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seiwas · 11 months

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boyfriend iwaizumi hajime fixing your posture every time he sees you hunched over and slouching—the way he holds your shoulders and straightens it by rolling it back, thumbs pressing into your shoulder blades.

he gently pushes your lower back whenever he notices you curling into yourself, runs his fingers up your spine too.

and he does it all quietly, your only warning the feel of his hands on you.

it’s almost like he has a radar for it, some posture-sense that tingles every time your back is anything but straight.

when you complain about back pain, he snorts, mumbling a ‘wonder why’ before coming over to knead out the knots anyway.

he buys you an ergonomic chair to hopefully help out, even leaves x-rays and scans of bad backs lying around to give some subliminal message of what could happen if you don’t fix it now.

and when he takes you from behind, pushing down on your lower back to give him that arch he likes, he’s teasing, telling you that you only seem to listen when he has you like this.

he’s really starting to think, should he start fucking you with your back straight?

#can anyone tell im obsessed w his hands #can anyone tell im obsessed w HIM #iwaizumi x reader #how he squeezes your traps and you take it as a signal to straighten up immediately #i think it comes to a point where . he kind of pavlovs you into it 🤧 his mere presence in the room has you straightening your back #and that’s exactly what he wants 🥺 he just wants a good back for his baby #so he can blow your back out 🥲🫶🏻#later on . tonight . eventually .#i mEAN WHAAAAATTTTT no one saw me type this #im crying 🥲 iwa hours open rn #my bf straightens my back all the time bc i have terrible posture n he always notices lmao #n he always tells me id be taller and my back would hurt less and id complain less abt how i look in photos #i tell him its hard !!!!! i have baggage up front !!!#he shuts up but continues to straighten it quietly ajsjxjsjxnnsskxk #(hes right tho… i rlly shud fix my posture)#seiwa.🤍#rated #shotorus.workbook

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desceros · 6 months

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tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that.

It’s late. You can’t sleep.

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded.

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now.

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened.

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t.

“…Please?” you try again.

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.”

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.”

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room.

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night.

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin.

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more.

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face.

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh.

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep?

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear.

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily.

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.”

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

#me slurring with a voice thick with sleep: two best friends that are in love but too close to tell and so they dance like leaves in the wind #forever brushing close. darting about like little butterflies. gossamer wings catching the light and enchanting one another w each breath #but too close. too close. you can't see the scope of a painting when it's the single strokes that catch your eye.#.....................it's almost four in the morning. im sure there are errors but i shan't be fixing them now. have it as it comes #tmnt #rise #donatello/reader #my fic #rating: t

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snakeoid · 8 months

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*beams him* call that a black bear

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #halsin #i just noticed his neck looks way skinnier than its supposed to in that last one #ouuugh i just laid down and i think its too late to fix it please forgive me #shouldve gave him facial hairbangs head on the wall!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i rate this 6.5/10 #ik elves are supposed to be hairless but who cares also 💗 halsin clearly isnt the average elf. i just wish i went tje whole mile

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captainofthetidesbreath · 2 years

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Fjord dies (2.98) // Chetney attacks Orym and Fearne (3.39)

Bonus:

#Critical Role #Fjord #Chetney Pock O'Pea #Travis Willingham #Critical Role things #CR spoilers #CritRoleEdit #Gena makes stuff #Gena's gifs #don't @ me about frame rates. I fucked it up and Photoshop refuses to fix them even when i set different rates

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retrogamingblog2 · 2 years

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steddieunderdogfics · 2 months

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for this weekend's 'slow burn' challenge:

All the wounds that are ever gonna scar me, by lesbian_from_next_door on ao3

All the wounds that are ever gonna scar me by lesbian_from_next_door

Rating: Explicit

24,768 words, 9/9 chapters

Archive Warning: No Warnings

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Injury Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Eddie Munson Lives, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Slow Burn, Explicit rating for later chapters, Bathing/Washing, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Bottom Eddie Munson, Top Steve Harrington, Hair-pulling

Summary:

At first glance, Eddie certainly looked dead. There was a lot of blood, the bats had gotten a longer go at him than they had Steve. He was lying so perfectly still, barely breathing, that he could have easily been mistaken for having already passed away. But Steve saw his chest move, just barely, enough that he was sure Eddie wasn’t completely gone yet, they still had hope. “I’m not leaving him,” Dustin’s voice was shaky, scattered with hiccups. “You can’t make me leave him here.” - aka: What if Eddie wasn't quite dead, and goes to hide and heal at Steve's house while his parents are gone. Steve has a sexuality crisis.

Thanks for the rec!

This rec is a part of Theme Weekend. The theme this weekend is Slow Burn.

Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!

#steddie #steve harrington #steddie fic recs #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger things #steddieunderdogfics #slow burn #theme weekend #rated e #canon divergent #fix it #sharing a bed

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rexwrendraws · 1 year

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Sandcastles: Year One, A Sandman Fan-Fic Anthology ⏳

To celebrate The Sandman's one year anniversary this past weekend (how has it been a year already!?), I started a self-indulgent project and decided I wanted to take a crack at typesetting for the very first time.

