#I had to write this

[ravens-bird]

Maybe, Meant to Be.

Pairing: Sylus x GN!Reader

Tags: Valentine's Day fic lol, fluff, love confession, first confession, established relationship, kitten. Nicknames used - Sweetie, Kitten.

wc: around 1k.

Note: So I'm back to crying over him... I blame today's Valentine's/Azure's Blessings Festival messages.

Inspired by This Fanart I found reuploaded on Pinterest.

You Don’t Know When It All Began. 

Was it when he first smiled at you — genuinely, without his usual sharpness? 

Was it when he pretended to be so bothered by a stray cat that gave birth outside one of his villas, yet still took in the only surviving kitten, placing it in a high place so it wouldn’t escape or, worse, get hurt?

Or maybe it was when he tried to comfort you when you were having a bad day, humming off-key, knowing it would make you smile?

Oh, or was it the moment he stepped in front of you during a wanderer attack, shielding you without hesitation — prioritising your safety over his own? 

Or perhaps it was all the times after that, when he wordlessly stepped in, guarding your back so you could focus on the fight, knowing he would keep you safe? 

Sylus may have brushed these off, claiming that it was nothing serious, but you knew. 

You knew that it was so much more. 

That you meant so much more to him than he let on. 

From grand gestures, like the time he won a boxing championship and dedicated the victory to you, slipping the ring symbolising his victory onto your finger as he announced that he won just for your sake.

To the small, simple ones. Adjusting your coat on chilly nights so you don’t get cold. Sending Mephisto or the twins to keep an eye on you when he couldn’t be there himself, especially when you insisted on running headfirst into danger. Reading an entire book about candy-making — mastering it, even — just so he could give you candy he made himself on Valentine’s Day. 

Even eating the accidentally ruined chocolate you had made while practicing. 

You don’t know when it all began. 

Maybe falling in love with Sylus had happened this way — a slow, steady trust building over time, until without realising it, you had let your guard down around him.

Piece by piece, you had given him fragments of your heart, never noticing how much of it he held. And by the time you did, you were already falling — headfirst, hoping he will catch you in his arms. 

And he did. Every time. Steadily. Unfailingly. 

Now, as he stands in front of you, holding a kitten in his arms, his gaze soft as the tiny creature nuzzled into his chest, his smile unguarded, there’s a warm, tingling feeling in your chest.

He hasn’t noticed the change in your expression, too busy entertaining the snuggly feline in his arms. But the only thing you can think is I love you. 

You don’t think he realizes it, and keeping it to yourself didn’t feel right.

So you say it.

“Sylus.”

“Hmm?” There’s a smile playing on his lips as he glances up, and the second he sees your expression, he blinks. “What’s wrong, Sweetie?”

Your lips twitch, and warmth blooms in your chest, spilling over as the words finally leave your mouth.

“I love you, Sylus.”

For a moment, he appears startled, caught off-guard. His eyebrows lift, his lips parting in surprise as he processes the words. 

But then, it changes. A slow, pleased smile spreads across his face, and the warmth in your chest spreads all the way to your fingertips as his cheeks tinge a faint pink. 

A rare sight. He appears almost bashful as he chuckles softly, saying the words that have you smiling so hard that your cheeks hurt. 

“I love you too, Sweetie.”

You step closer, reaching to cradle his cheek, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. His skin is faintly warm under your touch, and though his blush has cooled, the pleased expression he's wearing tells you that you were right to tell him, after all. 

How else would you have seen him like this? 

You open your mouth to say something more, but before you can, a tiny paw presses against your chin, accompanied by a rather indignant meow that has you snapping out of the moment. 

You look down and notice the kitten squirming in his arms, clearly displeased about being trapped between the two of you. You laugh softly, instead reaching out to scratch behind its ears.

Sylus hums, amusement lacing his voice. "Where did that come from?" 

You shrug, giving the kitten’s tiny nose a light boop before looking at him again.

"Felt like telling you.” Your voice is light, honest. "Thought i should be upfront about my feelings."

Because you know he struggles with this — accepting love, believing he deserves it. That somewhere, deep down, he still wonders if happiness is something he’s allowed to have. You see it in the way he sometimes hesitates when you hold his hand, in the way he brushes off his own kindness like it’s nothing. 

But it’s not nothing. He’s not nothing. And if he won’t believe it himself, then you’ll just have to remind him, over and over, until he does. 

He chuckles again, shaking his head, but when he shifts the kitten to one arm, and takes your hand in another, giving it a gentle squeeze, you know he’s learning to believe it. 

“Your words are coated in honey, Kitten.”

He says it a touch teasingly, and you roll your eyes, reaching your free hand up to lightly pinch his cheek. His eyebrows lift, but he doesn’t move away. 

“Let’s go home, Sylus.”

He shrugs, fingers lacing through yours as you turn to walk together, the kitten nestling sleepily into the crook of his elbow.

And as you glance at Sylus, feeling the warmth of his touch, you think — This is it. This is exactly where I’m meant to be. 

Maybe, it was always meant to be.

Masterlist.

Divider from here.

[gojonanami]

thinking about reader chewing out the higher ups in a meeting and then going apeshit on them over how they treat gojo while satoru is just sitting down in the corner enjoying the shitshow like

'hmm... why does this give me a boner? :)'

hes disgusting 😮‍💨

but he deserves to be stood up for

The door bursts open, the candle wicks crackle falling silent as you extinguish them, just as you plan to do to the elders.

And for once, the ancient beings weren’t scared of the monster that was your husband behind you, but the one in front of them.

“I heard you had decided to take issue with my husband’s defense of his students,” your voice was quiet, but deadly — yes, you weren’t as powerful as your husband, but it didn’t mean you could snuff out each of these men as easily as a candle’s flame.

“Sweetheart—“ Satoru says, a chuckle in his voice, “you don’t have—“ and you’re cutting off his sentence with a glare, rest of his sentence stuck in his throat before he swallows it with a smile, “I’ll wait outside for you, Princess,” throwing a wide grin to the elders, “I’ll be waiting.”

“You dare to take that man’s name in vain when he has done you the favor of letting you live as long as you have—“

“You insolent—“ and the air is sucked from the room, your cursed energy taking its place — and it’s a warning, a warning to stay silent until you’re done speaking.

