#love these ^_^ thank u anon

[cd-006]

SANFORD WITH OCD AND HE'S HOH BECAUSE HE WORKS WITH EXPLOSIVES CAN ANYONE HEAR ME!!! HE USED TO BE IN THE MILITARY AND HE'S BI + NON-BINARY HE/THEY WHICH IS ACTUALLY KIND OF CANON!!! HE'S A MAMA'S BOY!!! THEY MISS THEIR FAMILY!!! HE LIKES KNITTING IN HIS FREE TIME!!! THEY HAVE THE SECOND MOST MEDICAL KNOWLEDGE OUTSIDE OF DOC AND ARE SURPRISINGLY GOOD WITH WOUND CARE!!!

OH MAI GAWSH THIS IS SO AWESOME esp as an ocd haver myself hehehehehehe... i would love 4 u to elaborate more on that (like how he experiences it n stuff) ^_^

I AGREE WITH THE HOH ONE SO BAD TOO like i can 100% see him only wearing proper hearing protection maybe Half the time. Maybe even less. he just thugs it out (THERE IS A CONSTANT RINGING IN HIS EAR)

the one abt medical knowledge is so real i think he only knows abt it bc of deimos' clumsiness lol. to me sanford also learned it just bc he doesnt trust doc to operate on him or fix him up 💀 they have a really specific dynamic in my head where doc is like "this guy is organized and does what i want. i respect him" while sanford thinks hes kind of a weird freak who might steal his organs or smth.

ALSO THE KNITTING ONE IS SO CUTE omg thats the first ive ever heard of that :3 so silly.... sanford has always been autistic 2 me and i think hes got a sp/in in trucks n cars. he can probably name every single truck ever #SMART

[inkskinned]

i love you vaccines i love you research i love you reading the book instead of having chatgpt summarize it i love you critically thinking rather than reacting to a headline i love you investigating the source material i love you science i love you math even though you are personally my enemy (math/yn slowburn) i love you writing even though you try to stab me a lot i love you Experts in Your Field i love you Using The Brain

[hinamie]

in my portrait era it wld seem

choso and/or yuki request for anon <3

[piastriprincess]

diamond  bright  ,  kiss  me  right ⸻  lando  norris  x  reader  .

featuring  lando  norris  ,  new(ish) relationship , love  confession  ,  reader  is  dramatic  as  hell  but  we  love  her word  count  1.8k author’s  note  requested  by  anon  !  i  have  basically  thought  about  nothing  but  law  school  for  the  past  two  days  but  i  was  missing  being  creative  and  wanted  to  give  you  all  something  fun  .  as  a  number  one  lando  defender  i  LOVED  writing  this  .  i  firmly  believe  he’s  a  little  bit  of  a  simp  when  he  really  likes  someone  …  very  precious  TO  ME  !  as  always  come  tell  me  what  you  think  or  send  me  a  request  !  okay  now  back  to  my  finals  studying  cave  .  love  you  all  <3  title  is  from  claws  by  charli  xcx  !

It was never supposed to be serious. 

You knew Lando Norris. The party-boy reputation, the DJ sets, a different girl at every circuit. When he sidled up to you at a bar in Monaco with that charming grin on his face, those blue-green eyes sparkling like the Mediterranean behind him, you didn’t expect much. An evening of harmless flirting, maybe. He’d buy you drinks. You might go home with him, if he wasn’t unbearably cocky. (You had a feeling he might be.) He was a player — you’d written him off in your mind before he even opened his mouth.

Turns out, you didn’t know Lando Norris at all. 

You didn’t know he would talk to you that entire night, looking ridiculously pleased every time he made you laugh, like he’d won a prize he hadn’t dared to hope for and couldn’t believe his luck. You didn’t know he would walk you home, and instead of asking to be invited up, asking if he could take you to dinner, hands stuck in his pockets so you couldn’t see the way they trembled. You didn’t know that one date would turn into nearly six months of good-morning texts, of coming home to bouquets of flowers on your doorstep just-because, of slow kisses that burned you up from the inside. 

It was like trying on a dress that looked ugly on the hanger and finding it fit you so well you never wanted to take it off again. To make a long story short, dating Lando was kind of your favorite thing. You liked everything about him. And lately, when you lay tangled in his sheets at night, his arms wrapped around your waist and his mouth pressed softly to your shoulder, breathing in his clean, boyish scent, you thought maybe your feelings were more than simply liking him. 

You couldn’t tell him, though, not yet. You cringed at the thought of the awkward silence that would stretch between you if he didn’t say it back. You trusted Lando — he was sweet to you in a way that made your chest ache sometimes, in a way that you couldn’t imagine being fake. But what if the thrill for him was all in the chase, the reckless desire to get something he thought he couldn’t have? What if now that he had you, now that he really knew you, the shine had worn off?

So you kept it to yourself. Let him slow dance with you in his kitchen to a song you’d never heard, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at you. Let him text you stupid jokes and ridiculous strings of emojis in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. Let him scrape his teeth over your collarbone and whisper your name like a prayer into the darkness. Loved him quietly, secretly, in the private corner of your heart he hadn’t quite found yet. 

You told yourself it was fine. Things were good between you. Great, even. You weren’t going to mess it up by saying it first. You would wait until he did. 

If he ever did. 

—

The most embarrassing moment of your life starts with a phone call. 