So, I'm very proud to present: Sandcastles, an 180-page digital anthology that celebrates some of my favorite Sandman fics from the past year! Sandcastle collects shorter fics ranging from gen to mature, and is print-ready and available to be downloaded for free. Through this anthology, I hope others can get the same joy from these fics the same way I did over the past year (think of it as a glorified fic rec list)! (And, if anyone's interested, the print-ready files are available for download as well, if anyone wanted to print their own copy of Sandcastles!)

✨ Download Sandcastles here!

Thank you to all the authors for giving me permission to include their work in this anthology! This is my love letter to all of your work! Please check them out and leave a kind word or two!

The fics included in Sandcastles, in order of the Table of Contents, are the following:

Companions - Picture_Yourself (@anthrossandman)

Fridays - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Warning Sign - issylra (@issylra)

Snacktime - fishydwarrows (@fishfingersandscarves)

Stray - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Aulon Raid - moorishflower (@moorishflower)

Unbidden Miracles - mostlybuddingthoughts (@mostlybuddingthoughts)

Available - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Points of View - cuubism (@cuubism)

Fern-Fevered - notallsandmen (notallmaenads) (@notallsandmen)

The Last - secondjulia (@secondjulia)

Scratch a Little Itch - sanyumi (@valeriianz)

Simple Dreams of Comfort - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

The Apocalypse is Nigh! - cuubism (@cuubism)

To Those Who Dare Wonder - Astrophel_Hireath (@mentallyinvernation)

The Perils of Inebriation - Lilibet (@the-slow-arrow)

Touch - softestpunk (@softest-punk)

Passing the Time - Anonymous

I'm Stuck on You (I'm Mighty Glad You Stayed) - hardly_an_escape (@hardly-an-escape)

Hob Gadling vs. The British Museum (Unknown Artist, c. 2022, Oil on Canvas) - TheAllKnowingOwl (@theallknowingowl)

This also counts as my submission for Day 1 of @mr-sadman 's Sandmanniversary 2023 prompts (Collection) :)

_ _ _ _ _ (Post & files updated — 29.08.2023)

#Sandmanniversary #Sandmanniversary2023 #the sandman #dreamling #dc #typesetting #fic rec #rex typesetting #sandcastles anthology #not my fic #no E rated fics bc i keep picturing my roommate stumbling on it if i print it lmao those are between me and my ao3 bookmarks #i also cannot stress enough that this was my first time typesetting anything ever so if there are little formatting or spelling errors --#-- im sorry!! but thank you for letting me experiment with your fics!#please dm me if any links on this post stops working/needs to be fixed

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wangxianficrecs · 4 months

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Confusion by Vrishchika

🔒 Confusion

by Vrishchika (@vrishchikawrites)

Not rated, 4k, Wangxian

Summary: Wei Wuxian wakes up in a strange place. Eight hundred years didn't teach Lan Wangji patience. Kay's comments: A short story of what would have happened if Wei Wuxian hadn't returned after thirteen years but instead thrown eight hundred years into the future. In that time, Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng amongst others have gained immortality and the world has long since changed its opinions about Wei Wuxian's cultivation and his role as the Yiling Patriach. I really loved that and I also really loved the lore the story wrote for golden cores and how immortality works. Excerpt: "Looks?" She glances at him, "Tall, decidedly underweight, pale, grey eyes, unreasonably long hair like in those period dramas. He asked me if my phone was a. talisman." Wei Wuxian mouths the new word, intrigued by it. "Er, yeah, actually," She says, "Pretty serious." She goes on to list his injuries again, "He was unconscious for a while. Healing will take months. He's on a significant dose of painkillers right now but seems pretty active and coherent- uh, sure I'll ask." She turns to him, "Tell me something only Lan Wangji would know?" Wei Wuxian arches a brow at the strange question and thinks back before his lips twitch into a wide grin, "He bit me out of frustration while we were trapped in Xuanwu's Cave." Lan-guniang looks very skeptical as she conveys that information. The faint voice coming from the phone changes and the maiden's expression changes as well. She glances at him with wide eyes and then nods quickly, "Yes, of course. Yes, he's in no danger. The most concerning thing is a surgical scar and the absence of his Golden Core, we wondered if trafficking-" She frowns and his eyes widen, "Yes… yes, I'm sure." Wei Wuxian waves his hand frantically only to wince when his sore body protests, "Guniang, wait! Don't tell-"

pov wei wuxian, canon divergence, time travel, fix-it, future fic, immortal lan wangji, immortal jiang cheng, post-canon, golden core reveal, golden core fix-it, love confessions, friends to lovers, wei wuxian has a new golden core, immortal wei wuxian, first time, first kiss, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconcilation, happy ending

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

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