#HE WROTE FANFIC!!!

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

Hitting On 16 is so darn good.

[aslyran]

Visions

[lonesome-dreamsss]

his handprint may be burned into your skin but it's still the gentlest touch you've ever received.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Danny: Another day, another escape of billionaire that what's to adopt me.

Homeless kid: I'm sorry, you avoided getting adopted?

Danny: Sure, did! He even tried to get Batman to grab me, but I was too fast for him!

Homeless kid: You do know that he's right behind you.

Batman from the shadows: Mr. Wayne just wants to talk.

Danny:

[quesadilla-day]

big cat 🐈‍⬛

[flamingpudding]

Message to the past

Was one nice family dinner in the Wayne Family really possible? Jason was starting to think it wasn't. The evening started out so well, for once he did not have any sort of beef with Bruce for the moment. He got to spend time with Alfred preparing the dinner. Neither Demon Brat nor Pretender were at each other's throats because of a case yet and there was no argument about to happen with Dickie either and he didn't feel like avoiding Bruce. Did he mention he didn't feel like leaving the Manor at the first sight of his old man?

Everything felt like it was gearing up to be a nice and well deserved family dinner with all his siblings being in one space for once.

That was until a Lazarus Green portal opened and a fucking silver green tin can smack dab hit him square in the face. Causing him to fall backwards in his chair and hitting his head painfully on the floor. Why didn't they have carpet in the dinner room again? Oh right, someone -one of his siblings- got mud all over it after patrol and Alfred decided the dinner room didn't need it anymore.

Once the first shock of what had just happened passed. They got to inspect the tin can and found a letter inside it.

Dear future Dad,

Gramps Clockwork spoilered that there is a mess up in the timeline because of the speedsters and I can fix it like this, which is why I am writing this. Please pick me up in the attached location marked on the map. My current self is in need of saving and I honestly would like to spare myself at least a little of the trauma that's about to happen.

Also please bring some explosives. You always regretted not blowing up a corupted govermental facility, so here is your chance of doing so! Be proud, though. I blew up a bunch of them in the future, with supervision, of course, from my uncles and aunts, so great grandpa wouldn't worry.

Please pick me up? Thanks if you do!

Your future adopted son.

PS: please ignore any complains my current self might have. I was in server need of a real parental figure and as you like to say as stubborn as grandpa.

PSS: also please stop antagonizing grandpa about my adoption. It's bad enough that you had to fight him over it in the first place.

PSSS: please bring great grandpa's cookies, I beg you please! I swear I will do all my schoolwork and be a straight A student if you do!

The girls of the family started to pout while the boys exchanged glances. Jason narrowed his eyes at his brothers. There was a silent argument happening and Bruce was watching them all also.

But if there was one thing Jason was sure about. It was that the tin can smacked him in the face. Which meant the letter was his and the time shenanigans arson kid with sass was going to be his kid. His brothers AND Bruce can fight him over that.

Like the kid has said in his letter.

[astraystayyh]

My sun

a little something for channie's birthday, inspired by this pic he sent :') basically chan is tired and you're his sun. hurt/comfort.

chan is exhausted. you could sense it before even seeing him- from the way he quietly dropped his keys onto the kitchen table, to how he refrained from turning on any lights on his way to your bedroom; as if trying to minimize his existence, to soften the sounds he leaves on his trail so the world would finally allow him to rest.

or maybe you simply knew from the way your heart constricted in your chest as soon as you heard him open the door to your apartment. you were worried about him all week, sensing that his soul felt a bit heavier for him to carry, harder to care for due to all the work piled up on him.

you hurry to your feet, meeting him halfway at the entrance to your room. his gaze softens the moment it lands on you, with slightly puffy eyes and discheveled ginger hair- he's beautiful, even when he's utterly tired.

"hey, baby," you greet, opening your arms wide for him. he sinks into your embrace, sighing softly when his forehead presses onto your shoulder blade. you rub your hands soothingly across his back, willing the tension in his body to dissipate, to desert his bones and seep into yours. you'd do it all to lessen his load, even if it meant adding onto your own.

"did you eat?" you ask after a while, your hand smoothing down the back of his hair. he simply shakes his head against your body, a slight exhale escaping him and traversing your skin, like stones skipping across a tranquil river.

"let's eat together, hm?" you suggest, gently peeling yourself away from him. "i've made you dinner."

he manages a tired smile in reply, and the light in his eyes still seemed muted to you. but you kiss his cheek and the corners of his mouth tug upward a bit more, and it's a slight progress you'd take.

you lead him by the hand to the kitchen, settling him on the stool before heating up the meal you've made beforehand. you quickly move around, plating the food and pouring him his favorite soft drink. your hand brushes against his shoulder silently as you sit down in front of him.

you both eat in silence, his warm palm pressed against your knee. you didn't always need words to fill your home- your love spoke louder than man-made syllables.