You’re weaving through the aisles of the grocery store, looking for the pasta. Lando’s had a long day of sponsor meetings and media, but insisted that he wanted to see you anyway for your regular date night. You agreed, on the condition you could make him dinner; you like the idea of taking care of him for once, instead of the other way around.  

Your phone starts buzzing, and you pull it out of your pocket, greeted with Lando’s face — some ridiculous photo he’d taken of the two of you early on, your cheeks pressed together like two halves of a heart. You answer without hesitating, shifting the basket of groceries onto your hip. “Hey, you.”

“Hi, gorgeous.” His voice is light, but you can hear the weariness underneath he’s trying to cover up. “Just checking what time you were thinking of coming over. Zak added a last-minute meeting to the calendar, but I should be done by 7.”

You prop the phone between your shoulder and your ear, grabbing a carton of eggs. “That’s fine. I’m just picking up the stuff now, I’ll stop at home and then come to yours.” You lo- You like the domesticity of the conversation. You wonder if someday, you’ll make grocery lists together, wander through the aisles side-by-side.

“My little chef,” he says, warmth in his voice. “Give me a sneak preview of the menu. What are you making me?” 

“Oh, I thought I’d whip up some sushi,” you tease, grin on your face. You can imagine him on the other end of the phone, crinkling his nose in disgust, and the thought lodges in your chest with a far-too-familiar fond ache. 

“Right, I actually have plans. Can’t have you over anymore,” he deadpans, like clockwork. 

You let out a bark of laughter, throwing a box of pasta into your basket. “I’m kidding. Do you think I don’t remember your freakish aversion to fish?”

“Wow. My own girlfriend, bullying me,” Lando sniffs. “Might just die now. Wasting away, starving and alone, with no one to comfort me.” 

“I’m making carbonara, you big baby,” you snort, pressing the phone between your shoulder and your ear as you inspect two different wedges of Parmesan. “And maybe cookies, for dessert.” You place the cheese in the basket, heading for the checkout lane. 

“How’d I get so lucky?” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Oh, you’re a goner. It does something stupid to your heart. 

“Guess the universe knew you needed me,” you reply, unpacking your basket onto the conveyor belt. You’re moving a little slowly; you only have one hand to unpack while the other holds the phone.

He laughs. “Score one for the universe.” His voice drops a little lower, a little softer. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“Me too,” you reply, fumbling for your wallet as the cashier eyes you with increasing impatience, tapping at the card reader. A line has grown behind you, you realize. “Shit. Lan, I gotta go. I love you, bye.” Click.

You slide your sunglasses over your eyes as you step out of the air-conditioned grocery store. The weather as you walk home is warm. The late-afternoon sun hangs low and golden in the sky, and— 

You nearly drop the bag you’re carrying, catching it just before the eggs shatter over the Monaco sidewalk.

You told Lando you loved him. And you didn’t even realize it. 

—

By the time you get home, you’re seriously considering faking your own death.

You stand slumped against the wall of the elevator, cheeks burning with humiliation. You’ve spent the entire walk thinking up what feels like a thousand different ways to play it off — jokes, sarcasm, pretending you were talking to the cashier instead of him. They’re all stupid, all equally unlikely to work on Lando. Maybe the best option is to cancel tonight in favor of lying facedown on your carpet and never moving again. 

The elevator doors ding and slide open. You step off, turn the corner down your apartment hallway, and there’s Lando’s standing on your doorstep. 

For a minute, you think it’s a hallucination, because he can’t actually be in your hallway. He lives on the other side of Monaco, practically, and there’s always traffic. You stare at him, taking in the ruddy cheeks, the way the sweat beads at his temples, how he’s still trying to catch his breath.

He ran here, you realize, heart thudding wildly in your chest. He ran. 

The silence is terrifying, stretching between the two of you like a chasm. Then:

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice hoarse. 

“You’re supposed to be in a meeting,” you blurt, eyes wide. 

“Fuck the meeting,” he rasps, gaze trained on you. “Did you mean it?”

You have an out, now. You could lie, say it was unthinking, a force of habit from calling your mother, your friends. You could stay where you are, with those three little words rattling around your head every second of every day, and pretend it doesn’t kill you to hold them back now that you know what it feels like on your tongue. 

Or you could tell the truth, and take the chance that you’ll lose something, because there’s a possibility you could get everything. 

You look at the wild-eyed boy in front of you, who ran across Monaco just to see your face, and you already have your answer. 

“Yeah,” you say, voice small and heart in your throat. “Yeah, I meant it.”

He closes the distance between you in two steps, cups your cheeks in his hands, and smashes his lips to yours. It’s desperate, wild — your teeth knock together, and when you gasp against his mouth, he slides his tongue against yours in a way that makes your knees buckle. You pull him closer, closer, hands fisting into his shirt like he might disappear if you let go. 

“I love you too,” he gasps when you finally break apart, like it’s paining him to hold the words back. “Fuck. Been wanting to tell you for weeks, but I didn’t want to freak you out.”

You laugh wetly, forehead pressed against his. “I love you,” you say, and his whole face cracks into a smile so bright it’s like you’re looking at the sun. 

“Say it again,” he breathes. The look on his face is so obvious, all soft and awestruck. You wonder, distantly how you ever thought he didn’t feel the same.

