#but otherwise I would never answer this ask

[smutmind]

The Summer Guest pt. 2

---

here's your part 2 guys! Part 1 here

The week passed like a fever dream—every shared glance sharp, every touch accidental but felt. You both acted like nothing had happened. But silence doesn't erase heat.

She packed quietly. You avoided the guest room. Your wife stayed oblivious, too busy with store schedules and staff drama to notice the glances you didn’t risk.

The morning she left, your wife handed you car keys and kissed your cheek. "Drop her at the airport? And don’t let her flirt her way into a missed flight."

Then, to Sana: "Aren’t you cold in that dress? It’s an airplane, not a beach."

Sana smiled, all teeth and something unspoken. She wore white. No sleeves. No bra. Hem high enough to make walking an event.

"I’ll be fine," she said, brushing past you, suitcase wheels humming behind her.

The drive was agony. You kept your eyes ahead. She didn’t.

"You really think ignoring me makes it go away?" she asked, voice soft but loaded.

You didn’t answer.

She crossed her legs slow, letting the hem slide up. "You haven’t looked at me since I stepped out of the house. Don’t like the dress?"

You gripped the wheel. "It's fine."

"My nipples say otherwise."

You exhaled. "Sana. Don’t."

"You said that last time. Then you fucked me like I was the only thing keeping you alive."

She leaned closer. "You keep pretending. But I know the truth. You haven’t stopped thinking about it. About me."

Her hand landed on your thigh. Light. Intentional. Your body betrayed you. She smiled wider.

"Still nothing to say? Maybe I should give you something to talk about."

You shifted. Her fingers followed. You were already hard.

"You're taking me to the airport, but we both know what you really want."

You stared hard at the road.

"That night? It wasn’t the end. You wanted more. You still do."

"You have a flight," you muttered.

"That's the thing," she said. "I lied. It's not at 9am. It's at 7 tonight."

You looked over. Eyes locked.

"You what?"

She didn’t blink. "We have time. Enough to stop pretending."

Your hand flicked the signal. Turned off the highway. Gravel kicked up under the tires. Trees swallowed the car.

She looked around, then smiled. "This place… we used to come here. I was eight, maybe nine. You and my sister would sit on that bench and make out when no one was watching."

You parked. Shut the engine off.

She turned, breath catching, dress sliding just enough to bare the top of her thigh.

"I never thought I'd fuck here."

The car sat idling, quiet except for the ticking engine and your breath.

Sana unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted in the passenger seat, the white dress riding higher as she leaned over the console. Her eyes held yours for one beat—mischievous, burning—before they dropped to your lap.

"This shouldn’t happen," you muttered.

"And yet," she whispered, fingers grazing your zipper, "you’re already hard."

She dragged the zipper down slow, deliberate. Her hand reached in, warm and sure, pulling you free. Your cock twitched in her grip.

She licked her lips, soft and filthy. Then bent low.

Her tongue flicked the tip, teasing the sensitive slit. She drew lazy circles over the head, just her tongue, no pressure, no rush. Then she kissed it—a single, reverent press of her mouth.

You groaned, head thumping back against the seat.

"You like being teased?" she whispered.

"Sana."

She giggled, breath hot on your skin. Her hand wrapped around your shaft, stroking slow as she opened her mouth again. This time, she took you deeper.

Her lips slid down, inch by inch, until you felt the back of her throat tighten. She gagged softly, pulled back, saliva coating your cock. She sucked the head as she stroked the base, twisting her wrist on the upstroke. Her other hand rested on your thigh, grounding her.

She bobbed her head in a slow rhythm, letting her tongue glide beneath the shaft, each stroke smoother than the last. She moaned around you, the vibration shooting straight through your core.

You looked down. Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks flushed. Her lashes fluttered every time she sank down. Her hand squeezed just tight enough to drive you mad.

"Fuck," you breathed.

She popped off just enough to swirl her tongue around the head, then sucked hard before diving back down. Her saliva dripped over your balls. Her hand cupped them gently, fingers massaging as she kept the rhythm steady.

She pulled off again, breathless, a thin strand of spit connecting her lips to your cock.

"Taste good," she whispered, then took you back in, deeper this time.

Your fingers tangled in her hair. Your hips lifted, chasing her heat. She didn't resist. She moaned again, louder.

You were close. Every muscle tightening. Your cock throbbed in her mouth.

She looked up. Eyes gleaming.

"You gonna cum for me?" she asked, lips wet, stroking you with both hands now.

"I—"

She giggled, glanced at her watch. "You have plenty of time. Don’t rush."

"Sana, shut up," you growled, eyes dark. "Just make me cum."

Her smile curved wicked. "Yes, sir."

She went back down, fast and focused. No more teasing. Her mouth moved like silk and hunger, sucking with purpose, taking you deep until your cock pulsed at the edge.

She stroked as she sucked, hand and lips in perfect sync. Her spit coated you. She moaned, over and over, like she was getting off on your taste.

"Oh fuck—"

Your hips jerked. Your cock thickened in her mouth.

You warned her with a breathless gasp. She moaned louder and kept going.

You came hard, groaning, spilling deep down her throat. She swallowed you down with soft gulps, never breaking eye contact.

When she finally pulled off, she licked her lips slowly, then wiped a bit of wetness from her chin with the back of her hand.

She leaned back in the passenger seat, eyes wild, dress rumpled. Then she glanced at the cramped interior.

"Adjust the driver's seat," she said.

You blinked. "What?"

"I want to ride you."

You let out a breath, head hitting the headrest. "Give me a second to recover."

"No," she said, already shifting. Her hands slid up her thighs and under the hem. She tugged the dress down in one smooth motion, exposing her breasts. No bra. Just skin, soft and flushed, nipples stiff from the AC and heat.

She crawled over the console. Straddled your lap.

"You can start sucking these," she whispered, taking your hands and guiding them to her breasts. "Maybe it'll help."

She ground her bare cunt slowly against your soft cock, the heat of her slickness already smearing over you.

You groaned as her nipple brushed your lips. You didn’t mean to open your mouth. But you did. And sucked.

She gasped.

Her hips kept rocking. Slow, insistent. Her wetness gliding along your shaft, coaxing it back to life.

You felt the stir first—a second wind rising under her weight. She felt it too.

Her breath caught. Her smile widened. She pressed your head harder into her chest.

"There he is," she whispered, grinding lower. "You’re such a bad fucking man."

You groaned around her nipple. She cried out.

"Hard again for your wife’s baby sister? That cock doesn’t lie."

She rocked harder, your length swelling fast under her heat.

"Sinful," she moaned. "Filthy. So fucking naughty. And you love it."

You bit gently. She screamed.

"You love how wrong this is. How tight I am. How wet I get just for you."

She reached down, guided your now-thick cock between her folds.

"I’m gonna ride you like I own you. Because today? I fucking do."

She reached down and took your cock in her hand, lining it up with her entrance. The head slid against her folds, slick and swollen. She held your eyes, then sank down.

You groaned. Her heat wrapped around you, tight and perfect, swallowing you inch by inch until she was fully seated.

"Fuck," she gasped, breath catching. "You fill me up so good. Better than I remembered."

She started to move, hips rolling slow and deep. The car creaked faintly beneath you. Her thighs flexed around your hips, riding you with control, with hunger.

One hand braced against your chest. The other stretched forward, planting firmly against the fogged windshield. Her back arched, tits bouncing just inches from your mouth.

"God," she moaned, grinding down harder. "Your wife never rides you like this, does she?"

You shook your head. Couldn't even speak.

"She doesn’t talk like this. Doesn’t fuck like this. Doesn’t tell you how big you feel inside."

Your hands gripped her hips. Her pussy clamped around you like velvet.

"Touch me," she begged, voice shaking. "Suck my nipples. I need it."

You leaned forward, lips catching her right nipple. She gasped, fingers curling on the glass.

"Yes—fuck—just like that," she panted. "Make me feel it."

You sucked harder, tongue flicking fast. Her hips stuttered, grinding with purpose now, riding harder.

"You’re so deep," she cried. "So thick—fucking me so full."

Your cock throbbed. You groaned into her chest.

She looked down, sweat beading on her temple. "You gonna cum already?"

"Can’t hold it," you gasped.

She stopped.

Her pussy clenched. Her body froze.

"No," she whispered, grinning. "Not yet."

She leaned in close, kissed your cheek. "Naughty boys don’t get to cum until I say."

Then she rolled her hips again—slow, deep, deliberate torture.

She climbed off your lap suddenly, sweat shining down her spine. She opened the car door without a word and stepped out barefoot onto the gravel.

