zyafics

[zyafics]

Is red Ferrari chase being continued

yes it is! i am just busy rn bc its the end of my internship and i need to do some final wrap up but rest assured i WILL be continuing rfc

[zyafics]

@tags him being a werewolf hunter who came to reader with his back scratched and bloodied and reader doesn’t know what’s going on… she cleans him up but half of his wounds are stitching themselves up and he’s quiet. reader and him go to bed but he wakes up, hot. burning. entering a heat…

yall i fuckin lied i’m writing a werewolf!rafe fic so to the freaky girls… heyyyy

[zyafics]

yall i fuckin lied i’m writing a werewolf!rafe fic so to the freaky girls… heyyyy

[zyafics]

i LOVE lovesick dick grayson 🙂‍↕️

Dick Grayson and his terrible, no-good, completely selfish habit of waking you up when he comes home (to your apartment, even though it’s starting to feel more like his with that empty drawer he filled and his toothbrush sitting beside yours).

It’s never the sound of his boots hitting the floor. Never the creak of the window as he slides in with grace. It’s him. The weight of him. The heat.

The way his lips find the bare skin of your calf, soft and warm from the night air, kissing up to the back of your knee with a sigh, don't you know, he’s been waiting all week to be right here. You stir, faintly, brows twitching in your sleep, but he doesn’t stop. Not when the taste of your skin fills the longing void within him. Not when you smell like home.

The mattress dips under his weight as he crawls in behind you, slow and careful. He’s still in his suit, half-unzipped, exposing the sharp lines of his chest and the thin sheen of sweat clinging to his collarbones. Dark hair messy, windswept from his patrol. His lashes long and fluttering as he leans down to kiss the curve of your spine, barely brushing over the hem of your shirt.

You mumble something, maybe his name. Maybe just a sleepy little hum. Either way, it makes him smile. That boyish, heart-melting grin that never quite fades when he’s with you.

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear as he slips an arm around your waist, tugging you into him. You fit like a puzzle piece against his chest, back to chest, his legs tangling with yours as his face buries into the crook of your neck.

He smells like soap and night wind and the faint metallic tinge of his suit, but beneath it all, it’s him. That scent that lingers on your pillowcase even after he’s gone.

“I missed you,” he breathes, plush lips brushing your skin between words. “Only been a week, but it felt like forever.”

His voice is soft and hoarse with exhaustion, but there’s a giddy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he trails kisses across your shoulder. “Wish we lived together already. I’d be good, I swear. Wouldn’t wake you like this.”

(Liar)

Because in the morning, he’ll be worse, whining into your shoulder when you try to get up, draping himself across you like a warm, cozy blanket, blinking up at you through thick lashes and pouting for just one more kiss. Just one more minute.

Sometimes he even fakes sleep just to keep you in bed longer, breathing slow and steady, arm tightening around your waist like he doesn’t really want to let go. And when you cave, when you sigh and snuggle back into him, you swear you catch the smug little smile that curls on his lips.

But what can he say? He’s a fool in love and the bed’s never warm enough without you in it.

DC masterlist

[zyafics]

little announcement! i've been thinking about this for a while and with engagement steadily declining (which, honestly, wasn't a big factor in my decision; i don't really look at my numbers), i want to say that i won't be as active as i was before—especially during the creation of heartbreak: live—because i have bigger priorities i want to focus on. applying for grad school, finishing out my year, conducting research, writing my book(s), and sort-of preparing for adulthood (jobs, internships, moving—screaming), i kinda been going offline to figure that out.

that won't mean i'll deactivate or completely leave tumblr. this has—and forever will be—such a comforting place. i made lifelong friends, met incredible people, and grew as a writer on levels i never thought would be possible. plus, i have so many friends who are still writing and posting, so you bet your ass i'll be here to read, comment, and reblog their works on my blog.

i just say this to give a baseline expectation for the foreseeable future. i don't know when play fake is going to finish, or brother's rival, or when i'm going to even start all american sinners. i still have so many works i want to post—and i'll probably still post them, just slower—but i'll still be here. just a little more quiet <3

literally, it's not a goodbye. don't treat it as such. just a... see you later!

