#Clean Development Mechanism

[nepalenergyforum]

Carbon Trade: Rules Obstacle

Initiated by Sustainable Prosperity Initiative Nepal (SPI-Nepal), a meeting of different stake holders agreed to establish an Association of institutions engaged in the voluntary carbon trade Environment and Forest Rules have thwarted stakeholders’ attempts to enter the market, despite the significant interest they have demonstrated in participating in the voluntary carbon exchange. Except for…

[tastycitrus]

was anyone going to tell me there was a postgame for ranking up to tamer legend where you fight against julia and glare from dawn/dusk or was i just supposed to find out a year after i beat the main game from someone else's screenshot and suffer through a whole lot of grinding and farm quests to get there

[femenaces]

I cannot stress enough to you that all American government agencies are falling apart at the seams right now and they will not be put back together for the foreseeable future. EPA DHS ED VA FDA NIH IRS CDC HHS NPS etc... Elon Musk is dismantling everything. Anyone who resigns or is laid off now, the word we (I am an agency employee) are receiving internally is that their position will be abolished, not backfilled.

Do you like eating clean, safe food?

Do you like having clean, safe air and water?

Do you want experts monitoring developing infectious diseases?

Do you like getting tax returns?

Do you want your children to have free, quality, public education?

If so, you need to write to your senators and representatives RIGHT NOW. Trump is not obeying the rule of law. He is illegally firing all the inspectors general of these agencies (they are literally being escorted by security out of their offices) so that there is no one left to stop him from doing quite literally anything he wants. He has bypassed the internal structure of all of the agencies by plugging in external email servers to push typo-filled emails and memos written by employees of the heritage foundation directly into the inbox of every federal agency employee in the country, threatening to terminate them.

The rule of law is dead. The only mechanism left to stop any of this is mass public outcry via convincing your state's congressmen & women to do something, because right now they are staying absolutely silent and none of us in these agencies can figure out why. A massacre is happening right now and every single American will feel the material, concrete consequences of this in their daily lives very soon if nothing is done.

Please help me boost this information.

[themefork]

AutoRepair – Free Bootstrap 4 Business Template That Shifts Your Website Into High Gear

Why AutoRepair Template is a Must-Have for Auto Service Businesses In today’s digital-first world, even a traditional, hands-on business like an auto repair shop needs a polished online presence. Many garage owners face the same hurdles—expensive web development, outdated designs, and unresponsive mobile views that drive customers away. The AutoRepair – Free Bootstrap 4 HTML5 Business Website…

[mirnaheadlines]

Government Policies for a Green Economy: Incentives and Regulations

Green Economy A successful transition to a green economy requires a combination of public and private sector efforts, Green Economy with governments playing a crucial role in setting the framework for this transformation. Policies often target sectors such as energy, transportation, agriculture, waste management, and construction, which are significant contributors to environmental impacts. In this context, incentives and regulations serve as two sides of the policy coin, ensuring both the encouragement of sustainable practices and the enforcement of environmental protection.

One of the main goals of government policies for a green economy is to shift economic activity toward more sustainable practices. This involves reducing greenhouse gas emissions, promoting renewable energy, and ensuring that economic growth is decoupled from environmental degradation. To achieve these goals, governments employ a wide range of tools, including tax breaks, subsidies, grants, carbon pricing mechanisms, and strict environmental regulations.

A green economy also emphasizes social inclusiveness, Green Economy ensuring that the transition to sustainability benefits all members of society, particularly vulnerable groups who are most affected by environmental degradation. Green Economy Government policies often include provisions for job creation in green industries, education and training for new skills, and social protection measures to ensure that no one is left behind in the transition.

This section will delve into six key areas of government policies for a green economy: renewable energy incentives, carbon pricing mechanisms, green transportation policies, sustainable agriculture support, waste management and recycling regulations, and financial incentives for green innovation.

Renewable Energy Incentives Green Economy

One of the cornerstones of any green economy policy framework is the promotion of renewable energy sources. Governments have introduced a range of incentives to encourage the production and consumption of renewable energy, such as wind, solar, and hydropower. These incentives are critical for reducing reliance on fossil fuels, which are the primary source of greenhouse gas emissions.

Renewable energy incentives often take the form of subsidies and tax breaks. For instance, many governments offer production tax credits (PTCs) and investment tax credits (ITCs) to companies that generate renewable energy or invest in renewable energy infrastructure. These financial incentives lower the cost of renewable energy projects, making them more competitive with traditional fossil fuel-based energy sources.

Feed-in tariffs (FITs) are another common incentive mechanism. Green Economy Under a FIT program, renewable energy producers are guaranteed a fixed price for the electricity they generate, often over a long-term contract. This provides a stable revenue stream and reduces the financial risk associated with renewable energy investments. Net metering programs, which allow individuals and businesses to sell excess renewable energy back to the grid, are another way governments encourage the adoption of renewable technologies.

Governments also support renewable energy through research and development (R&D) funding. Green Economy By investing in the development of new technologies, governments can help bring down the cost of renewable energy and make it more accessible. Many governments also provide grants and low-interest loans for renewable energy projects, particularly for smaller-scale projects such as rooftop solar installations.

In addition to financial incentives, governments often mandate the use of renewable energy through renewable portfolio standards (RPS). An RPS requires utilities to obtain a certain percentage of their electricity from renewable sources, creating a guaranteed market for renewable energy. This not only supports the growth of the renewable energy industry but also helps reduce the overall carbon footprint of the energy sector.

Green Economy The combination of financial incentives and regulatory mandates has been instrumental in driving the rapid growth of renewable energy in many parts of the world. Countries such as Germany, Denmark, and China have become global leaders in renewable energy production, thanks in large part to strong government policies that promote green energy development.

