Jealousy Is In The Air

Titles

Quicksilver-  ↫ ↬

Wolverine- 彡 彡

Scott Summers- 💥 💥

Gambit- 🂡

Kurt- 🌒 🌘

Hank- 🧪 🥼

Charles- 𖡎 🧠

Magneto- 🔗🧲

"He's married you can't like him"

...My brother in crist.

LOOK AT HIMMM

Don't even GET ME STARTED ON THIS MANS CHEST

Bro got bigger tits then Rogue- AND THE MOVIES???

The stuble. THE STUBLE-

I love me a broken man UGGHHH

𝚀𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚑

You are a low-ranking demon slayer, one who has never slain a demon yourself. Each mission ended with your companions standing victorious - never you. Now healing at the Butterfly Estate, you try to repay kindness with effort, scrubbing bloodstains, replanting flowers, and hauling supplies, hoping not to be a burden. But you are not as invisible as you think. You may not see yourself as a fighter, but they do. ___________________________________________________ 🌸 Tanjiro Kamado – “Kindness is Not Measured in Kills.”

Tanjiro noticed you the way he noticed a falling petal—quiet, soft, easily overlooked by others but impossible for him to ignore. You were always moving at the Butterfly Estate, mopping floors, washing linens, bringing tea to the sick and bandaging up the wounded even though you wore a few bandages yourself.

You weren't loud about your efforts. You never boasted. In fact, you often lowered your eyes when others spoke of battle victories. He overheard one slayer whisper, “She hasn't even killed a demon before.”

That made his heart ache.

He found you in the garden one afternoon, quietly sweeping up fallen cherry blossoms with a woven broom, your fingers trembling just slightly from exhaustion. You looked up when he approached, startled, but gave him a shy nod.

“You do so much around here,” he said warmly. “You do not have to push yourself this hard.”

“I… I do not want to be a burden,” you murmured. “Everyone else is stronger. Braver. I just… help however I can.”

Tanjiro shook his head. “Don't say that. Helping others is its' own kind of strength.” He crouched beside you and smiled, voice gentle. “You save lives here. You bring peace. That’s not freeloading. That’s being part of the fight.”

And when he helped you to your feet, his fingers lingered around yours.

______________________________________________________________

⚡ Zenitsu Agatsuma – “Don't Sell Yourself Short—That’s My Job!”

Zenitsu first noticed you when you accidentally dropped a stack of clean laundry right in front of him, scrambled to pick it up, and apologized like you had committed a crime. His heart stuttered in his chest. Not just because you were cute (you were), but because you looked so genuinely afraid of being in someone’s way.

You reminded him… a little too much of himself kinda.

Later that day, he found you in the hallway trying to scrub blood out of a uniform sleeve, muttering to yourself about not doing enough. He knelt beside you, hands full of soap.

“Need help?” he offered. Then, a beat later, “Please say yes. I’m actually good at laundry. One of the few things I’m confident in.”

You blinked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah. And you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” he said quickly, eyes wide with sincerity. “Just because you haven’t killed a demon yet doesn’t mean you’re not a slayer. You’re still here. You’re still trying. That’s more than most.”

You looked down, a little flustered. “…Thank you, Zenitsu.”

He turned bright red. “Y-You know my name?!?”

You smiled. “Of course I do.”

Zenitsu nearly fainted on the spot.

______________________________________________________________

🐗 Inosuke Hashibira – “Why Are You Hiding That You’re Cool?”

You were carrying a tray of rice bowls when Inosuke barreled past you in the hallway, nearly knocking it all over. You did not scold him, just carefully knelt and picked it up again. He paused. Watched. Grunted.

The next day, you were cleaning out the koi pond, knee-deep in water, humming a little song to yourself. He watched again from the roof.

“You!” he finally said later, when he cornered you outside the kitchen. “Why are you hiding that you’re cool?”

You blinked, confused. “I… I do not think I am.”

“Yeah, well I do!” he said, pointing at you with two chopsticks. “You carry heavy buckets. You work like a demon. You are sneaky quiet but fast. That’s awesome.”

You laughed, just a little. “I don't think that makes me cool.”