Through the windshield, you saw her. Saw the white dress fall. One motion. No hesitation. Her bare skin caught the sunlight like a dare. No bra. No panties. Just Sana, completely naked in the woods.

She turned, hair wild, nipples stiff, thighs slick. Her voice floated through the open door.

"I used to dream about this," she said. "Getting fucked in the forest. On the hood of a car. Rough. Fast. Like someone couldn’t wait."

She leaned back against the hood, palms flat. "I just didn’t know it would be my brother-in-law who'd make it come true."

That broke you.

You were out of the car in seconds. Shirt half-off. Pants open. Your cock hard and heavy, still glistening from her mouth.

You grabbed her hips, turned her roughly. Bent her over the hood, her tits pressing into warm metal.

"You want it rough? You fucking get it."

You thrust in deep. She screamed.

"Oh fuck—yes!"

You pulled back and slammed into her again. Hard. Her ass bounced. Her fingers scrabbled for grip on the metal.

"You like that?"

"Yes! God, yes!"

Another thrust. Deeper.

"Say it. Say who's fucking you."

"You are! My sister's husband!"

Your hands bruised her hips as you pounded into her. Her tits slid on the hood with every slam.

"So fucking wrong," you growled.

"That's why it's perfect," she cried. "You're not supposed to want me—but your cock says otherwise."

You drove in harder. Her moans broke into gasps.

"You love how wet I am for you?"

"You're soaked," you snarled. "You're fucking dripping."

"That’s because it’s you! You make me like this!"

You leaned over her back, hand in her hair, pulling her face up.

"You thinking of her while I fuck you like this?"

"No," she moaned. "Only you. Only this."

You hammered into her, thighs slapping. Her ass reddening with every strike.

"You wanna cum, baby?"

"So bad," she whimpered.

You reached down, rubbed her clit. Fast. Hard.

"Then take it."

She came with a scream, legs shaking, her pussy clamping down so tight it nearly pulled you with her.

You held on. Gritted your teeth.

"Where do I cum?"

She didn’t answer. Just pushed her ass back harder.

You spilled inside her with a growl, every drop buried deep. She moaned as your warmth filled her, grinding through it.

Minutes passed.

Back in the car, sweat drying, silence stretching, she reached into her bag. Pulled out a pair of white panties.

Pressed them into your hand.

"For remembrance," she whispered.

You didn’t speak.

She just smiled.

The road back to the airport felt shorter.

Sana leaned back in the passenger seat, dress wrinkled, her thighs still bare. You could smell her on your skin. On your fingers. The windows were cracked, but it didn’t help.

You stopped at a Korean diner tucked between a laundromat and a pharmacy. No one said anything. You just pulled in. She smiled before you even parked.

Inside, she ordered like a ritual. Bulgogi. Kimchi stew. Rice with too much sesame oil. You sat across from her, the table too small, the air too thick.

She ate with her fingers. Picked up a slice of meat, dipped it, moaned softly.

You swallowed hard.

"Don’t do that," you muttered.

"Do what?"

"Be cute. Be... this."

She tilted her head. Picked up another piece. Chewed slowly.

"This has always been my favorite," she said. "I used to beg Mom to take us here. Even when I moved away, I came back for it."

You didn’t answer.

She wiped her fingers on a napkin, eyes on yours.

"You know why? Because some things... even if they’re bad for you, even if they’re messy or hard to find... they’re worth coming back for."

Another bite. Another soft sound.

"And I always know exactly where to find this place."

You stared at her. Heat, guilt, and something darker swirling behind your ribs.

She licked a smear of sauce from her thumb, slow. Intentional.

You looked away first.

[vicolette]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐲 𝐂𝐚𝐭 !

– Warnings : English isn’t my first language, uses of y/n, part two of Brother's Admirer, not proofread

"Why did you drag me here?"

Irene gave you a look that told you everything you needed to know, awkwardly avoiding her gaze as you stared at your suddenly-very-interesting shoes. Embarrassment washed over you as you now not only had to endure her teasing, as if that wasn't bad enough already, but also meet Pau.

Pau Cubarsí – the little brother of your friend, who was the psychotherapist of your mother. You had met Irene months ago, when she had randomly approached you and asked if your mother was her patient, and that is how the two of you became best friends.

Irene and you immediately hit it off, going on dates together and sharing a love for many interests, yet you never planned this.

You were in love with her younger brother.

Now, as you stood by the gates of FC Barcelona's training ground and heard some yells from the players, you felt your heart race incredibly fast, that it almost hurt you. With a dizzy min and a shaky voice, you struggled to maintain your composure.

"Wait-" Your friend suddenly said as she tapped her chin, wondering about something that was definitely not important. Before you could ask her to drive you home and get away from here, Irene lightly grazed her hair as she looked at you.

"Hey, I need to check if I still have something in my car." At that moment, you had genuinely believed her and gave her a nod, staring at Irene for a few seconds and then looking back at the facilities. All of a sudden, you didn’t feel her presence beside you and got the hint.

She was trying to hit you up with Pau.

A few quiet curse words left from your mouth as your gaze followed her figure, until she took a corner and eventually was out of vision. Some time after, athletes from the big club started to come out to get back home, who always stared at you. Raphinha had firstly thought you were a crazy fan, before you avoided his gaze and awkwardly whistled. Kounde just nodded at you and Lamine?

Oh, Lamine.

Lamine slightly narrowed his eyes, a smirk dancing on the corner of his lips before he practically came up towards you, dragging Pau behind him. Your heart dropped to your feet, publicly shaming yourself for every single life decision that brought you here.

"Yo! I know you." Lamine said with the very same way too much enthusiasm in his voice, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he tried to remember your name. "Who were you again? Y…"

"Y/n." Pau interrupted him on instinct, his eyes completely focused on your features before he turned his head to look away, earning a slap on his back from his best friend.

"Right! Well, I see you here sometimes." You nodded and were about your speak, yet your mouth was left hanging open before Lamine realized something.

"Oh, shit. I need to go, my dad is gonna be mad." Although you hadn’t met his parents, from what the media told you, they were actually pretty chill and not too strict. However, as you watched Lamine sprint to his father's car, you had thought otherwise.

Pau, who had met his parents, didn’t think so. It was obvious that Lamine was purposefully trying to keep you two alone, even if it wasn’t much of a smart decision when their teammates continued to walk out and they could only see two teenagers not even daring to physically touch each other.

"You know where Irene is?" Pau suddenly questioned, wiping the sweat off of his hands as he saw you lightly tense up.

"Yeah, said she needed something from her car, and then she would be back." You answered honestly with a shy smile gracing your beauty, making Pau also smile and nod his head.

Nevertheless, it soon became clear that she was taking her sweet time and not beating around a bush just to talk with someone, which was definitely not what the two of you were doing.

"So, uh-" As you tilted your head to look at Pau, confusion growing while he stared at you, he mentally started to beat himself up for even speaking, feeling his cheek get redder by the minute.

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Sorry, what?"

"Nothing! Nothing…"

And after that, it was pure silence as you stared at him with a shocked expression, before shaking your head 'no' and biting on your bottom lip. This was embarrassing.

"No?" Pau repeated, as if he couldn’t believe what you were saying, which was obvious by the way he looked at you up and down to both admire your beauty and to question every other man's choice of love.

In response, you could only laugh and shake your head in disbelief, surprised by how bold Pau was being. "No."

"Oh. Wow. Okay..?" He curiously remarked, blinking a few times to make his point clear. Meanwhile, you only felt your heartbeat speed up, feeling shy under his gaze.

"Wait, so that means that we can go on a date, right?" All of a sudden, he blabbered it out and gave you a stare that told you everything – he was dead serious.

"Well, yeah."

"No, wait." Pau raised his index finger to stop you from speaking, thinking for a while about his own words before he finally said his thoughts out loud, repeating himself. "Dear Y/n, do you wanna go out with me?"

His words were endearing to you, and even more so when you had noticed his obvious seriousness. Pau was a sweet boy, after all, bug you had never seen him from this perspective. "Sure, whenever you’re free."

Pau pumped his fist and grinned at you, awkwardly rubbing his nape as he realized how odd his actions were and muttered a quiet apology. Just then, you two felt Lewandowski walk by with his phone held on his hand in a suspiciously manner.

"Lewy." The said person stopped walking, hiding his phone in his pocket while he turned around to face you two with a big smile on his face.

"My favorite teammate, Pau!" He so clearly emphasized the word 'favorite', as if it would save him from being jumped by the younger. "What do you need?"

"Delete that video, idiot."

"Uh…" Lewandowski hesitated for a moment, or at least feigned hesitation, before a wide grin grew on his face as he already took some steps back. Pau followed with slow movements, before their movements began to speed up. "Nah, good luck on your first date, though!"

