#and just getting more and more worked up because he can't

[awawage]

Kpop Demon Hunter Idea

Thinking about a K-pop demon hunter AU. But the reader is the top K-pop singer of the moment, not even Huntrix can defeat them. The reader goes by the stage name (S/N), they have the most fans, and everyone who likes Saja Boys or Huntrix has heard of (S/N) and is probably a fan too. I was thinking like Lady Gaga because everyone love Lady Gaga, my queen.

But there's a secret: you're actually half demon oops.

I'm new to writing so it might be ooc.

One night, Rumi, the workaholic that she is, is the only one awake, working on the lyrics of her new song. That is, until she feels a disturbance in the air. There, outside the window a small red spot in the middle of Seoul.

She decides to venture out alone since Mira and Zoey totally deserve a break. The tear is was small, so there shouldn't be too many demons.

----

Well, that’s unexpected. The tear is right above K Entertainment, one of the biggest K-pop companies in Korea. That's where big singers get signed in, if you're with KE then your life career is only about to go up.

That's where you were signed at, the biggest idol in Korea right now, not even Huntrix or Saja boys can get on your level. She never met you before but your works has always inspired her and other Huntrix members to keep going. You're the K Entertainment golden child.

She needs to enter the building fast. Who knows what star is inside getting their soul sucked right now? But just as she starts to climb up-

“So you're here too, huh?”

“Jinu? What are you doing here, demon?” she says while pointing her sword at him.

“Woah woah, demon girl—” The blade gets closer to his neck, poking his skin. He lifts both arms. “I mean—Gwi-Ma sent me here. There’s a portal that’s opened in this building under his control. I was sent to investigate since I'm already in the human world.”

"Another demon ? Who's not controlled by Gwi-Ma...?" She slowly lower her swords.

"That's what I thought too, I thought you were the only one but perhaps there's a another one that Gwi-Ma can't control "

"We need to investigate "

"That's what I was sent to do"

He received a hit to the side.

----

Inside the building, there are no signs of life at all. Every worker has probably gone home by now. But it doesn’t stop the strange feeling that settles in both their hearts. Something isn’t right.Rumi turns to Jinu.

“Are you sure this isn’t some plan by Gwi-Ma—”

“My, my.”

They both jump and turn around.

Jinu in a fighting stance, his nails sharpening, and Rumi with her sword ready to strike, until she sees who it is. You.

There you are.

The golden child of K Entertainment. Idol of the century.

Even though Huntrix has won a lot of awards, you’ve won higher-prestige ones and have far more influence than they’ll ever have. A star-born singer whose career skyrocketed since your teenage years, and still going strong.

Rumi can’t stop her giddy expression; her eyes turn into stars. You were her favorite K-idol– hell, maybe her favorite idol, period. She debuted not long after you, but seeing your solo success surpass her group’s so quickly made her form a bit of disdain at first.

But after watching your interviews and fancams… she slowly fell in love.(Oohh 👀)

Jinu quickly noticed her facial expression and threw an annoyed look at you, who were you and how come you made someone like Rumi so... Charmed? By you with a single look.

In front of you stood two weirdos. Sure, they’re good-looking, but one is holding a sword, and the other literally grew claws.

You recognize both of them from the trending K-pop groups, Jinu from Saja Boys who looked super confused, and Rumi from Huntrix who looked like she could explode from joy (still holding her sword towards you).

You obviously know what they are. But let’s entertain them, why don’t we?

“May I know why you’re trespassing the building...with a sword, no less?”

“OMG you’re (S/N). Zoey would be so jealous…”

“Who?” A big gasp leaves Rumi’s throat. She’s shocked and in disbelief.

“How can you be a K-pop idol without knowing the king/queen of our generation!?”

“Alright, calm down. You guys are lucky I recognize you, or I would’ve called the cops by now. Rumi from Huntrix, right?” She nods.

She knows you probably knew her, but hearing her idol say her name still makes her proud of Huntrix popularity.

“And you’re from that new group… Soja Boys?” Rumi almost chokes laughing as Jinu sweat drop.

“Actually, it’s Saja Boys…” says Jinu.

You look at him, perplexed. “Strange name…”

Before holding a serious expression. “What are you guys doing here? You know it’s totally off-limits to non-workers. Doesn’t matter if you’re famous idols or not.”

Rumi and Jinu share a look. They need to find a way out of this without raising suspicion, a look you don’t miss.

“Um… we’re here to meet with an contractor! And hmm… oh! I think we got the wrong time, haha…”

Rumi quirks a wobbly smile. Jinu nods beside her, even though he doesn’t believe the lie himself.

“Really now…”

You can feel the mark pattern slowly spreading under your clothes, from your torso up toward your neck.

“Yup! But since we’re wrong- we’re gonna leave now!”Rumi quickly grabs Jinu’s arm who was surprised, as she makes him turn around with her.

Your hands begin to thin, and sharp nails start growing out.

"Wait.."

Your voice sounds ominous and slow, sending a chill down their spines. They freeze and slowly turn around.

There you are, in your demon form. Your once bright eyes are now yellow with slits, purple/blue marks spread beautifully along your neck and face.

“A demon…?” they both whisper.

You smile.

There they are, your next prey.

“I’ve been waiting"

[aervera]

Only Yours Today

synopsis. when nanami unexpectedly calls in sick just to spend the day with you contents. sfw, tooth-rotting fluff, nanami being a gentleman and a sweetheart. notes. i want a day-off from college. but i can't since last semester and everything is hectic

MASTERLIST

you wake to the smell of coffee and the sound of your favorite kettle whistling.

your first instinct is to panic—because nanami never leaves for work without waking you first. he’s religious about routine, almost obnoxiously so. 7:00 a.m. sharp, every weekday. a kiss on your forehead, a brush of his knuckles down your jaw, then the sound of the front door closing softly behind him.

except he’s… here?

you sit up slowly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the sun is barely peeking through the gauzy curtains, painting the room in soft gold. there’s the familiar creak of floorboards, then the quiet click of your bedroom door opening.

nanami steps in with a tray balanced in one hand and that subtle smile that always manages to wreck you.

“good morning, y/n,” he says, voice warm, deep, and freshly brewed like the mug in his hand.

you blink at him, confused but already melting. “…are you working from home?”

he sets the tray on your lap—coffee, lightly sweetened just how you like it, and toast with the edges cut off.

“i called in sick,” he says casually, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “so i’m all yours today.”

you stare at him.

then blink.

“wait, what?”

“i said—”

“you called in sick?”

he nods once, then takes off his glasses to wipe them with the edge of your blanket like he does when he’s pretending to be nonchalant.

“you never call in sick,” you say, still stunned. “you went to work the day you had the flu. you showed up to a meeting after a night mission with three broken ribs.”

“that was reckless,” he agrees simply.

“exactly—so why now?”

nanami finally meets your gaze, his expression gentling as he walks over to your side of the bed.

“because you looked tired last night,” he murmurs, “and i wanted to give you something soft to wake up to today. so… me.”

your breath catches.

because he says it without fanfare, without performance. just a truth he’s already accepted.

you shake your head slowly, dazed. “you’re unbelievable.”

“i’m aware,” he replies smoothly. “but you’re the one who keeps me.”

breakfast happens slowly, in the warmth of rumpled sheets and half-lidded smiles. nanami sips his coffee while reading the news off his phone, one hand casually resting on your thigh under the blanket like it belongs there. (it does.)

afterward, you get up to brush your teeth, but he follows you into the bathroom like a shadow. you arch a brow when he wordlessly picks up your toothbrush, dabs on paste, and hands it to you.

“you’re hovering,” you mumble, toothpaste foaming slightly.

“i’m staying,” he corrects. “different.”

you snort.

but you don’t ask him to leave.

by 10 a.m., the two of you are on the couch, feet tangled, a fuzzy blanket over both your legs. there’s an old documentary playing—nanami’s choice, something about 19th-century trade policies—and you’re pretending to watch, but you’re really just watching him.

his hand rests on your ankle, thumb lazily drawing circles.

there’s no urgency in his touch. no demand. just quiet affection, like he has nowhere else to be—and more importantly, no one else he’d rather be with.

you sigh, nuzzling your cheek against the pillow. “i still can’t believe you called in sick. they’ll riot at the office.”

“they’ll survive.”

“you’re the backbone of the entire team.”

“i am.” he glances over at you. “but you are the backbone of me. and i happen to think today, i need my spine more than they do.”

you blink slowly.