Carbon Pricing Mechanisms

Carbon pricing is a critical tool in the fight against climate change and a key component of government policies for a green economy. By putting a price on carbon emissions, governments create an economic incentive for businesses and individuals to reduce their carbon footprint. There are two main types of carbon pricing mechanisms: carbon taxes and cap-and-trade systems.

A carbon tax directly sets a price on carbon by levying a tax on the carbon content of fossil fuels. This encourages businesses and consumers to reduce their use of carbon-intensive energy sources and shift toward cleaner alternatives. The revenue generated from carbon taxes is often used to fund green initiatives, such as renewable energy projects or energy efficiency programs, or to provide rebates to low-income households to offset higher energy costs.

Cap-and-trade systems, also known as emissions trading schemes (ETS), work by setting a limit (or cap) on the total amount of greenhouse gas emissions that can be emitted by covered entities, such as power plants or industrial facilities. Companies are issued emission allowances, which they can trade with one another. Companies that can reduce their emissions at a lower cost can sell their excess allowances to companies that face higher costs for reducing emissions. This creates a market for carbon allowances and incentivizes businesses to invest in cleaner technologies.

Both carbon taxes and cap-and-trade systems are designed to internalize the environmental cost of carbon emissions, making it more expensive to pollute and more profitable to invest in sustainable practices. These mechanisms can drive innovation, as businesses seek out new technologies and processes to reduce their carbon liabilities.

Several countries and regions have implemented carbon pricing policies with varying degrees of success. The European Union’s Emissions Trading System (EU ETS) is one of the largest and most established cap-and-trade programs in the world. Canada has implemented a nationwide carbon tax, with revenue returned to households through rebates. In the United States, some states, such as California, have implemented their own cap-and-trade programs in the absence of a national carbon pricing policy.

However, carbon pricing mechanisms face challenges, including political opposition and concerns about economic competitiveness. In some cases, businesses argue that carbon pricing increases costs and puts them at a disadvantage compared to competitors in countries without similar policies. To address these concerns, governments often include provisions to protect industries that are vulnerable to international competition, such as offering rebates or exemptions for certain sectors.

Green Transportation Policies

Transportation is a major source of greenhouse gas emissions, particularly in urban areas. To promote a green economy, governments are implementing a range of policies aimed at reducing emissions from the transportation sector. These policies focus on promoting the use of public transportation, encouraging the adoption of electric vehicles (EVs), and improving fuel efficiency standards.

One of the most effective ways to reduce transportation emissions is to encourage the use of public transportation. Governments invest in expanding and improving public transit systems, such as buses, trains, and subways, to make them more accessible and attractive to commuters. By providing reliable and affordable public transportation options, governments can reduce the number of cars on the road and lower overall emissions.

In addition to improving public transportation, governments are offering incentives for the purchase of electric vehicles (EVs). These incentives often take the form of tax credits or rebates for EV buyers, which help offset the higher upfront cost of electric vehicles compared to traditional gasoline-powered cars. Some governments also offer additional perks for EV owners, such as access to carpool lanes or free parking in city centers.

Governments are also investing in the infrastructure needed to support electric vehicles, such as building charging stations. A lack of charging infrastructure is often cited as a barrier to EV adoption, so governments play a critical role in addressing this challenge. By providing grants or partnering with private companies, governments can help build a network of charging stations that makes EVs a more convenient option for drivers.

Another important component of green transportation policies is improving fuel efficiency standards for cars and trucks. Governments set regulations that require automakers to produce vehicles that meet certain fuel efficiency targets, which helps reduce the amount of fuel consumed and the emissions produced by the transportation sector. Some governments also implement vehicle emissions standards, which limit the amount of pollutants that cars and trucks can emit.

In addition to these policies, governments are encouraging the use of alternative modes of transportation, such as biking and walking. Investments in bike lanes, pedestrian infrastructure, and bike-sharing programs make it easier for people to choose low-emission forms of transportation. These efforts not only reduce emissions but also improve public health by promoting physical activity.

Sustainable Agriculture Support

Agriculture is both a contributor to and a victim of environmental degradation. It is responsible for significant greenhouse gas emissions, deforestation, water use, and pollution from fertilizers and pesticides. At the same time, agriculture is highly vulnerable to the impacts of climate change, including more frequent droughts, floods, and changing weather patterns. As a result, governments are increasingly focusing on promoting sustainable agricultural practices as part of their green economy policies.

One of the key ways governments support sustainable agriculture is through financial incentives for farmers who adopt environmentally friendly practices. These incentives can take the form of subsidies, grants, or low-interest loans for practices such as organic farming, agroforestry, and conservation tillage. By providing financial support, governments encourage farmers to invest in sustainable practices that might otherwise be cost-prohibitive.

Governments also provide technical assistance and education to help farmers transition to more sustainable practices. This can include training programs on topics such as water conservation, soil health, and pest management, as well as access to research and technology that supports sustainable farming. Extension services, which provide hands-on assistance to farmers, are another important tool for promoting sustainable agriculture.

In addition to financial and technical support, governments implement regulations to reduce the environmental impact of agriculture. These regulations can include restrictions on the use of certain pesticides and fertilizers, requirements for buffer zones to protect water sources from agricultural runoff, and mandates for the reduction of greenhouse gas emissions from livestock and manure management.

Governments are also working to promote more sustainable food systems by encouraging the consumption of locally produced and organic foods. Public procurement policies, which require government institutions such as schools and hospitals to purchase a certain percentage of their food from sustainable sources, are one way governments support the development of local, sustainable food systems.

