#but he does. and he has all these questions he needs him to answer

[lay-z]

cw: 18+ | fem!Reader; (Sugar) Daddy kink; open ending

It’s a rare thing for you to indulge in this―spending time with your teammates off duty when there are so many things you could rather take care of than having a drink at a shady pub a little off base. 

But they asked and you’ve all just returned from a tough mission, and this does feel better than trying to come down from the rush of being in the field all by yourself.  

So, you dress up in civilian clothes like they do―nothing too fancy or flashy, but still nice.  

The fabric of your jeans hugs the shape of your legs nicely, your sneakers feel so much more comfortable than your bulky combat boots―like you're walking on a fluffy cloud after spending the last weeks running with bricks attached to your feet―and your tight, long-sleeved shirt is neatly tucked into the waistband of your jeans, a nice leather belt cinching your waist and rounding up the look along with some simple jewellery you haven’t been able to wear outside yet. 

Kyle is the first one to compliment you as you join the group waiting outside the pub, “Lookin’ good there, Sarge,” he remarks, flashing a toothy smile before taking another drag of his cigarette. 

Next to him, Johnny whistles obnoxiously. “Aye, barely recognized ye there, doll. Did ye wash yer hair for once?” 

Flipping him off good-naturedly, he wraps one arm around your shoulders loosely, barking out a laugh that even manages to make the captain crack a smile as he flicks ash from his cigar. 

“Thought I was gonna be the late one,” you say, taking a swift glance around. You almost expect him to lurk in the shadows somewhere, but alas...  

“Where’s the Lt.?” 

Kyle shrugs, flicking the empty bud to the ground before stepping on it, while Johnny is already steering you towards the pub’s entrance. 

“Knowing him, he might not join us at all.” Price comments, not quite answering your question, yet involuntarily crushing your hope that has been blossoming inside your chest since stepping out of the plane―when Johnny had first suggested to meet up for a drink.  

Eventually, you let them drag you inside and towards an empty corner booth, and while the first round of drinks is ordered, you feel your private phone buzz in your back pocket. 

Been a while, love. Tell me you've been a good girl for me. 

Your cheeks warm as you glance at the screen, eyes flitting over the text preview from a new unknown number. It’s not that the text itself gets you hot and bothered, but the fact that someone might catch you in the act and figure out what you’ve been up to in your free time. 

Tilting your screen to yourself discreetly, your nimble fingers fly over the letters.  

Of course, I’ve been a good girl for you, Daddy. 🥰 Been just as busy, though. I’m so sorry about that. 🥺

And it doesn’t take long for him to reply. 

Don’t be sorry, love. But show me something sweet now, will you? Daddy needs to see your pretty tits. Been too damn long. 

And I’ll send you your allowance ASAP. 

Biting your lower lip, your palms start to get clammy as you read his messages. 

“Oi, you alright?” 

It’s your captain who nudges your elbow, jolting you out of your thoughts. Locking your screen again, you nod jaggedly, forcing a smile. 

“Yeah, I just gotta–” you start scooting out of the booth, “gotta use the restroom real quick.” 

And you scatter like a mouse, feeling your teammates questioning gazes following up until you slip inside the women’s restroom and the door closes behind you. 

The picture you take inside the relatively clean bathroom stall is nothing short a lewd tease.  

Slipping out of your bra, you roll your nipples between your fingertips, tugging on them until their stiff and poking through your tight shirt. 

Snap. 

Cropping the pic and adjusting the lighting, you save it to your gallery before taking another. 

This time, you tug your shirt up to your collarbones, gold necklace resting right above the valley of your naked tits, tiny pendant twinkling in the warm light of the old lightbulbs. Nipples hard, goosebumps pebbling on your exposed skin, breasts squished together to get the perfect picture for him. 

Snap. 

Cropped, adjusted, delivered. You stare at the chat as your nudes load on the screen before they’re swiftly marked with red heart emojis.  

Christ, love. What Daddy would give to suck on those perfect nipples and bury my face between your gorgeous tits. Paint your skin with my load while I’m at it, too.

Thank you. 

And suddenly, another alert pops up on your screen―one from your banking app this time. He’s already transferred your allowance along with a hefty tip. 

It’s not really about the extra money you’re making but rather the validation and attention you’re gaining from these arrangements, given your lack of romantic relationships due to your job, and perhaps you keep telling yourself that you don’t have a favourite sugar daddy, even though this one is certainly more eloquent and exciting in his bluntness than most. 

After putting on your bra again and tucking everything in place, you stuff your phone back into your pocket and make your way back to your teammates. 

To your surprise, you immediately spot Simon’s hulking figure sitting at the booth now; dressed in all black and his balaclava secured in place over his face. The sight alone enough to make your heart skip several beats. 

“There ye are, doll! Thought we’d lost ya already.” Johnny chuckles, his first pint halfway downed. You catch Kyle slipping out of the door for another smoke, phone pressed to his ear, leaving you alone with the rest as you slip back into your previous spot. 

“Evenin’, sir,” you greet the newcomer as you reach for your own drink, somewhat desperate to keep your excitement hidden, your voice neutral. “Glad you made it.” 

Across from you, Simon froze the moment you sat down. Tawny eyes widening behind his balaclava as he drinks in your appearance, pale cheeks flushing as his heartrate speeds up at once.  

His eyes flicker down again, staring at the gold necklace resting oh so delicately around your neck. 

[what-even-is-thiss]

I think asking autistic people what they need from healthcare workers might be better than asking me but I also know that a lot of folks have a hard time articulating things so I’ll try my best and I invite any autistic people to add on or correct me if they want to.

You’ve gotta be willing to be blunt and ask questions I think. Don’t rely on metaphor or talk to people like they’re children. Some people will be able to tell you exactly what’s wrong right away and others will have a difficult time explaining if they can talk at all.

When somethings wrong with my brother he gets very worried and opinionated about it but he also has a difficult time articulating what’s wrong so it often takes a round of questions to figure out the issue. Does something hurt? Where’s the issue? Does your head feel like it’s under pressure? Are you more exhausted than usual? Does this feel similar to the last time you had the flu? Is this more painful than dropping a hammer on your foot?

It’s also a good idea to be clear with people exactly what’s happening I think. Some people will be generally upset by the interruption in their routine and won’t feel better no matter what but knowing what to expect will help. Others will be okay as long as they know what to expect and if there’s a chance at variation. My brother is fine with a change in his routine as long as we explain to him exactly what we’re gonna be doing and he knows what to expect. Just carting off someone to a test without telling them what it is for example could be really awful. And if they want to know what exactly happens during the test it’s probably best to make sure they understand.

Autistic people also genuinely feel pain during or get upset at things that those of us who aren’t autistic don’t think about. If something’s overwhelming and there’s a way to mute the overwhelming aspects it’s probably good to suggest it to them. Noise canceling headphones, eye masks, blankets to wrap around people, stress balls to squeeze, can all be helpful during the right circumstances. And if someone suggests that something upsets them or causes them pain that would be fine for most people it’s best to believe them and find a way to deal with that situation if possible. Even if it’s just being sympathetic and acknowledging the issue and letting them know when the issue will stop.

Again, I’m not autistic. I don’t claim to know all the perfect answers here and it heavily depends on the individual. Just generally though, listen to people and don’t leave things implied. Say them.

I think that in addition to giving autistic people lessons on social skills they also ought to give family members lessons on how to better communicate with autistic people because tbh the effort ought to go both ways and also there’s a lot of things it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out when it comes to talking to my own brother

[formulafanfics13]

Hot lap of drama - KA12 🔥- Part 3

Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2

summary: post-briefing, you think you're in the clear. you're not. the drivers want answers. every single one. and poor Toto Wolff accidentally gets them. warning: absolutely unhinged chaos, explicit references to sex (but no smut), constant interrogation about size, stamina, positions, bruising, Lando being nosy, George still spiralling, Toto suffering, Lewis making it worse, reader being a menace, Kimi 0% phased

You should’ve run. The second you walked out of the briefing room, shirt slightly wrinkled, lips swollen, bite marks blooming just beneath your collar, you should have fucking run. But instead you tried to act normal. That was your first mistake.

The second? Thinking the rest of the grid would let you get away with it. You barely made it halfway down the hallway before Charles fucking Leclerc stepped directly into your path like a nosy little goblin. “Okay,” he said, eyes narrowed, “you need to tell us everything. Now.”

“What?” you blinked.

Lewis appeared behind him. “Don’t play innocent. You’re glowing. You look like you got hit by a truck made of orgasms.”

“I-”

“Is it true you fucked in the briefing room?” Oscar asked, popping up on the other side like a vulture.

“What the fuck is happening-”

“You were screaming,” Lando added helpfully, sipping a Red Bull. “Yuki thought it was someone testing engine maps.”

“We made bets,” Pierre said, sliding in behind him.

George practically launched himself into the circle, still wide-eyed and traumatised. “I TOLD YOU. I WALKED IN ON IT. AND NOW THEY’RE DOING ENCORE SHOWS.”

“I was not- there was no encore-” you tried.

“George says you were fully bent,” Alex said, pointing a finger.

“Back arched,” George confirmed. “Sounded like a demon was leaving your body.”

You groaned. “Can you all please shut the fuck up-”

“No,” Yuki said. “We have questions.”

“We made a list,” Oscar added, pulling out his phone.

“What is wrong with all of you-”

“Was it good.” That was Pierre, blunt as ever.

You blinked.

“Like good good. Top-tier. Or just young chaos?” he continued.

“Be honest,” Lando added.

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then rubbed your face. “I’m not answering this.”

“That’s a yes,” Charles grinned.

Oscar scrolled. “Next question. How big is he?”

You choked.

“Like, for science,” Yuki clarified.

“I am not answering that-”

George raised his hands dramatically. “I SAW IT. IT WAS. A lot.”

“Oh my god-”

“He was already inside her,” George added. “And still visibly threatening.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex muttered.

“Third question,” Oscar read, “do the curls get messy when he fucks you or does he stay perfect?”

“They stay perfect,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

The group howled. “I knew it,” Lewis whispered, fist in the air.

“Has he ever used a belt on you?” Pierre asked.

“PIERRE-”

“I need to know!”

Lando pointed to your neck. “Is that a fucking bite mark?”

You slapped your hand over it.

“Oh my god,” Charles whispered. “Are you okay?”

“She’s fine,” Kimi said from behind them, completely unfazed, water bottle in hand, hoodie half-zipped.

The group went silent. Kimi stared at all of them like they were nothing more than annoying traffic cones.

“Don’t you have cars to prep?”

Oscar blinked. “We-uh-”

George opened his mouth. Kimi raised one eyebrow. George closed his mouth.

Kimi walked straight up to you, dropped a kiss on your cheek, and handed you his spare lanyard. “You left this.”

Then he walked off.

The grid stood in silence.

Max, who had been quietly watching from a distance like a proud war general, finally said, “Fucking legend.”

Then, “What the actual fuck is going on here.”

Toto Wolff. Suit crisp. Jaw tight. Soul already gone. Every driver immediately pretended to look busy.

“Anyone?” Toto said again.

No one spoke. Until George fucking Russell broke.

“I walked in on them fucking,” he blurted. “Driver’s room. And again in the briefing room. She screamed. He growled. I think he left fingerprints on the table.”

