#but he will pretend to show love in small doses

[bhaalsdeepbat]

Astarion refers to the other spawn he intends to create as his children and I personally HC it more like his consort spawn eventually plays the role of brood mother to whoever the favored "children" are for eternity. like they recreate a fucked up family unit. romanced player and the children have to compete for scraps while he spoils whoever his romance partner is. and the cruelty of it is that Astarion's consort has all the gifts to be in the sun, but Astarion now wants an eternal night for all of the children he intends to make (and force to live in the shadows).

[sunderingstars]

So how do you think Zayne, Xavier and Rafayel would react when their s/o has a boy best friend, purely platonic but makes other people have second thoughts about their relationship.

Hehehe have a good day, write this if your okay with this 🪐

boy best friend (l&ds x reader) ♡

what the stars reveal: 1.2k, no gender signifiers used for reader, established relationship, ✨jealousy✨ but with a healthy dose of respect partner juice, surprisingly well-adjusted xav, half-headcanon half-prose, slight allusions to lore if you squint

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ hello !! thank you for giving me an excuse to write jealous rafayel >:3 the love & deepspace brainrot is so real for me right now, hope you enjoy !

— zayne is really good at hiding it, but his tiny mannerisms bleed through enough to make it clear he’s worried. it’s not that he has an issue with you having guy best friends, it’s just that everyone else seems to assume you two are together despite zayne standing right there. 

Zayne just stares. Blinks. Stares. Blinks again. You have to nudge him as a reminder that he is, in fact, in public, and that introductions are usually reciprocated by both parties. As soon as you make contact, it’s like a switch flips.

He breezes through his name, occupation, and a firm handshake (not too loose, not too tight), making it look so effortless that you almost forget he’d frozen like a statue as soon as he laid eyes on your best friend. Almost.

He does his best to hide it, but it’s clear something’s wrong. The slight clip to his voice, the furrow of his brow, the hesitance in his eyes when he looks at you — they may be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but all the telltale signs are there. It’s only a matter of time before you get an answer out of him.

“I’m an adult. I don’t worry about those kinds of things,” he says when you voice your suspicion a few days later.

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s true,” he continues when you shoot him a disbelieving look, shuffling the papers on his desk in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I have absolutely no problem with him.”

You don’t say anything else, simply fix him with a deeper look and cross your arms. He doesn’t crack. It takes a whole five minutes of him pretending to go back to work before he sighs and makes a show of signing something.

“I may,” he says, setting the pen down gently, “Be slightly… somewhat…”

“Jealous?” you finish.

“No,” he says. “Annoyed.” Then, quickly, “Not at you. Or him. Just everyone else.”

You don’t quite understand. “Everyone else…?”

Now it’s Zayne’s turn to fix you with a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”

Notice what? you want to ask, but refrain since you don’t want Zayne thinking you’re more oblivious than you already are. You rack your brain for something, anything that you can remember from that day, until…

“Oh,” you say. You do remember getting quite a few stares even before you and your friend coincidentally ran into Zayne. At first, you thought it was because you were still in uniform, but you realize now that it may have been for a completely different reason.

Zayne doesn’t respond, just taps his fingers against the wood of his desk, a nervous tic.

“Those were people who got the wrong idea,” you continue. Then, when his mouth dips into a frown, you move to stand beside him. “I don’t mind hunting them down and telling them just how wrong they were.”

At this, his frown begins to lift. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I would, though.”

He looks at you clearly for the first time in a few days, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” you say. You maneuver yourself between him and the desk, falling into a half-straddle. “I’d go to their house, knock on the door, and tell them exactly how Dr. Zayne and I make out every Friday eveni—”

You feel his hand brush against your mouth, closing it.

“Alright, alright,” he interrupts with a small smile, “I get it. I’m secure enough in our relationship not to worry.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Just don’t miss any checkups.”

“I’ll be right on time, as always,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And if anyone asks, i’ll tell them exactly who my boyfriend is.”

“Thank you.”

— xavier isn’t sure why you think he’d be annoyed, since your best friend seems nice enough. if anything, you’re the one that seems nervous, broaching the topic with him only to realize he hasn’t minded from the start.

Xavier looks a bit confused. His eyes shuffle between your face, his phone, and the twisting hands in your lap, a small, awkward smile beginning to spread on his face.

“Am I supposed to be… worried?” he asks.

“Are you?” you respond.

This prompts a light chuckle from your boyfriend. He shifts on the couch, turning until his arm rests on the back and his body is angled towards you. “Not really. What about you?”

You shrug. “Maybe a little.”

This seems to surprise Xavier, and you can’t blame him. You’re a bit surprised, too, given that most people’s roles would be flipped in this context.

Still, you can’t help it. Even though you’ve known your best friend for years — much longer than you’ve known Xavier — you don’t want your boyfriend to feel like he’s being overshadowed in his relationship with you. However, it currently seems like those worries are unfounded.

“Well, the way I see it…” Xavier leans in, brushing his lips against your temple, “… it’s wonderful you have so many people to share your life with.”

“You really think so?” you ask, just to make sure.

“Of course. Although…” He leans back, then, mid-afternoon light filtering through the window and washing his features soft gold. His eyes sharpen like sun rays piercing through a cloud. “… if he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”

— rafayel is very loud and clear about his jealousy, and you can count on him to become clingy after you hang out with your best friend. ultimately, you know he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he says he does, so you’re happy to indulge his want for attention if it means you can comfort him when he’s insecure.

Rafayel, as he is wont to do, makes his feelings known immediately and with such startling clarity that at first you think he’s joking.

“You’re serious?” you finally ask, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards into a smile while his stay fixed, pouting.

“Of course I am,” he says. He glares at the empty air beside you head as if it wronged him in a past life. “I mean, it’s fine and all, I guess, but we haven’t seen each other in four days. You haven’t even taken me plushie hunting. And yet…”

“And yet…?”

He crosses his arms and mumbles. 

“Use your words, Raf.”

He sighs. “You were with him all day. People were staring.”

“And so you’re jealous,” you deadpan, “because my best friend helped me with a case.”

“Yes!” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could’ve helped too! If you keep going around without me like that, you’ll… you’ll…” Something changes in his eyes, and he clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

You know your boyfriend well enough by this point to grasp what he’s hinting at. Putting your own frustration aside, you lean in, the soft fabric of Rafayel’s shirt brushing against your fingertips. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not going to forget you,” you say. Then, you find his arm, uncrossing it so you can take his pinky in yours. “Promise.”

Slowly, slightly, the tension in his shoulders begins to release. 

“Can we go plushie hunting?” he mumbles. Then, “Just the two of us?”

You smile. “Of course.”

🩵 bonus hc 🩵: i mentioned it in zayne’s part, but i like to think he drums his fingers against any available surface when he’s nervous or worried. between that, pushing up his glasses, and fiddling with his pen, you can read his mood based off of how much he messes with the objects in his vicinity.

(also also rafayel is so petty when he’s jealous, i know this one is basically canon but i just love it sm ♡)

© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[calummss]

Kai Anderson Headcanon: being his girlfriend ‘sent by god’ and slowly manipulating him

masterlist

you joined the cult shortly after you met kai at a coffee shop

he came to you hoping he could pitch his ideas to help him be elected

he was instantly attracted to you and didn’t feel the normal kind of resentment he had for women

you gave him your phone number and went on a few dates before kai opened up to you about starting a cult (very indirectly but you caught on)

you were fascinated by this and asked him to show you (stroked his ego real good)

you saw the meetings and kai even got you a custom clown costume you could wear to watch the killings

when you witnessed your first murder and told him it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen, kai could’ve gotten down on one knee that second

proposing to you in a clown costume, covered in blood with a dead body next to you? you couldn’t have been more perfect to him

so when you officially join the ‘cult’ you realised that in order to further gain kai’s trust, you had to earn it. do something really fucked up as you saw him kill immediate members that had been with him for a long time

so you started to brief him on stuff he should do in order to get elected; lied about gary being a spy and pretend to drink a small dose of cyanide to prove your loyalty to him (it was baby power) not tasty but it worked

kai once again stared at you with heart eyes

winter could tell what you were doing but it didn’t matter anymore

you blindsided kai to the point you could make any claim and he’d believe you; you could tell him to kill x person and he would. bc you would’ve died for him

he thinks it was the greatest act of loyalty he’s ever been shown

slowly you start to lead the cult through your puppet, kai. he’s unaware of it like a cute dog

but some can sense it. but they don’t get far cause you have them killed

kai treats you like royaly and every every birthday he kills the amount of the people that age you turn. reminding you of when you first fell in love

and when kai shaved his head he looked sexier than ever. you give him head, fuck him in every corner of the house and provide evidence for a bug device. manipulation through sex—a womens best weapon

all in all kai worships you, not realising what’s happening bc his delusions comfort him by saying that you were sent by god himself

bonus: he loves fucking you with you on top. it reinforces the sent-by-god belief when he looks up at you. bouncing on his cock. he could literally just think about it and come

[prolix-yuy]

On the Right Flight

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Summary: A long flight with a gorgeous neighbor takes a hard turn when you get on his favorite subject - Nicholas Cage.

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, allusions to sex, PiV sex, brief hint of voyeurism, lots of fantasizing, we are Looking Disrespectfully, plenty of sweetness dumped on top.

Notes: I had the worst writers block for this, but then went on a plane and remembered all the fun/not fun things about flying. Plus traveling for the holidays would be greatly improved with a dose of Javi.

I apologize for one moment and one moment only in this story. You'll know what I mean when you get there.

Cross-posted on AO3

For once, you pray to the gods of airline transportation, let there be no one in the window seat.

It’s futile, you know. It’s LA to Boston and you’ve never seen an empty seat, but you’re hoping that this one time you’ll get a little respite. You’re already fed up with having to pay extra for an emergency row seat, no other options left on the only flight that gets you to your parents in time. Then the dread of endless questions about your work (fine), love life (dismal) and future plans (???) just adds to your crankiness. It’s the holidays, you’re going home, and you could use a holiday miracle. 

At least the expansive legroom is a plus.

You like LA, but no snow in December is weird. Growing up in places where snowfall is a guarantee makes you miss it all the more when towering evergreens are carted into the Grove and fake snow looks strangely post-apocalyptic against a 75 degree sunny day. It doesn’t feel right without the tip of your nose being perpetually cold and a scarf devouring you from shoulder to chin. 

Plus you still have a handful of presents to get, and the anticipation of a long flight is making you antsy about your procrastination. There are still a couple days, but one present has eluded you this year and you’re getting desperate.

“Excuse me.”

A polite voice, Spanish accented, lifts over the murmurs and rumbles of the plane. Your heart sinks briefly.

“Sorry, is this your seat?” you ask, sliding your shoulder bag out of the way before getting a good look at the man waiting in the aisle.

And you do get a good look.

A long one.

Probably uncomfortably long.

But holy hell he’s gorgeous.

He definitely doesn’t belong in coach, and if the cogs in your brain could turn at all you might have asked him if he was in the right aisle, but instead you numbly stare as he steps around your knees. He nods with a tight smile, tucking his elbows and broad shoulders as he squashes into the small window seat. Against the dull beige and navy of the walls and seats he’s a cream and maroon dream, a lightweight striped jacket barely zipped over a white shirt. Tan chinos hug his thick thighs as he twists to find the seat belt, a tiny slip of his tan stomach peeking out. You look up desperately at the flight attendant, whose expression is almost as shocked as yours, before settling back into your seat. 

Six and a half hours next to this golden god might actually be a Christmas miracle, but not one you’d ever dream to wish for.