“Then you are wrong!” he declared proudly. “You’re just like a stealthy boar. Like—like a forest ghost. I have decided you are in my pack now!”

“…Your pack?”

“Yes. So you have to eat meals with me from now on.”

You smiled, ducking your head. “Alright, then. Deal.”

______________________________________________________________

I'm bored. Let's talk if yall want

Fuck men for making my santards higher then heaven

Hotter Than the Stage

Synopsis: After a sultry performance, Remy invites you to a private room for a personal show. The dimly lit space, charged with palpable tension, becomes the backdrop for an intimate, slow dance where every movement teases and entices. As Remy strips down and moves toward you, his every action is designed to draw you in, building an undeniable chemistry between you. What starts as a private dance quickly turns into a passionate, unforgettable night, as Remy makes it clear that tonight, you're the only one who matters.

Warnings: A little sensual. Hope you enjoy, kits! 😘

After a long, exhausting night of performances, the club was starting to quiet down, but you knew Remy wasn’t done. You’d always admired his confidence on stage, but there was something about the way he looked at you tonight that made everything feel more intense, more personal.

He beckoned you toward his dressing room, where the music had faded and the lights were dim, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. The door shut softly behind you, and as soon as it clicked, Remy turned to face you.

A sly smile curved on his lips as he approached, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. "Thought I’d give you a little private show, chérie."

You didn’t even have time to respond before he was unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his toned chest, the muscles shifting as he moved. His hands lingered on his pants, teasing you as if he had all the time in the world. The air felt charged as he stepped closer, his body radiating heat.

With a smooth motion, he guided you to sit on the couch, his hands gentle but firm as he hovered over you. “Relax, mon cœur,” he whispered, his voice low and velvety. “This is just for you.”

Before you could say a word, he was dancing around you, every move calculated and mesmerizing. He swayed his hips to an imaginary beat, each twist and turn smooth like silk. You could feel the tension between you two building with every step he took, and when he finally turned to face you, his eyes darkened with desire.

Remy slowly closed the distance between you, leaning in close enough that his breath brushed against your ear. “You know,” he said, his voice a sultry whisper, “this is just the beginning. I’m not stopping until you’ve got no doubt what you mean to me.”

His lips barely grazed your neck before he pulled away, his hands moving down his own body as he unzipped his pants, letting them fall to the floor. You swallowed hard, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and the heat swirling between you.

Without a word, he guided you to lie back on the couch, and as he climbed over you, the space between your bodies grew impossibly small. His movements were slow, sensual, teasing as he kissed your lips, your neck, your jaw. Everything he did was designed to drive you crazy, to leave you wanting more.

Finally, he stopped, pulling back just enough to look at you with that signature grin. “Told you, chérie,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “I’m all yours tonight.”

And just like that, the world outside his dressing room ceased to exist as he gave you a night you’d never forget.

(Yall like Magic Mike!Remy?)

2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

I generally did not notice how long I've had Tumblr tbh 😅

[Tones]

I'm starting to obsess over One Piece men and if younger me saw me now, liking Law, younger me would look at me like I'm insane.

Synopsis; In a game of Truth or Dare, the crew dare you to try and get Law to say your name differently than his usual flat, monotone, depressed tone. What happens when you get him to say your name in a way that leaves everyone stunned?

----------------------------------------------

The night had started off as harmless fun. Just another evening aboard the Polar Tang, where the crew had gathered in the common room, passing drinks and laughing as the game of Truth or Dare spiraled into absurdity. Shachi and Penguin were already red-faced from their previous dares—one of which had involved an unfortunate mix of hot sauce and rum—while Bepo sported a streak of ink down his fur from losing a bet.

And now, it was your turn.

“I dare you,” Shachi declared with a mischievous grin, “to make Law say your name differently.”

The room erupted into laughter and murmurs of approval, and you swore you saw a few pitying looks thrown your way.

“Oh, that is cruel,” Penguin cackled. “He never changes his tone, even when he is pissed.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Any rules?”

“Nope,” Bepo said cheerfully. “Just get him to say it differently. Do whatever you need to.”