"Come back here, you bastard!"

– A/N : eighth I hate this the title doesn’t even suit ts

[hoe-in-deepspace]

Im literally obsessed with your blog, and the fact that were practically the same age..their both a warm.balm to my soul 😫! Can i request something from one zayne girlie to another? We all knkw that caleb is considered a panty sniffer but...what if zayne is a bra feeler, and you catch him in the act? (We know he got some crazy hidden kinks as well 🤭). If you decide to do this, then my aether embedded heart will beat once more.

Omg thank you so much!!!! That makes me very happy 🥰 Similar age AND both Zayne girlies??? The universe must want us to be friends 🙂‍↕️ I'm drooling over the Zayne pic bc goddamn he looks breathtaking 😍

You are absolutely right about Zaynie being kinky (it's always the quiet ones) and I could definitely see him having a thing for bras

I haven't really written much fanfiction so there is no guarantee that it'll be good but I did my best for you!

P.S. I made the bra a red lace one to match the red lace panties in that panty sniffer Caleb edit 🤭

Dividers: enchanthings

Caught Red-Handed

Zayne x Reader

CW: Mentions of reader having breasts/wearing a bra but otherwise written as gn as possible (tagging as x fem reader just in case), pre-established relationship, two yearning idiots, Zayne realizing he is a horny freak for reader's bra (pops a boner that's never mentioned again). I think that's everything. Let me know if I forgot anything that should be here please.

Everybody knows that Zayne shows his love and care through acts of service. Which is why he's currently in your laundry room moving your freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer and into the laundry basket that's resting gently between his arm and hip.

You had casually mentioned to him earlier in the day that you were exhausted from the countless missions the association had sent you on for the past week but couldn't spend your day off resting as there were many things you needed to take care of at your place. You had been putting the tasks off until you had more time and now that you finally had the time your body decided it only wants to rest. To say you regret leaving everything to be done on the same day is an understatement.

When you confided in Zayne about your predicament you hadn't thought he would show up on your doorstep 20 minutes later with your favorite drink in hand along with a small paper bag containing a few sweet treats for you two to share.

Once you both finished eating, Zayne adamantly insisted on helping you with your chores under the guise of not wanting the stress of it all to overwhelm your already exhausted body and heart. You knew he was helping simply because he cares about you but you couldn't resist the urge to ask if he's this caring with his other patients. His response? "Only the ones who cause as much trouble as you." You gasp. "There are others?" you joke with a faux look of shock displayed on your face. The corners of Zayne's lips quirk up ever so slightly before he breathes out a small "No".

Seeing as how Zayne wasn't going to take no for an answer you decided to leave him in charge of washing the laundry since it was the easiest task on your list. You know he works hard day in and day out at the hospital so the idea of letting him take on your biggest tasks on top of all that made a twinge of guilt bubble up in your chest.

Zayne carried the now full basket of clean clothes to your room and sat it down on the edge of your bed before proceeding to fold its contents.

When you had suggested for Zayne to wash your laundry he had politely asked if you wished to remove any intimates you didn't want him to see from the pile. He reassured you that he had no issue with handling such garments and was only asking out of respect for your privacy. You quietly thanked him before sorting through your laundry pile until you had collected all of your intimates to be washed by you later.

Zayne sorted your clean clothing as he folded them making separate piles for your t-shirts, jeans, socks, hunter uniform, etc. Once everything in the basket was folded and separated he began putting them away in the places you instructed him to. The closet was first and once everything that belonged in there was put away he moved on to the dresser. You had specified that your t-shirts go in the top drawer on the left but when he opened said drawer he came face to face with your collection of bras and underwear instead.

Realizing he must have made a mistake when remembering your instructions he goes to close the dresser drawer until a certain red lacy bra catches his eye. He stops in his tracks and stares at the garment with increasing intensity. He gets an overwhelming urge to pick up the bra and feel the delicate lace between his fingers but pushes the feeling down. Or at least he tries to.

Before he knows it he's got the red lacy bra in his hands. He drags his thumb slowly across the underside of the right cup. His fingers follow along down the length of the band before gently making their way to the straps. It's clear to Zayne that this bra serves as fashion over function due to the rather fragile natural of the straps. He imagines how they'd struggle to hold up your perfect breasts (no matter what size they are). The way they'd practically beg to be slipped off your shoulders so they can get even a few moments of respite from their losing struggle with your breasts. After Zayne's careful assessment of the garment he concludes it's rarely worn (if at all) based on the near perfect condition it's in. This discovery brings a sense of relief to his yearning heart. Next he uses his long fingers to stretch the cup out as if it were being worn by you. His breath hitches as he imagines your breast filling the cup. The way the lace would stretch across the tissue as if it were a second skin, giving the illusion that the lace was just another part of your gorgeous body. How despite your breasts being covered there is still very little left to the imagination. The growing tightness of his pants pulls him from his lewd thoughts.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows it's wrong but he can't seem to get himself to stop no matter how hard he tries. He's never been so drawn to a piece of clothing before so he had no way to mentally defend himself against such an occurrence.

After fighting with himself internally, he cautiously continues running his fingers across the bra tracing the pattern of the lace on each cup. His breathing becoming more rapid and audible as a slight blush creeps across his face and ears. Eventually losing the battle with his intense urges, Zayne slowly drags the delicate fabric across his cheek to then ghost over his lips. A languid sigh escapes him as his eyelids flutter shut. The lace barely touched his lips but it's enough to make him weak in the knees.

While Zayne was busy fighting his demons in your bedroom you were in the kitchen putting away the last of the dishes you just finished cleaning. Suddenly you remembered (a bit too late) that you had rearranged your clothes in your dresser last week to make more room and things were now in a different spot than you had told Zayne they'd be. You mentally scold yourself for making such a mistake. You had given him the rundown on where everything goes while you were busy washing the mountain of dishes that accumulated over the last few days. That coupled with how exhausted you were led to you telling Zayne the spots those clothes used to go.

As you make your way to your bedroom to apologize and correct your mistake you can't help but wonder why Zayne hadn't come out to address it as it had been almost half an hour since he had taken your clothes out of the dryer. Surely he wasn't still folding them? Maybe he just opened the rest of your drawers to figure it out himself? But he had been so respectful of your privacy earlier so there is no way he would have gone through your other drawers without your permission, right? Questions ran through your head as you finally made your way into your bedroom.

"Sorry Zayne I-" you start but quickly cut yourself off as your gaze lands on what's happening in front of you. There stands Zayne slightly hunched over your open dresser drawer with your red lace bra in his hands and a deep blush on his face.

Zayne immediately whips his head in your direction and looks at you with widened eyes before quickly looking back down at your bra in his hands. He's been caught red-handed. He stays quiet for a moment while he tries to come up with any possible excuse that could explain why you found him in such a state. All the while his blush deepens.

You were so caught off guard by the situation that all you can manage to say is "is that my bra?" to which he just slowly nods while still avoiding your gaze. Before you can say anything else Zayne speaks up. "I apologize for my behavior. I don't know what came over me." You notice he still has your bra in his hands and has started nervously running his fingers along it. It's such a small movement that you doubt he even knows he's doing it.

The pieces of the puzzle connect in your mind as you realize Zayne, your usually composed doctor friend you're in love with, was just helplessly touching (and who knows what else) your lace bra he accidentally stumbled upon while you were in the other room. Your face heats up at the implication of the situation. Zayne wouldn't have acted the way he did if he didn't have feelings for you right? Maybe you're reading too much into this? Your mind is plagued with questions that you desperately need an answer to.

Mustering up all the courage you have you slowly move closer and gently place your hand over Zayne's to stop his fidgeting fingers. You both look up at each other and lock eyes. The two of you stand there in silence for a brief moment before Zayne instinctively looks away and clears his throat. He knows he should release your bra from his hands but that would mean removing his hand from your gentle grip. It would mean losing the feeling of your warm palm and slightly pruning fingertips against his cool skin. Zayne may often seem calm and collected on the outside but inside he deeply craves touch and affection. But not just anyone's will do, no, he craves your touch and affection. Which is why he's going to stand here as long as you'll let him with your hand on top of his.

Zayne makes no effort to move from the current position so you decide to take it upon yourself to gently remove your bra from his hands. He shows no resistance to your movement but carefully watches you from the corner of his eye. It's as if he's studying your expression for any signs of anger or disgust. He sees neither on your face but that does little to calm his racing heart.

Once the bra is free from Zayne's grip you drop it into the still open drawer and quickly close it. A deafening silence rings in the air as neither of you know where to go from here. Unable to cope with the lingering silence any longer you spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "I've never worn it. I thought I would save it for a special occasion". Zayne hums softly in response. "What occasion would warrant such attire?" he questions with a teasing lilt in his voice. You exhale a small laugh as some of the earlier tension dissipates. "I'd probably wear it on a date if I really liked the person." you half joke.