Toto blinked. “Young Kimi,” he said slowly, “is fucking… who exactly?”

Twelve voices shouted your name in unison.

Toto took off his glasses. Cleaned them with the speed of a man trying not to commit a crime. “I need… a moment,” he muttered, before turning and walking directly into a wall.

Lewis followed him.

You could hear them through the door. “Okay,” Toto muttered. “Okay. He’s 18. That’s legal. That’s fine. This is fine. Right? This is fine.”

Lewis patted his back. “She did say the curls stay perfect.”

Toto groaned like he was dying. You, meanwhile, were trying to disappear into the concrete. And Kimi? Kimi had already gone back to the sim room. Like none of it happened. Like he hadn’t just broken George’s spirit, stolen your soul, and ruined Mercedes HR forever.

The boy was a menace. And you were completely, totally, dangerously obsessed.

[rachawritingblog]

The Cat Just Wants Cuddles

Pairing: Gender-Neutral Reader x Lee Know

Genres: Fluff, Slice of Life, Friends to Lovers

Word Count: 950+

Summary: Lee Know starts a pillow fight with you as an excuse to cuddle you.

A/N: I find this concept absolutely adorable. I need to see more cuddly lee know fics.🥹🥹

During summer break, he contacted you, letting you know that his parents were out of the city for a week. He invited you over to a sleepover at his house since his parents won't be home.

You accept, fond of the idea of spending time with him before you two are too busy with the new school year.

You two settle on you coming over tomorrow in the early evening. It was going to be a chill, lazy day, so you didn't pack much in your bag besides the essentials.

You brought your phone, phone charger, pajamas, a pair of clothes, toothbrush, toothpaste, skincare products, and any other personal items you needed.

At the sleepover, you two were playing with his three cats, Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, the majority of the time and talking about random thoughts that popped up in your heads.

When it was midnight, while his cats were asleep, you two went on your phones, you scrolling on social media as he was messaging his friends.

Eventually, he gets bored because the conversation is dying out. He shuts off his phone and glances at you, you focused on your screen.

He's not usually clingy, but he was craving your attention at this moment. He pokes your side, trying to get your attention, but you just push his hand away, thinking he's trying to annoy you. Little did you know he just wanted to be cuddled like a cat.

"Y/N." He calls out, but there's no response. "Y/N!" He exclaims, but still no luck.

He has the perfect idea for getting you to pay attention to him. He grabs one of his pillows with a mischievous smirk on his face.

He smacks you gently right in the face with the pillow. You give him a deadpan look. "What are you—" He hits you again with the pillow, silencing you.

You have a feeling he's trying to start a pillow fight, so you grab one of his pillows and retaliate.

The pillow fight goes on until all the feathers of both pillows fall out onto the bed and floor.

Once it's completely over, you're lying on your back on the bed while he's still standing. Both of you are catching your breath from the intensity of the fight.

He purposely trips himself on the sheets, landing on top of you with his pillow in between you two.

The pillow hardly had any more cushion inside, so it hurt. "Ow! What was that for?!" You complain.

Unexpectedly, he starts to cuddle you. He finally does what he's been waiting to try.

"M-minho?" You question, flushed. This action most definitely took you by surprise.

"Hmm?" He replies in a soft hum.

"Why all of a sudden?" You raise your eyebrow.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he gently grabs ahold of your hand and places it on the top of his head, indirectly asking for you to play with his hair.

You instantly get the memo and start slowly running your fingers through his soft, silky hair.

You could've sworn you heard him purring, just like a cat.

"I don't know what urged you to be so clingy like this, but I love every moment of it." You confess.

He lets out another hum as he nuzzles into the lateral of your neck.

It felt awkward at first for the both of you, but you eventually melted into the physical contact, especially Lee Know.

After thirty minutes he's still in the same position, half-asleep.

You lightly nudge him. "Minho, we have to brush our teeth and do our skincare before falling asleep."

He let out a very soft and low whine; you almost missed it. The whine vibrated in your chest. You couldn't control the flutter of butterflies that occurred upon hearing it.

You slowly sit up on the bed and push him off of you. He doesn't resist because he doesn't want to be seen as desperate.

He reluctantly makes his way to the bathroom with you. You both brush your teeth and do skincare.

Amidst doing your skincare routines, you ask teasingly, "Why were you cuddling me earlier, huh?"

He immediately changes the topic. "Have you watched the anime 'Oshi no Ko?" Providing a follow-up question.

You playfully glare at him for avoiding your question. "Haha, I see what you did."

He smirks smugly. He would never admit that the reason behind him being cuddly is because of how comforting it feels.

Once you two are all tidied up for bed and head back to his bedroom, he goes on top of you again, his grip on you a bit tighter this time, but not enough to hurt you.

You run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp before he indirectly asks for it again.

You shut off the light from the table stand, only the moonlight glow from outside radiating inside the room.

You both stay in that position. His whole weight is on you, cuddling you, while your dominant hand is in his hair, and your other arm is loosely wrapped around his waist.

In the morning, he woke up before you. He couldn't help but stare at your sleeping self. At how peaceful and content you look.

He wanted so desperately for nothing but to stay cuddled up against you.

You awaken shortly after, only to see him staring right at you with pleading eyes.

"Morning, Minho. Do you need something?" Your voice is rough with sleep.

"Can we have breakfast in bed?" His voice was gentler than usual.

You nod, but you had a suspicion that he offered breakfast in bed just to continue cuddling with you. (And let's not forget his cats.)

Unbeknownst to you, you were spot on.

divider by @/strangergraphics

[rootedinrevisions]

We Went Down to the Seashore

Summary: Every summer you and Glen go back to the same sleepy Texas beach town. But this year something feels different. Between shared porch beers, salt-kissed skin, and laughter in familiar cafés, you start to realize it's not just the town that feels like home—it's him. And maybe, just maybe, this summer isn't a getaway. It's the beginning of forever.

Warnings: Light alcohol use (drinking of beer)

Word Count: 3,029

The house looks exactly the same as it always does. Weathered siding that was once blue but is now sun bleached to a soft gray. Faded navy shutters flanking the windows. And that same old windchime clinking lazily in the breeze on the front porch.

You don't even bother with the front door. Glen punches in the code on the back gate with one hand while carrying your weekend bags in the other, and you follow him up the wooden deck, the boards creaking beneath your flip-flops like they're welcoming you back.

"God, I missed this place," you sigh as you drop your tote bag onto one of the Adirondack chairs and stretch, arms reaching toward the sky.

"Same." Glen exhales, long and low, dropping his bags by the door and tugging his hat off, letting the humid breeze ruffle through his already-messy hair. "Still smells like salt and sunscreen and a little mildew. Just like it should."

The beach house doesn't belong to either of you, technically. It's owned by friends of Glen's parents. The couple is retired, always traveling, and always more than happy to let "Cyndy and Glen's boy and his girl" use it once every summer.

You've been coming here with Glen for six years now, enough that the neighbors wave when you arrive. It's familiar and easy here.

"You wanna unpack first or go straight into tradition?" you ask, toeing off your sandals.

Glen grins. "What kind of question is that?"

Ten minutes later, your suitcase is open but untouched, your clothes still in a heap on the bed, and you're already in your bikini, sliding your favorite oversized t-shirt over the top. Glen changes just as fast—navy swim trunks and that beat-up UT tank that's practically see-through by now. You tease him about it every year. He wears it anyway.

"First beer?" you ask, already fishing two out of the cooler you packed last night.

"Always."

You crack them open and clink the bottles together in a lazy cheers. Glen flops down in the deck chair beside you, legs stretched out, one hand behind his head, sunglasses sliding down his nose.

"Think we could convince them to sell this place to us?" He asks, squinting at the horizon like he's trying to see something just beyond it.

You glance at him. "You wanna buy a beach house?"

"Wouldn't hate it."

You don't answer right away. The thought sits between you, warm and unfamiliar. Glen's always moving around. Hulu projects in Atlanta, stints in LA, time spent in London for months at a time while filming a bigger project. But here? This has always been your in between. Your reset button. Not the place you stay. Just the one you run to.

Still the way he says it now feel different. He doesn't say it like a joke like he's done before. This time he says it like something that might actually be possible.

"I'd need a hammock," you murmur.

"Non negotiable," he says seriously, lifting his beer to take another sip.

You smile and lean your head against his shoulder. The sun is beginning to drop, casting gold over the dunes, the porch, the two of you curled into your usual spots.

"Wanna go watch from the dunes?"

"Nah," Glen says, slinging his arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer. "This is good."

You stay like that for a long time. The beer goes warm in your hand, the sky shifts from gold to rose to that soft cotton candy blue. Glen presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, all without saying a word. His skin smells like sunscreen and sea salt. Home, basically.

* * * * *

The next morning is slow, just the way you both like it. Glen sleeps in until the sun creeps all the way across the bed and onto his face. You roll out first, pull your hair into a bun, and tug on his oversized shirt from the night before.

"Town?" you ask once he's awake and stretching like a golden retriever in the sheets.

"Hell yeah. I need greasy eggs and strong coffee.

Main Street's only a few blocks from the house, a short walk along a sandy path lined with beach bikes, wind blown palms, and cottage fences wrapped in driftwood and bougainvillea. The air already smells like salt and sun and frying bacon by the time you step into the café.

It's tiny. Coastal blue walls, old fishing nets hanging from the ceiling, a faded chalkboard menu that never really changes. You've come here every trip.

"Y'all are late," the owner calls as you step in, tossing a towel over her shoulder. "I saved your usual table just in case."

"Late?" Glen laughs. "It's barely nine."

"Exactly," she teases, then sets two mugs down before you've even sat. "Black for him. Hazelnut with too much cream for you." She glances at Glen as she refills the sugar caddy. "By the way, my niece just realized who you are. Tried to whisper it but the girl couldn't whisper to save her life. I told her to let you enjoy your breakfast without harassing you."

Glen chuckles, leaning back in his chair. "Appreciate that."

"Just don't go breakin' her heart on your way out," the waitress adds with a wink.

A few minutes later, the owner returns with two plates balanced on her arm. Your usuals. Pancakes for you. Breakfast tacos for Glen.

Trailing just behind her is a teenage girl in a worn hoodie and jean shorts, clutching a notepad like it might disappear. Her eyes flick nervously between you and Glen, cheeks already pink.

"This is my niece, Maren," the owner says, setting the plates down. "She wanted to say hi."

Glen sets his fork down and offers a warm smile. "Hey, Maren. I'm Glen."

"I—I know," she breathes out, then immediately winces. "Sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

You bite back a smile as Glen leans forward a little, voice gentler now. "Totally fine. You live here full-time?"

She nods. "Yeah. My mom owns the bookstore on the corner."

"Oh, I love that place," you chime in, and Maren glances your way before giving you a soft smile.

"Wanna take a quick picture?" Glen offers, already sliding out of the booth.

Maren nods so fast it's almost a blur. And you watch him interact with her. He's kind, patient, and full of that easy Texas charm. And you think, not for the first time, this is one of the reasons you love him most.

* * * * *

After breakfast you and Glen head further down the street. Your hands laced together as Glen swings your arms gently between you. The lazy morning warmth of southern Texas already bringing a light layer of sweat to your skin.