“you’re weirdly poetic when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

“i am always poetic. you just don’t listen before your morning coffee.”

you both laugh.

it’s light and easy, the kind of laughter that only happens when the rest of the world is far away.

around noon, you both go for a walk. nanami holds your hand like it’s a habit, not a choice—thumb brushing over your knuckles as he listens to you ramble about the weird dream you had last night (something about a baby panda that spoke fluent french and asked you for tax advice).

he listens, fully and attentively, nodding like it’s the most important topic in the world.

at one point, he pauses near a small corner café. “would you like to go in?”

you grin. “only if we sit by the window and pretend we’re strangers falling in love for the first time.”

he hums, amused. “you want a day off and a meet-cute?”

“i want it all.”

nanami chuckles. “you always have.”

and you always will—especially when he looks at you like this, like your world is the one he’s happiest orbiting.

you return home in the early afternoon with croissants and coffee and a single tiny flower he plucked from the hedge when he thought you weren’t looking.

you catch him slipping it into your cup holder and he just shrugs, all deadpan. “i didn’t have a vase.”

you press your face into his coat, laughing.

back inside, he rolls up his sleeves again—domestic deity style—and makes you both lunch. it’s something warm and simple, but he plates it like a michelin-star chef because that’s who he is: always composed, always precise, even in love.

“i’ve noticed,” he says quietly as you eat beside him at the dining table, “that when i’m home with you, i feel less like a man dragging his feet through obligation. and more like someone who’s… content.”

you tilt your head. “you’re never obligated to stay.”

he looks at you, serious. “no. but i want to. which is rarer.”

later, you nap in his lap.

he’s seated on the armchair, legs stretched out, a book in one hand and you curled against his chest like you were carved to fit there. his free hand strokes through your hair in slow, absent motions.

he doesn’t say a word.

but you feel it in every quiet sigh, in every slight shift of his fingers against your scalp.

he chose this day. he chose you.

you wake up just as the sun begins to dip behind the skyline, golden-orange light painting his features.

“hey,” you whisper, voice still hoarse with sleep. “still here?”

his hand rests on your back, palm warm and grounding. “always.”

as evening settles in, you both lie on the bed, tangled beneath soft sheets, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

you whisper, “do you ever regret days like this?”

“never,” he says instantly.

“even when you’re falling behind on emails and half your company probably hates me right now?”

nanami shifts slightly so he can look at you fully. “no one hates you.”

“i might’ve stolen their favorite employee.”

“they’ll manage.” his thumb brushes your cheek. “you need to understand, y/n—i didn’t call in sick because i was burnt out. i called in because i wanted to be here. with you. no spreadsheets. no deadlines. just… this.”

you don’t respond with words.

instead, you tilt your chin up and press your lips to his—softly, slowly, the kind of kiss that speaks of deep affection, quiet promises, and something warm blooming in the silence between breaths.

he kisses you back just as gently.

no rush.

no need to ask for more.

this is enough.

by nightfall, you’re brushing your teeth side by side again, and nanami’s reflection catches yours in the mirror. he watches you like you’re the sunrise at midnight—like you’re something rare and real that he never wants to miss.

you spit out your toothpaste. “you’re staring.”

“i’m allowed.”

“because you’re sick?”

“because i’m in love.”

you freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink.

then slowly, you glance at him. “you love me?”

nanami places his hand on the small of your back, guiding you gently toward him until you’re standing face-to-face.

“i think i’ve loved you since the first time you made fun of my tie pattern,” he says softly. “but yes—i do.”

your chest tightens in the best way.

you whisper, “i love you too.”

he leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “good. because i plan to call in sick a little more often.”

you grin. “scandalous.”

“i prefer the term intentional.”

that night, he holds you close beneath the blankets, one arm wrapped around your waist, his breath slow and even against your neck.

and just before you fall asleep, you hear him murmur:

“being yours is the only thing that ever made me feel like i wasn’t wasting time.”

you smile into the dark, your heart full.

because today, time didn’t feel wasted.

it felt like love.

[whetstonefires]

Post I just saw made me think of this again: Wei Wuxian does not have self-esteem issues.

He thinks he's amazing, because he is.

His sense of his own value is a little fucked up, and tied up in demonstrating how amazing he is by fixing all serious problems and mocking all stupid ones, and when his methods stop working and he can no longer prove this to his own satisfaction he has a profound crisis about it, which he's still shaking off when we meet him.

But self-esteem is super very much not a thing he struggles with. He is a genius who received regular validation about his excellence in a form that satisfied him both as very a small child and from the ages of ~8 to ~17. He has a clear system of ethics which he is most of the time able and willing to act on; he feels really good about himself as a person whenever severe trauma is not actively making that very hard to do.

His default state is obnoxiously high self-esteem.

In-story accusations of arrogance are strictly speaking correct, it's just that most of the inferences about the rest of his character people draw from this trait are deeply wrong.

His willingness to self-destruct is at least as heavily wrapped up in his conviction that because he's so awesome and tough and clever he can handle things other people can't, as it is in the idea that he's disposable.

So yeah the thing is. He really genuinely actually did sacrifice himself for Jiang Cheng in part because he thinks he's better than Jiang Cheng. Stronger, braver, smarter. More adaptable.

And he was right! And Jiang Cheng knows he was right!

Which I love because like. That's not a relationship conflict you can fix, exactly. You really do have to just...get over it, or don't. And one of the things Wei Wuxian was demonstrating his (well-founded) lack of faith in Jiang Cheng's ability to do was. Getting Over Things.

[rcmclachlan]

tease tidbit tuesday

Tagged by @firehose118, @devirnis, and @ambernotember. Thanks, y'all 😘

Here's some more from the s3 alternate meeting au I'm working on.

+

Buck squints, because, "Wait, don't I know you?"

The guy, who looks like he competes in Steinstossen on the weekends, gives Buck a familiar smile—the same one he gave Buck a few years ago.

A four-alarm grease fire had consumed half an apartment building after someone supposedly tried to put it out by throwing a pot of water on it, and at least four stations showed up to beat it into submission. This guy had been climbing down one of the ladders with what must have been twenty kids on his back, and as he passed the window of the room Buck was in the middle of clearing, he smiled and waved at Buck through the glass like it was just another day at the beach.

"Hey, Buckley! How's the leg treating you, man? We were gonna send you flowers, but your buddy Chimney said you were a real weirdo so we sent that big box of whack-ass candy instead."

Amongst the explosion of flowers and wreathes and cards he'd gotten from people whose names he didn't know, there'd been a big box full of the strangest candy he'd ever seen: lollipops with ants frozen in the center, mints that tasted like roadkill, Carolina Reaper cotton candy, mac and cheese gummies, and chocolates shaped like dicks. He, Chim, Eddie, and Hen had laughed themselves to tears trying all of them one afternoon. Even Bobby couldn't deny the cactus candy was interesting.

Tied to one of the chocolate dicks—"cocklates," Chim cackled—had been a short note.

The bacon and cheddar cricket crunchies will get you back on your feet in no time. Get well soon! — Station 217

Buck bursts out laughing. "'Whack-ass' is right. Hey, Meyers, it's been ages. I-I didn't realize all of you were LAFD."

"Oh shit," one of them—a woman with broad shoulders and the most incredible mop of spiral curls he's ever seen—gasps. "You're the bomb guy! The one the engine fell on! I heard you were caught down the pier when the tsunami hit, too. I can't believe you're even walking around after all that. Don't even tell me you're back to work already."

"Y-Yeah," Buck says, eyes glued to a patch of the table top where the sealant is chipping away. "It's been an, uh, interesting year."

Tommy nudges one of his teammates further down the booth and then steps back so Buck can slide in. It takes every ounce of energy to actually do it, because even though he knows this woman means well, it feels like she's standing before a jury of his peers and listing all the reasons why he shouldn't don his turnouts again.

In all honesty, he should just call Chase and tell him to withdraw the suit wholesale. If a complete stranger thinks Buck shouldn't be back, then Bobby's definitely never going to budge on it. Eddie's never going to return his calls. Hen's never going to look him in the eye again. The days of daring Chimney to try a bacon and cheddar cricket are over. The 118's bay doors will never open to let him in again.

Thankfully, the din of the bar is so loud that no one can hear him sniffle as he glances toward the bar. Maybe they're hiring.

"Dude," one of the others chimes in. "I heard you were suing the department. I didn't know you could even do that. Maybe I can sue Cap for banning Mittens from the station, because that's just cruel and unusual. She gets lonely when I'm on shift."