You turned to Law, who was seated with his arms crossed, golden eyes half-lidded, and already radiating exhaustion. He had tolerated the game thus far—just barely—but now he exhaled a slow, measured sigh, as if this was the precise moment he regretted not rooming himself out of the situation earlier.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, monotone as always.

“Come on, Captain,” Bepo chimed in. “It is just a dare.”

Your lips curled into a smirk. “Looks like we are doing this, Law.”

His gaze flickered over to you, expression unreadable. “You are wasting your turn.”

Challenge accepted.

You started with the easiest option—annoyance.

You scooted a little closer and began lightly poking his arm. “Law.” Poke. “Laaaaw.” Poke. “LAAAAAAAA—”

A gloved hand caught your wrist mid-motion. His grip was firm, not rough, and his fingers were warm through the thin leather. He held you still, golden eyes locked onto yours with the same deadpan expression he always wore, though the weight behind his gaze felt heavier now, like he was already considering ways to get rid of you.

“You are insufferable,” he said, perfectly monotone.

Damn. Okay. New strategy.

You went for shock value next, gasping dramatically. “Oh no, I forgot! I borrowed your coat earlier and left it in the engine room near Shachi and Penguin. They were playing with—what was it?—motor oil?”

There—an almost imperceptible twitch of his eyebrow.

“That better be a joke.”

Still nothing in his tone.

Fine. Time for a different approach.

You scooted just a bit closer, resting your chin in your palm as you studied him. His posture remained unchanged—lazy yet controlled, one arm resting against his knee—but you noticed the way his gaze tracked your every movement.

“You know, Law,” you murmured, voice dipping just slightly, “you are actually kind of fun when you loosen up.”

A whistle from someone in the crew. A few scattered laughs. Shachi and Penguin exchanged wide-eyed glances, nudging each other excitedly.

Still, Law did not react. His face was unreadable, though there was something sharper in his gaze now.

“You must be desperate to win this dare,” he muttered.

Ugh. Nothing.

Alright. Nuclear option it is.

You leaned in just enough that your voice was only for him, lowering it to a hushed murmur.

“I bet you would say my name differently if I kissed you.”

The shift in the air was instant.

It was subtle—so subtle that if you had not been watching him this closely, you might have missed it. The way his fingers flexed just slightly against his arm. The slow inhale through his nose, controlled but deliberate. The slight narrowing of his eyes, his focus zeroing in on you like you had just crossed a dangerous, invisible line.

The crew was still laughing, still talking, but none of that mattered anymore.

Because Law was looking at you now, not in the idle, indifferent way he usually did, but with something else entirely.

And then—

“[Y/N].”

The way he said your name—it was different. Lower, heavier, carrying the slightest rasp, like the warning before a storm. Like a dare of his own.

Your breath caught, heat rising to your face before you could stop it.

The game was still going, but you were no longer playing. Not really.

Because Law did not look away.

And neither did you.

You barely noticed the crew moving on to the next person, their laughter fading into background noise as the two of you remained locked in this standoff. His golden eyes held yours, sharp and assessing, as if waiting—expecting—you to back down first.

But you were not about to back down now.

“I win,” you murmured, tilting your head.

Law’s lips curled—just barely. “Do you?”

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

And then, before you could second-guess yourself, before the crew could turn their attention back to you, before logic could interrupt whatever reckless impulse was pushing you forward—you closed the distance between you.

Your lips brushed against his, soft but deliberate.

The moment they touched, you swore you felt him still for a fraction of a second. It was brief—so brief you almost thought you imagined it—but then his gloved hand lifted, fingers ghosting over your jaw, his grip neither pulling you closer nor pushing you away.

And then, as if deciding something in the space of a heartbeat—Law kissed you back.

It was slow at first, controlled—of course it was, he was always in control—but there was an undeniable pull beneath it, a quiet intensity that sent heat curling in your stomach. His lips were warm, the faintest hint of something sharp lingering at the edges of his restraint, and when he finally pulled back, just barely, you found yourself lingering too close.

He did not speak immediately. Instead, he studied you, golden eyes searching—like he was trying to figure something out, or maybe waiting for you to.

The tension between you was almost unbearable.

And then, finally—

“Hm,” Law murmured, voice dipping into something unreadable. “I guess you were right.”