Main Street is slow to wake. A few shopkeepers are propping open their doors, setting out baskets of sunscreen and wind chimes. The scent of salt and fresh pastry drifts from the bakery two doors down.

You walk past Maren's mom's bookstore and wave when you spot her through the window.

Then Glen tugs you toward the end of the street, where the pier stretches long and pale into the water, just like it has every summer.

"Bet I know what you're about to say," you tease.

Glen grins. "Tradition's tradition."

You make your way to the spot halfway down the pear. The same weathered beam marked with a tiny heart someone carved years ago. Glen set his phone against the railing, adjusts the angle, and hits the timer.

"Same pose as always?" He asks.

You nod, already turning to face the water. He steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and kisses the side of your head just as the shutter clicks.

"Think we've got four of these now?" you ask, checking the photo.

"Five, counting the one where your hair attacked my face."

Glen doesn't move right away. His arms stay wrapped around your waist, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder as you both look out over the water.

The breeze picks up, brushing across your skin, lifting strands of your hair into the space between you.

"Hey," you murmur, voice quiet against the crash of waves below. "Do you ever think about living here? For real? Did you really mean what you said last night?"

You feel the pause in his body, a small hitch in his breath before he responds. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"Sure," he says. "Once I've won an Oscar or two. Maybe after my action-hero era ends and I'm doing serious cowboy dramas full-time."

You huff a small laugh, but you don't miss the way his grip tightens slightly, or the fact that he doesn't step away. His voice is light, but there's something else beneath it. A flicker of something quieter. Truer.

You lean back against his chest. "I'm serious."

"So am I," he says, and this time his voice dips lower, softer. "I think about it more than I probably let on."

You tilt your head slightly, enough to glance at him. "Yeah?"

He nods once, eyes on the horizon. "There's just something about this place. About us here. Feels like we breathe easier."

You don't say anything right away. Because he's right. You do.

* * * * * * *

The sun is just beginning to dip when you step out onto the back porch, hair still damp from the shower and skin pleasantly warm from a day of salt and sun. The air has cooled just enough to chase off the heat, turning everything golden and soft, like the world is winding down with you.

You tug one of Glen's old hoodies over your shorts and settle into the porch swing with a sigh, legs folding beneath you as it creaks gently beneath your weight. The breeze off the water lifts the hem of the sweatshirt, still heavy with his scent—clean laundry, sunscreen, a hint of whatever cologne he threw on this morning and didn't bother to wash off.

The screen door creaks open behind you.

"Don't get too comfortable without me," Glen says, balancing glasses of lemonade in one hand and his phone in the other.

"I make no promises."

He grins, hands you a glass, and settles beside you, his thigh brushing yours as the swing shifts under the added weight. He taps his phone and the porch fills with the low, familiar drawl of George Strait.

You both sit in comfortable silence, sipping your drinks, the world slowing down around you. The horizon is a smear of pink and gold, and the waves crash rhythmically in the distance, steady as a heartbeat.

"Feels like time moves different here," Glen says finally, voice quiet, like speaking too loud might scare it all off.

You nod, watching a lone gull drift across the sky. "It does. I always forget what it feels like to just... stop."

He leans back, arm draped across the back of the swing, fingers brushing the edge of your shoulder. "It's crazy. We've been coming here for what? Seven years now?"

"Six," you correct, "but nice to know it feels longer."

He laughs under his breath. "You know what I mean. We've been through a lot since that first trip."

You smile at the memory. "You got sunburned so bad your nose peeled for a week."

"I was trying to impress you by not reapplying sunscreen. It backfired horribly."

"You looked like a lobster."

"I looked like a man in love," he says, without hesitation.

You glance at him, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. His eyes are on the water, but the smile tugging at his mouth is gentle, genuine.

"I've been thinking," he says after a pause.

You shift toward him, drawn by the weight in his voice. "About what?"

He's quiet for a beat, then exhales slowly. "About slowing down. About what it might look like to... not have to bounce from city to city every few months. To maybe stay put for a while. Build something that feels more grounded."

Your heart skips, then steadies. "You mean—here?"

"Why not?" He looks at you now, eyes steady. "I used to think I had to keep chasing the next big thing. The next role, the next award, the next version of who I'm supposed to be. And don't get me wrong, I still love the work. But lately, when I picture what I want life to look like..."

His voice trails off, but his gaze doesn't falter.

"I see you. Here. Porch swings and drinks and sunsets. Not just once a year. Always."

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words landing somewhere deep and quiet inside you.

"Glen..." you start, unsure of where to even begin.

He shifts closer, pressing his forehead to yours. "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know I've been thinking about it. Really thinking about it."

You close your eyes and let the moment settle between you. The porch creaks, the song shifts to Willie Nelson, and the scent of the ocean drifts in like an old friend.

It's not just the town that feels like home anymore. It's him. It's always been him.

You lean into his chest, legs tucked over his lap now, your lemonade resting forgotten on the arm of the swing.

"You know," you murmur, "I've always loved this place."

"I know."

"But it's never felt more like home than it does right now."

He wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Good. Because I was thinking maybe it's time to make this more than just a summer tradition."

"What do you mean?"

Glen doesn't respond. Instead he just reaches for your hand. You take it without hesitation.

Barefoot and quiet, the two of you move down the wooden steps and through the soft sand path that leads toward the water. The moon lights the way, painting silver across the dunes and glittering off the waves in the distance. The night is hushed, holding its breath. Even the gulls are sleeping.

By the time you reach the shore, your fingers are threaded tightly together.

Glen lets out a slow breath beside you, like he's trying to make room for something inside him. Then he moves behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, his chest warm against your back. The wind tugs gently at your hoodie, lifts the hem of his shirt, and plays with your hair.

You lean into him.

"Remember that house we always joke about?" he murmurs, voice low and steady against your ear. "The one next door? With the peeling paint and crooked shutters?"

You smile, eyes still fixed on the ocean. "Yeah. You joked and called me Joanna Gaines when I mentioned how I would remodel it, if it was mine."

"Yeah, that one."

He pauses. You can feel the shift in him. It's not nerves exactly, but anticipation.

"I bought it."

You turn slightly, blinking up at him. "You...what?"

He nods once, eyes steady now. "I closed on it last month. Didn't tell you right away because I wanted to wait until we were here. Until we could see it together."

Your mouth opens, then closes again.

"I figured," he goes on, voice softer now, "if we're always coming back...might as well have a place to go. A place that's ours. That way we can keep coming down to the shore."

Something stirs in your chest. Warmth. Awe. Maybe even the edges of tears.

"You bought me a house?".

"I bought us a house," he says. "Just so happens to be the one you always talked about."

You turn in his arms fully now, looking up at him in the moonlight, and you see it clear as day. He's not just imagining lazy summer weeks or weekend getaways anymore. He's imagining holidays. Future traditions. A front porch where you grow old. A permanent space for all this love between you to land.

And before you can even respond, he's dropping slowly to one knee in the sand.

"Glen—"

"I've been carrying this around for weeks," he says, pulling a small black box from the pocket of his hoodie. "It wasn't supposed to happen here, not exactly. I thought maybe I'd wait until the holidays, or something that made more sense. But then..."

He gestures faintly toward the water, the house behind you, the place that's held every version of your love.

"Then we got here, and I realized...this is it. This is the life I want. This is where I feel most like myself. And I feel that way because of you."

You stare at him, heart thundering, the world tilting just slightly under your feet.

"I want a thousand more mornings with you in that café, and a thousand more nights watching you in my hoodie on that porch," he says, his voice breaking just enough to make your eyes sting. "I want to fix up that house and fill it with sandy footprints and a couple kids and maybe a dog or two."

His thumb strokes over the velvet box.

"I want you. Always."

Then he opens it. And the ring is simple but elegant, catching the moonlight in the same way his eyes always catch yours.

"Will you marry me?" he asks. "Will you be part of this vision I have?"

You drop to your knees in the sand without thinking, laughing through the tears now sliding down your cheeks.

"Yes," you whisper as you frantically nod.

He slides the ring onto your finger with hands that are just slightly trembling, and when he kisses you right there on the beach, the waves crashing on the short like applause.

Like coming home. Like nothing else in the world matters but the way he holds you, hands on your waist, forehead pressed to yours, your lips brushing his with all the promise of everything that's still to come.

And just like that, going down to the shore wasn't just something you did every summer. It was where the rest of your life began.

[diamond-rozie]

another snipbit from my fic [dcxdp]

“Dan thinks I should see Frostbite, which is… ugh.”

“Whose Frostbite?” Bruce asked.

Danny didn’t seem like he wanted to answer but did anyway. “He’s the chief of one of the yeti villages in the Far South. Great guy, super chill.”

“A what?” Clark blurted from the other end of the room where he still stood, “Sorry.” He added immediately, “Continue.”

“I’m pretty sure your pretending to not listen is worse than if you were just a part of the conversation.” Danny said teasingly. “But, yeah, a yeti.”

“And why did Dan say you should see him?” Dick asked again.

“Who knows why he does anything?” Danny grumbled. Danny doesn’t make it obvious, but after many years of dealing with tight-lipped younger brothers, Dick knew there was a clear answer that Danny didn’t want to say.

There was a stretch of silence that Clark ended by asking in a low conspiratory whisper, “Is he your ex?”

“What?” Danny exclaimed, affronted, “No!” He gaped at the apparently insidious question.

“Sorry, are you guys still together?”

“No.” Danny said, disgusted, “No.”

“Then—” Clark tried again.

“He’s my doctor.” Danny finally admitted it, like it was a war crime he’d spent a lifetime hiding. He seemed to realize belatedly that he’d cracked under the pressure and grumbled curses to himself.

“You have a yeti doctor?” Dick asked.

With a deep sigh, Danny deflated onto his knees. “Yeah,” he admitted, dejected.

“We should go visit him now.” Bruce decided with a finality.

Incredulous, “Now?” Danny questioned.

“Do you need to make an appointment?” He considered.

Danny’s eyes widened with realization as if the idea was only then occurring to him. “Yeah.” He nodded.

“Bullshit.” Dick called immediately.

“Well, he’s a really busy guy. You can’t just drop by. Plus we have to, y’know, pay him.”

“Money isn’t an issue.” Bruce crossed his arms.

Danny rolled his eyes. “You can’t pay a yeti with money.” He said it as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Then what do you have to pay them with?” Clark asked.

“Space ice.” Danny decided.

Both men nodded, as if it made complete sense. “He’s obviously lying.” Dick explained.

Bruce looked at Dick as if he’d grown a second head, then turned to Danny. “Are you lying?” He asked.

“No.” Danny shook his head, with wide innocent eyes.

Dick turned to Clark, hoping at least he could back him up. “He has a really weird heartbeat.” Was all the man could offer, not as apologetic as he should be.

Danny turned to Dick, with his wide blue-gray puppy eyes, “Do you really think I would be so irresponsible and lie about my own health?” He asked, his voice a whisper.

Dick could only gape at the manipulative teenager that sat in between the three of them. Bruce looked at Dick sharply, seemingly completely oblivious to yet another one of his lying cohort of children lying to him. “Fine, we’ll get you that stupid space ice.” Dick conceded with a huff, only because of the guilt those eyes pricked in his stomach.

