4 #sims 4 vampires #sims 4 werewolves #long post #not writing #not reader insert #answered #anonymous

[candycanes19]

Trying my hand at a Commander Mills. I have no idea what I am doing.

#adam driver #commander mills #65 movie #dangerous games #candycanes19 #poker #NOT reader insert #oc characters

[cryptmonsteruniverseimagines]

Any shipping headcanons for Taylor x Jaina ?

Honestly? Not really.

This isn't to say that I don't think they wouldn't work as a couple -- it's just that I'm not really into SFC. Maybe it's the lack of monsters, maybe it just feels too much like the generic tv dramas that I come to Crypt to get away from. Plus, there were so many open ends left by the time the series ended that it kind of...made me mad? Like, what happened to Karen and Jaina and Allie Ann and everyone else? It felt like they just ceased to exist for Season 3 and everything was focused on Roger.

My own hangups aside, I do think Taylor and Jaina would be a cute couple. Jaina helps Taylor come out of her shell a lot, and while it doesn't always turn out well it's good for Taylor. Jaina is probably the more outwardly-volatile one and people would never guess that Taylor's the one they have to watchout for.

I also inwardly chuckle at the thought of Allie Ann being all "i fucking knew it" when their relationship goes public. Like, she totally called it back in Season 2. I'd probably take a victory lap lol

#sorry there's not much #i'd rather have a short post than forced headcanons that don't feel good #answered asks #not reader insert #crypt tv #sunny family cult #crypttv #crypt tv sunny family cult

[elodium]

As the Poet says, So do I

Steve Rogers + Bucky Barnes + oc, kinda

Summary : An indulgent small work where mc is feeling very down, depressed and dealing with some non-returned love feelings. Stucky are comfort characters so they're there to fill the gap, comfort and love like she needs in a sad, quiet night.

Words: 1204.

Warnings: None.

Definetely is more of a creative outburst that I've had early in the morning about some stuff I'm going thru and writing with two characters that bring me comfort and good feelings, besides I like a lot actually helped a bit to calm down. Wanted to put it out there. No physical drescription tho, if it could comfort someone else. Sorry for any mispronunciation of both the petnames used in this or bad writing, sad brain late in the night doesn't work that good.

As the poet says, he is half of my soul. Here, she is, to me, half of my soul. The sliced part of my entire being that was separated somewhere through my journey here and left in the heavens to wait for her perfect moment. Until the rightful moment I've met her, that half of me was still further away.

Life gained a bit more color as she painted the walls and the floors around me, drew doors and windows for me to see more of the world out there and leave the days of a blind bubble of a world behind. I feel the love nurtured through the years in the drawings I draw, felt the pain that hurting each other can bring to one's soul and mind when I sob into warm and soft blankets that carries more scents than my own, startle myself in the small smile creaking through my umid sullen face at the memories swimming in the tears of the playfulness and jokes that brought a bit more giggles into the world.

She is half of my soul, as one poet would say had they met me in a distant life and could watch in my bare eyes the amount of feelings pooled there and contained from being handed to the very same small, warm hands I love. She is the half of me I can't love properly as I wish I could. The one kind that life took away from me one way or another, as peaceful and caring as it could have be hurting and thrashing me apart. In the end, neither I feel peaceful and soothed when my feet tremble in my steps towards the warmth that I'm desperate in need of, or feel torn apart to my very core since it's a path I'm long used to feel it under my fingers and had the displeasure to feel it before.

In worse scenarios, surely, but are committed to my memory, to remember me of the tears they caused.

They know that, of course they know that half of my soul is not for me to pour my love as plenty as I wished to. In the arms I fit in, one cold and steel and other warm and soft, I let my legs give up to carry me up and pass onwards a plea. I know there's not an ounce of expression in my emotionless face, all the anxiety and sadness fevers inside, pools and bubbles, only to spill hot through my eyes — feel them burn, exhausted after the hours passed, and I close them under the overwhelming tenderness in which two more arms circle me and the one that first cocooned me in his chest. Safely hidden from the molten steel in the blue of that unreachable stare; eyes a tone of blue with just a drop of gray.

"I'm glad you allowed yourself to my, to our care, be smart and let us hold you for just a minute longer, лисичка, my little fox." I drink in the whisper of a Russian that I don't understand, but can conjure and feel the presence of love and care in it.

