#like the spurs are clean but a lil too clean... that is how the spurs operated back then tho

[jrueships]

Fav NFL or NBA logo

this might be a controversial onion but my fav nba logo... is the okc thunder one 😭 ... oh and my fav nfl logo is the dolphins !!!

[yaekiss]

on this sinful sunday, i’m having very holy thoughts of either branding or carving my name onto childe’s skin— maybe that tummy he’s so insistent on not covering up, maybe a nice little tramp stamp. i know he’s making sure it scars, picking at the scabs and whining for you to redo them if they dare to fade away— he belongs to you!

꩜ Room Content: Dom! GN! Top! Reader x Sub! Bottom! Yan! Tartaglia, reader's dick can also be read as strap, gore + eroguro, knifeplay + blood, masochist Tartaglia, spanking (just once, on Tartaglia), terrible wound care by Tartaglia please don't follow his actions, lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: Happy Whore Wednesday pulpie! Or uhhh, it was Wednesday when I started writing this. Got a lil carried away hehe :3 Happy Thotaglia Thursday! Slut on! (With you, Childe feels like every day is Thotaglia Thursday)

Anyways. Childe thinks of you as pure divinity, the holiest of beings, and he’s eager to worship all of you and bear everything that you’re willing to bless him with. Who is he to say no to the pain you inflict on him too?

This time, he’s cockwarming you, the heat and desire he feels is dizzying. You’re inside him and just the sensation of you filling him up perfectly has left him giddy with lust. His face is smushed into the mattress with his azure eyes already rolled into their sockets. Prior to this, he pressed a lavishly decorated dagger into your palm with a fervent sort of urgency, begging for you to mark him up however you like. You try to think back on what could’ve spurred this on. Was it that merchant trying to chat you up at the market the other day? Or perhaps it’s just a sick kind of longing that hangs around the ginger no matter how much time you spend together? One thing remains clear, at its core, Childe wants to be utterly and irrefutably yours.

Taking up the dagger, you admire the inlaid gemstones glinting in the lighting of the room, their colours matching the exact shade of your eyes and you’re sure that this must have cost an arm and a leg. Tracing the cold metal down the ridge of his spine, you feel him shudder, your ears picking up a soft keening whine. You start off slow, the tip of the blade breaking past skin and revealing glorious liquid crimson. Childe sucks in a breath at the delirious buzz of pain and pleasure that he’s subjected to at your hands. 

“Nghh… please I wanttt-! to be yours!” Greedy as always.

You take your time carving out your name into his flesh, revelling in just how many moans and whines you can wring out from the harbinger. Despite how muddled his senses are, he’s acutely aware of each and every searing twist and pull of the knife. Some of the warm blood trickles and drips down to where the two of you are connected and the sensation has him losing the ability to speak, brain reeling at how disgustingly intimate this whole act is. However, over time, Childe gets squirmy and twitchy with how pent-up he’s getting, the arousal in him pooling and heightening. That simply won’t do. Good boys need to stay in line while their lover is being so so so nice to them after all. With a pointed “tsk”, you land a hard smack on his ass as a warning. He yelps loudly at the impact but he gets the message, obediently staying still as you finish carving the tramp stamp. 

When you’re finally done, you pull out of him, the lack of your cock filling him up has Childe whining again but it snaps him out of his reverie. You reach over to grab a mirror and angle it so that he can see (read: marvel at) your handiwork. His eyes glint as he catches sight of the fresh cuts, the wound spelling out your name and the fact that you’ve claimed him as your devoted believer. However, he doesn’t let you go further than cleaning and disinfecting the wound site. (Secretly, he hopes that it leaves a permanent scar, an eternal pure white etched into his skin to show that he belongs to you without question.)

Throughout the whole healing process, he picks away at the scabs that try to cover the wound, opening it back up again so that your name is written in a carnal raw red. Whenever he stares at it in the bathroom mirror for too long and thinks that a certain part of it is fading away too fast without leaving a mark, he rushes to you, whining and begging for you to redo it with a frenzied tone in his voice. 

He wishes you’ll dig even deeper, maybe even push your fingers into his flesh until he’s screaming and clenching down on your cock, use his blood as lube as you fuck up into him relentlessly. The thoughts keep coming and you can’t go a full week without Childe pleading for you to lay your claim on him.

Maybe next time he’ll convince you to leave your mark on his abdomen so that everyone can see who he belongs to.

Thanks for reading! Consider supporting me on kofi if you enjoyed this or check out my other works hehe ♡

[soaringthroughthegalaxy]

Comgratulations!!! Thats a interesting celebration!!! I can not put my mind around what are you going to birth with this 😚🙀 (sorry if sound weird english is not my thing but your writing are beautiful creations so the metaphor is alright)

Can this jedi (or medic) reader travel with Crosshair (It's a shame it can't be the twins or Maker bless us, all force 99) with soulmate as luggage to either Naboo or Alderaan? 😖

Thank you for booking with Soaring's Tours. We're now ready to board your flight. Please mind the gap between the transport and the platform. We wish you a pleasant journey!

Through Your Eyes

In a galaxy consumed by war, you find solace away from the medbay and injured troopers by painting your dreams. But a chance encounter reveals those dreams are more than they seem...

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: brief reference to surgery, good ol' soulmates trope, breaking and entering, Cross can never give a straight answer, softness, romance, first kiss, lil' innuendo.

Your brush swooped across the canvas, and green paint dragged across its surface to form a tree. There was no reference holo, just the memory from last night’s dream in your mind.

Over the last year, your dreams have taken a turn. Once focused on your life, they’d now switched to landscapes - deserts, snowy mountains, swamps - they were endless. But they all had one thing in common. They were all from great heights, as if you were a bird soaring through the sky.

As a child, you found peace in painting, locking yourself away for days at a time. As you grew up and left for medical school, it helped ease your frazzled nerves after hectic days. And now, with the war raging across the galaxy and the Kaminoans relying on your expertise in trauma surgery, it was how you chased away the images of injured troopers.

As you dipped your brush into the pot of water on your desk, your gaze lingered on the small mark on your wrist - your soulmate mark. It had appeared five years ago - late by society’s standards, given that most received them before puberty. That was until a literal army of men had been revealed to the galaxy a year ago. The forums you’d frequented on the holonet had exploded, thousands of people connecting the dots that their soulmates were part of the GAR.

It was why you’d jumped at the opportunity to work for the Kaminoans when they’d been recruiting at the Grand Medical Facility. You figured it would be easier this way to find your soulmate. Some people on the forums had been able to find their soulmates through their bonds – picking up on their thoughts, sensing their feelings, or knowing they were nearby. Unfortunately, you had no idea what your connection with your soulmate was.

And you were no closer to figuring it out a year and a half into the war.

As you were about to dip your clean paintbrush into the soft brown on your palette, your datapad beeped urgently. Spurred into action, you abandoned your painting, snagging your scrubs. You dashed out of your quarters, the sterile corridor a blur as you sprinted towards the medbay. What was the emergency this time? Another trooper injured on the front lines, or perhaps an existing patient who’d turned critical?

You burst through the medbay doors, adrenaline coursing through your veins, only to be met with a scene that halted you in your tracks. A trooper lay motionless on a stretcher, surrounded by a flurry of activity as medics tended to his extensive injuries. The damage to one side of his face was the worst you’d ever seen, blood coating everything in the vicinity, and what you could see of his eye under the swelling wasn’t promising – all evidence of an explosion he’d been too close to.

Three other troopers hovered nearby, worry etched onto their faces, armour dirty and caked in blood. You didn’t even register that they looked nothing like the other clones, but you could feel a heavy gaze from their direction lingering on you.

Without hesitation, you joined the team of medics, your training kicking in as you assessed the trooper’s condition. The severity of his injuries was apparent, and you knew that every second counted. As you worked alongside the other medical personnel, your mind raced, trying to determine the best course of action to save this soldier’s life.

The medbay hummed with urgency, the air thick with tension as everyone focused on their tasks. As you worked tirelessly to stabilise the trooper, Lyndsy - a trainee medic on placement from Bespin - pressed a datapad into your hands. It was filled with notes from the team that’d intercepted the squad’s arrival, including details of the trooper.

CT-9903.

You bit your tongue. They hadn’t thought to get his name.

“Name?” You directed the question towards the three nearby troopers, gesturing to your injured patient.

“Wrecker, ma’am.” The shortest of the three spoke up, his face half-shaded by a tattoo. With a nod of thanks, you updated the information on the datapad.

“Theatre. Now.” You barked the order, stepping back to let the other medics release the brakes on the stretcher and hurriedly push Wrecker towards the operating room. A bacta bath could cure many things, but in the few moments you’d been focused on stabilising him, you’d concluded it would take far more than that for him to survive.

“I’ll do everything I can.” You assured Wrecker’s brothers quickly, wishing you had more time to explain what would happen next but knowing every second counted. With a determined focus, you led the medical team into the operating room. As the doors swung shut behind you, you blocked out the outside world, immersing yourself in the controlled chaos of the operating theatre.

Time seemed to blur as you worked, your hands moving with precision as you repaired the extensive damage inflicted upon Wrecker’s body. Each incision, each piece of shrapnel pried free, each suture, was a calculated effort to save his life, and you refused to let fatigue or doubt get in the way. The beeping of monitors and the hushed voices of your colleagues faded into the background.

Finally, you completed the last suture. As you stepped back from the operating table, your heart pounded in your chest, and you let out a deep breath, shoulders dropping with relief. You’d done all you could; now it was the Bacta’s turn. He’d likely have some prominent scars for the rest of his life, and his hearing would forever be affected, but you’d been able to replace his damaged eye with a cybernetic one and give him a blood transfusion. He’d pull through to fight another day.

Leaving the operating room, you peeled off your gloves, gown, and mask, your mind still buzzing with the intensity of the surgery as you deposited them into the biohazard chute.

“I’ll tell his squad.” Lyndsy offered, noting the tiredness in your body.

As Lyndsy’s words washed over you, a wave of gratitude swept over you. Her offer granted you some reprieve. With a nod of appreciation, you managed a faint smile before trudging back to your quarters, the tiredness starting to creep in.

Entering your cabin, you let out a long exhale, feeling the tension slowly ebb away as you sank onto the edge of your bed. The familiar surroundings offered a semblance of comfort amidst the chaos of war.