Another important aspect of sustainable agriculture policies is protecting biodiversity and promoting ecosystem services. Governments often provide incentives for farmers to preserve natural habitats on their land, such as wetlands, forests, and grasslands, which provide important ecosystem services such as carbon sequestration, water filtration, and pollination. By promoting biodiversity and ecosystem health, governments help ensure that agricultural systems are more resilient to environmental changes.

Waste Management and Recycling Regulations

Effective waste management is a critical component of a green economy. Governments play a key role in regulating waste disposal, promoting recycling, and encouraging the reduction of waste generation. These efforts are aimed at reducing the environmental impact of waste, including greenhouse gas emissions from landfills, pollution from improper disposal, and the depletion of natural resources through excessive consumption.

One of the main ways governments regulate waste is by setting standards for waste disposal. This includes regulating landfills, incinerators, and hazardous waste facilities to ensure that they operate in an environmentally responsible manner. Governments also implement bans or restrictions on certain types of waste, such as single-use plastics, to reduce the amount of waste that ends up in landfills or the environment.

In addition to regulating waste disposal, governments are increasingly focusing on promoting recycling and waste reduction. Many governments have implemented extended producer responsibility (EPR) programs, which require manufacturers to take responsibility for the disposal of the products they produce. This can include requirements for companies to fund recycling programs or take back products at the end of their life cycle.

Governments also implement policies to encourage households and businesses to recycle more. This can include providing curbside recycling services, setting recycling targets, and offering incentives for recycling, such as deposit return schemes for beverage containers. Public awareness campaigns and education programs are also important tools for promoting recycling and waste reduction.

In some cases, governments use economic instruments to promote waste reduction, such as charging fees for waste disposal or providing financial incentives for businesses that reduce waste. Pay-as-you-throw programs, which charge households based on the amount of waste they generate, are one example of how governments use pricing mechanisms to encourage waste reduction.

Another important component of waste management policies is promoting the circular economy, which focuses on keeping materials in use for as long as possible through recycling, reusing, and remanufacturing. Governments support the circular economy by providing incentives for businesses that adopt circular practices, such as designing products for durability and recyclability, and by setting targets for reducing waste and increasing recycling rates.

Source :

Government Policies for a Green Economy: Incentives and Regulations

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to Describe Faces in Writing

A human face reveals a lot about a person.

In creative writing, describing a character’s face can uncover information about who they are and how they feel.

Writers can zoom in on individual features, like the eyes or mouth, or describe a face in its entirety to paint a picture of a character.

Develop a character through their most telling attribute—their face.

Tips for Describing Faces in Your Writing

Use figurative language when describing a character’s face. When you’re introducing a character for the first time and want the reader to create an image in their mind, use figurative language to describe the character’s face instead of just stating the obvious qualities. For example, you can use similes and metaphors. It’s okay to simply say, “She has blonde hair,” but you could also use a simile: “Her hair was golden like the sun.” In Great Expectations Charles Dickens uses a unique metaphor to describe a feature of a character’s face: “His mouth was such a post-office of a mouth that he had a mechanical appearance of smiling.”

Create facial expressions that reveal emotions. How a character’s eyes, eyebrows, nose, forehead, mouth, and chin move in unison can let a reader in on their emotions. A character can have a facial tic when they get nervous. Whether it’s raised eyebrows and a mouth curved into a smile or a furrowed brow and an upper lip curled into a scowl, you can use a character’s expressions instead of dialogue to reveal their feelings about a situation.

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Realize that eyes are windows to the soul. There are endless ways to depict eyes. Describe obvious characteristics like eye color—green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, gray eyes, or black eyes. Highlight their shape—round, almond, narrow. Think about the entire orbital structure, from eyelids to eyelashes. Illustrate how the eyes are placed in relation to the character’s face—deep-set, wide-set, or close-set. Give eyes their own movements to tap into a character’s feelings. Let a character’s eyes twinkle, squint, gaze, or glare.

Describe your character’s skin. The tone and texture of a character’s skin can provide insights into a character’s life. A child’s face might be freckled. A sickly character might look pasty. An old cowboy might be good looking and rugged with craggy skin.

Give your character unique facial features. Set a character apart with distinguishing facial features. Give them dimples, freckles, or unique markings on their face. Give them poor vision so they need to wear eyeglasses. Maybe they wear heavy makeup or have piercings. Think of different ways you can create unique facial features that help define a character.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[rcvcgers]

hello!! i really like your writng! i was hoping if i can request a one shot with sylus or zayne with a non!mc reader where she’s kinda mean and purposefully makes herself look intimidating to scare others off bc it’s a defense mechanism they developed but really the reader is actually sensitive and a bit of a crybaby and just needs someone to lean on

have a nice day!!

thank you so much for this request! i went with zayne if that's okay! i'll most likely post one for sylus within the next week or so! :)

Guarded Heart

pairing: zayne x non!mc reader

synopsis: zayne meets an icy anesthesiologist with a tough exterior

word count: 3.8k words

author's note: wrote this in one sitting so...i do apologize if it's lame and not good at all haha

content warning: brief mentions of bullying & death, slight medical descriptions, slight self deprecating thoughts

ao3 link here!

It is a sunny day in Linkon. Birds are singing, the breeze is perfectly chilled to combat the scorching heat of the sun, and the air smells crisp instead of like smog. A ladybug flies onto your shoulder, resting on the hot leather as you rush towards the hospital doors.

Once glance at your chunky black watch reminds you just how late you are to prepare for your first on-call shift at Akso Hospital.