Zayne finally turns to face you before uttering lowly, "and if I was your date?" He prays you understand the underlying meaning behind his words. That you understand he's not just interested in seeing you in that risque garment. That he wants to see you in every facet both physically and emotionally. He wants to see you when you're happily gushing about a show you like, when you're sad because your favorite restaurant stopped serving your go to meal, when you're laughing over something he said, when you're too tired to get up for work in the morning because you stayed up late playing a video game. He wants to see you.

He looks at you with a mix of hope and fear in his eyes. Hope that you'll return his feelings and fear that your friendship is over if not. His heart is beating a mile a minute as he awaits your response.

Luckily for Zayne, you understood exactly what he meant. You knew he was never the type to make crude comments so it was clear to you that he was saying a lot more than the words that came out of his mouth. After being friends with Zayne for so long you had learned to pick up on the subtle ways he would express his intentions without actually voicing them. Even after all those years apart this still rang true.

A small smile appeared on your face and Zayne's heart clenched in his chest. Finally, after what felt like hours, you respond.

"I'm free this Saturday if you'd like to find out."

A/N: Ahhh I hope you liked it! I didn't mean for it to be this long but my inspiration was just raring to go apparently. I thought about making it smutty but didn't want it to be too long so maybe I can do a part 2 if people are interested. Never wrote smut before but I read a lot of it so maybe that'll be enough to help. Anywho, thank you for reading!

[ttdamian]

I apologize for erm not updating for like 2 weeks... i've been very unmotivated to write and even thought of quitting (´∀｀；) but hello hi i wont do that... as apology please take this little snippet of the next chapter i just started working on. Thank you so much for all the support as well, it has really been the reason why i keep writing.

It had been two weeks.

Fourteen days of waking up in sheets that didn’t feel like yours.

Fourteen nights of lying awake in a bed too big, too stiff, too quiet.

The silence here wasn’t peace. It was something else. Something heavier.

The kind that pressed on your chest when the lights went out.

The kind that made you flinch at every creak in the floorboards—because even the house itself seemed to sigh in disappointment when you moved.

Wayne Manor wasn’t a home. It was a museum of people who used to matter. Every hallway whispered someone else’s name. Every photo on the wall looked like it had been taken just to be seen by the world, not remembered by a family.

You weren’t part of the curation. You were something left in the margins. A misprint in an otherwise perfect collection.

And nothing had changed.

Bruce still hadn’t looked at you.

Not directly.

Not once.

You’d memorized the angles of his avoidance.

The way his eyes would land just past your shoulder.

The way his footsteps would speed up when he heard yours down the hall.

The way he spoke only when he had to, and never in words meant for you.

He was the kind of absent that didn’t need distance.

And Alfred… Alfred tried.

You saw it in the soft way he said your name. In the tea left outside your door that was always still warm. In the way he didn’t flinch when you asked the question you already knew the answer to.

“Why won’t he talk to me?”

Alfred’s pause was long. Weighted. Then, in a voice full of gentle regret:

“He’s grieving, Miss. He sees… her. When he sees you.”

Her.

Your mother.

The ghost you wore on your face.

In your laugh. Your smile. The slope of your nose.

Maybe that was why Bruce couldn’t bear to look at you. Because you weren’t just a reminder of what he lost. You were living proof that she’d been here, once—and that she was never coming back.

So, you tried. You really, truly tried.

Tried to stay quiet.

Tried to make yourself small enough not to bother him.

Tried to be good—whatever that meant in a house that didn’t know what to do with you.

But the thought still came, uninvited, gnawing at the edge of your mind.

‘He could still grieve… and love me.’

It repeated like a heartbeat. Soft. Steady. Inevitable.

You hated yourself for thinking it.

Hated the way it made you feel—needy, demanding, like a child too greedy for affection.

Selfish.

You were being selfish.

That’s what you told yourself.

That’s what your mother would’ve said, wouldn’t she?

She raised you to be reasonable. To be patient. To understand that people were made of hurts you couldn’t always see.

She raised you to make room for other people’s pain.

But still…

Still you wondered why no one seemed willing to make room for yours.

Some nights you cried into the pillow just to feel something warm. Some mornings you looked in the mirror and tried to smile, just to see if you still could. The reflection didn’t feel like you anymore. You didn’t recognize the girl with the tired eyes and the hope she kept crushing down like it was dangerous.

The girl who had stopped expecting good things a long time ago.

The girl who was trying so hard not to ask for anything, just in case the answer was silence.

At first, it hurt—like ripping out something soft and fragile from your own chest.

But then came the numbness.

The slow settling of silence in your bones.

The quiet understanding that maybe some things just weren’t meant for you.

You started telling yourself it was fine. That you didn’t need him to say your name.

Didn’t need him to see you.

Didn’t need to be loved by someone who’d already chosen to forget you existed.

And maybe—if you said it enough times—you’d start to believe it.

Because what other choice did you have? The longer the silence lasted, the more it started to feel like a kind of answer. Like absence was just another way of saying no.

No, he wouldn’t come around.

No, you weren’t part of this family.

No, he didn’t want you.

Not here.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

So, you stopped waiting.

And instead, you began to move through the house like a ghost. Quiet. Careful. Always out of the way. You learned which floorboards to avoid. Which rooms were safest to cry in. Which corners let you disappear just enough.

The walls never stopped groaning when you passed. Like even they were tired of your footsteps.

Like even they knew:

You didn’t belong here.

And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to believe it too.

taglist : @cssammyyarts @wendee-go @sadeem575 @c4xcocoa @time-shardz @whaaaaaaaaat111 @noone1233nobody @justanerd1 @bbmgirll @bakuraloverr @myjumper @cupid73 @lordbugs @cheappremingerfromdelululand @lovebug-apple @justafank @chemicalwindexbottle @welpthisisboring @totallynotacat13 @nininehaaa @yuyuzi-ling @yarn-mony @eyeless-kun 

[simp-for-love]

Mattheo sees his child for the first time

A/N: I was just thinking about dad Mattheo, and, oops, a small blurb? Drabble? Idk, just something came out.

Warnings: Brief references to trauma, emotional vulnerability, cursing words

Word count: ~670

The room hums with quiet voices and shuffling feet, but Mattheo hears none of it. Just the pounding in his ears. Just the weight of his own breath.

He stands there like a statue, leather jacket still on, fists clenched at his sides. His gaze is locked on the bundle in white. He just can't take his eyes off them. So fucking small. Wrapped in white, silent in the nurse's arms. Breathing. Alive.

And his.

He doesn't go to them. He can't. His feet might as well be cemented to the floor. Because if he gets too close, if he touches them...

The nurse says his name, soft and coaxing. Asks if he wants to hold them.

He doesn't answer. He just can't.

He was never a fearful man. On the contrary, others were afraid of him. But for the first time in a very long time, Mattheo Riddle is afraid. He is terrified.

Not of blood or death or the enemies who whisper his name like a curse. Not of Azkaban. Not of his family legacy. Not even of the darkness that claws up his spine.

No — he's afraid of this.

Of that tiny life.

Of touching something so clean, so pure, so impossibly untouched by the shadows he drags behind him. Terrified that his hands — hands that have broken bones, cast spells meant to harm, written blood-soaked promises — are not worthy. That if he just touches this child, something in them will break. That his darkness might seep into this little, perfect thing and ruin them forever.

You watch him from the bed, exhaustion in your limbs but love and soft understanding in your eyes. He can feel it, warm and undeserved. It burns worse than any dark magic spell.

He's done too much. Hurt too many. He never thought he deserved you in the first place. Not really. That's been his guilt to carry since the first time he let you sleep on his chest, wondering what kind of broken soul lets someone like you near. But this, this is even worse.

He's not supposed to have this.

Not you. Not this baby.

Not a future.

But your gaze, your love for him — it always tells him otherwise. That he's more than enough for you.

Then the baby stirs and opens their eyes.

Dark hazel, just like his.

It hits him like a Bludger to the chest, like a punch to the gut. Like someone took every shield he's ever built and shattered it in a second. His knees almost give. He swears, quietly, under his breath — a broken, soft sound.

They have his eyes.

Fuck.

They're beautiful. Perfect. And they're his. Part of him. A piece of something good buried beneath all the ruin.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Just this low and dull ache in his chest. He doesn't know how something can be so small and still make him feel bigger than anything he's ever felt.