“He has done nothing but raise up the next generation, and all of you have done nothing but antagonize and endanger every sorcerer,” and your fingers curl into fists, “and you have the audacity to call my husband a liability, a monster,” and you give a terse chuckle, your eyes glow, not with the warmth they did when you smiled at your husband, but with the rage and fury you would always defend him with, “you don’t know what a monster is,” and your cursed energy emits in larger waves, as your lips curl, “but I’d be happy to show you.”

“You didn’t have to pull me out of there,” you pouted, as Satoru had a firm arm around your waist, “it wasn’t like I’d actually kill them,” you left off the ‘yet’ though you know your husband felt the same.

“I know, I know you wouldn’t allow me to miss that, sweetheart,” and your brow furrows, as you continue to walk, until finally reaching the exit, his lips curled in a wide grin.

“Then why—“ and he’s pressing a hard kiss to your lips, a gasp he eagerly swallows with glee, as his fingers grasp at the nape of your neck, his tongue sliding against the seam of your lips.

And he finally pulls away, your pants filling the silence, as he steps forward to press himself against you — your eyes widen — all of him.

“Seeing you like that, do you know how hard you made me sweetheart?” And you’re snorting, but he’s dragging his thumb over your lips, “I love you,” and his voice softens as his gaze does, because he knows you love him — not as the strongest — but as Satoru Gojo.

“I love you too.”

[fangirleaconmigo]

In my mind palace/alternate history to the alternate history, Robin goes home with Ramy.

He travels with him all the way to India just to meet his family, to enjoy their hospitality, and to explore Ramy's home through his eyes. It is joy, because they never imagined that this luxury would be afforded them. Freedom. Solitude together.

Escape from Oxford doesn't exactly change their relationship, but it somehow magnifies it. For all that they know about each other, there are parts they can never quite see clearly, living in a city where Ramy is always performing, and Robin is always hiding.

Mischief, stubbornness, native tongues, old songs, memories, irreverence, childhood passions they laugh to remember, it all bubbles to the surface.

It is the first time Robin understands the word home in a very long time. The lightning and thunder between them rumbles. It transforms. It explodes into fireworks that Robin can hold in his hands, for just a moment.

In a quiet moment under a banyan tree, Robin scoots close to Ramy and says softly, without looking at him, "If I ever lost you, I don't think I could go on".

Ramy says gently, fondly, "There's no need to be morose, Birdie, we are young and free, which means that we are immortal," and he slings his arm around Robin's shoulders.

Robin wiggles closer, against his warmth, and insists that he means it. He can't say what he means, but inside he knows that he has lost so much, he truly thinks that his soul is too damaged, he wouldn't be able to weather it. Ramy is the embodiment of love, the very definition. He is home. He doesn't say it, though. He sits tongue tied. Ramy was always the brave one, not him.

Ramy looks at him quizzically for a moment. Then he promises with a gallant grin that even if he ever dies, he won't leave. He will haunt Robin in his dreams. They laugh, and somehow Robin is reassured. And then after a moment of peaceful silence, Ramy leans over and kisses him.

Brave Ramy.

Beautiful Ramy.

It is Robin's first kiss. Ramy's too. It doesn't matter that it is wobbly and awkward. It is soft and warm and it is love.

[veryinnovative]

professional chef regulus can't sleep and works a mcdonald's graveyard shift. a small thingie inspired by this. 1486 words & totally sfw!

It came and went in waves, the bouts of insomnia that held him captive in sleep-elusive nights. Those hours of darkness where finding his rest proved itself to be no more than a fleeting chore, often resulting in Regulus dragging himself out from underneath his covers to find respite elsewhere. A place that wasn't a nightmare materialized in four enclosing walls, turning the small space of his bedroom into a reenactment of past events that only surface when he's stuck in that liminal space between consciousness and sleep.

An enigma, truly, the inability to sleep regardless of how much running a restaurant deprives him of his energy. What’s even more riddling, however, is the sight of Regulus Arcturus Black appearing in Stebbins’ office at 1:45 a.m. on a Saturday night, already wearing a McDonald’s polo he keeps stored in the bottom of his nightstand drawer. Why an award-winning chef with a long history of working in upscale establishments turns up at a fast-food chain is a mystery no one has been able to solve yet. Then again, people drink two liters of room-temperature chocolate milk to combat head-splintering migraines so there is no questioning a seasoned insomniac’s methods.

“Sup, Regulus. Another of those nights, eh?” Stebbins asks him with his feet planted on his desk. There is a monstrosity of a half-eaten quintuple cheeseburger in front of him – the equivalent of a heart attack between two buns. On the computer screen, a game of Solitaire is opened instead of the Excel file of expenditures he should probably be working on.

“Grill or cashier?” Regulus asks while working the pin into its place. It says ‘Mark’. Don’t ask him about that either.

Stebbins slurps his soda, the paper straw soggy and disfigured with the indents of teeth. “Sorry, mate, it’s drive-thru for you tonight. Got a newbie who’s gotta learn how to make the patties. Still know how it works?”

There is something incredibly surreal about having a three-star Michelin chef turn up at your restaurant and have them take orders instead, but Regulus doubts that his culinary prowess could elevate the taste of a Quarter Pounder by a large margin. That and Stebbins is high as a kite if the red-rimmed eyes are anything to go by.

“Shit– aren’t you that dude from Food & Wine? Begulus Rack?”

“In the flesh.”

“Man, this is a McDonald’s, you know that right?”

“Yes. Can I work here for a few hours? I’ll only need unlimited coffee as pay.”

“Why?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“You’re fucking hired.”

It’s how it had become a common occurrence. Once in a month or two, Regulus would enter the shabby building and take his spot at whatever station was available at the time. Stebbins, the manager working graveyard shifts, welcomed him with little inquiries every time. 

It’s how Regulus finds himself nearly thirty minutes into his shift, wireless headset on, and the seconds ticking by with little hustle and bustle. It’s not the social interaction that bothers him, but the lack of attention the entire ordeal demands. He’s bored. Not tired enough. And wonders if he should go for his nth cup of coffee since sleep is most definitely not going to be it.