— Z

[zyafics]

MY BBYGIRL HOW ARE YOU???

ive missed you so much!!

-🦉🎀

MY BEAUTIFUL OWLETTE!!! hi hi hi!! i HAVE MISSED YOU AND YOUR LITTLE BOW 🥹 honestly really good life and i'm very grateful! i'm busy but productive and i'm actively making strides for my career, personal, and hobbies so this is all i truly ever want!!

how are YOU!! update me!!

[zyafics]

zya !!! why did kezzie deactivate? 😭😭😭😭

SHE DID WHAT???

[zyafics]

What would happen if I said omegaverse Rafe?

girl i hear u and i'm WITH you!! heat, knotting, mate claiming.... 🙂‍↕️

[zyafics]

i miss you zya baby!! i hope you're doing good

ive been so busy! research, work, reading, writing, gym and then repeating that cycle all over again 😭 i feel like sisyphus

[zyafics]

OH THIS ANALYSIS EATS DOWN I GASPED

“To me, the core of that attraction is that she is a better reporter than he is. Think about being Superman for a second. The Olympic record for weightlifting is 1,038 lbs., but you could lift more than that as a child. The record for the 100 meter dash is 9.58 seconds, but you can travel over 51 miles in that time. Going to Vegas? You don’t need your X-Ray vision to win at Blackjack, because you can just count the cards while holding down a conversation about nuclear physics. Without really trying, you are better at just about everything than anyone else in the world. However, (as Mark Waid once pointed out in a podcast with Marv Wolfman) none of that really translates to your chosen profession. Typing really fast does not help your prose. Being able to lift a tank does not help you convince a source to go on record. It is as near to competing straight up with normal people as Superman would ever be capable of. Even then, it comes easily enough to him that you get a pretty lofty perch at a great paper very early in your career. It is just in this one context, there is someone better than you are: Lois Lane. As mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent, you reach up for the first time in your life and she rejects you. To me, it is an inversion of the Luthor story. Luthor sees someone above him and feels hate. Superman sees someone above him and feels love.”

—

Dean Hacker, comment on “Giving Lois Lane A Second Look, For The First Time” by Kelly Thompson (CBR: She Has No Head!)

#GoLois

(via wickedjunkie)

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his arms tucked behind his back and his smile on his face? proper clois indeed!!

Just look at that smug smitten smile he knows exactly what he's getting dragged into when she brings him back there. We love our horny horny dirty couple. Romantic yes but horny.

[zyafics]

oh my little heart this is so adorable

| your daughter not recognising satoru after he cut his hair !!

you didn’t expect him to actually do it.

he’d been threatening to for weeks, though. “it’s too hot,” he’d whine, flopping onto the couch, long white strands falling into his mouth. or “i’m basically shedding,” while brushing out his ends with your comb. always followed by: “i’m cutting it all off, you won’t even recognize me.”

you always hum, unconvinced. “you’d never survive the heartbreak.”

turns out, you were right—just not your heartbreak.

it starts the second he walks through the front door. he’s grinning, proud of himself, sunglasses still pushed up into his now much shorter hair. you don’t even get the chance to greet him because your daughter—the sweet little toddler that she is—just stares.

like he’s an intruder.

“…hi,” he says, smile twitching a little.

her tiny brows scrunch up.

then she points. “mommy? who’s that.”

you blink. look at gojo. look back at her.

“baby,” you start gently, already smiling, “that’s daddy.”

her nose scrunches. “nuh uh.”

gojo’s voice jumps an octave “excuse me?”

your daughter doesn’t even flinch. she hugs your leg tighter and mumbles, “you’re not daddy. he’s pretty.”

gojo blinks. “…i’m pretty though.”

“no you’re weird,” she says matter-of-factly. then she looks up at you like she’s concerned. “who is this man?”

you try to hold it in, but it bubbles up in a laugh, your hand flying to cover your mouth. gojo shoots you a look—devastated, betrayed, offended.