A nurse carefully steps forward and places the baby in his arms, and Mattheo panics, truly panics. He stiffens. Every muscle locks. He's holding them like they'll shatter if he breathes too hard. His heart's pounding, loud enough he swears they can hear it. His breath hitches unevenly.

This baby weighs almost nothing. But in his arms, they might as well be the whole fucking world.

He's held cursed artifacts, ancient grimoires, treasures men would kill for. But none of it has ever compared to the impossible weight of this tiny child in his arms. Not because they're heavy — but because they matter. More than anything ever has.

They make a small sound — not a cry, just... a soft sleepy noise.

He nearly falls apart.

You whisper his name. "Mattheo."

He looks at you with something wrecked in his eyes. Then back at them, like he can't believe that it is real.

The baby sighs against his chest, warm and trusting. Their hand twitches, curling loosely into the leather of his jacket. And he just... stands there.

Shaking. Silent. Changed.

"Shh, I've got you," he whispers, the promise rasped into the soft crown of their head. It isn't a threat, not this time — it's a vow. One that's heavier than any oath he's ever made.

[i-nssomniia]

Can we get high school au with Joker🥲🙏🏼 (I love ur high school au fics smm)

Just a physical education lesson?

Pairing: Joker/Hajun x reader

Tags: college au, secretly in love!Joker, panicking!Reader, a hint for the future relationships

Note: of course, darling! I'm glad you like it! i love<< (do you even remember how the author presents the Joker to us? Always awkward and inferior to girls! I think if I met him in real life, I would really be a little scared of its size, but then... hehehehe, it’s size hehe)

@shintaru @wthphe1n @dzvelinaskebiyars

college au part1 with Wooin college au part2 with Owen college au part3 with Hyuk college au part4 with Vinny

"Oh.."

You hold your breath, lifting your head to look at him. He's so tall that you have to tilt your head up a lot to see his face.

"Physical education teacher paired us up"

You nod briefly at his words, your breathing is a little unstable. He's so scary.. Your classmate Hajun or Joker, as everyone here calls him. Why? you don't know, and you definitely don't want to know the answer, because you're almost 100% sure that it has something to do with something violent.

You fidget with the hem of your t-shirt awkwardly, panicking inside. Hajun always intimidated you not only with his appearance, he's taller and wider than you, but also with his gaze! Sometimes you feel like you've crossed his path like a black cat on a bad omen, and he's silently planning your murder.

"Are you feeling unwell?", - his voice sounds so harsh as his body leans slightly towards you, causing you to take a step back reflexively, waving your hands in front of you as you respond too hastily.

"No, no, I'm fine" - nonsense, you're not fine. You feel like when you will do exercises together, he's just going to break a couple of your bones with his brute force. This guy is a boxer in a college boxing club! - "Let's just get it done quickly and be done with it"

you awkwardly walk past, trying not to accidentally touch him, as you make your way to the sports mats to start your exercises. and you're ready to believe in God right now, and pray on your knees like a nun, just to stay intact. and why is it that your friend decided to get sick and not come today? because because you couldn't choose a partner at the beginning of class, you're forced to be near him.

you take a short breath, trying to calm your heart rate, "you're first" - you look back at him over your shoulder, noting the frown on his face. maybe you should have actually said you were feeling sick? you feel like your body temperature has risen.

Hajun walks past you, sitting down on the mat, bending his knees. you sigh, sitting down in front of him, reaching out with shaky hands to hold him in place.

"Closer, otherwise you won't be able to hold on", - he pulls your hand towards him, and you reflexively move your body forward, securing his knees with your hands and his heels with your feet, - "Hold on tight"

And you instinctively apply more pressure as he checks the hold and begins the exercise by starting the timer, folding his arms behind his head and lifting his torso. You try not to look at him, mentally counting the number of his bends until he stops. your heart beats faster when you look up at him. he's so close.

"How much?", - he asks you, his voice softer than usual. Up close, his features seem softer. You've never seen Hajun from this angle, as you usually look up at him.

"..ah, 61" - you correct yourself, looking away from him. He doesn't seem as threatening as usual. And damn it, 61 times in less than a full minute? And he hasn't even broken a sweat.

he doesn't say anything, just gets up from his seat, so easily escaping your grip, even though you're pressing with full force. how strong is he? you switch positions with him, putting your legs in your knees, lying back on the mat, and closing your eyes. the fear of him crushing your legs with his hands settles in your head, sounding like a terrifying siren.

but instead, you feel a gentle touch, like touching crystal, that takes your breath away. again. not out of fear.

"Start", - you sigh briefly as you begin to lift your body. And damn it, the seconds haven't even reached the middle of the minute, but your breath is starting to fail, and sweat is dripping down your temples. And every forward lean feels so awkward.

and when the minute is up, the gym teacher comes up to you to write down your scores. you're definitely screwed, you know you did a bad job, but your eyes widen when you hear Hajun's answer. he added a few numbers to give you a good grade for the sports standard? and the image of this intimidating guy in front of you, kneeling with those soft features, gentle touches, and almost pink cheeks, crumbles. wait, pink cheeks, what? Are you sure that's what you're seeing?

and it seems that the rest of the lesson consists only of awkward moments and Hajun's touches on you. and you're sure that he's embarrassed every time you're so close. because now you look at him more often, even though a while ago you were afraid to breathe around him!

and even if the rest of the lesson passes in silence between you, you can feel his gentle touches on your back as he helps you pull yourself up on the lower bar, and you can hear him exaggerating your results. If the first or even the second time you could say that Hajun was just losing count, then no, he was doing it on purpose.

your mind is racing with a million thoughts as you change clothes and walk out of the locker room after class.

"Hey", - a rough voice from the side makes you stop and look up again, - "this is for you. You did a good job"

Hajun hands you a cold bottle of water and takes large steps towards the exit, leaving you behind in a daze. Did he run to the vending machines to get you some cold water?

you look in the direction he was heading again, but he's nowhere to be seen. and the only thing you can hear is your own heart beating in your ears. this damn bottle of water causes goosebumps more than a long-awaited birthday present.

and Hajun, hurrying towards the bathroom to wash his face, his cheeks burning so hot. and the silent hope that you didn't see him nervous around you, blushing every time he touched you.

and one day he will come to you again, under some stupid pretext to help him with the material that he supposedly did not understand in class, so that he can be with you for at least five minutes close to you. because he can no longer just look at you from afar and blush like a stupid schoolboy in front of his first love (oh, no, he is exactly like that, completely whipped up just for you).

just give him time, okay? one day he'll give in to all of Wooin’s teasing and ask you on a first date to an amusement park. he knows you love it, he's heard you talk about it. he'll buy you cotton candy and ice cream, and he'll hold your hand and lead you by the hand, nervously keeping you close to him so you don't run into anyone, and he'll even cover you from behind so your skirt doesn't ride up.

but right now he's here on the college campus, squeezing his t-shirt, washing his face with water, nervous because you've spent so much time close to each other.

and he's secretly glad that your friend got sick, leaving the two of you alone, and he was able to take that first step towards you.

oh, his size–

[pseudophan]

on a walk and just saw a van labelled ‘dog warden’

huge fan of how dan and phil make us notice things we would otherwise never think twice about

sidenote this ask made me google dan and phil dog warden because i wanted to see that newspaper article tweet again (here if anyone's wondering) and the related searches are so unserious

you must answer these three riddles to get into heaven

[demiurgicviscera]

i am going to try to hit a lot of your points here quickly. (i am not known for my brevity) (it won’t be quick) (i’m still gonna try) (i cannot care if you personally read this as i have no control over that, but i feel it must be written nonetheless) 

------------------------------------------------------------

1. “this is not a war it is tumblr” so i don’t know if you know this but, social media is full of real life living breathing humans, and we all get together and share our thoughts about the real world we live in. belittling someone addressing fascists in a tag that functions as a communication hub for a part of a marginalized community is certainly strange. 

2. “if radfems are so dangerous why have i not detransitioned or killed myself yet” is not holding a lot of weight with that self flagellating “tif” in your bio. if you are actually trans that is a pathetic level of self deprecation that i would assume being surrounded by people who tolerate you and view you as a woman surely cannot be helping. 

3. trans women who go around calling people theyfabs are people i feel solidarity with on the level of basic human rights that i will still care and fight for because those are my ethics, but otherwise want absolutely nowhere near me. unlike you, i do not tolerate people in my life who do not have sincere respect for who i am and for other vulnerable minorities. this is not a transaction for me, i do not need anything in return for me to give a shit that minorities have freedom, dignity and safety. that is not something to be revoked, period. how flimsy do you assume my ethics to be?