You weave through the group of people who stand in front of the hospital doors. They stand and take pictures, balloons and signs in their hands. A sign flies in your face! You jump to the side, barely missing a man who steps away from the group. Spinning on your heels, a gasp flies from your lips, a taller and much more muscular man colliding into you.

Warmth spreads across your chest, the smell of rich, velvety chocolate filling your nostrils. Your t-shirt and leather jacket stick to your skin. The group to the side gasps, muffled laughter clouding you and the man.

“I am very sorry,” his voice is calm and steady, a little too steady for your taste. If anything, it makes you even more irritated.

“It’s fine,” you feel him wipe covered first along your chest. You push his hands away, stepping around him. He turns and grabs your wrist.

“May I get your number? Allow me to pay for the dry cleaning of the clothes,”  he continues. You turn and look up at him, ripping your hand away. His eyes are remarkable; hazel hues burn into your own. You gulp and push some hair behind your ear, taking hurried steps backwards.

“No, it’s fine,” your tone is sharper than you intended it to be.

Then again, you have never been known to be the kindest person out of the bunch.

You walk inside the hospital, catching your breath. You rip your leather jacket off of your body, your shirt stuck to your skin, leaving you feeling sticky and uncomfortable. As you walk down the halls, people avoid you and your icy glare, a snarl curled on your face. They part and hug the walls, your shoes sticking to the floor with every step you take. It only irritates you more. Your nostrils flare and you puff out steam through your nose.

You head up the stairs, not wanting to be stuck in an elevator with people looking at you as if you’re the problem, and go up the three flights of stairs with ease. As soon as you step into the small locker room for anesthesiologists, you’re met with a disapproving look.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You know you’re on call, right?”

“I was just on my lunch break, Dave,” you shoot a glare at the oversized man, shoving your belongings into your metal locker. You pull out your navy blue scrubs, eyeing the bathroom that Dave stands in front of.

“You’re lucky there wasn’t an emergency,” he slowly chews his potato chips. The crunch sends uncomfortable shivers down your spine, making your skin crawl.

“Yep. I know,” you push him out of the way, slamming the bathroom door shut behind you. You begin to chance when Dave’s voice makes you pause.

“A bitch as always.”

Your eyes close, shoulders slumping. Has your reputation come to this? Are you only known as a bitch to your peers? You’re here to do a job. So what if you don’t smile or stay in the cafeteria for lunch! They’re just your co-workers, not your friends.

The pager on your hip sounds off. You look down, sliding your feet into your designated work sneakers. The code tells you that it’s a patient coming in from an ambulance needing emergency surgery. A sigh fills the bathroom before you leave, slipping out before Dave can get in another jab.

Nurses and doctors stare at you as you pass. You push your messy hair behind your ear, the lingering smell of sugar and chocolate giving you a slight headache as you push through the emergency surgical bay doors on the first floor. You nod your head at the nurses who quickly scrub in and pluck a mask from a nearby box, placing it over your face.

The doors open once again and a tall man with dark hair steps through. The nurses’ eyes move to him; their shoulders connect as they giggle behind hushed whispers and quiet voices. You raise an eyebrow, cracking your fingers when you finally stare at the man. He’s tall and his muscles flex underneath his lab coat. He turns directly to the sinks and begins his sterilization process.

The realization hits you when you’re finally able to place his face.

He’s the man who spilled hot chocolate on you, making you late for the second half of your shift. You quickly step inside the empty surgical room, waiting for the trauma patient to be wheeled in.

A few minutes later, just as the tall man steps inside, wearing a teal surgical gown matched with light blue gloves and a mask over his face. His eyes flicker to yours while you stand by your equipment. You narrow your eyes at him, heat flooding your cheeks, the need to protect yourself rising in your chest.

Neither of you say a thing, not like you want to, and the tension filled stare is broken just as the patient is wheeled inside the room. The two of you jump into action, 

The surgery takes an hour and forty seven minutes to complete. It’s twelve minutes over Zayne’s personal best, but that’s because of the new recruits continually asking him questions while ignoring the blood that floods chest cavity.

You, on the other hand, were phenomenal. When he was able to look away, which was barely ever, he stole glances at you while you monitored the patient’s vitals. Every so often, he would ask you about the patient’s vitals and you immediately responded with the information he wanted to know. You even adjusted the anesthesia when he voiced what he was going to do next. You were able to slow the heart just right so he can focus and see where the knife sliced into the left chamber. The slow heartbeats helped him slip the near-microscopic needle in and out of the organ while he stitched it up.

It was because of you that Zayne was able to relax after the surgery knowing that his stitches were perfect and that the patient will have an easy, yet slow and meticulous, recovery.

Zayne pokes his head around the hospital trying to find you. You weren’t with the other anesthesiologists nor were you in the cafeteria or break rooms that are scattered throughout the hospital. When one of the nurses who was in the operating room with you noticed his frustration, he finally asked who you were.

“Oh her? She’s…off-putting to say the least,” she begins with an eye roll. “Nobody really likes her but she gets the job done so I guess she’s sticking round because of it.”

“Do you know where I can find her?” Zayne asks with a slight head tilt. The nurse’s eyes open wide.

“I…I don’t know, Dr. Zayne. She’s a loner and doesn’t really talk to anyone.”

Zayne frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. The nurse goes quiet, scratching the back of her neck before eventually walking away, shame written all over her face.

Why were people so cruel to you? If you were good at your job, which you are, why do they say cruel and nasty things about you? It confuses him. A person should be judged on their merit, not because of how introverted you are or if you have one bad day.

Little did he know that you pushed people away on purpose. It’s not like you wanted to. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be openly happy and carefree as others are.