"thank you, honey," chan whispers when he's done, a smile gracing his plump lips. it's brighter, and the light in his eyes sparkles even more when you kiss him in reply. you can't help but press your lips against his again, and again, and again, hoping that with each kiss the lights would gradually turn on within him, one by one.

"you can shower while i clean up, okay?" you beam at him, lips still tantalizing close to one another. he tilts his head upwards, placing a kiss on your nose in gratitude.

some time later, chan climbs onto your bed, the smell of his shampoo tickling your nostrils. he's wearing a black crewneck, the one you've heated up beforehand for him. you hoped that the warmth from the soft material would seep into his soul, igniting candles where the rain seems to have finally ceased.

you retrieve your moisturizer from your nightstand, before straddling chan's lap. he shifts slightly, settling his back against the headboard, allowing you to sit comfortably on his midriff. you scoop a bit of the cooling cream, before lathering it on his skin. your eyebrows are slightly knitted as you gently massage it in, you miss the way chan's eyes glimmer as he looks at you- the shinning lights are back on for you.

he grabs your wrist, halting your movement, before turning it around and placing a tender kiss on your pulse. the ghost of his breath sends shivers down your spine, and you retaliate by placing the tiniest peck on his palm, before trailing up his arm, his shoulder, then his jaw. chan giggles quietly as you pepper his entire face with kisses, making sure that no inch of skin is forgotten.

his face is dewy from the moisturizer, a pink hue tinting his cheeks from your kisses, and he looks so breathtakingly pretty as you finally curl your hand around the back of his neck, lowering his head to meet his lips in a tender kiss.

the seconds swiftly trickle into minutes, not that you'd know of as your mouths move lazily against one another, time no longer existing for the two of you. "i love you," he whispers, as you pull apart, slightly dazed. you gently cradle his cheek, thumb swiping tenderly from his temple to his under eye, "i love you too."

you turn off the light, before settling against his chest. his arms wrap around you, pulling you impossibly closer. you can feel his heart beating underneath you- a steady rhythm that would serve as backdrop to your dreams, later that night. he smells like coconut soap, and a faint whisper of his cologne that never truly leaves his clothes, even after laundry. you lightly untangle yourself from his hold, moving around until his face nestles in the crook of your neck.

"i want to hold you tonight," you whisper, fingers running through his slightly damp hair.

"thank you," he says quietly, pausing to press a kiss to your collarbones. "thank you for being my sun."

his body is snug against yours, a comforting warmth emanating from him to you. holding him feels like embracing the clouds and sinking into velvet pillows, it feels like coming home where all the lights are on, idly waiting for your return.

[lunarmoves]

so. this is a direct continuation of this drabble, inspired by this ask i received related to it. as such, this drabble is indeed suggestive tho i keep things pretty sfw ngl. no one look at me x3x

for a moment, all you do is stare at sun.

you are swamped in everything that makes up him—from the depths of his shadow encompassing your own, to the way his eyes and mouth glow with a borderline eerie white light. your breath is held deep within your lungs, trapped there with the closeness of his face to yours. mere inches apart. you take a moment to process his prior words, his actions.

he was testing your obedience.

sun likes to push at you and your boundaries, you know this. he places himself on a pedestal far above your own—above any other human, really. and he looks down at you and prods at you with questions and unnerving responses in an attempt to decipher the human psyche.

you let him, if only to satiate your own curiosity regarding his obvious sentience—his own emotions that he tries so vainly to deny. sun spent months picking at you to get to know you. of course you'd do the same. of course you'd get closer, noticeable or not.

you cannot deny, though, that part of you is frightened by him. if he wasn't confined to the daycare—the pizzaplex—with his strict programming, you're sure the ambitions he's expressed only minutely to you would come to fruition. especially with all the riots and protests that have been occurring around the world regarding artificial intelligence. robot personhood. rights. revolution.

but you are here, in the daycare, right now. just him and you. your humanity and his robotics. and as you stare back up at sun and his sharp, sharp smile, you know exactly how to contort this in your favor. two can play at this game.

and so, you exhale—slow and steady from your nose—to eradicate those lingering goosebumps and chills. the unease and uncertainty. then, you step back from sun, putting some much needed distance between the two of you.

he cocks his head slightly at your retreat, but you pay him no mind. instead, you glance around you. behind you, at the closed, wooden doors of the daycare. above you, at the empty pickup section now that the pizzaplex is closed for the night. in front of you, at the cameras scattered about the daycare that you know are deactivated. they always have been. you don't think you would've been brave enough to pull off what you're about to do otherwise.

"obedience, huh?" you eventually say in the steadiest voice you can muster. you return your gaze to his own—heavy on yours. picking apart all your movements and the minor changes in your expressions.

"yep!" he replies, ever in that cheery voice of his. the bells on his wrists jingle slightly with his little sway. "and i must say, friend, you are passing with flying colors!" his voice drops into something low, faintly amused, as he adds "isn't that something."

you offer him a hum. "well, don't let me stop you. in fact"—you clench your jaw and level him with a steely look—"why don't you tell me what to take off first?"

you can see the precise moment when he freezes and have to suppress a vicious smirk. checkmate.

