#but i still ... have so much more to draw... so much more to say.........

[snail-day]

TW: Brief spanking, MDNI, mostly fluff.

Suguru will literally accept anything you hand him while he’s on the phone. Suguru puts up with a lot. The man was created with patience.

A jar you can’t quite open. He’s mid-conversation, sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms, phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, and without so much as a glance your way, he pops the lid with one effortless twist. Passes it back with a distracted, “Here you go, love,” like your needs are as easy to solve as breathing.

But of course, you’re not done there. If you married the man, might as well torment him a little.

Your poor Suguru, with that low-lidded violet gaze and patient smile he offers when the call’s been going on too long, pacing barefoot through the house. He’s a pacer, of course. Talking about business with what’s definitely not a cult.

So you start testing him. Little things at first.

You hand him one of the girls’ stuffed animals left behind before school. He tucks it under his arm without hesitation, thumb stroking over the little fabric ear, torn at the edges, as he keeps talking, voice soft, footsteps loud against the wood floor.

Then a sock, which he deposits in the laundry room without missing a beat.

Then a spoon. This time, he raises a brow. Lets out a soft, almost amused tsk before dropping it in the kitchen sink with a quiet clink.

Suguru’s nothing if not thorough.

And every time he returns, his eyes flicker toward you. Curious. Playful. A little dangerous. Waiting to see just how far you’ll go before he breaks character.

The next item was a bit more out of pocket. The rock. A smooth little thing you found by the garden. Completely useless.

“Hold this for me?” you ask, eyes bright with mischief, placing it into his palm.

Suguru glances down at the object, then up at you - his smile slow, curling at the edges. “A rock, love?”

You nod sweetly. He takes it with a chuckle, returning to his call. Cradles it in his large palm. Rolls it once between his calloused fingers, gives it a small toss, then tucks it into the pocket of his sweats that hang low on his waist.

You can hardly hold in your giggle. Because now, well, you have to get more bold.

You hand him your panties. Still warm and soft from the heat of your skin. No warning, no explanation - just folded neatly and passed to him like you’re handing off a napkin.

This time, he pauses.

Suguru’s dark, thin brows raise a fraction, a knowing tilt to his mouth. He hooks the lace on one long finger, gives you that look - head tilted, eyes dark, heat blooming behind them.

Still, he says nothing. Just returns to his call, spinning your panties lazily around his finger like it’s any other object you’ve handed him.

You’re proud of yourself, honestly. Until you push one step further.

The note is folded tight, corners creased from how long you’ve been hiding it. You pass it over wordlessly, pretending to busy yourself while watching from the corner of your eye.

Suguru opens it and reads aloud slowly in a soft whisper.

"Help. I’ve been kidnapped. My name is - "

He doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. His thumb stills on the corner of the paper. The smile that pulls at his lips is slow, dangerous. The kind that makes heat curl low in your belly.

You don’t hear him end the call. Just the quiet click of his phone being set down.

“Love,” Suguru drawls, stepping into your space, “you wouldn’t be trying to embarrass me, would you?”

Your breath catches. Barely able to meet his eyes without his fingers tilting your face to meet his.

“No,” you lie, all innocence.

Suguru tsks softly, and suddenly his hand is on your lower back, guiding you gently, so gently, toward the couch.

“You know I don’t mind holding your things. Your rock. Your panties,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “But I draw the line at bratty behaviors. If you wanted attention, you could've just asked.”

You yelp when he bends you over his lap, your squeal swallowed by the warm slide of his palm under his, sorry, your shirt.

“And now,” he hums, voice amused and low as the first firm smack lands on your bare ass, “you’re going to say thank you.”

Another slap, just enough to sting. Red blossoming.

“Thank you,” you breathe, already flustered.

He hums, pleased, smoothing his hand down your spine. “For?”

“For… holding my rock?”

“And?” Another spank.

You squirm. “...My panties.”

“Mmm.” He bends close, presses his lips to the back of your neck with a feline smile you can feel. “Good girl.”

His hand glides over your rear, tracing the swell of his handprints. You're silly to think he'd be gentle over such cheeky behaviors.

“And next time you write me a note?” he whispers, just before nipping at your ear, “Make it a love letter, yeah? That way I can let everyone know how much you love me.”

[banj0possum]

Zombie horde and cure researcher reader? I want to know how the boys are gonna use their new vocal chords. Ribs probably can't sing good, but soda always has that half-drunk look whenever u draw him so i bet he knows a bunch of bar songs.

felt like doing a refresher with the Zombie Horde ! this was my oldest ask in my inbox! (had to go down a long ways to get this old thang) but i figured you guys needed a long awaited part 3 of these fellas after idk a year ?? so here ya go !

Zombie Horde x Cure Researcher! Reader

💀 With the boys showing more and more signs of healing, you quickly went to recording each and every new finding you come across, as well as their individual progress.

💀 You'd help them stretch and get used to their new joints. With them being less ravaged by rigor mortis, they can be quite...clumsy..

💀 And their hair could grow normally, which is promising for your cure! But that does mean you have to cut their hair every once in a while now..

💀 The most amazing thing that came out of your serum was the fact that their vocal chords have been restored, allowing them to speak, which is very very interesting experience.

💀 Screw loves words, or more like he loves getting your praise whenever he pronounces a word correctly.

💀 His voice wasn't as developed as the others, so he had a harder time when it came to speaking again, but he tries very hard!

💀 He'd find an object, run over to you, and slowly stutter out what it is.

💀 "B-b-b..bo..ttle..?"

💀 Gets all giddy when you tell him he did a good job, but he doesn't exactly giggle, it's more like a bunch of high-pitched squealing, purring, and cooing

💀 Vocal stims a lot like humming, pronouncing letters over and over, or just repeating a word or phrase.

💀 Give him a book or some of your papers, and he'll be glued to anything with words while trying to read them out loud.

💀 Maybe there's an old bookstore in the mall?

💀 Secretly planning to relearn how to write because he wants to make you a love letter like in the stories he reads!

💀 Ribs is non-stop screaming and shouting ;-;

💀 Calm down brotha you just got your voice back ;-;-;--;-;-;

💀 Has a very dirty vocabulary

💀 British ?

💀 You can hear him from the other side of the mall..

💀 Defo pretends to be a survivor when he sees other humans scavenging the mall and then scares them away.

💀 Bo has to step in and shut him up, but he does it again anyway.

💀 Loves singing with Soda, except he's shit at singing, he's kind of just yelling the lyrics.

💀 Very giggly when he talks, especially when he's with you since he gets all shy.

💀 Mumbles incessantly.

💀 "Baby, baby! My sweetheart hehehehahahaAHH! So cute! So cute! HEEhehehehheee~~!"

💀 Soda had the easiest time to talk, his voice is very raspy yet smooth like honey.

💀 Rarely talks, mostly hums and sings, they're mostly old 40s jazz songs or just some random melody.

💀 Speaks up suddenly a lot with the most random things.

💀 "Motor oil is not a good drink..." "...what." "what.."

💀 Confuses both you and the others.

💀 Ribs digs it.

💀 Hype man to absolute nonsense.

💀 Screw and Bo just accept it, he may be a little goofy but he does have most of the brains of the bunch.

💀 And he can say some very sweet things in between all his ravings.

💀 He'd just be watching you work on your research and suddenly blurt out something.

💀 "You're the most beautiful flower I've ever seen..."

💀 Bo can talk pretty well, but it hurts the most for him since he doesn't have cheeks, plus the damage in his throat.

💀 Wouldn't say he speaks as rarely as Soda, but he does speak in very short sentences, you could 3 sentences at most in one shot from him.

💀 Prefers growling still, but talks when necessary

💀 Doesn't dare to sing, but he does love Soda's singing, not so much Ribs, but he stays to make him happy.

💀 Looks for stuff to read for Screw (he keeps newspapers for himself)

💀 Feels good whenever he gets to praise the others and you, he's a real giver :333

💀 He never wastes an opportunity to sweet-talk you, no matter how uncomfortable his vocal chords feel.

💀 "We're so lucky ta have you, doll~ Wish I could give ya a big 'ol smooch but uh... 'fraid I'm a bit short in that department.."

WAAAAA i missed writing for these guys!! auuuughhhhhhh lucky i managed to escape from my mr ring a ding hyperfixation for a while !

[littlcdarlin]

getting Joel's name tattooed

warnings: big age gap (unspecified), dom!Joel, Joel likes the idea of everyone seeing his name on you, oral (fem!receiving), praise kink, claim kink (?), Joel calls reader “kid”/“kiddo”

note: Here's just a quick something to distract you all from the fact that I haven't posted a oneshot in two months. Enjoy! (Also, don't get people's names tattooed on your body without asking them first, this could seriously backfire. Or do what you want, I'm not your mother.)

Joel doesn’t dislike tattoos, but he never really cared for them either — he’s not one to make a fuss about his looks and likes you best just the way you are (or so he thinks)

It’s been rough, convincing your parents Joel isn’t a pervert for being with you (he is a pervert, but they don’t have to know about that), and you know Joel finds it hard to just walk down the street with you, thinking he’s ruining your life with his age and the hateful looks it attracts

It never bothered you much, which you tell him again and again, and though he let’s it go after a while, there’s still the occasional You sure you want me pickin’ you up from that? when you have a work event or something else Joel deems himself unworthy of attending

It’s unlike you to do something this drastic, this permanent, but in a way, that’s what your relationship to Joel is — drastic and permanent. There’s no going back from it, you don’t think you’ll ever want anything else

So you make the appointment, send the artist the design you want, tell Joel you’re going for brunch with your friends, let him kiss you gently and wonder if he’d stop you walking out the door if he knew what you’re about to do

You choose the placement on your hip, because it’s inconspicuous enough not to fuel Joel’s guilt, because other people would rarely be able to see it, and because you know how much Joel likes having you in his lap, his wide palms caressing that very spot

When you get home, he’s in his workshop, glasses low on his nose, carving away at yet another farm animal — he says he does it because it’s soothing, but you have the suspicion he’s hoping one of these days his load will take, and there’ll be a child to play with those animals sooner than later

I’ve got a surprise for you, you tell him, your hands massaging his powerful shoulders, and he puts down his tool and glasses, giving you his full attention. You gotta promise not to get mad, though.

Better not be one of those sour candies you gave me last time, because my tongue hasn’t been the same since, Joel answers, but when he sees you chewing on your bottom lip, the amusement seeps out of his voice. Won’t get mad, kid, I promise.

You believe him — there hasn’t been an angry man in your home since you moved out of your childhood home — so you pop open the button of your skirt, staring down at Joel. He clears his throat. Definitely not gettin’ mad, he mumbles, watching your hands pulling down the fabric. It slides of easily, you were supposed to wear something lose, so as not to irritate your healing skin

Joel’s eyes go wide when he sees the tattoo, the small, artful letters right above the waistband of your panties: Joel. You watch him swallow, his hands coming up to your hips, not touching the tattoo, but holding you as if to examine you more closely

Fucking Christ, he swears, his thumb drawing absentminded circles on your skin, you can’t be serious, angel. You’re fuckin’ with me.

You tell him you aren’t, that you’re serious about this, about him and his claim on you.

But…people will see, he mutters, eyes still glued to your skin, the top of his head all salt n pepper from your perspective. I want them to, you answer, and Joel looks up. You can see he's starting to believe you when you tell him you're his forever.

Joel spreads his big hand over your hips, tugs you closer, so that his nose is almost brushing your skin, and before he can kiss it, you thread your fingers through his hair and pull his head away.

It's got to heal, you explain, and Joel seems like he doesn't care for a moment, like he wants to ravage you anyway and risk an infection, but then his expression softens, and he slips his thick fingers under the waistband of your cotton panties

Well, I'm gonna touch my girl anyway, he growls, and tugs your panties down, his mouth latching onto your skin almost immediately. His beard scratches over your tummy, as he kisses you all over, mouth hot and wet, and so insistent

His hands grip your flesh hard, as if to keep you from moving away, but he's careful not to touch the little artwork on your hip

When he finally grazes your clit with his teeth, carefully, softly, your hips buck and your knees almost give out, but he holds you up

You stay right where you are, kiddo, I'm not done with you, Joel says into the skin right above your mound, and this more than anything sets your tummy on fire. He knows you'll do whatever he says, treats you like you're his, because you are – branded proof of it is healing on your hip.

So you let him move a hand to your folds, two fingers gathering the slick mess that's beginning to pool there, his touch almost playful.

He sucks on your clit as he sinks two thick fingers into your heat, curling them and forcing you to stay upright, when you almost sink down onto his lap. He could touch you like this easily without you standing in front of him, the muscles in your thighs quivering, but when you look down, his eyes are glued to his name right next to his hand.

The pleasure he gives you is merciless, and you can't help whimpers from escaping your mouth as he curls his fingers repeatedly, more than he moves them in and out of you

Go on, sweetheart, but tell me who you belong to first, he drawls softly, making your stomach flutter and clench.

You, Joel, you moan, and with another practiced movement of his fingers, you're coming on Joel's hand, unravelling while standing up, your legs shaking but unable to give in with how tightly Joel is gripping you and holding you up

Good girl, he praises, and you flutter around him again, as he drags his fingers out of you slowly, eyes on your new tattoo

How long does that take to heal? I gotta coat it in my cum, baby

[beautifultypewriter]

Jack Abbot Fluff Alphabet

Requested: Nope

Warnings: None

Full credit to whoever created this template (I still don’t actually know who that is). Gif credit to the owner.��Also, I changed the prompt for letter Q from quaint to quickstep.

Nothing to say other than I love him, your honor. And I have other The Pitt stuff coming out, so keep an eye out I guess. Hope I got his character right.

A = Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Jack loves your hands. He loves to feel your fingers running through his curls, he loves when your hand rests on his chest or his cheek or against his neck. He loves when you draw shapes on his back or when you run your fingertips over his arms. It’s so comforting to him. He loves to press his lips to your palm and thread your fingers together. The softness of your skin contrasted with the roughness of his own is something that he will never get over.