You have gone through so much drama and have been through so many scandals that it has put you off from letting people in entirely. Your teenage years were cruel to you; bullies were relentless and their words and actions beat you down into nothing. It didn’t get better when you went off to university where your roommate purposefully locked you out of the dorm when you went to go take a shower.

People are cruel. You don’t need them and you certainly don’t need anyone else that’s new. The risk is too great to take on. You don’t even think you can go through another heartbreak or cruel friendship.

You always found yourself in the solitude of the hospital’s extra courtyard. It sits behind the tall building, covered in the building’s shadows when the sun moved to the other side of the sky. You liked looking at the flowers and watching the butterflies flutter past. It was also nice that nobody else really came into the courtyard. You were able to sit in solitude during your breaks or after a tension filled surgery like the one just half an hour ago.

“You’re a hard woman to find.”

You jump in the metal bench, which has been designed to look like a pair of roses that sit next to each other, and turn around to see the tall surgeon from before. He wears glasses with thin metal rims and his scrubs are covered with a new lab coat, one that isn’t covered with the remnants of his drink that morning.

“I don’t want to be found,” you respond, turning back around on the bench. You pick at the skin around your fingernails, needing to give your body to do something to distract yourself from the handsome man.

Zayne circles around and stands in front of you. He shoves his hands into his coat pockets, a habit he picked up from other surgeons to protect his hands, and sighs. He sits down on a chair across from you, only a few feet away. You avoid his hazel eyes at all costs, slowly inhaling the hot summer breeze.

“My name is—”

“Dr. Zayne,” you finish his sentence for him. He slowly nods. His eyes remain on you. “I know. You have an impressive résumé.”

“Do I?” A faint smile spreads across his lips. You finally look at him, catching the tail end of his grin before it disappears. “This is my first time here. It’s nice. Are you in here often?”

“Yes,” a part of you doesn’t know why you responded to him, “nobody knows about it. It’s...nice.” You turn your body to fully face him now. He matches your movement, one eyebrow slightly quirking up, gently urging you to continue.

But you don’t.

Bugs and insects fly around you. Butterflies flap their wings and hummingbirds stop at the feeders with the sugary pink water. Zayne observes the courtyard, wondering how he has never noticed it before. It’s all thanks to you that he is able to find solitude in such a chaotic environment.

You and Zayne sit in a comfortable silence. It’s something you aren’t used to but it feels nice. You don’t know whether his intentions are pure or not. You don’t seem to mind the company though.

“May I join you for lunch here tomorrow?” Zayne requests.

“Yes,” the answer leaves your lips before you can stop it. Zayne nods, a slight smile spreading across his lips, and he stands up.

“Wonderful. I will see you tomorrow.”

The next day, Zayne is early with his lunch, even having bought you a bottle of water just in case you didn’t have one. Hydration is key, after all! You rolled your eyes and sat next to him on the bench. You finally have him your name and filled in him in on how long you’ve been working at Akso.

“How have I never seen you before?” he asked with pure and genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I don’t know. I usually work with obstetrics,” you shrug. Zayne hides a smile on his face. He likes that you help bring new life into the world. He’ll have to swing by during some downtime to see you in action.

Zayne shows up the next day even earlier just to see you. You walk out with headphones on, a small scowl on your face while you swipe through your phone. He watches you closely; he watches as a bee flies past your face and you don’t swat at it, instead smiling and waiting for it to pass before moving on.

You find out that Zayne asked around about you. You hid the blush on your face as Dave throws a note Zayne wrote at you. His kind words, and typical doctor handwriting, makes you swoon. Your icy heart melts ever so slightly.

Not even a week later, you get the request from your supervisor to be temporarily switched over to the Cardiac department. As soon as you arrive, Zayne is the first one to welcome you. While everyone else avoids you due to your bitchy reputation, Zayne is quick to show you around and introduce you to everyone despite there being no smile on your face.

Three months later Zayne asks you to be his girlfriend.

He asked you after a particularly stressful shift. He showed up to your apartment, which was surprisingly close to his place, still in his scrubs, and knocked on your door until you answered. Your hair was a mess from the deep sleep you were in matched with dark purple bags under your eyes. A yawn barely left your lips when Zayne broke the silence.

“I lost a patient today.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry, Zayne. That must have been really hard.”

“It was,” he nods and looks down at you, out of breath from running up the stairs to your door, “it made me think.”

“Yes? About what?” you raise an eyebrow and step through the door. He takes your hand and places it over his heart. His touch wakes you up, energy flushing through your body. Your eyes widen. His heart pounds inside his chest.

“Be my girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Will you please be my girlfriend?” Zayne’s voice is breathy yet steady. A small smile spreads across your face. You slowly nod.

“Yes. I would love to be your girlfriend.”

Maybe people aren’t so bad after all.

The two of you have fallen into a unique rhythm. It was convenient that the two of you worked at the hospital. Zayne even pulled a few strings for your shifts to line up, even going as far as to claim you as the Cardiac Unit’s main anesthesiologist.

Zayne slowly pushes through your icy interior, learning that you are one of the most caring and loving people he has ever met. You love your job as much as he does and also found out that you hate carrots, alongside eggplants and people who use the word ‘moist’. 

As the weeks pass, you notice that people still talk about you behind your back despite being much nicer to your face. Dave and the other anesthesiologists whisper about you when you leave the room and the nurses that work alongside Zayne always look at you like you are on the scum on the bottom of their shoes. It doesn’t bother you.

Or, at least you thought it didn’t.

You always pretended like their comments don’t mean anything to you. Zayne always moved to say something but you stopped him every time, telling him that it isn’t worth it. He always frowned when you said this but respected your choice, whisking you away to your secret place in the courtyard.