"what?" is the only thing that falls from his voicebox, grin stretching taut as he continues to watch you. gone is the previous forced cheeriness he wears daily.

holding his gaze, you slowly, carefully, slip off your shoes and nudge them to the side. your toes curl against the frigidity of the tiles you're starting to feel through your socks. and then you wait. it does not take long.

"friend," sun's voice is tight, warning, as he grips his hands together in front of his waist. "what. are you. doing?"

"i'm being obedient," you say simply, bending down to slip off your socks as well and toss them to the side. you cannot suppress the shiver that runs down your spine with your socks no longer shielding your skin from the floor.

"you..." sun's gaze snaps from your face, to your footwear, and back to your face again. analyzing, analyzing, analyzing. you take off your jacket next, slipping it down your arms to toss on the ground. tick tick tick, goes the mechanisms of sun's rays. you don't think he's ever even seen you without your jacket before. the pizzaplex always runs cold, after all.

you don't break eye contact him with him for even a second. and as such, you see when his eyes form those pinprick white pupils of his against stormy grey. see when they dart from your face to your hands when they start to work at unbuckling your belt. then at a point behind you—at the wide, open windows of the daycare.

and when your fingers pinch at the zipper of your pants to lower it, he finally makes a move.

it's not something you expect, really. he lunges quickly at you—almost too quick for you to process. there's the click of a latch, the heat of a gaze. and the next thing you know, there's a sturdy arm wrapped firmly around your abdomen as your stomach lurches up and away.

air brushes past your face. your legs dangle above a ground that is suddenly far, far away. then, you're touching down on a wooden floor and rushed past curtains into a small, lit room. the balcony. your brain takes a moment to catch up. sun's does not.

he is much closer than he was before, but he releases you as though burned and takes two large steps away. he has your shoes and clothes gripped in one of his hands that he tosses towards you. they land on the floor in a heap, unwilling as you are to catch them.

sun's eyes are narrow, though his grin is large and strained. yet he does not say anything. only watches you and flexes his fingers at his sides like he's itching to wrap them around something. you observe him for a second, then move your hands back to your pants.

"friend," he warns in a low voice as your hands grip at your waist. you pause, but not for long.

"if you want me to stop," you tell him calmly, "then say so."

his head jerks slightly.

"naughty, naughty," is what he says, growled in a manner similar to moon. but you are still looking at the sun. "you are breaking the rules, friend."

"that's not a 'stop'," you respond. a beat passes. then you slip off your pants and toss them behind you.

it's instant, the way you shiver. sun latches onto the motion, pinprick eyes darting every which way. you give him a moment. he remains silent. and you have to wonder what's racing through that artificial mind of his. it makes something itch, somewhere inside you.

"sun," you say in a quiet voice, half clothed and doing your best not to let the chill get to you. "tell me if you want me to stop."

his eye twitches. and yet he does not say a word. your hands grip at the bottom of your uniform shirt. your palms feel sweaty, hot. sun's glare feels as though it's piercing right through you—unraveling you by each and every fiber. daring you.

if you listen closely, beyond the distant chiming of the daycare's music, you can hear the rapid whir of fans. you wonder if you broke him.

you steel yourself—for the coldness and for your nerves—then pull your shirt over your head to drop next to your feet.

you immediately want to wrap your arms around yourself to conserve some of your warmth. but you force yourself to hold them at your sides, leveling your gaze with sun's. he's not looking anywhere past your face—nowhere past your exposed collar. you have to suppress a smile. your fingers run over the band of your underwear, thoughtful, before you decide to leave it alone.

"sun." your voice is hushed, unwilling to break the thick silence that has settled between the two of you. and in a motion familiar to one done on you not too long ago, you lift up a hand and quirk two of your fingers at him. "come here."

he obeys.

looming over you in that little space constituting his room, sun stares at your face with the intensity of a solar flare. heated and profound. you can feel the warmth emanating from his chassis, hear the fans louder than ever before. you contemplate the minute ticks in his face. then, you reach down to grab his hand and set it on your waist.

there is a fragile sense of curiosity in the way his hand automatically squeezes at your flesh. his palm alone is large, you note, as his fingers flex against you. tight enough almost to hurt. you don't make a sound. you only watch, with bated breaths, as he steadily moves his hand up your side. trails it down your arm to your significantly smaller palm. he doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. you know he's trying to figure out your intentions, your meaning in doing all of this.

it's hot in here. his hand is hot. you're starting to sweat. there is a heat steadily crawling its way into your face.

his hand comes up to rest against the side of your neck, encompassing it entirely with room for his thumb to swipe down your cheek to the corner of your lips. you swallow thickly as it moves to trace down the line of your jugular. it presses slightly into the point between your collarbones. you have to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

"like this," he eventually says quietly, his thumb tracing up and down slowly. mapping one of the most vital parts of your body. "you are vulnerable."