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?)

The only family Jack needs is you. He has no desire to have children. He already has so much going on in his life that he does not need the added stress that children bring. He’s completely content to live the rest of his life with just you and him and maybe a dog or two. That being said… if it were to happen, a surprise, unexpected thing that you want to keep… he’s 100% in. He will follow your lead and will always be there for you and for your child. It might not have been the plan, but he’s not upset. He’s a little worried, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not mad and he has no regrets about the situation.

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

Jack likes to wrap his arms around you whenever you cuddle. He likes feeling you close to him. He can’t decide if he prefers when your back is pressed to his chest or when you two are facing each other. Because when you’re face to face, he gets to look at you. He gets to see every small change in your expression, he gets to look into your eyes, he gets to brush your hair behind your ear, he gets to count your eyelashes. Your hands are resting gently on his back, tracing shapes or just moving slowly up and down and he swears he’s going to fall asleep. On the other hand, when your back is pressed to his chest, he gets to pull you in closer. He gets to hold your hands where they rest on your stomach, he gets to bury his face in your neck as the scent of your shampoo invades his senses. Both options are great to him, so he doesn’t really make requests. He lets you decide. Unless he’s had a really rough day and he needs to hold you close, but also maintain some distance. Then it’s back to chest.

D = Dates (What are dates with them like?)

Sometimes your schedules don’t line up very well and so you have mini dates that consist of lunch break walks through the park or a coffee date in the hour between his shift starting and you going home. He feels bad whenever you two have these kinds of dates because he thinks you deserve so much more than a quick cup of coffee or a 20-minute walk, but you insist that any time spent with him is perfect. He smiles, but in his head he’s planning a grander date to make it up to you. Speaking of, when the stars align and the two of you are able to have a proper date night, as he calls it, it’s never just one stop. It’s dinner and a movie or it’s drinks and live music. You two are making the most of the extended time you have. He’ll never forget the time you asked him to take you on an ice cream date. He was confused because you just wanted to grab some ice cream? That was it? Was that even really a date? You had laughed and insisted it was, but if he really wanted to then you guys could walk around the park too. And that’s what you did. You walked through the park, ice cream cones in hand, talking about how the week had been. You were more focused on the conversation and so your ice cream had started to melt and spill all over your hands, which led to you frantically trying to eat it all before it got on your shirt. Jack just watched you for a moment, laughing at your wide eyes and slightly panicked hopping. He handed you a few napkins, helping you clean your sticky hands before he was leaning in and kissing the ice cream from your lips. Your cone was quickly forgotten about as you kissed him again. Also you guys go bowling. Like a lot. It’s probably your favorite thing the two of you do.

E = Everything (You are my ____ (e.g. my life, my world…))

Peace.

This man carries so much on his shoulders and while he is working on himself, going to therapy and figuring out how to handle everything and let things go, nothing has been as calming for him as you have been. You understand him and you understand what he needs on his rough days and there is nothing he appreciates more. Nothing that brings tranquility to his chaotic world more. That understanding.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?)

He knew he was in love with you when Dana and Robby were eyeing him as he finished up a few reports at the end of his shift. His foot was tapping against the floor as he mumbled to himself, thinking it would make him work faster. Robby was smirking as he looked over to his friend, “You got somewhere to be, brother?” Jack didn’t spare him a glance as he scoffed. Robby laughed, “Never seen you so agitated while finishing a report.” Dana shoved her elbow into Robby’s side, ignoring his grunt. “Leave him alone. He’s got someone special to get to.” She smiled at him as she stepped away to check on the other nurses as they arrived for shift change. Robby was still smirking as Jack stopped typing completely. You are special and he knows that, but also you are special. The most special person in his life. The one he knows he wouldn’t be able to survive without. It hits him like a freight train and he’s quick to write the last sentence of his report and grab his backpack. He gives Robby a quick goodbye before he rushes out of the ED, wanting nothing more than to be in bed with the one he loved.  

G = Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

So gentle. All of his movements are calm and calculated. He’s sure and confident and his movements are slow and light, but at the same time strong. He holds you with steady hands that ground you, but make you feel like you’re made of glass at the same time. He’s careful with you because he loves you and he wants to make sure that you know.

H = Hands (How do they like to hold hands?)

As previously stated, Jack loves your hands, so of course he loves to hold your hand. And he’ll hold your hand at any time and any place. He doesn’t care about what’s going on or who is around. That man is holding your hand. Whenever the two of you are out together, he’s reaching out to lace his fingers with yours. He does it so nonchalantly that most of the time, nobody around you even realizes that he’s holding your hand. He doesn’t look at you, he doesn’t say anything, he just takes your soft hand in his own and goes about his business. If you’re paying attention though, which you always are, you can see the corner of his mouth twitch when you give his hand a gentle squeeze.  

I = Impression (What was their first impression?)

The first time you and Jack met, you had this calm and light vibe that he noticed right away. So much of his life is rushed and chaotic and the people around him are always moving and working, but you were stationary. It made him stationary too. Everything else kind of melted away and he realized that he wanted to be around your energy for as long as possible. He liked the lightness with which you carried yourself and he wanted to know you.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous?)

He does not. Jack is very secure in you and in your relationship. He is a cool and confident man. He doesn’t let little things like someone else flirting with you bother him because he knows that you’ll be in his bed, in his arms at the end of the day. He will glare at people from across the room, that’s just him.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?)

Jack’s kisses are strong and sure. He looks into your eyes as he moves in slowly, his hand moving to rest on your cheek, grounding both of you in the moment, before he’s pressing his lips to yours.

He initiated the first kiss. It was fairly early in your relationship, which was a little surprising to you, but you weren’t complaining. The two of you had just finished dinner and Jack insisted on walking you home. You made easy conversation as you walked and the closer you got to your building, the slower the two of you seemed to walk. Jack wasn’t ready to leave your side, and you wanted to listen to his voice for a while longer. Unfortunately, you reach the front of your building, and you’re forced to stop. At first the two of you just stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do or say. As you’re about to say your goodbye and head into the building, Jack steps closer to you. You hold your breath as he looks into your eyes, both of his hands moving to rest on your cheeks. You gulp as he leans closer, pausing just shy of your lips to check that you want this too. When you make no move to pull away from him, he closes the gap and kisses you. You respond immediately, your lips moving together in perfect harmony as your hands move to rest on his shoulders.

L = Love (Who says ‘I love you’ first?)

You did. You’re on his couch, halfway through a movie that neither of you are really paying much attention to. Jack is trying to keep his eyes open as you’re biting your lip, trying to figure out if you should say what’s been on your mind all night. Finally, you decide to just do it. What’s the worst that could happen? You don’t look at him as you speak, choosing to keep your eyes trained on the screen, “Jack?” He hums and you take a deep breath, “I love you.” He tenses and you’re sure you’ve just ruined the best relationship you’ve ever had. A minute passes and then two. You’re praying that he’ll say something, but the silence stretches. You need to leave. You mumble incoherently as you attempt to rise from the couch, but Jack’s grip is strong as he pulls you back. His other hand moves to your cheek and he’s gently turning your face towards him. His eyes are wide as he stares at you, his mouth a straight line. You feel like you’re going to be sick until you feel his warm lips press against your own. His kiss is strong as his hand slides down to rest on your neck. He pulls back slightly, staring into your eyes again as a small smile slips onto his lips, “I love you.”

M = Memory (What’s their favourite memory together?)

Jack had just finished another tough shift, handing off his patients to Robby and getting out of the ED as quickly as he could. He just wanted to go home and relax. As he pushed open the door to his apartment, he caught sight of your shoes, perfectly placed on the shoe rack in the entryway, and he remembered that 12 hours ago as he was getting ready to leave for work, you were sitting at his kitchen island. He was facing the opposite direction of you as he busied himself with his thermos, the question he wanted to ask getting stuck in his throat. You hummed to yourself as you passed an apple over to him. He chuckled as he took it, some of the tension leaving him, “Will you be here when I get back?” He refused to look at you. He wasn’t sure if you were at this point in your relationship yet and he worried about the look on your face. There was a beat of silence before your quiet voice was floating through the air, “Do you want me to be?” He hesitated for only a moment before he nodded, his gaze on the apple still in his hands. He felt your arms wrap around his middle and your chin rest on his shoulder, “Then I’ll be here.” And you were. Your shoes were on the shoe rack, and you were still in his apartment, waiting for him. He dropped his backpack and slipped his own shoes off before he slowly moved into the living room. It was empty, as was the kitchen, so he moved over to his bedroom. Slowly, he pushed the door open, not wanting to disturb your peace, and stepped into the room. You were cuddled up in his bed, the blanket pulled up to your chin and a serene look on your face. Jack stood there and watched you for a moment, thinking that he had never seen a more beautiful sight and knowing that he could get used to this view.

N = Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Jack definitely does not spoil you. Like it’s just not at all who he is, but like he’s really protective, so he does the weirdest things. Like he’s giving you pocketknives every other day and always making sure that they’re sharp and in good condition. He’ll definitely get up before you, man barely sleeps, and make breakfast before you’re even up. He sets it out on the table so it’s completely ready for you when you do get up and then he’ll sit and sip his coffee while you eat. He'll clear your plate when you’re done, even if you insist that you can do it yourself. You know what? I take it back. He does spoil you. In his own Jack way, he spoils you.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?)

Lilac.

Whenever Jack sees the light, airy lilac color he’s immediately reminded of your tranquility and gentleness. You are soothing and emotional. You bring him peace and love and he can’t help the lightness that fills his chest when he thinks of you.

P = Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Sweetheart is a big one for Jack. It’s mumbled quietly next to your ear when he crawls into bed with you and wraps you in his arms. Sweetheart is slipping past his lips as he says goodbye to you before going into work. It’s said between laughs as you try to get him to dance with you at the bar where you had met him and his coworkers for a quick drink. It’s second nature to him. That’s who you are. His sweetheart.

Q = Quickstep (How do they feel about dancing?)

Jack is not a dancer. He never has been and never will be. If you take him to a wedding, you can expect to be dancing with your friends and family because he is parking himself in his chair and he’s not moving. For as much as he dislikes dancing, he loves to watch you dance. The way you move with confidence and grace, a huge smile on your face as you feel the music. He thinks it’s beautiful. He loves how you let yourself move so freely. He could watch you dance all day. At weddings and at the bar, he is staying far from the dance floor, but at home, if you play your cards right, you can convince him to sway with you in the living room. You’ll pick the perfect song, a slow and calm one and you’ll step in front of him where he’s sitting in his recliner. He’ll pretend not to notice you at first, but you’ll bend down so that your eyes meet, and he’s done for. You’ll flash a smile and hold your hands out. He’ll heave a sigh, but he’ll get to his feet and wrap you in his arms. Your head will rest on his shoulder as you move in slow circles, the song carrying through the otherwise quiet apartment. He’ll smile into your neck, holding that much tighter.

R = Rainy Day (What do they like to do on a rainy day?)

This man is not moving from the couch if he doesn’t have to. Rainy days can be very aggravating for him and his leg, so if he can help it, he prefers to stay in. Something that you don’t mind at all. You wake up and you can hear the patter of rain against the window, and you smile, knowing that Jack will want to stay in. Quietly, you get out of bed, making sure not to disturb your sleeping lover, and make your way to the living room. You set up a movie, you light a candle, and you throw blankets and pillows onto the couch. Then you make your way to the kitchen to cut up fruit and put the kettle on to boil. When you hear Jack moving around in the bedroom, you pour hot water into two mugs and carry the fruit into the living room. He emerges to see you placing the tray onto the coffee table. He glances to the window and notices the rain rolling down the glass. He smirks as his eyes move back to you, “Movie day?”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?)

We all know where Jack ends up when he’s sad. He’s on the roof and you’re pushing open the door and making your way over to him. He doesn’t turn and you don’t say anything as you lean against the railing. Jack appreciates that. He appreciates that you don’t try to force him into conversation before he’s ready. You let him have his moment, but never alone because you want him to know that’s he’s not alone. You’re always going to be right there next to him, and he can lean on you whenever he needs to. When he’s ready, he climbs back under the railing and you wrap your arms around him, letting him find comfort in your embrace. When you’re sad, he’s yapping. He doesn’t even fully know what he’s saying, but he’s trying so hard to make you feel better that whatever comes into his head is leaving his mouth. Sometimes you have to tell him to shut up and he will. He’ll give you whatever time you need, staring intently at you to see if your mood shifts and he needs to offer comfort again.

T = Talking (What do they like to talk about?)

This man is a certified yapper. I don’t make the rules. He loves to hear about your day, and he loves to ask you questions. He doesn’t like to talk about the hard parts of his job, but he loves to tell you about the lighter moments of his day, like when Shen dropped his coffee in the parking lot or when Robby knocked over a stack of patient files right before he left for the night. He’ll tell you about the crazy patients or the times his coworkers annoyed him. He’ll tell you about how he missed you while he was gone, about how he thought of you all night and how he couldn’t wait to get home to you. He’s always filling the quiet moments with chatter, little things like I love you or you look beautiful or guess what the med student did today. I think the silence is both needed and too much for him. Sometimes he needs those moments of quiet solitude to reflect and to work through things, but at the same time the quiet can be really distressing for him. That’s when the bad thoughts can creep in and it doesn’t matter how many coping skills he has, they don’t always work. That’s when he starts chattering, usually about nothing so important, just a way to fill the silence and to remind himself that you’re there. I think when the two of you lay down together, with your back to his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you, that’s when he’ll talk about the heavy stuff. When he feels safe, with you close, he’ll share those hard moments, just so he can get them out of his own head. You listen without interruption, just your fingertips running gently over his arm to keep him grounded.

U = Unencumbered (What helps them relax?)