The nights you spend alone and away from him are the nights you cry yourself to sleep, the aching pain of their comments slicing into your skin, breaking the armor you built for yourself. You stayed up late those nights, staring at yourself in the mirror as the thoughts of self deprecation and sadness creeped throughout your body.

You sit in Zayne’s comfortable office, looking outside the window. A bird flies by while singing its song and chases after another, escaping your line of sight. His door is cracked open, having just steppe out for a moment. You click on your app, trying to clear the stage in the grocery store app Zayne installed for you. Your brows furrow together. The small carrot icons mock you, the third one nowhere to be found.

“Fuck you, carrots,” you murmur.

“Can you believe her?” a nurse by the name of Tabitha says outside Zayne’s door. Your ears perk up, head tilting in their direction.

“I know! How can he be with someone like her?”

Your heart sinks in your chest. Slowly pushing out of the chair, you inch towards the door. their voices grow louder. They are completely unaware of your presence lurking behind the wooden door. The more they speak, the more apparent it becomes that nobody in the hospital likes you. Everyone finds you weird, off-putting, crass, and obnoxious.

“She’s so weird! She’s probably blackmailing him to date her! How can a man like him ever go for a cold bitch like her?”

“I don’t know! Maybe she baby trapped him!”

“Cause that’s just what we need! Another version of her running around here!”

You sink away from the door, dissociating as you grab your purse. Another voice, male, comes into the mix. You don’t pay attention to it, though, and slip your phone and hospital I.D. into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. Zayne’s office door creaks open and he kicks it closed behind him, a cup of coffee and hot chocolate in his hands.

“Sorry I’m late, my love, an intern needed help with a few questions,” Zayne’s calm voice makes your eyes sting. You keep your back to him, ashamed to even look at the man you love.

Is he aware of how the people in the hospital think of you? Does he even care that they wish nothing but the worst for you?

No…Zayne probably doesn’t know. After all, you’re just a woman who doesn’t care about what other people think, right? You’re an ice cold bitch who doesn’t have feelings so why should it even matter?

When you turn around, a pained expression on your face, Zayne pauses. You avoid his gaze, opting to look at the ground instead of him. He places the cups on the side table next to the door and immediately walks up to you. He takes the purse and places it on the chair, grabbing your hands, lacing your fingers together.

“What’s wrong, my love? Is everything okay?” Zayne asks despite the creeping suspicion that it has something to do with Tabitha and Tiffany on the other side of the door.

He was quick to put them in their place, yes, and reminded them of just how valuable and important you are to the team at Akso, but he didn’t think that you were paying attention to their words.

“I’m fine,” you groan. You try to peel your hands away from his but his grip remains firm. “Zayne, please, I need to go—”

“No, you don’t,” he retorts in a calm tone. “You offered to stay with me while I finished paperwork.”

Tears sting your eyes, threatening to fall. Shallow breaths leave your chest. Zayne pulls you to him, tucking your hair behind your ear. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The kiss soothes you, helping calm some of your anxiety, but it’s not enough to pull the knife that was lodged into your back. You close your eyes and press your forehead against his chest. You tremble in his arms. Zayne places his hand on the back of your head, smoothing down your hair. You listen to his heartbeat. Every beat urges your tears forward and eventually you begin to cry, the weight of everyone’s dislike towards you finally causing you to crumble.

“It’s alright, honey, I got you, let it all out,” Zayne coos. You shudder into his chest, hands weakly wrapping around him. You grab a fistful of his shirt and loosen it from its tight tuck into his pants.

“I don’t know why they hate me so much,” you cry out. Your tears dampen his shirt. He rubs circles into your back, a frown overtaking his face. “I mind my own business! I say good morning and wave! I even brought donuts one day like you suggested!”

“I know, dear, I know,” Zayne sighs. He places his cheek onto the top of your head, pulling you closer into his body.

After knowing you for the past few months, Zayne has fallen in love with every side of you. He adores the hard glare you give him when he wakes you up from your morning shift. He loves the small smiles whenever he surprises you with a sweet treat after a long night shift. He loves the way you melt into his embrace when you’re in bed at night ready to go to sleep.

And most of all, Zayne loves the sweet, sensitive girl that you hide away. The one that cares about everyone and wants to save the world. That is the woman he fell in love with, not the reputation that others thrust onto you.

“You don’t need them,” Zayne sighs into your hair. Your sniffle against his chest, not daring to move. “They clearly cannot see the amazing woman that you are, but they will soon. It takes time.”

“Why are you so nice to me?” you cry even more, hugging him ever closer to you. Zayne sighs and gives you a reassuring squeeze. “I don’t deserve you.”

You believed it, too. Zayne has always been so patient with you. He’s stuck by your side through thick and thin, waiting for you to let him in. It took awhile, yes, but he got there, finally penetrating the high walls you have built around yourself. He has been so kind and gentle with you, even reassuring you that he loves and cares for you when you silently needed it the most.

“You deserve me because I love you. I want nothing but the best for best for you, even if it means I have to give a stern lecture to those who hurt you,” Zayne’s tone is unusually light. It makes you laugh through your cries. He smiles and kisses the top of your head. You slowly pull away from him and he wipes away the tears from your face.

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes. I will talk to them if you want me to.”

“No, Zayne, I meant about you…loving me.”

“Oh,” Zayne smiles down at you. He nods. “Yes. I do love you. More than you can even imagine.”

“I love you too,” you smile. You stare into those beautiful hazel eyes of his and remember why he has been the only person to melt your icy exterior. “Thank you for being so patient with me. I’m…I’m trying.”