"You bring your fucking snake to the hangar one more time, Nico, and I'll garrote you with it," the curly-haired woman snaps, then turns interested eyes on Buck. "But, are you? Taking the department to court, I mean."

Before Buck can excuse himself to the bathroom where he can have a good cry and then drown himself in a toilet, Tommy slides into the booth next to him.

"Actually, Jacinda, I can answer that one: none of your damn business," Tommy says sunnily. Without missing a beat, he reaches across the table to smack the guy with the snake upside the head when he opens his mouth. "Besides, I've got a better question: what's the deal with your kid, Benowitz? Did he finally ask what's-her-name to prom or what?"

Benowitz sighs, takes a long-suffering sip of his beer, and begins what sounds like a new chapter in an ongoing saga of his son Steven, who's been working on the world's greatest-slash-worst promposal for the last two months with no end in sight. Apparently trained doves are involved, and so is spcaLA.

Swallowing hard around the burr in his throat, Buck nudges Tommy's foot in gratitude.

Tommy nods at whatever Benowitz is saying, then nudges back.

+

No pressure tags: everyone who tagged me, plus @screamlet, @setmeatopthepyre, @beanarie, @geddyqueer, @freneticfloetry, @apollabarnes, @station18908, and @leashybebes

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

The sad thing is, there isn't two issues here.

When addicts don't have safe, private, affordable housing, then they are forced to go wherever they can, including the buss stop shelter.

What separate solution to that can you imagine?

Station a cop at the buss shelter to arrest them? And do what with them, take them away and put them where, for how long, with what money? A night in jail? A few years in prison? If they died that would solve your problem, except it won't, because those addicts are part of other lives and starting an addiction is a painfully common way to cope with someone you love dying.

Same with the 2AM screaming and door banging and threats. As long as people with mental illness are thought of as dangerous, they'll be treated like criminals by default, not worth any time or resources to help. Just ignore them or lock them up.

That's not working for you though, is it. There's no one safe for you to call when someone needs help, when you need help with a situation you're not trained to deal with.

You know how protests bock streets and stop traffic? How some protests bring broken windows?

That's not a separate problem from the issue that got those people on the street. We can't solve our own problems by pretending that the pain of other people is separate from us.

I will never be safe until the people around me are too.

So I smile and keep walking when the guy follows me down the street yelling threats with his fists up. When someone bangs on the door at midnight.

My adult nephew shouts random insults while walking down main street, he cackles and breaks into a run, and I hope no one new to town sees him and gets scared. The people who know my nephew know he's never hurt anyone. They know that just the idea of hurting someone's feelings can send him spiraling, desperately trying to make it right. He's on mediation for depression. He does daily meditation.

But a stranger won't know that.

The people threatening me or making my hackles rise might be drunk, or having some kinda episode, or maybe just be an asshole, but I don't want them dead. I don't want them shot or tossed in prison for resisting arrest. It won't help.

What might help is

-the practice some places are starting, where trained mental health professionals and people who know how to deescalate are dispatched instead of the cops. People feel safer calling them. Less people get hurt, when guns and handcuffs aren't being waved around, when the only long term result isn't just a fine or holding cell. More people end up getting help when it's there to be given.

What might help is

-a program like one of my neighboring communities have, where there are purpose built houses people can live in for free and if no one's actively living in it for a year the place goes to someone else. Compare that to half the houses in my town standing empty, slowly rotting, while lots of the people where I live are technically homeless. Some live outside in tents at -50 F.

My grandma lived just down the street from a safe home for troubled adults. She could barely walk and was basically blind, and went to the little local store for her shopping alone. When my nephew visited her, for the first ever, he was SAFE walking down those streets too. People were used to seeing someone like him around. They knew there was someone they could call if anything happened they needed help with, and they knew it wouldn't end in anyone getting shot or locked up.

Strangers saw my nephew yelling in the middle of the street and stopped to chat about the weather with him. Can you imagine?

We're all getting hurt from different parts of the same issue.

Those of us dealing with unusable buss shelters and seeing someone be scary in public still have a little more breathing room than the people who everyone's told to be scared of.

We've got more social credit. We can make the people in charge listen. We can help fix this. For them and us. For everyone.

But not by saying there are separate issues here.

I wish there were a better way to talk about some hot button issues without pushing the hot button.

[saetiate]

call it what it is. (or, the five times sae and you are "just friends". and the one time it stops being possible to deny what this really is.)

itoshi sae x f!reader fluff. friends to lovers, first kiss, how love happens, reader goes by she/her pronouns and has some personality (sorry, i couldn't get around it bc of The Plot but i kept it as minimal as possible) word count: 2.3k author's note: you both have a whole dinner date, go to events together, take care of each other, and then get surprised when people think you're dating??? okay so the sound of fireworks are less obvious than whatever yall have going on

Bitterness churns at the back of your throat. Is it from the roasted beans of the coffee you've been slamming into your system for the last few days, or from the lack of sleep?

Not that it matters. You've worked OT, both your team and your clients are unhappy, and according to your Excel worksheet, you're on your 85th job application. So really, it doesn't get worse than —

The doorbell rings.

Who the actual —

You breathe out the biggest sigh at the pretty face standing before you. It's definitely the lack of sleep, isn't it? Either you really should've checked the peephole and put on something a little more flattering, or he's a hallucination.

Let's hope it's the latter. You move to close the door, and his hand reaches out lightning-quick, holding it still. In a spark of annoying rebellion, you press all of your body weight against the door, and it doesn't budge an inch.

Right. Athletes and their stupid, stupid strength.

"You didn't answer my calls."

They say sighing is a necessary part of your lungs, that one of the struggles of artificial lungs was getting them to sigh. You wonder if it meant this many times in a day. "Sae, I'm busy. Wait, I didn't answer your calls? You don't answer my texts 90% of the time."

Then he's in your entryway, because of course you can't argue where your neighbors can hear, that's rude. But then he's in your kitchen, washing his hands, opening your fridge.

"There's nothing in here. When's the last time you took a shower?"

"You come here just to insult me?"

A towel hits your face with an oof before it falls into your arms.

"Sae," you try again, as the towel slides down your cheek, "You can't just barge in here and —"

20 minutes later, there's two steaming bowls of katsu curry rice on your now-clean desk. Sae opens up the little ziplock of togarashi, leans it against your bento box with more care than you'd expect.

"Itakadimasu."

~

It's the strangest thing, walking into your place only for someone to already be in there. How the noise cuts through, something unbelonging but welcomed.

"You know, giving you the key wasn't so you could just walk in here whenever you want. It was for emergencies only."

The only answer you get is the smell of onions being caramelized, crackled sparks of savory in the air.

"I answered your call," you continue, undressing behind a half-open door. "So this can't be an emergency. And you have a much nicer place than this."

Sae barely glances at you as your head peeks into the kitchen. "You could stay there."

"What, with you? Like we're roommates? Nah, you'd see what a mess I am."

"I'm already seeing it."

A spatula waves in little circles around the pan,

What are you doing here, Sae?

Like he's already braced for the question, the refrigerator light beacons out into the descending night. Your favorite wine passes from his hand to yours.

"Got gifted it," he responds before you can even ask. You could've caught him looking at you, but the gold label glints with stars in your eyes.

"How'd you get gifted icewine? You've never talked about it in an interview."

He doesn't tell you he asked his manager for recommendations, that he knows they let it slip to someone looking for a brand deal with him. Instead, he watches as you struggle to pop the cork open, the xylophone clink of ice into twin wine glasses.

"So you do like sweet things," you comment as the nectared drink meets your tongue with a smile. There's a reverence to it: how he watches you chop the vegetables before sliding them into the pan, how the last remnants of today's sunlight filter through the window and past your hair.

Sweet things. He supposes he does like something like that.

~

"This event, is it a big deal?"

He vaguely hears a ruffle of clothing behind the half-shut bathroom door, lightstream swept across the floor. He offered you what he knows his teammates get their wives for these events — stylist, makeup artists — but he watched you stand in his bathroom layering on eyeshadow for yourself anyways.

I don't trust anyone else to touch me. A simple statement made stark.

"Sorry, Sae. Could you help zip me up please?"

Maybe it's that implication, that hidden trust you place in him, that makes his exhale a little shaky as one of his hands wraps around your waist to hold the dress down, the other carefully pulling up metal piece up.