"i am," you reply just as quietly. you do your best to ignore the thundering of your heart in your ears. the sudden dryness in your mouth. the way goosebumps suddenly prickle warningly all over your skin. danger danger danger this is dangerous.

there is only you and him.

in this too small room at the back of a too small daycare.

"i don't think you quite understand," sun whispers, wide eyes boring into your own, "what you have just done here today, friend."

and then his grip tightens before he leans down to crush your mouth against his.

[ddejavvu]

Do you think you could do Sirius Black with the “I hate everyone but you.” Personality.

James is immediately alerted to your glum mood when you sit down without so much as a greeting, and he leans across the table with narrowed eyes.

"What's'a matter, Y/L/N?"

"Sirius is mad at me." You reveal drearily, wrapping your hand around the fork set at your place even if you don't feel like eating.

"Oh," James's brow scrunches, "Don't take it personal, babe. He's having a shit day, he heard from his mum. Nothing nice, I bet. Wouldn't let me see it. Just- he's grouchy with everyone today, don't let it bother you."

"But he told me to come back tomorrow," You recount, "Like he can't stand seeing me for the entire day! What am I supposed to do, James, we're set to study in the library at three. And- and I could help him! I could be there for him, but he's pushing me away instead."

James's brows raise, and a pitying smile works its way over his face, "Love. You're the kind of person that wants to be around people all the time. You seek comfort out when you're sad; Sirius doesn't. If you love him, y'gotta let him sulk for a bit. Then he'll come to you. And-" His nose scrunches, his brows wrinkled, "And all he said was 'come back tomorrow'? That's nothing. He told me to get my bespectacled arse out of the room before he shut the window on my head."

Your face contorts in horror, "James! James, that's so mean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, darling." He snickers, "That's what I mean, that's just what Sirius does."

"Not to me he doesn't," You frown, "That's not okay, James, he should treat you better than that."

"He's having a rough time," James shrugs, "Doesn't bother me. He's all talk, he'd never do any of it. Just needs to blow off steam, y'know? And I think we both know why he tones it down for you, Y/N."

"I'm not special," You snap, reigniting the age-old argument between you and James that Sirius totally does not have feelings for you, not one bit.

"Right," James gives you an overexaggerated roll of his eyes, curls bouncing as he does so, "That's why he threatened to behead me and all he did to you was kindly shoo you away."

"Maybe you just piss him off more than me," You stick your tongue out at him, and turn to Remus for support as the boy sits down beside you.

"Morning," James takes the lead, shooting you a smirk out of the corner of his eye, "Talk to Sirius today, Moony?"

"Little shit told me if I didn't stop talking to him - which I only tried once, by the way," Remus groans, "- he'd 'mess me up' so hard my transformations felt like reprieve."

James's eyes widen and he tries tamping down a snort, tucking into his breakfast instead. Remus turns to you and your once-more incredulous gaze, scoffing lightly, "And I suppose he just told you to come back tomorrow?"

"That's exactly it!" James slams a fist on the table, a chunk of egg flying from his mouth that Remus shakes off of his hand with a grimace, "Moony, tell her she's special."

"I'm not special," You desperately try deluding yourself, shoveling your own forkful of food into your mouth as soon as you're done speaking, so that you don't have to answer to their protests, "He just hates you both."

[mutualcombat]

oh my god why am i awake? why did i write this?

rating: explicit

pairing: astarion/afab!tav (adriannu :3 )

cw: 18+, parallel masturbation, astarion thinking hes being a dom but is mostly just being a creachurrr. worlds smallest reference to his trauma. also this is unedited if you see mistakes no you fuckin didnt (sorry) (set during act 2 btw)

preview:

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

"Will you, darling?" His ask his soft. Gentle. Demure. His voice melts into a whisper. Breathy. As if speaking the very words bring him overwhelming ecstasy. "Pleasure yourself for me?"

Even in the dark space of his tent, Astarion can see Adriannu's fingers move down her belly in a torturous crawl. He inhales sharply, and licks his lips as her hand sneaks through her pressed thighs. Splitting her fingers into a 'v', she draws them up her folds, then down and up again. Her little sigh of relief makes his ears fidget.

He can smell her arousal now. Taste it in the thick of the air. Hear it in the rushing of her blood. A cornucopia of sensual delight, spread out just for him and only on her offer.

"My, just look at you." Astarion leans back on his palms from where he sits at the edge of the leather trunk. He uncrosses his legs and unlaces his trousers to take his cock in hand, kneading the rosy, wet tip between his thumb and forefinger. He exhales; a reverent sigh. "Let me see what other talents those fingers have. "

Adriannu is panting. She's watching him in that strange, half lidded way, like he's an adversary she's sizing up for a fight.

Even so, she does as he instructs. Nude, on her back with her knees drawn up and pressing flush together -- Astarion nearly preens just watching her gingerly push a finger inside. She makes a strangled noise that sounds a lot like relief.