Of course they know. That's why I let myself lean into the comfort on the Winter Soldier's sensitivity, fresh in ways that no human will ever be after being locked up from his own self for so long, denied of feelings, and so the softness that bares the metal of his hand may as well be softer than any skin of silk could dream to be as it combs my hair. Cold it's soothing, refreshing, and past half an hour the midnight through warm tears, warm microfiber blanket and warm skin from a bath that drowned half of my tears down the drain, it's the cold and gentle hold his arm has in me on his lap that pulls me down to a reality that doesn't gravitates near mine, but offer comforts nonetheless. And there's the warmth my skin absorbs in ways that feels like starving, the comforting warmth of calloused hands of the good man that guides my unsettled breath in each caress of my back; not the perfect soldier.

"I thought I was strong."

"You are." Both are sweet baritones of voices, tones too near to dreams that could lull me to sleep for dozens of hours if whispered near my ears like that in other universes. "You're just human, mo stór, my dearest, in love." It's the soft feeling of a sound, of warm lips of the one former Captain America that has me falling deeper and tighter under the Winter Soldier's fortress of a body, rattled with the desire to let a sob follow the sniffle.

Winter is cold on the outside, but inside its creations, such as homes made of ice, it can warm and rescue the most victims, better than mundane tents can. Cutting myself of defenses around one soldier made by the winter feels like being embraced by a warm fortress of ice, and rescued and loved with devotion by the one behind me. Whose face I don't look upwards to see but know the tones of the greens in the blue of his eyes that I once stared right back in dreams, and the golden aura that comes from him and seeps into my skin starved for that solace, fiery like ones of those of an angel old books would tell tales about, the gentle ones that would protect the uncared, saddened, ones left to wallow within themselves like me and Winter Soldier. The one good man that sits on his ankles and rumbles small melodies that no one remembers names but a poet would choose to transform their words into sounds. Into sounds that grips my heart of feelings of how I just know in my heavy bones that she's half of my soul whom I love deeply, but cannot share that profound love as it really is, cannot find in me the healed and pure form I dreamt I had acquired already.

So, they feed from it for me, save me from the huge weight of having too much sorrow for the myself I don't love yet, and the other oneself I won't be able to love, in their sluggish and soothing kisses across my bare shoulders. Take the amount of love in me for themselves, for they know how pure and how much of it it is and I have no other place to bear it but my own mind, my own mind that conjures them and gladly embrace me between them, inside myself. Just for a moment, just a night where I can't feel any sensation in my skin other than the cracked and dry tears on my face.

One can't deliver their hearts to others that don't exist. Doesn't mean I can't imagine a world where they hold tight to the heart pendant in my neck with interlaced hands, then proceed, with both hands each, to shower me in love and comfort that I, alone in the dark in a room that they don't live in skin and bones, can't find. 

Or have the prospect that I would have it someday.

#writing #unrequited feelings #unrequited love #comfort #comfort character #oneshot #sad writing #marvel #captain america winter soldier #captain america #winter soldier #steve rogers #bucky barnes #soft bucky #soft steve #not reader insert #i mean not exactly #but if the shoe fits #suit yourself #angst #bi wlm #stucky x oc

[innerenigma]

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

#fanfic #fanfiction #fanart #normalizefanartforfanfics #normalize fanart for fanfics #wattpad #archive of our own #ao3 #fanfiction.net #quotev #crossover #crossovers #fandom #fandoms #readerinsert #reader insert #xreader #x reader #oc #oc's #au #alternate universe #podfic #pod fic #fic rec #fanart for fanfic #fanartforfanfic #fanart for others #fan fiction #fan fic writing

[currebunz]

Sunshine (VashWood)

Buy me a coffee

He was like sunshine.

Glaring and bright, enough to make your eyes hurt from looking at it for too long. Whether it was the reflection in his glasses or that smile of his, it always hurt to look at him. Whether it be looking upon his scared body or the pained expression he made when things went south, it hurt to look at him. Nicholas could feel the strain and burning sensation in his eyes when he looked at him.

Because he was like sunshine.