You follow basic plane etiquette, pretending he isn’t there as you arrange your belongings just how you like them. Without a seat directly in front of you most of your supplies remain stuffed in your bag - a bottle of water, your iPad loaded with movies and tv shows, snacks easily in reach, headphones at the ready. You do sneak a peek at your seatmate’s luscious caramel curls, the intriguing curve of his nose, the perfect dip above his chin where pursed lips tempt.

Stop it, you scold yourself, you’re not in a goddamn Hallmark movie.

“Sorry,” comes that rich voice again, heavily apologetic as he waves to get your attention. Pretending you just noticed him - very smooth, you praise yourself - you turn and nod with your best people-pleaser smile. “I am not sure how to make all this work,” he sighs, mouth downturned and brow knitted. A wild gesture to the lack of a tray table, or entertainment display, makes you bite back a smile.

Hot and hopeless? Oh no.

“The tray is in the armrest, you have to flip it out. Same for the TV screen. The headphone jack is here,” you indicate quietly, though your elderly aisle neighbor is not paying much attention, “and you can plug in your phone here,” you add, tapping at the ports in the armrest. His face lights up, then falls when he fails to have the correct cable. You’re not normally this forward with someone you just met, but there’s something about the fish out of water routine that’s making you bold.

“Here, you can share mine, I won’t need it much for the flight,” you offer, fishing the other end of your cord out of your bag. The man’s face breaks into relief - you’ve never seen so many expressions in such a short time - before he thanks you over and over. It makes heat tingle at the tips of your ears and the back of your neck.

“You must think I am quite foolish,” he murmurs when he finally settles into his seat, wincing at the stiffness. 

“Don’t fly coach much?” you ask, fighting your smirk when he throws up his hands, the gesture too big for the tiny space he’s occupying.

“Can you believe every plane was booked for two weeks? My assistant barely got me on this one!” he groans, and the tiniest part of you loves the plight of an obvious mucky-muck living like the plebeians. His face turning to you, capturing you in an intensely focused gaze, dries out your mouth.

“You are laughing,” he states, more incredulity heaped on. You can’t help the smile and snort that eke out of your unwilling mouth.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…you gotta know how silly that sounds,” you say, flight attendants beginning safety demonstrations in the aisle. You lower your voice further. “My assistant had to book me in coach because it’s three days before Christmas, oh the humanity!” 

For a moment you’re nervous you’ve offended him, the blank expression he pins you with making you fiddle with your fingers. Then he covers his face, a thick gold pinky ring only adding to the ridiculousness of the situation.

“You are right, I sound like the worst sort of person. My apologies, I will try to be a better seat-mate.” You shake your head, waving your hand at his apology before settling back into the seat. “I’m Javi, by the way,” he says, and you give him your name in return. He repeats it back to you, along with another few apologies, before leaning over to finish settling himself for the flight. The plane begins taxing, and the telltale rumble of the jets lulls you into closing your eyes. 

Your right arm is warm, pressed against something amazingly comfortable. Considering snuggling into it, you’re shocked awake remembering you’re on a plane and you’ve accidentally slumped against the golden man - Javi’s - arm. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, straightening, but he only smiles (holy shit can he get more attractive?) and shrugs.

“We are all on this plane together, what is a little touch?” he whispers back before returning to scrolling through an iPad. His is bigger, the nice pro version that’s almost the size of an actual computer. You begin to settle back into your plane nap when a hefty list of titles flash by.

“That’s a lot of Nic Cage,” you comment sotto voce, the rumble and white noise of the plane keeping your conversation relatively private. Javi looks at you blankly, one eyebrow quirked.

“He is my favorite actor,” he says, and the seriousness of this statement bleats a little laugh from your lips. This furrows his brow further, though his eyes do dart to your mouth briefly.

“Sorry, it’s not funny, it’s just…serendipity,” you say, adding more confusion to Javi’s face. You wave your hands, centering yourself.

“You celebrate Christmas?” you ask, and he nods, confused. “Okay, so every Christmas I’ve got this tradition with my sister. It all started one year when she said she didn’t like Nic Cage movies.”

“How could she dislike one of the greatest actors in film history?” Javi interrupts, now half perched in his seat and animated, hands flying. It makes you lose your train of thought, those soft brown eyes now shockingly sharp. You swallow once before continuing.

“I don’t think she hates him or anything, she just thinks he’s silly, and plays a lot of goofy roles.” At this Javi flops back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. The dramatics are making you giddy, a frenetic energy barely contained in your body as you try not to disturb the quiet travelers surrounding you.

“Has she never seen Raising Arizona? Con Air?” he interrogates, counting several more movies you didn’t even know he was in. Shrugging, you watch his face fall.

“She got through Ghost Rider and Face/Off before she called it quits,” you say, shoulders shaking at the exasperation rolling off his broad ones. 

“Please don’t tell me you feel the same,” Javi pleads. You shake your head.

“He’s made some…questionable choices, but I unironically love Lord of War, and National Treasure is just fun to watch,” you say, the flight attendants starting beverage service. 

“Thank goodness,” he grumbles, folding up his iPad to have enough space. The flight attendant moves to take drink orders, a professional smile following, “Something for you?”

“Champagne,” Javi says, almost off-hand, which shoots the flight attendant’s eyebrows up to his hairline. Warmed by conversation, you test a tease.

“You’re not in first class anymore, Toto, try a vodka.” Javi’s cheeks pink, but he does order a vodka soda instead. You begin to order a ginger ale when Javi interrupts.

“No no, it’s a long flight, you should have a drink too,” he says, the confused flight attendant’s eyes darting between your conversation.

“Oh no, that’s all right…”

“You drink, yes?”

“I do.”

“Then you should have a drink.”

“I, uh…”

Javi addresses the flight attendant directly, and where embarrassment radiated off him before is now confidence.

“She’ll have a drink on me,” he says definitively, and when he catches your eye there’s a sweet smile that makes your heart pound. “You should have a drink with me.”

Moments later you’re sipping on your own vodka soda and the flight attendant is giving you an approving nod as he moves on to the next row. 

“So your sister does not like Nic…” Javi prompts, your story brought back to the forefront sharply. 

“Yes, right! So after she told me this, I was looking for her Christmas present and found this ridiculous pillow on Amazon that I had to get her. It’s sequins, and when you brush them a certain way…”

“...you can see a photo of Nic,” Javi finishes, to your surprise. “I have the same one.”

“Get out, you do not!” you reprimand, the vodka starting to warm your blood and loosen your tongue. 

“I do! It’s part of my collection.”

“You have a collection?!”

The next half hour is spent slowly sipping your drink and enjoying the hell out of Javi’s extensive Nic Cage collection, complete with photos. The wax statue is a little much, but the golden guns are pretty badass. You’re half distracted with Javi’s proximity, leaned in to flip through his photos, shoulder to shoulder. Tart orange peel and the clean musk of some expensive cologne engulfs your senses. Add the relaxing effects of the booze and you’re actively trying not to cuddle up to this stranger with an insane amount of movie memorabilia. 

“But you have not told me what your sister and Nic have to do with Christmas?” Javi finally says, leaning back in his seat and finishing his drink. 

“Okay, okay, so after that first Christmas it’s a tradition every year. I get her some silly Nic Cage thing, she pretends to get mad about it, and we all have a good laugh. So far it’s been the pillow, a shirt, a mug, and a really awful coloring book.” Javi shakes his head and laughs, catching the flight attendant’s eye to bring another round of drinks. You’re pretty sure that’s not how it works in coach, but Javi’s charisma gets him two nips and two glasses of ice palmed to him surreptitiously. If only you had that charm.

“So what is the gift this year? Pants? Shoelaces?” he teases, pouring your drinks. 

“That’s the problem! I haven’t found it yet! I’ve looked everywhere for the perfect gift and I am coming up empty!” You slump back in your seat, accepting the second drink with a wry smile. “I’m gonna break my streak.”

“I may be able to help you with that,” Javi says with a sly little smile, looking at you over the top of his cup. 

“Something out of your collection? I’m sure you’ve got some fun things in there you’re not showing me,” you say, altitude and alcohol making that come out flirtier than you expected. 

“Even better. I know Nic,” he says, beginning a standoff between your incredulous face and his smug one.

“You’re joking.”

“I wrote a screenplay, he was the lead. We’re good friends.”

You have to bury your mouth in your elbow to keep from screeching like a pterodactyl.

“You’re fucking with me, really?”

“He came and stayed at my home. He’s an incredible man - talented, kind, humble, funny. I could call him up the second we land and have him record something for your sister. It would be the ultimate gift.” 

You have to admit, that would be incredible. A personalized message from Nic Cage himself? Your sister would shit a brick. You would win Christmas for sure. 

“And what would you want in return for being my Christmas miracle?” you ask, but Javi only shakes his head good-naturedly.

“Only the pleasure of your company,” he says breezily. You scoff at that.

“I don’t think my company is quite worth that.”

“I do.”

The air thickens around you, not daring to look up and see what expression Javi is wearing. Instead you let your finger run the circuit of your cup rim, hot flashes bursting along your collar. Your heartbeat thuds with twin thoughts - yes yes yes and not worthy. 

Some air would probably do you good. You excuse yourself to the restroom and lock the door firmly behind you. 

The tiny plastic sink is grounding under your hands, the hum of alcohol in your blood receding. A glance at yourself in the mirror makes you grimace - disheveled, tired eyes, rumpled loungewear that suits plane travel but not handsome strangers chatting you up. You splash a little water on your face, fortifying yourself for the return to your seat. Anyways, Javi’s out of your league, fun only because you’re trapped in a plane together. He clearly has money or comes from money, and once outside this pressurized tube you’d never be able to hold a candle to the life he has. 

So stop fucking fantasizing about what you would do if he opened that door right now and joined you in this tiny bathroom. If he’d be soft and sweet, plying you with passionate kisses as he lifted you to balance on the edge of the sink. Or maybe those flashes of focus you kept glimpsing were signs of a man who would fuck you hard and fast, time a factor but attentive to your pleasure. Would he urge you to bite down on his shoulder to muffle your cries before he spills his seed on your inner thighs?

Are you fucking rhyming now?

Sighing, you open the door and run almost directly into the man himself, a sheepish smile on his face. Your face is on fire, nodding and smiling as you pass in the tiny space outside the bathroom. Returning to your seat you try to center yourself, but a tap on your arm directs you to your forgotten aisle neighbor. She smiles conspiratorially.

“He’s single,” she says simply, eyes sparkling, and you share a secret giggle at her wingmanning your chance encounter. “And he’s clearly interested, trust me. If you don’t get his number you’ll be kicking yourself later,” she adds before going back to her show. Javi returns soon after, a few wet trails in his hair and a fresh face.

“It is not so bad in coach,” he muses, pulling out his iPad and opening up his library. 

“Even without the champagne?” you toss back, getting your own entertainment set up. The distance beginning to grow between you dampens your mood, fingers uncertain as they fiddle with the tech. 

“Even without the champagne,” Javi sighs back with a wink. He scrolls through and settles on something before looking up at you, lips parted around a question. You wait with baited breath.

“Do you…want to watch a movie with me?” he asks tentatively. “I was going to watch a favorite of mine, if you want me to AirDrop it to you?”

Heart fluttering but trying to keep your cool, you nod. “What movie?”

“Paddington 2.”

After all the Nic Cage talk, this takes you by surprise.

“I’ve never seen it.”

Javi’s face breaks out in joy.

“Then we have to watch it.”

How could you say no to that smile?