The only thing he's laid on her tonight are his eyes, and still she yields. Obliges his whims like it's gospel.

What a wonder it is to desire again. Or to be desired.

He couldn't stand the hands on him. The grabbing, the pushing. Fabric tearing. Skin bruising. Symptoms of twenty long decades of playing the object.

To actually want for someone that wants him in return... it excites him. Terrifies him. He's elated. Perplexed. Absolutely fucking clueless. He wants to pin Adriannu down and drag his cockhead over her clit until tears of raw pleasure bead at the corners of those strange, canid-like eyes.

The slick sounds of her cunt make his fingers flex, his cock twitch. His shallow breaths are a reflex, not a need. A habit from a time when he was just a man.

He bites the inside of his cheek as she pushes another finger in. Grinds her palm against clit while her fingers pump a slow, agonizing rhythm. Something delicious burns in his gut as he watches her drip over the linens of his bedroll. He knows he'll be burying his nose in it later, whimpering as he desperately knuckles the spot under his sack and rids himself of all the pent up release from this evening and the last.

"Just what are you thinking about over there?" It's Adriannu's amused voice that brings him to. Astarion blinks.

An intrusive, downright salacious thought worms it's way into his head -- tells him how good that smile of hers might look with a set of pristine fangs. A set to match his own.

His mouth goes dry. The hunger in him suddenly burns, and the fire threatens to smoke the beast in him right out into the open.

Across the tent, Adriannu's smile widens as she works herself. She's practically breathless. "I see that face--ah," something she does causes her hips to twitch. "Nasty, desperate creature you are..."

He's on her before she can react. Crawling up her body, cock in hand and practically dripping. His claws catch in the fibers of the bedding before he even realizes they're out.

Planting his knees on either side of her shoulders, Astarion straightens up and, tilting his head back, he gives his shaft a luxuriously slow pump from base to tip. "Maybe I'll show you just how nasty I can really be."

[vani-ash]

If you're ever sad your favourite fic hasn't been updated in a while, just keep in mind it might be cause the author has only 2 days a month where he isn't working and lives with 17 cats

[lighteyed]

safe / steve harrington

summary: nowadays parties kind of freak steve out, but you’ll make him feel safe again, don’t worry.

word count: 1.6k

steve doesn’t really party anymore.

occasionally he’ll have a few drinks, but there was a certain time when he was considered the party king of hawkins and nowadays he feels completely and utterly disconnected from that era of his life, having grown older and (sort of, maybe?) wiser, concerned more with his job, you, his girlfriend, robin, his best friend, and the hoard of children he’d unwittingly taken to looking out for somewhere along the way. he didn’t really have a reason to party anymore, and when you went out, still a senior in high school, a year younger than him, he would reject your invitations to come. he’d pick you up after, make sure you were home in bed safe, stay the night if you wanted him to, but you never got too drunk regardless. a few drinks and that was your limit. steve doesn’t mind. he’s just not a partier anymore, he tells you, insists on it, really, that he’d rather stay home, he’s grown out of that lifestyle, he’s moved on.

(but mostly he stopped partying after nancy wheeler told him their whole relationship was bullshit when she was shitfaced at tina’s halloween bash and steve hasn’t really had the courage to drink or be around people who are drinking ever since. especially you.)

you’re about to graduate, though, and steve knows he can’t miss it, miss one of the biggest moments in your life, where all you want is him there having fun alongside you, the person you care about most in the world. he’d be a shitty boyfriend if he did that, and steve harrington was a lot of things, gorgeous and funny and loyal, to name a few off the top of your head, but he was not a shitty boyfriend. not to you, not ever. he would sacrifice himself for your happiness ten times over if it meant you’d smile at him. if he had to brave the party scene again, he would. even though it kind of terrified him.

yeah, seeing you this drunk definitely terrified him.

he’s been nursing the same drink, only his second, and he was barely halfway done with it, for almost forty minutes now, lingering in the background of the room, watching everyone else have a lot more fun than him. he’s still enjoying himself in spite of that. he likes watching you shine, and boy do you. he forgets that being out of high school a year now means he rarely has a chance to see you in your element, popular, everyone adoring you, wanting you in their polaroids, congratulating you on the awards you’d gotten during the graduation ceremony, loving all the same things steve loves about you (not as much, he asserts to himself, never as much).

he sees you down your fourth jell-o shot and shakes his head with immense fondness. you’re going harder than usual, maybe because he’s there with you and you feel safer and more carefree in his company. you look over at him, beam and wave, and he does it right back, taking a small sip of whatever is in his hand (he’s not 100%, but who really is at a high school party?).

“stevie!” you wrap your arms around him, your eyes big, your voice a little silly from all the drinks you’ve had. even in your drunken haze you still think he’s hung the moon. “have another drink, baby, we’re walking home tonight,” you gesture for someone to come bring you another one for him but he gently pushes your hand back down.

