#why they tag the cartoon in the first place?!

[missbrunettebarbie]

When I read a YJ fic and I see show!Conner constantly be reffered as Kon by both the narrative and non-Clark people I need to take a deep breath and close the fic, cause clearly the author is not writing about cartoon!Conner.

[captaindarkguard]

it’s like tumblr wants me to try to write fan fiction when I never showed any interest in writing ever before today

grass

what the hell write three sentience on a current project I don’t have? alright let’s go I guess I got a project now?

“Oi, clogs.” Ichigo called out to the hatted man, before he could get on to his usual shenanigans. “Why did you put the hōgyoku in Rukia anyway? You’d been hiding it for so many years on your own fine with no problem. If you didn’t do that wouldn’t Aizen have never gotten his way like he did? I get you were planning to try to have Rukia just live here, but doesn’t that just mean it would have been fine just kept with you as always?”

“Uh well--”

Who am I kidding I don’t got a project, I just took this moment to go ‘there’s a plot hole here and it’s annoying and I’m going to point it out.

[irisintheafterglow]

Hiii!! I’m absolutely in love with the way you write kiyoomi :) he’s literally perfect. If you have time, I would love a scenario where his partner meets the black jackals for the first time!! Whether it’s accidental or on purpose is up to you :)

but he was so much fun (and he had such weird friends!)

cw/tags: gn!reader, swearing, mentions of cooking and eating, domestic omi crumbs, established relationship and pet names (love, baby), pure jackals crack

note: hi love!!! this prompt is so funny omg i'm obsessed. hope you like it!!! i got extremely carried away

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated :)

"i'm-" he starts, huffing out an irritated breath and setting his knife on the cutting board, gripping the edges of the countertop. you turn to look at him from your spot at the stove, tapping the wooden spoon against the edge of the pot and placing it in the spoon rest. you check the vegetable prep over his shoulder and find neat piles of cut carrots, cauliflower, and potatoes. it didn't seem like anything was wrong with his knife skills, so it perplexed you why he was suddenly having trouble expressing his thoughts. "i'm having..."

"you're having?" you wipe your hands on a kitchen towel and gently turn him to face you, snaking your arms around his neck while his hands find their natural place on your hips. your thumb absentmindedly brushes over his moles, right above his furrowed eyebrows of annoyance.

"doubts," he says uncertainly, glancing at the dining table set for four more than its usual two occupants. the corner of his mouth juts to the side in obvious discontent, even though he was trying not to dampen your excitement for formally meeting his friends. not that he would ever call them that, at least not in this lifetime.

"how so, baby?"

"they can be a little...hard to handle," he mutters. "you know them. you've seen it," he says, voice strained and it makes you chuckle at the memory of the first time you actually met his friends.

kiyoomi wishes that it didn't happen that way at least twice a day. it was partially your fault, overestimating your ability to find him in the back halls of the msby gym facilities after only a few months of dating. after turning yourself around about four different times and unable to retrace your steps, you settled for walking in the direction of a nearby conversation. you ended up, however, steering a wrong turn into the men's locker room, yelping in surprise when you were met with three bare chests, none of which belonged to your boyfriend. apologizing profusely and briskly walking away, you were fleeing too quickly to hear the three players equally as alarmed.

it was like a scene from a cartoon; you could vaguely make out the sound of things being thrown like shirts, water bottles, and flailing limbs. there were hushed whispers of holy shit, someone just walked in here and they're so pretty and put some fucking clothes on, shoyo, that's indecency. you make the executive decision to just wait for him outside, but before you leave, your boyfriend's voice rings loud and clear from around the corner.

"what the hell are you guys freaking out about?"

"omi, dude. you just missed them."

"missed who?"

"there was this really pretty person that walked in! they were wearing the same zip-up that you were wearing yesterday, isn't that neat?" your attention darts down to the jacket that was very much kiyoomi's and definitely not yours, your face warming from pure embarrassment. "maybe you could ask them if they shop there frequently; i think they'd be your type."

"since when did sakusa have a type?"

"hey, wait! where are you going?" is the last question you hear before your boyfriend comes barreling around the corner in nothing but shower shoes and sweatpants and looking just as bewildered as you and the three guys in the locker room. after a palpable moment of shocked silence, you both word-vomit at the same time.

"you're wearing my jacket."

"why are you shirtless?!"

"you're wearing my jacket." his voice drops in volume to a yelled whisper, his hand pulling you further down the hallway and away from the locker room despite his lack of clothes. a few of the gym staff eye you in confusion and you give them a weak smile, fighting the urge to stare at the muscle rippling across kiyoomi's body. "you're wearing my jacket," he repeats for the third time, as if it was taking several tries for his brain to compute the information in front of him.

"that's your main concern?!"

"no, shit, no," he shakes his head, regaining his composure after his mind short-circuited. "my main concern is you running into the three stupidest members of my team without me there-"

"and while they were shirtless," you add and his nose scrunches in pure distaste. "wait, why don't you want me to meet them without you there?"

"because they're stupid and-and i love you and they're-and they're stupid," he stammers, visibly flustered in a way that you'd never seen him before. it sets your face on fire, hearing how easily he said he loved you when you'd never said it to each other up until that point. the same realization must hit him at the same time and he pinches the bridge of his nose in defeat, sighing through his nose. "i just said i love you."

"you just said you love me," you echo, a delirious smile widening on your mouth as you peel his fingers away from his face and lace them into yours. "you just said you love me."

"he just said he loves them!" a very eavesdropping-sounding whisper comes from behind the wall and you both flinch. like a straw breaking a camel's back, kiyoomi's face contorted into a vengeful scowl. he composed himself for a moment, promising you he'd be right back, and then stomping around the corner where you heard receding screams of terror.

that was five months ago, and you finally convinced kiyoomi to let you meet his friends formally, along with atsumu's brother who was bringing more food to help you feed four pro athletes.

"i've seen a lot more than just them being stupid," you remind him, giggling when his face turns a light shade of pink. "and, i think it's endearing how much they care for you. i know you won't admit it, but i know you care about them, too." he gazes at you so softly that it makes you melt a little. i'm gonna marry you, one day, he thinks. "now, i promise i won't be deterred by their idiocy, so let me get back to cooking, okay?"

"okay," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "i love you. a lot."

"i love you even more, omi."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[paperbackribs]

Tags: steddie, getting together, featuring the chaotic friendship of Eddie & Dustin

🤎🌱🤎

Steve's hands are already at his hips, “Eddie, what are you doing down there?”

Eddie glances up from the hole he’d dug in the woods beyond Steve’s backyard. Looking at the dirt nearly up to his shoulders he belatedly realises that he may have become a tad fixed on his big idea.

Dappled sunlight falls through the tapestry of foliage above and the chirping of birds nearby cheerily fill the lush landscape, but none of it seems to distract Steve from his concern as he squints down at Eddie.

“Where’s Dustin?” Eddie counters like he doesn’t currently resemble a cartoon villain digging traps for the native wildlife. He resists twirling an imaginary moustache over his bare upper lip, but Steve must have an idea of his thoughts because he squints suspiciously over his arms as he folds them.

“I don’t know,” Steve says slowly from high above, “should he be here while you create what looks like your own grave?”

Eddie props his arms over the lip, tilting his chin up and aiming for charming. Playful even. “Now, why would I do that, Stevie? Life is a magnificent thing, worthy of delight and whimsy.”

“Whimsy,” Steve repeats sceptically, “like you practically digging up my backyard. You know, someone could fall and sue me, right?” Despite his scolding tone, Steve bends to kneel on the ground, his delicious thighs by Eddie’s folded hands and head hovering over his.

Eddie flutters his eyelashes as Steve waits on him, nearly close enough to kiss if he would just tilt down a fraction. “You could get in here with me, make it so there’s no room for anyone else.”

Steve’s bright hazel eyes flash and Eddie wishes he could get a handle on whether it’s because of Eddie’s suggestive tone or if it’s that Steve is simply annoyed with his antics.

Just when the silences stretches for a second too long, enough that Eddie thinks Steve might lean forward, close the gap and take Eddie’s lips in what would surely be a spectacular first kiss, he instead smirks, slyly pushing a handful of loose dirt into the hole from the high mound above Eddie’s head. It rains over Eddie’s right shoulder, which he shrugs fatalistically — he’s fairly covered at this point anyway.

“Eddie, tell me why you’ve dug a hole near as tall as you by my backyard.”

“Or what, you’ll bury me with all the other bodies out here?”

“Something like that.” Another handful rains down and Eddie sighs, “It’s a compression hole.” Steve’s hand halts, “Like the socks?”

Eddie takes the opportunity to reach out and clasp Steve’s hand, ostensibly to stop it from pushing more dirt over his shoulders but really just taking the opportunity to touch Steve. Hold the warmth of his hand within his own, stroke the silken back of it with his thumb.

Eddie steals many moments like these and Steve always lets him, but he never knows whether it's because of Steve's generous nature or if it's because he wants Eddie touching him, specifically.

“Like the socks,” he agrees, eyes sharp as Steve’s cheeks flush a faint red. Yet he retains a sceptical mien about him so Eddie further explains. “Dustin has this book—”

Steve snorts, “Here we go.”

“Dustin has this book and it says that the Aboriginals from Australia have known for ages how to take care of deadly snake bites.”

“With a hole.”

Eddie is always fascinated to see the evidence of Steve’s smiles in the shine of his eyes, and he delights in being one of the few people who often brings out its brightness. “With a hole,” he agrees with a cheeky grin, happy at Steve’s amusement.

“Bit by a Red-belly then you're in the hole for x amount of days. By a King Brown then for an nth amount of days. Placed in the hole and buried up to your neck, the compression of it all works the venom safely through your system.”

He's sad to see those pretty eyes hidden from him as Steve closes them with a deep, bracing breath. “Eddie,” he begins in a warning tone, drawing his hand away, “is Dustin finding a poisonous snake to bite you with.”

“No, definitely not,” Eddie hedges but at Steve’s stern look he squirms, “because poisonous would mean that I can’t eat them?”

“Venomous then!”

Eddie thinks that maybe he’s losing his capacity to charm Steve if the ire rising in his eyes is anything to go by. He shifts uneasily on the hard dirt below him, feeling particularly trapped as Steve’s frown deepens while looking like he’s considering burying Eddie without the bite and definitely above his head.

The sounds of eager feet crunching over dry leaves and fallen branches sound behind Eddie and he tilts his head in time to see Dustin fly through the trees with a long, wriggling animal in his hands. “Found one!” He calls triumphantly, the curls around his face bobbing in excitement. There's a smudge across his cheek that Eddie suspects was made by crawling through the dirt and bushes to find his captured prey.

About twenty inches long, thin with yellow stripes framing its scales of green and brown, the garter snake wrapped around Dustin’s left arm tastes the air in front of it with its pink forked tongue. Simultaneously looking unhappy at being captured while utterly disinterested in the humans surrounding it.

Dustin’s face crinkles in confusion as Steve starts laughing behind Eddie’s back. “What? What is it?” He asks Steve who, Eddie looks over to see, has fallen back onto his butt, head tilted to the sky as he snorts and chuckles at the harmless animal Dustin has procured for their experiment.

“Never mind,” Steve waves an expansive hand towards the two of them, “carry on. As you were.” Humour dances over his brow and broadens his smile, “Here, I’ll even help. Pass it over, Dustin, I’ll throw the terrible monster at Eddie myself.”

It’s Eddie’s turn for his cheeks to flush now and he might be more embarrassed if it weren’t for Steve catching his eye, sharing a look of amusement with him rather than at him, and Eddie finds himself charmed by Steve Harrington once more.

It's not the first time and he knows that it won't be the last. Steve has had Eddie firmly wrapped around his little finger for far too long to say now, and Eddie's only waiting for the barest hint to step forward.

He sighs and turns back to Dustin, “Let the snake go, it’s a bust.”

Dustin opens his mouth to protest, but Eddie heads him off, explaining that the only creatures in danger of the carnivore in his hands are worms and maybe a mouse or two.

Eddie reckons that if Dustin were a mouse his tail would drop in disappointment right now, looking as sad as one can as he trudges away to release the snake in a safer place deeper in the woods.

He turns back to Steve to find him crouching now, braced with a hand outstretched towards Eddie. His eyes are still bright from his earlier laughter, but an invitation now winds its way through them.

“How about I help clean you up?” Steve asks in a dark murmur and Eddie lights up, finally finding an answer to the question that's been jittering in his heart.

“Why don’t you,” Eddie grins in agreement, clasping Steve back and pushing up to meet him halfway. As he scrambles out of the hole, Eddie pats the lip of its edge in affection as he continues to hold onto Steve’s hand. He silently thanks the soon-to-be-forgotten experiment and winds their fingers together, following Steve home.

💚 More steddie here

[the-kr8tor]

Snow and Piercings

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN Reader/ Spider-punk x GN reader.

Word count: 1.8k

Tags: established relationship, No use of Y/N, no specific physical description, fluff, tw needles, smut only implied. SFW

Synopsis: Snowed in, Hobie's bored out of his mind, he suggests to pierce your ears.

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Getting snowed in when you were a kid was the best- no school, watching cartoons the whole day, and drinking hot cocoa. Now being an adult and getting snowed in isn't as fun as when you were younger. Work was canceled due to the extreme weather, so you and Hobie use the time to catch up on chores around the flat, again not that fun. Well at least you don't have to go to work, and best of all there's no crime happening in the city, therefore you have Hobie all to yourself.