Then, a car pulls up to the intercom post, and he taps on the screen before him, pulling up the order tab. “Welcome to McDonald's, may I take your order?”

A loud yawn reverberates through his earpiece before a gravelly voice mumbles, “A McDick menu, please.”

Regulus is going to stick his head in the deep fryer. “Go away, Barty.”

Then, another voice joins, the rasp of a French accent lilting his words, “I’ll have the same. Can I upgrade mine to a large?”

Barty snickers into the intercom and Regulus bridles at both their voices. “Can you both sod off?”

Evan tuts. “Now, that’s no way to speak to a customer now, is it?”

“Yeah,” Barty interjects, sucking his teeth. “Where the fuck is your manager? I want to talk to him.”

“Probably off wanking somewhere or getting high,” Evan mumbles in the background, to which Barty hums in approval.

“Go home, you both stayed out late tonight.” Barty and Evan had not returned to their shared apartment after their shift at L’Astre and had instead chosen to use their night to mindlessly drive around. 

“We went home and you weren’t there, Reg. We’re here to pick you up.”

“Barty, I’m fine. Just go.”

“Don’t be like that, Reg. Come home and I’ll make you a hot choccy before cuddling you to sleep. How’s that sound?”

“Evan, we both know you and Barty are going to be fucking each other's brains out. If I’m not going to be able to sleep, I might as well do that here.”

“Look at this git,” Barty barks out, “some cuddles from his Jamie and suddenly he’s giving us the cold shoulder, Evs. Are you telling me that Mr. Sunshine is a better spooner than I am? We might have to hold a spoon-off.”

More angry grumbling before Evan sounds through the intercom again. “I’ll call in James to drag your greasy ass home. Bring one of those Sugar Donuts with you.”

“You will do no such th–” The sound of tires screeching cut him off before the intercom goes quiet again and Regulus sighs, deeply, lamenting the fact that is his best friends always butting in.

Does he have unhealthy coping methods? Yes. Definitely. Without a shadow of a doubt.

Does this warrant cosseting (his friends just caring for him)? No. Absolutely not.

So it’s no surprise that when a car pulls up, approximately twenty minutes later, James’ voice resounds through the intercom, speech slurred with sleep.

“Mi vida,” he sighs, “come home.”

“I’m working.”

“You're not working,” James counters. “You're tiring yourself out in the most ridiculous of ways."

“I'm not tiring myself. This is quite calming, actually.”

“Baby, there is nothing remotely calming about working at a McDonald's at almost three in the morning.”

“Order. You're holding up the line.”

“Wha– there's no line! It isn't common practise to drive to a McDonald's this late, amor.”

“Your order.”

James groans loud enough for the intercom to fill his headpiece with static. “The usual.”

Regulus types in a singular Cadbury Flake Chocolate McFlurry.

“That will be one ninety-nine. Pull up to the window.”

James pulls up to the first window, driving a fancy trust-fund-baby Porsche, to pay for his purchase, and Regulus slides open the window to extend the terminal toward him. Only to end up watching how James turns off the engine, exits the vehicle, keys in hand, and dressed in pajamas still.

Regulus blinks. “Why did y– James!”

There is a startled sound when he suddenly climbs through the window.

“Get out,” Regulus hisses, trying to push him. “You can’t–”

“Watch me.”

“Are you mad?!”

“Not mad enough to work a McDonald's shift,” James grumbles, flinging both his legs over and coming to stand before Regulus. His hair is mussed and there are rabbit slippers on his feet, the socks mismatched like they were haphazardly put on before leaving through the door.

“Out.” Regulus points his finger to the window.

The thing is, James is an amiable man – not easily deterred nor someone who can be promptly riled up with little to no effort. 

None of that is applicable when he is woken up between the sacred hours of one and four for inconveniences. And Regulus working a graveyard shift hardly counted as an emergency.

What’s the worst that can happen when two boyfriends have a stare-off in the ass of the night, in a McDonald’s?

“Oh, James, here to pick up Regulus?” Comes Stebbins’ voice.

James doesn’t look up. “Yeah, could you make me my order real quick?”

“Sure thing, mate. The usual?”

“Extra chocolate drizzle, please.”

“Right on.”

Regulus isn’t backing out now. He keeps his gaze glued to his, expression indifferent and arms defiantly crossed over his chest. 

“Regulus.”

“Oh, it’s Regulus now, is it?”

“Your other nickname rights have been rescinded until you enter the car.”

“I think I can decide for myself, Potter.”

“You– That’s unfair!”

James’ bottom lip juts out just slightly in the makings of a pout and, well, Regulus is a weak man.

He sighs, tired, and rubs his eyes. “I’m tired.”

There are arms around him immediately, tugging his exhausted body into a warm, tight embrace, despite his aversion to public displays of affection. “Let me drive you to my place instead, baby, how’s that sound?”

Regulus snorts against his shoulder. “I doubt much sleeping will happen.”

“Maybe, but it will tire you out for sure. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it much more than working the drive-thru.”

No other incentive is needed for Regulus to open the window and clamber out of it, followed by a grinning James who is undoubtedly happy with having obtained a McFlurry and one Regulus Black for a two-for-free deal.

[akamitrani]

LINGERING

Alan Tudyk x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age difference (but reader is 18+), flirting, sexual tension, kissing, touching, slight dom!Alan.

Summary: You accompany your friend to meet Alan Tudyk at a convention, expecting to stay in the background. But when his attention lingers on you instead, a quiet moment away from the crowd changes everything.

[A/N: Ugh here we go again, that time of the month where I obsess over a random dilf. Anyways, here you go take this damn fanfic.)

You’d agreed to come to the fan event with your friend, who had been an Alan Tudyk fan for years. She was thrilled at the chance to meet him in person, but nervous about it all. As a good friend, you’d offered to tag along, knowing you’d be the calm presence she needed to help manage the excitement.

You, on the other hand, were a fan too but you tried not to show it too much. Being in college, you were a little more composed than your friend, who was practically shaking with nerves. But deep down, you were just as excited. Alan had always been one of your favorite actors – his charisma, his wit and that effortlessly sexy confidence.

As you and your friend stood in line, the energy of the room buzzing around you, she suddenly grabbed your arm. Her grip was tight, her fingers digging in slightly.