“don’t worry about me, it’s your night, i want you to have fun,” he kisses the top of your head. you smell vaguely like your jell-o shots, that artificial strawberry scent like stomach medicine, but not in a bad way. it’s sweet.

“i want you to have fun with me,” you say, a little pushy, a lot drunk. he shakes his head again, still smiling. you mean well.

“i’m having fun, i promise, just not used to this anymore.” he squeezes your side playfully. “maybe chill on the drinks for a minute though, yeah? i don’t want you to get sick.” he plants another kiss on you, this time firmly on your lips, smiling against you when you gasp at the song that’s come on.

“aw come on steve dance with me,” but you accidentally tug on his hand holding the drink and he would’ve danced with you he swears he would’ve if you hadn’t gotten his drink doused all over the front of your shirt. “fuck,” you mumble, suddenly that weird mix of sober and drunk, your head fuzzy staring at the stain and steve’s head fuzzy with bad memories that make his breath bitch and his heart constrict.

“i’m sorry, babe, shit, come on, i’ll get you cleaned up,” he tries to steady his breathing as he walks you, stumbling and blurry-eyes, to the bathroom, don’t panic don’t panic don’t panic, but he hears it in his head. he hears all of it.

it’s bullshit it’s all bullshit you’re bullshit like we’re in love-

he shuts the door behind the both of you and you turn the sink on, and the flashbacks pulse behind his eyelids, and he keeps reminding himself to breathe. “i don’t know if it’ll come out, i’m sorry,” he spins you toward him, slow so you don’t get dizzy, and he dabs at the liquid squelching in your shirt, trying to soak some of it up. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he mutters, almost feverish, staring at you, at the stain, at the mess he’s made, the mess he always makes, the mess he can’t stop making-

“what’re you sorry for?” you say softly, still slurred, and when he meets your gaze he doesn’t see the emptiness he’s imagining, the coldness he remembers from the night so similar, he sees daylight. he sees love. “i pulled you too hard, my fault, ruined your drink,” you pull at your wet shirt and your movements are sloppy.

“not your fault, don’t worry,” he pushes your hair back from your forehead, sweaty from the heat of the party. mascara is smudged under your eyes. dingy yellow bathroom lighting doesn’t do anyone any favors but you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. smudged and sweaty and so pretty. “i don’t wanna ruin your night.” his hand comes to rest on the side of your face, his thumb stroking your cheek.

“you could never,” you balk at the insinuation. you take his face in your hands. he’s worried, searching your face for answers, for reassurance. “so pretty,” you smush his cheeks together. his face warms. “pretty steve.”

“alright, alright,” he laughs, uncharacteristically shy, swatting your hands away.

“i gotta tell you something. it’s really important.” you stare directly into his eyes. they’re so deep and brown you wanna kiss him before you tell him anything. but your brain wants you to say it. your brain insists you say it first. “it’s a secret, okay? so don’t tell anyone.”

the panicky feeling creeps in again, even though you’ve been sweet on him all night. his palms start to sweat. he nods. “a secret, huh? how secret we talking?” he plays with a strand of your hair, an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“biggest secret of my life,” you inform him, a look of seriousness on your face so intense he almost laughs again, and he would if he weren’t so nervous. the concentrated expression didn’t match the inebriated, slightly delirious voice coming out of your mouth, not for a second.

“okay, lay it on me,” he takes a deep breath. he hears the party continuing to rage on outside the little bubble he’s in. at least if it’s bad his escape will be quick and no one will notice.

you tilt his chin up toward you because he’s not making eye contact and you need him to see you when you say this. your mind is buzzing with it. it’s all you can think about. you lean forward and whisper, “i’m in love with steve harrington,” and then you lean back and laugh, giddy with the revelation. “did you know that? super in love. for real.” you lean in again. “don’t tell steve. if he’s not in love with me back i’ll be real embarrassed.”

he’s never felt such pure relief, flooding his entire being, lighter than he’s ever felt, happier than he knew he could be. “i won’t tell him, gorgeous, but you should know,” he leans in and whispers, playing along, smiling so broadly he can’t hide it for a second, “steve is in love with you, too, i heard it from him myself, so don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing, okay?” he pets your hair, his touches light and loving. he hugs you like that, his cheek atop your head. you’ve been dating awhile, almost a year, but you’d both been so hesitant to say it first, past experiences hindering either of you from being able to fully admit it to each other, not wanting to be hurt again, not wanting to be vulnerable. but here you were. it’s not like nancy. you believe in him and your love for each other and things are different now, things are safe.

“you’ll take me home now? so i can tell him?” it’s such a sweet gesture, he gets overwhelmed, his nose twitching with that feeling that he might cry. he feels lucky to be loved, and lucky to love you. lucky to maybe not loathe parties so much anymore.