Syncing pressing play, you both settle in to watch the children’s movie. It’s honestly really good, Javi occasionally leaning over to whisper commentary in your ear. The tickle of his breath against the baby hairs along your nape is a delicious shudder you savor. 

After Paddington 2, it’s airline lunch, which Javi pokes at with an mistrusting face. You share some snacks between you as he queues up National Treasure, “the perfect movie for flying,” which leads you to debate whether that title should belong to Con Air.

It’s halfway through the movie (which still stands up after all these years) when your eyelids begin to pull, settling deeper into your uncomfortable seat. Javi peeks through his lashes, sliding a little closer.

“If you would like to close your eyes, you can lean on me,” he says with gentle hesitancy. 

“Don’t want to be a bother,” you protest, a yawn interrupting further thoughts. Javi gives you that soft smile you don’t feel worthy of receiving.

“What is a little touch between friends?” he says, an echo of his previous sentiment.

Everything, you think to yourself before resting your head against his warm shoulder. 

You dream of Javi between your legs in the plane bathroom, holding you tight to his chest as he fills you with his cock. He is whispering movie trivia to you, punctuating his thrusts with facts your mind can’t grip. Legs spread wide, head bumping against the mirror behind you, he pushes you higher and higher, hips snapping into your core. The door opens - Nic Cage pokes his head in, asking Javi about changes to a script. Javi pulls back to talk to him as he keeps fucking you senseless, swapping ideas as your orgasm hovers on the precipice. He turns back to your pleading face before absentmindedly licking his thumb and pressing it on your clit.

“Want to watch her cum, Nic?” he asks, your eyes rolling back in your head. 

A jolt of turbulence shocks you awake, your body in unbalanced arousal from that confusing dream. A wide palm strokes along your forearm, Javi’s rumbling hum right next to your ear.

“It is okay, conejita,” he murmurs, your mind blearily taking in how far you’ve leaned on him, his hand on your arm, his mouth moving against the crown of your head. “Only a few bumps, you can sleep.”

“What’s conny…” you mumble, but close your eyes at his urging. He breathes a puff of air into your scalp.

“You twitch your nose when you’re sleeping, like a bunny,” he says, hand slowing to only his thumb caressing your skin. Humming in response, you slip back under, thankfully into a dreamless sleep. 

You’re not sure how long it’s been when you finally rise, neck stiff and fingers tingling. Javi’s watching something in black and white, a man and a woman having an animated conversation. Straightening up, you wipe the corner of your mouth and pray you didn’t drool. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Javi teases, “they said we should be landing in an hour.” The rapidly approaching deadline makes you wish you hadn’t passed out, even if it was the most comfortable you’ve ever been on a plane. You want to ask Javi more about himself, the life he leads, the movies he loves. But the flight attendants are making the rounds, stilling your tongue. This is only a chance meeting, nothing more. 

The landing is smooth and uneventful, both of you watching the Boston skyline come into view. You ask Javi if he’s ever been before and when he responds in the negative you point out popular landmarks, the Leonard Zakim Bridge the easiest to spot.

De-boarding is always a mess, but with the extra legroom it’s easy to get your carry-on out quickly. Javi helps you get it down, pulling his own out as well. You stand and stretch your legs, admiring how Javi's shirt pulls across his back while he packs his belongings. 

With nods and smiles and “thank yous” said on the way out, you’re free from the tight confines and in the open air of Logan. It’s nothing fancy, but it feels like homecoming whenever you enter the familiar airport. 

“Walk you to baggage claim?” you ask, Javi’s expression blooming from uncertainty to agreement. You savor the last dregs of conversation, Javi telling you he’s visiting family friends on the Cape for a few weeks. The time to part is nearing, but you don’t know what you want to ask. For his email? His number? Could you really ask for anything?

Bags in hand and a man in a suit with a printed “Gutierrez” sign looking pointedly at Javi, you finally square up to your unlikely friend.

“Thanks for a fun flight, I can’t say I’ve had a better one,” you start, Javi waving his hands in protest.

“A pleasure for me as well.” The awkwardness mounts as Javi’s driver fidgets impatiently. Girding yourself, you speak.

“I should probably…”

“I need your number.”

Javi’s blurted out request stops your goodbye, eyes widening. His do too as he stumbles to explain, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

“For the video! From Nic. For your sister. I promised, didn’t I? And you were very good company, I must keep up my side of the deal,” he rushes out, flushing high in his cheeks. You couldn’t stop beaming if you tried.

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re gonna help me win Christmas for sure,” you say, typing your number into his phone. Relief dances in his eyes as you hand the phone back, sending a quick “It’s Javi” text to you. “You only have three days to get it, though, you’re on the clock.” 

“Nic will come through, I know it,” he says, hands wrapping around your upper arms. He hesitates, then pulls you into a hug that blocks out the sweat and grime and frustration of the world around you. Orange peel and warmth fill your nostrils, and you hug him back, face tucking under the light scruff of his jaw. He holds you for longer than you expect but just long enough to know you’ll miss being hugged like this.

“Take care, conejita,” he says, watching you over his shoulder as he leaves. You wait for him to be out of sight before heading on your way.

Christmas morning, after all the presents are opened, coffee is drunk and cheer is spread, you pair your phone to your parent’s TV and play a video message.

“Hi Clara, this is Nic Cage. My friend Javi told me you were one of my biggest fans. Now I don’t know if you can compete with him, but if he says so I have to think it’s at least a little bit true. So to my biggest fan, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, happy new year, and if you’re ever nearby I owe you a photo, a handshake, and some thanks for all your support. Take care.”

Your sister is in stitches, laughing on the floor and interrogating you about how you pulled it off. For now, your lips are sealed. 

The other video message, sent right after, you keep as your own Christmas present. 

“I told you he would come through, conejita! Merry Christmas, I hope you are spending it with the ones you love. Maybe we will be on the same flight back to LA and I will get to see you again? Or...ah, I have no plans for New Years…and you know, it’s bad luck to start the new year without a kiss. If you…would like to be mine, this year, maybe I can take you out. Yes. I would like to take you out. Please. If you want. Okay, let me…let me know. Okay, bye.”

You would very much like that.

END

Part 2: A Bearable Weight

[drewsbuzzcut]

Body Electric

mat barzal x model!fem!reader

a visceral in doses fic

warnings: SMUT AND ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION

You watch, almost completely hypnotized by the guy on stage playing guitar. His hair is long and he’s built like a god. His muscles flex with each guitar string being pulled, and you can feel the fluttering sensation in your stomach while heat rises to your cheeks. His hands are big and he’s got a cute smile. You’ve had too much alcohol.

You down the rest of your drink, fixing to walk away to the restroom, but not before sparing one last look at the man with the boyish grin. You swear that you both make eye contact, making your cheeks redden and your breath catch. You just about stumble into everything on your way to the restroom.

You spend almost half an hour in the restroom, fixing your appearance more than actually using the restroom. You mess your hair up to make it appear windblown, you reapply your lipgloss, and wipe away the smudged mascara under your eyes. Checking yourself out in the mirror, you adjust your lucky brand mini skirt and your black tank top that shows the perfect amount of cleavage. Your heels are killing your feet, but you ignore the ache and walk your way out into the hallway as if you were on the runway. The same moment you’re checking a notification that popped up on your phone, you bump into someone’s very sturdy physique. Looking up, you gulp, throat suddenly dry and eyes wide as you look up at the man in front of you.

There he goes, sporting that sexy grin, looking like he owns the damn place.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks and you immediately nod your head.

Grasping your hand, he leads you to the bar, letting you take a seat on the lone bar stool.

“Two whiskeys, please,” he requested.

After receiving both your drinks, you eventually move off the stool, preferring to be closer to the man. You’re both staring at each other, almost daring the other to make the next move. Although the bar is loud, you can only hear your heart pounding. His eyes are sparkling as they explore your face, taking their time to memorize the perfect curve of your lips and the way your eyelashes flutter so flirtatiously. His eyes linger on your chest, your glowing skin calls out to him; the way your collarbones are begging to be bitten, and the way your chest moves up and down with each breath you take.

“Why’d you put on more lipgloss?” He asks, gliding his thumb along your bottom lip. You resist the urge to suck it into your mouth.

“I think it’d look good smeared all over you,” you tease, finishing off the last of your drink. A drop slips down the side of your mouth, he reaches out to wipe it away before sucking it off his finger.

A flare ignites in your eyes, licking your lips you smirk up at the man. His thick fingers hook onto the loops on your mini denim skirt, pulling your body closer to his. He takes a peek at the sliver of your revealed skin, the slopes of your baby abs enticing him. He lets his fingers trace the exposed area, grinning when your skin breaks out in goosebumps. The air around the both of you is thick and tension filled. There’s electricity in the pads of your fingers, snapping against each other’s skin with each small touch.

You get tired of the anticipation, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him into your body. You don’t need to lean on your tiptoes as you’re wearing heels, so kissing him is easy.

“Maty, I want you,” you whisper hotly.

“Fuck let’s go home,” he says, breaking the act of you both pretending you weren’t already in a relationship, and meeting for the first time.

“No, too far. I want you now,” you respond, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the restroom.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he groans, head tipping back.

Arriving at your destination: the men’s restroom, you let your back rest against the door while Mat presses into you, littering your chest with kisses.

You card your fingers through his long hair, loving that it’s long because that means you can pull on it when he unravels you with his tongue or fingers. You let your senses pick up his cologne, one that you’re absolutely in love with. He wears it, knowing you’re down on your knees the second you smell it. Your hands travel their way up his shirt, feeling the muscles on his back. You have to stop the moan that wants to claw out of your throat when he bites on the skin of your collarbone; you’re not exactly in private yet.

You reach a hand behind you, opening the door to the seemingly vacant restroom, and you pull yourself away from Mat. You enjoy the blissed out look on his face, knowing that he loves touching you in any way he can- especially if it makes you moan. His eyes are glazed over, lips swollen, and hands antsy to hold onto you.

You smirk at him, pulling on the silver chain he wears everyday and pull him all the way into the restroom and into the stall. You connect your lips with his, sucking and biting on his bottom lip while his hands pull up your tank top to expose your boobs. He pulls your face impossibly closer to his with a hand on your neck, and sucks on your tongue. You swear that if you weren’t holding onto him, your knees would’ve buckled and you’d be on the floor. Moving away from your face, despite your pout, he attaches his mouth to one of your nipples, sucking and pulling on the bud. You hold his face there, not wanting him to stop. You can feel your heat pulsing and the wetness gathering. Too bad the stall is too small for him to eat you out in. Although knowing your husband, he’d make it possible. He’d probably lift you up so that your legs are resting on his shoulders, your pussy right in front of his face and he’d feast as if he were a starving man. The more you think about it, the more your hips start to grind into his own.

“Barzy, fuck me,” you whisper in a whine.

“You’re insatiable, baby. I want to taste you first,” he says and you shake your head, too impatient to wait to feel him inside you.

“No. Need you now. I want to feel you deep inside of me,” you say back.

He nods his head in agreement.

“Lucky me,” he muses, looking at the ‘lucky you’ tag inside the zipper of your mini skirt.

Before you can respond he’s pushing your skirt up and ripping your panties apart, leaving you a shocked mess. He gives you a wink when he shoves your panties in the pocket of your skirt. Lifting you up so you wrap your legs around his waist, he gives you a chaste kiss, quieting your rushed demands for him to hurry up.

Not even realizing that he had already pulled his pants down, he lets his cock slide between your folds, getting coated in your juices. You squeeze around him when he first sinks into you, you fist his shirt in your hands. He relishes in the feeling. You can feel him shudder against you as his head rests in your neck.