“I love you,” you repeat, every syllable deliberate, and his arms wrap around you so fiercely it knocks the air out of your lungs. You yelp as he lifts you off your feet, laughing against his neck, your legs kicking uselessly for a second before you just give up and cling to him instead. He carries you to your door like that, arms steady and warm around you, and for one dizzying moment you think you could stay like this — weightless and safe and stupidly, overwhelmingly in love — forever. 

Maybe it was never supposed to be serious. But when he hugs you from behind while you stir the pasta, whispering I love you into your ear for the hundredth time that night like a promise he intends to keep, you seriously don’t think you’ll ever get tired of hearing it.

[rookanisstuff]

I just wanted to say that the one piece you crafted of a particular kiss caught my heart, and I keep looking at it. Just... thank you for the art you gift this community.

You have a gift. You share it, and we love it. Know you ARE appreciated.

a smooch just for u anon (and a million for Lucanis)

[hyruling]

buddie prompt finale eve here we go 45. feeling their temperature 🥺

Eddie’s hot.

Which, okay. That’s like saying Maddie is his sister, or Christopher is the best kid in the world, or Chim is an annoying brother in law. Objectively true, directly observable statements of fact.

But Eddie’s hot. Like, sweating all over Buck under two blankets hot. And normally, as a cold-natured person, Buck would be very into that. But he can feel sweat soaking through the two layers of Eddie’s t-shirt and Buck’s hoodie, pressed together as they are in the center of Buck’s bed. A new development in his life as Eddie’s roommate that he is handling very normally, by the way.

“Eddie,” Buck whispers in the quiet.

Eddie doesn’t stir. Buck reaches over him, trapped by Eddie’s head on his chest, and checks Eddie’s phone — three thirty-two in the morning. They have to be up for a shift in two and a half hours.

“Eddie,” Buck tries again, nudging him with his shoulder, but he’s still dead to the world. He hates to wake him from such a deep slumber — he tries to gently roll him off instead but Eddie clings, the way he tends to do in his sleep. A fact Buck is intimately familiar with after a month of sharing a bed.

“Hey,” Buck murmurs, and switches tactics. He gently pushes Eddie’s sweaty hair off his forehead and mutters his name again. Briefly, he wonders if he forgot to turn the air down before bed, but he can hear it blowing above their heads along with the fan. Eddie is a white noise snob, insists on keeping the fan and air purifier both on all night. He claims it drowns out Buck’s snoring, usually with a teasing lilt in his voice that drives him crazy, but honestly, he has a point. Buck’s never slept better.

Eddie finally stirs after Buck strokes his hair for a minute, snuffling into Buck’s neck with his eyes still closed. “‘S matter?”

“Nothing, it’s just a little hot in here. I’m gonna go turn the air down.”

“No,” Eddie says, voice pitched in an uncharacteristic whine. He wraps a sweaty thigh around Buck’s, effectively trapping him even further. “‘M cold.”

“You’re cold?” Buck asks incredulously. “You’re sweating Eddie.”

Eddie just groans, mashing his face against Buck’s neck, and it’s then that he can feel how warm Eddie’s face is.

“Hey, c’mere.”

He’s still half asleep himself, can barely muster the energy needed to manhandle a sleepy and slightly combative Eddie, but he manages to maneuver him around enough to lay a hand on his forehead. It’s hot, fever hot, and Buck is abruptly wide awake.

“Eddie, hey. I think you have a fever.”

“‘Kay,” Eddie mumbles.

“No, hey, don’t go back to sleep. We need to get some Tylenol in you, and some water.”

“‘M fine, Buck, lemme sleep.”

“I will, I promise, you just—you gotta let me get some medicine in you, okay?”

“Ugh,” Eddie groans. “Fine.”

He releases his grip on Buck, who scrambles out of bed, nearly tripping over the jeans he didn’t manage to get into the hamper earlier. He makes a pit stop in the kitchen for a bottle of water. In the bathroom, he grabs Tylenol and wets a washcloth, then returns to the bedroom to see Eddie curled into a ball under the comforter, shivering.

“Hey, sit up for me, okay?” Buck says. He perches on the sheets next to him and rubs his thumb over Eddie’s collarbone.

Eddie obeys with a little more gentle coaxing, eyes glazed and exhausted when he finally opens them. Buck gets him to swallow the Tylenol and presses the cool washcloth against his forehead. Eddie grunts appreciatively and downs nearly the rest of the water without Buck even nagging him.

“Throat hurts,” Eddie rasps, handing the bottle back. His shirt is soaked in sweat.

“Yeah, you’re sick bud. Think you caught that bug Jamison had last week.”

Eddie giggles for some reason, and says, “Bud. Bug. ‘S almost the same word.”

And Buck — normally, Buck would laugh with him. Would tease out more delirious ramblings, and secretly delight in how cute he is any time his inhibitions are lowered. But right now, after everything, all he can feel is a dull sort of panic climbing its way up his throat, making it hard to breathe.

“Yeah, that’s true,” Buck says with an uneasy chuckle. “Hey, why don’t you—”

“You’re my bud,” Eddie continues, poking Buck in the chest. His eyes are half-lidded, glinted with mischief, and he grins crookedly at Buck. “My—my bud bug. My bed bug, ha.”

His heart gives a helpless little tug, made worse by Eddie dragging his finger down Buck’s chest and curling possessively in the pocket of his hoodie. “Okay, Eddie. You’re pretty out of it, I think maybe I need to take you to an urgent care.”