Candles. He won’t say it out loud, but he loves when you light one of your candles in the living room. He’ll be sitting on the couch or in his recliner with his glasses on and his latest book in his hands, but he’s tense. He can’t quite let go of the day, can’t get completely comfortable no matter how many times he adjusts his legs or fluffs the pillow behind him. You stroll into the room and immediately you can see that he’s having a hard time relaxing. You don’t say anything as you light your brand-new candle and grab a blanket from the wicker basket in the corner. Jack’s eyes are on his book as he lifts one arm and you sit next to him, draping the blanket over both of your laps. His arm rests on your shoulder as you snuggle into his side and you can feel him relax against you, the smell of vanilla swirling around the room.

V = Vaunt (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

This is hard because for as much stress and doubt that his job brings, Jack is truly a very good doctor. Deep down he knows this, though he doesn’t let it go to his head, but I don’t know that he feels particularly proud of the fact. I think there’s some pride there, but it stems from how much he cares and how hard he works, not from his actual skill. I don’t think he would ever say any of this though. It’s a not even fully formed thought that he keeps to himself.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

It’s a quiet moment. It’s a quiet and private moment meant only for the two of you. Jack had just gotten home from a long shift and instead of going straight to bed to cuddle with you before you had to get up for work, he went to the kitchen. He was as quiet as possible as he made your favorite breakfast, hoping that he would be done before you woke up. His hopes were answered as he plated up the food at the same time that the bedroom door opened. He turned to see you walking into the kitchen mid-yawn and your pajamas slightly disheveled. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his lips as he watched you make your way to the table. You gave him a look as if to say, ‘where were you?’ and he chucked as he pushed the plate to you as an explanation and an apology. You smiled at him and dug into the food, humming quietly as the taste hit your tongue. Jack watched you eat as he sipped some orange juice, his hand twitching at his side. Then you looked up at him again and he felt his heart jump. He could do this. With a shaky hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. His hand was more sure as he placed the box on the table and slid it over to you. Your fork clattered against the plate as your eyes widened, and you stared at him. He smiled at you and nodded to the box. Now your hands were shaking as you reached for it and flipped open the lid. A gasp broke the silence and tears welled in your eyes. Jack reached out and took the ring from its place in the box to gently slide it onto your finger.

X = Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Chiquitita – ABBA

There are heavy moments in your lives. Hard things that have a great effect on him and on you, but you’re there to remind each other that the sun will shine again and that you can move on from these things. You’re there for each other, to help each other heal and to get through whatever life throws at you.

Y = Yes (Do they ever think of getting married/proposing?)

Before he met you, Jack was pretty sure that he wouldn’t ever get married again. He figured he had gotten his one great love and he had contented himself with the thought of not having something so serious again. But then you waltzed into his life and made yourself a home in his heart, one he was most willing to let you have and he started to realize that he could have something beautiful and serious and wonderful with you. He liked waking up next to you and he liked cooking you breakfast. He liked hearing you padding around the apartment and seeing your toothbrush next to his. He liked getting to hold you in his arms in the early morning and he liked going to the grocery store with you. So yeah, he thinks about putting a ring on your finger and with each passing day, that thought terrifies him less and less.

Z = Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what would they get?)

Originally, I was going to say that Jack would get a dog. He’d feel guilty about the time he has to spend away from you, so he’d ask if you wanted some company in the form of a furball. You’d agree and the two of you would go to a shelter and adopt an older dog, one who is settled and doesn’t require training. And that’s all well and good, but now I’m thinking that he would definitely get a turtle. Like it’s really lowkey, but also a nice companion to have around. Yeah. You’d get both. And they’d be best friends.

[katabay]

“And you never asked about the—place with the door?” said Mr. Utterson. “No, sir; I had a delicacy,” was the reply. “I feel very strongly about putting questions; it partakes too much of the style of the day of judgment. You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird (the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the head in his own back garden and the family have to change their name. No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask.” “A very good rule, too,” said the lawyer. “But I have studied the place for myself,” continued Mr. Enfield. “It seems scarcely a house. There is no other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but, once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure. There are three windows looking on the court on the first floor; none below; the windows are always shut but they’re clean. And then there is a chimney which is generally smoking; so somebody must live there. And yet it’s not so sure; for the buildings are so packed together about the court, that it’s hard to say where one ends and another begins.” The pair walked on again for a while in silence; and then “Enfield,” said Mr. Utterson, “that’s a good rule of yours.” “Yes, I think it is,” returned Enfield. “But for all that,” continued the lawyer, “there’s one point I want to ask. I want to ask the name of that man who walked over the child.”

so! a page! this was a revisiting (for me) of an old old old. OLD. page I drew over ten years ago immediately after seeing a local production of the musical. usually when I revisit and edit ancient drafts, I gut a lot of it in the process of re arranging the insides, but this was one where I was like: AH. I see your vision, past self, now I can articulate it and draw shoes.

someday I'm going to find the time to get the whole thing on paper (this was also a color palette test page! I still want a noir-ish influence, but I'm debating sticking to a classic black and white only or leaning into something like this. much to think about........) until then though! a confrontation inside a house goes wrong! takes place moments after this scene.

[duckdotimg]

Said I would post them eventually, and here they are... my for-fun redesigns of the main Replikas with see in game, Elster and Ariane being the primary focus of course

If you are curious about my general thoughts and on why I did this fun little thing, and my personal criteria doing it, feel free to read below!

Let me just say that I love Signalis to bits. It has a beautiful, heart-wrenching story. But - and this is just my personal opinion, and without any animosity truly - the style of the cutscenes (not the 3D in-game style or the models) is not my cup of tea. It's just my taste. My personal style just cannot accomodate that kind of stylization anymore, and even if I tried I couldn't draw the replikas as they are in game for the life of me. That said it's still a beautiful game. So if I draw more fanart (which is likely), I will probably use these designs.

Analyzing the approach I took when doing these redesigns:

I wanted the Replikas to have a clear correlation between each other, while still being unique in small ways besides hair, body and armor. This resulted in trying to instill diversity in their faces by making their noses reminisce the beaks of the birds they are named after.

All of the replikas, as you may notice, have much more practical hair. No bangs in front of the face anymore. Personally I think Elster, Starling, and Ara units especially should not have bangs - because of the kind of tasks they are committed to by design. It could hinder their efficiency in carrying out their work - so, no bangs for anyone.

I have given them all top surgery (joke). No faux-boobs except the Eule. The reasoning is the same as above: they are simply not practical! The only exception are the Eule, because...

...I am bad at wording things but to me it's because Eule in concept are supposed to evoke also, besides other things, a 'feminine' gender normativity with them being the main workforce of the Nation but also cooks, teachers, etc (jobs that in our real world, for many years, were relegated to 'only women'). This also reflects to how I have given Eule shinier lips, a fuck-ass bob (middle part to evoke the shape owls have) and (optional) eye make-up.

On a cosmetic note, Stars have white hair tips as a way to more directly pay homage to their avian namesake. And it looks cooler (imo).

Storches and Kolibri have eye make-up/"war paint" and they're meant both to evoke a further feeling of authoritarianism and to intimidate other replikas or gestalts into complying with their orders. For Storches I was inspired particularly by the face make-up used in a certain scene in Suspiria (the 2018 Guadagnino reimagining), and not just for cosmetic reasons! Kolibri's are more generally inspired by the hummingbird's actual appearance.

Ara's grease marks are reminiscent of the pattern usually found on macaws' faces! Not all of the Ara's dirt looks this precise, but well, I thought it would be a fun touch.

Noted before in my previous fanart posts but Ariane is decidedly more sickly-looking but with an extra step. While Elster loves Ariane very much no matter how she looks, I think before the ending of the game she still has an 'idealized' version of her in her mind, albeit still a sick-looking one: long haired Ariane. In my idea the further you get to the end of the game, the more Ariane in the flashback flashes looks how she actually is - hairless, with missing teeth, and extremely irradiated.

Are these like, headcanons I think everyone should adopt when drawing replika and/or ariane...Honestly no idgaf... Just do what you want... I just liked coming up with these and wanted to explain my thoughts. Again I love Signalis and regardless what I think or not of the official style of it, love is love. What else is there to say about it. You should draw these fucked up lesbians however the hell you want which includes meeee and I'm exercising the right to do so

Maybe I'll also draw Adler, Falke and Mynah in the future but they're not here because by principle there is not much I would change about their designs. I have a vision for Falke which is not as drastic as these I drew for now. For sure I'll eventually draw my own ideas for the other gestalts in the story, but I'm gonna take a break and go back to OC stuff now 👍

If you read till here you are nuts and I love you. Let's all get ice cream together

[askereiniongilgalad]

Thank you so much for the tag @greenleaf4stuff and @iwanderbecauseimlost 💙💙 also (Keeping it short for a reasonable length) Duty has kept me quite occupied these past weeks, but I hope to be more present in the coming days. (I’m still weaving answers to all those questions, thank you for your patience 💙✨)

This list is long (as all good elven scrolls should be), and I'm doing my best to include everyone... because truly, you each deserve a chapter of your own. 💙✨

@daughterofthesunlands, for being a constant light. ✨ Your beautiful fic 💙 Your posts have truly led me to peek into new realms. 🌌📖. (I have already drafted a report on Anthony Bridgerton... yes, I'll share it soon 📝👀...and I'm still finding my way through the 🍄🧭 series ) @ghost-of-morrowbright one of my very first friends here, my co-conspirator in the great golden color crisis 💛🎨, and the one who reminded me to eat more than cookies, and rest before Meleth came into my life. You made this place feel like home from the very beginning. 🏡💫

@greenleaf4stuff, my friend, you're one of the very first people I talked to when I appeared here, in fact, the one who asked the very first question. Thank you for your memes, and for all the tags. I hope I can dive into your fic very soon... it's on my list. 📚🌿

@koyaildoesstuff, being your moot is truly a joy. Your creativity has such spark... and you carry more strength and heart than you may even realize. 🌟 Thank you, my friend.

@wowstrawberrycow my kawaii friend 🍓, I admire your creativity so much, the magic you bring to life with the dolls, and then with your drawings. ✨💫

@adarssuggestionbox Adar, I'm so glad I found a friend in you. 🖤 🐝Thank you so much for everything, especially for taking care of my heart 💖 when I've been away. 🌿🫂

@fantasyquests @myblacksailstales Thank you, my friend... you've asked some of the most delightfully challenging questions, and given me the chance to craft some of my favorite answers. (There's still one I owe you... I haven't forgotten!) I truly enjoy your posts and the spark you bring to this place. 💙✨🖋️

@iwanderbecauseimlost My trusted bath advisor 🛁💙 all I can say is thank you. Your support, your posts, the joy of seeing your art… and that beautiful story you and @wowstrawberrycow created together I'm so glad our paths crossed.

@barnesdeservesbetter My friend, thank you for your unwavering support and for introducing me to Kenobi. Now I want a lightsaber, and I'm sending Elrond to train as a Jedi. Just in case. ⚔️✨🌌

@valar-did-me-wrong One of the very first welcomes I received... Your incredible memes have become a beloved constant here 💫 your warmth 💙 that make this place feel brighter and warmer every time✨ @gauntletgirlie We haven't talked in a while, but I remember your posts and your questions. Every time you appear on my dash, I can't help but smile. 💫🙂 @boop-le-snoot For the joyful chaos, every question you sent was a delightful storm, ⚡🌀, and your wonderfully irreverent posts never fail to make me grin. Thank you for the mischief, the mirth, and the mayhem 🧨💥 @tidalhaired It's been a true joy to find you here, my dear herald. Seeing your posts appear in my feed always brightens my day and is a delight every time. 💙📜 @fallensmith, My wayward smith, thank you for your beautiful posts 🛠️✨ @small-carbon-lifeform, @fleurdemiel-145 @inkdusth, my friends, where are you? We miss you. 👀🌟 @allbycharles @numenoria @janacariad @gil-galadaddy @stormchaser819 @lilyhandmaiden @meshla-beviin @mysteriesunfoldthemselves @nuin-giliath @tulacastrej @acenby1999 @serailovesbagelsetc @bluejayprime @onebillionblorbos @anariel-the-elrond-apologist @varda-star-queen Thank you for being my moots, it’s a pleasure every time I receive a note from you or see you on my feed. 💙✨ And I saved the last for the one who holds my heart…

@starstruck-mortal-mari for being my compass, my balance, my joyful chaos, and my peace. You make every universe brighter just by being in it. I admire you more than I can say, and I love you beyond measure. 💖🌍

Sooo...I woke up to a crap ton of negativity in the ROP/TROP fandom tag. I don't want to get involved at all, but I DO want to see the fandom being a thriving, happy place. So here's a positivity tag game I'd like to offer for anyone who'd like to contribute.

RULES

Tag 3 (or more!) people who you admire or enjoy in the fandom and write a short 1-2 sentences about why you admire them. The tagged people then reblog with 3 or more people they admire/enjoy and so on.

@queenmeriadoc & @helenvader For organizing all sorts of fun fandom events and themed weeks! Even though I don't usually have time to participate, I love seeing the events and everyone's resulting creativity.

@hellofeanor For your amazing Annatar cosplay that makes me drool with envy and appreciation whenever I see it because it is my DREAM to be that good at cosplay some day.

@a-bungle For your stunning fandom art that makes me catch my breath and smash the reblog button every time I see it.

@artesdaterramediaby-kithkerulin For your amazing Haladriel art that makes me grin like an idiot (and also smash the reblog button) every time I see it.

@samiaescorcio15 For your soft and lovely art that makes me feel all warm and fluffy and happy. (And I can't WAIT to get my order of your stickers :D:D:D)

@sauronsgianthands For your hilarious tags and comments that I love to see on other people's posts.

@sauron-the-sexy For your wonderful (and very sexy) gifs of our favorite diabolical Dark Lord.

@baddybaddyadardaddy For seeing all the love and positivity you spread about our favorite Uruk Daddy.

Additional tags: anyone who wants to join in spreading some positivity around the fandom!

[everestgale]

You'll always be the winner in my heart.