You've often thought athletes would naturally be aggressive. You've seen Sae make a fast pass across the entire field without breaking a sweat. But when his hands are on you, they're always light. You think of the falling of snow, its soft and silent touch that comes unexpected, the easy descent it makes before it melts into the ground.

Love is a little like that, maybe.

~

It's a common feeling, to feel as if you're completely alone in this world. Easy to get into your own head, to see only yourself within four walls again and again and forget that there is a whole world outside. It's logical, well-researched, known. It's because of that that you can factor out the feelings when it hits you.

The four walls has never felt as striking as now, coughing into the hollow quiet. The morbid thought strikes that if you died here, no one would know. They'd find your body days later, after the smell starts to waft out.

But you chose this. To move and to fight and to create a life worth living. You, with your ambitions and heavy heart and endless survival faith that makes you somehow believe you can still make it. Sometimes you have to force a door close before wrenching another one open with nothing but your bare hands. Sometimes you have to swallow all your pride and roll up your sleeves and pray to no higher gods you worship that the decision you made is worth it.

You think you hear something click as your mind fogs back and forth into sleep. You hope whoever's burgling you will at least leave you alone and only take what they need. You hear your name, and then a shuffle, and god this is really the worst time to have a stalker.

The back of a hand over your forehead is cool to the touch, the night's breeze still pressed between the molecules.

"You're sick."

Thank you, intruder, for pointing out the obvious is what you want to say. But instead, your head lulls heavily to the side. "I just need to rest for a bit."

"You need a hospital."

"I'm fine. I'm just- being dramatic. But I'm fine."

Your world tips on its axis, warmth blooming into your side. He lifts you into his arms soundlessly. You almost envy how effortless it is for him; the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself.

It's only halfway towards his car that you find yourself processing, finally speaking, "Thank you, Sae."

There's a sharp intake of breath from him, the hard line of his body protecting you from the night's chilled-sweet air. His heartbeat against your ear is as steady as the shore, the way it waits for the kiss of the tide.

"Just call me next time."

~

Sae's not sure how he feels about this.

It's his first time being late when he's meant to be taking you to this event. He moves fast through the crowd, searches with keen eyes. Chandeliers flicker and crystal-light dances —

Only to find you propped up against the wall, Rin leaning down close.

Sae might be less confused if Rin didn't look — for what might be the first time at an event ever — like he actually wanted to be there. He's listening to you with all his attention, has no problem being in your space.

Sae only approaches once you've been whisked away by Bachira.

"Why were you talking to her?"

Rin whips around, and instead of looking guilty, he's in wide-eyed shock, and then narrow-eyed annoyance. "Ha? She's your girlfriend, isn't she?"

Sae blinks. Did he say that? He would've remembered, wouldn't he?

"You good-for-nothing older brother," Rin's voice is a grunt, nothing like the sweetness he gave you. "You didn't even introduce me. I had to fucking find out through Isagi."

"How does Isagi know?"

"Oliver."

"How does Oliver know?"

Rin gives him an begrudged, deadpan look. "He's your teammate?"

That explains nothing. Actually, Sae is even more confused. He has about a dozen more questions.

"She's nice." Rin mumbles low, playing with the stem of his wine glass, watches as it almost tips before swooping it back up.

"You like her?"

"I think she's nice." Rin grits, and Sae really doesn't know how Rin gets away with faux passes on the field when his reactions are this obvious, because he watches how his eyes grow with realization as another thought passes through his brain. "You don't like her?"

"I like her." Sae accepts quickly.

"Ha??? Then what are you asking me for?!"

~

If Sae's being honest, he knows he has more than enough. He wonders what this thing is that he's had since he was born, never satiated even as he reaches the top. He thinks about how Bachira describes his 'monster', a childlike wonder, whether this is his own version of something like that.

But even the blackhole-depths of his greed doesn't anticipate wanting you. Like remembering the sea upon the drink of an oyster. A second breath, heart soaked with knowing.

What am I doing, sleeping in his bed? The night grows darker with every step, so the invite was innocuous enough. You sink into the mattress and the blanket of night muffles the fear, the thought that love is never so easy. There will be complications and contracts —

You turn to him and all the braveheart strength seeps out of you. Maybe you can put it down here, just for a moment.

He looks at you love-first, in a thousand colors, something he can't find with anyone else. He brushes the hair from your face so delicately, you find yourself stuck between watching his relaxed expression and fluttering your eyes shut to absorb the feeling. The back of his fingers caress your cheek, a butterfly's wing.

"Are you happy? Satisfied?"

Sae is not abstract. It's a vague but concrete question. You understand him at first glance.

"Not yet," you exhale honestly. "I have more to do. I'm gonna get there."

I'm gonna be the person I want to be. And by that time, I'll also be —

I'll also be the kind of girl you'd consider worth dating.

"Just wanna be worth it," you smile weakly instead.

He looks at you with a tenderness that feels dangerous. You think of a bird's first flight, the swoop of the fall. The crackle of a flame before it eats the firewood.

"People are worth something the moment they're born," he recites with no inflections.

"I know that."

"You're the one who said that." It's not accusatory, it's a reminder: your own truth, a perception of love you've been made the exception of. It's too heavy with degradation for him to feel comfortable focusing on, so instead he asks something he knows.

"If you had everything you want now, would it be enough?"

You sit up, his eyes following you. Your body heat no longer pressed against his feels like a loss, something he's sure to correct.

"No. You know that's not how it works." You should know, better than anyone.

He does know. That greed is a bottomless abyss, ambition an infinite sky. There is no amount of good enough that could ever make it all feel worth it.

His hand circles around your wrist, pulls you in on top of him until you're chest to chest.

Love is not your right. Shattered somethings cradle your heart. Trees can grow around items. You wonder if your heart is the same — muscle grown strong around fractured glass, a whisper of a cutting edge with every beat.

If you're always going to want more, be better, go further —

Could you have a little something in the now?

He's so close to you now that it fills your mind completely. He's not naked but he feels so bare under you, your hands framing his cheeks, soft skin brushing against your fingertips. One of his hands skates up your back, the other slides up your jaw, cups the back of your neck.

You wonder when you started letting him touch you like that.

He treats you so gently, so unlike the overwhelming emotion that crashes into you. Both lightweight and heavy, you feel swept under, you just want to anchor onto something —

His lips touch yours and everything falls into place.

~

"How'd you know about her?"

Oliver could make it easy for him. He won't, because getting a reaction out of Sae is much more fun. Instead, he tries and fails to feign ignorance. "Who?"

"My girlfriend."

Oliver leans his head back against the wall, a playful smile over his face. "So she is your girlfriend. Loyal too."

Sae narrows his eyes.

"Relax. I just talked to her at one of those events you brought her to."

"You talked to her?"

Oliver gets the sense that Sae is trying to make it sound like a normal question, but all it sounds is exactly how annoyed he feels.

"She just said she's waiting for you."

notes: unbelonging is not a word, i used it anyways on purpose to strengthen the idea of something not belonging. nectared and lightstream are also not real words, but i like them. twin wine glasses is kind of a reference to twin flames, though i do think you and sae are actually soulmates. i wonder if people can be both. "the weight you carry is so heavy when you're carrying it yourself" is a double meaning, not just your body weight but everything else you carry too.

call it what it is: / a love created, hand-sculpted to fit. / a silent reprieve, / to be seen, / constellations bursting at the seams. / unfounded heart, / a tepid start,/ an easy, soft-sweet thing. / say what this really is. / place it on the justice scales of the abyss. / what you're meant to be / versus what you choose / you can decide you have a right to this.

[delilahsturniolo]

— 𝜗ৎ the greatest . . . m.s

in which . . . you want something more with fwb!matt, but he shuts you down, turning it into an argument, so he decides to “make it up to you” and you can’t help but give in

warnings . . . fwb!matt, smut, arguing, crying, unprotected sex, unresolved angst, use of pet names, fingering, multiple orgasms.

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

HIT ME HARD AND SOFT WRITING MARATHON . . . fic #6

there's something about matt that just drives you wild. maybe it's the way he looks at you with those piercing blue eyes or the way his hair falls perfectly into place. whatever it is, you can't get enough of him. but the problem is, all he wants from you is to fuck, and nothing more. a real relationship is where he draws the line. you've been friends with benefits for a while now, but lately, you've been wanting something more. you want to be able to call him yours, to have him hold you close and tell you that he loves you. but every time you bring it up, he shuts you down.