“Nooo, it’s just a fever,” Eddie protests, tugging at Buck’s hoodie. “I can sleep it off.”

“Eddie—”

“No. Our deductible is like. Stupid high, bug, I can’t afford it right now.”

Buck is momentarily comforted that he can think about his deductible while in this state, but that bug nags at him. Almost as much as it sends heat flooding into his cheeks.

“My name’s Buck, Eddie.”

“I know that, Evan,” Eddie snarks, and at the rate Eddie’s nickname and full-naming him, Buck’s gonna have to call an ambulance for himself. “I’m not that far gone. Can I go to sleep now?”

“Let me at least call Hen—”

“Don’t bother Hen,” Eddie insists. “It’s the middle of the night, and I’m a medic. I think I would know if I was dying.”

“It didn’t—”

Buck cuts himself off. He can’t lay this on Eddie tonight, when he’s half asleep and zonked from fever. But Eddie latches on like a tick, eyes suddenly sharp, and the hand tucked in Buck’s pocket wraps around his wrist instead.

“Didn’t what?”

“Nothing,” Buck says. “C’mon, lay back down.”

“Buck,” Eddie says firmly, shockingly so. “We aren’t doing that again. Talk to me.”

“In the morning,” Buck tries, but Eddie shakes his head, presses his fingers into Buck’s pulse point.

“Buck.”

Buck sighs, knows Eddie won’t get any rest until Buck explains himself.

“It’s just. Bobby, he didn’t—he didn’t die in a fire, or in a rescue, he—he got sick. And I know, I know it’s not the same thing, you’re not—but I just. I don’t know. It’s dragging up some—some shit, I guess. I can’t lose anyone else. Especially not—”

He snaps his mouth shut with a click, but it’s too late. He’s laid himself bare, and for a moment he desperately hopes Eddie won’t remember this in the morning.

Eddie stares at him, mouth set in a small frown. The hand on his wrist squeezes, a gentle and grounding pressure against his thundering heartbeat. Eddie must be able to feel it, but he just strokes his thumb softly over Buck’s hand and says, “You’re right, it’s not the same. I’m okay, Buck. I’ll be okay. I promise.”

“I know,” Buck says. I’m going to make sure of it this time, he doesn’t. “But you’re a notoriously bad patient, so you need to trust me.”

Eddie chuckles, then coughs, a rough sound that makes Eddie wince. “Says the guy who wanted to come back to work a week after literally dying.”

“It was two weeks.”

Eddie waves a hand. His eyes are drooping again, and he shivers a bit. “Semantics.”

“Okay, come on. Let’s change your shirt and get you back to sleep. I’ll call Hen in the morning, tell her we’re not coming in.”

Eddie grumbles a bit about Buck not needing to take time off just for him, but Buck can tell his heart’s not really in it. Buck tugs off his shirt and grabs the first clean one he finds, which happens to be one of his. Not that either of them are paying all that much attention to that kind of detail anymore, another facet of his new living situation that he refuses to look at directly. He gets Eddie into it and makes him finish the bottle of water before he all but collapses back onto the pillows.

Buck climbs back in on his side, pulls the comforter up over Eddie’s shoulders when he starts shaking again. Eddie shuffles close like he’s going to koala himself around Buck again, but hesitates at the last second.

“I can—sleep on the couch,” Eddie offers around a jaw-cracking yawn. “Don’t wanna get you sick.”

“Oh, yeah, actually, would you mind?” Buck teases, just to see the look of shock and betrayal that passes over Eddie’s face. He doesn’t disappoint — Buck laughs, and Eddie swears in Spanish under his breath.

“It’s rude to tease a sick person, you know,” he says, then tucks himself back against Buck’s side, head pillowed on his chest

Buck snorts and pulls Eddie closer. “It’s too late anyway. I’m sure I’ll be right behind you.”

Eddie hums, drawls, “I’ll take care of you. If you are.”

Buck closes his eyes, and pretends the warmth spreading through him is from Eddie’s overheated skin. “You always do.”

He checks Eddie’s forehead again, and Eddie mutters sleepily, “Y’know, lips are a better measure of body temperature than hands.”

Buck stills, heart in his throat. “That so?” he croaks.

Eddie nods, jaw digging in Buck’s clavicle. “More sens’tive. I’m a medic, I would know.”

“Guess you would,” Buck manages with a soft chuckle. He wishes he had brought another bottle of water to bed, throat suddenly parched.

“So? What’s the verdict?” Eddie mumbles with a shoulder nudge, hanging onto consciousness by a thread.

And Buck, unable to deny Eddie anything in the best of circumstances, twists his neck and presses his lips to Eddie’s forehead. Eddie sighs, and Buck would swear he leans into it, gives Buck no choice but to let his mouth linger over the dry, overwarm skin. Eddie’s hair tickles his nose — he can smell their shampoo and a faint hint of sweat, and breathes him in while he can.

“Still sick,” Buck declares, lips brushing Eddie’s forehead. “Go to sleep.”

He doesn’t respond, and Buck thinks maybe he’s finally drifted off. But just as he’s about to fall asleep himself, Eddie noses at Buck’s neck and murmurs, “Thanks, bug,” close to his ear.

It’s almost worth the misery of the weeklong cold he catches, just for that.