Scrubs off and buried under the comfort of your blankets, you found yourself drifting into a restless sleep. Gone were the beautiful landscapes you’d come to appreciate, replaced with images of Kamino, particularly the view from a large window. Even in sleep, your mind was working to place it, and judging by the perspective, you could pinpoint which structure it was from.

The barracks.

In the quiet corners of your mind, a realisation dawned. You hadn’t been having dreams of random landscapes; they were glimpses into someone else’s life, someone intimately connected to you. It explained the shift in your dreams, the sudden focus on places far removed from your reality. They were the places your soulmate had been seeing, the moments they had been living.

As you awakened to the soft light filtering through your window, the remnants of your dreams lingered in your mind. The realisation hit you like a ton of duracrete, settling heavily in your chest. Your soulmate was here on Kamino. The change in your dreams now made sense, and you couldn’t shake the excitement and apprehension coursing through you.

Before you could dwell too much on the revelation, there was a knock at your door. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before pushing yourself off the bed and crossing the room to answer it. As the door slid open, you were met with the unexpected sight of Wrecker’s brothers standing in the corridor.

After brief introductions, Hunter spoke up. “We just wanted to swing by and thank you for what you did last night. Wrecker’s gonna pull through, and we owe that to you.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was just doing my job. I’m glad I could help.” You answered, tucking yourself a little behind the door to hide the fact that you were still in sleepwear.

Crosshair’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, his sharp eyes taking in the details of your quarters. You shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny, suddenly feeling self-conscious about the messiness of your living space.

“You paint.” Crosshair commented casually, his tone betraying none of the thoughts swirling in his mind as he looked over the landscapes you’d committed to canvas.

You reached up to play with the neckline of your sleep shirt, a nervous habit that had developed over the years. “Yeah. When inspiration strikes.”

Crosshair’s lips quirked up in a subtle smirk as he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes flicking to the painting on the easel beside you. “You been there?”

“No. I paint what I dream about.” You admitted, trying to keep your voice steady despite your gut’s strange flicker of anxiousness.

He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you as if he were piecing together a puzzle. “Funny thing about dreams,” he mused, “sometimes they’re more than just figments of imagination.”

His words hung in the air, but before you could respond, Hunter cleared his throat, breaking the momentary tension. “Well, we should get going to the debriefing. Thanks again, doc.”

You nodded, thrown off-centre by Crosshair’s comment. “Of course. Take care, and I’ll check in on Wrecker later.”

As they turned to leave, Crosshair glanced at the painting you were currently working on before leaning toward you. “When you get around to painting it, the third tree from the right was missing the bottom five branches.” He murmured, a spark of amusement in his eyes. Then he followed his brothers down the corridor, leaving you mouth agape at the door.

For days, you couldn’t shake Crosshair’s comment from your mind. It added complexity to your interactions with him and his brothers, leaving you grappling with emotions you hadn’t anticipated.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your duties in the medbay, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Every time you passed him in the corridors or caught his gaze across the mess hall, you felt a strange pull, as if invisible threads were tying you together.

It wasn’t just you, either. There were moments when you caught Crosshair watching you, his sharp eyes giving nothing away. It left you wondering what was happening beneath the surface and what thoughts were running through his mind as he looked at you.

Returning one evening to your quarters after another exhausting shift in the medbay, you found something amiss. The door to your cabin was slightly ajar, and a sliver of dim light spilt into the corridor. Your heart skipped a beat as a rush of adrenaline coursed through you. You cautiously pushed the door open, expecting the worst, only to be met with an unexpected sight.

Crosshair was inside your quarters, standing by the easel where your latest painting was. His attention was fixated on the canvas as if examining every brushstroke with precision. His presence in your private space sent a jolt of alarm through you, but you couldn’t deny the intrigue that accompanied it.

“Crosshair?” you ventured cautiously, stepping into the room with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. “What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to suppress the hint of accusation in your voice.

Crosshair turned to face you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with those piercing eyes. “Admiring your work.” He replied casually, though there was a hint of something else in his voice.

You felt a surge of irritation at his nonchalant response. “It’s not polite to enter someone’s quarters without permission.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest defensively.

He shrugged, unfazed by your admonishment. “Noted.” He commented, his gaze drifting back to the paintings. “Figured I’d see if you were around.”

You felt a flutter of excitement mixed with apprehension at his words. “Well, here I am.” You said, gesturing to the room around you. “Not much to see, I’m afraid.”

Crosshair’s smirk widened into a grin, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that.” He replied cryptically, his gaze lingering on you in a way that sent a strange sense of heat curling through you.

“How did you know about the branches?” You steered the conversation in what you hoped was a safer direction, shutting the door behind you before you crossed over to him, glancing at the painting.

Crosshair tilted his head slightly, his gaze still fixed on the painting. “I’m familiar with that species of tree.” He lied.

You narrowed your eyes sceptically, not convinced by his explanation. “It was more than that.” You countered, gesturing towards the canvas. “You pointed out a specific detail you wouldn’t know unless you’d been there or inside my head.”

He chuckled softly, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let’s just say I have an eye for detail.” He said cryptically, his tone teasing.

You couldn’t help but feel frustrated at his evasive response. “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest once more as you regarded him with curiosity and exasperation.

Crosshair turned to face you fully, a smirk tugging at his lips, his gaze intense. “Where’s the fun in that?” He replied, his tone playful.

You refused to back down. Holding his gaze, your lips pressed into a thin line.

The silence hung heavy in the air, and anxiousness clawed at Crosshair. He’d thought he could play dumb. He should’ve known better. With a heavy sigh, he gestured to your painting on the easel. “Myrkr. The coordinates for that spot are 42.3814° N, 80.0889° E. I was there eight rotations ago. It’s where Wrecker had his accident,” he confessed.

“Bormus.” He stated, gesturing to one of your other paintings leaning against the wall. “51.5074° N, -0.1278° W.” He rattled off the coordinates before moving on to another painting, and another, and another…

You’d seen glimpses of his life.

“Does this mean...?” You began, the words catching in your throat as you searched for the right way to express the flood of emotions coursing through you.

Before you could finish your sentence, Crosshair took a step closer, closing the distance between you until barely a breath of space separated you. His gaze bore into yours with an intensity that stole your breath away, sending a jolt of electricity dancing along your skin. “I think it means we have a lot to talk about.” He murmured, his voice low and husky, sending shivers down your spine.

A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through your mind, but in that moment, you could only focus on the undeniable pull drawing you towards him.

Crosshair’s hand gently cupped your cheek, sending a shockwave of warmth through you. His gaze softened. “I’ve been dreaming too.” He admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell that had enveloped the two of you.

Your breath caught in your throat at his confession. “What do you dream of?” You managed to ask, although you already knew the answer.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Crosshair’s lips, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your cheekbone. “Surgeries. Sterile medbays.” He answered. “While you get the landscapes I see, I get the shot regs and operations that you see.”

“Our link is sharing what we see.” You whispered, the realisation washing over you like a gentle wave. “Through our dreams.”

Crosshair nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “Seems that way.” He agreed, his voice soft with a tenderness you hadn’t expected from him. “I never imagined my soulmate would be a hot doctor.” He confessed, sliding an arm around your waist to hold you close, his fingers that had been against your cheek now pushing errant strands of your hair out of your face.

A soft laugh escaped your lips as warmth swept through you. One hand moved to rest against his chest. “And I never thought mine would be a handsome soldier.” You admitted, reaching up with your free hand to ghost your fingers across his sharp jawline, relishing the feeling of his closeness.

Lost in each other’s eyes, the world outside your quarters faded into insignificance. “What do we do now?” You asked quietly, entirely at a loss.

“I’d like to explore this further.” He confessed, his voice rough with emotion as his gaze dipped to your lips for a fraction of a second. “If you’re willing.”

You nodded, a smile playing across your face. “I’d like that.”

Pleased, Crosshair spared no time before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

The galaxy ceased to exist. His lips were warm against yours, firm and demanding. You responded eagerly, your fingers dragging through his silver hair as you deepened the kiss, your heart pounding.

Crosshair pulled back, and you found yourself breathless and dizzy, your senses reeling from the intensity of the moment as his hands snaked towards your ass. Holding his gaze, you gasped quietly as his slender fingers grabbed at the curvature of your rear.

A smirk crossed his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Not bad for a first kiss,” he remarked, his tone teasing, “but I think we can do better.”

You rolled your eyes, smiling despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Yeah?” You challenged.

He leaned in closer, the scent of regulation soap and blaster cleaner filling your senses. His lips brushed the shell of your ear. “These hands don’t just make perfect shots.” He whispered.

With a playful swat to his chest, you chuckled, feeling a surge of excitement and a healthy dose of nervousness. “You better be prepared to back that up.”

Crosshair grinned as he pulled back, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “Oh you can count on it.”

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[love-bugsy]

trouble | jason todd

the worst thing about love (three) / series masterlist

you’re just trying to get through your surgical residency, but this masked vigilante keeps showing up half-dead on your fire escape and reminding you of your dead best friend. oh well, at least he's cute.

tw: no editing, allusions to character death, (haphazard) depictions of grief, mentions of blood and injuries, swearing, completely ooc Jason bc he’s just my lil guy, medical terminology learned from greys anatomy lol

only jerks steal other people’s writing and mine isn’t even that good so no reposts

The paint on your door is chipping, some of it flaking off when you shove it in that particular way to unstick the lock, dropping your keys on the side table in your entryway. Your eyes flick down to your watch, bleary eyes reading that you’ll only get a solid four hours of sleep tonight - by fault of a sadistic attending with a mountain of charts. Still half-asleep, you lock your door, habitually double-checking the deadbolt. Good ol’ Gotham. Taking a single step into your apartment, you freeze. Faint sound echoes from the living room; your TV is on.

Cold fear spills down your spine - you aren’t under any delusions that your neighbourhood is safe, but people here usually keep to themselves. You pull your baseball bat out of the umbrella stand by the door, clammy palms gripping the barrel too tightly. Wielding the bat haphazardly, you creep into your living room.

Old cartoon reruns play tinnily on your shitty TV, the nostalgia doing nothing to calm the prickling anxiety that crawls up the sides of your neck. Rounding the corner fully, you brace yourself for a murderous intruder to leap out at you; heartbeat in your throat.