“I know, my love, and I will wait for you no matter how long it takes.”

please drop a like, reblog, & comment!! i love see what you all have to say <3

masterlist of works

[fictionalsweethearts]

THE COMMISSION PT. 2 | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

'The Commission' series: pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt.4, epilogue.

Synopsis: You've been her personal mechanic for two years, but your growing reputation in the field has earned you dozens of clients and commissions. Sevika was looking for something fresh, durable and of good quality, and when it came to her sexual appetite, she only accepted the best. So she turned to you for a special commission.

Contains: arcane!sevika, feminine reader, lesbians, lots of dialogues, arcane universe, cannon sevika, mechanic!reader, wlw, slow burn baby 💋, several parts btw

Word count: 2,330

Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistake in my writing. Enjoy!

Sevika trusted your good work but your integrity mattered to her as well. The intimidating facade, her bearing and her gaze made her look lethal, but the truth was that Sevika protected the people she cared about and was extremely loyal. After years working for Silco and cleaning up Jinx's messes, Sevika had developed a special fondness for you and your good humor, as well as your eyes and your easy smile. She wanted to protect you for this commission as well.

A couple of days after the meeting, you were outside The Last Drop, waiting for Sevika while smoking a cigarette. "What did I get myself into." you whispered, exhaling before stepping on the butt with your heel, watching the woman approach from the distance. Next to her was one of her lackeys and another man you didn't know, a tall, dark-haired man with slanted eyes, veiny hands and good-looking, presumably a worker at the House of Pleasure. The candidate.

She gestured for the man next to her to approach and spoke up. "I want you to meet my friend, Silas." Sevika said, her voice a little gruff. "He's here to... provide for your mold-taking."

Gosh, this so embarrassing you thought, giving Silas a nod. "Nice to meet you, I assume Sevika explained you the uh... reason you're here."

Silas nodded, still smirking. "She did." He replied, his eyes roaming over you. "And it's a pleasure, lovely."

"Huh, sure." you mumbled, as Sevika made her way into the Last Drop, towards her personal room. The place was set up. Sevika took care of your requests and had a powerful spotlight installed in the center of the room, next to a backless chair and a work table, where the materials to make the mold were spread out and ready to be used. Sevika sat on the couch, lighting a cigarette while Silas undressed from the waist down. You focused on preparing the mixture, ignoring the blush on your cheeks at the rather peculiar and embarrassing situation you found yourself in.

"Robin asked about you." Silas said to Sevika. "You haven't visited her in a while..."

"Yeah, I've been busy." She replied gruffly. "With... business and such."

"You sure you haven't found another girl?" asked Silas. "It's quite odd to not see you around the brothel."

"I've been..." She paused, her gaze shifting briefly between you and the supplies on the table. "...busy. I don't have time for that right now." The truth was that, recently, her visits to the brothels of Zaun had decreased. The reason was sitting not ten feet away from her.

You gulped. "Please stand in front of the spotlight, legs apart." you said somewhat shyly, to which Silas complied with a rather pleasant and welcomed confidence. He certainly wasn't embarrassed, but you were. "Oh, I'm sorry to be so blunt but... you must be..."

"Hard?" Silas asked, to which you nodded.

Sevika chuckled, watching the interaction. She was amused by your attempts to be professional, trying your best to handle this with grace despite your embarrassment. "Don't apologize." He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It's a reasonable request."

You looked at Sevika with pink cheeks, before she turned to Silas in a non-serious tone. "Do you need magazines or something for the imagination, Silas?" she asked.

Silas chuckled, his eyes moving between Sevika and you. "No, I think I'll be alright." he said "But I wouldn't mind a little assistance..." He added, his eyes slowly roving over you, a smirk on his face.

Sevika's gaze was firm as she looked up at Silas, her voice cold. "Hands off, or I'll cut them off."

Sevika handed him the pills and a bottle of water. It only took a couple of minutes for Silas to be rock hard after taking them. Not that you found him appealing, but the man’s sexual aura stirred something inside you. However, you were here to work and Sevika would certainly disapprove of anyone putting their hands on you or you putting your hands on someone else. Sevika watched the whole process, focusing on the gentleness of your hands, the way you immersed the candidate's phallus in a container with the hypoallergenic plaster and the shy smile that were drawn on your lips while you took the time for it to harden. She thought about the privilege Silas was receiving, to have your complete and undivided attention on his body and to be touched by such angelic hands. Sevika grunted, pouring herself a whiskey.

"And... done." you said after the time passed. You removed the now hardened mold, satisfied with the result. You carefully placed it on the table, while Silas got dressed.

"I know I have a good cock, but I never thought I was worthy of being turned into a mold," the man joked.

Sevika chuckled, taking another puff of her cigarette. "Don't flatter yourself, sweetcheeks. We just needed someone qualified."

"Whatever you say, boss." He replied, his gaze shifting to you. "How long will it take for the final product?"

"Four to six days," you replied. "The material I'll be using is quite sensitive and capricious, plus incorporating the Shimmer system will take a couple of failed experiments," you explained, to which Silas laughed.

"Shimmer?" he asked, looking at Sevika. "You're planning on making a fucking Shimmer strap?"

Sevika leaned back, her expression cool. "Problem?"

"No, no problem. I'm just... curious. You never fail to surprise me, you know that?"

Silas gave her hand a squeeze. "I'm leaving now. Good luck with your little toy," Silas said, giving you a warm smile. You were focused on the mold when you and Sevika ended up alone in the room.

"You handled that well." She commented, her voice low and gruff.

"You think so?"

"Yeah, I do." She replied, exhaling a plume of smoke. "You managed to keep your focus and didn't let that hothead get to you."