The only downside to having Hobie at home all day is that he's an absolute menace. With no crime being reported, Hobie's bored out of his damn mind, without him spider-manning around the city, he has all this pent up energy that he currently has no outlet for. He tries to use up all his pent up energy by trying to make chores fun- he throws the laundry across the room towards the washing machine like a basketball, all the laundry goes in the machine without challenge, with his enhanced senses it quickly becomes boring.

You suggested that he crawl up the ceiling with a broom to clean the cobwebs. But it ended up making more of a mess, you underestimated how dirty the ceiling was with dust bunnies floating down on your head like snow. You both ended up vacuuming the entire place twice.

Finally, with the flat all clean and the laundry all folded, and a quick shower. The both of you can finally relax and enjoy your day off.

You were finishing up making hot cocoa for the both of you, when Hobie suggested that he pierce your ears, your left helix specifically.

Hobie Hugs your middle as you pour hot cocoa in both your cups. The air sickenly sweet from the chocolate drink. A smile spreads across your face when Hobie lovingly rubs his face on your back.

"C'mon lovey, I'll be gentle." He pleads, he's being incredibly sweet, he thinks if he butters you up and gives you enough hugs you'll eventually say yes. He's right, though you wouldn't admit it to him.

"Babe, you're just bored. Why don't you fiddle with your guitar for a bit" you say as you hand him his mug of hot chocolate. You turn your back at him to grab something from the cupboard.

"Fiddle?" He sounds offended "First of all I don't 'fiddle' with my guitar, and second of all-" his drink sloshes to the side while he animatedly makes finger quotes when he says fiddle.

He pauses as he notices his mug without marshmallows. "Love, you forgot my mallows" he stretches his mug to show you.

You plop the aforementioned marshmallows in his mug. "No I didn't, and again you're just bored, we'll find something to do eventually" You head to the living room, Hobie following right behind you.

You turned towards him "We could watch a movie, or something to get your heart pumping perhaps?" You wink at him, while sipping from your mug.

"I'll take you up on that offer" Hobie chuckles at your implication.

Hobie grabs your waist with his free hand pulling you towards him. Your heart immediately racing at his reaction, you're sure he could hear it with his enhanced hearing.

Hobie closes the distance between the two of you, his lips ghosting over yours. You hold your free hand to his neck leading him towards you but he doesn't budge. You close your eyes and wait for the kiss but it doesn't come, you open one eye to see what's the hold up. Hobie pulls away from you while chuckling into his mug.

"You're awful" you feign annoyance, but your smile gives it away. You throw a couch pillow at him, he dodges it smoothly. Right, spidey sense you forgot for a second.

Hobie smirks at you through his mug.

You fake an annoyed sigh "If I say yes, will you stop being a menace?" You make it sound like you finally got annoyed by his antics by letting him win. But you actually wanted to get your helix pierced for a while now, you're just terrified of the pain, and for the aftercare? You're definitely gonna forget to clean it. But now with Hobie offering to pierce it himself, you now have an excuse to get it. And with a little charm on the side, Hobie will definitely help you clean it.

Knowing that Hobie will be the one piercing, you know you'll be taken care of during and after the procedure.

"No promises" He puts his mug down on a nearby table. "Stay there" he points at you as he speed walks to your bedroom to grab his kit.

You bring the mug to your lips to drink, but get startled when Hobie appears back in the living room, clutching the kit in one hand, "you can't change your mind!" he excitedly raises his voice. You can't blame him for his excitement, since there's not much happening today, you're just glad he finally gets some of that pent up energy out.

You watch him move all over the flat while sipping your drink. He goes to the kitchen opening the top cupboard with his web, he sticks to the wall on the side and crawls up to grab a box of gloves. He then shoots his webs at another cupboard at the end and yanks it back to open the cabinet, Hobie then crawls all over the newly cleaned ceiling to get to it, he grabs a roll plastic sheet from within. You watch him in awe, you'll never get used to seeing him using his powers.

Now carrying the supplies, He backflips back down. "Show off" you tease, but he's too excited to notice, he's practically vibrating with excitement. You grin at his state. You're curious as to why he's so excited, since he's pierced people before. Maybe because this is the first time he's piercing you?

Hobie lays out the plastic sheet over the dining chair and table, he opens his kit which he then lays them out on the table. He heads to the kitchen to wash his hands thoroughly. Once finished, Hobie holds his hands up with his palms facing him, like he's a surgeon preparing for his next surgery. He heads back to the table and puts on a pair of latex gloves.

"You look so punk right now" You ogle at the rare sight.

Hobie is standing next to a plastic draped chair with his hands still in that weird surgeon position, the only thing to complete his look is if he's wearing a medical mask.

"Well, piercing safely is very punk, sit down, lovey" he gestures at the chair. Hobie looks so smug, thinking he's won you over.

"I don't remember all of this plastic when you were piercing Ned" you sit down, the plastic crinkle as you settle down.

"It's Ned, he can handle it"

"So youre saying I can't handle it?"

"No, it's because you're not Ned" I love you more, and because it's you, He meant to say, you look at him lovingly which means you know exactly what he truly meant. He stares down at you full of adoration in his eyes, he grabs the side of your head to move some hair out of your face.

"Are you sure about this?" He asks tentatively. His voice is soft and without any teasing behind it.

"It's you Hobie, I Trust you" you hook your finger into his belt loop to steady the tremors of your hands. But knowing it's Hobie, eases some anxiety.

Hobie gives you one of his signature smirks. He then grabs a cotton ball dipped in alcohol to clean the area where your new piercing will go. You shiver at the cold liquid hitting your ear.

"It's just the alcohol, sweets" he reassures you.

"I know, just the anticipation is killing me" you're still holding onto his belt loop.

"Keep talking to me, it'll be over before you know it" he grabs your chin and lifts it to give you a chaste kiss on the lips. "For courage" he says with a wink.

You get distracted by the kiss and miss it when he grabs the needle from the table.

"That's it, love. Keep looking at my face" he readies the needle in its position.

"Why are you wearing jeans at home?" You ask distracting yourself from the big ass needle near your ear.

"Gotta be ready to move whenever needed, and besides I see how you look at my ass while wearing it" you see him wink in your peripheral vision. You roll your eyes at the comment, if you weren't so nervous you would've quipped back.

"Now, inhale" Hobie instructs and you follow. He pushes the needle in carefully, you grimace from the pressure. You feel him quickly put on a new stud earring to replace the needle. "Exhale" he finally says.

You let out a puff of air, you finally feel the throbbing pain from your ear. He grabs some cotton balls and cleans you up. Your eyes water from the pain. A lone tear slides down your cheeks. He crouches down to level with you.

"You did good, definitely better than Ned" he rubs your arms to comfort you. You laugh at his comment.

"Here, look" Hobie brings a hand mirror in front of you. He bites his lip in anticipation of your reaction.

You turn to the side to see it properly, you gasp at the simple red stud earring, the same shade of red as his Spider-Man suit. The gem gleaming in the late afternoon sun.

"Hobie" you say softly, heart eyes staring at him.

"Bought it at a small piercing place, while doing my patrol 'round the city. For the record I didn't steal it, I would never do that to a small business" Hobie explains. "Saw it, reminded me of you, so I got it, could only afford one though" he rambles on.

You grab his face with a little force that makes your lips crash with each other, you cringe internally, but he smiles at your eagerness.

You kiss him properly this time. Hobie holds the back of your head, carefully avoiding your newly pierced ear, the kiss full of love and affection for each other. Hobie pulls away for a second to look at your kiss-bitten lips, he gives your lips a good peck before fully pulling away.

"I love it, and I love you" You cradle his face with both hands, Hobie lays his forehead on yours, his way of saying it back, as he holds your elbows, he moves his thumb in a circular pattern against your skin.

"Still hurts like a bitch though" You sniffle from the tears of pain mixed with joy.

Hobie laughs "I'll take care of it, and you" He cradles the side of your neck and kisses you softly.

The afternoon sun mixed with the pattern on your frosted windows bathes your figures in heavenly light. You both look at each other savoring the moment.

A/n: I have no idea how to pierce ears, I'm only basing this on my own experience lol. Hope you enjoyed it! Comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated!!

[writingforstraykids]

Sweet disaster

Pairing: Chanlix x femReader

Word Count: 1080

Summary: Noticing Chan's current discomfort and stress level, you decide to prepare some brownies. There's only one problem; you suck at baking.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, angst, baking, domestic shit, cuddles, softboy!channie

A/N: Love you 💕@miuracha

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan has been really stressed lately with the upcoming comeback. Felix was as well, but Chan always got a different type of stressed out as their leader. So you thought you'd surprise him with brownies. The only problem is, you're not exactly naturally talented in the kitchen like your friend Minho or know your way around the kitchen like your boyfriends. After getting Felix's recipe and all the ingredients you stood still for a moment, feeling nervous to mess this up. 

You start out slow, weighing some of the ingredients and getting closer to a mental breakdown with every gram that's too much or too little in your various bowls. 

Felix comes downstairs from his shower and frowns softly, seeing you. "And what is that supposed to be?" 

You look up, blushing a little with embarrassment. "I'm trying to surprise Channie."

"Did I miss something?" Felix asks, shocked. It isn't his birthday; their anniversary is in two months. 

"No, relax," you giggle and eye the cartoon of eggs suspiciously. "He just looked like he'd pass out soon or start crying, and at this point, I don't know what I'd prefer to let him have a break." 

"Oh," Felix nods and comes over, sitting down at the kitchen island. "And you're making brownies?" he asks after scanning all the bowls and packages on the table. 

You grab an egg and push your fingers against it. "Yeah, I'm trying." 

Felix watches you, stunned. "No, baby, that's not -" The egg breaks into two, running down your fingers and onto the table. 

It's your final straw, and tears shoot to your eyes, frustration settling in your body. "Fuck this, I'm useless at that." 

"No, no, no," Felix quickly chimes in and gets up. He gently guides you to the sink and washes your hands. "It's your first time doing this, of course, things go wrong." 

"Yeah, but I don't want him to eat some fucked cake," you pout as he dries your hands with a towel. 

Felix gently cups your face and kisses your forehead. "Let me help you, okay? We'll do it together." 

"Okay," you nod and smile as he brushes your hair back. Your boyfriend steps behind you, braiding your hair for you quickly so it won't be in the way. He guides you back to the table and orientates himself quickly in your mess. 

"Alright, so we start with this," he says, leading you through the process step by step. He shows you how to mix ingredients together, telling you why a certain order is important. 

You put it into the oven after a while and beam at him. "Thank you, Lix," you smile. 

"Anytime, baby," he smiles right back at you, eyes sparkling with joy. "Okay, now let's clean up in the meantime." 

You two are done just in time when the keys to your front door turn. Chan steps inside, the hood of his sweater on his head, and sets down his backpack tiredly. He freezes for a moment, picking up on the sweet scent floating through the apartment. "Felix?" he calls out, making his way into the apartment. "Did you make brownies?" he asks, the thought alone putting a tired smile on his face. 

"No," Felix shakes his head from his place on the sofa and looks over at you, who's getting some drinks from the kitchen. "Y/nnie did." 

"Wait, really?" he asks, surprised, and you nod shyly. "Aw baby, how did it go?" 

"Lix helped me out, obviously," you chuckle. "I still have to learn a lot." 

"You did great, baby," Felix shakes his head. Chan gives Felix a soft kiss as a greeting. Felix notices how he slightly contorts his face, bending down to meet his lips. "Once you said hi to our girl, you come right back here and let me take care of your neck and back.". 

Chan laughs and nods gently. "I'll need that," he says before making his way over to you. "Hi, baby girl," he smiles softly. 

"Hey, Channie," you smile and lower your gaze shyly. "I uhm I thought I'd make you some because you looked exhausted this morning." 

Chan's heart is about to burst hearing that, and he pulls you into a tight hug so you won't see the tears brimming in his eyes. "Thank you," he whispers, burying his face in your shoulder. 

You gently pull back the hood of his sweater and run your fingers through his untamed curls. "Lix and I are very proud of you for working so hard," you tell him, and Chan squeezes you gently. 

He's about to answer when Felix steps behind him and wraps his arm around the two of you. "We love you so much, Channie," he says, kissing his neck. 

"I love you too," Chan tells you quietly. 

"Now go and let Felix take care of you, okay?" you say, gently patting his back. You carefully take the brownies from the oven, and after letting it cool down for a bit, you cut a few pieces, knowing how much your boys loved practically burning their mouths to eat them still warm. 

Chan bites back a groan as Felix works on a very tense spot in the back of his neck and squeezes his eyes shut. He knows he needs this, but still, it hurts. His eyes flutter open as your hand slips into his, and he flashes you a tired smile. 

"Wanna try?" you ask, holding up a plate. 

"Lix, hang on for a moment," Chan says, and Felix stops, gently rubbing his arms. "You want some as well?" 

"Of course, I wanna know how our girl did," he nods eagerly, making you giggle. 

You try a bite yourself as they do and nod to yourself. This wasn't too bad. 

"This is amazing," Felix compliments you with a sweet smile. 

Chan leans forward and cups your face, kissing you lovingly. "That's exactly what I needed today." 

"I thought you might," you smile gently. You continue feeding him small bites as Felix finishes his massage, and Chan looks positively tired out. "You want to take a nap?" 

Chan nods gently. "Can you two join?" 

Felix giggles and pats his side. "Of course we can." 

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Only a little later, you're all cuddled up with Chan in the middle. He's falling asleep soon, and you allow yourself to rest a bit as well when you notice Felix drifting off slowly. Sometimes, cuddles and a good nap are all your boys need.