"matt, we need to talk," you say, tangled in the sheets. "about what?" he asks, pulling on his shirt and avoiding your gaze. "about us. about what we're doing here."

"we're having fun, aren't we? i mean, the sex is amazing. what more do you want?" you take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. "i want more than just sex, matt. i want a relationship. i want to be with you." he sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i can't give you that. i'm not the relationship type."

"why not? why can't you just give us a chance?" you plead, matt snaps back. "because i don't want to hurt you. i care about you, i do. but i'm not capable of being what you need." you feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "how do you know what i need? you've never even tried."

"look, let's just drop it, okay? we're good together, let's not ruin it by trying to make it into something it's not." you shake your head, wiping away a stray tear. "i can't keep doing this, matt.." he looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you think he might actually be considering it. but then he leans in close, his breath hot on your neck, and whispers, "let me make it up to you."

and just like that, you're putty in his hands. he knows exactly how to touch you, how to make you moan and writhe beneath him. he trails kisses down your neck, his hands roaming over your curves, and you know you should stop him, should tell him no, but you can't. you need him, need this. you can’t resist going back to him. you love the way he makes you feel and you will never escape that.

he pushes you back onto the bed, his body covering yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. he thrusts into you, filling you completely, and you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “you feel so good," he groans, his hips slamming against yours. "so tight and wet for me."

"matt, please," you whimper, not even sure what you're asking for. "i've got you, baby. i'll take care of you." and he does. he fucks you hard and deep, hitting all the right spots, until you're a writhing, moaning mess beneath him. and when you finally cum, screaming his name, he follows right behind you, spilling himself inside you.

but you’re not done yet. matt leans in, his hot breath tickling your ear, and whispers, "you want this, don't you?" you can only nod, your heart pounding in your chest. his fingers brush against your panties, already damp with your arousal. he chuckles softly, a sound that sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

his fingers deftly push your panties aside, revealing your slick folds. he runs a finger along your slit, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. he brings it to his lips, tasting you. "mmm," he hums, "you taste so sweet, can’t get enough of this pretty pussy..” then, without warning, he plunges a finger inside you. you gasp, your back arching off the sheets. he pumps his finger in and out of you, adding another when he feels you're ready. his thumb presses against your clit, rubbing circles around it.

your hips buck wildly, meeting his thrusts. you can feel your orgasm building, coiling tighter and tighter. "that's it," matt encourages, "cum for me again.” and you do. your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave, your walls clamping down on matt's fingers. he continues to pump them in and out of you, prolonging your pleasure until you're left a quivering mess on the couch. he withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his lips once again. he sucks them clean, his eyes never leaving yours.

afterwards, he holds you close, stroking your hair and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. and even though you know it's not real, that he's not really yours, you can't help but bask in the afterglow. you know you shouldn't keep doing this, shouldn't keep falling back into bed with him, all he wanted was to see you naked. but the truth is, you're addicted to him, to the way he makes you feel. and as much as you want more, you're not sure you're ready to give this up just yet.

© delilahsturniolo

���: MAN AM I THE GREATESTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

[mechncheese]

Do you have any tips for drawing transformers/simplifying transformer designs :0?? Your art retains their 3-dimensionality without sacrificing their posability and all this while using 'simple' looking shapes, it's genuinely very satisfying to look at

Thank you ! One of the biggest challenges for me when I first got into drawing transformers was trying to keep their movement from being too stiff while keeping their design robot-like so I'm glad that it reads as fluid to people !

I'm used to drawing organic characters, working with simpler designs, and emphasizing movement and flow so this was definitely new territory for me !

I'll talk about my simplification process below !

The easiest way to go about simplifying transformer designs is reducing them to their basic shapes and then building them back up. You can see it a lot in G1. Since G1 characters are designed to be animated (and also look like toys) they can't make their designs too complex so it makes a good starting point when breaking bots down.

The comic designs are a different story. Because it's a different medium, artists can go ham with details.

IDW Thundercracker has a lot going on ! You can see all his mechanics and joints, he looks a bit overwhelming to draw !

G1 Thundercracker is more blocky and simplified, definitely less intimidating to draw, he's mostly just cubes

When I simplify transformers, I break them down and then gradually add details. I think about it like carving out a statue, you have your block of marble and you carve out details until you're happy. You definitely do NOT need to draw every detail, I always leave out a bunch of detailed parts in favor of simplicity.

Let's simplify IDW Thundercracker, if you break him down into shapes, he is also just cubes. The red underneath is my initial sketch and the blue outline is just there to show the shapes.

It also helps to have an understanding of perspective and the way 3D shapes work.

I'd say this is the base for him ! He follows almost the same base as g1, we're keeping it blocky but I do take liberty to taper parts of the body like towards the knees and or along the arms to give my pose some fluidity. Then we shove on his details bit by bit

A lot of it is just picking and choosing design elements you like about a character and finding ways to make it fit onto the design. Thundercracker's IDW design has these cool ribs that go along his torso and I tried to include that while simplifying it.

Something I try to avoid is shoving as Many details as possible onto a design. It can make the design look cluttered and busy and that might be good if that's what you're going for but it's just not for me. I find that more details make it harder to pose my robots so I keep it minimal.

Applying color also gives you a good look at how much room your design has. Here's TC colored !

I could stop here and call him done but I think he looks a bit too spacious so I'm going to add some more details. Here's where I get a bit wild and kind of just do what I want. For me, the references are a base and as I get further along down the design I add seasoning to taste. More plating, different hues and colors, bits and baubles, and artistic flare. Here's where I wind up !

I'm happy with this ! I think Anymore detail and he would be a bit too cluttered (his wings are already reaching the Clutter Point for me)

As you draw more and more designs you'll develop an eye for what you like ! The world is your oyster and you can always go back and redesign/adjust !

[hexagon-club]

I don't want to attack all bisexuals here, because I know they have their own shit to deal with, because people (well, mostly men, but unfortunately some women too) view bisexuality as an inherent lack of boundaries in the same way that they view homosexuality as a challenge to be conquered. But there is a particular type of liberal bisexual that is, I think, unironically the most homophobic sort of person alive. To be fair, I'm not sure I'm even arguing with a bisexual here, a lot of tumblr's userbase is made of heterosexual virgins whose concept of sex is purely theoretical. So they end up with extremely bizarre takes about how they think sex and sexual attraction works.

The thing that pisses me off the most about this sort of progressive homophobia is the dishonest doublespeak of it all. It's so much harder to deal with than the more traditional homophobia you get from conservatives. Because you have to gradually unpack what they are saying and gradually define your terms in this incredibly tedious game where you have to gradually peel off the progressive veneer so you can expose the homophobia underneath.

There's also this thing where they love antagonising homosexuals and feminists completely unprovoked. And then acting like the victims when the groups they provoked fight back. It's all a game to them, they know that they can take their stupid pronoun badges off and stop "identifying as" whenever they want. But those of us whose oppression isn't caused by being part of an opt in identity can't do that. And they like to mock people who actually take things seriously because they think we're being stupid for not doing this just for the fun of it.

The whole thing reminds me of this Sartre quote:

He was specifically talking about Nazis here, though people of gender do the same thing. Which is ironic since they like calling people Nazis over the slightest thing. It's a sign of people who adopt relativistic/subjectivist philosophies. They can't defend their beliefs through logic, the way you would a more traditional belief system. Because their beliefs aren't based on actual physical reality. But they don't really care. It's about power, if you can win through disconcerting your enemy and burying them under more nonsense than they have the capacity to rebut, that's as much of a victory in their eyes as beating them through sound reason.

The concept that trans men are trying to “turn gay men straight” is so funny to me because I’ve made about four “straight” guys realize they’re into men

[captainpriceslilwife]

price with a sensitive little bird who cries too easily (me)!!!! let's think about it....

Maybe you've worked so hard to always be so tough for everyone else :( stiffening your lip every time you get even an inkling that you might cry, running off to the nearest bathroom to gather yourself so you can come back out with the pretty smile that everyone else seems to love so much.

And maybe you do the same thing with john when you first meet him - hiding yourself away the moment you get even the tiniest bit emotional because you don't want to scare him off with your 'dramatics,' as everyone else calls it. You just want him to like you! And you just assume he'll be like everyone else - rolling his eyes and telling you to get over it if you ever cry in front of him. It works for a while, and he seems happy with you, so you make sure to keep it up for months.

But one day, you have nowhere to run.