“Besides, even if we didn’t need the space ice—which we totally do—I don’t have enough energy to teleport to the Ghost Zone right now.”

“You can teleport?” Clark asked, surprised. Dick and Bruce already knew about this.

“To places I’ve been before.” Danny nodded.

“What’s the Ghost Zone?”

“It’s a region in the Realms that’s the easiest to access from Earth. And also where most of the ghosts live.”

“If it’s a specific location, then we could reconfigure the Zeta Tubes to take us there.” Bruce considered.

“Wow, that sounds really convenient.” Danny nodded, wishfully. “I’d probably go to the Zone all the time if I had one of those.”

Bruce nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“It might take me a while to get the space ice.” Clark said, “They melt if I fly too fast. And Jon has a school thing tomorrow, and I was going to try and take Kara into the city the day after. We’ve been working on her being-human skills. But I’ll try to get it as soon as I can.” He promised Bruce.

“No rush.” Danny assured.

[hoondrop]

bestfriend's brother this brother's beat friend that what about boyfriend's father!?! 🥵🔥

moonie pls write sm for boyfriend's brother jay 🙏🏻

a/n: anon,, I hope you meant boyfriend's father 😭,, if not pls lmk and I'll write abt boyfriend's brother too

It starts the second your boyfriend leaves the room. A stupid excuse which serves as the perfect opportunity.

"Forgot my charger in the car, be right back."

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving you and his father alone in the heavy silence. You can feel the tension cut through your bones, skin prickling in anticipation with what's about to come.

You don’t even get a full breath before Jay moves behind you, quiet, calculated, and terrifyingly close.

You stiffen, the air between you charged like the moment before a storm breaks.

“You’re not going to pretend you weren’t waiting for that, are you?” His voice is low. Unrushed, sliding down your spine like warm oil.

You don’t answer, you can't – because he’s already pressing against your back, chest to your shoulder blades, heat bleeding through the thin fabric of your dress. You feel him, hard and heavy, through the slacks he’s still perfectly fitted into, while your boyfriend—his son—is still within earshot outside.

Jay’s hand finds your waist first. Then he slides higher.

His palm curves over your breast, bold and possessive, fingers splaying out as he cups you through your dress like he owns every soft inch of you. His thumb brushes your nipple once, slow and deliberate, until it stiffens against the fabric. The other hand doesn’t wait. It’s already between your thighs, pressing firm at the center of your heat through your panties.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs, like he’s impressed. “God. He doesn’t even touch you like this, does he?”

You don’t know when your eyes fluttered shut.

You just know that his voice is in your ear and his hands are on you and your body is no longer yours, it’s his. It always has been. Since the first time he looked at you like he already knew what your moans sounded like.

“You dressed like this for him?” he scoffs softly, rubbing a little harder over the damp spot between your legs. “Or for me?”

You gasp, barely audible, and his hand tightens over your breast, the pressure just enough to make your knees tremble.

“I asked you a question, sweetheart.”

“���You.”

He hums, pleased with the answer. “Of course you did.”

He turns your face to the side, lips ghosting the corner of your jaw. You feel his breath before you feel the words:

“You gonna let Daddy use you before he gets back?”

You nod without thinking.

He chuckles. “No, no. Words, sweetheart.”

“…Yes, Daddy.”

His grip on you tightens with approval. He rolls your nipple under his palm as he presses harder against your cunt, the friction enough to make your hips jerk back into him instinctively.

“Good girl.”

You don’t hear the car door. You don’t care – because Jay’s mouth is at your throat now, and his voice is still calm and smooth even as his fingers start rubbing lazy, delicious circles over your clit through the fabric, soaking it further.

“I should bend you over this couch. Let you drip all over the cushions while he walks back in and wonders why you’re too flushed to look him in the eye.”

His voice drops lower, filthier.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Daddy’s fingers deep inside you while your pathetic little boyfriend’s ten feet away.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. You’re already pulsing around nothing, your body wound tight with need, one hand bracing the edge of the table while the other digs into Jay’s wrist like he’s the only thing anchoring you to the floor.

The faint jingle of keys chimes, signalling the arrival of your unsuspecting boyfriend

Jay stills, eyes flicking toward the door like a switch was flipped. His hands vanish just as quickly as they appeared, and by the time the front door swings open, he’s back at the kitchen counter, glass of scotch in hand, sleeves rolled, the picture of calm.

"Hey, what did I miss?", his son asks, placing the charger on the nearest surface, plopping down on the couch with a soft smile.

“You didn’t miss much,” he tells his son, eyes still focused on the floating ice in his glass.

But when you sit back down, knees shaking, breath unsteady, your boyfriend notices none of it. Jay, however, smirks behind his glass.

You can still feel the shape of his hands on you. And you know this isn’t over.

Like you'd ever want it to be over.

[magicalqueennightmare]

One Big Team

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Dating Bucky and being Sams closest friend gets hard when the New Avengers are announced to the public. Did Bucky betray you both or does he already have a plan?

Tiny bit of angst, sex

“Did you know?” that was all Sam said when he came storming into your office. You apologized to the senator you were currently on the phone with “Sorry Senator Grant, it appears Captain America needs my assistance so I’m going to have to let you go”

You hung up the phone then crossed your hands, staring down one of your closest friends on this earth “Ok, lets start this over Sammy” he groaned at the nickname but still marched over to the tv that was in the corner and snatched the remote down before clicking it on. You stood up and walked over next to him. On the screen was Bucky, Yelena Belova, Ava Starr, Alexei Shostakov and John Walker of all people.

In front of them stood Valentina De Fontaine announcing them as the New Avengers “What the fuck” you muttered and Sam cut his eyes at you “Guessing that’s a no then?” you slowly shook your head, eyes glued to your boyfriend who was on the screen “That’s a hell no Samuel but I will get you answers, believe me on that”

You’d known Sam for years, had served with him and Riley way back when. Being a woman in any branch you quickly learned who were decent men and who were not. Sam quickly became one of your best friends. When he got out and you stayed in, he kept in contact. Even through him throwing his hat in the ring with the original Avenger’s he didn’t forget you. Stark even pulled you in a time or two to fly the jet for them when it was an all hands on decks mission.

That was how you met Bucky. When the accords happened, you’d helped Steve bust everyone out of the raft. You’d been questioned but they couldn’t prove anything. Ross had nearly burst a coronary when not a week later you were promoted to Senior Master Sergeant. 

When Thanos came, Sam talked you into coming to Wakanda. Their fighter planes were unlike anything you’d ever seen. That first fight was hell, blinking and realizing your side had indeed lost that fight and you’d lost five years of your life had been hell.

That spurred you into getting out. You’d by far served enough years to retire with full benefits. Steve had Sam the shield, that was when you and Bucky got close. When Sam donated the shield to a museum just for it to be placed in the hands of another man weeks later? You’d been pissed.

The Flag Smashers, Walker, Zemo. It had all pushed you and Bucky together. You were good together. When he pushed you pulled and vice versa. You loved him, he was easily the love of your life. That was why this felt like such a betrayal, not only to Sam but to you as well. 

When you landed in New York, you rented a car. You didn’t plan to stay long, you wanted answers. You hadn’t answered any of Bucky’s calls since that press conference. He’d left numerous voicemails spanning from “Please call me sweetheart” to “Look, I’m guessing you know. It’s not what it looks like. I love you. Please call me” 

The texts had also come pouring in and from the amount and frequency you were starting to think he had them queued up to send at different times. 

You pulled out into traffic from the airport, cursing under your breath when a car narrowly missed you. Glad you sprung for the insurance on this car. You got into the flow of traffic fast enough then before you knew it that damned tower came into view. 

You hit Sam’s number on your phone and it wasn’t but a second before his voice came through your speakers “You make it in one piece?” he asked in place of hello and you laughed lightly “Of course. You weren’t flying” 

“Ha ha, very funny” you smirked slightly as you parked, looking up at the large tower “I’m here” “You sure you can handle this solo?” he asked and you sighed “I’m sure me coming to talk to Bucky will result in less tempers flaring than you and him talking. Besides who the hell was that other guy on the screen with them? And what the hell happened to New York that time? I want answers and I’m not leaving here until I have every one I want” 

When the alert went off to let them know someone was in the lobby Bob checked the monitors and looked over at John “There’s a woman in the lobby” 

“Ok?” John stood up and walked over to look “Fuck, that’s Bucky’s girlfriend” “Bucky has a girlfriend?” Ava asked from where she was lounged across the couch. “Yeah and she’s not my biggest fan” John replied, heading for the stairs over the elevator. Bucky was in the gym and he needed to get Bucky to the main floor before you made it up.

______________________

When John burst into the gym Bucky nearly threw a weight at his head “What is it Walker?” John pointed behind him “Your girl’s here Barnes and she looks pissed” “She’s here?” Bucky tossed the weight bar in his hand down and pushed past John to get to the stairs. He hadn’t heard anything from you since the day before he went after these idiots. That was nearly a month ago now.

When he made it to the main floor, you stood in the center of the room with your arms crossed over your chest talking to Yelena. “Sweetheart?” he breathed and you turned to look at him. He could see the light bags under your eyes, the tension in your shoulders. Being apart was affecting you too. That took a weight off of him he hadn’t even realized he’d been carrying.

“Hey Bucky. I was just talking to your new team” he caught your tone of voice, knew John would too. Yelena smiled “I like her. She scares Walker” 

You laughed lightly “I like you too Belova. It was nice meeting you, you too Ava and you Bob” they all waved as you walked over to Bucky. You stopped just shy of being in front of him “We need to talk” he waved a hand towards the elevator so you followed him.

You were trying to form the words you wanted to say, questions you had. Bucky reached a hand out to try to pull you into his arms but you stiffened without meaning to and saw his face fall “I didn’t do this” “But you went along with it” you muttered and he sighed “Darlin, do you think I’d go along with Valentina, go against Sam, against you on purpose?”

You turned to face him “Then why?” he waved a hand around “The bitch has the resources. Yelena has someone buying this place we can trust. Valentina will simply be footing the bill to make herself look good” “And the fact that this came on the tail end of them proposing Sam build a team and this team having the man the government chose over Sam on it?”

You didn’t blame John for his involvement in that decision because at the time he’d simply been a soldier following orders. “I want us all together” he breathed, taking another step closer and this time you didn’t stiffen, you softened. He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you as close as he could “I missed you so damn much”

“I missed you too Bucky” you admitted as the elevator opened on a floor. You looked up at him and he shrugged “This place is huge” he led you out and you realized it was a floor designated for multiple people. “You mean it” you whispered and he nodded, pulling you back into his arms “We all started planning the moment Valentina announced us to the press. We’re not going against Sam and I wouldn’t go against you for anything”

“The whole team is good with this idea?” you asked and he nodded “Walker is trying to make up for his mistakes. You’ve met Yelena and Ava. Bob..that’s gonna take some explaining but yeah and Alexei has a hell of a lot of faults but is trying” “We need to call Sam then because he feels just as betrayed as I did” you replied and he nodded, eyes never leaving yours “We will but can we do that later?” 