[Warning: this is entirely self-indulgent Skeptunist, just tournament-themed. They get very gay and very sappy and literally kiss in the end. Most of the comic will be under the cut. You've been warned <3]

Pine Tree might have lost the tournament, but I don't think he minds it very much. Opportunist is there to support him regardless <3

[Thank you @pink-november for writing this scene and dialogue! I don't think I could've come up with anything better myself <3]

...though, Opportunist did have some questions afterwards about that weird bruise Skeptic got on his face:

Honestly, all these tie shenanigans being Contrarian's prank would've been so fitting /silly

It's okay though, Skeptic, Oppy is there to help you feel better <3

...Everest Gale is very normal about Skeptunist.

Okay, all this Skeptunist aside, I actually wanted to say something about the tournament:

I will be honest with everyone, when I first saw that my Skeptic lost the lightning round by a single vote, I was a little bit disheartened. But it didn't take long for me to remember that a. my boy was up against two very strong and lovely designs, and b. he already received so much love and support from so many people, and a few people had him as their favorite in the entire tournament (you know who you are, love ya /p <3), which to this day is kind of shocking to me. I honestly couldn't have asked for anything more, so I wanted to be a bit sappy and say thank you to everyone who liked my pine tree, it is genuinely nice to know that some people like my silly designs <3

...plus, all the tie shenanigans were absolutely worth it. I am still crying from laughter over the fact that we actually got a three-way tie, and the fact that pure fate intervened to helps us get there /silly

This might be it for my Skeptic in terms of tournament shenanigans, but there will be more Skeptic art in the future, and this is a threat (/lh /j) There is so many drawings of Skeptic I made but never shared, he is still my favorite voice so I will keep drawing him a bunch, and there is always more Skeptunist, too 🙂‍↕️ So, stay tuned for all that :]

[adoredaqua]

stay, please?

NOTE: was listening to an audio and thought about Vi. i felt bad that i haven't put anything out in a while, so here's a little something :). i am working on another fic with Sevika, but it's longer than i was anticipating, hopefully, i get it done soon, cause you guys deserve some more fics from me

previous loser! Vi work, you don't need to read it to understand this

synopsis: loser! Vi is trying to finish a project, but she can't help but be distracted by you

CW: fluff with a suggestive theme ;), proofread and edited, no usage of y/n, modern setting, college au, hyperfeminine! reader (referred to as "pretty", wears dresses and heels), established relationship, vi being a desperate horn dog cutie

word count: 1 300 +

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Hi baby,” a soft voice calls out in the dimly lit room. A pencil scribbling on paper is what greets you back. You smile to yourself, not taking any offence from your very concentrated girlfriend. You move carefully to not disturb Vi, who is hunched over on her desk. Stacks of textbooks and notebooks block your view of her side profile. An old lamp is the only source of light, that and her laptop. Vi was content with that. She didn't like having the main light in her room on. She likes the darkness, and she swears it makes her work better. Even with the continuous complaints of her decreasing eyesight, she still insists on her lamp.

You softly close the door behind you, placing your purse on the doorknob. You gently remove your hoodie, well, Vi's hoodie and place it on top of your purse. Originally, the two of you were going to hang out, but unfortunately, Vi completely forgot she had a group project to finish. She was better than this. She was good at planning everything so she could have time for you, family, life, and school, but she was bound to slip. She felt incredibly guilty having to cancel on you, but you knew better than to keep Vi away from her academics. 

You had texted her a couple of times, and after not getting any response, you impulsively decided to come anyway. Not that anyone would have minded. Vander knew you, and so do her siblings. You’ve visited and entered they’re home without much of a warning before. Usually, you were met with loud chatter and yelling from Milo and Powder, but the house was quiet. You had finished your homework and were hoping Vi would be as well. Though that doesn't seem to be the case. 

You make your way over to Vi, putting a hand on her shoulder to grab her attention. She straightens herself up, and once she does, you put your head on top of hers.

“Whatcha doing?” You say, taking note of Vi's freshly washed hair. It was soft and silky. You could spend hours running your hand through it, and you have. 

A chuckle and a hoarse voice replies, “Just the project. Turns out I'm the last one to finish my part, so I have to finish by tonight.” She grabs your hand, rested on her shoulder, and plays with your fingers. 

“I thought it was due next week?”

“It is, but we all agreed to finish it early, so we don't have to deal with it anymore. Besides, it's kinda embarrassing being the last one not done on my part.”  

You hum as a way to agree, a bit disappointed because there doesn’t seem to be anything to turn Vi’s attention away. “What are you doing here, though?” She turns her head to look at you, admiring you. It was nice to let her eyes rest on something pretty rather than stare at a screen. 

“Are you not happy to see me?” You raise an eyebrow, teasing her, though you know she didn’t mean it like that. It was only fair that Vi got teased as she does with you, all the time.

“No, of course not.” Now having her attention, she spins her chair to be able to get a good look at you. You wore a light pink babydoll dress, which had lace around the bodice with a little ribbon in the middle to draw attention to the cleavage, and that’s exactly what it did. Vi’s eyes scanned you up and down, hunger grew with each detail she noticed. She knows you were about to go to bed. Your hair was in its natural state, and she could smell lavender off of you. Your skin was glistening from your body oil, and you looked so soft, waiting to be touched. Face was bare from the makeup you had worn that day, and Vi can now admire the moles adorned your face. 

“You look really good.” Vi bites her lip, like she’s holding back from pouncing on you. “Like, really good.” Fuck, did you always look this good? Maybe it was her seeing you in a new light. 

You were always glammed up. Never able to leave the dorm without a face full of makeup and your hair done. The outfit had to be equally as thought through as everything else. That was one of the reasons why Vi liked you. She admired how much time you took care of yourself. While everyone wore sweatpants and hoodies to school, including her at times, you were there at school, in heels and a frilly dress with a new hairstyle every day. 

To see you in a more casual state was mind-boggling to Vi. This was something she didn’t realize she needed. It almost felt wrong to be blessed like this.

“Oh? I’m just in my nighty.” You look at her with an odd look, not knowing how high her heart rate is going. 

“I know, but…” She trails off. Her hands find their way to your nighty, pushing the fabric up to expose your thighs more. 

“Violet!” Smacking her hand away, you giggle at your girlfriend’s eagerness. “I was just here for a quick visit and to say goodnight.” It was the simple truth. You were planning on having a quiet night to yourself, but it felt weird not to have seen Vi in the day. Thankfully, she only lived a ten-minute drive away from you. 

“Wait, no, you should stay.” Vi looks up, looking like a wounded puppy. You take a mental picture for yourself to tease her later.

“Don’t you need to finish your project?” You pout at her. Vi curses to herself, seemingly frustrated by the circumstances. She hopes to curse everyone who put her in this very difficult situation. Her professor, her schoolmates, and even time itself. 

“I will, just-” She cuts herself off, thinking of a plan convincing enough for you to stay. “I’ll get it done really quickly. Just give me an hour. You can also stay the night.” 

“Please.” It was practically a whine the way Vi was so desperate to have you with her. 

“An hour? That’s too long.” You sigh to yourself, if she wanted you to stay, she needs to work for it. Literally. 

“No, please. Please stay. It’ll be quick.” Vi pulls you in close, trapping you between her legs. Her strong arms wrap around your frame, as she nuzzles her face into your abdomen. If you say no, she at least wants to have your scent on her. 

“You sure I won’t distract you?” 

“Yes, I promise.” Vi eagerly responds, and you can’t help but giggle. “So, you’ll stay?”

“Mhm,” you nod your head and kiss Vi on the forehead. 

“But, you have to stay in the living room.” 

“What?” You pry yourself off, and she looks as if you were the one who said something ridiculous. “You don’t want me in the room?”

“No, because you’re going to distract me,” Vi whispers like she’s terrified of the truth, and she was. You were distracting enough as it is; she doesn’t need to fight herself more than she already needs to. It was a constant battle in her head when it came to you. Janna, if she could, she would have you every hour of the day, every day. 

“Please? Just an hour.” She pulls you back down for a kiss. It was slow and innocent, just a way to convince you. And before it gets more heated, she pulls away to gaze into your eyes. A silent plea to listen and not fight her on the subject.

“Fine, fine,” You wave her off, as you turn away to settle in the living room, you take her hand in yours, “but, just know…” You guide her hand to your back and let it slide off to the curve of your ass, making sure she feels the absence of underwear. 

“You’re missing out.” Humming to yourself in victory, you walk off and let Vi think on the consequences of her actions.

“Holy shit.” 

[lin-sterling]

my hot take on bodies

now listen, I'm not here to debate anyone or god forbid analyze whatever heteronormative lens people use for their gay glasses, okay.

I'm only interested in being horny and sharing my headcanons.

so, Hans is like an inch or two taller than Henry and I love it.

but I imagine him a lot slimmer than Henry and I don't care about game models.

he's still muscular mind you but in an... sort of elven smooth kind of way. he is long and lean and more elegant. narrow palms, thinner fingers, etc. and he has less body hair and what he has is blond because carpet matches the drapes so it adds to that elven look.

Henry is b e e f y, okay. and hairy. not smooth at all. big juicy pectorals he's more stocky and he has that "I could bench press three children at the same time and you know I'd also be a great dad to them" look lmao.

BUT and this is important. neither of them are shredded and dehydrated like a dried fish. Henry loves food and he's been a lazy fuck living in his parents house for 20 years of his life. sure, blacksmithing and all, but that just means he probably has killer arms and stamina. but he isn't a bodybuilder. I'd say he has a healthy amount of padding pretty much everywhere.

and the only common thing Hans has with a fish is that they both breathe liquids, only Hans uses alcohol instead of water. do you know how many calories there are in alcohol? even with all of his training and hunting that has to go somewhere. he is an archer and a swordsman and... his belly is probably not a perfect washboard, he is a little bit soft there. and his ass is nice and round from all the sitting around in a bathtub he does lol.

stay tuned for more of my ramblings written right after I've flopped out of bed without turning on the ol' brain

p.s. there are tons of amazing art out there but I'm not basing my thoughts on any drawing, none of them are fully what I'm imagining and I can't really draw myself so... rambling about it will have to do

[itelya]

7 minutes in heaven. nerd! gojo satoru x fem! reader

part 0 - part 1 - part 2

You never thought your evening would end like this: stuck in a closet that's too narrow, pressed up against the nerd you're crushing on. And you're clearly too drunk to think straight.

You already knew how handsome he was, behind his discreet exterior. The messy hair, the glasses always a little askew, and those azure eyes that avoid yours as soon as you get close. But now, so close, it's something else.

He's hot. Literally. His skin glows even in the dim light, his breathing is uneven. And you're squashed against him, your thigh brushing his, your chest against his chest.

His glasses slide slowly down the bridge of his nose, threatening to fall off at any moment. He grabs them hastily, embarrassed, clearly blushing. You feel his unease like a vibration between you. He avoids your gaze, but his eyes still brush against yours, and it's enough to make you lose your footing.

He's drunk, you're drunk too. But he smells good. He's clumsy, nervous, his cheeks flushed, his lips parted as if he were about to say something... and then no. He doesn't say anything.

And damn, you want to kiss him.

He looks away again, but you see his nervous smile and his cheeks flush deeper. And it's terrible to say, but it turns you on even more. His discomfort. His restraint. This body pressed against yours in this tiny space. You thank the bottle a thousand times over that made you fall on him for the seven minutes in heaven.

Your breath catches for a moment when his arm brushes against yours. He just moved, nothing intentional. But your body reacts. Too quickly. You feel the heat, the tension in your stomach, and your heart pounds faster. He realizes it. Of course he does.

You see it in the way he swallows nervously. In the way he bites his lip to keep from saying what he's thinking. So you lean in, a little. Just enough so your lips are inches from his ear.

"Are you hot, or is it me?"

His gaze darts toward yours, flustered, taken aback. He opens his mouth. Changes his mind and: "I... I think it's you."

You laugh. Your forehead rests against his chest, because you can't take it anymore, because you're on the verge of breaking down. And he... he doesn't move. But you feel his hand brush against your back, hesitant.

Almost trembling. He finally places his fingers against your waist, as if asking permission, as if afraid of doing too much. You lift your head. Your faces are close.

Too close.

"You're way too hot, you nerd... Can I kiss you?" You look into his eyes with a flirtatious look and a slutty smile.

He just whispers something and lowers his head towards yours, gently. Until your lips brush. A light touch. His hands slide around your waist. Then he kisses you.

The kiss isn't clean. It's clumsy, feverish, full of pent-up tension. Your hands get lost under his shirt. His fingers cling to you. He moans against your mouth.

The kiss deepens. It becomes messier, hungrier. You feel his breath quicken, his hands firmer against your waist, against your hip.

You cling to him as if the closet has shrunk. It's hot, humid, and your bodies are searching for each other without any restraint. Your lips part reluctantly and your breaths mingle.

You feel him harden against your thigh, and that simple detail draws a sigh from you. You shift a little, just enough to rub your pelvis against his, and he moans, a barely muffled sound.

"Fuck... Y/N," he breathes against your mouth, his voice hoarse, almost strangled.

His glasses have slipped to the side, hanging crookedly by his ear. You gently remove them, then drop them somewhere behind you, without even thinking.

His pupils are dilated. His cheeks are red. His hands tremble slightly as they slide down to the back of your neck. And you realize how much he wants you.

So you guide him. You place your hands on his shoulders, then on his chest, and you gently push him against the wall of the closet. He lets you do it. He watches you do it, fascinated by you, your gaze, your body.

a/n: I thought I'd do a sequel to "It's you?". This is the first part! The second part comes out tomorrow🤭 and tysmm for the 825 followers💗

nerd gojo series - masterlist

taglist: @hyori2 @bakugouswaif @bnbaochauuu

[aspenmissing]

HELLOOOOO. first and foremost I had to say, LOVE your work. the emotion in you writing is astronomical and I live for it, so thank you sooo much!! correct me if I'm wrong but I believe the requests are open, and if they are, could you do the arcane characters (as many as u want to, but mostly the Zaun dads and post war Jayce... I love me some bearded men ok...) with a s/o who loves kids but wishes to adopt instead of go through pregnancy. (reasons may vary, bcs this hits a little close to home for me; as someone who was adopted I want to give someone else a chance at a good life too :] ) if the requests are closed then just forget abt the request and consider me another well wisher! keep up the good work and have a great day/evening/night!!!