Instead, your anxious heaving is broken by a gruff mumble from a lump taking up half of your couch. Fucking Red Hood. It’s the third time this month. Shoulders sagging, you pinch the bridge of your nose, squeezing your eyes shut like he’ll disappear when you’re not looking. You swear that mask glints at you mockingly when you look up again. You set the bat down, pulling off your coat and unwinding the maroon scarf around your neck. You’re being influenced, birdie.

You approach the couch, stepping around muddy boot prints to turn the television off. You drop your bag against the coffee table and slot yourself between Red Hood’s wide-spread legs. He’s slumped upright in the middle of your couch, one arm slung out over the back; scuffed leather jacket chucked over the other side. Something stutters in your chest at the sight of him taking up so much space in your home; the evidence of his presence.

You think he’s unconscious at first, but there’s a tenseness to his shoulders still; a rigidity you’ve seen lax when he was bleeding on your living room floor. The sight of him so relaxed spurs you into a bit of a panic - you doubt he would ever be so unguarded unless he had a serious injury.

Reaching out, you feel around his torso, frowning at the rough patch of dried blood seeping from his left shoulder. You unbuckle his makeshift pauldron and hunt around in your work bag for a pair of scissors to cut away his sleeve. You’re leaning over him with the scissors when he huffs, head shifting in his sleep. You flinch - nearly nicking him - and draw back holding the scissors a safe distance away.

“Shit!” You gasp out, as his mask lifts to meet your eyes. He lets out a gravelly laugh at your shock and you frown, taking your scissors to his sleeve again.

“Not gonna buy me dinner first?” He rasps drowsily. You can hear the shit-eating grin he’s sporting under the mask and you shoot him a dry look - fighting a smile as you gently pull his sleeve away. Pursing your lips at the dried blood caking his shoulder, you press around to find the wound, pausing when he draws in a sharp breath. You raise an incredulous brow.

“Is this a bullet wound?” You don’t know how he manages to look sheepish from behind the mask. He winces when you start cleaning away blood with an alcohol wipe.

“You should… shit- you should see the other guy.” You purse your lips a little, focused on cleaning the wound. Occasionally, he huffs when you get a little too close to his injury. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from scolding him for getting shot in the first place. You should examine him impartially - years of training scream that one oversight could be fatal - instead, you slip up into something instinctual; something gentle.

“Jesus, Red… this is… how the hell have you been keeping yourself alive?” For some reason this yanks a dry, barking laugh from him. That damn familiar laugh. You just can’t place it.

“You’d be surprised.” You give him as flat a look as you can manage, absently gnawing on your bottom lip as you examine his injuries. He flattens his head against the back of your couch, staring stoically up at the ceiling as you prod around the bullet wound. You yank your phone out of your pocket, aiming the weak flashlight at his shoulder. Shit. Bullet’s still in there.

He lifts his head when you turn your back to him, putting your phone down to grab what you need. You shoot him an apologetic look, “Got a bullet in there, Red.” He grunts, shifting so his shoulder is angled towards you. You pull on a pair of rubber gloves, dousing the palms in Betadine. “This is gonna hurt.” He huffs out an amused breath.

“Always does.” You lay a repentant hand on his other shoulder before digging your fingers into his wound, trying to find the shell. His breathing starts to get more laboured, his head lolling back a little. Wincing in his stead, you pull out what’s left of the bullet, wiping it off to see if there’s shrapnel still in his shoulder.

“You’re lucky, this looks intact.” You feel the way he looks at you, biting your bottom lip to hold in a laugh. He is less amused.

“Lucky, huh?” He says, gaze locked on the bullet as you hand it back to him - clean of his blood. Taking it in his good hand, he fiddles with it as you dig around for bandages in your first aid kit; you’re starting to run out. You find the bandages at the same time as you find your response; part fond, part disciplinary.

“Just be glad you don’t need stitches.” His head shifts slightly and you get the distinct feeling he’s trying to read you. He’s silent for a long while after, watching you bandage his injury quietly.

Not for the first time, you’re unsettled by the blank slate of his mask; you don’t like that you can’t figure him out. His anonymity makes the silence unnerving.

“So… you gonna tell me how you got shot?” He just looks at you, mask hiding any indication of his response.

“My self-preservation skills aren’t all that honed.” You can’t help the snort that escapes you at that, covering your mouth with both hands in embarrassment. You have to look away at how intensely he’s staring at you. Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you go back to securing his bandages.

“I noticed.” You mean for it to sound dry but you can’t fight the little smile that betrays you. You’re getting too comfortable with him, forgetting that he’s a killer, forgetting that he’s a criminal, forgetting that he isn’t him. Maybe that’s why you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “Reminds me of someone I used to know.” Stupid.

“Never heard that one before. Maybe you should introduce us.” His tone is joking, but you tense up all the same.

“No.” You say, tightly, averting your eyes. It’s cold, and mean. You grit your teeth to stop the flood of memories. Red doesn’t notice.

“Ashamed of me are ya?” He teases, voice rumbling out of his modulator. The sound is somehow twisted, grating against your ears. Unknowingly wrenching up a buried grief into the pit of your stomach; kicking dirt in a minefield.

“He’s dead.” You marvel at how cold you sound, how detached, when your chest is tight with a phantom pain. He shifts up immediately, sobering in an instant. He reaches out a gloved hand, gently pulling your wrist from where you’d unconsciously crossed your arms. He rubs an apologetic circle into your pulse point.

“Shit, sorry.” You look away, though you know it’s unfair. He winces. “I didn’t- I’m…”

“... sorry.” You nearly drop the tray of dirty dishes you're carrying at the sight of Jason in your door; hand cradling his profusely bleeding nose. Shoving the tray onto the closest table, you sit him down at a chair behind the counter and wander off to find a clean towel. Wetting it under the sink, you sigh, nudging his hand away to tenderly daub at the blood under his nose.

The silence stretches, broken only by Jason’s foot tapping on the floor as he fidgets in the chair. He winces when you bring your hand up to check his nose and you snap.

“If this was one of those Castor boys again, I’m gonna kill ‘em.” That pulls a little smile out of him, imagining you up against those 6 foot ogres. You don’t think even the Gotham in you could give you a fighting chance with those two.

“S’okay. Can handle it.” Little crease between his brows. You sigh fondly, running a curious finger over the tiny scar on his cheekbone. If you were paying a little more attention, you might have noticed the red flush crawling up his neck at your touch.

“I know that. Doesn’t mean you should.”

“Sorry I… it just makes me so angry- I,” he huffs in a tight breath, like he can’t get enough air in, “I can’t stop myself.” You frown, torn between being angry at him or with him.

“I don’t want you to apologise, blue, just,” you draw in a pensive breath, brows furrowed, “They got you bad this time.”

“They were jumping a kid, ‘dee, couldn’t stand by and watch.” His hands are as restless as his bouncing leg and you feel a twinge of endearment and jealousy all at once. He’s always moving, so much that sometimes you feel like you’re at a standstill; only a matter of time before he leaves you behind - grit in your teeth and grit in your heart. But today, he’s your best friend and he could’ve gone anywhere, but he’s here. You wrinkle your nose, worry creasing your forehead.

“You and your hero complex.” You hand him the bloody cloth to fiddle with, before gingerly checking his nose again - barely ghosting your fingertips over his nose. You didn’t know - back then - what being careful meant - to him, to you - you just knew you meant it. Your eyes are locked on his nose when you speak again, “S’gonna get you killed one day.”

He narrows his eyes at you, head tilted to the side - a language you aren’t fluent in yet. He’s serious for a long moment, watching you dart your eyes away and begin to pick at the skin peeling off your fingers. His brows loosen.

“Not when I got you lookin’ out for me, birdie.” He shoots you a toothy grin - god, you love his grin. All his teeth bared like he never learned how to smile properly. You always want to make him smile like that. Still, you can’t help the way your brows knot up, jaw tight as you watch a trickle of blood drip from his nose.

“I’m tired of watching you get hurt, Jay.” The lump in your throat makes the words come out thick; the fear makes them small. Despite your best efforts to hide them, stubborn tears pool on your lashes as you blink furiously. Jason looks devastated.

“Shit.” He brings his free hand up to take your wrist, rubbing comforting circles against your pulse. (An effort to stop your tears that only makes them fall harder.) “I’m… I’m not used to people worrying about me. I’m sorry. Fuck, please don’t cry, I hate it when ya cry.”

You let out a watery laugh, trying to swallow the lump in your throat. The little voice that tells you you’re going to lose him one day. You must look utterly pathetic when you meet his gaze because he pulls you into a tight hug, tucking your head into his shoulder as you cry.

Distantly you recognise the uncomfortable position you’re folded in, nearly bent in half to press your face into his neck, his shoulders pushing against yours. You don’t know how long the hug lasts - a lifetime in a minute and a half - but when you finally pull back, eyes puffy and red, Jason hangs on to your wrist, thumb brushing the hollow where your hand meets your wrist.

“I got your shirt all wet,” you say, laughing self consciously, “I’m sorry.” Jason just shakes his head, grinning sheepishly.

“I got blood on yours.” You nearly get whiplash from how fast your head turns to your shoulder, which now sports a deep maroon splotch. Gross, nose blood. He laughs heartily at your expression, “Guess we’re even then, birdie?” You roll your eyes, pulling your hand from his grip to cross your arms over your chest, raising a brow when he pouts in return.

His eyes dart between your unamused expression and the clock behind your head, smile faltering a little. He has to go. You hold out a hand for the cloth and he jumps up - his constant energy is a marvel - dropping the bloodied tea towel in your open palm. He runs his hand under his nose, smearing a last drop of blood over his upper lip.

You stop him as he’s about to leave, running the clean corner of the cloth gently over his mouth to wipe away the mark. He looks straight into your worried gaze, bringing up a finger to smooth the crease between your brows. “Hey, birdie, no wrinkles over me.” Your mouth twists.

“S’you and me, ‘dee, promise. Not gonna go anywhere else.” Jason holds out his hand, pinky outstretched. He cocks his head with that stupid, glorious grin of his. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging.” You roll your eyes, wrapping his finger in yours.

“You and me, blue.”

“Doc?” You jolt back into the present, hands frozen over the clip you’re securing Red’s bandage with. His hand is still wrapped carefully around your wrist and you yank it back - face heating - letting his hand fall forlornly by his side.