He was suffocating and sweltering with his beliefs. Always wanting to save everyone and avoid killing people. Even if they were bandits and thieves, he claimed they were deserving of life. It was frustrating if anything how he would meddle in others problems or in conflicts to ensure no one died. Situations that could have been solved with a single bullet dragged on for what felt like days.

Due to the man who was like sunshine.

He was warm and kind, always helping out people in need. He would jump in front of a moving Sandsteamer to protect a child if it came to it. He would give his spare food to hungry families if it meant he would go hungry. He would offer his hand or care for a wounded criminal. Even someone like Nicholas.

All because he was like sunshine.

But just like the sun, he would have to set. Eventually, darkness would overcome the dunes and leave Nicholas in silence. All he could do was wait for the sun to rise again and again. Each time he thought it was the last, the sun would rise again. He never got tired of seeing the sunrise, even when he claimed to hate it.

Because he was Nicholas’s sunshine.

#vashwood #Trigun #trigun stampede #woodvash #vash x wolfwood #nicholas d. wolfwood #vash the stampede #not reader insert

[thatboisus]

“english isn’t my first langua—“ say no more.

#x reader #reader insert #harry potter x reader #harry potter imagine #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #sirius black x reader #joel miller x reader #matt murdock x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #ethan landry x reader #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #theodore nott x reader #regulus black x reader #sebastian sallow #tangerine x reader

[iamstartraveller776]

This is a repost of my own original fiction. It's a short story romance in 2nd person POV (not a reader insert). Rated T. Word Count: 2817

SMART MOUTH

“I love your dirty mouth.”

Your smile drops a tick when he murmurs the words, his gaze unnaturally luminescent from the shots he’s been knocking back tonight. You’ve heard this come-on before in all its iterations—wicked tongue, smart mouth—but the meaning is always the same. He loves the assumption he’s made about you, about how the rest of this night will go. In those too-bright eyes, you’re low hanging fruit, a reckless harlot on whom he can play out a fantasy or two for a few hours before he returns to the real world. Because a girl who lets crass words fall from her lips as easily and thoughtlessly as an exhaled breath—words that have grandmothers clutching pearls—surely that girl is up for anything.

The trope has become threadbare, unoriginal. Even if he didn’t look at you with every erotic thought flashing across his features like a neon “Girls! Girls! Girls!” sign at seedy strip club, at best, you’d be quirky, a novelty, an “acquired taste.” You’re the saucy best friend, sister, cousin, whatever. Never the lead in an epic romance, but the comic relief that other women love and men only want a taste of out of salacious curiosity. After all, happily-ever-after for a cheeky, brazen girl doesn’t include white picket fences and a mommy blog, right?

Except for you, it does.

There are men, rough around the edges, who would gladly take on “until death do us part” with someone just a hairsbreadth too inappropriately honest like you. But it’s the clean-cut good boys who make your skin tingle like champagne bubbles skittering through your veins. You’ve tried to change, tried to be an Eliza Doolittle to someone’s Henry Higgins, but the truth of you couldn’t be bottled long before it blew up in spectacular fashion, leaving no one unscathed—least of all you. You’ve also tried to find a connection with another “unpolished gem,” but the spark has always been a dim, pitiful thing, slow to come alive, quick to die.

You look your date over, a handsome grown-up frat boy, and pat his sculpted cheek. “You can’t handle this dirty mouth,” you say with a wink. He can’t. None of the ones you want can, and you push away the ubiquitous thought that this has never been about finding your other half, but an exercise in self-loathing.

You excuse yourself, ignoring his half-hearted protests; you aren’t lonely enough to take him up on his unspoken offer of a casual dalliance. Sometimes you are, but the encounters never do more than appease that physical need. They’re all devoid of the real communion you secretly yearn for.

You ride a taxi home, head resting against the window. Maybe you’ll take a break, say “thanks, but no thanks” to the next boy-next-door who wants to dabble with an impish Reddit troll before he chases after a poised Instagram goddess. Maybe you’ll lie on a therapist’s couch and dissect why your heart despises you by demanding what you’ll never have. Or maybe you’ll get brunch with the girls, drink too many mimosas and have them roaring with laughter. The same ol’. Always the same.