Love you, byeeeeeeeeeeee <3

ᴛʜɪᴄᴋᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 5232 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴘʀᴇɢɴᴀɴᴄʏ, ᴛᴀʟᴋꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜱɪᴄᴋ/ᴜɴᴀʙʟᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ ᴏʀ ᴄᴀʀʀʏ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴛᴇʀᴍ/ɴᴏᴛ ᴡᴀɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴘᴀꜱꜱ ᴏɴ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜɪʏᴀᴀᴀᴀᴀᴀᴀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴛʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʟʟ ɪ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙʀɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜰᴇ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴜᴄʜ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ɪ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ᴀᴅᴏᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ɪꜱ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ. ɪᴛ ʙᴇɴᴇꜰɪᴛꜱ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʀᴇɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴏꜱᴇ ʟᴏᴏᴋɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ᴀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴛʜɪꜱ (ʙᴛᴡ, ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ….ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ). ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴏᴏ!!!!!!! <3 <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴇᴋᴋᴏ

JAYCE (POST-WAR)

Piltover had changed since the war.

The skyline still glittered with the glow of hextech, but it no longer shone with the same arrogance. The buildings still stretched tall, but the people seemed smaller somehow—more grounded, more aware of how fragile things truly were. Progress Day passed with fewer fireworks now. More remembrance candles. The city was quieter. Humbled.

Jayce had changed too.

The beard made him look older, yes—but it was more than that. His eyes carried the weight of hard decisions, of friends lost and ideals shattered. He still smiled, still carried himself with strength, but Y/N had learned to read the silences between his words, the way his hand would tighten around hers at certain memories he never quite voiced.

But she had always seen him.

Always seen the softness beneath the steel, the man who built bridges before weapons. The man who spoke with his hands as much as his heart.

They sat together on the balcony of their shared apartment, high above the city. Dusk painted everything in soft hues—lavender bleeding into gold, the sun just barely clinging to the edge of the horizon. Below, laughter rang out from a nearby park. The sound of children. Of joy that hadn't yet learned to fear.

Jayce’s arm was around her shoulders, heavy and warm. She leaned into him, breathing in the familiar scent of metal, tea, and him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured.

She smiled faintly, eyes still on the city below. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

A pause. “Kids.”

Jayce blinked, then looked down at her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I… want them. Eventually.”

His fingers brushed her shoulder, slow and reassuring. But there was a beat—a hesitation he picked up on.

“Eventually?”

She shifted, drawing her knees up to her chest, arms wrapping around them. “I’ve been thinking about… adoption.”

Jayce didn’t react with surprise. He never did with her—not when it mattered. Just calm, quiet presence.

“Okay,” he said gently. “Why adoption?”

Her throat worked around the answer before it came. “I was sick when I was younger. In Zaun. A fever—nothing exotic, just something that went too far before anyone noticed. I didn’t get real care until it was almost too late.”

He was still. Listening. Always listening.

“It did something to my body. Scarred tissue. Weakness in places where there shouldn’t be. The doctors later said it’d make pregnancy… hard. Risky. I might survive it. I might not.”

Jayce’s hand found hers, strong fingers lacing through hers with something grounding, something steady.

“I never told you because… it didn’t feel like a now-problem. But the truth is, it’s not just that I can’t. I’m not even sure I want to. Pregnancy, I mean.”

She looked at him then, eyes uncertain. “It doesn’t feel like my path. And I know that might sound selfish to some people, but when I think about being a mother… I picture giving a home to someone who already exists. Someone who’s waiting.”

He brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a long kiss to her knuckles.

“Thank you for telling me,” he whispered. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

Her voice wavered. “You’re not upset?”

“No,” he said firmly. “Not even close.”

He shifted so he was facing her more fully, his gaze serious but warm. “Y/N, I love you. I want to build a life with you. A family. And if that means adoption, then that’s what we do. No hesitation.”

Her eyes shimmered, filling with emotion.

“There are kids out there who need someone like you,” he added. “Someone kind. Who understands what it means to feel left behind, but never leaves anyone behind. Someone who loves like you do.”

She swallowed hard. “You’d really be okay with that?”

“I’d be lucky,” he murmured. “To raise a child with you? However they come into our lives? That’s a gift.”

A beat passed. She buried her face in his chest, arms winding around him.

“Besides,” he added with a grin she could feel through his shirt, “I’ve been practicing my dad jokes.”

She snorted, muffled. “Gods help us all.”

VIKTOR

The soft glow of the lamp bathed the study in a warm amber hue, casting long shadows that danced gently across the cluttered floor. Papers lay stacked in meticulous towers on the desk, the occasional gear or bolt glinting beside faded blueprints curled at the corners. The scent of old parchment, metal, and something faintly sweet—perhaps the tea cooling beside Viktor’s elbow—filled the air.

Viktor sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward slightly with one hand resting atop his cane. His tired body eased into the support of the cushions, but his attention was fully on you. A small, tender smile tugged at the corner of his lips—quiet, reverent—as he watched you on the floor in front of him.

You were lying on your stomach on the carpet, giggling with a toddler who clutched a fistful of crayons like they were weapons of mass creation. There were scribbles across the paper, the rug, and your arms, and one bright pink sticker half hanging off your cheek, but you didn’t care. You pointed to her newest drawing and gasped like it belonged in a Piltover museum.

“You made this?” you asked in mock astonishment. “Miss Marin, I had no idea I was in the presence of a master artist.”

The little girl shrieked with laughter, bouncing in place and nodding furiously. “That’s a cat! See?”

“Of course it is,” you said solemnly, turning the page sideways. “I can see it now. Very avant-garde.”

Viktor let out a soft chuckle, rubbing his palm over his mouth to hide how wide he was smiling. It wasn’t just amusement. It was admiration—love in its purest form. The way you knelt to speak at a child’s level. The way your eyes softened every time you laughed with them. The way you treated her like she mattered.

She did, to you. That was just who you were.

=

Later, after the child had been collected by her parent—who thanked you profusely for the kindness and the sugar-free cookies—you collapsed beside Viktor with a happy sigh, cheeks still flushed from laughter.

“That girl,” you said, eyes dreamy and voice half-whispered, “was a hurricane in socks.”

Viktor hummed in amusement, his voice low and fond. “She adored you. I think if we hadn’t made her leave, she would’ve moved in.”

You laughed, leaning into his shoulder. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have minded.”

Silence settled like snowfall—light and comfortable. His hand found yours without needing to search, fingers curling over your knuckles in that familiar, unhurried way. Your head rested against him, and for a while, it was enough just to sit there, sharing space.

But something stirred beneath your ribs. A weight. A truth you'd carried in silence for a long time.

You lifted your head just slightly, the side of your face brushing his shoulder. “Viktor… can I ask you something kind of… big?”

He turned to you, gaze soft but alert. “Of course.”

You hesitated. “Have you ever thought about having children?”

He blinked once, thoughtful—but not caught off guard. “I… have,” he said slowly. “More recently, if I’m honest. Since you.” His fingers squeezed yours gently. “Why do you ask?”

You sat up more fully, twisting to face him, your voice suddenly much smaller than before. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot too. Not just the idea of being a parent… but how. How I’d want to become one.”

His eyes searched yours, open and waiting.

“I want to adopt,” you said, heart thudding. “If we ever decide to start a family, I want to do it that way.”

He tilted his head slightly. “Not because you have to… but because you want to?”

You nodded, voice a little shaky. “It’s not about not wanting the experience of pregnancy. But… my mom had complications. Bad ones. She almost died when I was born. It’s something I grew up hearing about—how she couldn’t walk for months after, how she still has pain years later. I’ve tried to tell myself I’m not her. That things would be different. But the fear’s always there. And I don’t think it’ll ever fully go away.”

You looked down, embarrassed by your own trembling voice. “I know it’s not the most ‘normal’ path. But I’ve always imagined giving a child a home—one who didn’t have one. Someone who maybe didn’t start off with love, but could grow up surrounded by it. I want to be a safe place for someone like that. I need to be.”

A beat of silence. Then—

Viktor shifted, one hand moving to gently cup your cheek. His thumb brushed away the edge of the drying sticker still clinging there.

“Moje láska,” he said quietly, “you don’t need to justify anything. What you carry—the fear, the memory of your mother’s pain—it’s not a weakness. It’s wisdom. And what you’re offering? Choosing to open your heart to a child who needs one… That’s not less. It’s more.” (My Love)

You blinked quickly, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes.

He continued, his voice steadier than yours could ever be. “I don’t care if a child looks like me. I don’t need them to carry my name, or my blood. Only my love. And if this is what you want—if adoption is the path that feels right—I will walk it beside you, every step of the way.”

You pressed your forehead against his, your breath hitching. “You really mean that?”

He smiled, that rare kind of smile he reserved only for you—soft, unwavering, like a sunrise through mist. “I do. With all my heart.”

You curled closer to him, his cane clattering softly to the side as his arm wrapped around your waist. You stayed like that for a long while, just breathing in sync, letting the warmth of each other carry the weight of all you’d said.

“So,” you murmured after a while, eyes fluttering closed, “one day… we’ll have a place big enough for two more?”

“Yes,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “A home with room for joy, and softness, and your laughter echoing in every corner. A place where they will never doubt—not even for a second—that they were chosen. That they were wanted.”

You exhaled, hand resting gently over his heart. “And loved.”

He placed his hand over yours. “Always.”

JAYVIK

The soft, rhythmic creak of Viktor’s cane echoed through the marble-floored corridor of the Academy, the familiar sound grounding you as it always did. He walked beside you with his usual quiet determination, the fabric of his long coat brushing gently against yours. Without a word, his hand found yours in that subtle, featherlight way that still made your heart flutter, no matter how many mornings you’d spent like this.

On your other side, Jayce walked with an easy confidence, his hand resting warmly against the small of your back. A steady, reassuring touch. He always did that when he noticed your eyes wandering into thoughts, as if to remind you that you weren’t alone in them. The three of you moved as one—unhurried, whole—toward the sunlit terrace that overlooked the sprawling city of Piltover.

It had taken years to reach this place. Years of quiet resistance, of hidden glances in polished halls, of holding your breath when walking into council chambers or laboratories. Piltover, for all its gleaming towers and innovations, was slow to adapt when it came to matters of the heart. A triad like yours—between two of its most visible figures and you, a civilian without a powerful name or title—had not fit the polished image the city liked to present. But over time, it had stopped mattering. You weren’t just surviving the scrutiny anymore. You were living. Creating. Loving.

The terrace doors opened with a soft hiss, and sunlight spilled over the polished stone like warm honey. The air was crisp but pleasant, and the view stretched far beyond the city’s edge. Below, in a garden courtyard nestled between rows of academic buildings, children’s laughter bubbled up in bursts of joy. You moved to the railing, leaning on it with both elbows, your eyes tracking a little girl in a green dress as she chased a giggling boy around a flower-ringed fountain.

You felt something inside you shift—soft and aching. It wasn’t a new feeling. You’d felt it a hundred times before, maybe more. But lately, it had taken root in your chest like a persistent bloom, quiet and insistent.

Jayce came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist with a familiarity that made you melt into him. He rested his chin on your shoulder, watching the scene below. “Thinking about it again?” he murmured, voice low and full of knowing.

Viktor stepped beside you, resting his cane against the railing. He moved with the ease of someone who had finally stopped hiding pain and accepted its place in his life. His golden eyes flicked from you to the courtyard below. “It’s the same look you get every time you hear a child laugh,” he said gently, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

You let out a soft, shaky breath. “I want that,” you admitted. “I want us to have that. To build something that isn’t made of metal or steam or political agendas. I want to raise a child. To be a family.”

Jayce’s arms tightened around you. “We can,” he said. “We will.”

You turned to face them both, pulling away just enough to meet their eyes. Viktor’s were patient, perceptive. Jayce’s, curious and concerned.

“But I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” you said, voice softer now. “And I... I don’t think I want to carry.”

Jayce blinked, clearly surprised, but not unkind. “Is it because you’re scared?”

You shook your head. “It’s not fear. It’s about control. My body is mine, and I’ve spent my whole life protecting that—sometimes from the world, sometimes from myself. The idea of it being taken over, even by something as beautiful as pregnancy... I just don’t think I could do it. Not without losing pieces of myself along the way.”

You paused, looking down at your hands. “Piltover praises motherhood like it’s some divine rite, but no one ever talks about how dangerous it is. How isolating. How it can break you open and not put you back together. And after everything we’ve survived—after the riots, the Hextech accidents, Viktor’s illness, all of it—I want to stay present. Whole. Here. I want to choose us, not biology.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Viktor reached out and took your hand again. His grip was delicate but firm.

“There is no shame in that,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “Especially not in Zaun, where childbirth often takes more than it gives. Adoption is not a lesser form of love. It is a promise—a choice—to love someone fiercely, without condition. That is a kind of magic Piltover doesn’t always understand.”

Jayce exhaled slowly, stepping forward and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His usual bravado was replaced by something far more vulnerable. “You’ve always loved kids,” he said. “Every time we walk past a school, you stop and smile. When we go down into the lower sectors, the kids run to you like you’re made of light. If adoption is what you want... then that’s what we’ll do.”

You felt tears well up and blur your vision, but you didn’t shy away from them. “Really?”

Jayce smiled, tilting his forehead to yours. “Really.”

Viktor’s thumb traced slow circles against your knuckles. “Between the three of us,” he said, a rare smirk gracing his lips, “we can build anything. A better world. A safer future. A home. And a family.”

Jayce grinned. “We already built a city. How hard can one kid be?”

You laughed wetly, swiping at your cheeks. “Famous last words.”