“Shit, sorry, I- sorry.” You finish your, somewhat shoddy, job, chucking your supplies back into your bag haphazardly.

“You okay over there?” With your back to him, you hum a less than convincing agreement that he seems to believe. You hear him rustling about behind while you zip up your bag, and assume he’s getting ready to sneak out your window, leaving you with only traces of him until he fucks up on patrol again.

Instead, when you turn around, he’s holding out a scratched up burner phone, mask tilted. You shoot him a confused look, taking the phone into your hands.

“What… am I doing with this?” He laughs, and you fight the heat rising in your cheeks at the sound.

“You know, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dense sometimes.” Now your face really does feel hot, brows furrowing at his chastisement. He chuckles at your quiet indignation, pushing the phone closer to you, “Your number, pretty girl, so you don’t get scared half to death next time I show up.” You fumble the phone, glancing between him and it as you enter your phone number. You tuck your hair behind your ear as you hand it back to him, crossing your arms again.

“Next time, huh?” You think he might be smiling under the mask, though you’d never be able to tell.

“Not getting rid of me that easily, doc.” He gets up, dusting off invisible dirt from his pants. Absently, you follow him over to your window, sweeping up his leather jacket before he can. When you hand it to him, your hands brush - a cliche jolt sparking up your arm when you touch him. He looks away as he takes it.

Red ducks out of your apartment and onto the fire escape, putting the jacket on fluidly and adjusting his mask. He gives you a little mock salute and you shake your head, biting back a smile.

“Don’t text me unless it’s an emergency.” You say, not meaning it at all.

“Swear on m’life.” He returns, fingers crossed behind his back. He turns after a last, charged stare, grasping the railing with his good arm. Flustered, you scramble, not one to let him have the last word.

You lean out of your window as he swings, one-armed (christ almighty, your knees might be weak), down onto the fire escape below. “You can use my door, you know!”

He meets your stare from below, as you hang half out of your apartment. He belts out a chesty laugh, “Now where’s the fun in that?” He swings over the fire escape, and disappears into the night.

Oh yeah, you’re in trouble.

some “emergency” texts:

y’all I wish I had an excuse but the truth is just that I have adhd and I got really into pjo haha, uh so here’s chapter 3. it’s not great but it is done so I hope you guys enjoy it, gonna make less promises about my fucked up schedule now lol.

with love, bugsy :)

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock can we get some Levi content please 🙏🏻

anything for my short king 🙌 here is a lil thingy for him

Reading is a leisurely pastime you haven't been able to partake in for what feels like ages. Letters, reports, maps, and the occasional newspaper made up the majority of your literary adventures. Utterly captivating as those options were, you longed to submerge yourself in fiction, a temporary reprieve from the tumultuous world you inhabit.

Members of the Survey Corps travel light, as the same suggests. You were essentially a nomadic people by how frequently you moved around. Books weren't considered essential enough to pack. That's why what you hold in your hands is so precious, a treasure to be cherished.

Presently, the lovestruck heroine is fleeing from the mysterious bachelor's home, a misunderstanding spurring her on. The author details her emotional turmoil, how her very heart is splitting in two—

—And then a pair of fingers snap in front of your face.

Indignant at the interruption, you lift your head, narrowing your eyes while you do so. Whoever had the audacity to interrupt your few minutes of free time could expect an unholy scolding. Your lips part, vitriol brimming on your tongue, until you make eye contact with steely blue eyes.

"Oh, Captain."

You give lackluster a salute that would've earned a punishment of infinite laps back in your trainee days.

Levi speaks your name with the same dry tone you used moments prior. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

You think to comment that he doesn't look very sorry but decide against it.

"... No."

"No?"

Slowly, you nod.

"It must be important, for you to do such a half-assed job and rush through your cleaning," he gives the book a disinterested glance. "Care to give a synopsis? I'm sure it's riveting."

Recalling the nature of the novel, your face warms, and you shut it a little too fast.

"Uh, it's, well, y'know one of those difficult to describe books."

"Maybe you should read a dictionary next so you have the words to properly explain it."

"Oh, great suggestion, hey—!"

He snatches it from your possession in the blink of an eye. You make one attempt to grab it back, but his seemingly supernatural senses stave off the attack. Wallowing in defeat, you sit back down, folding your arms across your chest and sighing over what is to come.

Levi's eyes scan the page you were at. His indifferent veneer fades away slightly and the corner of his lips twitches upward.

"So," the word hangs heavy in the air, the sadistic bastard taking his sweet time before saying anything else, "Do you think she should go back to him or not?"

You sink your head into your hands. "Definitely not. Anyone who taunts their partner when they're at their lowest is unforgivable."

"Mhm."

"Pure evil. The worst of the worst."

"Certainly," he deadpans. He places the book by your side, briefly assesses the area, then returns his attention to you. Assured that you're the only souls around, he leans over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Coarse fingers brush against your cheekbone as he retracts his hand. "Finish the chapter of your shitty book then redo the windows. I could see the streaks from a mile away."

You give him your sweetest expression.

"How about two chapters, my most benevolent Captain, who adores me so?"

"... It's down to two pages, since you decided to push it."

His lack of objection to the latter part of your sentence assuages any disappointment you could've possibly felt.

[joyfullyacat]

Sneaking Affections

hehehoho, based on @cacaocheri 's latest work here (i realized i dont think i actually wrote a kissing scene yet so thats wat inspired this- just a lil over 1k words) CW: none?? p sure- sneaking kisses and the like, fluffy!!

-

You like to think of yourself as patient. After all, you signed up to work with children all day in an establishment made to entertain and service others. So you dealt with a number of things in the day-to-day work week.

Yet you found that patience being tested, not by bratty kids or by badgering parents but by your very own coworker you happened to enjoy just a bit more than platonically.

He knew it too. Shared it even!

Sun, the daycare attendant, was an absolute charmer. A shining delight much like his namesake with a warmth to him that made your heart flutter, especially watching how he handled toddlers of all needs yet he had one glaring flaw.

He had zero idea how to handle affections. Physical or verbal, he’d often try to weasel out of them or redirect them to you if not outright avoid you entirely.

You had tried your best to be careful, respectful about the boundaries he was seemingly setting up. Just grazes of the hand here or there along his hands, et cetera.

Moon, his “brother” that shared the same body with Sun, was similar yet somehow he was all the more impish and teasing about it, downplaying your feelings entirely into seeming nothing more than some infatuation. Your closing hours with him often were bittersweet.

Which at first stung - but now it has only inspired a fire within you to get what you wanted out of him. Out of them as a whole.

A kiss. They had begun to dodge your hugs at this point! So you were upping the ante. They wouldn't give you a straight answer?

You'd pry it from them instead.

Now would be the perfect time to do it, the last child had been picked up, you had been on your best behavior the last few days - sparing the animatronic from hugs and touches and so on… Which, thinking about it, may have made them suspicious of you but you’d see if your plan would backfire or not.

It’s just you and him and your cleaning supplies, you had thought all day on what you’d say to him to get his attention and get him in range without necessarily inviting him over.

“Hey, Sun?” You begin, looking up from your hunched position to the animatronic and smile when he looks down at you from where he stands, seemingly none the wiser to your antics.

He’s sweetly lit up by the blaring lights of the daycare. It makes him shine, almost appearing ethereal as his rays practically glow in the surroundings.

With a spin of his rays, his smile brightens, “What do you need, Daydream?” 

The nickname never fails to make you giddy inside and the warmth in your cheeks only serves as motivation. “I was just wondering… Oh-” You stand, reaching a hand towards him some, “You got something on your face…”

Your words spur quite the reaction, his rays doing an endearing flex outwards in his surprise before he’s all but putting his face right into yours, his own hands coming up towards his head, minding the rays while he touches around.

“Where is it - oh tell me, please? Did I miss a sticker? Could you get it? Please, oh tell me it isn’t marker-” His voice box cuts out with a sharp note as you lean in and it seems you’re caught in your ruse as he shoots back upright.

Now it was undeniable, despite his flirtings and jests - with Moon’s teases and prods. They were avoiding you. Getting close to you.

It’s left you stunned and wide-eyed, practically short circuiting, leaned forward with your lips pressed into a thin line now as you stare just past Sun instead of at him.

Meanwhile, Sun was having quite the internal dilemma.

“Shouldn’t have done that, Sunny… They look ready to cry.” An echoing snicker puts the pin in the teasing words, “I wonder how long it’ll take for them to learn you don’t like sharing. Can’t hold them from me for much longer, can you?”

If you weren’t actively in front of him right this second, Sun would be having quite the one-sided verbal argument with the other AI in his head presently. He could definitely share! He teaches kids how to after all and oh-...

Sun wasn’t sure how he felt about the look you suddenly shot at him, utterly determined to do something with a fire in your eyes that has him stunlocked where he stands.

“Oh, you’ve done it now! Their claws are bared, look at them. I’m trembling in my bells!” Moon outright cackles now, absolutely ready to see how this would turn out.

On your end, you’ve had enough. 

Grabbing him at his forearms, he hardly has the time to react to you pulling him down more to your level. He is a hapless mess to your whims, barely getting out a “Daydream wha-” before your face is smooshed against his in the best way you can offer for a kiss while on your tippy toes with closed eyes.

He goes stiff as stone, the once pliable animatronic is now no more than a nifty marble statue and you can feel his inner mechanical workings go into overdrive. A distinct vibration that holds an all-too-audible hum in the air around you.

Maybe you should have asked - eased him into this and just as you’re pulling away to apologize, your hands peeling away with a lingering touch, Sun moves.

A hand carefully cradles your jaw, his thumb just at your chin to coax you into staying in place while his other hand settles respectfully on your waist and he’s pushing your head back with his own.

In another moment, the hand at your waist is digging into the skin and carefully guiding you backwards.

Step…

By…

Step…

The kiss remains unbroken, your eyes flutter open just to see his half-lidded gaze peer back down towards you.

Bump.

You’re up against the wall now and it’s a real good thing you chose the closing hours of the daycare to initiate this scheme as you have just enough room to pull your head away. 

The look of unabashed adoration has you floored and for a moment you’re left floundering, that confidence in you finally burnt up and all that was left was quivering ashes. “Sun I-”

Sun, still holding your face tenderly, hushes you simply as his other hand abandons its hold on your waist and raises up. 