“Why? You got ideas for something to do at the moment?” you teased, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his lips and god he groaned like you’d done a lot more than given him a practically chaste kiss. He chuckled low, hands slipping down your sides until they hooked under your thighs, easily lifting you into his arms “I’ve been without you for a month, not knowing if I was losing you, not knowing when I’d see you again. Yeah, everyone can wait a few hours while I take my time with you”

You felt a pang of guilt at ignoring his calls and texts. God, he’d been through so much in his life then you’d let your emotions get the best of you. He must have seen it on your face because he shook his head, catching your lips in a kiss that said more than words ever could. When he pulled away you were slightly breathless but had a smile on your face “I love you Bucky” he started walking towards his bedroom, pressing kisses down your neck as he walked “I love you too beautiful and I’m never letting you out of my sight too long again, You’ll know everything that is going on from here out” 

Your fingers found his hair, tilting his head so you could look in those gorgeous blue eyes you fell in love with “Right now all I want to know is how your body feels on mine because I’ve missed that” he groaned again, eyes darkening  “Yes ma’am” 

He kicked open his bedroom door and walked through, kicking it back closed behind himself. He laid you down on the bed, slowly crawling up your body, hands slipping under your shirt to pull it up and off of you as he went, lips following the trail of skin that was freshly exposed to him like it was the first time he was seeing it.

“Missed tasting you” he murmured, your bra and jeans quickly joining the growing pile of clothes on the floor. His shirt joined it next. He moved from your lips down your body, moans and gasps of his name falling from your lips and you could feel him smile against your skin “Missed hearing you sound like that” he nipped at the soft flesh of your stomach and your back arched off the bed. He spread his left hand across your lower stomach, vibranium keeping you in place as he lowered his head to your core, the first flick of his tongue sending shockwaves up your spine. 

“F-Fuck Bucky” you whined and he pulled back to look up at you and the look in his eyes had you clenching around nothing “That’s it baby” he dove back in like a man starved offered his favorite meal. It wasn’t long and he had you a squirming overstimulated mess under him.

You weakly shoved at his shoulders “Too much love, way too much” he rocked back on his heels, wiping his chin with the back of his hand “Sure about that baby?” you nodded “Come here” he grinned and kissed his way up your body “Thought you were mad at me?” “Thought you came here to fight?”  every question was ended with him leaving some sort of mark on your body, proof of his devotion ingrained into your flesh even if you’d doubted him. 

“I’m sorry” you slurred slightly, back to back orgasms having you a bit of a mess. He grinned when he got to your lips, pressing a messy kiss to them, slipping his tongue into your mouth so you could taste yourself on him “It’s ok baby” 

You could feel his clothed bulge rutting against your center and whimpered “Please” he gave you a smirk that told you that you had to be clear on what you wanted “Please what?” “Please fuck me James” you whimpered and when you used James you knew he was a goner. He shoved his sweatpants down and pushed into you in one fluid motion.

Your head fell back with a gasp, the delicious stretch of him nearly overwhelming after this long apart. He pressed kisses across your neck and chest to give you time to adjust to him. When your head finally raised to meet his eyes he grinned and gave a tentative thrust. Your hips lifted to meet his and he groaned “There’s my girl” before he found a pace that had the room filled with nothing but the sound of flesh meeting flesh mingled with your moans and his deep grunts and groans.

You were teetering right on that edge and knew Bucky had to be close. He slipped a hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit “Come on sweetheart, one more” you damn near screamed his name when your orgasm washed over you and the feeling of you squeezing him so hard pulled him over the edge with you. He buried his face in your neck as he came, filling you and some of it leaking back out.

He stilled his movements, both of you struggling to catch your breath. You laughed after a moment and he lifted his head “What the hell?” you grinned “I like arguments if they end like that” he shook his head “You’re insane” “And yet you love me” he nodded “That I do” and pressed a kiss to your lips before gently pulling out.

He laid down next to you, pulling you over onto his chest. His fingers traced circles onto your back as you traced across the scars at his left shoulder “So, how are we gonna combine teams? Not to mention those of us that own places. Are we gonna commute? Stay here when we’re in the city?” he laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of your head “How about after we shower, you call Sam and we’ll figure out where to go from there?” 

You nodded, lips teasing at his chest “Sounds good to me” 

[bones4thecats]

Hiya. Can you do Baby Saja from K Pop Demon Hunters with Gwi-Ma's daughter, who is half human? Preferably in a scenario but a hc if that's all you can think of. Also, she does sing, but it doesn't affect the honmoon in anyway

↳ Flames Without Sin.

A K-Pop Demon Hunters × Gwi-Ma Child, Half-Human! Reader.

Requester: @werewolfnamedraven.

Character Included: Baby Saja and Gwi-Ma.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Toxic relationship (Reader's parents), hinted forced pregnancy, attempted filicide, uxoricide, and harassment.

A/N: I decided to just write this and get it out of my inbox. The Gwi-Ma design is still in the works and should be done soon, so be on the look for that! Anyways, hope you like this!!

●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●～●

👑 You were born eons ago, so far back that even Hunters themselves suspected you weren't real. They would tell each generation that you were a "mere speculation. A being that we have no proof was born or created from the evil Gwi-Ma." 👑 Your mother, an Emperor's daughter, held a massive grudge against your father. She hated him and everything he led. So when he tried pushing her for another child, she snapped. She contacted the Hunters with one of her most loyal subjects and almost killed you.

👑 You remembered hearing her and your father's screams that day. He yelled for her to put you down, that he needed his child with him, not the woman who has caused him so many issues. 👑 Her throat was then slashed and you were laid in her father's arms. He smiled down at you with his pointy teeth and held you close. The feeling of love was foreign to the King of Demons, never once in his life did he feel so strongly about another being than he did with his daughter. 👑🎼 And after being sent off with your boyfriend and fellow singers to the human world, his protectiveness skyrocketed.

Gwi-Ma's anger was felt all around the realm. His subjects began to cower in fear as his flames burst up as he screamed. Sometimes it would be so bad that random demons ended up in flames because of the King.

"Who does this kid think he is?!" He yelled.

Nobody spoke back, fear coursing in their veins as they knew he was observing the Saja Boys and his daughter, stage name 'Ambrosia'. The boys were finishing up a performance while his daughter attended an interview down the street. She was keeping her composure while the man asking her questions was getting more and more bold with his words.

You furrowed your eyebrows and sighed internally. Why didn't I just go with Baby and the boys? Gods, how does this guy still have a job. I'm surprised he hasn't been arrested for harassment... or worse.

"A big wonder for your fanbase is if you are single. Most idols are, but you manage to keep your life so hidden that nobody has a clue. So; are you single?" He asked.

Resisting the urge to roll your eyes or lung at him to steal his soul, you cleared your throat and began to answer him. "Actually, I am currently with someone."

The man's eyes widened as the crowd gasped and began whispering their speculations. Where you perhaps seeing another idol? A civilian? You are close to the Saja Boys, is it one of them? Baby and you are close.

"Oh! That sounds... nice." He stumbled. "Who's the lucky man?"

Your hands gripped your thighs tightly as you began to lose your temper. "I'm not sure he's ready for it to be public yet. I'd have to check with him first." You giggled, trying to laugh the topic away.

The King of Demons' flames began to flicker more as he noticed the Saja Boys finished their performance and were just about to their set home. Using his abilities, he teleported them to his throne.

The boys all looked up at their leader and made confused-sounding noises. "My King." Jinu spoke. "Why did you summon us? The plan is going perfectly. Our fan amount is growing by the hour while HUNTR/X's is falling, and your daughter's assistance is getting it moving faster."

He hummed and scoffed. "It's nothing to do with that, Jinu.

"My daughter is being interviewed by a mortal far to comfortable with her. He's asked her questions that would give me enough reasoning to execute him in front of every living being in existence."

Pulling up a hole for the musical demons to look through, Gwi-Ma sighed. You were his pride and joy, seeing you with Baby was enough of a struggle for the guy, but seeing some random guy, nonetheless a human of all things, flirting with you made it even worse!

"Do you have any special treatments for your skin? Many wonder how you manage to look so untouched by the world, despite being so famous." The interviewer said, once again pushing your boundaries.

"Well... drinking water is important." You answered.

The boys each gained a poker face. Jinu's eyes flashed golden when he saw how you were being treated. Call it a deep woman-respect he gained from living over four-hundred years ago, call it his deep respect for you, both would be technically accurate. Same for the other three.

Baby Saja, on the other hand, was beyond upset. His fists were clenched as his marks glowed an eyes were nearly as bright as the sun. Anger was all he felt. Who dared to touch his princess? His love? No demon would risk pissing him off, nonetheless a mere mortal. A being beneath his foot.

"I will handle this." He said before teleporting to the mortal realm again.

"Well this is gonna be entertaining." Romance said.

🌊 Copyright © 2025 by Bones4thecats on Tumblr. All Rights Reserved. 🌊

[crazykinkiwi]

Reset | Unhealthy Oneshots

Pairing: Zayne × Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, Slow-burn dread, Quiet insanity, Obsessive love, Frozen intimacy, Loop horror, Control disguised as care.

It’s too quiet.

It always has been.

You can’t remember a time when this place wasn’t silent—so still it felt unnatural, like sound had forgotten how to exist here. The air smells like antiseptic and mint. The walls are white, the curtains are always drawn, and the clocks tick a little too slow. And it’s strange—so, so strange—because you don’t even know where you are.

You don’t see anyone.

Not ever.

Just… you.

And him.

Zayne.

He tells you this place is remote. Peaceful. Perfect for his research.

“It’s necessary,” he always says. “Too much noise out there. Too many distractions."

You’d tried to understand—genuinely, you did. He’s a surgeon, a genius, someone important. Maybe all this… quiet is part of the job. But if that’s the case, why won’t he let you leave?

Why does he always avoid the question when you ask, his soft smile never quite reaching those tired eyes?

You’re allowed to be near him. That’s all. You sit beside him while he writes, while he types, while he stares at test tubes that glow faint blue. You eat the food he makes—perfect portions, no seasoning. You watch him fold laundry, scrub the floor, place pills into tiny white cups.

But you’re never allowed to help.

You’re not even allowed into the lab.

He always locks it.

Every door in this house—except the one to your room—has a lock. Not that you’ve tried opening them much. He’s always around. Watching.

And still… you don’t remember anything before him.

You try to.

You want to.

But when you close your eyes, all you can recall are blurry moments: the sound of his laugh when you were younger, sunlight on a swing set, his hand in yours.

Then—nothing. Just… here. This place. With him.

It’s suffocating in a way you can’t explain.

Like the walls are pressing in.

Like you’re not even real anymore.

---

The door clicks open.

You blink.

Zayne steps in, calm as always. His dark hair falls into his eyes, and there are fresh shadows beneath them—deep, exhausted hollows. His coat smells like hospital-grade sanitizer.

“Are you feeling any symptoms?” he asks, voice low, clinical.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your arms. His eyes are on you. Always on you.

You nod vaguely, unsure.

“A bit,” you say. “Just… tired. Headache.”

He walks over, reaching for your wrist like he’s done it a hundred times. His fingers are cool and steady. You don’t pull away.

“It’s your heart again,” he murmurs. “We need to adjust your dosage. You know you can’t strain yourself.”

You say nothing.

You want to say why?

You want to ask—again—what exactly is wrong with you.

But you already know what he’ll say.

“You’re ill, love. Your heart’s fragile. You have to stay close to me. I can’t lose you again.”