As the morning sun climbed higher, casting golden light over Piltover’s skyline, you leaned into both of them, their warmth wrapping around you like a shield. The wind lifted the hem of Viktor’s coat and tousled Jayce’s hair. For the first time in a long while, the future didn’t feel like an unknown.

It felt like a blueprint. A promise. A legacy. Together, you weren’t just building machines.

You were building a life.

VANDER

The glow of Zaun’s flickering lights spilled through the windows of the upper rooms above the Last Drop, casting a warm halo over the worn floorboards and hand-sewn curtains. Though the hour was late and the bar below had long gone quiet, the upper rooms still thrummed with a gentle kind of life. The kind found in safe places.

Powder snored softly on a makeshift pallet of blankets, a well-loved stuffed rabbit clutched to her chest, one leg splayed out like a little starfish. Vi was curled beside her, limbs sprawled, breathing steady, her wild hair falling across her eyes like a storm in miniature.

Y/N stood near the window, arms folded across their chest, gaze softened by lamplight as they watched the girls sleep. A small smile tugged at their lips, fond and a little wistful. They didn’t move when Vander stepped up behind them, slow and quiet, the familiar creak of his boots on old boards giving him away.

“You’ve got that look again,” he said gently, voice low and gravel-soft from years of smoke and shouting over bar noise.

Y/N leaned back into him, exhaling. “What look?”

“The one that says you’re thinkin’ too hard again.”

A soft laugh escaped their lips. “Maybe I am.”

Vander wrapped his arms around their waist, drawing them close. His hands were rough from bar work and street fights, but warm, always warm. He rested them lightly over their stomach—then hesitated, perhaps feeling the shift in their posture. He didn’t press.

“You alright?” he asked, quieter this time.

Y/N nodded, but it wasn’t immediate. “Yeah. Just… thinking about what comes next.”

He turned them gently in his arms until they were facing him. “You mean us?”

“I mean family,” Y/N said, glancing at the sleeping girls. “You’ve already got two troublemakers calling you uncle—kind of. And I… I love them so much. They’re not mine, but it doesn’t matter. But people keep asking. When we’ll have one of our own.”

Vander’s brows furrowed slightly, sensing the weight behind their words. “And you don’t want that?”

“I do,” Y/N said quickly, their voice catching. “More than anything. But it’s not a choice I can make anymore.”

Vander said nothing, only looked at them with quiet patience.

“I can’t have kids, Vander,” Y/N whispered. “The doctors told me when I was seventeen. Some infection that got too far, too deep. There was scarring, damage they couldn’t fix. I thought maybe they were wrong. Maybe there was hope. But every year that passed, it sank in more.”

They looked away, eyes brimming. “I grieved it, you know? Like it was a person I lost. The future I thought I’d have.”

Vander gently cupped their face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to look at me different. Like I was broken.”

He shook his head, thumb brushing their cheek. “Y/N, you’re the strongest person I know. You’re not broken. Life just dealt you a rotten hand. Doesn’t mean you can’t still win the game.”

A breathless laugh escaped them, half-sob, half-relief. “I want to adopt, Vander. I’ve been thinking about it for years. There are so many little ones down here without anyone to look after them. I could be that someone. We could.”

Vander nodded slowly, his voice steady. “You’ve already been that someone. For Vi. For Powder. For half the kids in the Lanes, if we’re being honest.”

Y/N gave him a teary-eyed smile.

“If you want to adopt,” he said, leaning in until their foreheads touched, “then that’s what we’ll do. No hesitation. We’ll make this home bigger.”

=

A few weeks later, the rooms above the Last Drop felt fuller, warmer.

Claggor was the first to arrive. He came with little more than a tattered scarf and a quiet stare. His mother, worn thin by grief and hunger, whispered apologies as she handed him over to Vander and Y/N. “He’s better off with you,” she’d said. “He deserves more than I can give.”

Claggor didn’t cry. He just watched her walk away, then stood still in the middle of the room, uncertain.

Y/N knelt in front of him and offered a smile. “Do you like cocoa?” He gave the smallest nod. “Well, good. Because we make the best cocoa in Zaun. Come on.”

Mylo came days later, loud and fast like a spark that didn’t know where to land. They caught him trying to steal food from the bar after hours—his face streaked with grease, limbs twitchy and wild. Vi tackled him before Vander could, and Y/N had to pull her off before she socked him.

“This one’s got spark,” Vander had muttered, watching Mylo mouth off with more guts than sense.

Y/N chuckled. “Yeah. He’s ours.”

=

It wasn’t easy.

Mylo and Vi fought like it was sport. Powder cried if anyone yelled too loud. Claggor needed quiet to sleep and liked to line up his shoes just so. There were shouting matches, slammed doors, long nights, and broken things.

But there was also laughter echoing up the stairs.

There were crayon drawings stuck to the walls with grease and thumbtacks.

There were nights with four sleepy bodies piled on top of Vander on the couch, like wolves swarming their bear.

And Y/N would sit and watch, arms folded, heart full, thinking: This. This is the life I was meant to have.

=

One evening, as the sun dipped below the skyline and Zaun’s flickering lights began their nightly glow, the upper rooms of the Last Drop were hushed—except for the soft shuffle of laundry being folded.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a pile of mismatched socks and rumpled shirts, the day’s chaos finally settling into stillness. The scent of stew still lingered in the air. Powder was already asleep with her arms wrapped around a half-limp bunny, and Vi snored softly beside her on the shared mattress.

Claggor padded over first, quiet as always. Mylo followed, less quietly, pretending not to trip over a pile of pants on the way.

They hovered awkwardly near the basket.

“Hey,” Mylo mumbled, scratching at his nose. “Uh… we made you something.”

Claggor stepped forward and handed over a scrap of paper, corners crumpled and smudged with charcoal. It was a drawing—stick figures, big smiling faces, and the words “Happy Mother’s Day” scrawled in uneven block letters.

Y/N blinked, heart catching in their throat.

“You’re may not be our real mom,” Claggor said gently, like it wasn’t meant to hurt. “But… you feel like one.”

“Vi and Powder said it’s Mother’s Day,” Mylo added quickly. “And, like, they’re not even really yours either. So we figured it still counts. Right?”

Y/N set the laundry aside and crouched to their level, drawing in a steadying breath.

“No, I didn’t give birth to any of you,” they said. “But I chose to be here. I choose you every day. And that means everything to me.”

Claggor nodded solemnly, and Mylo shuffled his feet, looking like he wanted to bolt but didn’t.

“Thanks for choosing us,” Claggor murmured.

“And for not kicking us out when we’re loud and annoying,” Mylo added, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

Y/N couldn’t hold back the tears after that. They reached for both boys, pulling them into a hug, arms wrapping tightly around their thin shoulders.

“You two are the best things that ever happened to me,” they whispered, voice thick. “Thank you for letting me be someone to you.”

A creak in the doorway caught their attention. Vander stood there, leaning against the frame with arms crossed and a rare softness in his eyes. He said nothing—just watched the three of them like he was memorizing the moment.

And in the quiet glow of Zaun’s neon night, Y/N knew: blood didn’t make a family.

Love did.

And these kids, with their scraped knees, wild hearts, and handmade drawings, were more than enough.

SILCO

The dim glow of the fading Zaun sun filtered through the cracked windowpanes, casting long shadows across the cluttered room. The air was thick with the faint scent of oil and dust, familiar and strangely comforting in its own way. Y/N sat quietly on the edge of the narrow, threadbare bed, her fingers gently stroking the soft curls of Jinx’s hair. The girl lay curled against her side, finally surrendered to sleep, her breathing slow and even, the tension from the day melting away in peaceful slumber.

Outside, the chaotic pulse of Zaun throbbed relentlessly — clanking machinery, distant shouts, and the low rumble of a city that never truly rested. But in this small room, time seemed to pause. The outside world felt impossibly far away.

The door creaked open with careful hesitation, and Silco stepped inside, his heavy boots making only the softest of sounds on the wooden floor. He paused in the doorway, eyes lingering on the tranquil scene before him: Y/N’s calm, protective posture, the way Jinx’s restless energy had finally softened into something still and tender. It was a side of Y/N he rarely saw — the softness behind the storm.

“You look peaceful,” Silco said softly, his voice low and almost hesitant.

Y/N glanced up, her face lighting in a quiet smile as she shifted to adjust Jinx, who stirred briefly but remained asleep. “She helps with that,” Y/N whispered, almost reverently. “Jinx… she’s everything I ever wanted.”

Silco crossed the room and settled beside them, careful not to disturb the sleeping girl. His eyes never left Jinx’s face — so full of unspoken pain and fierce life all at once.

After a long moment, Y/N’s voice dropped to a softer tone, as if revealing something she hadn’t voiced before.

“I’ve never wanted to carry a child myself.”

Silco’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he stayed silent, waiting.

“It’s not because I fear sickness or because of the dangers here in Zaun,” Y/N explained, her fingers still gently tracing lazy circles on Jinx’s back. “It’s more… practical. I’ve always felt like pregnancy is a world I could never fully belong to. My body, my mind — they’re tools of war, survival, of fighting. Carrying a child through all of that? I worry I’d lose myself, or worse, lose them.”

Her eyes, shadowed with a mixture of vulnerability and fierce resolve, lifted to meet Silco’s. “I wanted to love a child fiercely, but also give them the freedom I never had — freedom from fear, from pain, from being trapped in a body or a place that hurts them. That’s why adoption felt right to me. Giving a home to someone who needs one, like we gave to Jinx.”

Silco reached out, his fingers curling lightly around Y/N’s hand, grounding her with his presence. “You’ve given her more than a home. You’ve given her hope. A chance.”

Y/N smiled, the tension in her shoulders loosening. “She’s not just your daughter or my daughter. She’s ours. And that means everything.”

From the corner of the bed, Jinx shifted in her sleep, her small hand reaching out and brushing against Y/N’s wrist, as if sensing the unspoken promises that filled the room. A soft, crooked smile tugged at Y/N’s lips.

“You’re stuck with me forever now, huh?” Jinx murmured, half asleep.

Y/N laughed quietly, her voice full of warmth and certainty. “Forever.”

Silco squeezed her hand gently, the room settling into a deep, comforting silence — a silence filled with love, resilience, and the unbreakable bonds they’d forged together in the broken streets of Zaun.

EKKO

The hum of Zaun’s evening streets faded behind them as Ekko and Y/N slipped away from the chaotic bustle, finding refuge near the edge of the city. Here, the air was just a little clearer, the grime less heavy, and the stars—those distant, flickering lights—peeked shyly through the hazy, smoke-streaked sky. The world felt quieter here, softer. Ekko leaned against the rough brick wall, the coolness grounding him as his fingers sought out Y/N’s hand. She gave a gentle squeeze in return.

The worn streets had seen so much—fights, losses, dreams crushed and rebuilt—but here, together, they could dream too.

Y/N’s eyes, usually sharp with determination, softened tonight. A small, wistful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she glanced sideways at Ekko, her hand warm in his. “I’ve been thinking,” she said quietly, voice low but steady, like a secret shared between old friends.

Ekko’s gaze flicked to her, his expression open and encouraging. “Yeah? About what?”

“About us,” she smiled wider now, “about what comes next. The future.” Her thumb traced slow, lazy circles on the back of his hand.

He nodded, heart tightening with anticipation. “I’m listening.”

Y/N took a breath, steadying herself. “You know I love kids. Always have.” Her eyes flicked to the distant glow of the city lights, then back to Ekko’s face, illuminated softly by the faint starlight. “But... I don’t want to go through pregnancy.”

She paused, meeting his curious, gentle eyes. “Not because I’m scared. Not because I’m sick or broken.” Her voice faltered just for a moment before growing stronger. “It’s because my mother... she died giving birth to me.”

Ekko’s grip tightened protectively, sensing the weight behind her words.

Y/N swallowed, voice barely above a whisper now. “I grew up on stories about her—how brave she was, how much she dreamed of a family. How much she wanted me to live a life she couldn’t.” Her gaze dropped, fingers tightening around his. “But she never got to see me grow up. Never got to watch me laugh or cry or stumble through the world.”

She looked back up, eyes shimmering with a fierce, tender hope. “It’s not just about me. It’s about honouring her memory.” She swallowed again, voice steadying. “I want to give a home to a child who needs one—someone waiting for a family just like we waited for each other.”

Ekko’s chest tightened with something fierce and protective. His free hand moved up to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, lingering at her cheek. “Y/N...” His voice was soft, full of awe. “We will build that family. Our family. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.” Ekko’s eyes searched hers, fierce and tender all at once. “Any way we choose. It doesn’t have to be the usual way. We’ll make it ours.”

Y/N leaned in, her head resting on his shoulder, their breath mingling in the quiet night. “Together,” she whispered.

Together.

And beneath Zaun’s fractured stars, in the silence between the chaos, they knew one thing for certain—their love was enough. Enough to light the way forward. Enough to build a home. Enough to give life where it was needed most.

[puck-luck]

Hello Andy, congrats! 🥳

I would like to order a chai latte with caramel syrup and cold foam for Nico.

They’re at some hockey event and reader is wearing a super sexy dress. They’re already late because Nico couldn’t keep his hands off of her at home. She keeps teasing him while they’re there and after a while he just can’t take it anymore so he fucks her in some vacant room. (Those dress pants are tight you know 😉.)

surprisingly, this one came to me really easily😭 thank you for such a specific prompt because i think it helped me out a WHOLE lot!!!

You smooth down your black dress, checking your reflection in the mirror. The dress hugs your curves in all the right places, and the plunging neckline shows just a hint of cleavage. The fabric reaches your ankles, but the slit on your right side shows skin up to your mid-thigh. You can't wait to see Nico's reaction.

He’s waiting for you in the living room when you emerge from the bathroom, looking stunning in his own black suit. It’s crisp and tight in all the right places, showing off his huggable waist and strong shoulders and ample buttocks. His eyes rake over your body appreciatively, just as your eyes do to his body. “You look good enough to eat,” Nico says with a crooked smile gracing his face, one of his dimples popping.