—

prompts xo

[daylighted]

all i can think about is frat boy dean whos dating his nerdy little girlfriend and comes over to her dorm when shes studying and shes like struggling but dean tries to help her study even though he doesnt know shit😭 and then hes like “yeah i have no idea what im even saying” while hes trying to explain random crap

anyways ur theme is so cute!!

all of the classes dean was in, she was in the advanced placements for, pretty much an entire year above him. she was so damn smart that dean sometimes felt like she was humbling herself being around him and choosing him, especially in instances like this, where she'd asked him to study with her, and he realized quickly he does not know how to study properly.

"well, see," he's half leaned over her shoulder, chin resting in the little notch between her neck and arm, "the data's gotta have the answer. wouldn't be part of the question if it didn't."

dean did not have a clue what he was looking at. a table chart with so many numbers. a paragraph above it explaining the numbers and adding additional data. the practice question wasn't even multiple choice; who did that?

her smile is slow, and dean knows that again, he's said the wrong thing. but if there's one thing dean does know how to do, is dig his own grave. "like, math, right?" it was science. chemistry. whatever. "take all the numbers, add 'em up, get the average..."

well, now her eye was twitching, like a parent barely refraining from taking the pen and doing the problem themselves. dean's starting to stutter over his explanation. technically, she did ask for this, asking him for assistance, so... "then multiply the average by the number of sections on the chart. with all those steps, it's gotta be the way, baby, trust."

his beautiful, intelligent, quiet girlfriend did not say a word to argue. instead, she did something worse, and took her pretty pen out of his hand and moved the paper in front of her again. the silence was overbearing. now dean had completely abandoned his books and wanted to see this damn problem through, just out of his own disbelief. they made questions like this? without multiple choice? and all these numbers?

he, in fact, does not shut up, even as she's writing numbers and scribbling them out and repeating. "yeah, babe, to be honest? don't know what the fuck i'm saying."

"i know." two words, and she'd managed to dismantle the fragile confidence he had in chemistry-related things. "but thank you for trying to help in your own way."

she might as well have just stabbed him. "just doin' my job, pretty lady," dean saluted her, tipping his baseball cap at her before plucking it off his head and spinning it around. front facing meant business, backwards meant party. he deserved a party after the couple of braincells in his head had sparked and fizzled out. "hey, how 'bout this," the mischief in his smile is absolutely diabolical considering he was really just starting to hinder you more than anything, "every question either of us get right, we take somethin' off?"

her eyebrows raise. "you're gonna be fully clothed and i'm gonna be naked if we do that."

dean leans in to steal a kiss, that devilish grin still on his mouth. "that's precisely the point. get t'solvin', pretty lady."

she wasn't going to argue. especially not when he used precisely right in a sentence.

[lavendergalactic]

☆ 　razor tumblr layouts !

suggested by anon! f2u w/ credit, reblog appreciated

[jesuistrestriste]

sage ok walk with me… so imagine virgin art that’s so deep into subspace and is so painfully hard that he’s going “m-mommy, it hurtsssss, what’s wrongggg, what’s going onnnn” like I think I have an innocence kink. Are we fucking with it or no

guhhhh ….. i’m not walking, i’m sprinting with u

corruption kink goin crazy rn ! !

thinking about lulling virgin!art into subspace for the first time. he’s all wide eyes and shy touches and sloppy kisses; letting you tease his aching cock with just a fingertip while he sprawls himself out on your bed next to you.

has he orgasmed tons of times before now?

absolutely !

but as he ever come by someone else’s hands?

well.. no.

and god, it’s a whole new world of sensations. the warmth from just the pad of your digit on the underside of his cockhead is more than enough to ignite an unstoppable flame in his stomach— one that’s completely different from all the ones that were stoked via his own touch..

you’ve been edging him for only twenty minutes (denying him already seven times, if you can believe it), and that’s just about all he can take before he’s gasping and desperately reaching down to cling to your wrist. he’s squeezing so hard you think he might break it for a second..

tears gather at his lash line so fast that he doesn’t even have time to perceive the sting of it all; looking up into your eyes with writhing hips as he feels his release pulse in his balls and threaten to climb up his shaft

“i… s-something’s wrong, i dunno— hurts, hurts- nnghh—! never… never felt like this, please help me,” he’s whimpering to you, completely lost, “dunno what’s haah-happening—“

he’s looking up at you like he’s begging for some sort of salvation, like he’s too scared to find out on his own so he’s hoping you’ll push him in instead of expecting him to willingly dive in head-first. he’s much too out of it now for that.

“please— come, come— can i come? feels weird, i wanna—.. mngh..”

all you’ve gotta do is drag your index fingernail lightly over his slit and he’s gone.

his pelvis immediately bolting up to seek you, a strangled cry of confusion and ecstasy pulled straight from his chest. he’s squirting out everything’s he’s got, the fluid spilling out over his arched tummy as he squeezes his eyes shut and finally lets the tears fall.

“thank you, thank you— sorry, i’m sorry—“

he’s a mess.

[tojisun]

thinking about biker! simon going out with his girl and the other guys at a biker bar. reader hasn't really seen how scared people are of simon - who they all call ghost - until she goes to get him another drink. while she's at the bar, a guy comes over trying to hit on her. then this hulking, 6'4 guy in a skull mask appears and the guy is ready to run out of the bar. simon didn't even have to talk just glare. while readers like ???