Taglist: (Please let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the taglist!)

@kai-lee08 @atinyniki @mal-lunar-28 @aaasia111 @galaxycatdrawz @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @malfoygalaxies @rebecca-johnson-28

[just-some-random-blogger]

When We Cross

There are those that prefer travelling with a partner, be it for companionship or their inability to ask for ketchup by themselves. To Pedro, that person was you.

Pedro Pascal x Reader | >700 | cw: fem!reader, fluff, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: im trying a new layout for the description and i cant tell if its ugly or im just too used what i normally do. oh well

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @amis-love-bugs @top1bbgloak @sunfairyy @djarinsstuff @mooniesyubi @pedropascalgirly @mmmmandoz @multifandom-fangirl4

You know what would be really nice? A sundae.

Pedro makes a mental note to bring this up after he's gotten to the meetup place.

He makes a sound as he walks down the block. It's a balmy day, nearing the borderline of sweltering. It was manageable to him though. He huffs as he thinks of how sweaty you'd probably be.

Pedro makes a face at the people walking in front of him.

Can these people walk any slower. Like, bro? I've got places to be.

He adjusts the straps of his bags as he overtakes the people in front of him.

He huffs as he reaches the end of the street. A grumble leaves his lips when the pedestrian light goes red the moment his feet touch the curb. The people he overtook are now behind him. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

Pedro brings his hands into his pocket. He pulls out his phone and takes a moment to look at his lockscreen. It's you and him. He can't help the way his lips curve at the sight of it. He really liked this photo. He liked that dress on you and the way you did your hair. He also liked the fact you were licking his cheek. Weirdo.

He licks his lips and tells himself not to think about that day too much, lest he combust on the sidewalk.

His phone dings in his hand: BRO WHERE ARE YOU?

Pedro presses the message quickly replies: almost there :P

Another ding: ?? you mean 😛

Another ding: also HURRY THE FUCK UP

Pedro does not reply and crosses the street instead. As he clutches his bag, his mind drifts to the healthy amount of times you and him crossed the street. He imagines the straps were your fingers in this moment. He feels fuzzy. It's not the same though. Why did you have to be so far away?

He weaves through the crowd and passes a bunch of people seated in the outdoor tables of a café, laughing their heads off. His eyes linger for a moment then he cringes.

Was everyone that loud in cafés? Us too? Geez.

Pedro makes sure his bag doesn't bump into a street light. In doing so, he turns right and catches sight of a drugstore. He thinks of the last time you went to a drugstore together. You raided their first aid section and bought all the cartoon band aids. And well, to be fair, there were only 3 boxes.

He chuckles to himself as he thinks about how you wore a whole purple band aid on your cheek as a pimple patch.

"Cute," he mutters as he watches where he steps on the pavement.

Finally, he's arrived.

He walks into the mall and immediately spots the impeccably impatient woman pacing around just by the entrance.

Pedro walks over to her, "I'm here. I'm here. I'm sorry it took so long. These stupid fucks walk so slow."

"Yeah, it's totally not your fault that you woke up late at-"

"It was five minutes!"

"HA! You mean five hours!"

They begin to argue in Spanish. Eyes are rolled. Lips are pressed in annoyance.

"Whatever!" Pedro finally sasses, raising a hand.

She sasses back, "ugly," she grabs her carry on luggage and they begin to walk off. She motions to the department store on her left, "you should buy a bar."

Pedro glances where she points. He sees the chocolates on display then eyes her hotly.

She raises a brow and shrugs, "a reason to call."

"Quit it," he blurts.

"What?"

Pedro begins to get annoyed.

"You clearly need one, Pedrito."

"I said q uit it."

She groans, "just do it. If you didn't want to, you'd have changed your wallpaper by now."

"I did."

She scoffs and raises her palm in expectation.

Pedro turns away from his annoying sibling. He regrets loving her so much. If he didn't, maybe he'd have bolted and left her all by herself.

"Gimme it. Now," his sister snarls.

He rubs his moustache. She punches his arm.

He releases a breath. He gives her his phone even with the knowledge it will be extremely bad for him.

She opens it once its in her hands. She stops in her tracks when she sees the photo. Pedro manages two steps before he realizes this. He turns to his baby sister and she pouts.

She lowers the phone. Her brother really did change the wallpaper. It used to be a photo of you, now it's a photo of you and him. "Pedro..."

Pedro waits for her to say something more. She only frowns and repeats, "ay, Pedro."

He shrugs, " 's what it is."

She hands him back his phone. They keep walking.

[tiredly101]

Worst thing is she didn't hear part 3

Pairing: Wally Darling x Replaced!Female reader

Part 1, Part 2,

Illustrated Au, picture doesn’t belong to me! R/n stands for random name peeps! Anyways enjoy the angst!

Wally picked up F/n up but she was limp, almost as if she had never had a life in the first place and the thought made his cartoon heart clench in pain. He carried her all the way to the door but when he tried to step outside he saw how the loose strings suddenly became stiff and started pulling her back from his grasp but he was persistent, he wasn’t about to leave her behind so he used all his strength and eventually, after what felt like hours of struggle, he managed to pull her out of the house.

Wally sighted in relief and carried F/n, walking back through the path he came from and looking at her. His eyes drifted to the scars in her arms and legs made by the strings but his eyes always went back to the stitched smile on her face. It looked painful and he hated the fact that she had “tattooed” in her leg that R/n was her replacement. 

His eyes open in shock when he saw F/n stir softly in his arms, as if getting comfortable, but he smiled weakly when he saw her, not dull anymore, eyes stare into his. His smile dropped completely when tears started flowing down her cheeks since they weren’t the normal transparent but a soft black color.

“C’mon darling, hold on… we are close to Home,” said Wally softly but was shocked when F/n started shaking and trying to get out of his grasp, as if she was scared of the house. She did indeed manage to fall on the ground and crawled her way to Wally’s, red apple tree, painting spot. He walked to her slowly and sat next to her, he waited for her to talk but she didn’t. Wally looked at her and saw her point slowly at her sewed shut lips, he could have swear that only a smile was sewed into her face instead of the whole mouth becoming the smile.

“Did… did Home do this to you?,” asked Wally softly and his eyes widen in shock when she nodded a weak yes. He stayed quiet and looked at the house, that couldn’t see him, on the other side of the hill.

“Did Home do this when you tried to leave?,” asked Wally looking at F/n and saw how she nodded before her eyes slowly started going dull. Wally grabbed her hand and held it in his, softly sniffing before he started crying in a loud way hugging, who was limp in his arms, F/n from the waist.

“Why would Home do this?”

Tag list:

@lovingyeet @w-s-f-w-w-s-f-j @justyuki1st @mikomi-the-clown @bloodmoona-eclipse @etherealyblue @zukkosworld @majestichugs @humongouscomputerzombie @bookmark-anon @livstone2022 @death-moth-art01

[subtly-a-selkie]

I think I and lots of other people would really appreciate a part two of the Tadashi story? Pretty please with a cherry on top!

Here you go!! Sorry for the delay there was a slight dilemma on what perspective to put it in but i did my best! You can always request a specific perspective when you request if you prefer a different one. Everyone who showed any interest in a part two was tagged so please let me know if you would prefer not to be.

Word Count: 1800 ish (whoops)

Warnings: grammatical errors and weird formatting (even though it was written on my phone the formatting shouldn’t be that bad) slight angst (?) posted/written late at night so possible weird phrases

You fumble with the remote, switching through the channels in search of something--anything interesting. Anything that wasn't what was previously on to be honest, lately all the news could talk about was the fire and the loss of Professor Callaghan and student Tadashi Hamada. You did not want to think about that thank you very much. Finally settling on a news report about six new superheroes of all things, you go back to what you were doing which was giving the kitchen a much needed scrubbing.

After the news of Tadashi's death you shut down, not even managing to go to his funeral. Looking back on it now you figured that was for the best considering you hadn't yet been introduced to his aunt and little brother. Shaking yourself out of those thoughts before it became too much you aggressively scrub at the counter attempting to remove the crust that adorned it. Luckily for your sanity the kitchen was the last room to clean.

"Ew." you say to no one in particular, except maybe the cat that was making it increasingly difficult to clean the kitchen. The news story finished and switched to something else, and although it wasn't what the news had been obsessing over it did hit a little too close to home. You switch off the television and resume cleaning in a almost stifling silence, left alone with your thoughts and a very unhelpful cat.

Your house was so clean you could practically see little sparkles like the ones in cartoons and all you had to do is hang back up the pictures. You had an assortment of photos, a few of your cat as a kitten, some of your family and friends, and some of Tadashi. Some of the photos of Tadashi included you  and some were just him. You even had one of him, his aunt and his brother. You debated putting that one back up as it was slightly weird to have a photo of people you had never met. Tadashi was the one who had put it up in the first place. Your riveting debate with yourself is cut short by the doorbell and you place the photo with the rest.

You open the door and your eyes go wide with shock, although you had never met Hiro in person you certainly recognized him from the pictures and videos Tadashi would show you.

“Are you Y/N?”

“Oh! Uh yes… please come in Hiro.” You stumble over your words, mind rushing with questions on why he was here. Your eyes widen even further on seeing the giant marshmallow of a robot behind him.

“Baymax?” You realize that you are blocking the both of them from entering and quickly move aside, fingers worrying at the small necklace Tadashi had gifted you. “Oh! Sorry. Uhm. I didn’t expect you.”

“Baymax showed me the videos you and Tadashi had made.” Hiro replies gently picking up one of the photos of you and Tadashi that you had already put back. You both smiled at the camera, eyes lit up by the sun. Your nose was scrunched and your arms thrown around him and his hair was ruffled from the breeze.

“You were his girlfriend?” Hiro asks quietly.

“I was.” You pause and glance at him still holding the photo “That picture was taken at the beach, he loved to take me there.”

“Why didn’t he tell me about you?” He asks more to himself than you. You could tell he was struggling with thoughts about his brother lying to him.

“He was going to tell you after you got into SFIT.” You say, your voice cracking. “I thought that you were having a hard enough time without having to deal with making room in your family for me.”

“Tadashi was reluctant to agree with your choice.” Baymax says causing you to startle, you had almost forgotten that he was there.

His torso began to light up and you and Tadashi come into view.

“Hiro was at another bot fight last night.” Tadashi said working on what seemed to be one of Baymax’s arms.

“I could tell.” You laughed gently, placing your hands on his shoulders. “You fix Baymax a lot more aggressively when he does.” The two of you stayed like that for a bit before you spoke again. “Do you want to talk about it Dashi?” You moved your hands forward, clasping them together and leaning against his back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. He put the tools down and turned towards you so you were standing between his legs, kissing your cheek in return.

“I’m worried for him you know? i can’t protect him forever and once he gets older there will be real consequences for his actions.”

“He graduated high school at thirteen. He wants to keep learning and be challenged and bot fighting is what’s scratching that itch.” You smiled fondly “I remember you being the same way in high school although luckily I was horrible enough at math that tutoring me kept you from bot fighting.”

“I don’t think I would have ever turned to bot fighting. Even without you to ground me.”

“Of course you wouldn’t have, you had Hiro to take care of. You had to step into a father figure role and you weren’t able to do anything reckless when you had had him depending on you.”

“So I have two options, get someone for him to tutor or have a kid and die forcing him to grow up.” You laughed lightly at that.

“Or you could find something else to challenge him in a not illegal way.” You paused, prompting him to figure it out himself. “Something that is similar to the things he enjoys about bot fighting?”

“You’re a genius Y/N, thank you!” Tadashi exclaimed, pulling you down to his lap for a proper kiss. You smiled into it before pulling away.

“Being a genius is your job. I just know teenagers.”

“Even more of a reason for me to introduce you to him.”

“After.” You smiled brushing the hair out of his eyes.

“After he gets in to SFIT?”

“It be a bit too much for this big transition to happen and him needing to accept me into the family.” You paused. “After he settles.”

“You could help him settle! He’ll see you anyways because you’re here most of the time.”

“Okay.” You agree. “After he gets into SFIT.”

He kissed you again before you maneuvered yourself out out of your grasp.

“Go talk to him!” You said pulling him up by his hands.

“My lab is a mess.” He said in reply gesturing to the pieces of Baymax strewn about.

“I’ll clean it.” you shrugged. “I’ve got nothing else to do, my big test was yesterday.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He smiled and kissed you again before leaving.

You began to clean when something on Baymax caught your eye.

“Oh! How long have you been recording?” You said to the robot. You smiled into the camera and spoke again. “Now don’t tell Dashi this but i went to go see Hiro bot fight a couple times. He’s got all this talent he just needs to focus it. I’m sure he’ll love it here, there’s all these resources for him to draw from and teachers that will be happy to teach him.”

Feeling around the camera you frowned, “Now where is that off button?” You evidently found it as the picture froze.

Hiro breaks the silence that had settled after the recording. “You came to watch me bot fight? How did you even find me?”

“There’s only so many illegal bot fights. It wasn’t too hard to find the one you fought at.” The silence grew and you speak again. “Would you like anything? I have tea and little cookies? Dashi’s favorite.” You quietly add “We can talk if you would like.”

“The little cookies sound good are they the chocolate ones?”

“Yes.” You smile faintly and invite him and Baymax to the living room.

“Tea can be very hot and dangerous. I shall accompany you.” Baymax states shuffling past you to the kitchen. Your faint smile grows at the memory that caused Tadashi to program that phrase and you follow after.