The two of you are driving home after a night out together - John in the driver's seat as your head lolls against the passenger window, eyes blinking heavily as you try not to fall asleep with John's thumb rubbing small circles on your thigh. You're about to give in to the heaviness pooling behind your eyelids when you see it on the side of the road - a tuft of feathers from what used to be a happy little duck, now flattened by some driver who couldn't get out of the way fast enough, or someone who just didn't care to.

The calm, sleepy energy in the car suddenly shifts, and John steals a glance over at you only to take a double-take when he sees your lip wobbling as your eyes grow glassy. You try to tilt your head away from him to hide yourself from his view, but he's quick to gently squeeze your leg to try to pull your gaze over to him.

"Sweetheart? Hey, what's wrong, love?"

His tender coo is enough to send you over the edge, making your shoulders shake as a soft whimper escapes your lips. You try to choke out the words, but you're so ashamed to be crying in front of him that you can't even speak - so you just point lamely out the window before you bury your face into your hands and let out a sob.

"What?" His brows furrow in concern as he tries to discern what it is that's upset you. He tries to glance in the rearview mirror as he continues driving, but he's at a loss as you continue to let out the most heart-breaking sobs he's ever heard. "Love, what's happened?"

"T-The d-duck...." You manage to blubber out between tears, growing more and more embarrassed with each tear that rolls down your cheek. You're just waiting for him to degrade you, to tell her how silly you are for crying over something so stupid.

"Duck?" He doesn't seem annoyed with you, though - just confused. His hand hasn't once left your thigh, and he only pulls his eyes away from you to keep his attention on the road as he tries to soothe you with his touch. "What duck, my love?"

"S-Someone hit the-" Another little sob escapes from your lips, and he swears he feels his heart break when you bring your teary eyes up to look at him. "-the d-duck. On the road."

Oh, you soft, sweet little thing. His poor girl with an aching heart that harbors so much love and care that it can't help but spill over - making those pretty tears slip down your cheeks as you cling to his hand. The same hand that has spent its life torturing and killing, trained to hold a gun like it's second nature for the past two decades. Yet you still hold onto it like it holds the comfort you seek. And John? He'll do anything to give it to you.

He spends the rest of the night soothing you, trying to comfort you as you cry to him about how 'he must've been so scared, crossing the road all by himself. What if he has a duck family out there waiting for him? Maybe he was crossing the street to get to them...

And John never once teases you or criticizes you - he just holds you a bit closer as he brushes your tears away. It breaks his heart to see you so upset, but a part of him preens at the thought that you finally felt comfortable enough with him to show him the soft, vulnerable parts of you that you had hidden away forever.

The next day, he takes you to the park so you can feed the ducks in honor of their poor, fallen soldier - and he makes sure to hold you again when you start crying about the cute, baby ducklings trailing after their mom.

"They're just so cute...and small...and I can't help them! They could get hurt!" You blubber quietly, tucking your face into his shoulder as he runs his hands down your back to calm you. "I know, my love. I know. But mama's watching them, yeah? They'll be alright."

It's like you've broken a dam. Because now you can't seem to stop crying about every little thing around him. Broken plates, sad news articles, stained laundry, an empty restaurant with a 'grand opening' sign in the front. All of it sends you over the edge in an instant, and you always end up seeking John out for him to soothe you.

You're just waiting for the moment that he tells you that you're too much. He comes home after a hard day of work just to have to take care of you the second he gets back - of course he'd get tired of you at some point! Nobody has ever been kind to you when you showed them such an unguarded version of yourself, and you've just thrusted it upon him with no warning.

But he seems to revel in it. The thought of being the only one that you trust to see you in such a vulnerable state - soft belly exposed for him to take care of - it's like a drug he never knew he could get addicted to. You're a soft, sensitive thing, and he's more than happy to be the one to protect you from the harshness of the world, even if that means he has to soften himself up to meet you at your level.

He's never spoken to someone so gently in his life - kissing your tears away and cooing sweet words at you as he holds you on his lap, making up stuff about whatever you're upset about just so you can calm down - no, love...fish don't feel any pain, so fishing is alright. How do I know?....I read about it...yeah. See? They're fine...no need to cry, love.

And him being soft with you makes you cry, too. But those are his favorite tears to see - red rimmed eyes filled with relief and glistening like glass as you curl yourself closer to him, grateful to have finally found someone who will catch you when you fall into your feelings.

He'll never admit to it, but sometimes he sets you up to fall just so he can be there to catch you. He'd never make you sad on purpose, of course not, but when you come to him in tears because he left you a little love note on your favorite coffee mug before he went to work? Well, what kind of man would he be if he didn't kiss your damp, splotchy cheeks until you tire yourself out and fall asleep in his arms?

Not one he'd want to be, that's for sure.

[mydeimoed]

It wasn't Mydei's plan to walk you home. But the decision was pretty much made for him when you began stumbling and twirling between different people's arms, clearly looking for the right set that would carry you away.

His only guided you to steady yourself as he nudged you away from stumbling on a crack in the pavement.

The sneer in his face was obvious, and something you couldn't help but laugh at, even if it made a pang of something hit in your chest. "You act like you've never been drunk before. Don't you know how to have fun?"

Mydei huffs, and doesn't stop you when you stumble next. You catch yourself just fine- maybe he knew you would. "I haven't." His voice is deep and smooth like always.

"Haven't? Haven't what?" You ask, utterly distracted with the buzz in your skin and ... everything about Mydei being the one to make sure you got home safe.

The prince gives you another look. "Haven't gotten drunk before. I don't know why I would do that to myself."

At this information, you balk, slightly swaying as you stop walking to look him in the eye. "You haven't? Why?"

"It's bad for you. Keep walking." He doesn't like the idea of stopping, and his hand is baren from its usual gauntlet when it holds your elbow and moves you forward to keep walking beside- or more so in front of him. You feel like you're being patrolled by an officer.

"But you drink wine. Whenever we go out, you've got a glass full. I've seen it."

"...It's juice."

You can't help but snort, and then you chortle, and then you laugh. All one after the other, unable to keep your entertainment at bay. You hold a hand up to your flushed face.

"You're a child," you try to slander him, but he merely raises an eyebrow at you.

"The only one acting childish is you. Why are you walking?"

"Because you told me to?"

"We're at your house already. Are you really so helpless?"

You blink, and when you look up, you realize that Mydei is right. He's already brought you all the way up to your porch, which means the night is over. Your body sags in realization. "Aw... I don't want to be home yet." The words slip out thoughtlessly.

Mydei doesn't seem to understand, his eyebrow furrowed. "Why not? You look exhausted. Come on." Seemingly out of nowhere, the man jangles your key in hand and unlocks your door, waiting for you to step inside. When you make no move to, he just sighs and opens the door himself, his hand on your back as he nudges you forward.

It doesn't help with the prisoner feeling, like he's your warden who's bringing you back to your cell- but how would Mydei know just how uncomfortable you are at home?

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

You blink. "Like what?" You ask, and Mydei doesn't look pleased. That same scowl as always that you like to pretend doesn't bother you.

Wordlessly, he steps in, and you can only stand dumbly in place as you watch him take a seat on the footstool you have set up in the doorway. He begins to take off his boots- ever the respectful boy- and then he looks up at you expectantly as he holds out his hand. "Your foot," he says, voice low.

It's rather hard for you to think because of the alcohol in your system, and you're grateful for that. It's much easier to do as you're told, and he seems pleased as well, helping take off each shoe with a gentle touch that's hard to process at the moment.

"Get to bed. I'll bring you water and medicine." Mydei says once he's finished, coming to stand and towering over you once again. The way he so easily orders you around feels strange, but perhaps it's just simple work for him. He's a Prince, after all, more than used to commanding people much more stubborn than you.

But he doesn't treat you like his soldiers, you know that. It's much easier to think of it that way, because it stops the flutter in your stomach that can easily be confused with nausea if you're not careful.

When you find yourself in your bed, successfully coddled and cared for, Mydei leaves only after he gives you a stern instruction to finish all your water before going to sleep. Maybe you won't remember this in the morning, but you don't think you're that far gone.

In fact, you don't think you drank nearly enough to justify this amount of care from Mydei, but maybe you'll exaggerate a little further to convince the both of you that you needed it as much as he seemed to think. You'll pretend to forget in the morning, and that will be the best way to thank him.

[savanir]

DP x DC Prompt [28]

Danny messed up...

During a fight in the zone he accidentally went through a random natural portal that closed once he went through and he's been looking for a way back ever since.