You run your hands along your waist and hips and pose for him, giggling when Nico sweeps you up in a hug and kisses you. You smile against his mouth and hold his jaw in your manicured fingers. 

It isn’t long before Nico’s tongue teases the seam of your lips and you have to pull away. “We’re going to be late.”

“So what?” Nico asks, nuzzling your neck.

“Liechtli,” you laugh. “Captain Hischier cannot be late to the Devils’ gala.”

He groans into your skin and leaves one last kiss behind, knowing you’re right. 

You rush out the front door together, then into the party together, and you get split up pretty quickly. Nico has hands to shake and you have WAGs to compliment and receive compliments from, everyone giggling about their pretty dresses and a reason to dress up so nice for once. You catch Nico looking at you from across the room multiple times and each time you blow him a kiss and send him a smile, not expecting much from him in return. 

That’s why you’re so surprised when Nico seizes your elbow just before dinner is served and plasters himself to your back, guiding you down a hallway and into a distant bathroom despite your queries and confusion.

You stumble into the bathroom and turn around to gawk at Nico, instead stopping in your tracks and gawking at the sizable bulge in his tight dress pants. 

“That’s right,” Nico says. He palms himself, drawing more attention to his cock. “You weren’t even standing next to me, and you’ve still got me this hard. I can’t take it anymore.” 

Nico moves into your space, kissing you deeply and splaying his big hands over your behind. As his tongue works into your mouth, Nico brings his hand around to your front and reaches beneath your leg slit to touch your core. He tsks and pulls his hand away, breaking your kiss and lifting his fingertips to his tongue.

“Already wet?” he muses. “You’re making this very easy for me.”

He hikes your dress up and pulls your thin panties down, freeing his throbbing erection shortly after. He lifts you again with his strong arms, your legs winding around his waist as he lines himself up and thrusts into you, both of you moaning at the intense rush of pleasure.

Nico pounds into you hard and fast, grunting with exertion. “Fuck, you’re so tight for me,” he pants. “Feel so good.”

“Yes,” you cry out, your nails digging into the suit jacket that covers his shoulders. “Harder, Nico, don’t stop!”

He complies with your wishes, slamming into you mercilessly. The room is fill of the sound of skin slapping against skin and your moans, orgasms building together.

“Come for me, baby,” Nico demands, feeling you tense up. 

His words push you over the edge and you come hard, crying out his name. Your head lulls against his, foreheads dotted with perspiration. He follows shortly after, spilling himself deep inside of you with a guttural moan.

You stay wrapped around each other for a few moments, with Nico stumbling forward and depositing you against the sink counter so that he can catch his breath and heave. When he’s collected himself, drawn from your heat, and replaced your panties, Nico grins at you wickedly. 

“Ready to head back to the party, schnügel?” he asks. “Or do you need another round?”

You laugh breathlessly and push half-heartedly at his chest, knowing that this is only the beginning of a very long and steamy night.

[pineconepie]

CHARACTERS: Octavian, you/reader

WARNINGS/TAGS: Parental yandere, wrist massage, wrist pain, slightly infantilizing behavior

WORD COUNT: 983

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a commission! Thank you to the commissioner! I enjoyed writing this! <3

Almost immediately does Octavian notice something off about you; you wince when picking things up, you rub your own wrists a lot. When he questions you about this, however, you seem adamant that everything is fine and there isn't an issue that needs addressing. This response alone raises every alarm inside of his head.

Of course, he doesn't allow this behavior to continue for very long at all, giving you time to maybe come to him and finally say something. But you don't, and his concern for you begins to overwhelm any sort of patience he has left in him.

His last straw is when he sees you rubbing at your wrists and groaning to yourself while doing so. That sound- such a pained expression makes him wince as though the pain had been inflicted upon him instead of you.

No longer is it acceptable for you to be dealing with this alone.

"Why haven't you said anything?" he demands quietly, the tension evident within his tone. There's anger and frustration, but it's not aimed towards you; rather, it's aimed at your suffering. "I thought you'd come to me if you're in pain, but I'm tired of just watching you suffer. Tell me what's wrong, (Y/n)."

It's very rare for him to pull out the stern voice, the parental one that leaves no room for disagreement or argument.

You go silent, unsure what to say.

He takes your hands into his, gently as if you're made of fragile glass. You don't pull away when he lifts up your sleeves, like he's expecting to see something horrific, only to see nothing.

Octavian softly squeezes your wrists, clicking his tongue when realizing the issue: they're swollen. He could feel it by applying only the slightest amount of pressure.

"What have you been doing?" Octavian murmurs. He takes off his gloves and gently touches where he squeezed moments earlier. His fingers are cold, yet it's soothing.

"Copies of scrolls," you murmur with a shrug. "Lots of them, lately."

"You know better than that."

"I can handle it..."

Your words earn a sigh from him as he stands. As he disappears upstairs for a brief moment, you fiddle around with some papers, feeling a bit nervous. This must've been the longest you've gone without telling him about any discomfort. Not like you can go long, he usually notices right away.

"Give me your hands," Octavian says after a few minutes, reappearing with a bottle of something you don't recognize and a bowl.

"...what for?" you ask, drawing your hands towards your chest defensively.

"I promise, I'm not hungry for hands," he chuckles softly. "Just let your Papa take care of you?" He holds one of his own hands out towards you, palm up.

Your gaze shifts to his open palm before you relent and slowly reach out both of your hands, earning a pleased hum from the older vampire who then takes the bowl, sitting in front of you.

Octavian pours the bottle over the water that's already inside of the bowl, swirling it around so that the contents mix thoroughly.

"What's that?" you ask.

"A balm that works wonders for your poor wrist." The mixture smells herbal, almost minty but stronger than that. Not too strong to become overwhelming, but it's definitely potent. "I've been alive long enough to make quite a few handy recipes like this one. When I was still human, I had a lot of bad chronic pain in my wrists."

"And that went away with being a vampire?"

He shakes his head. "Sadly not, but I did develop a good way to alleviate the pain whenever it flares up, so it's much more manageable. The super strength that comes with being a vampire did also do wonders too, even if it didn't necessarily cure it."

Gently does Octavian hold your hand in his while the other dips into the cool water, just warm enough for comfort, and slowly swirls around. The mixture itself gives a slight tingling sensation at first touch, cooling further.

Octavian is silent while he repeats this process on your other hand, looking pensive while he massages them. You notice that, despite the intensity in his expression, his movements remain as delicate as ever; he rubs and rolls your joints ever so gently while holding your palm between both of his hands, making sure that every part of your hands and wrists receive thorough care.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asks after several quiet minutes of the massage. When he looks up at you, you see pain in his eyes.

It almost makes you feel guilty.

You shrug. "I'm not a baby, feels weird if I go whining to you about something this small."

"But you are my baby," Octavian responds firmly. "And I'd prefer to know these things so I can help you, whether its a paper cut, or a broken bone." He pauses. "Extra emphasis on a broken bone, though."

He smiles warmly, watching how you return his smile before turning back towards his work. By now the numbing has begun, taking full effect to leave only a weak, tingling sensation in your hand and wrist.

For a few more minutes he continues massaging your wrists, kneading the skin carefully until he feels that they're both satisfied. He pulls out a roll of bandages, carefully wrapping one around your wrist until the end is secured with a clip.

"Aaaaand there we go," he coos, kissing the top of your hand. "Better?"

"Much better..." you murmur with a nod, smiling. "Thanks."

"You don't need to thank me, sweetheart. Just promise you'll come to me next time, okay?"

"Okay," you hum. "I promise."

"Good. Oh, and you're taking a break from writing." You open your mouth to argue, but he wags a finger in front of you. "Ah-ah! No arguing, Papa knows best."

[tryandbehappy]

At this point… some of you (thank you ♥️) keep telling me there are signs in the episode, that June still deeply loves Nick,that she’s suffering, and that all the lines spoken around her are actually about him that everyone sees how much she’s hurting, but she’s in denial, wearing her metaphorical white coat, and her psyche is protecting her.

That it’s easier for her to say, “he deserved it” than to admit that she let the man she loved die.

And maybe… maybe that’s true. Maybe I just need to gather some strength and finally watch the finale.

But fuuuuck— this is still not the ending I wanted.

What I wanted — was closure. I wanted her to finally say it out loud. To own it. To say:

“Yes, I loved him. God, I loved him.”

“It was something beautiful.”

“I’m forever grateful to him — he saved me, with his love, his warmth.”

“But in the end, he stayed in Gilead. Maybe he chose it, maybe he couldn’t escape.”

“We lived in different worlds. We never had a chance.”

Even that would’ve been enough. But instead, we get this image of her as a coward arrogant bitch in denial

Because let’s be real: people don’t fall out of love that fast especially not when someone dies.

In fact

When someone dies, it rips you open. You mourn. You grieve. You forgive. You remember only the most important parts. That’s how the mind works. You don’t just erase the love you feel it stronger. You realize how much they meant to you.

So yeah, I just… I hate this direction.

If he had to die, then his death should’ve been the catalyst for June’s realization. It should’ve been the moment where she finally accepts the truth: that she loved him deeply. Like omg that hurts so much I can’t deal with it. I’m lost and empty

Because she did love him. Let’s not rewrite history now.

❗️❗️❗️She cried every single time someone said his name. She cried when she thought he was with another woman. She was always ready to kiss him, always pulled toward him.

So no I don’t accept that him stepping onto that plane was some kind of giant betrayal that broke her love. Especially when she knew he had a wife and child in Gilead.

She’s forgiven so much worse. She’s forgiven people who raped her, beat her, threw her on the floor, stole her children, spat cruel words in her face.

And now we’re supposed to believe she draws the line at Nick (staying for his child)? Because she imagined some cruel life he led?

No. Absolutely not.

People don’t judge others for the lives they imagine they had. They judge what’s been done to them directly. And Nick never hurt her. Not once.

What did he do? Drive some commanders around? Sit in a few council meetings? There’s not a single on-screen action that justifies hatred. What did she imagine him doing?

Even the one thing people and writers throw at him, the Mayday plan he didn’t give the order, he didn’t know the women would be killed, he didn’t shoot anyone.

So yeah. I’m disappointed. Because I truly expected that this show — finally —would say it. Would make it canon. That she loved him. That it mattered.

Instead, they threw us more bones. More hints. Like they always have.

And yeah, once upon a time, that was fun. All the clues, the meaningful glances, the loaded silences.

But now? In the final chapter? That’s not enough. That’s not closure. That’s cowardice (of the writers to begin with)

They were too scared to give us the truth so they covered it in silence and her denial. Again.

And I’m just so tired.

[companioncute]

Syncopate my skin to your heart beating

Pairing: Mark Grayson (Invincible (2021)) x fem!girly!reader

Summary: Unlikely friendship, even more unlikely relationship… or is it?

Notes: hey divas… I am soooo bad at posting sorry :(( I get stuck on the nsfw part bc I honestly suck at writing it, but I see the differences in how my nsfw vs sfw posts do, so I guess I’ll be a sellout

Cw: making out, penetrative sex, reader is very stereotypically feminine, reader implied to be upper middle/upper class (or have a suspicious source of income? Up to interpretation), reader is a nerd at heart, reader described as able-bodied (can stand/walk), reader attends university, idiots in love, friends-with-benefits (?) to lovers

Tw: graphic descriptions of sex

From an outside perspective, sure, you and Mark Grayson are an odd pair of friends. By outward appearances, Mark is comic posters with frayed edges, wobbly vintage second-hand vinyl, collared shirts underneath sweaters his mom has bought for him, and windswept hair that not even the usual pound of hair gel he used could tame. You, on the other hand, are glittering tennis jewelry, style section, alabaster pink matelassé nappa leather, and lace-trimmed silk.

On the inside, however, you and Mark are one and the same… to some extent.

“Does it look weird on me?” You ask, your upper body twisted 180 degrees as you look at the back of your new skirt in the mirror. “Is it the slit? I’m not sure I have the legs for this.”

The embroidered sequins catch the light, causing a shimmering effect to draw attention to the pink mini skirt (though Mark would argue that it’s a micro skirt). Two chunky leather buckles clasp the item together at the front, buckled one hole up so that it hangs as ideally low on your hips as you desire.

“Where would you even wear that?” Mark asks, his cheeks flushed as his eyes trace the way the skirt digs into the fat of your hips. “Seems… impractical.”

“It’s cute,” you say with a shrug. “Do you not like it?”

“I— I love it,” he laugh nervously, giving you small grin. “Just not much of a fashion guy. I’m sure I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m trying to give, like, Sydney Sweeney for Miu Miu meets Lily-Rose Depp for Chanel,” you sigh, continuing to twist around yourself to look at the skirt.

“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means,” Mark snorts, rolling his eyes as he return to the comic you’ve drawn his attention away from. “But… you look, um, good. Great. You always do.”

A part of you wants to tease him, to draw out that pretty flushed pink color on his face, but instead you simply smile.

“Thank you, Mark. That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, um, don’t mention it,” he laughs softly, unable to look up at you.

You slip out of the skirt, uncaring for the way your lower half is only covered by a pink lace thong and a pair of scrunched-up white ribbed socks that dig into your upper calf.

Changing in front of each other is nothing new. Back when you’d barely grown out of being a toddler, the two of you would run naked around in his backyard while jumping over Debbie’s garden sprinkler system. The difference now is that you’re not children anymore and you certainly don’t look it either. The weight of adulthood is taxing on you both, shown both physically and mentally.

There’s a permanent crease etched into marks forehead, right between his brows. His jaw always looks a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, and whenever he needs to regrow his teeth, they don’t always assume the correct position.

He’s still beautiful.

You’re tired, too. Although you’re no Atlas like Mark, the responsibilities of your education and student assistant jobs and clubs are also taking their toll on you. You hide it well, your concealer always brightening the chronically dark circles around your eyes.

You unbutton your top as well and slip out of your bra before throwing on something more comfortable. A trusted staple; a pink negligée, trimmed with lace. You’re a regular Naomi Lapaglia.