4. there are long histories in both trans fem/women’s communities and trans masc/men’s communities of separatism, gender and bio essentialism, radical feminism, and discriminatory practices, because the patriarchy is a pressure cooker and it takes out the weak ones, devolves them into crabs in a barrel desperately pulling down the other crabs, full of resentment from their perception that other trans groups have it easier. for every “b**ddel” (intersexist slur btw) there is a transmasc t(fem)erf, i mean, look at you. a lot of these “b**ddels” happened to be deeply hurt by trans mascs or men, had negative experiences in the community, and it drove them to exclusionary, bigoted and just deeply hateful ideologies, i’d think you’d be able to relate. 

5. “you even admit there is a ton of them, and you’ve never asked why, or called any of them terfs, or asked why they’d risk tearing the trans community apart over it?” so quick question: do you know me? hm look at that, you totally don’t. the framing you are using here is overly familiar and assumptive, and makes me think you have built up an entire idea of who i am, a stranger, without ever having questioned it, and it makes me think that you aren’t in a very discerning mindset. i have asked why, i do regard them as trans masc exclusionary radical feminists, and am often highly suspect of motivation. unfortunately the answer often ends up as petty and boring human selfishness, lack of ethical integrity, black and white thinking, ultimate victim mentality, and poor emotional developement. as is common with any branch of radical feminism. 

6. full bodily autonomy…..trans exclusive radical feminists….fascinating. so you would call not supporting teenagers and their right to choose the puberty they want to experience advocating for full bodily autonomy? supporting medical gatekeeping is advocating for full bodily autonomy? mourning trans men and mascs getting life saving surgeries and calling it mutilation is being pro bodily autonomy? what an interesting definition, sounds incredibly situational to me. 

7. you make the mistake again of over familiarity. i know radical feminism well, and can easily tell it apart from other forms of transphobia. i held radical feminist beliefs when i was a young terrified teenager who did not know that any kind of feminism could ever be bad, and i trusted it implicitly, until i looked around and saw such severe dehumanization of trans women that it stopped me in my tracks, because i knew fundamentally that no matter what, they are human beings deserving of dignity and basic human respect and safety. i have a lot of understanding for why any marginalized person may fall into separatist perspectives, and very little respect for the ones that do not have automatic breaks that get thrown on in the face of utter dehumanization of another. i did still internalize the beliefs enough that radical feminism encouraged me into thinking i was not a man, and i simply just hated being a woman under patriarchy, and i doubled down, denied myself utterly, and tried to be comfortable as a woman for six more years and at the end of it i got so sick i nearly died. it created such extreme dissonance my physical body started fully breaking down. only since starting hormones have i been getting better. it cost me more than i can say. which brings me to point eight. 

8. i am not like you. living the way you do would kill me. my health and the way you speak about yourself are in total opposition. there is nothing nonbinary in me and my relationship to my sex, i have no connection to a “female identity”, i do not identify with the term “transmasc”, i am a transsexual man plain and simple, and i would never let anything, no matter how horrible, take that from me. it is mine, and mine alone, and no experience outside of me is ever going to change that. i could be rejected by the entire trans community and though it would be frankly excruciating, it would not change who i know myself to be. you cannot relate, and therefor we are not the same. do not continue trying to appeal to me as though we are, you will not find a kindred here.

9. i did not mention you. i mentioned trans rad fems, something known in the trans community, one you are seemingly not apart of in action, as a branch of transfeminism that is reclaiming the second wave in a way that is inclusive of trans women. it trades the act of reducing someone down to their physical sex for reducing someone down to their gender, and just as terfs view trans women as “evil men” and trans men as “lost women”, trans rad fems view trans men as “evil men” and trans women as “lost women”, and in the end, as always, everyone who doesn’t agree with them, trans men and women alike, end up hurt. if you have a coin that is radical feminism, trfs are on one side, and terfs are on the other. absolutely no one was talking about self identified “trans identified females”, but you sure did confidently misunderstand that. 

10. “you all did that” hello! you are speaking to a stranger right now! i have never harassed another person before! i actually am in mad passionate love with the block button and use it religiously, note on that don’t be surprised if you end up blocked down the line, i’ll give enough time to make sure you are able to see this and read as much as you do or don’t want but past that i most likely will just want to toss your account back out into the sea of millions of people and move on. i have a very low threshold for radical feminism. specifically because i know it too well, and no longer have anything new to learn about it, and with nothing to gain, and only my time to lose, well. best to avoid it where i can. 

11. very interesting here to be called reactionary when it seems like your entire philosophy is based on a reaction. it sounds like you knew who you were, and then ended up in a very bad corner of the internet, got severely hurt, and it caused you to run into the arms of people who care about you as a woman, and you conceded as far as allowing yourself to be referred to as a, again, trans identified female. that is, definitionally reactionary. 

12. i simply aim to encourage my community to stray from infighting, and spread an overall message of steadfastness in our ethics so we can all fight for a common goal, which is gender liberation for everyone. which requires people who hate some of the identities under the trans umbrella to be blocked out. blocking is a nonviolent action that helps us keep focus on the greater common goal when voices enter the space with direct intent to cause pecking order behavior. it is not reactionary, through experience and hard lessons i have found it to be wise.

13. and lastly dude, i fucking love trans women who love and respect trans men, they are my comrades, they are beautiful and fucking precious to me, and i would not trade the stunning kind of love and care i have seen them bring over and over again in a million years, for people who care about me just because i was born with a pussy. dear god it sounds so miserable, i’d be missing out on the coolest people, that i don’t have to sacrifice any part of myself to be accepted by, what hell that would be. good god okay, waow, every single interaction i have with a radical feminist, trans exclusionary or not, continues to be ridiculously unpleasant. that’s me done now. off to contemplate how i'm spending my time lately skjhdkd

also perhaps most importantly dude, stop arguing with a child in my notifications, it's weird as shit. they're a kid and you're an adult fucking act like it please.

uvb76fan is posting in this tag talking about all the ways trans men have it “worse”, while misrepresenting the statistic she is citing. most likely banking on no one looking closer or reading the links.

this person is a terf. if you search trans on her blog it is immediately clear, i am not using terf loosely she is literally actually a terf.

we cannot let our weariness at not being heard by some of our community push us into the sick and malformed arms of transmisogyny and radical feminism, these people do not care about us at all, they are trying to harm every single one of us. our solidarity with trans women, men and people as whole should cause us to slam hard on the breaks. no matter how many trans women you see being antitransmasculine it does not mean that there are not so many more who are our genuine allies, do not let the algorithm pushing hateful person after hateful person your way skew your understandings. the transphobes want dissent, they want us to tear each other apart. we do not need to contribute to the harm to have ours lessened. (causing harm to a vulnerable minority is never morally correct no matter what got you there in the first place. also straight up trans women are easy to love and are inherently deeply deserving of community solidarity, and fascism (which terfs are) should not have any appeal whatsoever no matter how hurt you are but i digress.)

on another note: we cannot and must not reactively take on the mentalities of trans rad fems, no gender in the trans community needs to be the most oppressed to be taken seriously and given respect in our community, the equality in our suffering is immense and must be acknowledged without each group needing to prove we are the most victimized to get the care and community support we need. this is harmful no matter who is doing it. we absolutely must nip this kind of thinking in the bud.

push back on terfs in this tag everywhere you can, and if there is a reason you cannot comment or reblog to shut them down, block them on sight.

[cricky-butspicy]

No idea if this has been asked before, and there's too many answers to go through for me to ACTUALLY find it- question for Slasher boys!

If the reader was, let's say, hurt by their family and possibly kicked out for coming out to their family as gay, bi, trans, or anything along the LGBTQ+ spectrum before they went off to college, how would the Slasher boys react to finding out that tidbit of knowledge?

ANOTHER THING- EXPECT ART OF MY READER INSERT AT SOME POINT IN TIME WHEN I FIGURE OUT MOST OF HIS DESIGN. You have a moth lover reader insert coming at ya, prepare yourself for tiny, moth color painted desk helper robots he collects and names, and prepare yourself for cute, moth themed jackets

I think there is a way to go to the magnifying glass and search posts by words/tags they contain! It's easier than going through the whole blog. If anything, I usually will link you an answer if it's been previously answered! So, no worries! This one hasn't been answered.

They seem fine at a glance. Of course they are sorry you had to go through that and are upset by it, but really, it's hard to see how upset they are by it. Like the tight fists and the bitten tongues and the pure rage trying to seep out of their skin. They focus on you when you tell. They make it about you and how they are worried about you and your feelings. They don't let you see just how worked up they are from hearing something so terrible.

Hope that these boys don't know your home address and hope that you don't give them time to find out! Also hope that you are clear on who was bad and who was good to you in your family. Otherwise you might just find that they are taking a "trip" for a few days! Where are they going? Oh, nowhere special. Just a little place they know that they want to spend a little time at. Oh? You want to come? Sorry, but maybe next time! They just need a little them time is all!