Returning to the living room with the tea and cookies you see Hiro looking at the pictures you had spread out. Setting the tray down on the table you sit next to him, smiling at the photo he holds. It’s Tadashi and a little girl about a year old, he was lying on the couch and holding her gently, one hand resting carefully on her back and the early morning light softly illuminating their faces. She was still asleep and clutching to his shirt, her pacifier that had been gently clipped to her light yellow onesie resting on his shoulder. He was pressing a kiss to the top of her head and his free hand was entwined with yours.

“Who’s the baby?” Hiro asks quietly and you smile at him.

“She’s my cousin. I babysit her when my aunts have date nights.” He places the picture back on the table and picks up another, the one of him, Tadashi, and his aunt. “That was Dashi’s.” You explain.

“Oh.” Hiro replies and lowers it back to the table, choosing a different one to hold. “And this one?”

You explain the story behind that photo too, and than another and another until you run out of pictures. Both you and Hiro are smiling at the end of your stories and he helps you find places to put them all.

“You should come see Aunt Cass!” Hiro says excitedly. “She would love you.”

“Are you sure she wouldn’t be upset that she didn’t know I was dating Tadashi?” You question adjusting the picture frame of a photo of your cat when you first found her.

“I think that she would be upset that Tadashi never told her but not upset at you.”

“I’m the one who insisted on it.”

“Trust me that wont really register.”

“Okay.” You smile at him already feeling like he was your own little brother.

“Great let’s go!”

“Oh! Uh now?”

“When else?”

“I suppose we can go now I just need to put away the tea and-”

“Okay okay.” Hiro cuts you off “Just hurry up!”

People tagged <3

@sillyfreakfanparty

@katerinaval

@discount-izukumidoriya

@heyyo-peeps

@soleil-lei

@weigheddownbyfandoms

[bambirex]

Tell It With Your Heart

Pairing: Geraskier

Characters: Jaskier/Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia

Additional tags: fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, acts of kindness, soft Geralt of Rivia, soft Jaskier/Dandelion, getting together, domestic fluff, friends to lovers

Word count: 2,504

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: While Jaskier always says what's on his mind, Geralt works a little differently. That doesn't mean he cannot tell Jaskier how he feels - he just does that without words.

Author's notes: for @wren-of-the-woods!! Wren, dear, we've talked so much about the different love languages the Witcher characters would have, and we both agreed Geralt's would be acts of service, so I had to gift this to you! I hope you'll like it, thank you so much for brainstorming with me ❤️

It's really nice finally being back with some fluff! There's a scene that might be familiar to some as it's directly taken from the Spirit cartoon hehe

Read on Ao3

**

Geralt wasn't a man of many words, Jaskier was well aware of that. For the first few months that they've spent traveling together, Jaskier was mostly met with grunts and an awful lot of "hm"s, and if Geralt has graced him with a sentence consisting of more than three words, Jaskier was practically over the moon.

It wasn't because he was dumb as many people believed witchers to be: Geralt was very intelligent, he was just simply very closed-off. He had many walls pulled up around his heart, protecting him from the harshness of the world. Armor on his body and on his soul, Jaskier mused about it one day.

It took a while for Jaskier to understand Geralt. The bard was very talkative, has been that way all his life: he's talked his way out of the worst situations, has seduced his lovers with his kind words, and has made himself a name with his poetry. For him, it was hard to imagine there were ways to talk without using words, until he met Geralt.

That was why he needed some time to put the pieces together after the first time Geralt has returned with two rabbits dangling over his shoulders one day.

It was a couple of months after Jaskier's joined Geralt on the path. Money was scarce, and so the food was too, and Jaskier may have complained a little about being hungry. Geralt has growled at him that if he wanted to eat, he was more than welcome to go and find food for himself. Jaskier decided it was wiser if he didn't do that on his own.

When Geralt told him to stay in one place while he disappeared into the woods, Jaskier was sure Geralt has left him behind. He cursed himself for being so stupid to whine about being hungry while he knew right well that Geralt was working his ass off trying to gather enough for the both of them. Now he really did it, he annoyed Geralt to the point that he wouldn't come back for him.

But Geralt returned, with one tiny, scrawny rabbit and a large, fat one. He did not say a single word, he just sat down on a tree trunk and started skinning them. Jaskier stood there confused, anxiously rubbing his fingers together while Geralt got to cooking the meat.

Once he was done, he handed Jaskier the much bigger rabbit. It smelled deliciously, and Jaskier noticed that Geralt cooked his rabbit so much better than his own, Jaskier's meat being pink and juicy, while Geralt's looking bony and half raw.

"We can share mine, I won't be able to eat all of this anyway," Jaskier offered. Geralt shook his head, not even looking up as he started tearing at his own food.

"You need it more than me," was all he said. Jaskier tried a couple more times, but Geralt refused his offer.

"Thank you," Jaskier said softly when they were done eating. His stomach was full, and he felt warm and comfortable. Maybe it was the post-lunch daze that made him see things that weren't there, but it seemed like Geralt looked satisfied as he watched Jaskier rest a hand on his full belly.

*

The night was cold, possibly the coldest all winter. They were refused from every single inn. Things seemed more hopeless than ever, and the night was slowly creeping up on them. Jaskier pulled his furs tighter around his body, his teeth chattering loudly as they wandered around, trying to find a place to rest.

They eventually found a tiny stable. It was an old, ragged building, not very warm and the hay was dusty and dry, but it was better than nothing.

Geralt placed both their blankets over the hay, then gestured at Jaskier to lie down on them. Jaskier raised an eyebrow in question.

"What about you?"

"Lie down, Jaskier."

Jaskier did, but his confusion remained as Geralt took his own fur off and laid it over him.

"Geralt, you're going to be cold," Jaskier protested. He tried to hand the fur back, but Geralt threw it back at him.

"Burrow in," Geralt said. He leaned down and wrapped the furs around Jaskier as tight as he could, cocooning him until he was as warm as he could be. "It's only going to get colder. I'll be okay."

"Geralt," Jaskier sighed, "please. I don't want you to freeze to death. At least... come a little closer, then?"

Jaskier could swear he saw a hint of a blush on Geralt's cheeks. The witcher hesitated for a moment before he lay next to Jaskier, shifting close enough that their sides touched.

It was the best sleep Jaskier has gotten in weeks. He felt safe and warm against Geralt's side, who seemed to have shifted even closer to him during the night. Jaskier didn't mind, not even a little bit.

*

"Oh, this is really pretty," Jaskier sighed dreamily, "very lovely."

"It would look marvelous on you," the vendor mused as he held up the necklace for Jaskier. The thin golden chain glimmered in the candlelight. The medallion, forming a tiny bird, dangled off the vendor's hand.

"That's so kind of you to say, but it's a bit expensive," Jaskier sighed. He fell in love with that necklace the second he's laid his eyes on it, but they weren't here to buy jewelry with the small amount of coins they had. Geralt was browsing the shelves for the necessary supplies they needed for the path. He had his back to Jaskier, but Jaskier was sure he was rolling his eyes over Jaskier's ridiculous love for pretty jewelry.

Jaskier tried not to show his disappointment when they left the shop. He stared down at his boots and bit his lip, imagining how that necklace would have looked on him.

They barely even made a few meters when Geralt abruptly turned around.

"I forgot something," he said, all but storming back in the shop.

He was back soon, holding a tiny bag in his hand. Jaskier eyed it curiously.

"What is it? Something for Roach?"

Geralt cleared his throat a little awkwardly before he squeezed out a "no". Then, he gave the bag to Jaskier.

"It's mine?"

"It's yours."

"Well, that should be interesting," Jaskier chuckled softly as he peeled the bag open. He let out a loud gasp when he saw what was inside.

"Geralt..." Jaskier whispered, his throat constricting around the words. "You shouldn't have..."

"I know you liked it," Geralt replied. He didn't look at Jaskier, instead stared at a small rock on the ground. He kicked it, watching it roll away as if it was the most interesting thing he has ever seen. "So, there."

Jaskier suddenly didn't know what to do with himself. He wanted to run back to the shop and give it back, he wanted to berate Geralt for spending so much on something so useless, but he also wanted to sob and throw himself into Geralt's arms.

He did the latter, clutching Geralt so hard that the witcher let out a surprised huff. Jaskier buried his face in Geralt's neck, his eyes welling up with tears.

"I don't know why you're being so kind to me," Jaskier whispered, "you shouldn't have to do all this for me."

"I should," Geralt said. He brought up a hand and placed it onto Jaskier's back, a slightly awkward but very endearing attempt at a hug. "You're welcome."

*

Jaskier sat in the grass, scribbling in his notebook while Geralt sat next to him, working on his bestiary. It was a nice and comfortable way to spend time together: just being close to each other, both working on their own thing while not having to be alone. As years have passed, Jaskier has learned to appreciate these moments. He used to think of them as boring, awkward silence, but now he understood just how precious it was to be together like this.

He glanced over at Geralt. The witcher was deeply lost in his thoughts, a furrow between his brows, his face half-covered by his hair. Jaskier felt his heart flutter just looking at him.

Geralt must have sensed he was staring, because he looked up, shooting Jaskier a questioning look. Jaskier quickly looked away, redirecting his eyes upwards to the tree above them and pretending like he hasn't been staring at Geralt for the past few minutes- and the past decade, really.

He spotted a beautifully ripe apple on one of the branches above him. It was harsh red and perfectly round. Jaskier could imagine the taste of it on his tongue.

"When I was young," he started, speaking more to himself than Geralt, "I would always pick at fruits while I was working on a song. I would lie belly down on the grass, scribbling with one hand and stuffing my face with the other."

"Did it help you create better?"

"I don't know. It was a nice habit. And at least I didn't forget to eat while I was writing. I tend to do that."

"I know," there was an almost soft tone to Geralt's voice. It made Jaskier smile.

Jaskier peered up at the apple again. It sat on a high branch, and there was no way Jaskier would have reached it, even if he jumped for it. He decided he'd rather just wait until a fruit fell on the ground.

He picked up his notebook again. He didn't manage to write the next sentence down, because from the corner of his eye, he saw a quick movement that made him look up.

Jaskier's jaw dropped when he saw Geralt jumping up so high, it looked like he was practically flying. Taking good advantage of his advanced strength and reflexes, Geralt grabbed the apple from the branch before he landed again on the ground with a soft thud.

He opened his palm and showed the apple to Jaskier, making him snort.

"Way to humiliate me, Geralt," Jaskier rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry I can't fly. I didn't even know witchers could do that. Eh. Show-off."

"No," Geralt reached out again. "I got it for you."

"For me?" Jaskier whispered in awe. He stared at the apple in Geralt's hand, then up at Geralt. He blinked at him in surprise. Geralt hummed.

"Do you not want it?"

"I do," Jaskier replied. The muscles in his face ached as his lips curled into a wide smile. His heart swelled so big in his chest, he was worried it would burst. "But only if I can share it with you."

"Alright," Geralt concluded. His own lips twitched into a smile as he reached into his satchel, looking for a dagger.

Their knees touched as they sat, passing apple slices between each other. Once again, Jaskier found it hard to look at anywhere but Geralt's face, that lovely face that looked so content now, Jaskier wished he could kiss it.

*

The years have officially caught up to Jaskier. He wasn't old, not by any means, but he wasn't exactly young either. He started to tire out easier, his legs aching after having to walk so long. His joints often creaked and popped when he stood up, and to his absolute horror, he even noticed a gray hair at his temple.

"I don't mean to complain... well, I kind of do. I know it must be hard being a witcher but at least your lower back doesn't try to kill you if you sit a little weird for a few minutes!"

Jaskier groaned as he sunk into the water. The warmth felt heavenly for his tired bones, his cramping muscles easing up slowly as he leaned back in the tub. He rested his head against the edge, letting out a big sigh.

"And I'm only thirty-five!"

"You're thirty-eight, Jaskier."

"It's awfully rude to bring up a lady's age, Geralt!"

"You brought it up first. And you're not a lady."

"No, I'm an old man," Jaskier whined pathetically, closing his eyes. "I'm withering away."

His eyes snapped open again when he felt a touch against his shoulder. He twisted around to see Geralt standing behind the tub.

"Relax," Geralt told him. Before Jaskier could ask what he meant, Geralt pressed his thumb into a sore spot gently, making Jaskier keen in his throat.

"Heavens," he sighed, "this is incredible."

Geralt hummed, a pleased little sound. He ground the heel of his hand into the knots in the back of Jaskier's neck, drawing content little noises out of him.

Jaskier couldn't help but grin when he smelled the chamomile oil. He wanted to make a joke about the tables turning, but he could only manage a blissful moan when Geralt massaged the oil into his skin.

"You know, you do an awful lot of things for me," Jaskier pointed out. "You take care of me a lot."

"You take care of me as well."

"Yes, but it's different for you, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"I've been thinking," Jaskier admitted. He let out another happy sigh as Geralt rubbed over his shoulder. "I had a lot of time to do that in the past fifteen years or so. You're not very talkative. Sometimes, when you're in the right mood, you talk a bit more. But even then, not as much as me."

Jaskier could hear the grin in Geralt's voice when he said "No one can talk as much as you."

Jaskier snorted. "Alright, maybe the comparison is a little unfair. But my point is, I've told you many times that I love you. You just never seemed to hear me. And I was wondering if it was because you didn't want to hear it, or because your way of telling me is much different."

Geralt's hands stilled. Jaskier turned back, glaring up into amber eyes.

"You're doing all of this for me, buying me things, feeding me, spoiling me, because you don't know how else to tell me."