You look up at him. Those eyes… they’re dead tonight. Worse than usual.

And he’s shaking. Just barely.

You’ve seen it before—on the nights he clings to you like a child in the dark, whispering someone’s name, begging something not to take you away.

“Zayne…”

“Hmm?”

“You had a nightmare again, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

And then you feel it—

That ache.

Your chest twists, and your head throbs like it’s splitting. The floor tilts under you, your knees giving out as you hit the cold tile.

Hands on your chest. One on your head.

You’re crying—and you didn’t even realize.

Not sobbing. Not loud.

But your body feels like it’s weeping. Like your soul is grieving something it’s only just remembered.

And then—flashes.

Screams.

Needles.

Wires.

Warmth.

Straps on your wrists.

Voices begging. You, begging.

The sound of your own sobs.

The voice that whispered, “Just a little longer, she’s stabilizing…”

Your mouth falls open.

“What… what are these memories…?”

You barely hear the footsteps as Zayne rushes over.

“No—no no no—YN, I’m here,” he says frantically, crouching beside you. “Let’s get your medicine. Just breathe. It’s okay—”

“I don’t want more medicine,” you say hoarsely.

He freezes. “What…?”

“I said I don’t want more of it, Zayne. I don’t—I don’t trust it—”

“What do you mean?!” he snaps, voice cracking. “If you don’t take it, then—then you’ll remember everything!”

You stare at him. The blood drains from your face.

“What… what do you mean by that…?”

His breath hitches. His hands tremble.

“I didn’t want this,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to—but you—you wouldn’t stop crying. You wanted to leave, and I couldn’t let you—”

He covers his face with one hand, voice breaking apart like glass.

“You’re doing this again,” he says. “Again and again… always when we’re so close to peace. I fixed it. I fixed you.”

You don’t realize you’re crawling backward until your hand hits the baseboard of the wall.

You can’t breathe.

You can’t breathe.

Zayne looks up at you—

And for the first time, you see it.

That look. That broken, terrified, haunted look in his eyes.

And behind it… something else.

Resolve.

“Then… I have no choice but to reset you again, love...” he says quietly. His voice is cold. Ice. But his eyes are full of tears.

You stop moving. “Huh—”

You scream—

Or maybe you don’t.

The world goes black.

---

You wake up.

Lying in bed.

Sheets tucked just the way he likes.

Curtains drawn. White light.

Too quiet.

You blink slowly, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket.

“It’s such a quiet place…” you think, eyes scanning the stillness.

You don’t see anyone.

Except for…

Him.

Zayne.

He smiles as he walks in, tray in hand.

"Are you feeling any symptoms?” he asks.

You blink again.“I don’t think so…”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

A/N: Part 2?

[the-great-rat-attorney]

1-5 post-trial conversation you've all (at least one of you has) been waiting for. so many thoughts

1: the obvious thing first -- we actually get to hear how ryuu thinks about the race and xenophobia stuff. you can take it as the generic "right" answer, everyone is equal let's all hold hands etc, but it's interesting what ryuu doesn't say.

he could say, "when i first came to london, i felt overwhelmed and confused by the different culture, but now that i've been here for two months, i've come to understand the english much better." he also doesn't say, "if you put in that kind of effort, you could understand japanese people, too." he's not putting up work for barok to do. he's not treating it as work at all.

maybe that's just how he feels, or maybe he's choosing to say that to barok specifically (he does take a pause to think), although i don't think he's being overly calculating or misrepresenting himself at all. "you and i can understand each other. the only thing stopping us is that you're afraid." so welcoming, so accepting, so open for barok to come to him -- where has he even got the idea that he SHOULD be open to this guy? well, like barok said…ryuu is a great judge of character.

2: listen to that unabashed praise from barok. after his "teasing" from the end of the trial, he's turned around and put in an effort at simple, honest praise. i stand by what i said -- when he realizes his dry british wit (tm) is coming off meaner than intended, he wants to make sure ryuu knows what he really thinks of him. that he's noticed ryuu's talents (his intellect, his principles, his kindness) and he's impressed. please recall that this is happening on the SAME DAY that barok opened the trial by saying the only people he hates more than upper-class crooks are the SNEAKY NIPPONESES. strugglebus

3: also this is the very first private conversation they have ever had and barok's tone has taken a wild shift toward the earnest. shyyyy reaper can't say his feelings in front of everyone. he's also playing with a glass of wine through the whole conversation, which is just a soothing fidget toy for miserable alcoholics. he's nervous.

4: i usually cut out pauses in my screenshots to make my long ass posts a little more tolerable, but that pause from barok is important! that is a "please say more" pause. ryuu is maybe expecting barok to trample all over his opinion or even just ask a question there, but barok is genuinely trying to figure ryuu out, so he waits for ryuu to say more. and i think ryuu is trying to say what he thinks barok needs to hear from him, too.

5: so uh, how did they even end up here? i had it in my head that barok asks ryuu to stay behind, but he doesn't (i was conflating it with 2-3). we get the verdict, the fireworks, and then we immediately cut to an empty courtroom with only these two. did they both just choose to linger behind their benches, hoping they might get a chance to talk to each other?

6: stepping back from my ship for a sec, barok really shows a remarkable lack of classism. the way he talks about gina here…sure, he calls her dirty (i think quite literally) but he speaks of her heart being good.

earlier in the trial, when he besmirches her character, it's never about her being poor and orphaned. (someone correct me if i missed it/forgot!) she IS a self-confessed thief; he points that out. later on, it's established she perjured herself; that's relevant. but he treats poor witnesses with respect regularly -- think back to pat and roly -- while treating the wealthy with at least equal skepticism, which is a stated principle of his.

his language may seem distasteful at times (barok is routinely blunt and not very nice to almost everyone after all) but his behavior is generally not classist. this is not really in line with victorian social norms, nor with what we see from many other wealthy or middle-class londoners in the game. it's safe to assume he got this set of principles from klint, who hated rich and powerful criminals above all.

(barok did make fun of pat and roly's bouquet but i think that was a bit of sheltered cluelessness combined with his personal taste for extravagant everything… i think he felt pretty bad when he realized it was the only anniversary present roly could actually afford.)

next part is here

[ronearoundblindly]

Ro! I just ran across this photo on IG and was wondering what your take would be on Professor!ANY CE bb of your choice? 👀 Reader visits his office during office hrs and makes you wait in suspense just watching him write into a little book. But what is he waiting/building suspense for….🙂‍↕️

Is this... Is this my moment to write something Andy Barber?? Like Law Ethics Professor!Andy??? I think it is. Alright alright alright, let's do it.

Warnings for teacher/student flirting, but reader's age is not mentioned, kithes(!!), suggestive language and vague fantasies, mentions of previous illness and dehydration lol. WC 1510

You’re boiling in a pant suit, the one you specifically have for presentations like this, but whether it’s the stress of finals or the still-dissipating fever of the last week, you don’t know. You fight the urge to wipe sweat from your face and just pray you aren’t visibly damp anywhere.

Professor Barber is wearing his own suit jacket. He isn’t glistening at all. He looks perfectly fine, ticking boxes on your evaluation and flipping between slides on the tablet in front of him.

He’s shaken his head three times already. There was no applause when you finished, nothing but a sigh.

You’re going to snap like a twig. A desiccated, over-strained twig that’s been rained on for the sole purpose of making breaking suck worse.

Why did you finish your entire, electrolyte-enhanced water bottle two-thirds of the way through your speech? Why—why is your professor saying absolutely nothing?

You missed the class presentations due to illness, are making it up in office hours, and might shrivel in such oppressive, stifling heat. Is the air conditioning even working in here? It must not be since without ambient sound you can hear the neighboring professor so well in all his bitching glory.

“Why do I need to pick up the—you’re closer to the grocery. What? I’m here another two hours so—why are you? No…No, remember I bought those damn condoms becau—“

“Leibowitz,” Professor Barber shouts.

“—I’m not— Hold on,” then even louder, “yeah, Andy?!”

“For god sakes, man.”

There’s a muffled ‘shit’ but no outright apology, and Mr. Barber immediately goes back to his infuriating note-taking. Professor Leibowitz keeps talking, but none of the words are clear anymore.

When he isn’t writing something, he clicks the top of the pen, a move you never saw in class. Professor Barber is a great conversationalist, he’s smooth and personable, and he does not fidget, all of which is great for preparing witnesses or making them crumble on the stand. 

You wonder if it’s a good or bad sign that he’s not using that talent now. His class has built a solid foundation for your career. Ethics is by no means the last class you’ll take, but after this semester you can apply for internships. In those terms, this man holds the proverbial keys to the kingdom, and instead of smiling, he rubs at his beard and says one word:

“Shame.”

The weight of heat, stress, and fatigue collapses in on you. Tears rain down your face while you fail to hold in wet sobs. You worked so hard for so long. You triple checked everything. You practiced the presentation in pieces (between mandatory naps) and in full over and over again last night (during a fever dream of cough medicine). What could have gone so wrong?

You’ve buried your face in your hands, your heavy, tired head lolling you off balance, preventing you from noticing the man rushing around his desk.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I meant it’s a shame.” His hands smooth against the sleeves of your blazer, but nothing can slow your machine-gun crying. He continues anyway. “That was so good, it’s a shame the whole class couldn’t see it. You answered half the questions that came up after other student’s—“

“Everything okay in there?” the neighbor calls out, knocking on the office door.

“Yeah, Matt, we’re fine.” Professor Barber responds with unmistakable irritation in his voice. “Just having one of those end-of-semester cathartic moments.”

“Hmm, right…I’m about to have one of those tomorrow myself.” 

Your teacher apologizes for the noise, thanks Leibowitz for checking in, and tries to steady you in his hold.

“It’s fine. You’re fine, honey,” he slips. “Never meant to scare you. I didn’t realize I said it like that. You’re alright.” He rips a tissue out of the box behind him and pries fingers back from your face to reveal the wreckage of your composure. Gently, he dabs your cheeks, brow furrowed in concern.

After a long moment, he reiterates, “did you hear me? That was excellent. You were excellent. So much so I think I’ll need to use it next year, especially the part about—no, no, hun!”

As a fresh wave of overwhelm takes you, Mr. Barber keeps you from falling out of the chair, sweeping you into a bracing hug. You notice when he holds you tucked at his neck, that he’s not wearing a tie, a strange, casual detail which allows you to see this peek of trimmed, dark chest hair. Very day-off flair.

He smells fresh, a spike of woodsy notes when you turn away, his beard catching your hair before he apologizes again and smooths a hand over you.

The warmth of his palm makes you shiver—embarrassingly—and gasp slightly.

“I really am…so—“ his face is only inches away “—so sorry.”

Your pulse in your throat hammers with a choking thud thud thud so loud you’re sure he can tell through his touch.

From your seat in his lecture hall, you never knew just how blue his eyes are, and now, you can’t seem to look away. With a soft gaze, relaxed lids, and pupils much too large for the harsh fluorescents shining above him like a halo, he makes you want to collapse, to drape yourself in weary surrender over cheap furniture, to strip naked amongst the air of old books and manly focus.

Jesus, you’re fucking sick.

You swallow and glance down, unwittingly, straight down to his slacks, crisp navy pleats framing a dark metal buckle. You force your eyes back up to the bookshelves before registering the emblem above his crotch. That’s the most composure you can muster as his arms fall away from you.