And if you look and see in the papers that your family was massacred, don't even worry about it! You get calls about them all passing away under a mysterious attack? Murderers that look to have killed in cold blood. That's so strange! Who could have done it? And Soleil and Atlas come back and ask you how you've been while they've been away and you tell them of this "tragedy" and they wonder what on earth could have happened! They comfort you a lot; they do know even separated family can have complicated ties to a person, but they assure you everything will be alright. They were so cruel to you. They didn't deserve you. You're better off without them. They'll help you through this. Everything will be ok <3 And you know, you are perfect just the way you are, right? No one could ever tell you differently, you know? Not on their watches. Not. On. Their. Watches.

In reality, this is a hard one for both of them to hear. Soleil has some major problems accepting his own sexuality while Atlas's mom has major problems accepting his sexuality and his older-half sibling's, Deimos, sexuality and gender identity. Soleil is scared his family and the world would despise him for coming out and accepting his feelings (which I will tell you, would never happen with his family. They are a very accepting group of people and love him no matter what) while Atlas's mom wants to save her children for her god (who she assumes is their god naturally.) Atlas thinks it's horseshit, and will openly flaunt how in love he is with Soleil around her and that Deimos is fucking Monty behind her back (which she full-heartedly denies,) and that her god can screw themself. He's not worried about other people's opinions like that. Especially not his mom's.

They take care of you in the way they know how.

-

I look forward to your self insert!!! I live to see them all! 🥰💕 Poor Soleil will have a time! He's terrified of most flying insects but especially of butterflies with moths as a close second! He's a fearful guy! But I LOVE MOTHS SO I'M EXCTIED!

[realgoogleslides]

Thou art anon purple. Get purpled :)

Purple?

P- Purple?

Purple! OH MY GOD WHYYY I AM A GOLDEN APPLICATION I CAN'T BE PURPLE I CAN'T BE LIKE FORMS OR *SHUDDERS* Sites...

[watchfuldeer]

last night i went to a really fun and informal fundraiser evening with jesse and lucy at westminster school, where they were interviewing each other. i got to ask a question which i’ve mused upon for some time about tom, shiv and greg. enjoy! full transcript under cut

Transcript

me: so i’m gonna have to look at what i wrote down.

jesse: that’s alright, you’re highly in credit since you know more about the show than us. more about john berryman.

(laughter)

lucy: tell us what we’ve done wrong so far!

me: god, no. i wouldn’t! so my question, this is a character based question, and one thing that probably got a bit subsumed in the fourth season just because everything was happening. but i’d like to know more about tom and shiv, and also greg. because my read on the situation between the three of them is that greg is a source of marital strife (laughter) that shiv never noticed, and what would it have taken for shiv to notice the depth of greg’s presence in their marriage.

jesse: uh huh.

me: and tom’s attachment to him.

jesse: uh huh. sometimes you get little bits in life or you see something and you’re like, i wish we were making the show, because i suddenly do want to hear shiv say ‘greg you’re a source of marital strife’.

(laughter)

jesse: that’s like, when you’re like, that’s gonna be in, we’re not gonna cut that.

lucy: absolutely.

jesse: (doing greg voice) wh-wh-what?!

(laughter)

lucy: yeah. well we enjoyed that, didn’t we. we had a scene in america decides, which was the only scene between shiv and greg.

jesse: oh yeah.

lucy: the election episode in the final season where she takes him into a little room and threatens him.

me: ah, but it’s jealousy over lukas, over the greg and lukas thing, and it’s like, have you forgotten your husband, who is also very attached to this limpet?

lucy: yeah. i would also say that there are marriages in which a third party is not an unuseful thing, as well. not in a forgiving way about infidelity, but i would say that there are things that tom can express with and at and on greg (laughter) as it were, to greg, that are useful because he’s both a - you know the great, the interesting thing about tom is that he’s both a courtier and a bully. he’s that rare combination of someone who you totally believe as being almost like (mimes bowing and doffing cap) ‘oh yes sorry thank you yes ma’am’ and also like, ‘i’m gonna kill you’ and that juxtaposition is what makes him so interesting.

but in his marriage to shiv he has no real way, until quite late i guess in the final season, where we explore it, to hold power over her and to use that part of himself. so he’s accepted the acquiescing, he’s accepted the role of courtier in that marriage, and greg is quite a useful place where he gets to express all of that, the bully in him so that maybe it doesn’t have to come out in the marriage. which might be bad, because perhaps it should do and then the marriage would’ve ended much earlier, yknow, when shiv would just be like ‘i’m not dealing with you challenging me in any way’. so it’s not until that balcony scene i think where he really challengers her much at all. possibly the beach scene, where he sort of says that he’s considered leaving her, and how that would feel. but with aggressive challenge? it’s all directed at greg, and greg is allowed to be the place where all those feelings go.

me: but the affection - there’s also affection between them.

jesse: YEAH. and i think that’s the other thing maybe you’re alluding to is like, she… i think, some things you know you’re putting in the show because you talk about them and other things just naturally occur, and audiences and people tell you what the show is and what you put in there and you didn’t even realise, but i think we were aware of this - she’s oblivious. her obliviousness is a big part of her wealth and her upbringing and… so there’s something homoerotic going on between greg and tom.

me: i mean it’s not for me to say.

(laughter)

jesse: and does she… i think there’s two ways of reading that, either she’s oblivious, and that’s intriguing and possible. the other is that she sort of - there’s a scene in, you know that one, in the sun valley media conference in argestes, where we wrote a bit where shiv shows up unexpected and tom’s sort of flirting with someone, and it never really landed that much. i think we were like, oh this really gonna, shiv’s gonna spark up when she sees him flirting with someone. and it’s one of those things where you were like, you know what? i don’t think she gives a hoot, really, does she.

(laughter)

jesse: it’s like, she hasn’t got that, that’s not in her belly, that fear of loss.

lucy: no.

jesse: so i think that goes, that probably goes for a same-sex relationship or flirtation as much as it does for with a woman.

lucy: i think that’s true.

jesse: like she really… even if he was like - and this is not the way that tom would be like - ‘i think i’d like to sleep with greg’, i think she’d be like (mimes looking at watch) ‘when?’.

(laughter)

jesse: (as shiv) ‘not when i’m in the city, that’s weird, tom’.

(laughter)

jesse: i don’t think she’d have any fundamental objection to that.

lucy: that’s true. i think jealousy is quite a low status emotion.

jesse: yes.

lucy: and i think that she would struggle to feel it.

(jesse laughs)

lucy: even if it was present in some way, she would never be able to access it because it would put her too much at a disadvantage. so i think yeah exactly that, it would be like, ‘oh i guess you’re going to fuck that boring woman now are you, tom’ or do that, like… she has to be here (mimes one hand above another hand) so jealousy can’t really be accessed by her. so she might be irritated by greg, but in the way you would be by a mosquito.

me: to her detriment.

lucy: to her detriment, sure, ultimately yeah.

[neurodiversitysci]

Ok, so you know how sometimes you read something that stabs you in the chest with how painfully perfectly it describes your life but it's wonderful and you want to hang onto it forever? Yeah...

“It means,” he said, slowly, “that I am never sure if I am doing it right. Anything. Speaking. Sitting. Replying to texts. Answering phones. Not answering phones. Remembering to say good morning when I walk into a room even though I’ve already seen the person earlier in the corridor and we nodded, so I assumed that covered it.”

...“It means I rehearse every conversation before it happens and then rewrite it in my head for hours afterward, wondering if I was rude or confusing or... wrong. And usually I was.”

... “It means sounds are loud, John. Not just annoying. Not just inconvenient. Loud. Like nails in the brain. And lights are too bright and clothes are too itchy and some people chew like war crimes. And I know - I know - I sound mad when I say that. But I notice everything, and I can’t stop noticing, and when people say I’m too sensitive, what they mean is that my senses are a fault in the wiring.”

... “It means that I am always calibrating. Calibrating my face, my voice, my hands. Making sure my posture is readable but not arrogant. Making sure my jokes are human enough to be liked but clever enough to pass as mine. Making sure I don’t say the wrong thing, which I always do anyway, because by the time I’ve worked out what would be right it’s already too late.”

... “It means I don’t know how to be me in a way that doesn’t bother everyone else.”

_______

“Why am I working this hard to live in a world that doesn’t want me in it unless I perform a very specific version of brilliance and shut up the rest of the time?”

“I’m tired of pretending. Of fighting every instinct. Of scanning every word for acceptable intonation.”