He reached for Geralt's hand. He smiled when Geralt - even though a little tentatively - laced their fingers together.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to understand your language," Jaskier said softly, "but I get it now. I mean... I get it, right? Oh, gods, it would be very awkward if I misinterpreted this and..."

He didn't get to finish his rambling as Geralt pressed their lips together, his hand still holding Jaskier's. Jaskier felt like melting into the warm water as Geralt kissed him, a little too careful for Jaskier's taste, but so perfectly like no one else could.

"Are you happy?" Geralt asked as he pulled back. Jaskier definitely didn't just imagine the flush on his cheeks this time.

"Very," Jaskier grinned. He kissed the back of Geralt's hand, holding it against his cheek for a moment. "I love you."

Geralt leaned down to kiss him again, carding his fingers through Jaskier's damp hair. Very quietly, very gently, he said the same thing against Jaskier's lips.

[silky-silks]

Okay can I talk?

eric belonging to @night-light-artz

Patches @eve-pie

Okay for the image above I was doing a “mock” warrior cat book. I miss the old covers but anyway

I kinda feel my art is…boring. I mean it just feels that way. Sometimes I feel I rush myself to get things done, and to be honest I hate having to rush myself. I look back at my recent post and they just fall FLAT. Flat as in the colors are just boring as heck. Lineart? I don’t really like. Not only that but everything feels so unpolished

My anatomy/details

I hate the fact I miss crucial details of my chat starts or even other people characters. I mean, HAVE YOU SEEN HOW I DONT EVEN ADD SILKY’s ANTLERS 99% of the time? That bothers me. And I see other people add them and I’m just “well damn I’m so lazy I can’t even add antlers on my own fucking character”.

Not to mention the poses. Everything feels so stiff with me. So dang stiff that you may as well call my art wood and use it as a support beam. I hate how I don’t use references for my art. Maybe If I used them more and actually took my time stuff wouldn't look like your average horrific Netflix Original cartoon of some movie.

Backgrounds/minor objects.

Do not get me started. I hate all of them. They look so low effort. I mean, I know I can do better with them! But it seems like I worry about the main characters so much. In fact, I feel the background just falls flat or blends in too much with the characters that it looks. Messy. If I draw a cup, i'll skip over details and it will look awful! Which isnt good, as it shows im lacking severly.

Time

And for time I rush. I feel like I have to literally push things out by day’s end and well…it affects my art. Lately o just been so focus on the hour and time it just makes the art suffer. Even if no one else sees it I do. I love my painted style, but it takes quite some time. And forgive me but I hate just doing sketches to and posting it. I prefer my art to be colored in and all the way. Now im not saying i dont like it when other people sketch. That would be a dick-head move of me.

Some days I fear if I don’t post or read inboxes everyone is going to think I purely abandoned them. I try to focus on my page. but just giving them a sketch at the end well...it makes me feel as if I just dissapointed them. I think to myself and say "I could have done better than that. Why did you even do that in the first place {Name}. "

I have like so much on my agenda and plans and then i realize I can’t do it all in one day. Hell sometimes I just make one day spefically on one subject.

If that day was animation day; I focus on an animatic.

If a certain day is art day and I want to set up my commission page (which is so messy I deleted it) then that’s the settled day. But I feel like I’m going so slow. It's like I am running out of time, and time is just passing by as I look at my clock.

And I'm not blaming anyone it's just my stupid head that makes me feel this way. I know no one is trying to rush me. But head is like "Oh but what if- and why not-". It bothers me. It clouds my vision and i don't realize in reality...no one is saying the things my brain is saying. Sometimes I feel like I'm bothering people when i draw their charcaters so much and tag them. I fear they just say 'Aw great it's this one person again."Sometimes I feel I need to be MORE original. And some days i feel i just need to give up entirely. Some days I think posting everyday will aggervate folks. Sometimes I envy the attention of others, and when I see what they gain or what following I have i look back at myself and say "Well maybe if you did this better than MAYBE you people will be interested in ya". And damn do i slam my head in a wall. Everyone just seems so happy, and yet here I am fretting over if this fucking dog I drew looks remotely interesting. And I just feel it...blends in. Like what is there so special about my art?

MY BLOG

And for this blog, I don't know if I truly have an identity for myself. There's Silky, there is Minty and Syrup, there is Simon and there is Shrimpy. But who do they belong to? What roles do they even serve in this blog? I want them to be my identity. I don't want them being just some sort of character leech. They lack story, they lack purpose, they are thrown in tropes and gag. But what do they relate to? Nothing. Nothing at all. And yeah yeah I know im thinking to DEEP into this. But it's been on my mind so much. And hell call me crazy for talking about them if they are real, but they mean a lot to me. A LOT.

So I tried to make my art interesting here like, i tried referencing images space. I tried adding more anatomy to Snowy since I am tired of doing the usual standing up pose. I even wanted to make the background feel more detailed. I feel a bit better, but I still fear everything is too...eh...bland. Maybe it is just me.

Sorry for the ungodly word of text. I know I shouldn't vent here.

[itsclydebitches]

Have you seen the posts going around saying shit like "If a mutual likes Hazbin Hotel I will block them"?? It's genuinely upsetting me tbh, not just the idea that people don't like the show, but that they despise it so much they can't even stand the thought of someone they know liking the show. It reminds me of the Steven Universe hate train only worse. They also say shit like "the show is just someone saying swear words and expecting you to laugh", and if for a second we put aside the fact that that is blatantly not true, what's wrong with that? I'm allowed to like something that's a bit trash, right? I've already seen two different people I follow reblog posts to that effect (and worse, someone saying all a character boils down to is "i love being sexually abused <3" and i don't know how they ever came to that conclusion) and it's driving me mad. And somehow I just know that they don't actually give a shit about any "controversies" surrounding vivziepop, that's just a convenient excuse for most of them. I don't even care if Vivzie is a bad person, that's none of my business. just live and let live, you know?

Sorry for ranting, you're literally the only blog i follow who posts Hazbin fan content

Rant away, friend! Luckily for me I haven't come across any of those posts yet. Plenty of discourse surrounding whether fans are allowed to make romantic and/or sexual content for Alastor, the expected shipping wars, and - as you say - vague references to Vivzie controversies (which I'm too new a fan to even be aware of yet)... but nothing that's a complete rejection of the show itself. That's probably because I've only engaged with blogs posting a lot of Hazbin content though.

I'm a big fan of old school Internet rules which includes an emphasis on cultivating your own online space. You know, the thing tumblr is explicitly designed for. So in theory I applaud anyone blocking users/tags for a show they're not a fan of. Performatively posting about it more as a way to guilt others for liking Hazbin at all... not so much. If you want to block something just block it. If you're mutuals with someone you both presumably like each others' content. Not all of it necessarily, but enough to have followed in the first place, and often being mutuals for long enough leads to friendship because you're both getting interacting with one another a lot. All of which isn't to say that people don't unfollow mutuals, or that you can't drop a mutual because they've started posting something you dislike. Obviously both situations do happen, but it feels like an extreme enough response that these posters probably aren't actually doing this very often. Most people will wait the mutual out until their interest gets hooked on something new, or block the Hazbin tag and keep the friend, or just block without making a big announcement about it. So posts like that feel more like a way to show off how much you dislike the show and guilt others for their enjoyment which yeah, can be upsetting to see. Especially when, as you say, it costs nothing to just let people like things.

Which might sound hypocritical on my part given my RWBY interests, but I think there's a big difference between critically examining a show while supporting others who genuinely love it, and simplistically blasting it. I COMPLETELY get why Hazbin wouldn't be to everyone's tastes and, like with the SU example, anything that gets popular enough is going to develop its haters (especially cartoons trying to tackle non-childish subjects. That's always going to be a fandom landmine). But if you're going to make claims about a show, at least watch it to ensure you can back up your stance? And if your takeaway is still, "This is the worst fucking thing I've ever watched"... cool. Go forth and write about that on your own, personal blog. But no one should be surprised when they're also blocked for bragging about how many Hazbin fans they've blocked.

[irisintheafterglow]

End Game #5 (volleyball captain!gojo x you)

summary: your school holds a practice match with kyoto, and two second-years give your team a little trouble.

word count: 3k

cw/tags: language, jjk volleyball au, mentions of food and eating, eventual best friends to lovers (not this chapter BUT WE'RE MAKING PROGRESS I SWEAR), satoru pulls another your mom joke

note: HERE IT IS the long awaited part 5 :D introducing hitter!todo and setter!kamo to rival your fav hitter/setter duos on the tokyo team. long chapter, sorry in advance but i hope you enjoy!

likes/reblogs/feedback are always appreciated !! thank you for all of the support you've given this series :)

“We haven’t held a practice match with Kyoto in years, right?”

“That is correct.”

“And, in that time, have they ever had a different coach?”

“Not that I know of, no.”

“Interesting.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Nothing, I was just–”

“They’re wondering why ol’ Yoshinobu looks like he was present for the Big Bang.” Your team’s captain finishes your explanation from behind you, much to the amusement of Yaga. You meet his gaze incredulously, silently asking why he wasn’t with the rest of the team warming up. He shrugs and gives you a signature lopsided grin that makes your heart do a somersault. “You’re not wrong, though. That man has more wrinkles than a wet paper towel.” 

Your coach draws his mouth into a tight line to suppress a chuckle. “I cannot disagree.”

“Yaga!” A surprised laugh finally slips past your lips while Satoru settles into his place at your side, casually stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket. His electric-blue eyes survey the players running serve drills, cool and calculated. “Yuta’s floats have improved tremendously,” you comment, and Satoru hums in agreement. His eyes narrow on a ball striking the top edge of the net and barely falling over to the other side. You feel Yaga intake a deep breath in preparation to yell directions, but Satoru beats him to it, airily reminding Yuuji to take a running start before jumping. Your eyebrows subtly raise in surprise seeing him take initiative and you can’t help smiling at him out of the corner of your eye. 

“Shouldn’t you be on the court, capt–” His head snaps in your direction, laser focused on the last word that you cut off just in time. His eyes twinkle with arrogant satisfaction and you stick your tongue out defiantly.

“What was that, my lovely manager?” He cups his hand to his ear and leans in closer, movements animated like a cartoon character. 

You push his body away but he doesn’t budge. “I was asking why you’re not on the court warming up with the rest of the team, stupid.”

He hums skeptically. “Sure.” You roll your eyes and shake your head slightly in exasperation, wishing again for that I am done with Gojo Satoru bumper sticker. Yaga shoots Satoru a look over your head that makes him recoil a little bit, running a hand through his hair. “If you’re really wondering, I’m reading Kyoto’s players.” 

“The third years?” You nod toward the tall players slamming powerful serve after powerful serve toward your team’s side. 

“No, they haven’t been a threat since I was a first-year. Their serves are intimidation tactics.” Your eyebrows furrow confusedly and you track Satoru’s dark eyes. “I’m reading them.” His fingers rest on your head and gently rotate your gaze to two players leisurely prepping serves. In any other situation, you’d swat his hand away, but he was surprisingly correct. It hadn’t occurred to you to analyze the other team; your focus was preoccupied on the improvements of your own players. But, now that they were directly in your line of sight, you were able to properly deduce why Satoru had taken interest in them. “See ‘em now?”

“Yeah, I do.” The one closer to you was an average height but built. Thick, corded muscle ran over his biceps and calves, flexing as he stretched his neck and legs. He bounces the ball he holds on the ground a few times, clapping to himself routinely. Then, when a scan reveals none of your players are watching him, he fires off a serve neatly landing on the backline of the court. Your players don’t blink an eye as they’re still focused on warming up, but you finally understand why Satoru was watching him. His serves were like a bullet, precise and gone in a blink as if he teleported the ball wherever he wanted. 

“Who is he?”

“His name’s Todo. One of two second-year prodigies that’ll carry Kyoto to Nationals if we don’t stop them first.”  

“He’s that good?”

“Him and that one, over there.” He points to a player tucked into the back corner of the gym, spinning the ball on a delicate finger. He was one of the tallest on the team but you didn’t notice him because of his place in the shadows. Cloudy gray eyes shined as his captain announced the start of spiking drills and you gasped when he set the ball with accuracy nearly on-par with Satoru. The ball moved in a straight, unwavering line, like an arrow that halted just in time for a hitter to punch it over the net. “That’s Kamo. Megs and I have known him since middle school. He’s talented, though his family is a little wacky.” 

“Satoru, you can’t just say things like that,” you whisper, begging him to drop the volume of his voice a little.

He doesn’t. “It’s true. Some relatives kicked him and his mom out when he was little.”

“What does that have to do with volleyball?” 

“Nothing. It’s just trivia. We’ll be fine, either way.” He smirks down at you and you understand. Even if he was reading the Kyoto team, he wasn’t worried. He was confident and self-assured as always, but had a certain determination in his eye that told you he wasn’t going to hold back despite it being a practice match. His lean bicep bumps your shoulder reassuringly. “Hey, if you’re nervous, I’ll just piss off Suguru again. Get him fired up, you know?”

You shake your head adamantly, one hand coming up to cover your face as you squeeze your eyes shut at the memory of running practice in Yaga’s absence. “Please do not. I don’t want to have to drag you out by your earlobes again.” 

“You had to do what?” You and Satoru both stiffen, completely forgetting that Yaga was listening to your conversation the entire time. You attempt to stutter out an explanation while your captain makes a quick escape, bowing unceremoniously in salute and running to join the rest of his players. Soon after, Satoru is pulling the team into a huddle, murmuring warnings about Todo and Kamo and reminding everyone that they’re paying for dinner if they lose. However, instead of groans and protests, you watch Satoru light a decisive fire in his players’ eyes by encouraging them to try the new techniques they’ve been working on.