You don’t realize where you’ve been placed.

You think he’s going to tuck hair behind your ear or, heaven forbid, hold your face in two hands but instead you’re met with a practically deafening click of the light switch and the startling darkness washing over you and the animatronic.

In the blink of an eye and the hold along your chin tightening momentarily, red eyes look at you, forming crescents of clear amusement. 

His silvery voice is clear in your startled silence, “My turn…” 

You ended up getting not one, but two kisses this closing shift at the pizzaplex.

You’d have to scheme for more in the future, evidently.

[fastbreakpoints]

the 2023-24 NBA city edition tierlist, in collaboration w THE genius @swinginsportscutebasketball

(complete notes and insightful discussion under the cut lol)

S tier: pacers, pelicans, suns

pacers: great colors, spray paint is cool, they tried something new which is great, font is cool. 10/10 pelicans: cool font, love a magic and mystery theme. glowing lights of new orleans and a BONE PELICAN?? don't need to say any more. one of the coolest ones they've ever done. suns: like the font, like the gradient on the side and in the number, like that it says El Valle, like the colors

A tier: hawks, celtics, warriors, cavs, mavs, pistons

hawks: like the font (serif and lower case are not common on jerseys, so it's interesting). blue is a lil weird (not a color one would associate w hawks usually) but cool overall celtics: like the colors (green and gold are nice), letter and number font are cool, clean design, looks good on the players warriors: like how it's shaped like a hill, like the shadow on the numbers, looks clean and I like the font cavs: good font, good color. gold = nice, we like it. details around the arms and neck are cool, numbers font RULES mavs: like the fonts for the text and numbers, solid design. like that leon bridges is involved because he rules pistons: team name font is cool, also has bones (on the side), like the bad boy pistons inspo!!!

B tier: spurs, magic, jazz, blazers, grizz

spurs: viva spurs fr. like the font choices, like the orange, like that it says viva spurs. the brown details don't even look bad. solid jersey magic: should be called gift of the magi, gothic script is cool, star as the A in orlando RULES, numbers font is cool jazz: classic one w the mountains (top 3 design imo), not groundbreaking but a solid take on an old favorite blazers: like the plaid, like that it says rip city because that's funny. plaid not that striking overall since it's just in the details grizz: geta points for creativity but loses points due to weird execution (MEM is a weird choice and the lines get kinda trippy if you look at them for too long)

C tier: lakers, bucks, hornets, sixers, bulls, knicks

lakers: solid color scheme, looks like a nice lakers jersey. looks good on the players at least. triangle shape is unique bucks: why is it blue (they literally do this every year). the dots are a solid detail but kinda meh overall hornets: same as every other year (except for the clit jerseys last year). 0 creativity points. nice color, stingers on the buzz city are cute sixers: solid number font. "city of brotherly love" is a good moniker but "brotherly" takes up A Lot of space here and makes it look weird. arrows on the sides are cool bulls: Madhouse on Madison is a cool name, but it's kinda boring. a bit TOO plain. we are not fans of the vertical lettering knicks: the double letters are a cool concept but they look weird. pinstripes are cool tho

agree to disagree tier: nets, rockets

nets: some controversy about how NeTs is written (I like the funky letters, sscb dislikes them), looks like it's trying to camouflage with a rock climbing wall (neither of us likes it) rockets: the number and font look like a kids' t-ball team to sscb, but I like the number font and the details. Neck line detail also solid to me (fbp)

why does this look like the Oakland forever one tier: thunder

thunder: what it says on the tier title. went all in on the ugliest logo in the league, colors are nice but they don't really match the team

D tier: raptors, twolves, clips, kings

raptors: sawtooth design is cool. gold is nice for details but a full gold jersey does NOT look good. round toronto = doesn't fit, we are not fans. we the north in various languages on the sides is cool twolves: bad font, the watercolor design is cool but the color is too plain and it doesn't look as good on the front. don't need to say "land of 10.000 lakes" up the side too clips: boring design. not sure about the font (S and P are Weird). the dot on the I being a basketball is cool. wanted to like it but it's too boring overall. kings: WRONG color!!! why would you go away from purple which rules as a basketball color. the anniversary of the cincinatti royals is not an excuse imo. vertical lettering also weird

HELL tier: heat, nuggets, wizards

heat: CRINGE. fuck the heat (fbp) nuggets: every player is number 5280. why is it the same size as the player's number. mountains (the best part) should be more prominent. like the idea but the execution is just BAD wizards: kinda messy. the colors are SO random, font is weird to me. WHY is it rusted. all over the place tbh

[videostak]

i always find myself feeling guilty abt my relationship w/ my mom like thinking maybe i think too negatively of her in my head and if i only tried to level w/ her maybe everything would geet resolved really easily but like then i remember she literally lies to every member of her family and that we all have compleete different relationships w/ her and different things we're sympathetic and not sympathic abt and she lies to every single one of us. the amount of times shes tried to act like shes taking the first step to quitting drinking only to be caught the next day casually drinking and the amount of times my older sister has cried to her telling her to stop for my mom to act like she finally understands just to drink again is insane. i dont even kno what to do at this point anymore since like she just lies straight to my face and everyone elses shamelessly. like once i literally caught a half empty thing of wine (she gets these lil juicebox type ones cause theyre easier for her to hide) and when i told her hey stop drinking she was immediately like "no im not drinking" then i showed it to heer and she was like "oh" and just now i found more on the side of her bed. the fact that she buys these beforehand and stores them up to is just so fucked. like if it was like spur of the moment going to a bar to get shitfaced in response to smthn thatd be its own problem but the fact she plans in advance to drink all while telling us shes done is so fucking bleak. and her rooms such a mess and at first i was like oh man that sucks but like is hard to control and clean sometimes but now am realizing or atleast thinking that she enjoys her room being a mess cause it gives her more places to hide her drinks. im rly bad at cleaning and so much of her room is just clothes she needs to get rid of and stuff i cant get rid of so like i rly cant just go clean it and have that solve everything but thats honestly my best bet. it sucks going from like angsty teen not liking/being annoyed at your mom to justhaving to see all this. i mean im an adult now but i feel bad for my two sisters who genuinely enjoy her company when shes not drunk like the amount of times shes lied right to their face and ignored how uncomfortable they told her she was making them is so insane.

[gubbles-owo]

the oc ask meme,,, urchin, mantis,,

13 & 19 for both,,,, please,,

13. How do they deal with pain (physical or emotional)? Oh Mantis can take one hell of a beating, physically. She may stand at a breathtakingly steep... 152cm tall (on her toes), but true to her real life animal counterpart (the mantis shrimp!), she packs one hell of a punch. Doesn't bruise easily. The real hard hits will still get through to her though. Tries to act all tough but you can clearly see through the act. "Yeah, I'm fine!! ow fuck shit ouch Never felt better!! >:D" Emotional pain... similar response. Seems fairly resilient, but she's not very good at hiding it when something's wrong. Either she'll deny it, or downplay its effects, only admitting with a strong enough confrontation, or an emotional pain too great to bear. Takes a lot to break her. Urchin on the other hand... ho boy. So physical pain. Fun fact, Urchin is ✨ chronically ill! ✨ Just imagine like, hundreds of thousands of little spines all over your body that you can retract at will. Now imagine you don't have much direct control over them, and instead seem to be a more reactionary response of the automatic nervous system-- at least to the best of your knowledge. Now imagine all those little spines are ever so slightly misaligned with where they're supposed to come out! Congratulations, u experience chronic debilitating pain!! So yeah, given the magnitude and agonizing breadth to which their illness pans out, Urchin has some incredible fuckin' pain tolerance. Winces, deals with it in the ways they've learned how to over the years, though it ultimately results in them not getting around much. Mostly solitude, sedentary. Not out of choice, of course. They're afraid of getting too close to anyone else, physically or emotionally, and accidentally harming them with their own stupid sickly spines. Additional pain-- that is, from outside the body-- tends to throw them off kilter, upset the ANS, and resultingly make the internal pain worse. Fun! As for emotional pain... ouhhf... let's just say Urchin has a lot of baggage, and lots of alone time to ruminate on it all :3c 19. How do they connect with the people around them? Love language, how they offer comfort, etc.

Mantis (similarly to Cuttle) loves meeting new folks, but is probably not quiiite as charismatic. Her love language is typically intense/loud, but it can take more subtle forms as well. For example, Shrimps loves challenging those she loves, both in friendly competition and in their own assumptions, in the interest of spurring some sort of growth or new perspective. She will (lightly (for a mantis shrimp)) punch ur shoulder and u will like it. Contrast that with the little things... like, okay, let's not mince words here: Mantis can be absolutely oblivious. Many things tend to sail clean over her head. No thoughts, head empty. However! She will notice little things about you. Your shuffles and posture adjustments. The way you fidget with certain objects. The one or two particular photos or memorabilia tacked to your bedroom wall. Small things that often draw your attention or otherwise indicate where your mind might be at. And often she'll make lil gestures that demonstrate such fine observations. Like "Hey Urchin, I notice you kinda nervously tap your keyboard when you're at your desk, so here's a matching keycap that i affixed to a lil box, so you have something to keep in your pocket when you're elsewhere!" I wonder how she got so selectively observan- autism its definitely the autism On the other hand, Urchin... has an extremely difficult time figuring out just how to connect with those around them. Can I hide in my room? No, we're out of the apartment. Can I run off to some other room where I can close a door, or get some space to myself? No, s-so I really have to stand here around these other people? ...shit. Um. How do interact. Is my presence bothering them. What if I say something rude or insensitive. What if they bring up something upsetting or triggering. How do I get out of here. Fuck. It's no secret that Urchin does not hold themselves in very high regard, so how is it that someone else could love them? They must be manipulating someone in order for them to express such feelings... right? Throughout their life, their presence has ranged from passive lack-of-existence to "burden". They do not know how to properly express love. They do not know how to give comfort. They don't know how to interact with anyone without believing they are causing harm in some way. So how the hell do they communicate with another person when they're slapped in the same room together? Simple: avoidance, social awkwardness, and constant self-doubt. Hope this helps!! :3c

[stankycowboy]

not trusting severen to deliver the package without damage , out of jealousy and spite , she leaves a small box filled with books somewhere homer can find it. along with a note attached signed only with a wolf paw print.