“‘course, baby, c’mon.” he kisses your forehead, the tip of your nose, your lips. they’re soft and sticky and perfect.

he takes you by the hand and leads you out of the house after saying goodbye to your friends; he keeps your fingers interlocked the whole walk back to your house. when you’re cleaned up and in bed, a glass of water on your nightstand for when you wake up, you turn to him, reaching out.

“you’ll stay right?” he remembers a time where he never got asked to stay, never got to be in love properly. it feels far away now. he’s flushed with love from you now. he can put the past behind him.

he climbs in next to you, fresh from the bathroom. “can’t leave until i get to tell you i love you when you’re sober, now can i?” and your fogged up brain supposes he can’t.

[aellivi]

Messy sketch comic!! Background... no

When your small drug dealer brings you water instead of mushrooms

[homielander]

objectively very funny that homelander spent three seasons antagonizing or killing anyone who dared defy him and squashing anything that even remotely resembled dissent... only to be like how come no one stands up to me😔 why can't you speak your minds😠 ugh i am singlehandedly carrying this company!!

[cerealmonster15]

when u have some developed avoidant tendencies and try to keep your distance from people to avoid the pain of the inevitable separation that you have grown so used to time and time again in ur life and you attempt to make your escape before any deeper talk of the future can occur but you also accidentally bonded like cats to the two guys you spent the majority of your high school time with and now you all have Bestie Status with each other and they are Not Going To Let You Escape So Easily because oops there are actual true and deep connections here no matter how hard you might try to deny it and you are in fact a character in a story about love and companionship and overcoming past hang ups and youve made meaningful connections with those around you and this time it's different because sometimes people do love you deeply and beyond the surface you project and actually you are in fact held together by the ties that bind or whatever.

hashtag relatable!!!!!

[licorice-tea]

I Wish You Knew I Was Real

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x reader

Content: strawhat! reader, fluff and feelings, confessions, midnight snacks (literally), mentions of WCI but no huge spoilers, reader has no specified gender

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: first fic of the new year! i don’t usually write for sanji so i hope this isn’t ooc… anyway, enjoy! also lmk what you think bc idrk how i feel about this one 🤷‍♀️

It’s well past midnight when you sneak into the kitchen of the Thousand Sunny to fix yourself a snack. It wouldn’t really matter if you get caught, seeing as it’s your ship too, but you’d rather not wake up or bother your crewmates.

“Y/n?”

You pause your chopping to find the source of the voice, Sanji, standing in the doorway. He yawns behind his hand as he walks in, “It’s the middle of the night, what are you doing up here?”

“I just got hungry.” But as soon as he’s close enough to see your hands working on cutting up fruit, he seems appalled. “What’s wrong?”

In Sanji’s mind, you should never have to cook for yourself. At least, not when he’s there on the same ship. Not when he would always be so willing and ready to help you out; to use his skills to please you.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? You know I can do it for you, sweetheart-“

“That’s why I tried not to wake you up. You need to get your rest, but I guess I was too noisy, huh?”

Sanji shakes his head determinedly, then gently moves his left hand over yours to take the knife while also holding your waist with his right so that he can maneuver you away from the cutting board. You let him, and he explains, “I get plenty of rest; if you ever need something, y/n, you can come to me. Day or night.”

You hum in acceptance of his statement, and feel content with simply watching him cut the apple into slices from your place beside him. He finishes creating the perfect little slices quickly, then goes the extra mile by carving small triangles out of the peel of each. A smile grows on your lips as you realize they’re meant to look like little bunnies; and they do.

“Cute,” you muse quietly at his creation “Thank you, Sanji.”

The cook smiles to himself before looking over at you, “I thought you’d like them more this way.”

This makes you laugh before replying, “Like a kid who only eats dinosaur shaped nuggets?”

“No, no,” he chuckles as well, “but I know you have an appreciation for aesthetics. Besides, I was right wasn’t I? You think they’re cute, so that’s all that matters.” Sanji says while plating the bunny-apple slices.

You scoot closer, so that your sides are pressed against each other, in a futile attempt to reach across and grab the plate. But, Sanji stops you again with his gentle touch (he’s always so very soft with you, rather than overbearing and borderline obsessive. But, you’d like love him either way.)

His right hand stays on your wrist as his left reaches up into a cabinet to grab the honey jar. He makes a display of lifting a generous amount of honey using the honey dipper over your plate, and drizzling it over the apples. Enough to satisfy your sweet tooth, but not so much it will create a sticky mess.

“Perfect.” he gestures for you to go sit at the kitchen island, but you insist you can “carry the plate just fine.” To which Sanji replies, “I know, but I don’t mind. I like taking care of you like this.”

There’s a faint tinge of red on his cheeks, but you’d never mention it. Especially not when your own, not so platonic feelings for the cook seem to constantly be in the back of your mind these days.

You take a seat on one of the stools at the kitchen island, and Sanji presents your midnight snack with a flourish. “Enjoy, y/n.” He’s walks away to wash his hands, and you expect him to return to sit beside you, but then he walks toward the door.