“Sit. Sit, please. I’ll only be a minute,” Mr. Barber rushes out, rounding his desk, shuffling for a file that takes him three stacks to locate. “Let me just…” He furiously types in little bursts as he refers to the open page. “Almost…and done.”

Sighing loudly again, he stands and leans against his fists on the desk. “Your grade is entered. You are no longer my student—“ he smiles, softening even more though he towers over you “—and you can call me ‘Andy,’ if you want, when you probably tell me off.”

This time, when the professor steps closer, he says your first name, something you haven’t heard him utter since the intro class’s roster reading. He only spoke in Miss, Misses, and Misters after that. The word is sultry when it falls from his lips, tantalizing, nearly inspiring.

Your body draws up slightly, following his approach, willing him near without fully standing.

“Class is over,” he whispers, “but I…I would love to see you more.”

“Oh god yes,” you blurt. There’s a good chance your brain believes this is another one of those dreams you’ve been plagued with all semester, the ones where that clean, white button-down gets wrinkled in your grasping fists and his beard burns over your whole body.

Fuck, you are so thirsty. Your tongue sweeps out involuntarily.

His eyes are on you.

“Yeah? Really?” His fingers twitch like he’s holding back, trying not to reach for you without permission again. He rattles through your other options—he can stop, you don’t have to be here, you can walk away, no hard feelings, just wants you not to be upset when leaving—but barely allows the shake of your head and push of your arm from the chair to complete before pouncing forward.

Andy kisses you like he’s a student again, sneaking deep into the library stacks with you, crushing you flush to the bookcases on the far wall of his office, hands broad and supportive while his knee braces between yours.

You’re held high on pure heat, delirious, suffocating on woodsy notes and academic taboo, yet the biggest break is actually him.

You’ve never seen this man babble. He’s always composed, always finds the right words, but you’ve rattled him.

“Had no designs…knew you were smart and impressive…you’ll make a great lawyer because you do the work and do it thoroughly and well…want you on my side at trial…watched you go hard when you suspect someone is wrong about the slightest thing…” 

Andy’s compliments pull him away from exploring your mouth. He clears his throat when you whine, slipping to sit on his knee with your face still tilted for his taking.

Compulsively, his hand sweeps over his mouth and beard, a learned and practiced behavior to give him a second’s reprieve. He has to think. He can’t think with you. The overwhelming heat is a two-way street.

“In fact,” Mr. Barber starts slowly, “I’ve a few firms I’d recommend for your internship, but… there could be a conflict in writing you formal recommendations now.” He leans to rest his forehead to yours. “Sorry.”

Stifling, ready to tear off your clothing and his, enamored by his restraint as well as his pining, your words crackle through an unwitting chuckle.

“How very ethical of you, professor.”

[Main Masterlist; Who Would...Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: Better late than never? Whoops this took me since September? Writing has been a bitch lately, so let's just push through, huh?!

Never written Andy before so I have no Andy girlies to tag except @sarahdonald87

Other tags: @supraveng @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63

[ipostwhatiwant1202]

Boyfriend Things: Random stuff that has been said

Bold: him

Italic: you

Leo:

• there's something very wrong. who is it? where is it? what happened? you're not cuddling me. christ why didn't you just say that?! what is wrong with you.

• *puckers lips* kiss please? for? uh good luck? good luck for what? no reason, i just feel better after kissing you.

• you look so cute wrapped in your blanket burrito. not funny y/n! awww and your voice is cracking! this is a sad movie!

• my love, my sunshine, my handsome boy, light of my life. what the actual hell are you doing? making dumplings...? leo that's a ball of raw dough and the oven is smoking..DUMPLINGS DONT GO IN THE OVEN. STOP YELLING AT ME.

• yeah so mikey was- *drill noises*-SHIT Y/N HAS A DRILL I GOTTA GO.

• do you think i can climb this hill and sit on that rock? y/n it's pitch black out and you just have a flashlight...no. i think i can. no. no! get back-ugh! y/n get back here right now!

• honey, i'm trying to read this book. so read your book. i can't, you're distracting me. how!? with your face!

•*he's drunk* did you..did you just bite me? no. yes you did. possibly. why? cause you were ignoring me. cause i'm doing something for work/school! you smell nice. i hate you.

• i love you. i love you too. no i mean like i really really love you. i really really love you too. but i love you more than that. i love you but i will make you sleep on the couch if you don't shush. it's 3 am.

• there's my favorite human! don't you just look so cute today? you look cute everyday but today you look especially cute. *sighs* which appliance was it? ....oven. LEO AGAIN!?

Raph:

• where did you get that jack hammer? not important. what are you gonna do with it? ...don't worry about it.

• raph your dad called. he called you? uh yeah? he called YOU? for the second time yes *narrows eyes* what did you do? if he calls again tell him i moved to canada. RAPHAEL YOU GET BACK HERE NOW.

• sweetheart, i love ya a lot, but please for the love of god stop biting me.

• wanna know what i don't get? hm. why we say holy guacamole without blessing it. hm. i just think it should mean something. y/n it's 4am go to sleep.

• y/n, why is mikey callin me dad? uhhh cause he's my son? i don't recall signin papers for that. but he's our baby. correction, he's YOUR baby and we talked about this.

• i might throw up. raph it's just a little blood. a little-THE TOILET IS RED. DID THAT ALL COME FROM YOUR NETHER REGIONS!? DO I NEED TO CALL AN AMUBLANCE!?

• *screams* WHAT. WHAT HAPPENED?! i saw a spi-why are you holding a feather duster? i was dustin the fan. ..you were gonna defend me with a feather duster?

• gimme the damn razor. i got this! y/n ya knicked yourself for a third time, gimme the damn razor!

• i'm fine. you got hit by a bus! now hold still! ...did i at least look cool?

• what the fuck is a himbo? you. that doesnt answer my question. yes it does, you're a himbo. I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT IS.

Donnie:

• i think that we need to take a break. why? what did i do? i stubbed my toe earlier and yelled fiddle sticks. so? so?? DONNIE YOU YELL THAT ALL THE TIME.

• i need a nap. so take a nap. but this is not my nap room. donnie we're in your bed, just go to sleep. but it's not your bed.

• Y/N! HONEY! WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT COME IN THE BATHROOM...THERE'S...um..THERE'S SPIDERS EVERYWHERE.

• why am i missing half the plumbing under my kitchen sink. there's spiders in the bathroom..? *narrows eyes* donatello what did you do.

• stop pressing buttons! i'm just trying to figure out which one activates the thingamajig! give me the name of the thingamajig and you'll get your button pressing privileges back.

• so then-y/n? earth to y/n? *waves hand* huh? what? hi. you fell asleep. you remind me of the science bob ross, your voice is soothing. um...thank you?

• no, no! no. stop..y/n! stop it! but the instructions say the pipe goes there! sweetie, i love you, but you're holding the directions upside down...AND YOU'RE READING IT IN CHINESE.

• you know my favorite thing about you? your brain. it's nice. donnie, you had one too many tequila sunrises. it's a very sexy brain. it's 2 in the morning on a monday, go to sleep.

• do i look sexy covered in motor oil? you smell like a junk yard. in a sexy way?

• i smell girl scout cookies! you smell-how do you smell them!? turtle anatomy gives me a keen sense of smell, so hand over the shortbreads and no one gets hurt.

Mikey:

• babe! babe! babe look! i found a baby seal! MIKEY YOU TAKE HIM BACK TO THE ZOO RIGHT NOW.

• where're my heels? ummmm where you left them? *narrows eyes* mikey take the blanket off. i happen to be very cold right now. so if i take the blanket off, i won't find my heels dangling off you? *shoes fall* no...?

• i am so tired. mikey dont you dare. i could just fall asleep right here. if you fall on me again..that was one time! out of many! i already said sorry for that time!....and the other hundred times.

• i'm just saying that i can make my own breakfast. angel, you need to let the master chef do his thing and just sit there all pretty.

• this is a great view. we're playing mario kart. i wasn't talking about mario kart. all you see is the back of my head. and it's the prettiest back of a head i've ever seen.

• Y/N! Y/N! LOOK! I FINALLY BEAT LEO IN JUST DANCE CAUSE HE CANT TWERK!

• i *hiccup* i think you need to leave. not until you're asleep, you had too many fireball shots. y/n will be very sad if *hiccup* they know you put me in bed. mikey i am y/n. nu huh! y/n was wearing a blue shirt and your shirt *hiccup* is not blue!

• angelcakes, i did a thing. do i want to know what the thing is? do you promise not to get mad? *sighs* casey or raph? ...i don't wanna answer that. then i don't wanna know the thing.

• i made up a new thing! it's called a kiss, i invented it myself. did you now? yep, just a few minutes ago and i wanna test it.

• mikey, why are there so many cats in the apartment? because i can't just bring one in and not the rest! they'll get sad. where did you get them all? um..that's confidential...also if anyone knocks on the door i'm not here.

[harlotsforcinnamon]

(@tartadxfresa requested “something ronsey or pynch would be nice, better if it's angsty, and even better if it has some religious imagery!” and I’ve been turning it over in my head every day since xo)

“Your hair’s getting long.”

Gansey stood in the doorway to the kitchen-bathroom-laundry room. Ronan stood with his back to him, head bowed as though in prayer, lit from above by the cold light of a single bare bulb.

He almost could have been carved from marble, the tangle of wings and claws and branches knotted tightly around his spine, knit into the fiber of his being. As Gansey watched Ronan raised a hand, slowly, and ran his fingers across the soft bristles of his hair.

“Do you know why I started shaving it?”

And Gansey had scarcely thought to wonder why, too caught up all this time with the what: the late nights of Ronan’s bedroom door gaping like the hole where a tooth used to be, broken off at the root. And yet as soon as the question was put to him he found that he had the answer, knew it like he knew himself, felt it tingling on his lips like the ghost of a kiss.

“Because you look like him.”

He didn’t need to see Ronan dip his chin in a nod to know he was right.

He felt sick.

It made him wonder a little about the tattoo. There was something there. Something about Ronan making his body his own. About reclaiming the face he’d been told all his life looked just like his; Niall’s spitting image, his doppelganger, his ghost, waiting for Ronan, pale-faced, every time as he so much as got up to piss in the middle of the night and made the mistake of catching his own eye in the mirror.

Ronan made a dry, choked noise.

Gansey hadn’t seen him cry since the first time he’d found him like this, weeks ago, standing over a sink full of hair with a hollow look in his eyes.

It’d fair broken Gansey’s heart. His blue-eyed Samson, bare-headed and shamed before the eyes of God, unfit to be seen, stripped of his power and hurting, worse than dead.

It felt like a million years ago that Ronan had pressed those words against his skin, long-haired and innocent, warm and intimate under the thousand glittering eyes of Heaven, on an old horse blanket in the flat bed of Ronan’s old truck.

“How does that story end?”

Ronan had been an absence of light above him, outlined in stars.

When he spoke, his voice was Niall’s.

“His hair grew back. Slowly. And as it did, he felt his strength trickling back into him.” Ronan’s fingers teased a line from Gansey’s ribs down to where his shirt was rucked up over his hip. Gansey felt goosebumps break out across his skin at his touch.