He waited until all the rest had gone out on their separate excursions, leaving him alone in their bungalow hideaway. Before, he might have questioned how she would have known where they were, or more specifically how she had figured out his secret cubby hole behind the radiator; but having now been in the presence of the inhuman woman he had more respect for her abilities to discover these things.

Without seeing the card he knew it was from her, had smelled the distinctive scent of her immediately— they all had— whereas the others had dismissed it as her passing by during the day— perhaps visiting her beau who was even more irked that he hadn’t caught her— Homer had deduced immediately that she had found him out. Casually, he reached behind the cool metal ridges and extricated her gift, a plain, nondescript box.

Inside lay three compact volumes, all old, leather bound hardbacks, one novel, and two non-fiction texts. He grinned, a small, halfhearted joy on his otherwise morose visage, and went to the ratty couch to better appreciate them. Along with the traces of Lira’s handling of them, he could scent the age and care they had received; knew they were at a time housed amongst companion titles, that their origin was European, like himself. A homesickness he rarely ever felt tickled at the back of his mind, and Homer buried it by opening to the first page; A Treatise of Human Nature.

Immediately he was drawn into the philosophical positing of Hume, so much so it took an interruption by Mae— some significant time later—to encourage him to go out and make his nightly meal. Only with her promise to keep the books away from Severen’s prying did he leave, and to her credit, she did so even when the so named asked to see them while Homer was still away.

“She came out here just to drop off presents to lil’ Boner?”

“Apparently so” Mae responded flatly, “and don’t call him that”. Severen snorted and shook his head, face damp from having used the neighbor’s hose to clean away the mess of his feasting, hair still dripping wet.

“Right”, he said with barely constrained anger; not too casually checking the wall clock, clearly assessing if he could make it across town before sunrise. It was unlikely, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“Oh no” Jesse said having caught the tail end of the discussion as he and Diamondback walked in. “You ain’t fryin’ cause you got your knickers in a twist. If she wanted to see you she knows where you sleep, an’ clearly she ain’t interested”. That got him a dangerous glare from Severen who only bit his tongue out of respect for who Jesse was to him. Mae felt uncomfortable watching the silent challenge.

Severen turned away and went into one of the two back rooms, the only sound that of his spurs, and soon after the grating screech of him taking his file to his teeth. Cautiously, Mae set the volumes onto the low table, presuming their safety for now, and looked up to Jesse to see him watching her.

“You did good, don’t mind him, just a cub bear playin’ with his peter”. Mae wasn’t sure she understood the expression— Diamondback also raising a confused brow— but let it go. After giving Jesse’s arm a squeeze, The Pale One sat down to clean and sharpen her butterfly knife; her own prized possession. Homer came in, almost perfectly timed, receiving polite nods and smiles.

“Cutting it a little close on the time aren’t you?” Diamondback asks him sweetly, it is a gentle chide, he only acknowledges it with a glance, more interested to see the books safely situated on the table in front of Mae.

He gives his fledgling a genuine smile, and sits beside her, taking the top book from the pile. Mae notices that the cover revealed below it is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and she picks it up herself. She doesn’t expect to get caught up in it, the text was always presented to her as required school reading, not something for fun; but the small hours before the break of day are filled only with the soft turning of timeworn pages, and weapons ground to deadly points.

[hearteyes-for-killmonger]

21. Honey, I'm Home

It was day 42 in captivity. Ivy was still playing along with the pregnancy, taking her vitamins, eating her fruits and vegetables, some fish and chicken once she really started eating. He kept feeding her around the clock. She couldn't eat all of it but there was nothing left to do in a room all alone. She figured, putting on a little weight could add to the illusion of being pregnant. At this point it couldn't hurt her.

She watched the news hoping constantly that her name would be mentioned as a missing person. It wasn't too late for someone to notice they hadn't seen her in over a month. Gripping the banana in her hand she tried her hardest to manifest it. She was desperate.

And Ivan. What a waste of family. In true Ivan fashion he was out for himself with no regard for who suffered. This time he'd done the unforgivable and left her for dead. She hoped he suffered long in his spirit never finding peace.

Day 53 rolled around as she laid on the bed staring up at the ceiling. How would she fake a bloated belly? A lil purge could carry her a lil of the way, but she had no beach ball and she couldn't hide much in a robe. Suddenly the door unlocked and in walked her captor in a white lab coat with scrubs.

"Honey, I'm home," he announced walking over, sniffing her hair.

What disgusted her even more was that he'd been ritually maintaining her hair with Blueberry Bliss, the shampoo she was almost scalped for. He was truly sick.

"Busy week," he murmured rubbing the back of his hand on her cheek before playing in her hair, absent-mindedly pulling curls. "You wouldn't believe. I had three root canals scheduled, a couple extractions, and some cosmetic services. I did it all with no assistant. You see what I go through to make sure my family is taken care of?"

Ivy knew better than to respond or give any sort of energy or expression. He was easily spurred on.

"How is my lil creature?" He moved a palm to her stomach. It took everything in her not to push him off of her. She felt like she was dying inside, but again. No real emotion could be shown.

"I think he.. or she.. is healthy," Ivy stated concisely, keeping her eyes averted.

"I can't wait until you pop that thing out ya pussy. I'll deliver it myself. I'll clean it.."

He seemed confused on what to do after that. Afterall, it's a living breathing baby. Before you can program a child, you've got to raise the baby. He obviously knew absolutely nothing of parenting or dealing with babies. Ivy wasn't about to open her mouth to add anything that could possibly give him worse ideas. Not a thing.

"And another news story, police are investigating the possibility of a serial killer following a string of gruesome murders in the LA region and the disappearance of Officer Trinity Howard."

Her picture appears on the screen. It's a holiday photo of her wearing a Santa hat, her arm around two others whose faces have been blurred.

"Suspicions tie her last reported case to these murders," the reporter enunciated to make it hit. Both Ivy and Dr. Stevens heard it.

They were picking up his trail. It was happening. Thank the Lord above it was finally happening.

"Yeah, but they'll never trace it to me," he grinned cockily taking a banana from the table for himself to peel and bite into. "All I did was give you root canal."

Ivy was aware she was never mentioned in this report, but if they were focusing in on locating dummy the giraffe, then surely Ivy's name would come up somehow in their digging. She had to remain positive, ignoring Dr. Jekyll and his boisterous attitude.

Still. Something else the reporter had said was jarring. Ivy's mind ran wild before she shut it all down. Now wasn't the time to get caught up in her thoughts. It was a time to gather information. She had to ask the hard question and steel herself to hear the worst response so that she would not dignify him with a colorful reaction.

She had to prepare herself and she had to do it quickly. There was no time like the present.

"Who else did you kill," she asked carefully looking ahead as he picked up interest. She could feel it. It was a queasy feeling in her gut that threatened to make her food come back up.

"Me? You think I killed those people?" He laughed watching her for the slightest reaction. He lowered his face so that they were eye to eye.

"I did," he admitted biting and chewing what was left of the banana, sitting the empty peel on her head carefully to balance as if it were a joke. He looked between it and her empty eyes with a mischievous expression that said he was indecisive, torn between dark impulses. She wouldn't push him. So he had to push.

"Don't worry, it wasn't anyone important," he smirked waiting for her to ask who so he could give her every name and every graphic detail. He wouldn't stop until she broke if that happened. He'd thoroughly enjoyed each kill and could recall them with accuracy. If that wasn't enough, he'd taken short cuts of footage, just to share with Ivy once she'd pumped that baby out. He didn't expect the cat would be let out of the bag so soon.

Ivy did not succumb to his trap, she remained curious but did not ask anymore figuring he was already getting off to it enough. She could pretty much guess what he'd done.

@dessianna1 @twistedcharismaaa @soufcakmistress

[savagecowboy]

@ulfhrafnx said: not trusting severen to deliver the package without damage , out of jealousy and spite , she leaves a small box filled with books somewhere homer can find it. along with a note attached signed only with a wolf paw print.

He waited until all the rest had gone out on their separate excursions, leaving him alone in their bungalow hideaway. Before, he might have questioned how she would have known where they were, or more specifically how she had figured out his secret cubby hole behind the radiator; but having now been in the presence of the inhuman woman he had more respect for her abilities to discover these things.

Without seeing the card he knew it was from her, had smelled the distinctive scent of her immediately— they all had— whereas the others had dismissed it as her passing by during the day— perhaps visiting her beau who was even more irked that he hadn’t caught her— Homer had deduced immediately that she had found him out. Casually, he reached behind the cool metal ridges and extricated her gift, a plain, nondescript box.

Inside lay three compact volumes, all old, leather bound hardbacks, one novel, and two non-fiction texts. He grinned, a small, halfhearted joy on his otherwise morose visage, and went to the ratty couch to better appreciate them.

Along with the traces of Lira’s handling of them, he could scent the age and care they had received; knew they were at a time housed amongst companion titles, that their origin was European, like himself. A homesickness he rarely ever felt tickled at the back of his mind, and Homer buried it by opening to the first page; A Treatise of Human Nature.

Immediately he was drawn into the philosophical positing of Hume, so much so it took an interruption by Mae— some significant time later—to encourage him to go out and make his nightly meal. Only with her promise to keep the books away from Severen’s prying did he leave, and to her credit, she did so even when the so named asked to see them while Homer was still away.

“She came out here just to drop off presents to lil’ Boner?”

“Apparently so” Mae responded flatly, “and don’t call him that”. Severen snorted and shook his head, face damp from having used the neighbor’s hose to clean away the mess of his feasting, hair still dripping wet.

“Right”, he said with barely constrained anger; not too casually checking the wall clock, clearly assessing if he could make it across town before sunrise. It was unlikely, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“Oh no” Jesse said having caught the tail end of the discussion as he and Diamondback walked in. “You ain’t fryin’ cause you got your knickers in a twist. If she wanted to see you she knows where you sleep, an’ clearly she ain’t interested”. That got him a dangerous glare from Severen who only bit his tongue out of respect for who Jesse was to him. Mae felt uncomfortable watching the silent challenge.

Severen turned away and went into one of the two back rooms, the only sound that of his spurs, and soon after the grating screech of him taking his file to his teeth. Cautiously, Mae set the volumes onto the low table, presuming their safety for now, and looked up to Jesse to see him watching her.