ITS BEEN YEARS SINCE THIS WAS SENT IM SORRY FOR JUST REPLYING NOW :(( BUT YES ABSOLUTELY YES!! my stomach swooped when i saw this hhhhh im actually kicking my legs n twirling my hair n everythingg!!

naturally, im bad at making drabbles because this turned out long again :’) im sorry

biker!simon mlist // star divider by @/plutism <33

simon’s hand is warm on the small of your back as he leads you further into the bar. you shuffle along his languid steps, head swivelling as you try to find familiar faces in the crowd – so far, none yet.

simon chuckles from beside you, and you peer up at him only to see his eyes crinkled from underneath his balaclava, no doubt smiling at you. he bows his head closer towards yours, trying, in vain, to devour as much of the space made by the height difference between you two.

“what?”

“nothin’, sweet girl.” he presses his covered lips on the top of your head, breathing you in. “come on, i see ‘em.”

he shifts the two of you, the hand that’s settled on the small of your back gliding until it hooks around your waist, pulling you ever so closer to him. protective. possessive. it makes you hum in delight, happiness thrumming underneath your skin.

(you don’t notice the way many people shift to get out of simon’s way; heads downturned as though afraid of even meeting his eyes. you don’t notice the way they turn to each other when you two passed by, as though making sure that it was simon they saw. simon – ghost – with a sweet darling pressed to his side, his bulk warding away stray gazes. you don’t notice the way they huddle with each other, whispering promises that ghost’s girl should always be protected. because yes they fear ghost, but more than that, loyalty to each other is stronger.)

he leads you towards a small pack by the far side, the table doused less in light than the rest of the bar. johnny’s already turned towards you and simon, watching with a grin as you two make it across. kyle’s seated beside him, the younger man leaned to watch the ongoing hockey game. then you see the back of john’s familiar head, his beloved boonie slung around his neck.

“finally made it, huh lass?” johnny says in greeting, snagging the attention of both kyle and john, the two of them chiming in their own hello’s. you smile, waving at them as you claim the empty seat between simon and john.

“had to make a quick stop at 7-11,” simon responds, his hand curling at one of the legs of your chair before pulling you towards him. the metal squeaks against the tiles, the sound thankfully drowned out by the loud bass.

“oh did you?” john asks, ignoring whatever simon did given how they’re all so used to his soft displays of possessiveness. he offers you a smile when you turn to him with a nod.

“had to buy, um, medicine for my stomachache.”

it’s endearing how their faces shift so fast, little smiles falling as worry takes over. even simon, whose hand is draped on your thigh, tenses, gripping as though he was remembering how he heard your pained whimper or saw you sniffling as the ache echoed, throbbing just below your ribs, choking you up.

“are you feeling any better? did it subside now, at least?” kyle asks.

you nod, quick to reassure them. “the medicine worked! i’m feelin’ better, i promise!”

they relax, tensed shoulders going lax as life flutters back into the table. you smile before sinking ever so closer to simon’s side, shying away from the intensity of their affections for you – your own little band of brotherhood, visceral in the way they care for you.

simon’s grip loosens on your thigh, choosing instead to massage the muscle tenderly. you hum, turning to ask him what he’s getting.

“whiskey, maybe,” he murmurs, his voice muffled by his mask. “you getting your bellini today, love?”

“yes please,” you reply, blinking up at him.

his eyes crinkle again, a telltale sign of his smile, before he pats your thigh and gets up to place the order.

you turn to the group, tuning into johnny’s rambling, listening to him recounting his rally. it was the one you weren’t able to go to because of work, johnny having to reassure you multiple times (even through text) that it’s fine that you’re missing it. so you listened, enraptured, nose scrunching in confusion whenever johnny slips into heavy scottish in his excitement.

“english, mactavish,” simon sighs as he falls back to his seat, startling you. you see johnny flip him off and you make eye contact with kyle, sharing twin looks of exasperation.

simon slides you your bellini and you whisper a thanks, trilling when he noses the top of your head again – your clingy boy.

the conversation rises and falls, sometimes leaving your mind wandering when they start talking about shop, sometimes catching your attention so much that you find yourself leaning on the table, breathless and wide-eyed as you listen to their bike stories – johnny had continued about his rally, kyle talked about the repairs he did for a client who he’s sure is on the run, and john shared that horrifying experience he had on his way home where he thinks he saw a floating woman by the east side highway.

“your turn, big guy,” you say, tapping simon’s knee.

simon finishes his whiskey – his balaclava tugged just enough to show his chin and his lips – before plopping the empty glass on the table with a sigh. you huff a fond laugh, knowing that one glass isn’t enough to satiate the thirst so you dust imaginary dirt off your skirt before standing up.

he tilts his head up in question, arm still hooked around your waist.

“gonna grab us more drinks,” you say. “oh, tell ‘em about the gas station incident!”

he grunts, nodding, and yet he refuses to budge. you fondly roll your eyes and turn to the others. “drinks?”

they all shake their head, johnny specifically saying he’d have to order for himself because he’d want to try the house specialties. you nod, pinching simon’s arm as you dance away from him with a bitten grin, before making your way to the bar.

you prattle away your order, telling the bartender to add the tab to your table, and hover, swaying to the music. it’s a foreign rock band playing, the bass and drums reverberating loudly, you can feel the vibrations pulsing along your body, and you almost get lost in your own thoughts when a hand slides to your back.

you startle, mind quickly cataloguing that this isn’t simon. because simon, for all his impressive silence and his displays of possessiveness, never sneaks up on you like this. he has never let you doubt your safety while with him. so you back away from the stranger’s touch, your hands pressed close to your chest before finally turning to see who went up to you.

the man, who seems to be about your age, smiles upon seeing your face. “hey there, angel.”

the pet name makes you nauseous and your stomach churns once again. you have to ask for the medicine from simon when you return to the table.