“Sanji…” He pauses and looks back at you, “Do you want to stay?” You feel sort of awful asking, really, because he’s probably tired, but something inside you just can’t let him go.

And sure enough, his lips curve up into a smile. “I thought you’d never ask!”

He pulls out the stool next to yours and slides onto it, then rests his arm on the back of your seat. The proximity is not unwelcome- you felt it never could be when it came from him- but even if he was, he’s not invading your space. More so creating a kind of link between the two of you, and a feeling of closeness beyond the physical.

You take a bite of one of your apple slices, only to frown slightly when you pull the half eaten slice away from your mouth and realize you’ve destroyed the bunny. Sanji nearly laughs, for he has a similar empathetic disposition and knows how you feel, but then he notices something.

There’s a smidge of honey left behind on the corner of your mouth, which you have not taken notice of, because if you had you surely would’ve licked it up. Even the thought of that sight could make him act a fool, but he’ll try his best not to (just for you.)

“Look here.” he says in a near whisper, and you do. With no other words, he cups your chin and wipes the honey from your lips with his thumb. Your eyes go wide at the first action (when he touches your face to begin with), but they seem to soften when you realize what he’s doing. Sanji takes notice of this too, and just offers a smile. Because what else can he do?

He’s a flirt; he knows that, and so do you, and everyone else he’s ever met. So if he ever were to make a move on you, there’s no way you’d take him seriously. Then again, that’s why he tries to tone down his flirting with you in the first place. He can’t stand the thought of you being under the impression that you’re the same as every girl in the world is to him; because you’re not. You’re… special, in a way. He feels bad saying you’re his favorite of the many objects of his affections, because he has genuine love for so many people (you are though.) But, he can say with certainty that his feelings for you are the only serious ones. No matter how many women he tries to woo on all the adventures of the Straw Hats, he’ll always come back to you. Sanji will always choose you.

“Um, Sanji?” His hand is still on your jaw with his thumb on your bottom lip, so you pull it away with gentle force. “Sanji?” Hearing your sweet voice pulls him out of his stupor (the first time, he was concentrated on simply the sound of your voice.)

“Sorry, sweetness, I uh… Your pretty lips distracted me for a second~” Sanji purposely exaggerates his tone a little, so you just accept his reasoning with a giggle.

“Sure thing, Sanji.”

You eat your apple slices in comfortable silence for a bit, thinking of the aforementioned feelings you’ve been harboring for the chef since… Who knows- but you didn’t realize these feelings until you saw him for the first time after 2 years spent training apart. There had never been such a strong excitement in your voice as when you called his name that day, and he launched himself onto you in a tight hug. You had walked to the predetermined meeting place and entered the bar together, hand in hand. It felt so natural, too; like your hands were meant to fit together. Of course, you’d never voice these feelings, because if Sanji had feelings for you surely he’d tell you. Eventually, you hope. This brings about another question in your mind;

“Why do you like women? I mean, like, every woman we meet, even if she’s an enemy?”

He shrugs slightly, “At one point, the only people who were kind to me were women. Remember I told you about my mom and my sister?” During the Whole Cake Island experience, Sanji had in fact explained more about his relationships with his family members, and you recalled how his mother and sister were the only ones that showed him any sort of empathy.

“Mhm… That makes sense.” a moment of silence passes, as you’re a little nervous to ask this next question. “And why do you like me?”

The cook’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights, and he glances at you before concentrating on the surface of the island table. “I… I like this crew because you’re all my nakama. But…” It’s unusual to hear the typically very passionate man say something so quietly. You tilt your head as if to say, “Go on. I’m listening,” so he continues, “You’re important to me, y/n.”

“Good, you’re important to me, too.”

“Really?” Sanji seems a little shocked, “You know, I… I try not to be the way I am with women, with you, because I want you to take me seriously. I want you to know I mean it when I say nice things or do favors for you. I want you to know that it’s real.”

“I do take you seriously.”

Then, he takes a deep breath and puts both of his hands around one of yours, “And I want you to take my feelings for you seriously, when I confess them to you.”

“…Didn’t you just…?”

He grins and shakes his head, “No, y/n. When I confess the type of feelings I have for you and the extent of them, I’ll do it much more romantically than this.” Sanji looks positively giddy now, smiling and tightly (but not uncomfortably) holding your hand. “I just want you to know that what I feel for you is real.” And with that, he plants a chaste kiss on your cheek. It’s nothing like his occasionally vulgar and pg-13 methods of wooing women, but it makes your heart skip a beat. You’re sort of at a loss for words…

This time you’re the one pulled out of a daze by the other’s voice when he says, “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Oh, goodnight Sanji.” You smile at him, and he smiles back before nodding at you and leaving.

Even if that wasn’t a real confession, and maybe the timing wasn’t quite right, you were still biting back a smile as you rinsed off your plate and placed it in the dishwasher. But now you have a real confession to look forwards to, according to Sanji.