“You did good, don’t mind him, just a cub bear playin’ with his peter”. Mae wasn’t sure she understood the expression— Diamondback also raising a confused brow— but let it go. After giving Jesse’s arm a squeeze, The Pale One sat down to clean and sharpen her butterfly knife; her own prized possession. Homer came in, almost perfectly timed, receiving polite nods and smiles.

“Cutting it a little close on the time aren’t you?” Diamondback asks him sweetly, it is a gentle chide, he only acknowledges it with a glance, more interested to see the books safely situated on the table in front of Mae.

He gives his fledgling a genuine smile, and sits beside her, taking the top book from the pile. Mae notices that the cover revealed below it is Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, and she picks it up herself. She doesn’t expect to get caught up in it, the text was always presented to her as required school reading, not something for fun; but the small hours before the break of day are filled only with the soft turning of timeworn pages, and weapons ground to deadly points.

[mrsswaino]

freakum dress .

frank castle x f!reader .

warnings : 18+, smut, unprotected sex, penetration.

i was trying to figure out what to name this and then freakum dress by beyonce came on shuffle - so here we are. everybody's always talking about frank and a housewife kink, and saying he has a thing for sundresses. so like implied housewife kink. cause i would cook and clean for this man.

frank really enjoyed watching you. whether it be your habits. mannerisms. strengths. weaknesses. or just how perfect you look in that sundress.

he couldnt help but think of all the ways he could break you down, while you make him some toast and coffee. holding you to his chest while his hand travels in between your thigh. bending you over the counter, flipping your dress up and eating something much sweeter - or hell just making you feel so full right then and there.

there were so many thoughts on his mind, he didnt realize he was ignoring you until you were literally snapping him out of his dazed state. he couldnt resist the urge to at least taste your lips, so hes tugging you into his lap and doing just that. and god is he happy he did. and he can tell you are too, cause soon as his lips touched yours you let out such a pretty little whimper just for him to hear.

he can't help but give your bum a light smack once you're rocking back and forth on his lap. the at first sweet kiss is very soon turning into a clashing of teeth though. and when you bite franks lip, you're just spurring him on, so he's giving your ass a bit harsher of a smack this time.

soon enough though he's laying you down on the dining table, taking a moment to admire just how perfect you look in that lil’ sundress. it's truly a sight. so he's leaning down to lay a gentle kiss on your lips, you just look too perfect not to. but you also look too perfect not to tease.

his thumb rubbing your clit through those pretty panties you wore just for him. and he's just smirking down at the needy mess he's made of you. pretty voice begging for more, anything more than this. even going as far to try and rub his cock through his jeans.

and he decides needy looks good on you - too good. so good in fact, it's not taking him long to oblige. and before you know it you’re hearing the sound of a zipper. and you're whining when you hear, and feel your panties ripping. they were expensive! and franks teasing you, because isn't this what you wanted? and quite frankly you can't really respond, because yes, yes it is.

soon enough though, he's leaning in real close and asking you if you're ready. and of course you are. you're always ready for whatever franks offering. after barely getting the words out, franks cock is prodding into you. just barely.

you cant stop yourself from letting out a little please, and it sets him off. and very quickly you feel yourself being stretched, and he's bottoming out. you can't help but whine at the feeling of being so utterly full.

and that pretty little whine, is clouding franks mind with the need for more noises like it. the thought of giving you time to adjust leaves his mind, and hes gripping your hips and fucking into you at an inhumane speed. but just because it's rough doesn't mean it's not loving. no, no.

franks a little rough around the edges, it's in his nature. but he tries to show you he loves you in everything he does for you. and he knows how much you enjoy it when he fucks you like this. when he takes what he needs.

so just because  hes fucking you so fast doesnt mean he isnt whispering just how fucking pretty you look. and you can't miss the gentle kisses on your jaw. or the way his hand gently cradles your jaw, while he gives you a gentle passionate kiss, in contrast to his fast, sharp, and rough thrusts.

and he cant help himself, he's pulling the neckline of your dress to look at your pretty tits, and maybe leave a few little marks for him to admire later. you're about to let out a few words of disapproval for ruining the pretty dress, before he's shutting you up with hitting your g-spot just right. and soon enough he can tell you're close, because you're squeezing him so tight. and he cant stop himself from his hand snaking its way between your thighs, and his thumb from making fast and harsh circles on your clit.

you can't get anything out other than strangled moans, and whines, so trying to tell him how close you are was impossible. but he knew, he knew every little tell of yours. how your thighs would try to wrap around his waist, and how you struggled to keep your eyes open. and it's impossible to miss how you start shaking for him. and soon enough, you're making a big mess all over both of you.

and if it wasn't hard enough not to cum with how you're wrapping around him, it's impossible not to with you squirting all over him. before he can even comprehend it hes filling you up, and fucking you both through your highs. you can't help tugging him by his hair to get a kiss. you can't stop yourself from thanking him before kissing his jaw. but he can't stop himself from chuckling, before he's asking what made you think he was done.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours. 

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...” 

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs. 

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch. 

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that? 

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed. 

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

...

“... what?” 

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward. 

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright. 

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

 “i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area. 

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing. 

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...” 

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.” 

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.” 

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

[tumbledfreckles]

Absolutely!

She should not be doing this. She knows she should not be doing this. She'd been warned against doing this.

But really, Quidditch practice ended half an hour ago. Surely he would have cleaned up by now. Right?

Hope this works! <33

This has not been edited, and it should have been edited, but screw it, I loved this prompt, I've stayed up way past bed time to write it, I wrote 1800 words instead of the 500 I planned, so have it in it's unedited glory and don't judge me too harshly. It's late, but its shirtless James Potter May or Jumpers off for June or really, just a thirst trap drabble to get your week going well.

Lily knocked softly on the door to the locker rooms, her breath caught in her throat, a thrum of anxiety running in her veins. When there was no sound, no answering call, no bid to enter, she paused for only moments, before biting her lip and pushing on the door handle.

She should not be doing this.

Her footsteps were quiet as she made her way down the long corridor that led to the locker rooms. Doors of the unoccupied rooms were shut, her finger tips dragged against the names of each team as she went. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and then finally, at the very end, Gryffindor. Unlike the others, this door was set slightly jar, light seen through the gaps, but no sounds emerged. The team had clearly departed.

She knows she should not be doing this.

Lily gritted her teeth, taking a deep breath as she pushed open the door, wide enough for her to slip through. It closed gently after her, allowing her to lean back against it, hands still caught on the handle behind her. She clutched the handle for dear life, knowing she should turn it and go back through. Knowing that to go further into the room was a boundary she shouldn’t cross.

She’d be warned against doing this.

As expected, the locker room was at least empty. She’d never been in here before, not being on the team, and never before having anyone she’d wanted to follow into the abyss. The reality was as bad as Lily had imagined. Likely due to the graces and actions of the house elves, it was cleaner than expected. There were no used towels piling around, no dirty, soiled uniforms discarded. The walls were filled with posters and pictures of Gryffindor Quidditch teams throughout the years. Banners and scarves lined the players' open lockers, caught on the name plates fastened above each one.

Almost as soon as she noted the name plates, her eyes caught on one in particular. A name that had fallen from her lips more often than her own had this year. A name that used to come out with derision, but was now pronounced with warmth, with feeling, with an unexplainable but inexplicable feeling of joy. The locker below it was the least orderly of them all, clothing still hung on the hooks, shoes and boots underneath the bench seat in front of it. Shin guards and pads and flying goggles still littered the bench and shelf.

The captain himself was nowhere to be found however. The sound of running water drew her attention to another doorway, at the far end of the locker room. Steam poured out of that room, leaving Lily in doubt that it was the way to the showers. Somewhere she definitely shouldn’t be going. She could wait out here for him. She only wanted to check on him, close the loop on their earlier conversation. She felt guilty for leaving him hanging, but that was no reason to follow him into the showers, surely.

But, really, Quidditch practise ended half an hour ago. Surely, he would have cleaned up by now. Right?

With that solid, solid reasoning ringing in her brain, spurring her on despite a wealth of misgivings, Lily moved forward. Her heart was racing but her movements somehow remained slow, cautious.

“Potter?” she called at the doorway.

No answer came.

Lily shook her head, cheeks already turning red as she contemplated her next action seconds before completing it.

She was only two steps in when she pulled up short.

James stood under the shower, mere metres from where Lily herself stood. A low wall hid most of his lower anatomy, but his back was on full display. Water ran in rivulets over strong, broad, tanned shoulders. It drained off his elbows as James reached to scrub at his hair, a movement Lily had seen him do a million times across their seven years of schooling, but never when he was wet. Certainly not when he was otherwise naked. His back arched, showing the muscles down his spine, lifting the beginnings of the curve of his arse into view.

“Fuck,” Lily whispered, her mouth having gone completely dry.

Of course, while he hadn’t heard her earlier call, he heard her quiet swear. Or maybe he’d felt the weight of her entranced, intoxicated stare. Before Lily could remove herself from a situation she definitely shouldn’t be in, even if it was the most beautiful site she’d seen all day, all week, all year, James turned.

“Lil- Evans,” he said in surprise, jumping slightly, before shutting off the water and reaching for the towel resting on the edge of the wall. “What’s wrong?”

“Noth- shit, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have -”Lily started, taking a step back, only she missed the doorway and landed against the wall next to instead.

It really wasn’t her fault she couldn’t focus.

If James’ back with a gift of meticulously carved marble, smooth skin and muscle that Lily just wanted to sink her teeth into, then his front was a bloody work of art. Well defined pectorals sat prominently, on his chest, surrounded by curved shoulders, impressive biceps that helped his brilliant throws on the field. Pools of water had collected in the curve of his collarbones, enough that Lily could have lapped happily to ease her suddenly restricted throat.

She’d seen glimpses of his abdominals before. He was always reaching for his hair, running a hand through the beautiful, silky locks, she couldn’t help but get flashes as his shirt, or t-shirt, or jumper lifted up. Especially when he was already stretching back across the couch, complaining about the Prefect’s schedule, the points schedule, or the meeting schedule. Any schedule really, just because he knew it would rile her up. So she’d seen his stomach from time to time. Knew his prowess on the Pitch couldn’t come from someone who wasn’t totally fit. But seeing it glistening, rippling as he moved, shadows from the dimmed bathroom lighting emphasising each curve, well…

It was really more than one girl could be expected to take.