“hi,” you squeak, not letting him off your sight.

“you seem new here. i am too.” he laughs, scratching his neck. then, “it really ain’t my scene.”

“uh-huh,” you say, not knowing what else to tell him.

his chuckles peter out, a suave smile replacing what had been an awkward display of forced laughter. he clears his throat. “so, what’s a sweet thing like you doing alone here?”

“she ain’t alone, kid,” the bartender answers for you and you turn to him, surprised, before thanking him as he presents you with your whiskey and bellini.

the bartender nods to you in reply before crossing his arms in front of his chest and addresses the stranger again. “go bother someone else.”

the man arches a brow in question, his lips pursing in distaste. “oh yeah? she seems pretty available to me.”

the phrase hits you badly.

your anxiousness bleeds away to make room for your ire and you snarl, dropping your hands from where they’re pressed on your chest to rest them on your hips.

“what did you just say?” you ask, your voice a measured anger. “i’m fucking what now?”

he raises his hands up like he’s pacifying you. “hey, hey. didn’t mean that, my pretty girl-”

“she’s not your anything, you mad wanker.”

the sound of simon’s voice makes you settle, a wave of safety and comfort washing over you, dousing the angry churning in the pit in your stomach. simon steps from behind the stranger, towering over him, before moving to stand beside you. his hand hovers, questioning, and you give him a soft nod that gets simon pulling you close to him. his hand falls to the small of your back, caressing, and you wonder if he knows that the man had grazed his hand there just minutes ago. if simon’s doing this to overwrite the unpleasant feeling that was sticking to you.

“oh,” the stranger breathes out and you notice the way his hands are trembling, the tight balls of his fists turning his knuckles white. “i, uh, i’m sorry, ghost.” then he’s off, running out of the bar with his tail tucked between his legs.

you huff at the realization that the mad man didn’t even apologize to you. what a fucking prick.

“you doin’ alright there, baby?” simon asks, pulling you to him. he settles on an empty bar stool – you are sure those were filled just minutes ago… – and tugs you so that you are standing between his legs.

he cups your cheeks, thumbs tracing lines just underneath your eyes, and it makes you drag a shaky inhale.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart. i should’ve accompanied you.” simon sounds distressed, his eyes furrowed in the intensity of his worry.

you coo at him, it’s your turn to cup his jaw this time. “i’m alright, si. i promise.”

he shifts his eyes between yours, searching for anything besides the truth, and he folds himself into you when he sees that you mean it. you laugh, patting at his head, wishing that he doesn’t have his balaclava so you can play with his hair, before turning to the bartender who, in the sudden absence of customers by the counter, is watching you two with a pinched smile.

“thank you again,” you tell him and he grunts, nodding. simon straightens up and groans as he stands, his big body unaccustomed to the tiny bar stools.

“yeah,” he says, addressing the bartender. “thanks for bein’ here for my girl, alex.”

the bartender – alex – just waves his hand around in dismissal. “it’s nothin’, really. now go away, i want customers.”

simon and alex laugh, sharing an inside joke, and you swivel your head around in confusion because now that alex had mentioned it, where did everyone go? and why are they all huddled together, far from the bar?

simon closes his hand on your wrist and pulls. you barely manage a goodbye to alex who waves at you in reply.

…alex?

“wait. that’s alex?”

best believe that simon has connections anywhere he goes. if not for himself, it’s for his girl!!!

me, shamefully staring at the word count (1.8k) of what should’ve been a drabble: well now…

[karinasbaby]

I was listening to Sabrina Carpenter today and Juno came on and there is a part in the bridge that got me thinking about hybrid!jake

"mark your territory" duh! He's a hybrid.

and the whole song is just so hybrid!Jake coded to me like his lover has been teasing him for a while about making babies and where he really wants to knot his lover and she finally say yes to him.

omg u are so right anon. this is so hybrid jake !!! (let’s picture black panther jake for this one) he’s always wanted to fully mark u, but he kept holding himself back bcs he knows how intense mating with a panther can be for a human. the urges he always had to scent you, mark you & knot u have been very crazy since the beginning. but when you start teasing him over this? knowing that he’s struggling to keep himself in check? that’s when he breaks fully.

it starts off with you cuddling him more in the mornings, u getting all needy and touchy when he’s just trying to leave the bed. whenever he tries to unwrap his tail from your thigh or your waist you quickly place your palm over it, asking him to stay. just a bit longer, just a bit more. and he melts, like entirely. especially when you start to get more touchy with him by kissing him all around the neck, not knowing that your lips r brushing over his most sensitive spots— or well maybe u do know. and ur doing it on purpose.

then it escalates to you not letting him pull away when he’s kissing you, he has you on his lap, hands gripping your hips with his claws completely gone and he’s so gentle with you. cradling you so softly like you’re the most fragile creature he’s ever seen, tail stroking your legs while his ears twitch in excitement when he’s kissing you. but when you start to trail kisses down his own collarbones & extend ur neck to show him the empty canvas that he can mark with his fangs? he almost loses it. almost. “baby, you can’t do that to me..” and he sounds so defeated. so affected like he’s in pain from holding back for so long.