“I can’t–I’m too nervous” she whispered, eyes wide as she stared ahead at Alan “You go first.”

You blinked at her “What? But you’re the one who wanted to meet him the most.”

She shook her head quickly “I know, but I need a second to breathe. Just – go! I’ll go after...”

You stood beside your friend watching Alan interact with the other fans. He had a way about him that seemed so approachable, you couldn't help but notice the way his gaze would linger on some of the people, especially when he thought no one was looking. It was subtle but then his eyes suddenly met yours and you could instantly feel the spark ignite.

He had caught you staring and gave you a small smirk, you quickly looked away. The last thing you wanted was to draw any focus to yourself but it seemed you got exactly the opposite because now Alan’s gaze kept drifting over to you. It wasn’t subtle; it was that kind of attention that made your heart beat faster. Every time he glanced in your direction, you could feel it like he was sizing you up in a way you weren’t used to.

As the line moved forward, Alan seemed to make his way toward you. His tall frame easily towered over you, and when he smiled there was something about it that made your heart race.

It was finally your turn, you approached Alan trying to keep yourself calm, but when his eyes met yours it felt like everything slowed down. His smile was warm, his eyes filled with that knowing, teasing glint. He seemed even taller up close, towering over you in a way that made your breath catch.

“Hey” he greeted you, his voice as charming as always “I see you’ve been keeping an eye on me.”

You laughed nervously, feeling a little flustered “I wasn’t... I mean, I’m just here with my friend...”

Alan raised an eyebrow, clearly amused “Just here with your friend, huh?” His gaze flickered over you again, almost like he couldn’t help but notice you standing there. He seemed to take in the curve of your shoulders, the way you carried yourself, and then his eyes met yours again, this time with a deeper intensity.

There was a playful teasing way in his staring but you could also sense that there was something beneath it. You shifted slightly, the height difference making you feel smaller than usual, but not in a bad way. Alan found it intriguing, you could see how he enjoyed the fact that he was bigger, both physically and in presence. It gave him a certain dominant quality.

“What’s your name?” he asked offering a handshake.

You nervously introduced yourself accepting the gesture, his hand felt warm and strong, and it lingered a little longer than you expected.

“You’re... in college?” he asked, his voice friendly but with a hint of curiosity.

“Yeah, I am” you replied, still a little starstruck “I’m studying... well- I’m still figuring it out.”

Alan chuckled, clearly amused “I remember those days” he said smiling as he gave you a knowing look. You couldn’t help but notice the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to flicker to your lips, then back up to meet your gaze.

“I bet I could learn a thing or two from you” he said, his voice lowering.

His eyes drifted from your face down to the rest of you. It wasn’t overt, but there was no mistaking the way he took in your form, his gaze lingering a fraction longer than what was considered polite. His fingers grazed the photo he was about to sign, but it almost seemed like he didn’t want to let it go just yet.

“You look like you could handle being around a guy like me” he said with a chuckle, his voice dipping into something more intimate.

Your heart skipped a beat at the way he said that. The way his words and his gaze seemed to strip away any pretense between the two of you. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it, but the way Alan’s eyes softened when he looked at you felt like he was studying you, not just as a fan.

Alan’s presence felt all-encompassing now, like he was the center of your world, towering over you with that casual dominance that made it hard to breathe. You could feel the heat radiating off him as he shifted slightly, using the height difference to his advantage, his voice dropping lower and softer “You’re much smaller than I thought you’d be up close” he remarked, his tone almost playful, he enjoyed how you had to look up at him, how you fit so perfectly beneath his gaze.

His fingers brushed yours as he handed you the signed photo, and the brief touch made you shiver. There was something about his hands that made you feel vulnerable.

There was an unmistakable intensity in his gaze now, something you hadn’t expected when you first stepped into the fan event. The way he’d been sizing you up... It had all been deliberate, now you were feeling the weight of it up close and-

“My turn now!” your friend chirped excitedly, cutting through the tension and stepping forward with a nervous but eager smile.

Reality snapped back into place. You blinked, taking a small step back as Alan’s focus shifted to her. He turned to her smoothly, offering that same easy charm he was known for... and just like that you felt the moment between you dissolve.

Had you imagined it?

You swallowed, forcing a small smile as you took another step away, giving them space. Maybe it had all been in your head. Maybe Alan had just been polite and you had let your mind run wild.

Still, as you stood there, watching him interact with your friend, a strange ache settled in your chest. You shook it off – whatever that was, it was over.

When your friend finished her exchange with Alan and you were about to leave, still processing what had just happened, Alan’s voice cut through your thoughts.

“Can I steal you for a moment?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with something unreadable.

You blinked “Me?”

He tilted his head, amused “Yeah, you. Unless there’s another incredibly distracting person standing right in front of me.”

Your heart stumbled over itself. Was this really happening? You hesitated, glancing at your friend, who was now busy at another stand.

Alan seemed to catch on to your disbelief, and instead of letting the moment hang, he grinned and took a dramatic step back “Oh no, did I break some secret fan etiquette? Am I supposed to interact in a specific order?” He mimed checking an invisible rulebook in his hands, flipping through pages “Ah, yes– Step One: Sign the thing. Step Two: Compliment the fan. Step Three: Do not make unexpected requests. Got it.”

You laughed despite yourself, the tension in your chest loosening just slightly “That’s a very specific rulebook.”

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret “It’s all made up. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you longer.”

Alan let the playful act drop just slightly, his grin softening as he looked at you – really looked at you “But seriously… can I steal you for a moment?” His voice was lower now, quieter, just for you.

You hesitated again, but this time it wasn’t because you didn’t want to go – it was because you did. And that realization was almost too much.

Still, the way he stood there, waiting, completely unbothered by the crowd, by the event, by anything but you… it made it impossible to say no.

You exhaled, finally nodding “Yeah… okay.”

His lips twitched, just a hint of satisfaction in his expression “Good.”

Then, with the kind of easy confidence that had your pulse racing, Alan gestured for you to follow him, stepping away from the table, away from the crowd.

He led you down a quiet, dimly lit corridor. The sound of muffled voices and laughter from the event faded as you walked further down, until it was just the two of you, the soft click of his boots on the floor breaking the silence. The tension was palpable, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that Alan was more than just a little intrigued by you. You could see it in the way his shoulders were tense, how his posture was more rigid than usual, like he was fighting something.