He whimpers whenever your heat clenches around his length, providing you with the insane urge to claw your nails down his back. He can feel your wetness dripping in between the both of you, making his movements falter a bit. He’s a weak man when it comes to you.

“I’m going to need a plan-b,” you moan.

“Why?”

“Because I can’t get pregnant again,” you warn him.

He only grunts in response, pulling your tank top all the way off and pressing dozens of kisses on your “13” tattoo on the swell of your boob. He loves that tattoo. He ends up leaving a very red bruise, but you couldn't care less.

You can feel the restroom starting to become hot and sticky, but you feel too good to care. You don’t even care about the possibility of you both being so loud, anyone outside can hear you.

The knot in your tummy is starting to tighten and you can feel Mat’s cock start to twitch. Your heart is beating so fast, you’d be surprised if he couldn’t hear it. Your fist is still wrapped tightly in the material of his shirt, and his movements are too slow for your liking.

You shift your hips up to meet his thrusts, hoping that he speeds up. He does speed up. His pace is rapid, practically pounding you into the door against your back and he holds onto the top of the stall door with a death grip. Your legs that are wrapped around his waist, pull him flush against you and your moan is so pornographic whenever you feel him so far deep inside of you. Sweat drips down his forehead but he couldn’t look any more beautiful.

Every time you lift your hips, you clit grazes against him, spending you higher and higher. Hands moving to his face, so that he’s looking right at you, watching the way your eyes shut close and mouth drops open.

“C’mon, baby. I need you to cum for me,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, sucking on your earlobe for good measure.

You moan out, head tilting back and your cunt squeezing him as that knot finally explodes. Your vision goes white and you swear you’ve never felt something so euphoric.

Desperate to reach his orgasm, his thrusts become frantic but prominent, his cock filling you completely. Your g-spot is getting hit again and again, and you know he’s watching the way your pussy contracts around him. You shriek at the overstimulation, feeling another orgasm taking over.

He moves to hold you up against the stall door, arms under the backs of your knees to secure your body from falling in exhaustion.

You can feel every ridge and vein of his cock drag against your slick walls. His finger starts to rub circles on your clit, sending your body arching into his. You wrap your arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders, nipping and sucking at his neck and lips. Your lipgloss all over his face. Of course, not hard enough to leave a noticeable mark, but enough to make his pace unforgiving.

“Maty, please cum in me. I need it so bad, baby,” you whine.

He continues to fuck into you, harder and harder, hands gripping your hips tightly and pounding you on his dick. He has you crying out in pleasure until he’s painting your pussy with his hot cum. His release triggers your second, making you milk him for everything he has.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he says, groaning at the end as you clench around him teasingly.

“I know,” you smirk before whimpering as he flicks your clit, knowing you’re extra sensitive.

You both take a few minutes in your same position, feeling the mixture of both of your cum drip from you and down his shaft. It’s erotic and so hot.

“We should probably go back out there before someone sends a search party,” you say softly.

“No. I want to stay here, inside of you and feel your warmth. I could live here forever,” he sighs out.

“I know, baby. Which is exactly why we need to start using condoms again, or get you snipped,” you respond, fixing his hair that’s a mess all over his forehead.

He just sighs, gently setting you down on your feet, and readjusts your clothing.

You pull out the torn fabric that was your underwear and dangle it in front of his face, watching him smirk and lick his lips.

“I think this belongs to you,” you muse, stuffing it in the back pocket of his pants.

You lean up, pressing a chaste kiss to your husband’s lips and walk out to the mirror- sans your top.

You fix your very smudged makeup and tame your hair all while Mat is glued to your back, and his hands are glued to your boobs. He’s always clingy after sex, so you don’t pay any mind as he kisses along the tops of your shoulders and the side of your neck.

“You gonna let go, or am I going to have to walk out there shirtless?” You tease, knowing all too well that he’d never want anyone to see you bare. It’s for his eyes only.

He easily hands you back your top and you smirk in response.

“Buy me a drink?” You ask, arms thrown around his neck.

“Only if you let me eat you out tonight,” he proposes, hands now glued on your ass.

“You can eat me out as many times as you want,” you say in a sultry tone, kissing your man in an obscene way once more before returning to the public eye.

y/nbarzal

liked by bblount, barzysworld, and 87,636,627 others

y/nbarzal Finally got to live out my fantasy of being a rockstar’s girlfriend (wife)

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barzal97 You are the rockstar

y/nscloset I need to see the full fit please!

sydneyemartin Hottie

lianabarzal Please Mat is not a rockstar😭

barzal97

liked by thebarzalsupdates, titobeauvi91, and 56,892,711 others

barzal97 She couldn’t handle it

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y/nbarzal After I called you a rockstar, you out me like this!

y/nbarzal I see how it is

titobeauvi91 Next time I’ll be the one to support you

y/nbarzal I hate you

barzysworld This is actually blowing my mind

matfan Who would’ve thought Mat was talented with the guitar

a/n: THIS ISNT EXACTLY MY FAVORITE BUT I HOPE YALL ENJOY IT!

[ah0minecchi]

BETTER THAN THE REST…★ (knb x fem!reader)

index ☆ next chapter →

NOW PLAYING! 💿 let me love you - ariana grande

PROLOGUE: “if it feels right, promise i don’t mind.”

<𝟑.𖥔 ݁ ˖

“CMOOON Y/N I DON’T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF!!” momoi, my best friend form college, practically screamed through her phone and into my ear.

“you’ll be with your highschool friends, what will i do there? plus, i’m not in the mood to be honest…” i calmly responded. honestly why does she want me to go to that stupid party anyways. i don’t know anybody there besides her. “i can introduce you to my friends! they’re soooo nice i swear! aaaand they’re tall basketball players…” she added suggestively to try and convince me. like a group of men would convince me to do anything… “but tetsu is-“ “yours. i know momoi…” i completed her sentence while giggling a bit. she’s been talking about this ‘tetsu’ nonstop ever since i met her.

“do you have anything better to do anyways?” sounded mean but i knew she asked sincerely. “mmm not really. just cry myself to sleep and watch saiki k.” i responded nonchalantly. “goshhhh please don’t tell me you’re still crying about your ex, y/n… it’s been like AGES since you two broke up.” she whined “two weeks momoi. it’s been two weeks.” i corrected her. “MY POINT EXACTLY!!! maybe you can get your mind off of him tonight… and who knows? someone may help you with that…” she tried to cheer me up, adding a hint of mischief by the end of her sentence.

she was right, i have been digging myself in a hole for two weeks, maybe it is time to get my mind on something else… maybe someone else… just for the night.

“you know what? fuck it, i’ll go with you, but let me borrow that shiny dress of yours.” i said suddenly feeling confident. “DEAL!!” i’ll pick you up at 10. see yaaaa luv yaaaa!!” momoi replied a little too excited, making me laugh before she hung up.

maybe it’s not too bad of an idea. i haven’t been too a party in quite some time, and i’m craving vodka shots and some dancing. even some male attention wouldn’t hurt me… just to boost my ego of course.

i look at my phone. damn, almost 9pm, i should take a shower and pretend that i don’t look like shit right now. i showered, put on some sweatpants while i didn’t have momoi’s dress, did my makeup and straightened my hair. “ate.” i commented out loud looking at myself in the mirror.

9:45. i still have some time to laze around and do nothing. i started wondering how tonight would go. who even are momoi’s friends. curiosity got the best of me, so i opened instagram and started stalking through momoi’s following. i don’t really know their names, just heard of this ‘tetsu’, and momoi’s childhood friend aomine.

i typed his name into the search bar and a private account popped up. fuck, now i can’t go on with my daily dose of stalking. i take a close look at his profile picture. he’s not bad looking at all, but considering he had 2.685 followers and just 108 following, i could assume his ego was through the damn roof.

i gave up on him and look for this ‘tetsu’ boy. kuroko tetsuya was his full name apparently. another private account. why does everyone now seem to be so fucking misterious?. he had a small following and very few followers, seemed low profile. his profile picture showed him smiling with a puppy on top of his head… kinda cute.

i almost got a heart attack when my doorbell started ringing on full fucking blast. it was momoi for sure. i opened the door to my apartment seeing her in a cute black tight dress and a leather jacket. she gave me no time to say hello as she handed me the shiny dress i asked her for and told me to ‘hurry tf up cause the uber would be arriving in no time.’ i hurried to my bathroom, put on the dress, and settled for a pair of converse, since this wasn’t really formal or anything. i took my purse, my phone, and ran to the door to meet my friend there. “stunning! you’ll have all my friends drooling over you! except tetsu, he’s-“ “YOURS I KNOW! and thanks bestie, you look beautiful as well.” i laughed and thanked her.

we got off the elevator and the uber was already there. we then head off to this oh so exciting party… maybe i am excited tho.

“AOMINE COME MEET US AT THE FRONT DOOR WE’RE ALMOST THERE” momoi shouted excitedly into her screen. “jeez… okay just stop screaming into my ear for fucks sake.” the boy responded. he had a deep voice and a tired tone. kinda suits his face.

we finally arrived, when we got to ring the bell, the door opened, showing someone neither of us were expecting.

“kise?!”

a/n: FIRST CHAPTER DONE YESSIR!! ngl i’m excited for what i have planned for this.

LIKES, COMMENTS & REBLOGS are veeerrryy appreciated !! <3

[i-luvsang]

ꔛ ⦂ 𓂃 don’t even know your name — boo seungkwan

based off of @imagine-svt's imagine (thank you for the lovely idea !!) , gn!reader , nonidol!au, fluff , cw: none , wc: 1.3K ！！ @luvhyun3 thanks for wanted to be tagged for this one <33 hope ya like :))

you’ve always found the idea of having a public transport buddy to be a small and subtle delight, but it seems the opportunity has never fully presented itself. you suppose that he’s the closest you’ll get, and considering him, you’d never complain. it’s true, the two of you barely speak, save the small moments; soft greetings, offers to sit in the chair beside him when there’s no other room, or apologies when you bump shoulders due to the rocking bus. even so, you like to pretend there’s an unspoken friendship between the two of you due to you getting on and off at the same stops on the way to work. plus, you can tell he gives a small smile under his mask each time you happen to make eye contact.

he seems bright and sunny, though sometimes you overhear him on the phone with his friends and his extravagant complaints against waking up so early are rather entertaining. at this point, you’re quite used to his presence each morning, even expectant of it. maybe, just maybe you look forward to it too. you must be a hopeless romantic, as to you, his expressive features and the loud laugh he tries to suppress to avoid disturbing others are like some dose of humanity that’s small, but precious beyond belief. sometimes you laugh at yourself for caring so much about someone you barely know, but you know it’s your way of hoping and holding on to a love for humanity in a world where things often fall apart. regardless, there’s no harm in loving something bright.

it comes as a surprise, though small in size, the first time the bus pulls away from the stop without him inside. often, he’s there before you, his satisfyingly crisp button-up shirts and brown briefcase a welcome sight each morning. so when the bus pulls up to the stop, and he still hasn’t rounded the corner at a jog the same way he does on the occasional days he’s running late, you frown a little as you board the vehicle. but you let thoughts of him pass by after considering that things just happen. alarms don’t go off sometimes, and people take the day off to visit a family member or friend for something special. maybe he’s caught a cold early this season, though you hope not for his sake, and a little bit for yours. it’d be a shame to miss his presence another day.

such a shame, that you frown and furrow your eyebrows as you approach the stop the next morning and his warm presence is missing from the scene. you dare to hope he’ll still show up, but your luck falls short when he never does. you were hoping to sit somewhere near him today. 

you experience the same exact disappointment the next morning too. the bus pulls up in front of you and the others waiting, so you spare one more glance in the direction he normally comes from before standing with a small sigh. once in the bus, you're greeted with a crowd, forcing you to stay standing near the front. people jostle around you, trying to find a place, so you hold firmly to the bar over your head. 

once settled, you’re surprised the vehicle hasn’t begun to take off. you wonder what the driver could be waiting for, stretching your head to examine the street for an answer to your question.

the answer comes a moment later, but not from the direction you were looking at all.

with windswept hair, a familiar figure all but stumbles through the bus doors, panting out a thank you to the driver for waiting and paying the fare with his phone. he continues to rush forward towards the seats before registering the lack of empty space, and skids to a rough halt right in front of you when he finally looks up.