_____

“I should’ve asked. I just thought if you needed help, you’d say.”

Sherlock huffed. “I thought if I needed help, it meant I’d failed.”

__________

“Oh yes. The charming genius. The troubled savant. Easy to love in fiction. Less fun at breakfast.”

______________

“Then I must be supposed to be perfect.”

“Why?” John asked. “Why perfect?”

Sherlock hesitated. Then: “Because otherwise I’m just... difficult. Without value."

________

(Also, this is OCD as I've never seen it before -- less about compulsive nearness or ritual checking, and more about the brain screaming at you that something is Wrong or Unfinished. Which is surprisingly relatable).

John is delightful. The therapist is wonderful. It's moving seeing them say healing things Sherlock needed to hear, and maybe I need to hear, too.

Oh, also, the fic is funny.

Thanks for making me feel seen, and showing me new perspectives, Bee!

After Mary is deported after it turns out she was never pregnant, John moves back to Baker Street. All should be well. Sherlock is solving crimes, the milk no longer tries to kill him, and John is where he is supposed to be. So why does everything still feel wrong?

A biting comment from Donovan sparks an inconvenient thought that just won't be silenced - what if he doesn't know himself as well as he should? What if a deeper understanding could make things feel right? As Sherlock stumbles through OCD diagnosis, therapy, and the shocking realization that he might actually want to feel better, the people around him begin to notice - some sooner than others.

20,000 words, Johnlock friends-to-lovers, little sprinkles of angst because ERP therapy is a biiiiiiitch, but also lots of fluff and a happy ending. Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66054655/chapters/170217577

[spotaus]

Hey i am back with a thought.

I know we already mentioned like. The future future plans concerning kids in the New Age storyline.

I was thinking. Who would carry/get the kid in the couples? (Yes this implies mpreg. If this aint your thing no worries you can just ignore everything else :3 )

As you mentioned before. Nightmare and error would most likely adopt.

Between dream and blue i think blue would end up carrying the kid. Dream would feel too locked up and locked down if he had to take it easy. Also. Let this man pamper Blue. He deserves that.

Ccino and Killer. Ccino wouldnt want kids for a LONG time and even just the idea would be slow going. But killer has his soul situation (is that also a situation in this story?) And he is a knight being out and about. Ccino is safely at home and would be the safer option. But they would need a long time before ccino would feel comfortable with the idea.

Horror and Crop. Crop. Hands down. Horror with his work and Crop has help on the farm. But i doubt thwy would get a kid because they have along distance relationship.

Cross and Lust it depends on who wants it more. I can see both being the one who does it mostly because i can see pros and cons for both sides.

Reaper, Geno and Dust. Only one option. Reaper. Dust doesnt have a healthy enough soul and that with his spell around it? No way he can carry a kid. Geno meanwhile only has a soulshard so he isnt healthy enough to carry a kid either. Leaving only Reaper as an option.

Okay that was it. :D

Haha! Omg I keep forgetting this is smth I can think about! Usually it's not my scene so it might not cone up much in-stiry but it IS how I picture the cast having kids in this one, so!!! We're diving in!!

Like u said, those boys are adopting hehe-

With Dream and Blue it's a bit hard, because I think that Dream would be really really worried about Blue the entire time. Like, terrified his magic would accidentally trigger the whole Twin thing. But, ultimately, yeah, probably Blue! Dream *would* get too restless, and Blue rlly does deserve to be pampered hehe- (I just think Blue would have to really really talk Dream into it. Dream does NOT want to be like his mother anymore.)

Killer and Ccino... let's go with a yes on Killer's soul situation, so Ccino would be their only option. But, like you said, it would be ages before they even thought about discussing the idea, let alone actually having a kid.

Ohhh yeah. I see Horror and Crop as the ones least likely to have kids (as u said, long Distance relationship, but also they just have to much on their plates? They're practical guys and focus on their work and existing families first. Plus, someone has to be the cool uncles to their nieces and nephews!) But definitely Crop. Especially because Horror is pretty low on natural magic as-is and even though his soul is healthy, his body might not even be able to form a firm ecto, let alone anything safe to harbor a forming soul. (Unlike Ccino, Horror was born that way, and the injury didn't help lmao-)

Cross and Lust? I think they'd both regularly get baby fever, but neither of then would be ready to settle down for a *while* in that way, so I think they'd push off the question until years later. Then when it comes up, they 'fight' over it. Insisting that they should carry- I think they'd end up choosing Cross though! As much as Lust seems like the more convenient option, as he's not a knight, Cross is just built different and insists that if anything goes wrong he wants to be the one it happens to. Which, ofc, leads to him doing training whilst in the early stages until someone (probably Killer or Dust) notices he's a little off and then Cross admits he's got a soulling. He did not expect to immediately get horrified looks (because they were fighting someone with a lil guy inside them, not because he has a lil guy) or to immediately get ushered out of training and to his room because??? Idiot??? What were you thinking??? Cross is the worst at staying off his duties, but his brother's have him covered, thank god-

And yep, put perfectly! Reaper is so genuinely the only option! It leads to some odd interactions, since Reaper can't exactly stop being King, but he manages shockingly well and has Geno there to help him (and probably later on Dust, since Night isn't about to leave Dust out of that due to work-) And. I like to think these three in particular have multiple kids perhaps, Kane and then another, and it's kinda a running joke that Reaper's the one hauling them around lmao- (Also very convenient! Because Reaper is the one with death magic in his soul, the kids are effectively immune to it! They were made from that stuff basically, so ofc they're fine!)

[serial-serializednovelreader]

In a Canadian 1973 Dracula TV-movie (it's on youtube), when Jonathan sees Dracula leaving the castle for England, he touches his throat, and we see two bite marks on it, showing that Dracula had bitten him off-screen.

Then the three vampire women appear, and tell him that now that Dracula has left, Jonathan is meant to become their new husband.

HAHAHAHAHA wait, that’s so funny!! I’m glad someone at least thought of this too when making an adaptation. I’m simultaneously picturing a “babe, wake up, new husband just dropped” meme and the women appearing — checking their nails — while one of them says “ok, so you’re, like, our new husband now. So be a dear and get us some food, why don’t you?”

I imagine it goes down much less funny than either of these, but I’m having a blast imagining this! It’s just so bizarre.

And you said it’s on YouTube? I checked and I think it’s free…oh no. Now I’m tempted to watch it and post my reactions. I haven’t even posted my final thoughts on BBC Dracula though. Decisions, decisions…

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! I’m trying my hand at writing and wanted to ask for some advice if you have the time and energy! I’ve been struggling to make my characters diverse in their opinions, introspections and worldviews without them seeming cliched. I find they read like superficially deviated iterations of myself and carry my own voice. How do you create believable characters that are very different from each other? (This is something I think you do very well). Do you have any advice or inspirations for authentically stepping into their shoes so to say? Much love

Hi anon!

I've written about characterisation before!

Check out this advice I've written on how to write and differentiate dialogue post, and start here. A lot of the things you need to differentiate dialogue also help build your character, but character voice is the most immediate way to have characters sounding different and therefore also feeling different as an experience to write and read. There's exercises here, and things to consider when building a dialogue reference for a character!

Then read this post I wrote on the Cafe Game and do this exercise with characters you're struggling most to develop. The Cafe Game gives you a breakdown of body language, social responses, motivations, comfort in public, food preferences, dialogue, etc. all from a single written exercise. This will help you go deeper and make sure you're choosing things different to you (if you want to!) It can sometimes help to do the Cafe Game for yourself first so you've got a sheet to compare other character sheets to and be like 'oh shit we're doing 90% of the same things, time to change some things up.' (Self insert isn't bad, but it's good to know a) when you're doing it and b) make sure not every character is a self insert).

These two things combined will help give you enough tools to really make great headway with character differentiation! And also help you really get stuck into your characters, even minor ones.

A final piece of advice is to remember that all of your characters have different motivations from each other. They will all have different strengths and weaknesses. Some of those things might be shared, but ultimately, when 6 people join together in a crew for example, they usually have slightly or hugely different reasons and motivations for doing so. Keeping that in mind can also help, but I find that dialogue work is an area most folks need practice, simply because they've never thought much about it before! It's also - and I'm biased - one of the most fun things to think about, so start with the first two posts I've linked anon!

[skeletalheartattack]

Releases pikmin creatures into your home

What will you do?

probably have sex with them i guess

oh fucm *slides my hair back and sprays perfume into my mouth* agh agh cough fuck wrong thing *sprays that other shit into my mouth then pops my shirts collar* what's up lil mamma. how about we find a quiet place to sit and make the whole place wet... EUGH!!! what's all this then!!

anon. anon. what do i do if she's a milf