While looking he's come into contact with a colourful bunch of people who call themselves the legion of superheroes.

It appears they are a collective of heroes from all kinds of planets working together to help all over the universe.

Despite the whole; several heroes his age thing and, the aliens thing, Danny can't really enjoy the experience because they were also the ones to tell Danny that time travel is illegal, so they can't really be of any help.

And Danny might be a little more stuck than he originally thought.

The situation is getting somewhat worrying, he's not gonna lie...

But! He did get introduced to this Brainy guy and maybe, just maybe, if he's nice enough or something, he can convince him to make a portal back into the realms anyway.

Meanwhile Querl has now met someone who can emotionally read him completely.

It's a surreal experience to have someone around him who just knows how he's feeling without him having to explain himself.

Now if only Phantom had a higher level of intelligence and they could have some really interesting debates...

Alas, can't have everything. Too bad.

Still, Phantom's stories about this 'Infinite Realm' place sounds absolutely fascinating.

And it just so seems to be that the ghostly hero has blueprints for the construction of a gateway to the place on his absolutely archaic communication device.

"Phantom, allow me to have a look at those blueprints you mentioned."

Querl already holds out his hand to accept the device from Danny without waiting to hear if he'll accept or not.

Danny can see some of the people around them giving him an apologetic look, probably figuring Danny would find Querl to be rude.

And maybe Danny would, if he couldn't feel the curiosity pouring off of him.

So before anyone can say anything Danny chirps, "sure! Here you go."

And hands him his phone.

As Querl pours over the data, Danny internally figures that its now only a matter of time until he's back home.

[caitlinsnicket]

bob reynolds relationship headcanons part. 4

warnings: smut under the cut, nothing too crazy

a/n: i'm obssessed with him. it's not funny anymore. enjoy

masterlist | 🍉 | ko-fi | part. 1 | part. 2 | part. 3

you feel like a creep when you realize you've been staring at his throat for too long, and it's even worse when he catches you doing it. at this point in your relationship, he's way more relaxed about your affection, so even if he blushes a little at how much want is in your eyes, he still gives you that little lopsided smile and asks if there's something on his face (even if he knows you were just ogling him).

and when you get tired of just looking, the obvious next step is to get as close to him as you possibly can and get your hands and face on his neck: you trace it with your fingers, ignoring the obvious shiver that runs through him, and kiss your favorite spots (like the juncture of his shoulder and neck, his adam's apple, that spot behind his ear that makes him whine). he lets you play with him as much as you want, his hands wandering softly under your shirt and over your thighs, happy sighs and chuckles indicating that he'd like for you to keep going, please.

and when you're feeling a little bolder and all you want is to wreck him, your hips shift over his and you suck marks all over his pretty, sensitive skin, and all he can do is either hold on for dear life or beg a little. you pull away a bit and look at your work, his eyes glazed over and his neck starting to get those purple marks that he loves so much. you can't help but give in and kiss him all over his face next. the adoration in his eyes is enough to make you shift your entire behavior, and he's always secretly confused because a second ago you were ready to jump his bones and now you're just... soft? not that he minds! but he does wonder about it (he has no idea).

when he marks your neck instead and you show it around other people like it's no big deal (no, like you're proud of it) he gets a little high on that simple display of casualness, and more often than not he'll drag you somewhere empty and kiss you silly, until you're breathless and your legs are a little wobbly, while he looks like the proudest man alive. you like this side of bob, the one that is bold and silly and happy.

one time you tell him that you're too lazy to get up and go to sleep in the bed, so he picks you up and takes you there. you don't mention it, but your heart races, because it's easy to forget how strong he actually is. so one day, you're on his lap kissing him breathless, and you whisper in his ear that you'd like for him to do it again. he gets your legs to circle his waist and doesn't stop kissing you, and you swear to god you almost pass out.

every now and then he'll hold you down or press you against surfaces just because he feels like it, but it also reminds you of how strong he actually is. you can't help but shiver when he holds your neck in place while kissing you, not squeezing, just resting his hands on your skin.

when you notice he's getting restless during a meeting or something akin to a fight (which is happening less often than it used to), you drag him to an empty room before the lights start to flicker and ask him what he needs. sometimes he wants to be alone in the quiet, sometimes he wants a tight hug, and sometimes he wants to get himself inside of you and fuck you until he forgets why he was getting angry. it usually ends up with you propped up against a wall with your pants around your ankles and him panting on your neck, mumbling curses and biting his lips. what truly breaks you is how one of his hands always soothes your back, like he can't help but be careful with you even when he's being rough.

there's this really funny thing that happens every now and then where he sneezes when he cums. it doesn't happen all the time, but when it does he gets embarrassed and tells you to stop laughing at him, but it's too funny: at one point he's bucking his hips into your mouth, on the other he's brushing his nose with his hand. it's honestly endearing, but his neck gets all red when you tease him about it.

the first time you sucked him off, he was so quiet you were worried he wasn't enjoying it. then you looked up: both his hands around his mouth, eyes shut tightly and cheeks flushed. you stopped until he promised to relax. from then on, he's a brat, bucking his hips into your mouth, whining that he needs it wetter, that he wants to come in your mouth and make you all messy. but he's still too endearing for his own good, holding your hair back from your face, being careful not to hurt your throat, and thanking you every now and then.

he likes it when you kiss him right after he comes on your mouth. makes his head dizzy.

[lotsofluvz]

LADS MEN AS DADS ⋆. 𐙚 ˚

how are the lads men as dads?

warnings none, just fluff

note i been trying to write as much before my semester starts n make me miserable. enjoy n luv ya! <3

ZAYNE

He cried when he finally saw his daughter as you cradled her in your arms after labor. After nine months, he is able to see the mini version of him and you. He can’t be any happier.

He is the strict type of dad (for the most part) but has a sweet spot for his princess. How can he say no to her sweet face? He can’t. He feels bad whenever he has to say no to her, but for the most part, your daughter wins over his heart.

It can be difficult to have time to spend with his family, especially with his line of work, but he always makes sure to not work once he arrives home and devotes himself to you and your daughter.

If she gains interest in anything related to medicine, I can see him teaching her various knowledge about it. He will buy her books, CDs, DVDs and many more related to science. He can’t pass up the opportunity to bond with her and his love for medicine.

RAFAYEL

He definitely cried the entire labor and when the nurses gave him your daughter. More tears fell down when she grabbed his pinky finger. He is beyond thankful for you giving him such an amazing gift, and he will forever treasure it.

He is the chill dad and is notorious for spoiling his princess. She wants new shoes? Bought it. She wants a new toy? Bought it. She wants ice cream? Bought it. She could ask him once, and she will get it. He can’t help it; she wants his princess to be happy.

He gained a new muse once you told him you were pregnant. He has portraits of you every week as she grows in your belly. Once she was born, he never stopped painting the both of you. He even bought a separate place for his paintings of his two favorite people because it was getting cramped in your home.

SYLUS

He was surprised when the two of you went for a regular doctor's appointment and the doctor told you that you were carrying twin girls. Sylus was ecstatic, to say the least. He asked Luke and Kieran to buy all the necessary nursery items. You have to scold him about purchasing too much for girls before they were even born.

If you think he was spoiling the twins so much before they were born, prepare for the amount of spoiling he is doing once his princesses are born. All they have to do is bat their eyelashes or look at something for a few seconds, and he is buying it already.

He is a hands-on dad, like the time you had an important meeting, and so did he. Instead of asking Luke and Kieran to look over the twins, he decided to bring them to the meeting itself. His business partners are all looking at him and the two girls in his arms. He is completely unfazed by the looks they are giving him and continues on explaining. He is more focused if his girls are comfortable throughout the meeting. He is the ultimate girl dad.

CALEB

He was so excited to learn that you were carrying twin boys. He bawled when the twins were born as you carried them in your arms. He can't believe two healthy boys came out of you, and he can't stop staring at them. He is so lucky to have you in his life and to have you gifting him with boys who shared the same features as their mom.

He is an easygoing and protective dad who loves his wife and twin boys so much. He always had a picture of you and the twins in a frame on his desk. He knows his life of work can be stressful, but he always makes sure the boys get to spend at least an hour or so every day.

He is the one who sparked the interest of the boys in planes, and they always loved going to their dad's job site and looking at the big planes. He is glad that the twins shared a likeness for planes, the same way he loved planes when he was younger.