“If you fail,” he said, “that’s okay.” A lanky arm slapped Suguru on the back and another pulled a tense Nanami closer to his side. “We’ll be here to support you. So, don’t lose.” The team’s fists punch up into the air and you beam at their earnestness. Yaga seemed pleased as well, muttering something under his breath about someone finally getting through his stubbornness. 

Kyoto wins the first set, but Tokyo pulls back ahead to snag the second, leaving the third set as a tiebreaker. Between scribbling point counts and player stats in your notebook, you keep a keen eye on the two players Satoru was talking about earlier. Todo was a talented player, though he had an odd habit of clapping for himself before every serve. You also caught Megumi scowling as Todo talked up Yuuji between plays, catching parts of their conversation revolving around tastes in women and TV shows. Kamo, on the other hand, was relatively quiet. He didn’t speak unless it was a recommendation on strategy or directing the ball to a hitter. Megumi was competing head-to-head with Kamo often, despite Satoru’s attempts to draw attention away from his underclassman. He had a weird fascination with Megumi, you could tell, as he targeted him for 90% of his spikes. Todo and Kamo proved to be a threatening duo in the same way Satoru and Suguru or Megumi and Yuuji were; to your amusement, they also bickered just as much. 

During the last break before the third set while you hand out water and towels, Suguru follows behind you like a duckling, waiting for you to have a moment to talk. 

You catch his eye over your shoulder as you drop towels into the laundry basket. “Did I forget that special flavor thing for yours again? I swear I remembered to put it in because of the one that goes in Satoru’s.” 

“What? Oh, no, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.” He crosses his arms and his sharp eyebrows pull together in deep thought, taking a deep breath. 

You tilt your head to the side curiously, concerned about what was irking him so much in the middle of a match. “Is everything okay, Su?”

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing is wrong, I promise.” You raise your eyebrows in anticipation of his explanation. “I was just wondering what you said to Satoru that made him like…that.” 

“Like what?”

“Like acting as a serious captain.” 

“Oh.” You’re speechless for a moment, unable to string together a satisfactory answer. “I just told him that he needed to try a little harder.” It was the truth but for some reason, you still felt you were holding something back. 

“For your sake?”

“No, for the team’s sake. Why would it be for my sake?” Suguru is silent, eyes widening ever so slightly like he’d accidentally revealed a secret, glancing behind you at the open air. You feel confident enough to press further. “Suguru, why would he try more for my sake?” 

In a blink, he schools his face into careful blankness, shrugging nonchalantly. “Don’t know. It was a weird question, sorry.”

“What was a weird question?” Satoru’s voice pipes up from over your shoulder and you jump. “You can’t be asking people weird questions, Suguru. It’s impolite.” 

“You don’t even know the question, idiot.” Indignancy washes over Suguru’s blank features. “What would you know about manners?”

“Ask your mother what she thinks of my manners–”

“Can we please not do this again?” Your hands press against their chests and you laugh nervously. “It’s a miracle all three of us survived last time.”

“Fine. After all…” Satoru’s voice drops to a menacing volume. 

“Kyoto has a set to lose.” 

The third set made you slightly dizzy as both teams were losing stamina. You didn’t know much about Kyoto when it was exhausted, but you knew your team when it was down. Yuuji’s serves started getting closer to the top edge of the net again, Megumi’s sets were messier, and Panda’s blocks were increasingly hole-filled. Suguru glared across the court at the other team, moisture glistening on his forehead from effort. Even Nanami was winded, wiping sweat from the lenses of his glasses and shaking his head furiously to force his mind back into the game. Your team played their hardest, as did their opponents, but a glance at the score showed 12-10 in favor of Kyoto. With only a handful of points left to win, it looked like Tokyo would be paying for dinner. 

Still, as much as they tried, Kyoto was no match for Satoru’s sheer will. 

Where the rest of his team was panting and on the brink of collapsing, Satoru was just getting warmed up. His serves were at their most powerful and his sets stayed accurate as Kamo’s declined in quality. His fists opened and closed as the score tied up at 13-13, a habit he only did when he was ready for a fight. Megumi pulls a ridiculously successful dump that has you cheering from Yaga’s side, pulling Tokyo ahead 14-13. With the last point on the line, you caught Satoru muttering something in Suguru’s ear, to which Suguru’s jaw dropped in disbelief. He shook his head no, continuing to protest at Satoru’s back as his captain broadcasted a hand signal you’d never seen before and prepared possibly the last serve of the match. 

“It’ll be fine, Suguru! We’re the strongest!” He reassures his nauseous-faced hitter as his opponents snicker, and gives you a quick wink before serving the ball at 45% of his power. Your eyebrows skyrocket in shock as Kyoto receives it easily and makes to tie the score again. What the hell was he doing? Was he purposefully trying to tie up the score? Kamo smirks as he gives a practically perfect set to Todo, who blasts it straight down. You flinch and wait for the gut-churning sound of the ball hitting the floor, but it doesn’t come. Yuuji’s forearm slides under the ball just in time, and he rolls to the side. The receive isn’t the cleanest, dropping toward the middle of the court. 

“You better know what you’re doing!” Suguru calls after his captain, who sprints from the back left corner diagonally toward the net. Suguru mirrors this action from the right corner and like a machine, they screech to a stop in the middle and use that momentum to throw themselves up toward the net. With a mischievous grin, Satoru calls out Inumaki’s name, who’s already in the air from the backline as the ball carefully falls into the libero’s outstretched fingers. 

Your body finds itself standing on its own as Inumaki sets it right to Satoru’s open palm where your captain pulls the nastiest cross shot you’d ever witnessed. Your throat rips a shocked scream that blends seamlessly with the rest of the players’ exclamations of awe. Yaga’s mouth hangs open like a fish, as does Yoshinobu’s while your team swarms around their captain. Suguru, from the other end of the net, appears on the verge of passing out but still finds his hand proudly clapped with Inumaki’s. When Satoru’s eyes find yours, you can’t remember the last time he smiled at you so blindingly, nor can you remember a time beaming just as happily.

He skips the joint dinner between Tokyo and Kyoto, humbly excusing himself when you leave and announcing something about walking you home safely. He falls into step next to you, shoes tapping on the sidewalk in sync with yours. 

“You’re not gonna get dinner with the team?” You ask, well aware that he wouldn’t have attended unless you were there too. 

“Meh,” he drawls. “Yuuji can fend for himself for a night against Todo, and Megumi needs to learn to play nice with Kamo.” 

The corner of your mouth turns up and you find yourself admiring the way the moonlight glittered in Satoru’s eyes. “You say as if they’re your children.”

“Are they not? I am a single father.” 

You giggle. “Yeah, you definitely are. I just didn’t think that, with your extroverted ass, you’d skip an outing with such a large group.”

His mouth quirks carefreely, beautiful eyes tracing constellations in the night. “We have a tradition, don’t we?”

“Oh, you’re not going to ask that one person I got mad about the other night?” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, and Satoru points at you accusingly. 

“So you were mad! I knew it!” 

“You brought up replacing me with some random stranger; of course I was mad!” You point back at him, poking his chest. He cries out in fake pain, flailing his limbs like an octopus. “I like spending time with you, you know. Even when I don’t tell you.” Your voice trails off and you look anywhere but his face, embarrassed. 

You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Yeah, I know. For the record, I like spending time with you too.” He exhales tiredly. “Why’d you think you’re the only one I wanted to get dinner with tonight?”

“Because you like me better than everybody else,” you croon, fluttering your eyelashes dramatically. You expect him to recoil in faux-fear; however, your heart skips as he steps closer and peers down at you. 

“Exactly. Now you’re starting to get it.” His voice is soft with something like exasperation, but the tenderness is gone in a snap. “However, I’d like to do something different tonight, if that’s alright with you.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Depends on what it is. Are you going to make me eat something I don’t like?”

“No,” he replies, drawing out the last vowel for emphasis. “I’d never.” You look at him skeptically, remembering the time he made you eat a barbecue-flavored cricket. The memory must have occurred to him at the same time and he matches your skeptical expression. “Don’t look at me like that; you said you liked it.” Your mouth opens in retaliation, but he isn’t finished. 

“Let’s go somewhere nicer tonight, not just shitty fast food.”

“I thought you loved shitty fast food.”

“I do, but today is a day of celebration! It demands a different meal than burgers.” He cringes and sticks his tongue out in mock disgust. 

“So, what? You want slightly more expensive burgers?”

“If that’s what you want, sure.” He runs an elegant hand through his hair and you fight the sudden urge to weave your fingers in his. “Let’s go somewhere nice. I’ll even pay.” 

You scoff. “With what money?” He’s quiet again, tilting his head back and forth like a kid caught with too much candy. You understand without a word, mainly because this situation occurred once before. “Satoru!” 

His arms gesture to open air defensively. “It was right there!”

“You don’t remember the last time you stole it?”

“If I recall correctly, he wasn’t that mad that I borrowed it.”

“Yeah, that’s because I was there with you, and don’t try to say it was borrowing! If you weren’t related to him, it would be considered theft.” 

“What dear old dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him, babe.” Your face heats at how easily the pet name slips from his pretty mouth and you pray he doesn’t notice. “So? What do you say? I promise to take full responsibility and also eat anything you don’t like.” His finger crosses an “X” over his heart and you can’t resist the genuine excitement on his face. 

“Fine. But I’m paying for dessert.”

He stamps his foot in childish protest. “That’s not how this–”

“I don’t care if it’s not how it works, Satoru. Consider it payback for not asking that rando to dinner.” 

Even after he walks you home and leaves you a smiling, feeling-filled mess at your windowsill, you’re left wondering who that mystery person is.

[timeofjuly]

Trick or Heat

Summary: You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, laptop in front of you and trying to get a little work done before you’re pulled away for the evening, but you’ve written and rewritten the same sentence six times now, and each rephrasing is clumsier than the last. You just can’t focus. It’s like first date jitters, maybe, if the first date in question involved an hours-long, magically fuelled sex-fest that’s been scribbled in underneath October 31st ever since the calendar was purchased. You feel hot (ha) at the very thought of it. Whether it’s a sexy hot or a nervous, sweaty hot remains to be seen.

Sans' first heat with you happens to fall on Halloween. Missing out on trick-or-treating, you find, is a worthwhile trade-off.

Notes: Merry Halloween lmao here's 5k of horrortale sans/reader porn with feelings

Tags: NSFW!!!! Smut with feelings, heat cycles, established relationship, fluff, oral sex, unrealistically enjoyable shower sex, face-sitting, multiple orgasms, size kink, reader has a vagina.

Read it on AO3 or read it below the cut!

Before moving in with your boyfriend and his brother, you didn’t use a physical calendar. You never felt the need to; your phone kept track of your various appointments and commitments and why bother pencilling in haircut at 11am when you’d get a reminder text from the salon the day before anyway?

That fast-and-loose attitude served you well when you were single, but these days, a calendar sits smack-dab in the middle of your fridge. Sans’ occupational therapist had been the one to suggest it; she’d rightly pointed out that leaving sticky notes for himself around the house isn’t a very effective memory aid, considering that he’s prone to forgetting about the notes themselves.

Sans had been less resistant to the idea than he’d been to the other mnemonics the OT had suggested, and so the refrigerator calendar had gone up. It wouldn’t be out of place in the home of a WASP mom of four; Live, Laugh, Love is proudly proclaimed in flowy script at the top of each page and the image for each month is themed in accordance of whatever holiday happens to fall in it. For March, there’d been a picture of a rabbit surrounded by colourful eggs with ‘Hoppy Easter, every bunny!’ written beneath it. For October, there’s a scowling cartoon woman, broomstick in tow, with a speech bubble saying, ‘this is my resting witch face’.

Sans, obviously, had been the one to pick it out. You’ve peeked ahead and you’re looking forward to watching him flip it over onto November tomorrow; the Thanksgiving-themed ‘Thankful, blessed, and mashed potato obsessed!’ spread will undoubtedly give him a laugh.

First, though, you need to get through tonight.

You’re not nervous, exactly, but what you’re feeling is too sharp to purely be called anticipation. The feeling flutters against your sternum, a lightness that sets your heart ticking just a little faster than normal.

You’re sitting at the kitchen counter, laptop in front of you and trying to get a little work done before you’re pulled away for the evening, but you’ve written and rewritten the same sentence six times now, and each rephrasing is clumsier than the last. You just can’t focus.

It’s like first date jitters, maybe, if the first date in question involved an hours-long, magically fuelled sex-fest that’s been scribbled in underneath October 31st ever since the calendar had been purchased.

There are four things written underneath that date. The first, in your handwriting, is Halloween! and the second, also in your handwriting, is pay power bill (shit, you better do that now).

The third, in Papyrus’ handwriting and taking up almost all of the room, is PAPYRUS’ SPECTACULAR HALLOWEEN EXTRAVAGANZA!!!

Then, written at the bottom, so small that your eyes strain to read it, is heat.

You feel hot (ha) at the very thought of it. Whether it’s a sexy hot or a nervous, sweaty hot remains to be seen.

Either way, you feel like a virgin on prom night. All of the monsters in your life – even Papyrus, mortifyingly, who is the last person you want to talk to about your sex life – has assured you that you’ve got nothing to worry about, and you’re not, not really, save some lingering concerns about your stamina and your ability to walk tomorrow.

This is just new and new things are inherently a little scary, but you’re not going to let your irrational fear of failure ruin this for you. Not today, insecurities, not today.