Crawling into the plush pink sheets, you curl up in Mark’s arms.

“I missed you,” you murmur into his neck.

Mark slides the John Constantine, Hellblazer omnibus across your bedside table to wrap his strong arms around you tightly.

“Missed you more,” he replies, running his fingers down your spine.

Your room, your home, is his sanctuary (not that his own home isn’t, but yours is different). It’s just the two of you here, just you and Mark—not Invincible. He’s never Invincible here. Lines tend to blur and you’ll spend hours tangled up in each other only to still call it friendship later.

“Missed you most,” you say, smiling sweetly up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, fixing the morganite pendant of your necklace. His fingers are warm as they brush against your skin, holding onto the pale pink gem while sliding the hook on the chain onto the back of your neck.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whisper back, blinking heavily as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You’ve spent too many hours staring at a computer screen today.

Mark laugh softly, shaking his head.

“Liar.”

“Nuh-uh,” you murmur, grinning softly. Finely manicured nails scrape gently along his forearm, running over the fine layer of dark hair.

Mark only smiles, then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Is this new?” You murmur, fingering the material of his shirt—a deep blue boxy t-shirt.

“Mhm,” he hum softly. “My mom got it for me.”

You chuckle softly.

“Debbie has good taste. Blue is your color.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, his breath hitching. It doesn’t matter whether or not it was before… blue is suddenly his favorite color. In fact, he might only wear blue from now on.

“Uh-huh,” you say, your nails carefully trickling down his chest. Your fingers dip under his shirt, splaying out against his abdomen. A sigh leaves you as you rest your head against his chest.

Mark tightens his grip on you, tugging the pink covers up over your shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispers; words he’s spoken many times before, yet never so tenderly. “You know that, right?”

“I love you, too,” you respond, angling your face up to look at him. “More than anything.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” he laughs quietly, his chest rumbling underneath you. His fingers run over your scalp, down your neck and spine again. “You’re gonna give a guy the wrong idea.”

“It’s different when it’s you,” you say, delicately tracing little hearts into the warm skin of his stomach.

It’s things like that which take Mark back to when he’d first introduced you to William, who had been all but bug-eyed at 17, staring at you with wonder. According to him, there was simply no way a girl like you had any reason to show interest in Mark other than to bully him. Then, within the first ten seconds of you opening your mouth, you’d begun gushing about William’s ‘cunty’ LEGO Batman: the video game (PS3) t-shirt which sent you off on a tangent about your chronic overuse of Poison Ivy’s toxic kiss back when you were eight years old, which, yeah, was totally a moment of self-discovery for you.

And then William got it, but Mark still finds himself mulling over his words.

Is he only good enough to be your friend (whom you may or may not kiss every once in a while)?

No. You’ve never made him feel less. If anything, his dorky personality and cringe one-liners only seem to make you adore him more.

“Does it have to be?” Mark asks softly, tapping his finger against the tip of your nose only to get some of your highlighter smudged onto the pad.

You tilt your head, laughing softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Just…” he begins, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone (much to your displeasure, as he always manages to smudge your otherwise perfect blush placement), “no, nothing. Forget it.”

You purse your lips (cutely, Mark notes), smacking your glossy pink lips as you sit up to straddle his lap. Routinely, Mark’s hands find your hips.

“Don’t give me that tone,” you say, raising a brow. “Defeated. Pathetic. Like nothing you have to say has any value.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s stupid,” Mark argues, his fingers dipping underneath the lace trim that lays flush against your creamy thighs.

“Nothing you ever say is stupid,” you say softly, then grin. “Okay, maybe some of the things you say are… but not this time.”

Mark laugh softly, then leans up to kiss you. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you, but it’s not something you ever really talk about.

A hum leaves you as you melt into the kiss, his strong arms circling your hips and pulling you closer.

“Don’t try to change the topic,” you murmur in between kisses. “I’m not gonna let it go.”

“Stubborn as a mule,” he laughs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw. “I just… do you never get tired of this?”

You pause, frowning.

“What— us?”

“Wha— no! No, no,” Mark reassures you, his fingers running up the sides of your ribs. “Never us, never you. Just… this uncertainty. I mean, sometimes I… I don’t know if you’re just not looking for more or if it’s because I’m me and—“

“Stop,” you say, curling your fingers around the nape of his neck. “What’re you talking about?”

Mark sighs, his shoulders slumping.

“If there’s one thing I know to be true about you, it’s that you always just go for what you want. If you want something, you take it. And sometimes I just wish you would…”

“What?” You ask, a smile tugging on the corner of your lips. “Take you?”

He laughs, his head slumping down against your shoulder.

“Okay, not great phrasing, but you know what I mean.”

You snort, grinning crookedly at him.

“I know what you mean,” you repeat, sliding your hand delicately up his neck to cradle his jaw, tilting his head back.

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“Consider this,” your murmur, leaning down to kiss his forehead, then both eyelids, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, “me taking what I want.”

Mark swallows a moan, his grip tightening on your hips as he leans into the kiss. Strong, deft fingers dig into your flesh, then slide down the curve of your ass.

“Mh, love you so much,” he whispers in between kisses, sliding your negligee up alongside his hands’ movement back up to your waist. “You’re too good for me.”

Part of you is tempted to counter with ‘you’re literally Invincible’, but Invincible isn’t a name allowed inside your home—only Mark, your Mark. You’re not going to equate his worthiness of being with you to how strong he is; Mark is enough.

“Love you more,” you whisper, smiling sweetly as your lipgloss gets smeared across his own lips. “It’s always been you.”

You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip, tugging it down as you apply pressure.

“Desire suits you,” you murmur.

Marks stares up at you, pupils blown wide. There’s something about your tone…

“Oh,” he says, grinning boyishly and proudly. “Oh, I get it. That’s the shade name.”

You grin brightly, letting an undignified giggle escape your lips.

“Sure is,” you laugh, kissing him again. “This is a 38 dollar lip balm.”

“That price has to be a criminal offense,” Mark chuckles, his hands running up your sides. “But I’m honored that you’re wasting it on me.”

“It’s never a waste if I’m kissing you,” you tut, brushing his hair back.

“You really mean that, huh,” Mark states softly, smiling to himself.

“Mhm,” you hum, cradling his face in your hands. Long, pinkish nails scrape against his scalp as you run your fingers up and through his hair again, then settling them behind his neck. “I could also just let you borrow some. It suits you.”

“Don’t make me get the spray bottle,” he jokes, pinching your hip.

“Oh, bite me,” you counter, rolling your eyes playfully. “Like there’s anything you wouldn’t let me get away with.”

“Okay, yeah,” Mark says with a soft grin. “Maybe I’m biased when it comes to you.”

“Just a smidge,” you murmur, punching your thumb and index finger together for emphasis.

“Just a smidge,” Mark repeats, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

With a giggle, you capture his lips in another slow, deep kiss. You tug lightly on his hair, tilting his head back before letting your lips trail down the column of his throat.

A strangled groan leaves Mark, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you closer.

“Baby,” he whispers, “don’t— don’t start something you’re not gonna finish. I’m not strong enough for that.”

“I’ve been considering getting the Tom Taylor Nightwing omnibus when it comes out this summer,” you say simply, peppering soft kisses further down his neck and leaving behind a shimmering pink smudge. “Thoughts?”

“There are literally no thoughts in my head right now,” he laughs softly, smiling dazedly down at you. “Go for it. I’ll— I’ll get it for you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper, smiling sweetly. “You will? Oh, Mark, you’re the best.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, still grinning. “That’s me. The best.”

You reach down, tugging on shirt.

“Off, please,” you say in a polite tone.

“As you wish,” he laughs softly, reluctantly letting go of you to shrug the t-shirt over his head—and not without struggle.

“No, no, I got it,” he says sheepishly, smiling brightly through the darkening of his cheeks as he manages to discard the shirt.

“There we go,” you murmur, running a hand down his chest. “Handsome. You’ve gotten really big these past few years, y’know.”

Sometimes it’s almost too easy.

Mark’s spine straightens and his grin brightens.

“I know, right? Cecil has me on this tight program—“

You slip the negligee off your shoulders, letting the silk pool around your hips and expose your breasts.

“Hoo, boy,” Mark murmurs, grinning boyishly as his train of thought is interrupted. “You don’t know how hard it is having you change around me. I mean, the— the girls are just out, y’know?”

“That’s just, like, on purpose,” you snort, grabbing his strong hands and sliding them up your waist and settling them on top of your breasts, squeezing through his hands.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mark exhales with parted lips and furrowed brows, leaning down to press warm, wet kisses down your sternum.

“About the Tom Taylor run,” you begin, letting go of his hands and settling your fingers in his hair, “I know the art is gorgeous, but is the storylines actually worth it? Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a slut for beautiful comics.”

“Uh-huh,” Mark murmurs, nosing up the underside of one of your breasts. “S’probably fun. I don’t know.”

His tongue runs over your pebbled nipple, closing his lips around the peak with a gentle suction. He mouths at your nipple repeatedly, groaning softly against your skin. The calloused pads of his fingers trace down your back and slip underneath the lacy elastic band of your thong, digging into the fat of your ass.

“Let’s get you out of these, handsome,” you sigh, gently chewing on the inside of your cheek as you reach down to unbutton and unzip his (honestly fugly) khakis.

“Wha— oh. Oh, yeah,” he pants softly, letting his forehead thump down against your chest. He lifts his hips enough to tug the pants down, shuffling to kick them off his ankles without moving you too much. “Got it.”

“You sure do,” you murmur, your voice a soft purr as you brush your lips against his temple . “So strong and capable.”

“Fuck you,” Mark laughs breathlessly, kissing down your sternum again. “I’m trying so hard not be easy right now.”

“I thought you were Invincible?” You whisper with a soft grin.

Mark draws back with a crooked grin.

“Nuh-uh. You just broke the first rule of—“

“If you say Fight Club, I’m kicking you out,” you laugh, gently pushing him down against your covers.

He rests his weight on his elbows, then looks up and smiles softly.

“I’m just Mark, right?”

You nod, kissing him tenderly.

“Mark. Sweet Mark, my Mark.”

“Oh, out the window with not being easy,” he laughs softly, tugging you down and steadying you with his hands as he switches positions so that you’re below him. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, then lifts your hips with his left arm while peeling the negligee off you with his right. Gently lowering you back to the bed, he begins to plant soft, wet kisses up your stomach.

“Mh, oh,” you sigh, your nails scraping down the nape of his neck. “You know how often I’ve thought about you? Just— just thinking about you?”

“If it’s anywhere near as often as I have,” Mark pants, slipping your thong down your legs and ghosting his fingers across your sensitive flesh, “yeah. I think I have an idea.”

“Kiss me again,” you command in a soft tone, and Mark complies.

His lips capture yours in a slow, tender kiss that speeds up your heart rate. His thumb circles your clit, slow at first, then faster as he’s overcome by sheer excitement of being close to you.

“Mark,” you whisper shakily, losing your concentration on the kiss and dipping your face into the crook of his neck. “Mark—“

A soft laugh escapes you, followed by a small moan as you press your lips to his neck.

His middle finger slips inside you—long, strong, deft—as he continues the stimulation on your clit. Moments later, his ring finger follows.

“Mh-“

Long nails dig into his firm back as you claw him down closer.

“C’mere, c’mere,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him again, and when you come, it’s with a soft moan against his mouth.

With a confident grin, he retracts his hand and slips his finger into his mouth to suck them clean.

“Dirty boy,” you comment playfully, brushing his jet black hair back. “Someone’s been getting laid these past few years.”

“Yeah, as if. No, I— I just wanna make sure I treat my girl right, yeah?” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Oh, your girl, huh?” You tease.

“You agreed to it,” he laughs, kissing your cheek, “just before.”

“Mhm,” you hum, kissing his cheek back. “I just like hearing it.”

“Yeah?” He responds, excitement lacing his tone. “My girl? My pretty girl? My sweet girl?”

He plants soft kisses up your jaw.

A silly, girlish giddiness overcomes you much to your own embarrassment.

“You do like it,” Mark laughs, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Shut up,” you laugh, tugging on his boxers. “Off.”

“Bossy,” he says with a grin, slipping out of his boxer shorts before slotting his hips against yours. “Now be still.”

He reaches over you, his hand blindly fumbling through his wallet before retracting with a condom. Biting the inside of his cheek in concentration (definitely not a habit he’s picked up from you), he rips the package open and rolls the latex down his hardened dick. He grips your hips firmly but gently as he lines up with you before slowly, gently, pushing inside.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up to splay out against your stomach. “Easy. There we go.”

“Who’re you reassuring?” You exhale with a dazed grin. Your stomach is slightly tensed up, struggling to relax at the foreign intrusion. “Me or you?”

“Both,” Mark responds softly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he bottoms out. “You make me nervous sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah,” you whisper with a soft nod, eyelids fluttering. “You and me both.”

Slowly, gently, carefully, Mark begins to rock his hips into yours. His lips ghost over the junction between your neck and shoulder as he connects with you through languid strokes. His thumb returns to your clit, and you jump at the sensitivity.

“Mh… ah,” you laugh softly, smiling as you find his lips with your own. “S’nice. That’s— that’s good. Yeah, jus’ like that.”

Your voice turns more and more breathless, the sound partially swallowed by Mark’s mouth against yours.

“Love you so much,” he whines, panting into your mouth. “God, you don’t even— you don’t know.”

“I get it,” you whisper, arms wrapped around his neck tightly, practically clinging to him. “I get it. It’s just us, yeah? For the rest of our lives.”

Mark lets out a groan as he nods, the snap of his hips becoming more fast-paced as he loses his rhythm. It doesn’t take long before he comes, his hips stuttering into yours and his voice breaking as he utters your name. You fall apart in the same moment, underneath his fingertips and safe in his arms.

“You mean that?” He whispers carefully, and you pretend not to notice the sheen to his eyes.

“What?” You ask, dazed and confused.

“Forever,” he reiterates.

You nod.

“Just you and me. Forever.”