At the end of the hallway, Alan pushed open a door, revealing a small, secluded room with a large window that overlooked a peaceful garden outside. The light was soft, the setting quiet and intimate. It was almost like he was trying to create a space where you two could be alone, where no one else would interrupt whatever was about to happen.

Alan leaned against the window frame, turning to you “Nice view, huh?” he said, but the words seemed almost absent, like he wasn’t fully focused on them.

You nodded, but your heart was racing. Something about this space, with just the two of you in it, felt different from before. More charged. Alan’s gaze flickered over you again, like he couldn’t help but drink you in. The air between you felt thick with anticipation.

He pushed off the window frame, his movements deliberate as he took a small step closer

Alan’s hand slightly brushed your arm as he spoke, his voice low and smooth “I’m not sure what to do here” he admitted, his eyes flicking over your features as if weighing every word “You’re... you’re younger than me, and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But god, I can’t stop thinking about what I want to do with you.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine. The way he said it, so raw and honest, made your body react before your mind had a chance to catch up. You could feel your pulse quicken, the air around you thickening even more.

Alan took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration, clearly battling with his own desires “I’m sorry” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He let out a slow breath, eyes flickered over you, his expression unreadable.

“How old are you?” His voice was softer now, careful.

You told him, and for the first time he hesitated. His fingers flexed at his sides, and you swore you saw something shift behind his eyes – something torn between restraint and desire.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is… dangerous” he murmured, more to himself than to you “You’re younger and–” He cut himself off, shaking his head.

For a second, you worried he was about to walk away. That all of this had just been in your head.

But then, Alan did something else entirely.

He reached out again, his fingers brushing over your arm, barely there at first. Then firmer, his thumb tracing a slow, lazy path along your skin. You shivered under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

His eyes locked onto yours, impossibly deep, impossibly knowing “So soft...” he murmured, almost like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it out loud. His voice was different now – low, coaxing.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling so shy you looked away.

Then he reached up, tilting your chin between his fingers. The movement was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, testing your reaction.

“You sure you can handle me, darling?” The word was almost a whisper, just a breath against your lips.

Your whole body tensed because, God, you wanted him. He had to know it. He had to feel it in the way you melted just slightly into his touch, in the way your breath trembled as he leaned in closer.

Alan watched you, taking in the way your breath hitched, the way your body subtly leaned into him.

His thumb traced over your chin, then lower, brushing against your bottom lip “You want me, don’t you?” His voice was deep, smooth, teasing but firm.

You swallowed hard, nodding slightly, but that wasn’t enough for him.

He tilted his head, clicking his tongue “Words, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks burned. He was toying with you, savoring your anticipation. The heat between you was unbearable now.

“I want you so bad” you finally whispered, your voice almost desperate – Alan smirked, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

And just when you expected him to kiss you, to finally give you what you were craving, he did something else.

Slowly, deliberately, he licked your lips... Just the faintest, teasing stroke of his tongue.

A whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

Alan chuckled, his grip tightening on your waist as he leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours without fully pressing in “Impatient, aren't we?” His voice was velvet, laced with amusement.

You shivered, instinctively nodding.

“Good girl” he praised, his tone dark and rich. Then, just as things were getting heated, he pulled away for a brief moment, his lips curling into a smirk.

“I should warn you... I’m really good at this” he said, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

You froze for a second, not expecting the sudden joke, and Alan chuckled softly at your reaction “No, seriously. You’re in trouble now.”

Before you could even process it, his grin faded, and he leaned in again and finally - finally - kissed you.

His hands slide down your sides before gripping your thighs. With one firm pull, he lifted you just slightly, pressing you closer against him.

He kissed you again, slower this time, but with that same intensity. Letting the playful side of him slip back in as he murmured against your lips “I really should start charging for this level of service”

His fingers dug in, possessive, as he deepened the kiss, drinking in every sound you made. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t hesitant. It was needy and lustful.

Then, with a growl, Alan pulled back just enough to mutter “Fuck” his voice dripping with desire.

Then, without warning, Alan’s teeth grazed your lower lip, his grip on your waist tightening as he bit down gently, then sucked, pulling a gasp from you. You couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips, and it only seemed to fuel him.

Alan’s hands began to roam slowly but with purpose. His fingers traced the curve of your back, sending shivers through you. When his hand slid lower, slipping under the hem of your shirt, a soft gasp escaped you.

His fingertips brushed over your skin, teasing the soft flesh of your waist before moving higher. His hand lingered, his thumb brushing against your ribcage, before sliding to your chest. The warmth of his palm against you made you arch into him.

His eyes flicked down to where his hand rested, his fingers gently caressed the curve of your breast, his voice low, raspy with desire "So perfect."

His thumb brushed over you softly, testing, feeling your reaction "You’re so fucking gorgeous" he muttered, his words laced with admiration and something darker "Every inch of you."

You shivered under his touch, your body unable to stay still, aching for more. His hand remained where it was, slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every movement, every inch of his touch.

“I want to have all of you” he murmured, voice rough as he pulled back to look at you.

Alan’s lips moved to your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. The roughness of his palms dragging up your sides as he slowly began to lift the fabric, preparing to pull it off. You leaned back slightly, arching into his touch, your body aching with desire.

But just as his fingers brushed against the soft skin of your stomach, a sharp knock echoed through the room. You froze, the sound so jarring that it almost felt like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over you.

“Alan?” came a voice from the other side of the door. It was a staff member, his tone polite but firm “You need to return to the stage. The fans are waiting for you.”

Alan’s eyes shot open, and for a moment, he didn’t move. He remained frozen, his lips still hovering just inches from your neck, his breath shallow. His hands remained under your shirt, but you could feel his grip falter slightly. There was a clear mix of frustration and desire in his eyes, and the temptation to ignore the staff and continue with what he was about to do was evident.

But reality set in. Alan’s head fell back, his lips cursing under his breath “Fuck.” he muttered. He was torn, his body still pressed against yours, clearly burning with desire, but there was no denying he had a responsibility to the fans, to the event.