“so sorr–” he doesn’t even get to finish his apology when the bus lurches forward, practically launching him into you before he could gain any sense of balance. in an effort to keep you from toppling over the people sitting around you, he manages to grab the bar above your heads and wrap an arm around your shoulders. you find yourself gripping his bicep with one arm, while the other finds purchase on the wrist that holds the bar, as your hand was ripped from its own hold when he crashed into you. your face immediately flushes with heat at the proximity of his body, no matter how awkward a position you’re in, and it takes several long seconds for the two of you to untangle your limbs from one another.

“are you okay?” you ask, just as he begins to profusely apologize. “it’s alright! it’s not your fault,” you insist as the apologies continue to tumble out of his mouth.

“no, no, i’m so sorry. are you okay?” he asks, out of breath and almost panicked at the thought of having hurt you in some way.

“i’m completely fine! don’t worry, you saved us both from trouble with your reflexes, so i should be thanking you,” you insist. “are you alright, though?” you almost comment on his appearance, but refrain for fear of bringing up some touchy subject. his face is haggard and worn out, with deep eye bags showing clearly from above his mask. his hair is unkempt, probably from running all the way to the stop, and his button up shirt is wrinkled and unevenly tucked into his pants. you’re sure most of that is due to the tumble the both of you took, though it’s clear some of those wrinkles were there before. he’s only been gone two days, and you can’t help but wonder what the hell happened in that time.

“yeah, yeah, i’m alright,” he reassures you, though his tone comes out flat and unconvincing. but it doesn’t feel like your place to pry, so you send him a smile instead.

“good. that’s good.” you wish desperately to mention his absence on the bus the last two days, or to strike up some sort of conversation. he looks so tired and beyond embarrassed for having knocked you over, and all you want to do in that moment is to make him feel at ease.

you clear your throat awkwardly, hoping that the words you settle on are alright. “it’s good to see you today.” you almost hope he doesn’t hear you, because you’re already getting embarrassed. god, who says that to someone who’s name you don’t even know?

“oh. oh, i– i, it’s good to see you too!” he’s clearly taken aback by your words, and now you fight the heat that rises up into your cheeks because you feel as though you’ve monumentally messed things up. and yet, it sounded as though he meant the words he said back, and his eyes look just a bit more relaxed. it’s his turn to clear his throat as a way to try and break the awkward silence between the two of you. “um. kinda random, but i hope you don’t mind my asking– you know, just because we see each other every day– or almost everyday.” he pauses, his breath catching when you dare to look him in the eyes. “uh, can i ask your name? i’m seungkwan, by the way, if me telling you first makes it any less weird.”

“i– no, no!” a sigh of relief exits your lips when you realize you must not have freaked him out by your previous words. “it’s not weird at all. it’s nice to formally meet you, seungkwan! i’m y/n.”

“nice to meet you too, y/n.”

you’re afraid you've fallen for the way he says your name. and by the look in his eyes, maybe he’s fallen for the way you say his.

[bestfriend491]

“I wanna win this trophy!”

Headcannons/ Drabbles

Is she competitive?

Ramonda

Ramonda is surprisingly very competitive.

Her competitiveness mostly shows with random things that aren’t really important.

You noticed it while you were dating, but you only got a proper glimpse of how bad it can get years after you got married, when a simple game of cards at a family function nearly ripped some of your relationships with your relatives apart. 

If she has to work with a team to win something, she can get a bit carried away, which is why everyone prefers to let her work alone. 

If you two are in a team she’ll make it known that she wants to win and you need to play to your best ability.

Though you absolutely love her, you can only take small doses of competitive Ramonda.

In the rare case that you team up with her in a competitive event, nobody is off  limits. 

This includes your kids.

“Ramonda I have no clue what that’s supposed to be.” 

“Yes you do!  Look at it properly, Y/n!” 

You squinted at the picture that Ramonda was trying to draw, searching through your brain for any memory of anything remotely close to looking like it. 

“Oh wait. I think I have it! It’s… a crown.” you declared proudly. 

“Nooo!” 

Just then the timer for 1 minute went off, telling you that your time was up. 

You grew relieved knowing that the pressure was no longer on you to guess what she was attempting to draw. That was until you saw your wife’s face. 

“What was it?” Shuri asked, clearly also stumped.

“It. Was. A. Chandelier.” Ramonda said through gritted teeth. 

Instantly a round of laughter went through the room, T’Challa being the only one at least trying to pretend that he wasn’t laughing. 

“What?” Ramonda asked. 

“Mother, that looked like anything but a chandelier.” 

That got another chuckle out of you, prompting you to give Shuri a high-five.

Ramonda dismissed all of you, rolling her eyes as she went back to her seat. When she sat down next to you, she leaned towards you, placing her hand on the side of her mouth to block the kids, her competitors, from seeing what she was saying. 

“Sthandwa sam. You know I love being your partner in all sorts of challenges, I really do. But you are not working hard enough on this.” she whispered. 

“Ramonda. My love. It’s a game. Let the kids win for once.” 

“No. I want that trophy!” she pointed to the makeshift trophy that you’d been using for game nights since Shuri had made it when she was 5. 

It held sentimental value to the both of you, but it was far worth anything after that fact. 

Ramonda made it seem like the grand prize of the century, much like any other insignificant prizes that were offered during competitions. 

You stared at her, locking eyes. A sort of staring competition began between the two of you, another regular occurrence between the two of you during times of competition. 

Ramonda held her ground, not budging off of her statement. 

After what seemed like forever, you relented. Throwing your hands up in defeat. 

“T’Challa. I’m going to need you to trade partners with me.”

Ramonda gasped “Are you serious!?”

“Ma, no! Why can’t Shuri trade with you?! “ T’Challa whined. 

“T’Challa you know Shuri and your mother being in the same team would only cause more trouble in this already terrible match. Let's even the odds.” 

Seeing that he was still hesitant, you went on, “Remember what happened when we played Monopoly that one time?” 

He shivered at the memory.

 “All the screams. All the tears.” you said with wide eyes. 

“That was years ago. Shuri was much smaller then. She can handle herself now.” he argued. 

Now , you mimicked Ramonda, whispering with your mouth covered, “Just do it so we can be done with this game.”

Not pleased, but knowing what needed to be done, he traded seats with you, gaining a shocked expression from Ramonda. 

‘What a relief.’ you thought.

[massharp1971]

Excerpt: “You fucking bastard!” Rodney shouted loud enough to make Evan’s ears hurt. “You left! Without a fucking word! I didn’t know it was happening until I saw you stepping through the fucking wormhole, you absolute piece of shit!”

Rodney McKay did not usually swear – he was far too precise in his language for that. The weird part of it was, Evan felt as if this was the exact diatribe he would have gotten had Rodney spoken to him the day after he left. It almost made him feel like no time had passed at all. At least McKay hadn’t iced over the way Ronon apparently had.

“Rodney,” Evan said, softening his voice in counterpoint, “I didn’t know myself, but I had to.” 

Rodney crossed his arms and lifted his chin – such a classic McKay pose, and Evan appreciated the lines of his muscled arms, the softness of the weight he’d gained, the slight wildness of his hair, even the fury that animated him right now.

“You believed in us – or at least I thought you did. An independent Atlantis, free of the American military. Where was your loyalty to us?”

The same old pain stabbed in Evan’s chest.

“I do believe in Atlantis, and I hope history shows I haven’t done anything to betray her.”

Rodney faltered at this because of course it was true – Evan hadn’t hurt Atlantis’ independence, he might have even helped it from the other side, but he had hurt the people he loved. He still wished with all of his tired heart that he’d been able to stay five years ago and support the folks who had become family to him through this time of incredible change. 

He knew he couldn’t just walk back into his old life – things were every bit as hard as he expected them to be, but still he wanted.

He sat down heavily on Rodney’s couch, feeling suddenly beyond exhausted.

“I know I hurt you deeply. I’d give anything not to have done that, Rodney.”

“Just so we’re clear, I want to hurt you until you feel half as bad as you made me feel,” Rodney said. “And John. And Ronon.”

“I already did that to myself,” Evan said quietly, tears rising in his eyes. “I decimated myself and it never healed in all this time.”

“Well good, because that’s what you did to us. Decimated. Entirely fucked,” Rodney said bitterly.

“Except for the fact you got Atlantis. A free Atlantis. And you finally got John, too.”

Rodney looked at him levelly, his face acknowledging the truth of this.

“Do you mind?” he asked.

“God, Rodney, yes I mind – that you’re both happy, that you have what you wanted, it eases some small amount of my pain to know that. I mind about your happiness a great deal.”

“Oh,” Rodney said, looking deflated. “Actually, I am. We are… Happy, I mean.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Evan said.

And he was. He’d been expecting those two to get together since he met them – was surprised when he found out they weren’t, was even more surprised when he found they happily swung his way but still hadn’t figured out how they felt about each other.

“The thing is, Evan, it only happened because of you,” Rodney said.

“Because I left?” Evan asked, confused.

Rodney looked at him a little resentfully.

“No… because… because you loved me. Because I didn’t know how to let myself be loved until you.”

It was sweet, really, even though Rodney’s voice sounded bitter. But then, McKay had always been a full flavoured kind of human, you had to enjoy a good dose of chili in your chocolate to love someone like Rodney.

“You know what the worst part of it is?” Rodney asked.

And suddenly there were tears in his eyes, and Evan’s heart broke a little more.

“Go on,” he prompted.

“Not for one moment did I have the luxury of thinking you were just an asshole who didn’t care as much as you pretended to. I actually knew your heart would be breaking, and somewhat infuriatingly I cared about that as much as about my own heartbreak. You opened my heart up and then left it like an untended wound.”

“I’m sorry,” Evan said, feeling the agony of that decision as if it just happened. “And you’re right, it hurt like you can’t imagine. Still hurts.”

“What was it like, being without Atlantis?” Rodney suddenly looked horrified, as if it was hard to even contemplate.

“Every bit as tough as you’re imagining. But for me, losing my family was harder. Losing you .”

Rodney suddenly looked doubtful. 

“Oh please, you’re only making it right with me so you can get back with John.”

“You know that’s not true, Rodney. You know I don’t operate that way. I love you, I love John, I love Ronon.”

“You have to make it right with Ronon too,” Rodney said. “Although… that’s going to take some time, I think.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Ronon is going to accept any overture from me,” Evan said. “I just have to wait it out, and he may never come round.”

“His hurt was the deepest,” Rodney told him. “His abandonment issues are the biggest. Even bigger than John’s. He’s lost too much, Evan.”

“That may be true,” Evan said thoughtfully.

He couldn’t bear to think about what he’d done to Ronon, but right now he was focused on the man in front of him.