“And when he was strong enough, he used his bonds to pull down the temple on top of himself.”

The curve of Ronan’s skull seemed fragile under the cold dim light of the kitchen-bathroom-laundry room. Vulnerable.

His hair was growing back.

Gansey took a step into the room, washed in cyanotype blue. His heart beat loud in his chest. Over Ronan’s shoulder, Gansey’s reflection stared back at him with hollow, shadowy eyes.

He skated the pads of his fingers up from the nape of Ronan’s neck, following the bristly eggshell of his skull.

“Want me to shave this for you?”

[therandompagesblog]

Alpha Pack: Chan

Trigger warnings: none

Crash! "What happened?" I called out as I heard a bang coming from Minho's room. "Min?" I called out again. A growl erupted from Minho's room. He was seeing something, and he was trying to focus on it. He was a seer. He could feel and predict the future. Recently, he was getting more signs that it was setting all of us alphas off. "Not again. We have had bad luck for six weeks." Changbin sighed as he leaned against Minho's door, waiting for an answer.

Minho swung open the door. His grey, glassy eyes were deep in thought, and his hair was a mess. It was bad news. He had seen something horrific, and it was getting worse. "Good news or bad news?" Minho spoke. "What?!" Changbin asked. "I SAID good news or bad news," Minho growled. "Come tell us. We are all here." I told him. All of us were up on the landing waiting for him to speak. "The darkness is coming." Minho sighed, "It's getting closer. The ancestors are unhappy with the balance. We need to let the nearby packs know." "Darkness, what darkness?" Seungmin asked. "Ya know, the darkness. The story of Enoch Darkness. Are you slow today?" Jeongin chided, causing the older male to growl. "Enough!" I commanded. "I will send word and ask to meet at the border. The nearest pack is Luna, and they are more forthcoming with us. They should be able to spread the word."

I ruffled my black hair and thought hard. If it was the darkness of Enoch, history was repeating itself, or there was an actual imbalance in nature. Something had gone wrong. "Anything else you feel, Min?" I questioned. "She's here. Our Mate." Minho said with a smile. "Our mate. Where?" Felix asked. "I don't know. I know it is soon. Today or tomorrow." Minho confirmed. The room fell into silence. The thought of our omega, our mate, coming today or tomorrow presented mixed emotions. Some felt anxious and uncertain. Others felt immense excitement. "Are you sure?" I breathed out. Minho was never wrong, but he'd usually get hints months before. "Positive. Maybe something has been decided, or a plan or movement changed quickly." Minho shrugged. "What does she look like?" Jeongin said dreamily. "Are you an idiot. Do you think I see!" Minho shrikes. "I'm still glad I can't see your ugly face anymore."

I sighed and shook my head, leaving the two alphas to bicker while I left to go for a run. I needed to breathe. I needed to find a plan for my pack and now my new mate. It was bad timing, but it was never her fault. We will adapt and protect her. I phased into my wolf form and ran down the mountain, trying to keep an empty mind as I let my legs guide me. Still, my head was all over the place. I was thinking about nesting. Making my room neat. I wondered what our mate would need. I wondered if she would accept us. Would she be frightened by us?

I stomped my paw into the ground and closed my eyes. Breathe Chan! She will be alright! She will accept us in time! "And if she doesn't?" Jisung questioned in my head. I shook my wolf's head and trotted forward, trying to keep my mind empty. If my thoughts wandered in worry, he would hear it. "You know she could hate us and report us to the council. And Ateez." Jisung questioned. His thoughts were full of hatred. "Enough!" I commanded. "A mate will always understand. She may be scared, but we will not... not give her a reason to be even more scared!" "Even Minho hyung is unsure," Jisung growled. His teeth bared in anger. "Minho is unsure because he has never seen something so quick happen. It is not our mate who is the concern." I bared my teeth back, dominating him. Reminding him I was the head alpha, but he was reluctant.  I didn't want to alpha order him. Jisung and Changbin had their own reasons to worry. They were the two most in sync with each other. They were bound. Found together. This experience was going to be hard enough for both of them. "We will go slow with her. When you're ready-" "What if I am never," Jisung stated, causing me to sigh and walk away. I could not force him.

I phased back and headed into the quiet home of ours. I could hear Felix calming a worried Hyunjin while Seungmin was playing his guitar. The others were out. Ring! Ring! "Hello?" I answered the landline. "I've spoken to Alpha Hongjoong and Alpha Zack, and they are willing to meet at the border where all land meets. They agree we need to work together." Changbin stated. "Thanks, Bin!" I told him. "I'm gonna head out this evening, but if you find her tonight, good luck!" Changbin stated earnestly. "Be safe!" I hung up and got ready to go to the border.

The border wasn't far. It was located at the bottom, near a creek, where all four paths converged. Where Ateez, Luna, and Stray Kids met. The other path connected city that led to the witches and humans. Nobody ever really came this far down because there wasn't really a path. Only wolves could smell it. There was a woodsy scent in the hair with a slight undertone of lemon that was appealing, yet unrecognisable. "AlphaChristopher. I received your message." Alpha Zack stated. He walked up and shook my hand. "Alpha Zack." I nodded. "Alpha Hongjoong should be on his way soon."

Alpha Zack nodded and awkwardly scratched his chin. I stared at him. Not understanding the foreign scent that drifted along his skin. Was it her? Was she in his pack? "Alpha Christopher. Alpha Zack." Alpha Hongjoong greeted. "I apologise, I called you out during the festival of Knoxx. I am aware of its importance and how contradictory this may seem, but we believe there is darkness looming over the wolves." I stated. Both Alphas stared at me in shock and confusion. I explained to them both the meaning of what Minho had seen and the impacts. "What are you two doing out?" Alpha Zack growled as he abruptly stopped our meeting.

Two women appeared through the trees with a guilty look. The slightly older one grasped a cluster of snapdragons, looked slightly irritated at being caught. I sniffed the air and realised the citrus scent was hers. Mate! Min was right! "So?" Alpha Zack asked again with his sharp eyes while I sniffed the area to check that no wolves or outsiders would appear. I didn't want my mate surrounded by unknown wolves. "To see Omega Mins' cave. You know–" "So why did you not ask the betas to come with you?" Alpha Zack scolded. I crossed my arms in frustration. I did not like the way he spoke to my mate. It was far too harsh. "Because they were smoking juniper and drinking vervain. They had no interest." My mate sighed as if it were a common occurrence. "Do your betas not pay attention?" Alpha Hongjoong asked. "Of course, but it's hard during a celebration." Alpha Zack rushed, causing me and Hongjoong to growl. I realised the younger one was his mate. How coincidental? "Do they not pay attention?" I asked my mate directly, needing to know if she was safe in her current pack. "Not when juniper is involved," She muttered. Good girl! "You should be protected," I told her.

In an instance, her wolf reacted and ran straight at me, causing me to stumble. I wrapped my arms tightly around her waist and breathed in her scent. Her smell will complement our home. Citrus and musk. "What is your name, Omega?" I whispered. Nudging my head against her, coaxing her to look up at me. "Y-Y/N. Y/N L/N." I smiled and repeated her name to see how it sounded. "Chan. Chan is my sacred name." I told her. Why I told her in a public space. I had no clue, but I seemed to get lost in her. I realised I too had offered to walk her back and give her my shirt for her nest. I, too, blacked out and lost control. I hadn't lost control since the last wolf, but I was angry. Maybe my wolf knew not to hurt her, no matter what.

I headed back up the mountain to see Minho sitting on the bench with Felix. Both looked overtly tired. Minho and Felix sniffed the air, taking in the new scent that danced a long my skin. "She smells like lemon. A sorbet kind of smell." Felix noted. "How did it go?" Minho asked inquisitively. "Ha ha." I laughed nervously while Minho frowned. "You don't even know? How bad did your wolf take over?" Minho scolded. "Her name is Y/n L/n! She's amazing." I told him. "Yup. He remembers nothing. Seungmin owes me fifty." Felix stated with a laugh. "You guys made a bet. You know what, never mind. How is everyone?" I asked.

Minho informed me that Jisung had gotten angry about a mate happening now. Changbin had still not returned. Hyunjin lost control in the eastern part of the woods. Seungmin and Jeongin went shopping and had yet to come back. Felix was curious, but hopeful, and Minho had yet to learn more. "How did Alpha Zach take it?" Minho asked. "I think we need another meeting," I told him, but Minho glared. "I meant, how did he take you finding your mate? You know what, I'm guessing it's fine." "I think so," I whispered, following them into the house. "When do we get to see her?" Felix asked. "Uh!?" I stated. "Oh no!?" Felix sighed, shaking his head. "I think I said a week or three days. Yeah, three days." I confirmed. "Who is next, Alpha, because it can't be you!" Felix poked Minho's nose. "That was rude. Just because of my sight." Minho growled. "Look, I will court her gently and introduce us gently, and hopefully she will accept us. I won't do anything if Jisung and Changbin are afraid. That is not fair." I told them. "I disagree." Minho stopped. His silver eyes stared at me. "You could damage the bond if not solidified. They will have to deal with it. That is the truth. If some have to leave or move on, then that is the plan. I have seen it."

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[alexanderwales]

I watched the first episode of The Institute and I think that was enough for me. It's mid-budget scifi, it's fine for what it is, the writing and acting are both pretty weak, whatever.

But the opening five minutes really made me laugh, because I've talked with a lot of other authors about how to write intelligent characters and show that they're intelligent without directly talking to the audience.

How does The Institute do it? They show our protagonist doing a test very fast and everyone being impressed by this. Then for good measure they have a girl ask him about the last question, which she has for some reason memorized, and he explains his correct answer.

And like ... on one level, this works, right? Because the audience knows the score, this is a smart kid here. But on a craft level, it doesn't work at all, and every other scene after it demonstrates more actual intelligence, problem-solving, and curiosity.

Some other stuff that's I guess spoilers for the first episode of a show I have no interest in follows:

They drug our protagonist in the middle of the night and take him to the titular institute, placing him in a copy of his room. He notices that it's a copy of his room because his Timberwolves jersey has been replaced, and I guess they ... went into his room, took photographs, found duplicates? Or ... is some of the stuff his, but not others?

He dramatically pulls back the curtains and finds that it's not sunlight on the other side: it's glowing lamps! Oh shit!

Except then he steps out into the hallway, which is concrete and utilitarian, and there's not any attempt for this to be an illusion, it was just to have this "oh shit" moment and then ... get on with things?

I watched The Rehearsal and my mind keeps coming back to this comparison. The sheer amount of effort that someone would have had to go to is insane just to get this moment of disorientation that's going to be revealed moments later. I mean, not only do they have to drug him at home and transport him to The Institute, they have to then arrange him and have him safely brought out of anesthesia without throwing up or feeling the effects? They need to have someone take all these photos, and sure, that's not so much of a problem, but then either taking all the stuff from his room or making their own versions? The big thing is that the dimensions of the room seem the same, and ... did they put in a false wall for that to happen? Was it just happenstance? Was the door being in the same position just luck, or did they have a construction crew come in and modify this room special for this? I've got questions.

He then asks them why they did this, and they tell him he's the first person to ask, which is supposed to be another demonstration of his intelligence. Which is crazy to me. Everyone should be asking. Making a recreation of a person's room is insanity.