You pay the cabbie and take a deep breath as you enter your building. It’s quiet inside, though it’s not late. After three flights of your clacking heels echoing in the stairwell, you push the door open to your floor and grind your teeth to keep from scowling. He is there—your neighbor, recently returned from his latest cross-continent adventure. The man who is the pinnacle of everything you want but doesn’t want you. Oh, he adores you, laughs at your unchecked tongue—from the safe distance of naming you a “best friend.” (Your collection of those rivals the hutch full of tiny glass-blown figurines at your great aunt’s home.) 

You hate him. You hate how carelessly kind he is. You hate that he works for a non-profit organization that provides food and water and shelter to those in desperate need. You hate more that your pulse stumbles and your stomach somersaults when he aims one of his genuine smiles at you. You wish he was still on the other side of the world, bringing modern irrigation technology to third-world villages, not standing by his door opposite yours, frowning at his phone.

You think if you walk quietly enough, you can slip into your apartment unnoticed. But no, the jangle of your keys betrays you when you unlock the deadbolt. He says your name, and you close your eyes before turning around. He’s not in his usual attire of jeans and Henley, sleeves pushed to the elbows. This evening, he’s in grey slacks, a white button-down with a red tie tugged loose at his neck. Face shaved smooth, hair tamed, he looks like a cover model for Cosmo’s special edition on sexy bachelors—if they had one.

“Got yourself a lady-love?” you ask, though the question is sour on your tongue. “She inside already, slipping into something more comfortable? Did you bust out the candles and rose petals? That’s how you nice boys do it, right? Or are you smooth in the streets and a freak in the sheets?” The words tumble in rapid fire from your mouth, warning shots against the charisma he unconsciously exudes. You wish you were capable of simply giving him a demur smile before gliding into your place with an air of mystery.

(But you don’t, really. You’ve played that role and it chafed.)

He breathes a whispering laugh, shaking his head. “I wish my night was that exciting,” he says. “Just dinner with the board. Boring work stuff.”

“Ugh,” you agree with an exaggerated eye roll. “The worst.”

He leans against the wall, gaze dipping briefly to take you in. “What about you? Hot date?” he asks with a glance down the empty hallway. “Is he parking the car?”

You make a face. “Lukewarm at best,” you confess. “I’m going to have to take a scalding shower just to wake up my withering libido.” You finish with an excessive sigh for effect.

Your neighbor hums in understanding. “He couldn’t handle that smart mouth.”

The truth stings like a barb in your chest, but you keep your tone light as you say, “He wanted to try.” They all do. As if you’re the flashy, high-octane showroom car they want to test drive before buying something sensible. “Goodnight.”

You open your door without waiting for a response.

A knock comes an hour later while you’re halfway through an episode of some show you’re not even sure you like. You grumble under your breath as you leave your cozy spot on the couch. 

He’s on the other side of the threshold, holding up a box of microwave popcorn and a bottle of wine. He whistles as he takes in your hair piled on top of your head in a tangled knot, the old Def Leppard t-shirt you cut up into a loose tank top that hardly covers your favorite well-worn sports bra, the joggers with one leg scrunched up to your knee, and a pair of fluffy socks.

“Shut up,” you grouse, snatching the wine bottle. You make a rude gesture with your hand as you head toward the kitchen. Because while he’s changed into pajamas too, he looks more like he stepped out of a Macy’s catalogue.

His hip is against the counter as the microwave pop, pop, pops. He’s too familiar here, knows the inside of your place as well as you know his. You open the wine, pour him a glass, then take a swig directly from the bottle.

“Your night’s going that bad, huh?” He’s smiling, but there’s a tinge of concern in his eyes.

You ignore it because you don’t want the sunshine-and-rainbow platitudes he’ll offer you if he knows the defeated trail your thoughts are cantering down. There’s someone for everyone. Don’t give up hope. Nice boy lies.

You leave him to finish preparing your gourmet snack and queue up a raunchy comedy you know will have him trying not to curl his lip in distaste. It’s revenge for that artsy independent film he made you watch last time—the one you nicknamed “Everyone’s Sad All the Time.” That, and for this friendship that feels like a relentless purgatory of closeted hopes and unrequited infatuation.

Bowl of puffed kernels in hand, he joins you on the couch, settling in the middle instead of the opposite end. You shove at him with your feet, annoyed at his nearness. You don’t want to imagine what it would be like to have him in the ephemeral way you’ve had the rare others when isolation and melancholy suffocate you. Would he leave you feeling as empty? Yes, but worse. Because the interlude would be meaningless to him while it would be everything to you.