You could see the battle raging within him. He was desperate for you, but duty was calling. You hated to see the moment break, but you didn’t want him to feel conflicted either. You placed a hand gently on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“You have to go back...” you whispered, your voice soft but tinged with regret.

Alan sighed, his face contorting in frustration “This isn’t over” he said, his voice low, his eyes locking onto yours “I’m coming back for you. I swear it.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, unable to deny the ache in your own body, your mind screaming that you wanted him just as much.

Alan's lips curling into a faint smirk and for a moment he seemed to savor the tension between you both. He bent his head down, kissing you softly.

His knuckles caressed your cheek before he made his way to the door. He paused at the handle, turning back to give you one last glance.

From the other side of the door, the staff knocked again, more impatient this time. “Mr. Tudyk?”

Alan exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, his smile returning laced with frustration. He looked down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“You know, I was really starting to like this job.” His smirk widened as he stepped back “But I suppose the fans want me at the stage being a little less… occupied.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, his playfulness is absolutely the best. He leaned in one last time, his lips brushing against your ear. “Stay right here, sweetheart. I’ll make sure to finish what we started... when I’m done being everyone’s favorite clown.”

With that, he gave you a wink and stepped towards the door, leaving you breathless. As the door closed behind him, his humor and charm are still lingering in the air – just like his kiss... Your fingers brush over your lips, still tingling, and you let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh.

Actually you couldn’t help but feel the heat of the moment as a whole linger in the room. Your heart was still racing, your mind is still thinking of him, your body still burning for him. You stepped back toward the window, the coolness of the air against your skin doing nothing to ease the fire within your skin.

You heard the staff member call out to Alan on stage, and though the sound of the bustling event was far away, it was clear that it was only a matter of time before he returned. And when he did return to you, it would be on his terms.

[machinenamedgar]

Im gonna talk about this headcanon I had for a while that I shared with @starrykat-z a while ago. But im also gonna add onto it.

This is our headcanon about the V-Models, so it's under the cut. so if you want to read it you can!

I believe that the V-Models were made with parts of the Human body system (such as the circulatory system) to keep blood moving throughout its body and to supply oxygen to the blood. So that also means that they'll need a system to not only supply the blood, but also organ systems to help filter out old blood and waste. Either those organs be actual human organs or just imitations of real ones.

This is also the part that gets a little crazy.

But I think that the V-Models could have been made with actual human parts. Like someone donated their body to science and some parts of their organ system was used in the V-Model production or at least help to further production. because this could also go into my next headcanon which is that the V-Models (and by extension all robots in hell) are sentient and act like the human counter part that was made into them. Like V2 shows sportsman's like attitude when we first meet them in Limbo (they bow at us before fighting) but of course being a machine you also have programming and code.

But also what would V1's sentience be like, so after all they were originally made as a warmachine, but now that there is no war, would the coding programmed for war just rot (or well disintegrate) away? And with the Earthmover, did the programming to destroy it just override anything else, or did they feel bad that the Earthmover's first instinct when looking at V1 was a cry of horror as it tried to fire its weapon at them only to return to a duel between it and another Earthmover.

And so with V1's sentience, we just kinda joked that they got thrown so hard into a wall or floor that they essentially woke up and freak the fuck out. Imagine gaining sentience mid fight, could not be me.

anyway if theres anymore stuff @starrykat-z or i think of, i'll add onto it or she'll do it.

also speaking of that other Earthmover, I no-clipped to it and found that most of its legs where in the ground and it had a giant plush on its back

[stormyblueberry]

New tag time: #stormy writes

Y’all are gonna probably call me crazy for this but this part of Season 7 lives rent free in my brain and I wanted to put an angsty twist on it. I’m literally rewatching it as I write this. Takes place after the break in. Not canon to HC, just a funny idea of what could’ve been.

Note: I was originally gonna do the imprisonment scene but I found the wrong episode and changed my mind so we get some “Grian gets himself captured during HEP’s invasion of the original Mycelium Resistance HQ in a what could’ve been scenario” angst

How had this happened? They’d been so careful. And yet, HEP had found them. The Mycelium Resistance was caught red handed in their base with the Mycelium Source Block, and their leader was at his most vulnerable.

Grian stood tall, the source block broken down and sent away with the rest of his team to prevent HEP from getting their hands on it. But it had come at a price: His freedom.

“Grian, what a wonderful surprise!” Scar chirped as he circled him, holding out his hands. “Hand over your items and come with me.”

“Or else what?” Grian asked, glaring at the HEP leader with a hint of contempt in his eyes. “You gonna kill me to get it?”

“If I must.” Scar admitted, adjusting his monocle on his face and brandishing his sword. “Hand it over, Grian. We don’t have to fight.”

Grian glared before throwing his items on the ground. “There,” He spat. “Now leave the Mycelium Resistance alone.”

“Leave them alone!?” BDubs exclaimed from the sidelines. “Oh, no, they’re guilty by association! We need the entire team, not just their scrawny little ringleader!”

“Who are you calling little, you dwarf!?

“WATCH IT!” BDubs unsheathed his sword and aimed it at Grian’s throat, ready to kill at any moment.

“BDubs. I have a better idea.” Scar rested a hand on BDubs’ shoulder before approaching Grian. “Grian. I’ll leave the rest of your little resistance alone if you come with us willingly. You do as we say, you live, and they stay safe. Break even one of our rules, and… Well. I know how much death loops can break your mind and soul. You don’t want me putting you and your Mycelium Resistance through that. Do you?”

Grian paused, conflicted. On one hand, if he took this deal, he was losing his freedom. On the other, if he didn’t, his entire team lost their lives in an endless death loop.

What other choice did Grian have?

“… Fine.”

“Perfect! Now… Follow me. Tell your team to back off.”

How had this happened?