“you’re laughing at my pain,” he accuses.

“you look like you’re about to cry.”

“because my own daughter called me ugly, sweets.”

“no she said weird.”

“that’s worse!”

you shrug, trying to stay calm while your daughter peeks around your leg again, eyes narrowed. “maybe you should’ve waited until after bedtime to go and get an identity crisis.”

he glares. “this is discrimination against people with good bone structure.”

“you cut your hair, satoru. not your jawline.”

“she doesn’t care about my jawline,” he whines. “she liked the fluff. she used to call me cotton candy.”

“okay, well. she also tried to lick your head once.”

“it was endearing!”

you’re giggling again when he crouches down to her height, eyes soft now, voice quiet.

“hey,” he says. “i know i look different, but it’s still me. promise.”

she stares at him. considers. then lifts one small hand and gently pats the top of his head.

“…you feel like a hedgehog.”

you bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud.

gojo groans. “i shaved off my parental rights, didn’t i.”

but she’s still standing there, little hand still petting him. her frown has softened into something closer to curiosity now.

“you talk like daddy,” she says.

“yeah?”

“and you smell like daddy.”

“that’s…. weird—”

“…maybe you are daddy.”

“thank you!”

she sighs, like she’s doing the world’s heaviest emotional labor, and then opens her chubby arms for him to pick her up. gojo does immediately, practically cradling her like she’s been lost at sea.

“daddy,” she whispers seriously, “next time ask mama first.”

“yes ma’am,” he breathes, resting his cheek against her head like he’s just been forgiven by god himself.

you roll your eyes with a grin as he mouths ‘she loves me again!!’ over her head.

—

taglist - @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto

[zyafics]

oh i LOVE this pairing!!

[zyafics]

[zyafics]

Fuck marry kill: Toji, Sukuna, Nanami 😌

NOOOOOO MY MENNN 😭😭😭😭

fuck toji (he’ll be so good), marry nanami and kill sukuna (before he kills u)

[zyafics]

m...me wwhen he...

full pic of the thing

[zyafics]

oh this is so adorable

It’s breakfast, the kids are still half-asleep and yawning, pajamas wrinkled with cereal bowls clinking on the table, and Kento’s standing at the counter pouring orange juice—still shirtless from when he woke up, because you begged him to stay that way just a little longer since he’s always in his dress shirt and slacks just an hour after waking up like who the hell does that.

And that’s when your oldest squints up from their seat and goes:

“Daddy… what’s that on your back?”

You freeze mid-bite, spoon halfway to your mouth while Kento stiffens ever so slightly, his back muscles twitching under the sudden attention. He glances over his shoulder with practiced calm, the man who can handle million-yen clients and diaper blowouts without flinching—but even he hesitates when he sees those little curious faces blinking up at him.

“What do you mean?” he asks calmly, already knowing exactly what they meant.

“Those red spots,” your youngest chimes in, finger pointed like they’ve made some shocking discovery. “Are those…owies? Did you fall down?”

You nearly choked on your food. Kento turns to you for backup with his eyes narrowing like it’s a signal, but you’re no help at all—trying desperately not to laugh, lips pressed tight with your shoulders shaking as you try to contain yourself.

“Uhh…” He clears his throat, reaching for a shirt to tug on, finally. “They’re, uh…grown-up stuff”.

The kids make faces in sync. “Like taxes?”

“Worse,” you mutter under your breath.

Kento shoots you a look as he pulls his shirt on. “No,” he says a little too quickly. “Just Mommy was being a little silly”.

You raise an eyebrow at him all innocently. “Was I?”

He leans down to whisper in your ear as he passes with the juice. “You’re getting it back tonight”.

You grin over your coffee. “Good. Then you’ll have even more explaining to do”.

Later that day, your youngest hands him a Band-Aid. “For your owies, Daddy”.

He takes it with a resigned sigh and ruffles her hair before planting a kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart”.