Papyrus left for the Halloween festivities over an hour ago and Sans is napping on the living room couch – apparently tonight’ll take a lot out of him and it’s normal for monsters to sleep more than usual in the days preceding and following a heat. For Sans, who already dozes off at the drop of a hat, this means that this is his third nap of the day.

You close your laptop with a sigh, giving up the pretence of actually getting any work done. No point bullshitting yourself for any longer.

You decide that you’re going to have a long, hot shower. There’s some personal grooming you want to do before Sans wakes up and you’ve got lingerie that you purchased for this specific occasion to change into. You don’t normally bother with frills like that - neither of you are particularly fancy people – but you feel like you should make this special.

Sans is still asleep when you creep through the living room to get to your shared bedroom, sprawled adorably across the couch. A little line of drool leaks from his slightly open mouth and the sight of it makes your chest feel all warm and soupy.

God, he’s so cute. You love seeing him like this, so unguarded and peaceful and soft.

Once in your ensuite, you strip off your clothes and turn on the shower. You test the temperature of the water with your palm. Steam is billowing in soft sheets from the water by the time that you deem it to be an acceptable heat.

You step into the shower, sighing as the heat cascades over your head. Your hair sticks in wet tendrils to your face and neck. You hope that you can get it dry before your boyfriend wakes up.

Washing your hair is always a pain, but at least it gives you something hands-on to do to distract you from the tension slowly curling in your belly.

You and Sans have had dozens of conversations about today. In the beginning, he hadn’t wanted you to be here at all, worried that he’d be too rough with you. You’d scoffed at that, certain that he’d never hurt you, even by accident, and you still stand by that sentiment but after he’d explained this heat business to you properly, you’d understood his concerns.

It still feels like a strange term to use: heat. Too animalistic. Too wild.

Neither of those words are ones you’d use to describe Sans. He’s always so careful with you, so cautious. So afraid of hurting you, or even scaring you. Even in the throes of passion, he always has a firm leash on himself, no matter how hard you try to shake it off.

The idea of him, uninhibited, unrestrained –

You press your thighs together. Shit, you’re getting ahead of yourself.

Sans has explained the biological side of it to you a few times, but so much of the explanation had ultimately boiled down to it’s just magic, babe, so you’re still not sure that you entirely get it.

You have the basics down pat, you think; some monsters go into heat roughly once every twelve months.

Why some monsters and why every twelve months, you have no idea. The fact is that Sans ticks the first box and it’s been the allotted time. Even without checking the date he can tell, apparently, when a heat is coming; his already sharp senses have grown even keener over the past week and of course there’s the sleeping. There’s been some other stuff, too; he’s been all over you for the past week, even more so than usual, bringing you blankets and food and drinks. Making sure that you’re happy and comfortable. It’s been really nice, but he’s bashful about it, so you’ve done your best to not make a big deal about it.

Thank stars you managed to convince him to let you stick around for it. It had taken a lot of cajoling and promises that you’d leave if you so much as felt uncomfortable, but you’d done it.

The only downside is that you’re missing Halloween, but whatever. You can gorge yourself on candy any day of the year. The kind of ravaging you’re expecting is well worth that sacrifice.  

You finish scrubbing shampoo into the roots of your hair, your head haloed in suds. You’ve washed the rest of your body in the time that you let the shampoo sit on your head and it’s well and truly time to wash it out. You turn the cold water tap a bit higher to temper the water a little and then close your eyes and duck your head beneath the spray.

The water feels lovely against your face, soothing the tension between your brows. Eyes still closed, you bring your hands up to your head and begin rinsing the suds from your hair, going section by section to make sure nothing stays soapy. The sounds of the shower fill your ears, raining down on your senses.

Hard phalanges scrape against your waist from behind and you gasp, eyes flying open. You’re immediately assailed by a blast of water directly to the face, a little going into your mouth but most of it mixing with the shampoo and flowing into your eyes.

“Fuck!” you hiss, vision gone blurry. The hands immediately fall from your sides.

You grope forward blindly, searching for the towel you’d slung over the shower door. The soft fabric meets your fingertips and you drag it towards you, wiping your stinging eyes.

“sorry, sorry, sorry,” a deep voice chants into your ear and the words are familiar, but the tone isn’t, filled with a new urgency. “you okay? didn’t mean to scare ya’.”

“It’s okay,” you say hurriedly, feeling awful at how torn-up about it he sounds. “It’s just soap.”

“sorry,” Sans repeats. “thought you would’ve heard the door open.”

You blink a few times until your vision clears. “Nah, I was totally spaced out.” You throw the towel back over the shower door and turn around to face him.

Sans is completely naked, the majority of the space in the large shower taken up by his bulk. How the fuck he manages to move so quietly, you’ll never understand. It probably doesn’t speak well to your situational awareness that he managed to just sneak into the shower without you realising, but that’s a worry for another time.

He’s looking at you with a concern that makes your chest hurt, his single eyelight unusually fuzzy and scanning your expression for pain or panic. There’s none to be found, of course, but you’re sure that the shampoo’s made your eyes a little red, which might be giving the wrong impression.

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching up to press your hand against his skull. He’s warm to the touch, even to your shower-flushed skin. “Everything alright with you?”

He doesn’t reply verbally, but he leans into your palm with a sigh and some of the tension fades. You let him nuzzle into your hand for a moment, enjoying the intimacy, but then you remember that you’ve got half-rinsed shampoo in your hair that you need to finish washing out; it’ll make your hair go dry if you leave it sitting for too long.

“I’ve got to finish rinsing this out,” you explain, gesturing at your sudsy head.

“can i do it?” he asks you, hands fluttering towards you. “i wanna do something for you. i wanna take care of you.”

Aw, that’s sweet. You’ve showered together before, of course, but Sans has never offered to wash your hair for you. For a moment, you wonder what’s prompted the offer, but his hands drop back to his sides – you must’ve taken too long to answer – and your eyes follow them down and land on –

Oh. Yes. Right. The heat.

Well, that makes more sense. It’s clearly started. No wonder he’s climbed into the shower with you in the nude. Hell, no wonder he wants to wash your hair; he’d warned you that he might be a little more demonstratively affectionate and attentive.

Your gaze lingers on the slate-blue erection straining towards you for only a second before it shoots back up to his face. The same blue colour lightly stains his zygomatic arches.

“Sure,” you say, voice gone a little husky. “Hold on, I’ll turn back around.”

You step back under the spray and spin around, your backside to Sans, and tip your head back so your hair is under the cascade of the showerhead, but your face stays somewhat dry.

“Go for it,” you say over the sound of the water.

Heat prickles across your scalp when sharp phalanges slip into your hair. You hum, staticky pleasure flowing from your head and down your neck. You let your eyes flutter closed. The pressure and lack of give in Sans’ bony fingers make him great at giving head massages.

He must step a little closer, because something hot and hard bumps against the small of your back. You shiver, goosebumps tingling across your skin.

It’s difficult not to relax completely into the head massage, but as nice as it feels, you realise that all of the shampoo isn’t actually being washed away. No wonder: it’s not like Sans has any hair to wash and you can’t imagine that he’d have done this for anyone else before.

“You’ve got to part it a little to get all the soap out,” you say. You tip your head a little further back and to the side to demonstrate, letting the water wash away another pocket of shampoo.

His fingers comb through your hair and then begin to wash a little more rigorously, going section-by-section. “don’t worry, babe, i’ll do a sud-sational job.”

That startles a laugh out of you. “Oh yeah? Well, I’m rooting for you.”

The remaining shampoo is soon washed away, but Sans continues with his ministrations to your scalp with one hand. The other hand drops to your hip, where he rubs little circles with his thumb into the slick flesh. You cant your hips back towards him, pressing his cock more firmly against your lower back.

The hand at your hip tightens, sending a thrill shivering through you. His hand is so big that you can feel the tips of his phalanges digging in close to where your thigh joins your pubic mound, whilst the base of his hand rests on the outer curve of your ass. The reminder of how big he is compared to you – fuck, it always gets you going.

Looks like your hair is going unconditioned today. Ah well; you’ll use a hair mask tomorrow to make up for it. You have far more pressing issues at hand.

You step back through the water – keeping your eyes firmly shut – and into Sans’ embrace, his hand dropping from your hair to curl around your torso. It wraps around your chest and settles on the curve of your breast, his fingers toying with your nipple. You can feel his cock throbbing against your back, so hard, especially considering that neither of you have touched it yet.

“This heat thing is no joke, huh?” you say.

His fingers pause on your breast – you and your big mouth. “nope. are you sure that you’re okay with this? i can stop-.”

“Absolutely, one million percent sure,” you say firmly. “Never been surer of anything in my life. I want this.”

“yeah?” his voice has gone a little shivery. You much prefer this to the worried, hesitant tone of before. “yeah, you want this? want me to make you feel good?”

The hand at your hip dips a little lower, brushing at the cleft of your pussy. It reminds you of how very badly you want to be touched there.

“Yes, please,” you say and because you know that it gets him every time you use his name, you continue, “please touch me, Sans.”

You hear him exhale shakily and then blessedly, finally, his hand slips between your thighs. You groan, head tipping back to rest against his sternum. His phalanges trace along your outer labia, using your wetness to glide against the sensitive skin, before moving inwards to slowly circle your clit.

“i'll take good care of you, i promise,” he mutters against your ear. “spread your legs a little for me, babe, that’s it.”

The words send heat spiralling in your core and pull your muscles tight. It normally takes loads of foreplay to get Sans talking like that, voice pitched even deeper with need, and even more to for him to take the lead like this.

You hurry to spread your legs, glad for his arms around you to keep you from slipping on the shower tile.

He uses the extra room between your thighs to play with your clit a little more firmly, touching you exactly the way you like. Even over the roar of the shower – which you should really turn off, neither of you are really underneath the showerhead and water isn’t cheap – you can hear how wet you are, hear how his fingers slip against you.

“Fuck, that’s good,” you sigh, feeling him gently slip a finger inside of you to gently press against your g-spot.

Your eyes had been closed but you force them open now. You want to watch.

You look down the plain of your body, taking in the hand cupping your breast, the other between your thighs. His hands look huge between your legs, bones thick and long, pleasantly textured against your skin.

“say it again,” he urges you, hands speeding up. “tell me how good i make you feel.”

“So good,” you gasp, feeling the heat tighten in your belly. “So fucking good. Please don’t stop, oh my god.”

Another finger is slid inside of you and they both tap in tandem against your g-spot whilst his thumb rubs tight circles against your clit and it only takes a few moments for the dual stimulation to build into a crescendo. You let out a strangled moan as you come, feeling yourself tremble around his fingers and letting your head thud back against his sternum.

Sans groans against the top of your head and you feel his cock pulse against your back, warmth seeping into your skin.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath and trust that your legs aren’t about to collapse underneath you.

“I like this heat thing,” you breath.

Sans huffs out a laugh behind you. “aw, you tuckered out already? told ya you should’ve napped with me before.”

You turn around to face him, pulling faux indignation to your face. “Hey, don’t count me out yet. It’ll take more than one orgasm to wear me out.”

His browbone quirks, an expression you see on him so rarely, and sweet affection rushes into your chest, overlapping with the lingering buzz of your orgasm. God, you love him so much.

“is that a challenge?” he says.

You get the feeling that you might be biting off a little more than you can chew, but you’re not backing down now. “Sure is, baby. I’ve got stamina for days. I wanna touch you first, though. I owe you one.”

His smirk gives way to bashfulness. “i – uh, no you don’t, babe. we’re both one-for-one.”

“What do you mean? I haven’t even -.” You pause, remembering how he’d ground against you as you’d come. You twist your head back to see if any evidence remains on your back, but you’ve been standing under the water, so there’s nothing, but Sans’ face says it all.  

“… holy shit, that’s so fucking hot,” you say. “Bed now, please and thank you.”

The water is hastily switched off – Papyrus is going to flip his lid when he sees the water bill for October – and then you’re shrieking with delight as Sans lifts you clear off your feet and into his arms. You blink and then you’re being gently deposited into the soft sheets of your bed, still completely soaked.

Sans looms over you, knees caging your hips with his arms bracketed around your shoulders. His single eyelight huge and fuzzy. It’s trained on your face, unmoving. His ribcage heaves. Something crackles in the air around you, so palpable that even you, human and magic-less as you are, can feel it dancing across your skin.

“I think that takes the record for the shortest shortcut to date, lazybones,” you say breathlessly.

You’re expecting a clever quip in return, or perhaps a joke or a particularly horrific pun, but he just sucks in a low, unsteady breath, eyelight moving down from your face to laze down the length of your body. You can’t help it: you squirm under his discerning gaze. Your heart is racing, beating a frantic staccato beat against your ribcage and even though your skin is wet and rapidly cooling, you feel hot.

“See something you like?” You’re trying for coy and cocky, but it comes out a little strangled.

“fuck yeah,” he breathes, and then his mouth crashes onto yours.

The kiss is intense, but not as urgent as you’d expected it to be. If anything, you’re the one moving things along, wrapping your arms around his clavicles and hooking your leg around his pelvis to draw him closer. That’s one thing you’ve always loved about sex with Sans; everything is deliberate and considered, never hurried, never rushed. Apparently even heat can’t speed him up.

His tongue licks a wet stripe up the column of your throat, making you hiss. His breath comes out in hot pants against your neck and his teeth just barely scrape against your skin.

“I want to -,” you start, sliding a hand between your bodies to find his cock.

Your wrist is caught in a bony grip before you can reach far enough, and your hand is pinned above your head. His face is still buried in your chest, laving wet kisses against your collarbones and between your breasts and you can hear him mumbling, you think, whispering something against your skin.