He captures your legs, lays them in his lap, and glowers at you when he sees the television screen. “You’re joking.”

You give him a puckish grin before you start the film. “I’m expanding your horizons.”

It’s halfway through the movie, and you’re snorting laughter. In your periphery, he glances at you for the tenth time in the last hour—or is it the twelfth? (You’ve lost count.) And his silent judgment is sandpaper on that raw nerve you’ve been pretending doesn’t exist. Yes, maybe you’re a bit more dumpster fire than hot mess, but you like yourself as you are. Why can’t anyone else? Why can’t he? You bristle but redouble your focus on the television.

You laugh at another vulgar joke, this one referring to nice guys in the bedroom, and his eyes are on you once more. You push pause, scowling at him.

“What?” you ask in a tight voice. “I like what I like, and I’m not going to apologize for it. You have a problem with that, then you can take your popcorn and go. I’m keeping the wine.” In fact, he can leave right now. You’ve had your fill of rejection for one night—for a lifetime. 

You pick up the half-empty bottle and scramble off the couch, pointed toward your personal sanctuary. It’s silly, but you’ve never let a man into your room. You’ve been saving that for the one who looks at you—ugly bits and all—and somehow thinks you’re everything he could possibly want for the rest of his life. (Apparently such a person does not exist, at least one who is everything you could possibly want.) Your neighbor knows this, thanks to a drunken confession just before he went on his latest humanitarian excursion.

He stops in the doorway, leaning against the jamb, watching you as you set the wine on your nightstand. You throw back your covers and climb into bed.

“Lock the door on your way out,” you say. “Oh, and be a dear and turn out the lights. Thanks.” You roll over, pulling the comforter up to your ear. You’re not going to cry if you can help it. Crying gives you headaches. Crying doesn’t change reality.

The room goes dark with a flip of a switch, and you blow out a sigh. You didn’t expect him to stay, not really. A sweet gesture like that is reserved for equally sweet ingenues. Girls who can make sailors blush are supposed to be satisfied with an occasional bout of inebriated hate-sex.

You roll your eyes at these melodramatic thoughts. You’re not usually this pessimistic, but tonight, you’ll allow yourself to indulge in a little hyperbole. Soon, your neighbor will get a new assignment that will take him halfway across the world again, and you’ll have a reprieve from your intractable crush. You’ll go on a man-fast, spend more time with the girls, throw yourself into work, and the sun will rise once more.

The bed dips on the other side, and you sit up with a surprised squeak. Your neighbor’s face is painted in soft grey and pale yellow in the moonlight. You can’t decipher the expression he wears as his gaze holds yours. A beat passes, then another in absolute stillness, and you clutch the corner of your blanket to your chest, feeling uncomfortably exposed.

“You forget something?” you ask in a whisper, as if any sound might fracture this strange moment between the two of you.

The corner of his mouth curves up in a half-smile. “We didn’t talk. We usually talk.”

Your brow furrows. He’s not wrong. Communication while he’s away is sporadic at best, so when he comes home, you spend every available minute together, filling in the gaps. He regales you with anecdotes from his travels, the kind of humorous, touching stories that inspire you to volunteer at a nearby shelter every week. You tell him about the latest shenanigans from work, the recent failed attempts at yoga, and when he laughs, you feel like a queen. But maybe that’s the problem. Your heart is feasting on this semblance of a relationship, and you can’t move on. Maybe it’s time to pull away in increments so when he eventually falls head-over-heels for a doctor-without-borders, the slash in your chest will feel like a paring knife rather than a machete.

Tomorrow. You’ll begin the slow goodbye tomorrow.

For now, you nod at him. “So talk.”

He glances away as if unsure how to start. “I was offered a job tonight,” he says. “And I took it.”

“Oh.” You don’t know why this news anneals the air in your lungs. It was only a minute ago that you decided your friendship with him has become a slow-acting poison. Him gallivanting off to some remote corner of the world is exactly what you need. “Congratulations. Where are they sending you?”

“Here.” He tips his head up, studies the ceiling as if it holds unearthed truths about the universe. “Director of New Project Development. I’ll still travel occasionally, but not for months at a time.” 