“Evans,” James tried again, frowning as he finished wrapping a towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower area toward her. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

Lily tried not to focus on how the twisted knot of the towel sat dead centre below his navel. How it drew the eyeline down. How the muscles in his sides pointed down like an arrow toward that knot, making her wonder what was underneath the knot.

“Uh,” Lily forced her eyes up. “I, uh, wanted to talk to you.”

She pretended not to notice how droplets collected on his eyelashes, so much easier to see without his glasses. How his face was devoid of its usual smirk, concern etched across his face instead, furrowing his brow, straightening his smile.

“Sure,” James glanced around, “I was coming back to the castle, you could have waited.”

“I couldn’t,” Lily blurted, before she could stop herself. “I couldn’t wait.”

James quirked an eyebrow, but paused in his steps, now less than three steps from her. At this distance, she could smell him. He was perfumed by that familiar scent of pine and spice, but in the heat and the humidity of the room it surrounded her, consumed her. She tried to take a deep breath in, to focus and prepare herself, but all it did was allow the scent to overwhelm her.

“Well, have at it, Evans,” he encouraged. “I’m listening.”

“Well, before, earlier.. You, uh… you asked, well and I, you, I didn’t,” Lily sighed impatiently at her stuttering, rolling her eyes before realising that meant she couldn’t look at him. Tried to remind herself not to look at him, it was clearly too much to look at such a sight and string a sentence together. Much more of her blithering and he wouldn’t care for what she had to say, mad woman that she was.

“Still waiting, Evans,” James teased now, a small curve of his lips appearing now. He seemed to be realising what had her in such a fluster, and took another step forward. Within reaching distance. Touching distance.

“Oh, fuck it,” Lily breathed, and gave in.

There was no resistance as she reached out and snagged James by the hand, then his waist, then his neck. She tugged his head down, and it came easily until, with a final push on her toes, she crashed her lips against his. His mouth moved without hesitation, giving as good as he got, pushing her back into the wall with a satisfying oof, his teeth finding her bottom lip, pulling it until her mouth opened and the punishing kiss turned into something deeper, sweeter, more satisfying.

Lily’s hands threaded into his hair, before dancing down to shoulders, stroking along his chest. She couldn’t pick a place she wanted them to rest, so she just didn’t, and touched and admired and petted to her heart’s content. James didn’t appear to mind her cheek was cupped, her waist wrapped up with one of those delicious arms she’d admired. He was still warm from the shower, still damp from neglecting to dry off, and she could feel that heat pushing through her clothes, flattening them against her, allowing his touch to burn through to her needy skin.

Without meaning too, having not consciously thought the action through, Lily’s hand landed on the knot in the towel she’d been so focused on moments earlier. The action gave them both reason to pause, and James pulled back just enough as they panted for breath and stared at each other.

She’d never seen his eyes so black, the hazel almost completely hidden dilated pupils and a blazing fire that would have taken her breath, if only his lips hadn’t done the job already. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Lily’s eyes followed the movement closely, her newly acquired knowledge of the feel, the taste of his tongue, making her imagine in a way that was all too real, how it would feel if he did the same to her.

“You had an answer for me, Evans?” his voice was hoarse, husky, like he’d run a marathon in the seconds, minutes, that they’d been kissing.

“I hardly think it matters now,” Lily’s laugh was almost bitter as it escaped from her, as she pushed back wet hair from his forehead, brushing her thumb softly across the scar above his eyebrow.

“Tell me anyway,” his fingers brushed down her arm, tipped her chin up, catching her lips again for a brief but perfect kiss.

Lily sighed, kissed him again to stall, cupped his face with both her hands to make sure he was paying attention. She was only going to say this once.

“Yes, I’d love to go to Hogsmeade with you next weekend.”

[haikyutiehoe]

could you do headcanons for Tetsuro Kuroo after you sent him a naughty picture ?? Kith kith

SMUT w. Kuroo

you naughty lil baby why did you send him this at practice? dude was on a heavy losing streak with kenma being sleep deprived and lev on the opposite side of the net when nekoma (university) called a break and this chemical genius just happens to be looking at his phone when your name pops up.

you sent him not one but two gorgeous flicks of your fine ass body in a pretty skimpy number and mans nearly screeches. kuroo has a thing for keeping his composure but he was sipping his water when he opens the snap casually. within seconds, yamamoto is covered in a mixture of water and kuroo’s spit. some got in his mouth so he’s running off to the bathroom to disinfect his precious tongue.

everyone turns their heads to question their captain who gawks at the phone, his thumb presses tightly to the screen to keep the image from disappearing. his obsidian eyes sparkle with lust as they trace your curves, how your bare skin looks tantalizing under some bright LED lights you’ve installed recently. he can tell you put some lotion on your legs by the shine that coats your limbs, and he’s certain he can smell it all the way from here

have you ever seen a dick get so hard so fast? kuroo doesn’t realize it but his pretty dick is nearly prying at the seams of his boxers to get to your confined figure. he coughs loudly as some of the water he was drinking goes down the wrong tube and lev, the helpful bonsai tree he is, wants to assist so he pats at kuroo’s back. this has an opposite side effect as kuroo is quick to kick lev away so dramatically kai suggests they should take him to the hospital, (he’s lying dead to the world on the ground. last time he ever tried to save kuroo’s life.)

kuroo has never actually asked or sent personal photos like this before so the fact you trust him this deeply to share yourself over the phone so openly makes his heart tug fondly at the thought of you having questioned if you should have done this in the first place. trust has been a key element to your relationship and the middle blocker is very conscious of this. he intends to love you so thoroughly that the last thing you ever question is yourself or him, though he knows uncertainties and insecurities still cross your mind.

this routine practice takes a detour as kuroo has escaped into a bathroom stall, stealing glances around before he opens your second snap. his eyes have ghosted over the screen for a mere three seconds before he’s stuffing his calloused hands into his ruby mesh shorts, digits brushing his erect dick.

“shit baby.” a familiar hiss leaves the captains moist lips as he’s admiring the angle of the photo; you’re bent over slightly just enough to tease his eyes with your ass faintly outlined by the glare of the led lights, your toned legs spread with the garment flushed tightly against your pretty cunt. you bought this outfit specially for him and wanted to debut it but remained uncertain if it would have a larger impact in person or digitally.

swiftly, kuroo has his camera pointed to his exposed member and he’s thumbing the little red recording button.

“fuck baby, fuck.” his fingers fasten around his cock. try as he might, tetsuro’s touch doesn’t reflect the same texture as your attentive tongue or energetic hands. he’s rushing, but absorbing every little detail of these delicious photos you’ve supplied with him. “love how sexy you look-fuck.” another hiss slices through his voice as he pumps his length, the tension building in his stomach. precum accumulates at the tip and he uses it to spread across the sensitive skin. “little vixen, look what you caused.”

as tetsuro labels you with various terms like kitten, sweetheart, love and baby, the middle blocker can only achieve so much by his own hands when he truly envisions you laid down under him, plowing you so deeply he paints your gaze with stars.

despite the distance between you two, kuroo demonstrates the power those pictures managed by the amount of silky white threads of cum painting across his thighs.

kuroo leaves the bathroom with more energy and motivation to win than before. he’s a complete menace. lev, yaku and kenma each are subject to his snappish notes and reminders, lev keeping a fair distance from his captain; there’s something dangerous lurking behind those onyx eyes.

as the ball sails through the air and meets kuroo’s hand, the thoughts of you burn in the back of his brain and he slams the mikasa sphere deep into the court, nailing it right out reach but still within bounds.

as the game comes to an end kuroo is barking and chasing his lower class men up and down the length of the gym, he has somewhere he needs to be and these fools are prohibiting him from soaking himself into your pretty folds.

by the time he arrives at your residence, you’ve locked the door and are busy in the bathroom. too impatient, kuroo climbs the fire escape and slips into the window, knocking his shin clean against the corner of your desk. his voice startles you and you race out, only to be met with your boyfriend stripping off his shirt. the look in his eyes burn deeply and for a brief second, you’re afraid of the expression.

“what was that?” he asks calmly, too calmly for someone who’s scrambled up three flights of stairs and into your room.

“what was what?” you ask lightly, emerging from the bathroom in one of kuroo’s large dress shirts, a few buttons done up. a small breeze slithers through the room, curling at the edge of the shirt. kuroo’s gaze narrows. you have the audacity to play coy. “kur-”

your voice is cut off roughly as he’s striding towards you, a hand fastening around your neck softly as he’s pinned you against the wall, one arm hoisted above your head. his white garment rides up, revealing the fabric around your hips.

“sending me pictures during practice?” impatience laces the captain’s darkened tone as he ducks his lips down low to the shell of your ear, his breathe hot and moist. you rub your thighs together lightly.

“just wanted to surprise you baby.”

kuroo bites at your jaw and growls, “gave me a hard one so bad i nearly cancelled practice to come here and fuck you senseless.” the heat of his words lick at the need pooling inside you.

you raise your gazes to his and find a fire blazing in his visionaries. he wants you and he will have you. “say it baby. i want to hear you.”

“i want you kuroo.” your eyes flutter shut as you rub yourself against his thigh, “i want you inside me.” his grip on your wrist slackens. “i couldn’t wait any longer, i’m sorry.”

who is kuroo to deprave you of his cock and your own release? the captain picks you up and deposits you on the bed, quickly tearing his shirt off your body. consumed by need, his lips are at your neck, licking, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. your mewls only spur him further as he drags his nails down your bare stomach, slipping your panties off your body. “fuck.” he hisses as he sees your exposed cunt, slick with your own wetness. his lips pepper kisses down your abdomen, “such a pretty pussy.” within seconds, kuroo’s buried his tongue in your moist folds. you buck against his mouth, withering and trembling as he laces his fingers against your own. as you cum on his tongue over and over, he’s working himself hard again.

“ready baby?” tetsuro inquires, aligning himself to your paradise. his obsidian eyes study you as you nod weakly, whining before he impales you in one fluid stroke. “fuck baby you feel amazing.”

you feel beyond amazing that night. kuroo has you screaming his name as you orgasm. his own tongue paints your name over your nipples and neck. it’s safe to assume the next time you feel like sending him a personal photo, he’d bury himself in you without question.

that night, you fall asleep in your boyfriend’s toned arms as he kisses your forehead and praises your body.