You give a cursory tug at your wrist – you’re not interested in breaking free because this is way too fucking hot, but you want to see the reaction the token resistance gets.

Sans fucking growls against your skin and holy shit, you need him to touch you, right now.

He pulls away from your neck, leaving your chest heaving.

“sit up,” he says. “wanna eat that fucking pussy.”

Sounds good to you!

You rush to sit. You’re a little confused when he lies down in the place you just vacated but then you squeal as Sans grasps your thighs and uses his hold to abruptly flip you around and then up, towards the pillows, towards his face, hauling one of your knees over his head.

Off balance, you curl forward and brace your hands on his iliac crests, chest heaving. It’s a struggle to stay upright.

Your hips ache with the delicious stretch, knees planted firmly on either side of his skull. His phalanges dig into your ass, guiding you to press more firmly against him. You try to pull yourself a little higher to give the poor guy some breathing room but he just tugs you down even more and, to your delighted surprise, actually gives your ass a little slap.

It's barely a slap at all, really, all sound and no sting, but coming from your normally shy boyfriend, it sends new pleasure throbbing through you.

Okay, then; if he wants you to ride his face, then you’re going to ride his fucking face.

You roll your hips against him, feeling the soft slickness of his tongue and the unyielding press of bone against your sensitive flesh. You’re tentative at first, but his hands start moving in tandem with your undulations, urging you on, so you take that as a green light to speed things up.

It feels so fucking good. The wet slide of your pussy against his mouth, the way his tongue follows your motions to stimulate your clit. Your thighs tremble around his head.

God, you must be making a fucking mess of his face and just picturing it makes you clench.

You can feel your second orgasm gradually building, waves of heat pulsing in time with your hips. Then you’d be two to one, you realise. Pretty unfair, considering that he’s the one with the raging biological (magical?) need to fuck.

You’re loathe to move from your position on his face, though, so you’re gonna have to get creative.

He’s too tall for you to reach his cock with your mouth – you love the size difference ninety-nine percent of the time, but it makes certain positions impossible – but luckily, you’ve got two perfectly good hands.

He grunts against your pussy when you wrap your hand around his cock, the other still gripping his hipbone to keep yourself upright. It’s so hard, twitching in your grip, and when you trace a single finger up the underside, it drips with a bead of precum.

Trying to time your strokes with the rhythm of your hips, you touch him the way you know he likes best; slow, firm motions, lingering at the head. You’d normally use two hands for this, but you don’t trust yourself to stay seated with your core strength alone.

He seems to be enjoying himself just fine anyway; even muffled through your body, you can hear his grunts and moans. The sounds and the feel of him in your hand barrel you closer to orgasm, heat pulling tight in your belly. You’re still a little sensitive from your first orgasm but with you controlling the pace, the extra sensation only makes it better.

A particularly firm slide of his tongue against your clit pushes you over the edge and you come with a cry, grinding down onto his mouth.

You’re shaking as you slide off of his face, rolling to the side to burry your face into the pillows. Your thighs slide wetly against each other and the whole of you is singing with pleasure.

You crane your neck to look back at Sans, but he’s already grabbing your hips and hauling them upwards and backwards towards him, your ass high in the air and your face buried deep into the pillows.

You go to pull yourself up onto your elbows but then you feel his fingers carding through the sweaty hair at the back of your neck, the base of his hand ghosting along the top of your spine. It’s only the tiniest suggestion of pressure, but you get the message all the time.

You let your elbows collapse underneath you and fall back onto the bed.

A wet, toothy kiss is pressed to your hip. “so good for me,” he says.

You moan something insensible into the pillows and spread your legs a little wider. A huge hand presses between them, spreading your wetness along your thighs. Everything feels oversensitive and tingly; you’re not sure if you’ll be able to come again quickly, but you’re excited to find out.

The blunt head of his cock bumps up against your pussy, glancing away from your entrance. It rubs along your clit, slow and lazy and so fucking huge.

It can fit inside of you – mostly, anyway - but it takes hours of careful prep-work and rivers of lube good quality silicone lube, and as relaxed and ready as you’re feeling right now, trying for penetrative sex without some dedicated stretching is just a bad idea.

You press your thighs together, wedging his cock between them. The base of it is hot against your clit and the head nudges at your lower belly. His hands grip your ass and slowly, he begins moving.

The slick grind against your clit is just enough to make new arousal spiral through you. You press yourself back against him as much as you’re able – not a whole lot you can do with just your ass in the air – but you’re soon lost to the sensations.

“fuck, babe, you feel so good,” he says, hands tight around your hips. “so fuckin’ good.”

Your response is lost to the pillows. You’re drooling, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

He starts to speed up and you press your thighs together even tighter, increasing the friction on your clit. You feel – you feel fucking wild, out of control, lost to the incomprehensible magic thrumming through the air. God, you can’t believe that you were nervous about this, that you were worried that you’d fuck it up. This is perfect.

A hand grips your shoulder and tugs you upwards – you’re loving all the manhandling tonight – and you pull your hands beneath you, leaving you on all fours. Sans curls over you, ribcage pressed to your back and skull pressed to the side of your neck.

“love you, so much,” he rasps, scraping his teeth down your neck. “you’re all mine, aren’t’cha? tell me.”

“I’m all yours,” you agree. You decide to risk losing your balance and snake your hand down to touch him. “Want you to come for me, baby, make me yours.”

The combination of your words and touch makes him cry out. He throbs in your hand and thrusts harder. Such indirect stimulation wouldn’t normally be enough to get you off, but you’re so turned on that you careen over the edge anyway, tired muscles clenching around nothing. It’s the softest orgasm of the night, the least intense, but no less satisfying for it. You feel him coming too, spilling on your hand and belly.

When the orgasm fades away, it leaves bone-deep exhaustion in its wake. Your arms collapse underneath you and your bottom half soon follows suit, your shaking thighs failing to hold up your weight.

“need a break?” he asks you. You can hear the amusement in his voice and as annoyed as you are to prove him right, it makes you so happy to hear him sound so happy.

You groan in response. Speech is beyond your capacity.

It takes you a second, but eventually you unearth your face from the pillows to look at him with bleary eyes. Part of you wants to insist that you’re good to keep going, to push through the overstimulation, but your bits are starting to go numb.

“Maybe just a little one,” you concede. You roll over onto your back to face him, careful to avoid the wet patch.

He looks so pleased with himself. So satisfied.

Warm fondness unspools in your belly, bringing a flush to your cheeks that has nothing to do with physical exertion. You’re so fucking lucky.

“what’s that look for?” he asks you, tilting his head the way he always does when he’s trying to work you out and fuck, how can one person be this cute?

You resist the urge to grab him by the zygomatic arches to smoosh his face between your hands, but it’s a near thing.

“I just love you a lot,” you say. You look back down at his pelvis; no dick. Satiated for now, apparently. “Wanna have a quick nap before the next round?”

“stars, you’re perfect,” he mutters, making you grin.

“Yeah, I’m the best,” you agree. “C’mere, lazybones.”

He curls up next to you and you snuggle against his side. It’s always a bit of challenge to navigate your soft, fleshy bits with his sharp, pointy ones, but you make it work. He lets out a contented sigh as you settle in his arms, your legs thrown over his femurs.

You doze for a few minutes, soothed by the gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your head.

“sorry that you’re missing Halloween,” he says. “could’ve bagged some good candy.”

“I’d take staying in with you over squeezing myself into some Party City costume to totter around the city in this freezing weather any day. Trick-or-treating is overrated,” you say. “And I’m sure Paps’ll be happy to share.”

Sans hums. “hope he brings back some of those hershey’s things.”

“Kisses, you mean?”

“well, if you’re offering.”

You sigh into his clavicle. “That was one a stretch, even for you.”

But you press a quick kiss to his teeth all the same.  

Sleep tugs at your eyelids; loathe as you are to concede defeat, you really are tuckered out. The bed is so comfortable and warm - the company’s not too bad either - and the room is perfectly dark, save the gentle shine of the glow-in-the-dark stars Sans has stuck to the roof.

“Shit.” You sit up. “Fuck, I forgot!”

“what’s wrong?” His voice is a little groggy.

“I forgot to pay the power bill.” You’re going to have to get up - and put clothes on, horror of all horrors - and go into the cold kitchen to get your laptop. “Urgh, sorry, I’ve got do it, otherwise they’ll hit us with a late fee.”

Sans tugs at your arm. “relax, babe, i already did it.”

You pause your attempts to wiggle out of his grip. “What?”

“i already paid it,” he explains. “saw that it was on the calendar. you can chill.”

“Oh, thank you, calendar,” you say.

“hey, what about me? do you doubt my cents of responsibility?”

“Thank you to you too, then. I really don’t want to get up,” you say, settling back down next to him and curving your body into his.

He huffs a laugh against the top of your head. “good, ‘cause ‘m not letting you outta this bed for the foreseeable future.”

You can only muster up a yawn in response. That sounds perfect to you.

[sgiandubh]

What do you think about GmT's gesture publishing video signing books today? It's the same place, but they don't appear to be together as they are both sitting in the same chair while working and the light appears to be different. Regardless, G insinuated that they were together and even made some jokes about who would get tired first, in addition to tagging Sam.

Dear Signing Anon,

Listen, I think many things and I have way less questions than I did, let's say, two months ago. Kudos for your eagle eye that spotted the same chair and different light: while I am not sure about the light, that is the same chair, which obviously means different moments in time and maybe even different days 🤷‍♀️.

After a long while of sashaying around names and pronouns, I suppose the moment of joint promo just had to happen. Now if you imagine that two professional entertainers, who are clearly bound by several contracts, will let any animosity transpire during promo, I think you are clearly naïve.

Nothing of the sort and this is Britain. Where, as I am constantly reminded by one of my favorite cartoons ever, anarchy is...

©Hugleikur Dagsson (you should check this guy's brutally funny stuff, too)

McTavish joked. Fine. What could he do? Strangle the intern? Of course not. It's called ACTing, remember? And act away they will. Whatever happens BTS stays BTS, for the moment. No other choice. You'll see.

However, I found this tiny detail very telling, for some reason:

Why on Earth would he do promo all by himself? And doesn't he have his own bourbon event around those dates, too?

Things that make you go 🤔, indeed.

[hoodie-buck]

thanks for the tags beloveds @panbuckley @spotsandsocks @prince-buck-diaz @alyxmastershipper 🩵

—umm this got long bc i finally wrote last night and i really like how it turned out, sooo enjoy!

Buck cleared his throat, ignoring the way Eddie was now carefully looking him over.

Eddie stepped closer to them then, moving in to pick Chris up in a tight hug.

“That’s ok though, it just means Chris gets to hang out with his Buckkk today.”

Buck ducked his head with a flush of his cheeks, loving the way Eddie said his name in a little sing-songy voice. It made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure what to do with.

Eddie placed Chris back to the couch, grabbing for Buck’s hand.

Buck let Eddie lead him once again, his boyfriend stopping just by the door. Buck kept his focus on Chris, the boy’s attention plastered to the cartoons playing in front of him. Eddie ducked his head to gain Buck’s attention, those warm browns melting right into him.

“Hey, you feeling ok?”

Other than feeling like he was going to vomit up blood again at any given second or disappoint everyone around him? Yea. He was fine. Great even.

“Yea, just uh, just tired.”

Buck yawned for emphasis, Eddie squeezing his hand. Whether he believed Buck’s lie or not, he let it go.

“Ok, well, take him out? Have some fun?”

Buck gave a nod of his head, unsure how to answer. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fun. Well, he could, it was just the memory was tainted with blood—his blood.

While keeping his hand in Buck’s, Eddie looked over to his son, smile soft as ever.

“Love you buddy. Have fun with your Buck today.”

“Love you dad!” Chris shouted back, Eddie’s attention on Buck once more.

Buck couldn’t help but to wish Eddie would utter those four letters to him, but it was too soon; they weren’t there yet. Buck wasn’t sure if they ever would be. As much as he knew Eddie held all the most sacred parts of his heart, Buck also knew he wasn’t worthy of Eddie loving him back. Eddie was there now, sure, but why would he stay? Why would he want someone that was broken when he could have someone whole?

Keeping one hand linked with Buck’s, Eddie brought his other up to cup Buck’s face. He leaned into the touch, letting his eyes fall closed for a moment.

“Have fun today. Send me lots of pictures, ok?”

Buck let a faint smile spread across his face.

“Ok.”

Eddie looked him over a moment, Buck always feeling a little exposed under Eddie’s stare; he was one of the few people that could read him, that saw Buck even when he was trying to hide.

“I’ll come pick him up later, and we can do dinner or something.”

It was the ‘or something’ that made heat pool in Buck’s belly. As if reading his thoughts, Eddie leaned in close, first pressing a kiss over his birthmark, then down to his nose, and over his lips, sealing them together.

“I’ll see you later baby.”

Buck deepened their kiss, tugging Eddie to him a moment, wanting, no, needing, to have him close.

“Go be a badass firefighter babe.”

Eddie huffed out a laugh for it, Buck plastering a smile on his face. As soon as Eddie was out the door, he let it fade. It didn’t come back until he turned toward Chris.

tagging: @heartbeatdiaz @redlightsandicedtea @justsmilestuffhappens @onward--upward @honestlydarkprincess @monsterrae1 @buddierights @eddiescowboy @wh0re-behavi0r @jacksadventuresinwriting @elvensorceress @stanningsky @spaceprincessem @transbuck