“Rodney,” he said, tentatively reaching for McKay’s hand. “You’ve had more than enough hurt and loss of your own, and I’m sorry, truly sorry for the pain I caused you.”

“I do actually understand why, you know. I’m not completely insensitive.”

“You’re anything but insensitive. You feel things deeply. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

Rodney’s eyes widened as if that was news to him.

“Still?” Rodney said, looking somewhat incredulous. “You still…?”

And there was the sweet, vulnerable man Evan adored. He really could not prevent himself from leaning forward and kissing Rodney gently.

He was aiming for tender, but he was met with fierce coming at him from the other direction in a full-frontal attack. Rodney devoured his lips, bruising and biting, and it was everything. 

“Bed, now,” Rodney said, when they came up for air sometime later.

“I agree,” Evan said, breathlessly.

read more on ao3

[uncleclam]

Stalker driver x gn!reader / heavy piss kink from reader / a little ooc

Rating: nsfw

Word count: 800

He is going through your stuff again.

Of course, you don't have any idea of it, probably never, never will you be able to assume or even think about your lovely neighbor, who is just a quiet mechanic, will break into your house and walk around fully naked, except his gloved hands.

He is a careful person, in both ways: where he can truly be, or at least pretend to be a friend of yours. You trusted him, because he was such a sweet boy when he helped you with fixing your car’s tire, or small talk with you when you both folded your clothes at the laundry store. He never told you his name, and you never asked, like it’s an unspoken little promise between the two of you.

In another way of care—- he never leaves a trace when he picks your door lock, stepping into your bedroom and laying on your bed like he would with his own. He can easily memorize the layout of your house, every corner of details, what book you read, which movie you liked, what meal you just had this morning, what sleeping position you had last night— His digits caress on your bed sheet, it’s messy, from the shape of the folds and the sunken gap of your pillow, you moved a lot during your sleep, definitely drooled too. You live alone anyway and no one would care, you assumed.

Except him.

The blonde man leaned closer to the mattress, took a long, deep breath through the sheet. Your scent, sweat and body shampoo, rushed into his lungs and brain, that was his daily dose of calmer, a little routine for his day. Looking at your unfolded blanket and the plushies along the edge of the bed, he likes how unbounded you are, so clueless of him, innocent for him, he assumed, just like you did. But he doesn’t like that, he doesn’t want to add his imagination on you, he doesn’t and shouldn’t have to, since you are real.

He needs the real you.

He will get to know you better eventually, he thought, his cock twitched. Moving on from your bed to your work desk, it’s even worse than your bed; useless decorations covered in dust, cables and wires are everywhere except where they belong. He frowns, not of how unclean you are but of how he can’t touch them, he can totally help you with that but he can’t.

Your tabletop computer caught his attention. He is aware of its existence since his first invasion, but it wasn’t his biggest interest. Maybe today is the day, he blinked, pressing on the power button. The screen lid up after he settles down on the chair, the loading takes a moment, his palms sweat from excitement and nervousness. What if it needed a password?

He exhaled from relief as soon as he saw the classic window background show up. Thank god you didn’t set a password. With the mouse clicking, He starts navigating through your homescreen, looking for interesting files of yours. Ah, search history. He clicked on the google icon, curious about what you did.

If you were here, ignoring the fact that he’s naked, you would be too embarrassed to show what you asked on google. Driver grinned from his own thoughts. They're just silly questions, mostly, with ‘cute puppy photos’ being your most recent search. The invader finds it adorable as it fits your image. Until he scrolls down and sees the forbidden link: pornhub.com.

Of course you’d watch porn. He clicks on it, and doesn't know what he’ll get into. He barely watches porn on his own cause he doesn’t have to, as long as he has you. When the site finished loading, flesh and skin filled the screen, videos of people fucking available for views. Driver is not interested in any of those, he immediately went to view history and eager to see what kind of porn you masturbated with, will you be interested in blond haired? Like him? His cock gets harder as he thinks.

…

His eye widened, throat gulped from something unseeable. He tries to stay calm, even though he’s alone, trying to absorb the information he seeks for himself. Piss? He scrolled through all your viewed videos: They are man pissing on woman, woman pissing on man, or man pissing publicly— He never thought of considering them as a kink, he didn’t even know people who can get turned on from human waste could exist. Now he did, feeling dizzy and weirdly aroused. He will never look at you the same way he did before, knowing this, he will never get this out of the back of his head. It’s way too intimate, unbelievable. Urine, is it what you want? That he can definitely offer?

[retrieve-the-kraken]

Heartstopper season 2 play-by-play analysis

It can’t be over! It can’t be! How long will it be before my next dose of serotonin? Although rewatching helps, absolutely, but my god, that cliffhanger! Those last moments of the episode just leave you yearning for more. More Paris Squad, more in-depth looks into their individual stories, more Nick & Charlie, more more MORE!

I’m glad that Alice Oseman is already hard at work on the season 3 script. I hope they’re as inspired as ever.

EPISODE 8 - PERFECT

- Baby Queen’s “Colours of you” makes an appearance/comeback. I don’t know, but I feel like a lot of people said that it was about how Nick makes Charlie feel, how his world is black and white until Nick comes into his life (I don’t know if maybe Baby Queen said that), but to me it was always more the other way around: that Nick’s life was very black and white until he met Charlie, because not only did he realize he liked Charlie, but he also realized this whole other part of himself, in the form of the colors of the rainbow (queer pride).

- Comments to Nick’s post coming out as bi are a a mix of joyful and shocked but a few awful people just taking up space too.

- Charlie saying that his life is perfect right now and that everything’s perfect, whilst Nick knows it’s not, because Charlie still has an eating disorder, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

- “Do you want to be my girlfriend?” “Is that a serious question?” Love them.

- Tara and Sahar, I hope you’ve learned your lesson: never ever take part in an organization committee.

- I was weirded out by the fact that they included prom in the show, since I thought there was no high school prom in the UK. It just seems like such an American/gringo thing (we have prom in my country, but it’s nothing like the gringo prom… mine was so weird and lame). But it turns out that they do have it in the UK now, likely made popular by all the classic teen dramas and rom coms that take place in high schools from the United States. But since it wasn’t in the comic either, I still thought it was a strange addition at first. However, the whole group dynamic made it work.

- Coach Singh coaxing Mr Ajayi to text Mr Farouk… that whole interaction was so precious…

- People just openly coming up to Nick and Charlie to ask if it’s true that they’re dating. Children, it’s none of your business, you don’t even know them…

- The conversation between Tao and Nick, Tao’s face as Nick mentions that Charlie is still affected by the bullying… poor Tao, he really didn’t mean for that to happen, that’s why he’s so protective of Charlie. And Nick’s face when Tao mentions his dad dying, like he’s really surprised that Tao is opening up to him. “Didn’t know about your dad…” “Don’t be weird about it.” “I’ll try.” “Good.”

- And their faces when they both realize that neither knows how bad the bullying was, because Charlie hasn’t opened up to either of them completely about it.

- And Nick and Charlie both looking so handsome in their suits, and being so gaga for each other. “I can’t believe you’re my boyfriend…” “You look… sooo… goooood! YOU LOOK SOOOO GOOD!” My favorite thing about this new season is that I’ve lost count of how many times Nick can’t resist the urge to pick up Charlie. I’m making a montage.

- “And a big public appearance as a couple… that’s definitely what we want?” Nick knows how much the attention might overwhelm Charlie. But Charlie’s not thinking about that, he’s trying to focus on the good part, the fact that he has an amazing boyfriend, that they can be together without hiding now.

- Darcy watching sourly as a mother picks up and comforts her small child, indicating that her bad relationship with her mother is not a new thing, her mother has never been nurturing or comforting or loving. And of course, how is Darcy supposed to know how to love someone if she has never been shown love in her entire life?

- Best scene ever: Elle’s dad being a ten feet tall burly man, pretending to be intimidating but then laughing it off. Will Gao’s awkward nervous laugh sends me.

- His reaction to Elle’s whole look. “You look… you… you’re so… Hello…” He’s so smitten.

- Seriously, Tao and Elle being the hottest, most stylish couple at the prom. Tara’s dress, though, is my absolute favorite.

- Tao and Elle being silly and cute for photos, and the four original friends taking a cheesy studio photo together. Love them.

- “I can’t believe Nick’s showing off his boyfriend, but none of you managed to bring a girl!” How does Harry manage to say something ‘nice’ and still make it sound like bullying? AAAND you didn’t bring a girl either, Harry, so what’s your deal??? He’s just loudly seeking attention. Where’s Tao when you need him to shut Harry down with a snarky comeback??

- The boys teasing Nick about being the first one in a relationship, like it’s no big deal. But my favorite was Christian going “I could get a girlfriend, how about Tara Jones?” Awww, has he genuinely liked Tara this whole time, or was she the first one that came to his mind? (I think he genuinely didn’t remember she’s a lesbian).

- Tara’s “How do you talk to someone about something they don’t want to talk about?” And Nick realizing that that’s what’s happening with Charlie. “Maybe you just have to try, even if it doesn’t work”. They both have to go for it. I love their friendship.

- Baby Queen‼!

- The dance routine, Elle and Tao living their best movie sequence.

- The little neon butterflies as Elle tells Tao she wants to go to Lambert, and he tells her that he knows. Yes he knows, and he knows that it will make him happy to see Elle happy, even if that means letting her go. He has to overcome his fear of abandonment. He’s not being abandoned, they’re just growing up.

- THE ACE BOOK. Give it to mee‼! Isaac is looking for an identity. And I love that it cuts to James enjoying himself too, and Tori being content by herself at a table. I hope we get more of Tori’s story in future Heartstopper seasons (and the comic too).

- And the teachers are going on an actual date!

- I don’t know what that meant, Imogen getting sort of misty-eyed looking up at Sahar playing. Maybe she’s realizing that she might have feelings for her, but my interpretation is that, since Imogen claimed that she needed to focus on herself, and since the whole season she has seemed pretty lonely, and we find out that she and Sahar used to be friends until Imogen got a boyfriend and they stopped talking to each other (regardless of who stopped first), and because Sahar revealed that she was bi and Imogen got caught unawares and thought maybe she should have known that, that Imogen’s reaction was more of a wanting to rekindle that friendship. As we saw with Tao and Charlie, and maybe now even Nick and Tao, friendships and platonic relationships are given the same importance in Heartstopper as romantic ones. Not all stares mean romance. And Imogen is looking for friends right now. (Although if it does lead to romance, I wouldn’t be mad about it… and who can deny the Lesbian Lighting??? Maybe Imogen IS into girls after all…) “Youuu, soft and lonely…”

- Isaac getting his heartstopper moment when he holds the book to his chest. YES ISAAC!

- Charlie asserting himself and asking Nick if they can leave, because he’s tired and uncomfortable of people staring and pointing. Everyone’s been so nice to their face about them coming out as a couple, but that doesn’t mean that Charlie’s not going to be worried about someone saying something nasty to either him or Nick, and it doesn’t mean that he’s not possibly going to have horrible flashbacks to being bullied. And Nick once again realizing that he doesn’t care about parties, he just wants to be with Charlie.

- Seriously, Sarah needs to adopt Darcy, replace David.

- Why would Darcy’s mum see Tara in her dress and think “oh no, a door-to-door salesperson?” She clearly doesn’t want to deal with anyone, but maybe even worse, she just wants to quickly get rid of a black girl standing at her doorstep.

- “She had another one of her tantrums last night.” Like this is typical and so it’s not a big deal that she has no idea where her daughter is…

- Group hug to heal my soul.