He is always there to defend his boys, especially when they started to play soccer. A kid pushed one of the twins, and it took almost everything in him to not punch the kid's dad. After practice, he treated his wounds and bought them ice cream.

XAVIER

He initially wanted a girl so he could have a kid that looked like you, but he was gifted with a son who looked like him instead. He was kind of nervous when the nurse gave him the baby, but once he had him in his arms, he wouldn't stop staring and caressing his small cheeks. He repeatedly thanked you as he cradled your son.

He is the laid-back type of dad. If his son wants to try something, he will fully support him. He even taught him how to play board games, even if your son is clueless and mostly just laughing at his dad while pretending to playing. Although you refused to let him or your son near the kitchen, especially since he isn't particularly good at cooking or baking.

They became instant sleep buddies; you will always see them lying down and cuddling each other. Xavier is really good at calming him down and making him fall asleep; hence, you gave him the job of tucking your son in every night. There were instances when you woke up in the morning and he wasn't beside you. Instead, you saw him sleeping in the nursery room with him in his arms.

[runningracingdancingchasing]

She'd imagined sitting him down on the couch, maybe with some alcohol to make it all easier, imagined the lighting and how it would play on his features. But now they were in the kitchen, and the lighting was completely different, harsh and bright in comparison to her imagination. Well, that was on her. She was the one who'd started the conversation now instead of later.

Clearing her throat again, she found it hard to find her words, and even harder to look at him.

"I've been rehearsing this all day," she confessed with a little smile that didn't reach haunted eyes, toying with her own fingers while wishing she had Abraçinhos to hug. But he was in the living room, on the couch, where she'd meant to have this conversation. "But I can't seem to remember how it was going to go. Sorry if I'm about to ramble..."

Taking a deep breath, she thought through all of the myriad of rehearsals she'd gone through, then picked a place and started. Managing to look at him for a moment, she iterated, "Just know that I'm telling you this because you're my best friend and I trust you." That was very important. It was easy for Rapunzel to love. She loved her friends almost right away. But trusting people wasn't so simple. That probably had something to do with what she was about to tell him...

Okay, here we go. Just breathe and... start. "Okay, so the thing is... I can't remember anything about my past up until a few years ago," she explained softly, "and that's by design. Something... happened when I was little. I'm not sure exactly what, but I know it was traumatic. My therapist thought -- and I agree -- that if I want to function as an adult, I had to lock it all away. It was really the only way to move forward. But that's why there are things that basically everyone knows that I don't know anything about. Which is so frustrating and embarrassing, because I'm usually so smart!"

Even talking about it now, she could feel that locked closet of memories getting banged on from the inside, and her shame from not knowing how schools worked. Her focus started turning inward, a slippery slope to a bad night, even if he decided she was worth hanging onto. Without thinking, she got a glass of cold water and sat down at the table again, pressing the cool glass against her face and neck to keep herself in the here and now and with him.

"There are things I don't remember so much as feel. Echoes of a voice I can't identify or- or thinking someone's going to react negatively to something when no one with half a heart would. Sometimes... it's like a part of my brain is trying to remember the stuff I've deliberately forgotten, and the rest of my brain is trying to keep me from remembering. When that happens I just kind of... go away. Like, I'm there, physically, but my mind..." She paused to sip some water and ran her fingers idly over the place mat in front of her, taking in the texture as the cool drink soothed her throat, keeping her grounded. She surprised herself by the fact that she didn't feel like she was going to cry. Not yet. If he decided this was it, yeah, she'd spend the rest of the night crying. But not yet.

The more she thought about it, the more guilty she felt for being this way and subjecting him to her. Had she trapped him by asking him out before she told him this? But she was telling him now, and giving him an out, right? That was good of her, wasn't it? She liked him so much that she's was putting her biggest flaw right out there in the open and shining a light on it. If he couldn't handle it, well... she could just leave Rio after all.

God, she didn't want to leave Rio. Didn't want to leave him.

A sad, scared sigh escaped her. "I'm broken, Rai. I'm broken, and I don't know if I can ever be fixed all the way. I know I should have told you this before I asked you out, because you deserve to have an informed choice, to know what you're getting into, and I totally get it if... if it's too much. If it's a deal-breaker. I can be a lot as it is, and this is just... it's a lot more. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

And she really hoped he'd stay, despite it. And she was terrified he wouldn't. Her head and stomach swam unpleasantly, pizza and wine suddenly not seeming like such a good idea.

He'd busied himself washing out their wine glasses. Washing dishes was his least favourite of all chores - which he despised in general - but she'd gone through the effort to make dinner, and the least he could do was to help clean up.

He felt his shoulders tense a little as she spoke. Serious and important... Her tone and the entire vibe changed, and he tilted his head at her, a little furrow between his brows.

"Sure, girl." He set the glasses down and dried off his hands, leaning his hips back against the kitchen counter and folding his arms loosely. "What's, uh... what's up?" He deliberately kept his mind as blank as possible, refusing to jump to scary conclusions.

[lxvvie]

One Night (I Can't) Stand.

loser!simon x loser!reader

You smelled smoke. Right after the direct sunlight bitch-slapped you awake.

You’d glare if you had the energy, but it was the sun and you were tired. Too tired. Too tired physically, and it wasn’t the type of exhaustion that came from being at work all day with your asshole boss and inept coworkers, oh no, this was… this was that ‘feel good’ tired, the one that came from a lot of—oh!

Oh.

You moved and… you were sore. In all the right places, too. Your body felt heavy and a little like Jello. You took a peek under the covers. Butt ass naked. Ohhh. So you did get some after all. Finally. Look at you, getting dicked down like normal people. After a bar crawl you were practically dragged to under the guise of “team building”. You cackled like some fuckin’ goofball, like you were in on some inside joke only you and the universe knew, and then you felt the bed shift a little next to you, heard a soft exhale, smelled some more smoke, and…

…Wait a minute. Who’d you fuck?

You were almost scared to turn over. The last time something like this happened, you shat where you ate. By proxy. It was one of your co-worker’s friends, some guy named… Jack? Joshua? Whoever the fuck. Anyway, the sex was… mediocre at best, you don’t even remember if you came or not (like who could forget an orgasm?), and afterward, you had to contend with said co-worker’s knowing smile every time you saw her. And then the poor guy asked you out (at her encouragement). Oh, you still cringe at the fallout from that.

Anyway… who’d you fuck again?

You took a deep breath, counted down from five, prepared yourself for the possibility of it being another shit-show, and then—

“The fuck was so funny?” Well, that eliminated… all of your co-workers. Deep voice. Nice, deep voice. Nice, deep, gravelly voice. Big dick energy voice. You think. The stuff fanfiction and bad boy fantasies are made of. Okay, you’ll hold that next cackle in. You turned over to face your bedmate and was immediately greeted to the sight of a pair of big brown eyes staring into your soul. Or, rather, staring through your soul. Same difference. You just know that he’s big. Huge. Physically imposing. Broad-shouldered. Muscular but not, what is it, incredibly defined? You can see the power in his body, and it was something to watch as he rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly. Muscles under tan-lined skin. Angular, long face. A nose that was broken one time too many. Long eyelashes. Furrowed brows. Five o’clock shadow. Resting bitch face. Buzzcut that was growing out. He was cute in a grungy “fuck you and fuck them, too” kind of way. Mismatched features that matched him and made sense.

Shitty tattoos, though. Mm. A travesty.

So now you’re face-to-face with your bedmate who, from the looks of it, had been up longer than you, had also been watching you if his sitting up against the pillow was any indication, and was nursing one of cheapest cigarette brands known to man (shoutout to your chain-smoking HR rep for getting you hip to this information against your will while at job orientation), and… uh…

“…Who the fuck are you?” Smooth. Real smooth, blurting that shit out. Fuck your foot-in-mouth syndrome. It’s done you more harm than good.

Didn’t really faze the guy much, if any, though. He just quirked a brow. Took another hit from his cigarette. Flicked the ashes into the makeshift ashtray of a cracked shot glass. Exhaled and let the smoke settle over you two. Came back to staring into (or is it through?) your soul. Okay… this is awkward. Well, it was until—

“Who the fuck are you?” came the brusque response. You were taken aback. Don’t know why because you didn’t know the guy from a can of paint, but you were, and if he caught the shadow that passed over your face, he didn’t say anything. The high you had earlier from FINALLY getting some dick came crashing down stupendously upon this asshole’s broad shoulders.

You hate your co-workers and boss all over again.

And you hate that HR rep even more.