Your heart stuttered. “Right about what?”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smirk, not quite a smile.

“You did make me say your name differently.”

And that was when you realized—

You had not won the dare.

You had just started an entirely new game.

A Little Light in the Dark

Synopsis; Bruce Wayne invites you to Wayne Manor for an intimate dinner, a rare glimpse into his world beyond the mask. But when a sudden blackout plunges the mansion into darkness, his chaotic family takes over the evening, and you see the unpolished, human side of the Wayne household. Amid the teasing, laughter, and chaos, Bruce’s quiet moments with you shine brightest, proving that even Gotham’s Dark Knight has a soft side reserved just for you. Warnings; Damian being a little sassy brat

Bruce invites you to Wayne Manor for dinner, promising a quiet, intimate evening. When you arrive, the sprawling estate is even more magnificent than you imagined, but Bruce’s warm smile and the way he takes your coat quickly dispel your nerves.

The dining room is grand, yet the table is set simply, with just two settings and soft candlelight. It’s a surprising contrast to the billionaire’s public persona, and the subtle care he’s put into the evening makes your heart flutter.

"Not as intimidating as you expected?" Bruce asks, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he pulls out your chair.

"I wouldn’t go that far," you reply, but your smile is teasing. "It’s... cozy, in a billionaire kind of way."

The conversation flows easily as the two of you eat, laughter mixing with the soft clink of silverware. Bruce is more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him—his usually guarded demeanor slipping just enough to reveal glimpses of the man behind the mask.

But just as dessert is being served, the lights flicker—and suddenly, the room is plunged into darkness.

"That’s odd," Bruce mutters, standing immediately. "Stay here. I’ll check the breakers."

Before he can even leave, chaos erupts.

From the hallway, Damian’s sharp voice cuts through the dark. "Grayson, stop bumping into me! You’re going to break something."

Tim appears next, holding his phone up like a flashlight. "Did Gotham’s most powerful man forget to pay his electric bill?" he asks, smirking.

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering, "Not now, Tim."

Then comes Dick, cheerfully stumbling in with a handful of candles. "Who needs power when we have ambiance? Romantic, right?" he says with a wink, grinning at you.

"Romantic?" Damian scoffs, stepping into the room and giving you a critical once-over. "Father, your standards are slipping."

"Damian," Bruce growls in warning, his tone sharp.

The teasing only escalates when Jason arrives, flashlight in hand, shining it directly at Bruce’s face. "Relax, Bats. Power outages build character. And hey, it’s not my fault you didn’t warn them about the chaos they were signing up for."

Bruce shoots him a glare that would terrify anyone else, but Jason just smirks and leans back against the doorframe.

In the midst of the family’s antics, Bruce is uncharacteristically quiet, his focus flickering between them and you. When the others drift off to investigate the outage—arguing and teasing each other the whole way—Bruce returns to your side, the shadows from his flashlight dancing across his face.

"Sorry about all of this," he says, voice low and almost hesitant. "I wanted tonight to be… better. Less chaotic."

"Bruce," you say softly, placing a hand on his arm. "This? It’s perfect. It’s you—all of you. I don’t think I’d want it any other way."

His gaze lingers on you, and for a moment, the weight he carries seems to ease. "You’re something else," he murmurs, almost to himself.

As he steps closer, the space between you shrinks, the candlelight casting a golden glow over his features. You feel his hand brush yours—a tentative, unguarded gesture—and when your fingers intertwine, it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"Next time," he says softly, his voice a low promise, "I’ll make sure it’s just us."

"Next time," you agree, your smile warm.

The power finally comes back on, the lights revealing Damian glaring at Jason, Dick grinning triumphantly, and Tim tinkering with the breaker box. Alfred breezes into the room as if nothing unusual has happened, asking if anyone would like a fresh pot of tea.

Bruce lets out a quiet sigh, giving your hand one last squeeze before releasing it.

As the family chaos continues around you, Bruce’s attention remains on you—his expression soft, his smile rare and private, meant only for you. And as much as you enjoy seeing this side of him, you can’t help but look forward to the quiet moments when it’ll be just the two of you.

(God Damian is a little shi-)