- “I wanted to be that person for you…” My heart. Tara and Darcy finally talking. “You’ve only seen half of my life.” “And now i’ve seen the other half, and I still love you.” “Are you sure? Because I’m a literal disaster.” “Oh I know.” That is so sweet. And Darcy practicing saying I love you until it feels normal and natural. So joyful.

- By the way, only Heartstopper can get me to listen to Taylor Swift. No offense to all the Swifties (including Patrick Watson), I love your love for Taylor, but I really don’t get it, her music just doesn’t get to me. Admittedly that song was nice for this moment. But that’s about it. But anyway… don’t come at me. I just prefer Baby Queen and Orla Gartland and beabadobee and Carly Rae Jepsen and Gabrielle Aplin and Wolf Alice and Carmody and girl in red much more in this soundtrack. AND THAT WASIA PROJECT SONG‼ Weeping‼

- I love how warm and sweet everyone in the group is to each other. Look at Tao and Nick hugging! Look at how Nick and Tara and Darcy are as much a part of the group as if they had been there for as long as the other four have been tight. Everyone deserves a friend group like that.

- I love that they included that bit from the little comic answering fan questions, where Nick realizes that maybe he’s had a crush on a boy before.

- “Now your turn”. Nick really wants Charlie to be able to open up to him, about anything. Charlie deflects, as always, and says that they don’t need to talk about it because everything’s fine, but the truth is he doesn’t want to talk about it, he doesn’t want to deal with those feelings. But if he never does, he’s just never going to move past that. And Nick wants to help him, even if it’s hard, even if it’s painful, he wants to understand. “You don’t have to be perfect with me.” Charlie just shrinking into himself…

- That whole conversation, it was an impeccable performance from Joe and Kit, and I’m crying again… Nick can’t even fathom that anyone would call this beautiful boy disgusting, and he can’t even fathom the pain that would cause Charlie to hurt himself, he doesn’t even know what to do… but he’s there, he’ll be there, and he wants Charlie to know how much he cares about him. It’s so soft, the hugs, the soft voices, the kiss on the forehead, the tearful kiss, and telling him how much he loves everything about him…

- Serial hoodie thief.

- That deep sigh… that terrified look…

- Spoiler alert: Charlie doesn’t send the text… of course not… he quickly realizes that he wouldn’t just say that for the first time over text… he wants to really mean it.

This episode is brought to you by TIPTOE KISSES™.

Looking forward to next season:

- Sara and Nick’s talk at the beach in Menorca. It will destroy me, but it will be worth it.

- The ‘I love you’ shower scene, and subsequent street chase.

- The beach, and Nick and Charlie both blushing when Charlie’s putting sunscreen on Nick’s back.

- More from The Teachers™ ‼

- I’m not ready for Charlie writing the note to read to his parents… I’ll never be ready… I’ll weep until I’m out of tears…

- Charlie possibly speaking Spanish… listen Joe, Kit had to learn French, Spanish is NOTHING compared to that, you’ll be fine.

- In the comic, after Charlie faints, there’s that funny moment when Nick says “Charlie, I’m not gonna start acting like I’m your doctor and you’re my patient… *seductive smirk* *eyebrow wiggle* unless you’re into that…” “SHUT UP!” I need this moment, I need it so bad…

- More about Elle’s family, please. I already love her parents. More about all the families, really.

- More Tori, hopefully.

MORE HEARTSTOPPER, PLEASE!

[thatjadedhotmess]

tattoo artist hcs

pairings/characters: pantalone, albedo, childe and kazuha x gn!reader [all of them are separate !:)]

warnings⚠️: mentions of needles, not explicitly romantic imo

wc: 0.8k++

note: fun fact; I really want tattoos when I grow older but I'm not sure what to get:") likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

pantalone (潘塔罗涅)

tattoo artist!pantalone who always, always, comes in a sleeveless shirt that shows off his arm muscles and the tats he got on them.

tattoo artist!pantalone who pretends to be oblivious to the ogling he gets whenever he flexes his arms (he knows what hes doing with his stupid sleeveless shirts)

tattoo artist!pantalone who has rings on almost all of his fingers but takes them off before he starts tattooing because they're kind of uncomfortable he wears them for the looks.

tattoo artist!pantalone who's famous for the big works that take months to complete. Full detail dragons and flower designs on people's backs and thighs are some of his favourites because the surface there is easiest to work with in his opinion.

tattoo artist!pantalone who loves making small talk and lives for the tea that his customers spill whenever he's working on the tattoo.

tattoo artist!pantalone who usually ends up working in silence because his voice accidentally lulls people to sleep so he doesn't get to talk to them. (you're the only exception though you have fallen asleep while getting a tattoo done by him)

tattoo artist!pantalone who got matching tattoos with you (it's a little skeleton and when u put them side by side they're dancing together:)))

albedo (阿貝多)

tattoo artist!albedo who has colourful little tattoos all over himself that don't have any meaning because he experiments on himself to test his skills. he used to do it more often because he would new to this form of art but now he usually does it for fun.

tattoo artist!albedo who is usually first in the shop because he wakes up super early in the morning so he goes to start prepping the equipment everyone needs before the others arrive. if he's especially early he might just buy coffee for his colleagues.

tattoo artist!albedo isn't very talkative when he's doing his work, preferring to concentrate on the tattoo than making small talk with his client. unless that client is you of course:)

tattoo artist!albedo who takes note that you've visited him quite a few times in the last 3 months and got curious about you.

tattoo artist!albedo who noticed that you two share a lot of similarities; style of tattoo, music, arts in general.

tattoo artist!albedo who eventually starts making small talk with you, asking you how your day was and what you had to eat before coming into the parlour.

tattoo artist!albedo who even gave you one side of his earpiece so that you could listen to music together while he did another tattoo for you.

childe (達達利亞)

tattoo artist!childe who is the extrovert in the shop compared to pantalone, albedo and zuzu. the only one that would make small talk with his customers even if he isn't familiar with them.

tattoo artist!childe who has a dragon tattoo on his back that can be seen when he wears a tank top.

tattoo artist!childe who also has quite a few piercings on his ears and one on his eyebrow (he got that one because he lost a bet to pantalone).

tattoo artist!childe who's playful demeanor always helps with nervous first-timers getting their first tattoo.

tattoo artist!childe who looks like he was gonna absolutely sucker punch someone because he didn't get enough sleep (because of his resting bitch face) but in reality he'll just end up dosing off on the tattoo chair and fall asleep there.

tattoo artist!childe who does charge lower rates for certain people (his regulars or you) just because he knows them well and he really does believe sometimes he should do others a favour.

kaedehara kazuha (楓原万葉)

tattoo artist!kazuha who comes into the shop at least a little high 90% of the time.

tattoo artist!kazuha who can been seen standing outside the parlour every so often taking a smoke break while using his phone.

tattoo artist!kazuha who's personal room in the shared studio is filled with mushroom tapestry and a few succulents along with a little diffuser.

tattoo artist!kazuha who is well known for coloured tattoos you cannot tell me this man isn't the absolute best at shading fight me😤

tattoo artist!zuzu who is also the most polite tattoo artist in the house, in the sense that he will keep his distance, he keeps the touching to a minimum to make sure his customer inst uncomfortable and he usually isn't the one to start a conversation; preferring to let the customer start.

tattoo artist!zuzu who's very good at reading the room and will start a conversation if he feels awkwardness is starting to set in.

tattoo artist!zuzu who also conveniently becomes your therapist because interacting with him is so easy and smooth there's is never an awkward moment between you guys and you feel like you can tell him everything.

[olympeline]

FrUK hanahaki AU, part 2! (Part 1)

So, Arthur tried a mysterious spell to get rid of his love crush infatuation unfortunate mental affliction for Francis and it’s left him with a good dose of the blooming cough. How does the land of Shakespeare, Milton, and Keats react to this?

Arthur:………………..FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!!!! *Coughing fit*

Seems about right 👍

Anyway, the writing’s on the wall now. Arthur is a brave nation who likes to solve his problems alone and hates to show weakness, but even he has his limits. Swallowing his pride (and a few petals) he goes to talk to Norway and Romania. Arthur doesn’t admit outright why he’s there (he’s not that desperate yet!) and instead shows them Atlantis’s spell. He hopes his friends might have a way to reverse it, but no luck. The magic looks too old and unstable. Norway says an antidote could take years of study or even decades. Arthur feels his heart sink. He knows he doesn’t have years. As he is now, one year might be pushing it.

Arthur swallows more pride (and petals) and goes to talk to his last hope: Yao. China isn’t a wizard himself, but he is one of the most magically attuned nations (can still see his dragons and the like). He’s also the only remaining nation who met Atlantis. Yao was a fresh faced youth during Plato’s “Single day and night of misfortune” when Atlantis sunk into the sea and was lost forever. They have tea and Arthur relies on a millennia of diplomacy to bring up the subject delicately: nothing gets Yao to shut up like a box faster than mentioning Atlantis. Arthur can’t afford to be kicked out. He needs detail that only Yao can give.

It’s not easy. The moment Yao sees the book and realises what Arthur wants, the atmosphere in the room turns arctic. Yao tells Arthur to drop it. Arthur won’t. Yao angrily tells Arthur to leave. Arthur won’t. Yao is about to try and throw Arthut out, when pain burns Arthur’s throat and chest and he doubles up, coughing. He can’t catch every petal and one flutters down to Yao’s feet. Yao picks it up, hand shaking.

“Oh, England,” he whispers. “Oh, you fool…”

It’s a long time before the fit subsides and Arthur can speak. China helps him to a chair and brings more tea. There’s no point pretending now: Yao knows. Arthur looks at the sheer, crushing pity on his face and is furious, mortified, and terrified all at once. Just from that look, he has his answer he came for: Atlantis cursed himself with hanahaki while trying to get rid of unwanted romantic feelings for someone. The curse won out, and Atlantis was doomed. Arthur asks who it was that Atlantis loved. Yao says it was Ancient Rome, or Grandpa Rome as the young nations knew him. Atlantis fell for the great empire in his early days when he was just a small city state. But the feelings weren’t returned and Atlantis, who was a master sorcerer, took drastic measures. Then all the other ancients could do was watch in horror as the disease consumed his entire being - land, people, culture - body and soul, until the cataclysm.

Now the same will happen to Arthur, to Britain, unless they do something. Arthur says there must be a cure, they just have to find it! He’s been through worse than this. He’s not beaten yet. A reversal of the spell would take too long but, there must be another cure out there. There must be! (Cope, Arthur, cope)

Then Yao sends him into another choking fit by demanding to know why he doesn’t just confess to Francis already

Once he calms down, Arthur asks WTF mate and Yao gives him the biggest “I am four thousand years old are you shitting me” look in existence. Did Arthur think he was being subtle about his feelings for Francis or something? Nope! Nope! So much nope! So just confess already, Arthur! Confess and get cured before it’s too late

Arthur is thunderstruck - he thought he hid his affliction masterfully! - but he recovers and retorts that Yao is wrong, it’s not Francis. It’s totally someone else! Totally absolutely! Someone else. Yao doesn’t know him (he lives in Canada). Yao gives him the look again. Arthur ignores it and says thank you very much for the tea but now he must leave immediately, goodbye forever. Yao calls after him that he can deny as much as he likes, but confessing is his only hope at this point. So don’t be a coward, Arthur! Your people need you. Confess!

Arthur pretends not to hear

Confessing would do no good anyway. Not when Francis doesn’t love him back

No confession! He’ll find a cure instead

When he gets home, the next fit brings up the first full flower

(I’m cutting it here for now, but I hope you’re enjoying my rambles! Stay tuned for part 3 at some point.