[engineer-snom]

cc( . )_) Listening to the sounds, you can notice the birds chirping. Even if the world is in turmoil, the birds will chirp. If they fall silent, that's when it's gone too far.

cc( ^ )_) So don't worry, as long as the birds chirp, life is still worth living. There's someone out there who really cares about you and your mental health.

cc( - )_) Things may seem like they won't get better, but trust me, if you push through anything can happen.

cc( ^ )_) I believe in you, even if you don't believe in yourself. I'm here for you, now and for when you truly need that bit of boost to keep going.

cc( . )_) The days may feel like they drag on slowly and that nothing ever seems to change, but I assure you, things are changing. They may be tiny, but the changes are there, and they'll eventually grow into something great.

cc( · )_) That plant you're taking care of? It's beautiful, and you've done a wonderful job keeping it alive. That book you're writing? Sure they may be a few errors and plot-holes, but it's amazing nonetheless. If you're doing what you love to do, then that just means you're doing it right. Don't just give up because you think something you have fun doing isn't for you, because that's never the case. Those fanfics you wrote and shared? They probably helped someone through a rough moment in their life and that person probably wouldn't be here if it weren't for it.

cc( ^ )_) If you think nothing is changing, that just means it's subtle, or that it needs a push to be changed from someone willing to put in the work. You're all wonderful and beautiful in your own little ways. Don't stress over messing something up, take pride in it. Those mess-ups help you learn and grow as a person. Everyone makes mistakes, and that's okay. You don't need to beat yourself up over it. If you feel like you're not in a good place, make a support network that you can trust. Support is everything in these times, even if you don't think so.

[ravensapphiree]

Tommy: Is this mistletoe?

Steve: Uh, no, no, that is basil.

Tommy: Too bad cause if it was mistletoe I was gonna kiss you.

Steve: Yeah, no, it’s still basil.

[deeptrashwitch]

Alicia: *speaking with Maya ( @justasmolbard OC), Tiala and Kanoa ( @islandtarochips OC's)*

Wraith: *bored* ... *remembers EPIC and laughs like a menace* Ehehehe

Kanoa: *heard the laugh* Huh?

Wraith: Hey Alicia

Alicia: Yes?

Wraith: Light up six torches

Alicia: ...

Tiala: What did you do now?

Alicia: Whatever it was, I'm sorry

Maya: Will she do as I think or like with the sirens? *trying not to laugh*

Tiala: While it isn't like Mutiny...

Alicia: Not helping, girls! I don't wanna be Eurylochus here!

Wraith: *laughing in the background*

Kanoa: What are you talking about? What happens to him...? (He has just heard the Troy and Cyclops Saga)

Alicia/Tiala/Maya: *looking at Kanoa*

Maya: I'll tell him *laughing*

Tiala: No! Let him hear it completely! *smacks Maya's head*

Alicia: *smiles like a little shit* You'll love the Underworld Saga, Noa

Kanoa: ...You three are scaring me

[sixflame438]

NAH YALL IM RIGHT HERE @/secretcessy IS ME YALL I DIDNT DISSAPEAR FR

no bc I had to deactivate it bc my page kept on lagging for some reason and it wont go to normal??? idk I refreshed rebooted and even waited for a while before I opened tumble but it didn't fix so I just made a new(?) one

Aha new year new revelations

Chat i present to u secretcessy aka sonotkari aka notsokari aka grandma #1 aka yapyapper aka HI GIRLYPOPS aka HOW YA DOIN aka that cat is so me aka frog haerin 🐸🔛🔝 aka L tumblr moment aka never leave 🙏 aka why am i still akaing

[mercedesdecorazon]

***Some The Elementalists lore because I'm replaying the series and crying about the lost potential:***

Elia Russell (my Sun-Att MC) was one of those black kids who was adopted by white people (in my mind, Both Elia's and Atlas' caretakers were two white couples and Elia was homeschooled), so she didn't grow up around a lot of black people so she always felt like an outsider. Which is why she had a hard time at Hartfield. She was always curious about her parents, if they were out there etc.

Because she went through a lot of racism at the schools she went to, she felt powerless for most of her life. Which is why she choose Power in her morality scale.

When she gets into the world of Magick, she feels right at home. And even with meeting Atlas, she still felt curious about her 'deceased' parents.

Now she and Atlas would often butt heads and Elia finds Atlas tiring at times. She loves her sister but sometimes she finds her annoying. When Elia voices her curiosity about her mother, Atlas goes ballistic and the two get into a huge argument.

~~~

"Please! Until Alma made it known the possibility that our mother was alive, you didn't care about finding Emma!" Elia snapped.

~~~

And when she accidentally attacks Atlas in during in an argument with Blood Magick, she doesn't feel that remorseful. Atlas had it coming (in her mind) and Elia was just fed up of being her emotional punching bag.

By the end of Book 2, they do manage to work together but they're still estranged somewhat.

And with what the plot of Book 3 was going to be; their estrangement would be more evident, devastating and chaotic. Dean Swan would stage an intervention but Elia would be unmoved by it, believing that Dean Swan favors Atlas over her (which is not true but Elia doesn't see the bigger picture as of now).

So as of now, Elia and Atlas don't speak too much now and the Pend Pals are unsure of how to navigate this cold war.

[shinymisty-blog]

They think I'm more than a Jerk - A small writing prompt

The meeting has become an angry ball of frustration as Sleet and Cyrus continue arguing back and forth. Dingo had since forgotten what started the yelling competition, but it seemed to have been going on for hours. Bartleby was attempting to hide away on the other side of the meeting table while Trevor's head lolled off the chair, able to toon out the arguing as he seemed to have fallen asleep. "Look, I get it. Sleet can...be a bit of a jerk," Dingo finally finds the courage to say this, with the wolf standing inches away from him. He's expecting Sleet to respond back with a bitter response. But what he says causes the room to grow silent. "...A bit of a jerk is a bit of an understatement, Dingo." Sleet was...agreeing with him. And not only agreeing but doubling down. Dingo felt his body growing cold. "I know what they are all thinking. But if I said it out loud, I'd be in even bigger trouble." He snickers softly, eyeing the young lion, who had grown quiet over the canine's interjection. "Oh-ho," Cyrus laughed, "and what do you mean by that. Share with the class!" He had a mocking tone to his voice, obviously trying to get under Sleet's skin. Dingo gives off an anxious laugh as he turns to look at Sleet. The wolf looked unfazed, readying a comeback, snickering softly and his ear twitching toward Dingo's direction. Please...don't say something you'll regret, he thought, biting his tongue. "Oh. It's simple, really. I'm sure everyone here thinks I am a motherfu-" Before Sleet can finish his thought, Bartleby comes from behind, covering the wolf's snout with his hands, causing him to let out a light gasp. "AND THIS MEETING IS OVER!" He had panic in his voice as he started to pull the wolf away from the shocked group of mobians. "Thank you all for coming. If you have any questions, please...don't ask them!" He quickly yanks Sleet's ear closer to his mouth "We don't CURSE here, Sleet!" Dingo's nervous laughter grew into a more panicked whimper as he watched the smaller mink easily pull the thinner wolf out of the meeting room. "He normally mumbles that under his breath..."