“why not? jus’ want u to mark me .. isn’t that what panthers do with their mates?” and u keep holding him closer to you, hips now grinding unnoticeably on his bulge but his body is betraying him, he’s growing harder in his boxers, grip on u tightening as he exhales shakily. his resolve thinning by the second. “we do.. but i don’t wanna hurt you.” and this time he closes his eyes while ur arms wrap around his neck to litter kisses all over his face. “you’ll never hurt me, baby.”

and when he looks at you, he sees the honesty. he sees the need and the trust. and he knows that if there will ever be a time where he should claim you— it should be now.

that’s how he has you in the centre of his soft mattress— more like nest. his pillows all discarded around u & his blanket half covering both of your connected bodies while jake is talking to u, praising u as u take his length. so big, so abnormally huge and warm. it felt so hot, his cock sat so heavy inside of you and he had to kiss all of your overstimulated tears away. cooing at you when you finally started to whimper in pleasure the more he stayed within your walls that started to adjust to him now.

“so good baby.. you’re opening up more to me now. taking me so well, you’re almost there.” and you knew he meant his knot, the growing swell that pulsed and ached with need at his base that brushed against your entrance with every thrust, he didn’t push it in yet. just softly nudged against your soaked folds just to have u sigh pleasantly when his knot practically nuzzled into your entrance, he was whimpering. animal instincts taking over him to breed, to scent, to claim u. his pretty & pliant mate that’s taking him so good under him.

he’s holding u so close, strong arms wrapped tight around you while your walls sucked him in. fluffy tail coiled around your thigh just to keep you in position n keep u open for him, all the while his nose kept snuggling to your neck, licking over your skin with his barbed tongue to have you carry his scent. “please jake .. please knot me.” the second those words fell so brinkley from your lips jake groaned. holding back a sob as he nodded, kissing you over and over again. lips swollen and sticky with your saliva mixed with his thicker, more potent one that dripped out of his mouth like honey. “of course baby.. i’ll knot you. stay inside you forever till your cunt craves my knot all the time.”

and when he finally sunk inside of you, the burning stretch of his warmth— the most sensitive part of him that got engulfed by your pussy, he sobbed into your mouth. body shaking in overstimulation when your back arched against his. the stretch so massive, so painful but so addictive. the burn instantly making you clamp down around him as you gushed, and jake could only steady himself on twitching arms while he began to fill you up. a steady flow, warm and thick that released right into your cervix. it was so so much. his whimpers and purrs vibrated against your body as he kept filling you up continuously. his cum felt endless. overpowering and overflowing around your tight cunt but his knot sealed everything.

and once he was done, or well not really. he was still releasing— not as intensely as before, but he cradled you in his arms. careful to not tug on his locked knot as he laid next to you, pulling you to his chest and whispering praises all for you. he kept purring, kept releasing slowly while his knot pulsed like it knew it was home.

[bl00dalchemist]

The few yamato art you do makes me happy btw just wanted to let you know the way you draw the guy scratches my brain 🫶

YAMATO MENTION!!!!!!!!!!!!

[spooksier]

the people have spoken. and the people want their wives on a shirt.

zelda | falin <3

[starscream-is-my-wife]

https://www.tumblr.com/mckitterick/656710429731635200

Ohhh if the babies are little electric beings when young what if parents had carriers for the babies like that

Put babies in the fish tube

I think Starscream would use something like that, from what I remember the sparklings would hide in the plating of their parents until they get older cause they’re so small and squishy, but Starscream has missiles under his boobs, so when the sparkling is burrowing under his armor he’s like ‘damn I have to find some way to keep this thing from blowing us both up.’ Megatron has a black hole in him, he knows sparklings don’t go deep enough to reach internal weaponry like that, this is mostly so he won’t get toooo attached

Megatron would probably be offended at it at first but keeping something under your armor 24/7 is gonna get annoying so he ends up using it lmao

Starscream instinctively finds his ‘mate’ and baby gifts even if he doesn’t realize it, like that one eagle who keeps on flying huge sticks into his mates face

[anongalactic]

Could we please have more jinbrook? If you're not busy of course ( you have amazing art(

Look at what you've done. brook is dead and its YOUR fault

[mattsundaes]

Speaking of pillow jumping…bfb iwa guiding you through pillow humping because your shitty boyfriend (at least not as good as iwa) hasn’t been able to get you off, because that way he’s still not crossing a line (he totally is), that way he’s not corrupting you he’s just helping you, it doesn’t count if he doesn’t cum (he’s so hard he can’t see straight and the minute he’s alone he jerks off thinking of the noises you make and the face you make when you cum unable to stop yourself from saying his name)

iwa decides it's better if he positions himself somewhere behind you so he doesn't end up with the image of your face slack-jawed in pleasure while you're masturbating burned into the back of his mind until the end of eternity.

but instead, he's treated to the sight of your sleep shorts fighting a losing battle against the swell of your ass and the outline of your mound as the material rides up further with each movement of your hips.

which is somehow wholly worse as he fights the fucked up urge to tell you it'll feel better if you hump your pillow with no shorts or panties on at all.

which isn't a lie.

but he knows the sight of your bare, swollen pussy lips spread over the corner of the pillow will do him in entirely.