You can’t tell if he’s happy about the change in his career. You’re not certain you are, either. “And that’s what you want?”

“Yes.” He meets your gaze, and it’s different than before, painfully electric. Like he wants—needs—something from you, and you can’t begin to guess what it is. “I can handle it, you know. I’ve always been able to.”

You swallow at the tension strangling in your throat. Because you think he’s not talking about the new job anymore. “Handle what?”

He reaches toward you, cups your cheek, and you resist the instinct to lean into his touch. This can’t be real. His thumb brushes over your lips. “This smart mouth,” he murmurs. “I think about it every day when I’m gone.” His hand falls away, shoulders slumping. “I know ‘nice guys’ probably seem boring to you, but I…” He conveys the rest with the tentative hope written in his features.

You blink at him as you repeat his admission in your mind, examining it from all sides. What? What? “How long?”

He frowns, not understanding.

“How long have you felt like this?” You clarify for him, not daring to give into the giddiness that begs to overwhelm you.

“The truth?” He runs a hand over his face with a sigh. “I’ve been a little crazy about you since you welcomed me to the building and told me to beware of the poltergeist in the pipes.” He gives you a rueful look. “But I was gone so much, and girls like you don’t date guys like me.” He finishes with a pitiful shrug as if he’s been as tortured by unfulfilled dreams as you have been.

You stare at him. How is it possible to be full of both anger and joy at the same time. “You idiot,” you say, though you’re unsure if you’re speaking to him or yourself. “You stupid, stupid idiot.”

Before he can attribute the wrong meaning to your insult, you grab the front of his shirt and yank him toward you. You plant your mouth on his, and his hands are instantly at the sides of your head, angling it so he can get a better taste. He tells you with his lips, with his tongue how desperately he’s wanted this—wanted you. You’d cry out in bliss if you could breathe.

He pulls back too soon, but your half-formed complaint dies before you can give it a voice. Because he sees you like no one ever has, and he’s utterly captivated. Is this what people call love? Could that all belong to you—the sassy sidekick? The possibility is beautiful and terrifying and too much of both at once. You tug at the hem of his shirt, and he pulls the blanket away from you. There’s no more thinking.

You lay on his chest afterward, drawing lines in the thin sheen of sweat on his skin. He wraps his arms around you, kisses your forehead tenderly.

“So,” he says, “about that movie…”

You laugh. Yes, this is love.

~FIN~

#original fiction #romance #my writing #smart mouth #2nd person pov #NOT reader insert

[mysicklove]

Summary: four-year-old Yuuji didnt mean to bring up Mr. Gojos crush on you, which of course, leads to Sukuna's harsh teasing.

cw: fem! reader (reader gets referred to as girl, pretty, and mommy), curse words, suggestive language, lion king spoilers (lol)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: i love making sukuna an absolute menace. poor yuuji tho. i think i am going to introduce gojo as a character, because I think it would be entertaining to piss Sukuna off lol.

big brother au masterlist

“Su-kuna!”

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“Language,” You scold, not peering up from your book. Yuuji lays sprawled out on top of the both of you – his head in your lap, and practically purring in content when you gently pet the top of his head, while his little legs are on Sukuna’s thighs. 

Yuuji giggles into your shirt, shaking his head mischeviously. “Bad word Su-kuna!”

In an instant, you feel the toddler being ripped away from your lap with a tiny screech. The noise startles you, and you perk up from your book to look to where the boy has gone to. But, you aren't surprised to see him dangling in the air by his ankle – Sukuna’s long fingers skillfully hold onto Yuujis chubby little leg tight enough to not drop him, but gently enough to not cause physical harm. 

The boy doesn't seem to mind this position, being in it so frequently. Giggles and squeals leave the toddler's mouth as he stares at his now upside down brother. “You learning how to speak correctly?”

Yuuji nods his head, and his hands try to reach for Sukunas shirt. You rest your head on the man's shoulder, chuckling at the boy who was squirming in the air. “Uh-huh! F-Fush-i-guro taught me!” The dark haired toddlers last name was hard to pronounce, and it was amusing watching how Yuuji sounded it out.