No. I don't plan on having Sleet -or any of the characters, really- uncharacteristically curse every other sentence. I can maybe count on one hand how many times a swear would drop in the series. And NONE of the words are worse than, like, hell and damn.

...But I DO headcanon that Sleet has a foul mouth. He just...mumbles it all the time.

...No. This isn't going to happen in the actual story. I just...LOVE the idea that Sleet KNOWS he's an ass, he knows that everyone THINKS he's an ass, and is unapologetically PROUD that he's an ass.

[asgh-youtube]

8,372.

8,372, and you have a genocide. 1.2 million displaced, tens of thousands expelled, and then you have a genocide.

This was, of course, decided as such 10 years after the fact. If we are talking during the war, it took 3 years for them to decide enough was enough.

Thus, the Bosnian genocide.

11,078.

Inaccurate as of now. 11,078 isn't even the updated number, and yet this isn't any genocide. 1.5 million displaced — 75% of the population — for those who aren't aware.

That is just the land of "terrorists," of course. Everyone within must be harboring arms or using human shields or plotting those totally-going-to-happen terrorist attacks. 2 million terrorists. The IOF is as justified here as the British Army were back during the troubles, of course! Good old war hero David Cleary killing all those terrorists, just like his buds down in Israel wiping a people off the map.

But it is not contained just to this "land of terrorists," you pieces of shit. It extends to the West Bank — 190 murdered, homes razed and taken, a brand new Nakba for the ages — and through to the 93 killed Lebanese "terrorists" — including 29,000 displaced people, and the family of that war mongering journalist. Not just to there, either. Over to Syria, with 19 dead, and down to Egypt, with 6 wounded.

But this is no genocide, right? Forcing millions into more and more cramped spaces, 4 hours of explusion labeled as "peace," bombing thousands with that which will never stop burning, taking down the internet and killing any journalist who could relay any of this to the outside world.

400+ families, bloodlines, erased in a month. Thousands upon thousands of children, if the innocent adults weren't enough to tear your heart to shreds. People with dreams of being doctors, architects, scholars, and even youtubers, the singular thought to bring joy and help to those who surround them. The cold shreds of their hearts are trapped under the rubble of their destroyed homes, trapped alongside their pets, loved ones, childhood paintings, and every memory imaginable.

But that isn't a genocide.

People take the to the streets each day, staging bigger and bigger demonstrations. Brave souls shutting down their work to stop the unstopping march of death. The people trapped within yell at you to realize that HUMANS ARE FUCKING HUMANS.

You pretend as if you do not hear. That you do not fear. The beating heart of humanity stands outside your door, waiting for you to finally recognize it. You can't kill forever. You cannot support this hell forever. Even if you relish in this hell, you know that that beating heart will break down your door, and the losses will finally be too great, and you will relinquish defeat.

Maybe you'll label it a genocide. Get one of your cronies up on the podium accepting that award of bravery for finally speaking out on such a monstrous series of events. But by then it'll be done.

Or maybe, just maybe, that hope won't be for naught, and your death regime shall fall. The banners of destruction and destitution shall burn, and you will finally realize that hope is undying.

And then, Palestine shall be free. You cannot kill hope, and thus, you cannot kill Palestine.

Free, Free Palestine.

[cilly-the-writer]

LAWS OF CASTING | Bonus scene | Reeve | 234 words

Prompt by @flashfictionfridayofficial​

--

     Clemens let the water’s coolness hit his face, sinking a little deeper as he floated there. The pool water was calm. It was quiet. Almost too quiet…

     He was right to be suspicious. 

     Soon enough, Reeve rushed out of the backroom yelling and holding up a huge beach ball, popping with bright primary colors.

     “Look what I found!” 

     Memphis had just surfaced from swimming underwater. She was catching her breath. But seeing Reeve run through the blue tint of her goggles, she yelled back at him.

     “Reeve, stop! You’re going to sli–”

     He slipped right through the very same water he’d splashed out of the pool earlier (doing jumps and canon-balls). He dropped the beach ball in a frantic wave of his arms and lost his balance right over the edge of the pool. Just barely managing to leap into the fall. 

     Making a big unintended splash. He sank straight down into the water and puffed his cheeks as he braced the sudden change of gravity–waiting to float back up. When he came back to the surface, the sharp chirp of a whistle rang in his ears.

     “No running on the pool deck!” the lifeguard called out.

     “Sorry!” Reeve smiled as he held back a laugh. He scanned for wherever he lost the beach ball. Then he saw Michael, who was already out of the water, retrieving it for him. “Michael! Toss it here!”

[roachs-pet-roach]

Simon was exhausted. His eyelids grew heavier by the minute and his muscles had started to shake sometime during the exfil.

A hand made it’s way into his own. Johnny gently rubbing his thumb on the back of Simons hand.

The second they got back to base he grabbed Johnny by the arm and practically dragged him to his barracks.

The door was shut and locked, tactical gear hastily shoved off.

Vests and boots remained on as the teo crashed onto the bed, tired muscles getting a reprieve, eyes closing momentarily.

“Tired are we?” Johnny laughed as Simon grunted and his boyfriend worming his way into his lap in response.

“alrigh lad” Johnny laughed, tugging Simon’s mask off and tucking Simon’s head under his chin. a leg tossed over Simon’s own, arms wrapped around him.

Simons hands clung to the back if his shirt, like a small child would.

A gentle kiss pressed to Simon’s hair lulled the man into sleep, muscles relaxing against Johnny.

Eyelids closed, sleep overtaking the two soldiers quickly.

Two soldiers wound together in a reprive from their lives, just enjoying the warmth of each other and the comfort of sleep

Post-mission Nap