Should also mention that just for this AU, Arthur represents the British Isles rather than just England. So this is an alternate history where the Republic of Ireland never split from the United Kingdom. Also, UK bros Wales, Scotty, and N. Ireland don’t exist, like in early Hetalia. I call Arthur “England” a few times just because I’m used to it, but, in reality, he’s either “Britain” or “British Isles.” Otherwise what I have planned wouldn’t work (´ε｀ )♡)

[12romy]

Thanks so much and so happy that you guys doing lewis/miles fics 🤩

Came up with the prompts “night” & ”light” ~

Thank you for the prompt❤️❤️

This is absolutely self-indulging and kinda cliché, but I hope you'll like it!

Enjoy~

'Blinding Lights' is playing in the background, Lewis bobbing his head in rhythm and humming along.

He's scrolling distractingly on his phone, and doesn't see Miles' eyes fixed on him.

It's a quiet afternoon. A small gathering with a few friends in a nice villa with a swimming pool, some good food, good alcohol, and good weed.

Miles can tell Lewis is high. He's lacking his usual energy, and is happy to lay around lazily when there's a swimming pool two feet away from him. Miles didn't smoke - he tries not to, when Lewis is around, because it only makes him want to kiss him.

The urge would be even worse than usual, since Lewis is currently only wearing swimshorts, droplets of water drying on his abs and his tattoos. That might be why Miles can't stop staring, he has to admit.

Spinz shows up suddenly, sitting next to him, smirking.

"Still haven't made a move?" he asks, and Miles want to punch that smile off his face.

"Obviously not," he whispers back furiously, his cheeks heating.

"You're not being very subtle, is all, bruv," Spinz shrugs. "He's head over heels for you, by the way, you should go for it."

"Please, we both know that's not true," he snorts. "It's Lewis we're talking about. He's not into guys. Besides, I'm happy just being his friend."

"Whatever you say, man."

"What are you guys plotting about?" Lewis asks suddenly, having lifted his head from his phone. His eyes are half-closed and he looks sleepy.

"Nothing much, don't worry," Miles dismisses quickly. "Hey, how about we go get some food inside? I'm hungry."

It's the right thing to say, he can always count on Lewis' cravings when he's high.

Lewis shots up from his seat, and rushes inside, barely waiting for Miles.

Before leaving, Miles makes sure to glare at Spinz threateningly.

*****

Night has fallen already.

Lewis can't move. It's not that he can't, exactly, but rather that he doesn't want to. He'd risk to wake Miles up, and he's pretty content to sit here and enjoy the contact.

They've ended up putting a movie, after dinner, and Miles started to dose off. He ended up slumped against Lewis, somehow, then he laid down properly and rested his head on Lewis' lap.

His hair is short so Lewis can't exactly tangle his hand in it, but he still pets it. The feeling of the short hair against his hand is nice.

"So, when are you going to tell him?" Spinz asks him, and he immediately scowls at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says with detachment.

"Yeah, of course," his friends mocks. "So we'll pretend you weren't making poetry about how hot he was and how you loved him last time we drank together."

"I was drunk," Lewis protests.

"You were drinking your damn tequilla, we both know there's not a drop of alcohol inside."

Feeling called out, Lewis doesn't bother to answer. He can feel Miles stir, however, and is terrified that he's heard.

Miles slowly sits up, and he looks way too awake for someone who were supposed to be napping.

"That's my cue to leave," Spinz declares, and promptly walks out before Lewis can kill him as he intended to.

There's a long, awkward silence, and Lewis tries to muster the courage to say something.

"So uh-" Miles starts, hesitant. "I wasn't really sleeping."

"Yeah, I figured," Lewis says. He wants to crawl under the surface of earth and never come out.

"Actually I was pretending to sleep the whole time," Miles continues. "Because I like having my head on your lap. And your hand in my hair. Because I'm craving any physical touch I can have with you."

"Wh-what are you saying?" Lewis stutters, trying to process the meaning of the words, and already blushing like a fool.

"It's not just physical," Miles continues. "I just want to be with you, all the time. Do everything with you, talk to you, or just hang out and do nothing. I think about you a lot, also, and I miss you horribly when you're not around."

"I- feel the same," Lewis blurts out before he can help it.

"You're my best friend, man," he says finally, and Lewis feels his heart sink. Did he missread the whole situation? "But you're so much more than that."

Lewis can breathe again after Miles' confession.

They drifted closer while he was talking, and their mouth are only a few inches apart, now. Lewis is the one to close the gap between them. When they pull apart from what was the best kiss of his life, he's also the one to say "I love you".

Miles doesn't lose a second to return the feeling.

[raichett]

Smile

Okay, but if you think about it, Dream’s dental health has got to be a wreck after prison, right? Anyway, have some post-prison Punz-Dream content. The state of their relationship is kind of ambiguous and could very easily go either way, so if you wanna tag as shipping then please feel very free to do so.

Content warnings: implied/referenced torture, non-graphic dental horror, non-graphic DIY dentistry.

This flash fic can also be found on AO3 here.

–

SMILE

It takes Punz a solid half-hour of direct gentle coaxing on top of the roughly five hours of careful companionship and verbal prodding from the rest of the day to get Dream into their tower. He stands there now, still flighty, cautious on his feet as though at any moment he will be gone right back out the door and Punz will be lucky to see him for weeks.

Punz walks in easily, checking their traps – you can never be too careful ‘round here, by the Void – and pulling a chair out from their dining table casually on their way past. The invitation is implicit, hopefully not too pressuring, what with Punz not even looking at Dream as they shrug off their damp cloak and drape it over the rail they keep by the fire for exactly this purpose. As they kneel down at the hearth, flint and steel in hand, they listen to the soft footsteps and quiet scrape of the chair as Dream sits down.

The fire bursts into glorious life in front of them, flushing their front with warmth. It’ll take longer to heat up the rest of the room, but it’s a start. Hopefully the promise of future warmth, especially in comparison to the drizzle and mist outside, will keep Dream here long enough for him to actually appreciate it.

Punz listens to Dream shift in his chair. “I’ll just be back with the potions,” they say, stepping out of the room. “Could you get the lamps lit?”

Upstairs, Punz gathers healing and weakness in their hands from their medical chest. Then, grimacing, they add a pair of small pliers. It’s nasty work, but – these things have got to be done, and Dream has trusted them. They can’t let him down.

Back in the living room, the lamps hanging from the ceiling now bright and the curtains drawn across the shutters of the windows, Dream looks smaller without his cloak, now draped next to Punz’s, his mask on the table, scarred and thin visage exposed. Punz doesn’t let the thought show on their face; Dream doesn’t take well to what he perceives as pity born of arrogance and self-centredness, instead of pity born of love and care. Punz knows which one they feel, but to convince Dream of it is a war, not a single battle, and Punz knows well how to pick and choose those. Not today.

Dream flinches at the sight of the pliers before freezing in place. Punz carefully pretends not to notice as they set their equipment down: potions, pliers, a cup of water, an empty bowl. Silently, they slide the weakness over to Dream. It’s not the most effective painkiller in the world, but it will simply have to do until the healing takes care of the rest. It’ll numb Dream, at least, make his limbs tired and clumsy. Punz tries not to feel cruel as Dream uncorks the phial and swallows it down like a shot, with all the bleak stubbornness of one who strongly desires to have an unpleasant thing over and done with.

“Which ones?” Punz asks as Dream leans back in the chair and opens his mouth.

Dream shudders minutely. “All of them,” he says, blankly. “Gimme a whole new set. I don’t want any complications.”

Punz can’t stop the wince and discontented twist of their lips. They line up the healing potions next to Dream and take the pliers in hand. After a moment of hesitation, they pull closer another one of the weakness potions and hand it over – double dosing isn’t exactly good for you, but neither is being in immense amounts of pain over the time it’ll take for Punz to replace Dream’s teeth. “They got fucked up that much?”

Dream swallows the second weakness potion, sagging in his chair. Punz knows how immense the trust they’re being displayed is. “Worse. Don’t ask.”

Punz doesn’t ask. Instead, they take the pliers in hand and adjust one of the ceiling lanterns to hang directly above, shining into Dream’s open mouth and the broken and chipped teeth within.

–

After, when the empty bowl is full of bloodied water, the glass nearly empty, the pliers abandoned next to a pile of teeth and the empty phials that once were healing potions, Punz holds a cold damp cloth to Dream’s cheeks as he twitches in the chair, grimacing, his jaw making small wordless movements as his teeth grow back in. They hope it’s helping; Dream isn’t exactly talking yet.

Finally, Dream says carefully, “Think that’s it, or close.” He reaches up to press his hands over Punz’s, both of them holding the cloth to his cheeks. A dribble of water slides down, lingering on his jaw before dropping to spot at his collar. Dream bares his new teeth to Punz’s gaze and runs his tongue over them. “Yeah.”

“Does it still hurt?” Punz tries to modulate the concern in their voice down to Dream-safe levels.

Dream shrugs. “A bit. More ache than pain. I’ll sleep it off.” He pulls Punz’s hands away from his cheeks, not ungentle, taking the cloth and putting it on the table next to his old teeth. “… Thanks.” He still looks far too serious for Punz’s liking; he’s been more prone to solemnity since Punz last knew him. Prison took something from him, dimmed his light, and that’s – unforgivable.

“You’re welcome,” Punz replies, and then, taking a chance, they grin right at Dream. “Finally got your smile back, huh?” they say, handing Dream’s mask to him in the same moment, painted smile leering up at the ceiling, hoping the dark humour will make Dream laugh.

Success: Dream wheezes, almost surprised at the sound coming out of his own throat. “Yeah,” he says. He swipes his tongue over his teeth again, taking the mask from Punz and staring at it one brief moment before meeting Punz’s eyes again. Softer than he probably intends, lips tugging up in a small smile at Punz, he says, “I’ve got that going for me, at least.”

[avisisisis]

No but (-and this isn’t meant to be hate on anyone) but the thing about JL original scene actually being a found family rather than the normal justice league dynamic of coworkers on the whole and close bonds between various members is that their actual canonical dynamic is the dynamic fandoms of shows like Yj animated love to give those characters and pretend it’s canon not (welcomed) fanon. JL crew actually have that, even if we see it in small doses. They are canonically close. They have spent so much time with each other. They can’t stand each other. They can’t do without each other. They have secrets. They have no idea who the other is for most of the first seasons. They are functional, they are dysfunctional, they are wholesome, they are terrifying.

And like not to make it all about that AU, but like THEY are the reason I wanna see yj Wally as JLU Wally because the original seven are so close and tight and run so differently just THEM

Yes!!! The most found family thing Wally may have with them would be with Shayera and John, since it was shown that he's way closer to them than to the others (also Flash and Green Lantern friendship!)

They are definitely not family like the YJ (and the Titans, in the comics) team was, but they're still friends. Kind of

They care about eachother. They would kill and die for eachother. They would turn into evil dictators if one of them died (read: Wally). They hate eachother. They love eachother. They cannot stand being around one another. They wouldn't be able to live if the others didn't exist. They're strangers. They're friends. They're enemies. They're friends again

Meanwhile, the YJ is just family. They were a bunch of traumatized children thrown into a weird team full of other traumatized children. They basically grew up together. The JL don't have that

The YJ went through a lot more of stuff together than the JL. So yes, while the JL may be friends, the YJ team is family. And yes, there's a difference

Idk. Something about people caring about eachother but not having the label of friend or family or lover makes me have feelings