Sukuna makes a loud groaning noise and you cover your mouth to hold back another laugh. “Of course you made friends with Gojo’s new brat. First he hits on my girl, and now his new kid is gonna manipulate this idiot.” He shakes Yuuji in the air to demonstrate his point, ignoring the squeals. 

You roll your eyes with a laugh. “Just because Megumi taught Yuuji how to say your name correctly, doesn't mean the kid is manipulating him. Y’know Yuuji struggles with words sometimes.” You watch as the child in turn shakes his head in defiance, letting out a “Nu-uh!” that only makes you smile. You turn back over to your lover, kissing his cheek. “Aw, does it make you sad that our little Yuuji is growing up?”

“No,” he quickly rebuttals, “Brat isnt growing up fast enough. I am mad that you're not denying the fact that the white haired idiot is flirting with you.” You know that wasn't the full truth, but alas, Sukuna was extremely stubborn and would never admit that he didn't want his brother to grow up. 

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo thinks you are pretty!” Yuuji announces, beaming at you from the air. You hold back a wince, smiling awkwardly back at the innocent words of the toddler. You watch as the boys cheeks begin to flush from all the blood rushing to his head, and immediately as if sensing it, Sukuna flips over the boy and instead places him on his lap, holding onto the back of his neck.

The action makes you smile, noticing the thumb that rubs gently at the pale skin. But when you glance at Sukuna, you notice quickly that he was anything but happy. Sukunas dark eyes twitches, flickering to you, and he speaks between his teeth. “Did he now? I may need to have a talk with Mr. Gojo next time I pick the little pest up. Does Fushiguro say anything else?”  

“Sukuna,” you whine, realising that the hold on the boys neck was not out of affection – instead was used to trap the boy while he was questioned. “Y’know Gojo is alot. He just wants to–”

“Fush-i-guro says Mr. Gojo has a crush on Y/N!”

“Yuuji!” 

“B-But, Y/N has a crush on brother,” the boy concludes, furrowing his eyebrows with a small nod. “Right, Ku–um–Su-kuna?” He turns up to his brother, doe eyed with his head slightly cocked to the side in question. 

In response, Sukuna ruffles his hair, nearly sending the boy landing on his back. But, instead he giggles at the rough treatment, shutting his eyes and trying his best to stay upward. “The biggest crush. You make sure to tell the little brat that. Or else Mr. Gojo is going to try take her away.”

Your eyes widen and you push at his broad shoulders. “Sukuna! You're going to get him all worked up!” You exclaim, knowing the very sensitive (regarding you or Sukuna) child very well by now. You turn to the boy, whose own eyes widen as he trying to process the words. “Gojo is not trying to take me away.”

“He is going to take her away if you don't do anything, and little Megumi is going to have a new mommy.” Sukuna was grinning at the boy, as if his brother's fearful expression pleased him. You knew that he was being purposely dramatic – Gojo wasn't even technically Megumi's father, if there was a chance that you guys would ever get together (near zero) you would definitely not be the boy's new mom. But alas, Sukuna continues on with his words. “Thats why whenever you see the two of them talking you have to make sure you to scream as loud as possible.”

You cover the mans mouth before you he can spewl any more nonsense, but it was too late. Yuuji was already tearing himself from the man's lap and into yours – his lips begin to wobble and his eyes flood with tears. “Is-um-is that what you two talk about when I am with Mr. Nanami,” he warbles, thinking back to the multitude of times he has held onto his preschool teachers hand and watched you smile at the white haired man. 

“No, love,” you reassure, turning your attention instead from scolding your lover to consoling the child. “Sukuna is being mean again. Don't listen to him. Mr. Gojo and I are friends.” You ignore the look that Sukuna shoots you, showing how displeased he is at the idea of you being friends with his least favorite person. 

The boy sniffles, wiping his little fists on his face. “I-I dont want you to be Fush-i-guro’s mommy. You have to stay with me and Kuna! P-Please?” He doesn't even attempt to say his brother's name correctly, forgetting how he started the conversation all together. He was focused on trying not to cry, because his brother was sure to tease him, but it wasn't working out very well.

You kiss at his chubby cheeks, shaking your head with an exasperated look on your face, wondering how the hell you got to this conversation. “I am not, promise. I'm not going anywhere. Even if your brother is the worst, brattiest, malicious person alive, I have kinda grown attached to him. Besides, if I left who would I have movie nights with?”

“I am not a–” You shoot Sukuna a nasty glare, and he in return lets out an astonished laugh, but shrugs without care.

Your words make Yuuji perk up from your lap, and his eyes widen with glee. “You like movie nights too?” He was always begging for the three of you to watch movies together, but Sukuna always denies him considering it would end up being a cheesy Disney movie that Yuuji would fall asleep not even twenty minutes into.

“I love movie nights. Do you want to have one tonight?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sukuna butts in, and you spare him a glance. “Babe, we have plans tonight, remember?” He tilts his head to the side suggestively and you roll your eyes at him.

“Not anymore. Me and Yuuji are going to watch…”

“Human Earthworm 2!” The boy interjects, completely forgetting about his previous experiences with the movie, not good ones.

You poke at his cheeks, shaking your head. “I was thinking The Lion King.” 

“Yes!”

“No,” Sukuna groans, covering his eyes with his palm.

You look at him with furrowed eyebrows. “No? Why are you putting your input in? You're not watching it with us.”

Sukuna, never have been told this before, looks appalled. “The fuck you mean?”

“Bad word!” Yuuji points to him in accusation, but Sukuna just ignores him.

You cock your head to the side, a sly grin pulling at your face. “You're not invited.”

“Why not?”

The two of you make eye contact for a long second, and after a moment or two, Sukuna sighs. “You're really mad about that?” You don't say anything, just continuing to stare at him. “Okay fuck–Yes that is a curse word, astute observation you brat. I am sorry for making the kid cry again.”

“And?”

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, but you hold your ground. Then, he turns to the boy with a sigh. “Dont scream when you see Gojo and Y/N talk, alright?” He jabs his finger into the boys chest and Yuuji nods his head rapidly in understanding. But, a foxish grin pulls at the mans face and he says, “Instead…The moment you hear him talk to her, you bite his leg.”

He barks a laugh at the confused face of his brother, but when he looks up to you, the smile falters. “Okay, c’mon it was a jo–”

You point your finger to the door. “Couch.”

“You can't kick me out of my own room!”

You don't move your finger. Yuuji glances at you, cocks his head to the side, and then mimicks your action. “Couch!”

The three of you go silent for a long minute, and at this point the boy's hand begins to tremble from holding his hand out for too long. Eventually when Sukuna realizes that there was no point of reasoning, he lets out a dramatic sigh, before crawling out of bed. 

When he notices your smug smile, he flips you off and you can't help but laugh at that. “I am coming back after the movie is done, ya hear?”

“If Yuuji does not fall asleep,” You tease in return, knowing the boy well, and Sukuna rolls his eyes. 

His eyes flicker to the boy who was snuggling up to your chest, trying to find a comfortable position to watch the movie in. Sukuna chuckles to himself, opening up the door, before turning back to the kid one last time. “Hey brat,” he calls.

“Hm?” 

“The father lion–Mufasa. He is my favorite character, so you'll bound to like him a lot. In fact, I sure do wonder if you'll get attached,” he muses, and your eyes widen when you realize what he is saying. Anything that is linked with Sukuna, Yuuji immediately falls in love with. This was bound to cause hysteria. “Enjoy the movie guys! Y/N have fun!” He calls, before shutting the door.

You pause for a moment, sighing into your hand. “Kuna likes the father lion? I want to see!”

You tried everything to avoid turning on the movie after that. But Yuuji, like his brother, was stubborn, and he desperately wanted to see the lion. He grew attached very quickly in that short period of time.

Deep laughs rumble through the house when Yuuji begins to sob over the animated lion's death. You lock the door, and Sukuna stays the night on the couch. 

#mello.writes #big brother au #sukuna x reader #kid yuuji #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #yuuji fluff #yuuji tadori fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #female reader #f! reader #fem! reader

[v1x3n]

#cod mw2 #cod x reader #reader insert #x reader #mw2 #cod #cod mwii #character x reader #call of duty #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #incorrect cod quotes #call of duty modern warfare #kyle garrick imagine #kyle garrick #kyle garrick cod #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz smut #kyle gaz #gaz x reader #gaz garrick #gaz mw2 #gaz call of duty #gaz x you #gaz x male reader #gaz x y/n #gaz x gn!reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick smut