“I know my job and what it’s worth,” you assured as you poured the second mixture into the cast to make the mold you’d be working with later. You were tired, however, this time of year people usually got their prosthetics renewed and everyone turned to you to do it. You’ve been using Shimmer again to keep the workflow going and it was starting to show.

Her sharp eye was trained to pick up on even the smallest details, and it was clear that you were exhausted. "When was the last time you slept a full night?

"Does it matter?" you inquired, focused on your work

"Of course it matters." She replied, her voice firm. "If you're exhausted, it will affect your work. I need you to be sharp, to be able to keep up."

"When's the last time you slept, really?"

"Mhm... two days ago?" you said, not sure. The truth is that Shimmer affected your perception of time and hunger, it was as effective as cocaine but more accessible, since it was Sevika who provided you with doses at a good price. However, she was regretting having done it, seeing you in this state.

"Are you kidding me? How many boosters have you taken in that time?"

"Don't remember." you shrugged. "I'm overflowed."

Sevika's jaw tensed as she watched your tired, sluggish state. The realization of what you'd been doing to yourself hit her like a ton of bricks. She put the cigarette away, standing up. "You're not going home. You're staying here." She said firmly, her voice leaving no room for argument. "I won't have you passing out from exhaustion."

"Excuse me?"

Her voice took on a softer tone, but her eyes held a hint of command. "I won't negotiate on this. It's for your own good."

"I have more comissions waiting for me at my workshop." you insisted. "And I can't afford to deliver them late."

She leaned forward, her voice dropping lower. "Those orders can wait. Your health cannot. I won't take no for an answer on this, understand?"

“How bold of you,” you scoff. “You’re asking me to rest when you’ve asked me for one of the strangest and most complex commissions this month.”

"And you took the commission, didn't you?" She retorted, her voice cold. "You agreed to it willingly. Don't act like I forced it upon you."

Before you could protest, Sevika's metal hand covered yours and she lowered herself to your level to say, leaving no room for argument: "You will quit work for today, I will get you dinner and you will go to sleep. Do you hear?"

You'd never seen Sevika this protective, this... bossy before. And honestly? It was kind of attractive. Her dominant aura was on full display, and the way she left no room for argument was both intimidating and thrilling.

"I hear," you managed to reply, your voice a breathless whisper.

Twenty minutes later, you popped a piece of turkey into your mouth, Sevika had brought you dinner and a glass of lemonade to go with your meal, as she watched you eat, she poured herself a cup of tea. She had had enough to drink for the day. By the second or third bite, you sensed the sudden comedown and felt nauseous. The shimmer was wearing off and Sevika was quick enough to kick the wastebasket towards you so you could throw up in it.

She moved quickly, resting a hand on your back as you wretched, attempting to provide some form of comfort. "Easy," she said quietly, rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back. "Just get it out."

The Shimmer comedown wasn't pleasant, it felt like all your energy was suddenly drained and replaced by an overwhelming feeling of malaise and despair. Your body was begging for more, and it was precisely that feeling that pushed people to buy more doses until they were in misery, but Sevika wouldn't allow it. Not when it comes to you. "It'll pass," she murmured quietly, her voice a soothing murmur. "Just breathe. It'll pass."

"Another one won't kill me..." you slurred with your head buried into the basket.

"That's where you're wrong," she replied, her voice firm. "It won't stop at just one. It never does. Especially not when you're already in this state."

Sevika straightened you up, handing you a bottle to rinse your mouth out. She then slid the plate over to you. "Eat."

"I don't..."

"I know you don't feel like it." She admitted, her voice softer now, "but you need to eat something. You haven't been taking proper care of yourself, and it shows."

You forced yourself to eat and drink the lemonade. Soon enough you were lying on the soft sofa in the room. Its walls were dark and seemed stained by the passing of time and cigarette smoke, it was lit by lamps in red and mustard tones. In the distance was the betting table, next to you the minibar and in front of you, sitting on a chair, Sevika was watching you. The withdrawal effect had already worn off, now you were just very sleepy.

"Are you feeling any better?"

"I'm... I wanna sleep." you slurred.

She took another puff of her cigarette, tapping the ash into the ashtray beside her. "Close your eyes. Sleep."

You clossed your eyes, the smell of the cigarette entering your nostrils. "You shouldn't smoke that much." you mumbled.

"Oh, really?" She replied, a hint of playful sarcasm in her voice. "And who's gonna stop me?" She took another long puff of her cigarette, the smoke wafting towards you, the scent musky and alluring. "You, perhaps?"

"I don't have any power over you." you admitted.

"No, you don't." She agreed, her expression softening slightly. "But," she mused quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, "sometimes, I wish you did."

You didn't know what to make of that, but you understood that Sevika wasn't joking. You felt a hand on your forehead, Sevika checking if you were feverish or cold, and luckily for you, you were fine. You shifted on the couch, before your curiosity got the better of you. "Silas said you've barely been to the brothel lately..."

"Are you concerned for my wellbeing?" She asked, her voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. "Or are you simply curious?"

"You're a woman of habits and you're missing that one."

"Yes, I suppose I am a woman of habits." She leaned back in her chair, her eyes still fixed on you. "And that one habit in particular... I've been avoiding it."

"Why?"

"It's... not as satisfying as it once was." She replied, her voice quiet, almost lost. "The same faces, the same encounters, the same routines. It's all... so hollow, now. Empty. Meaningless."

Suddenly you felt that the commission you're working on was meaningless. "Then why the hell am I fabricating a strap for you?" you asked with sleepy amusement.

"What do you mean 'why'?" She retorted, her tone sharp. "Because I asked you to, that's why."

"But you're saying you don't like to attend the brothel anymore." you inisisted. "Who will you use it with then?"

"I'll use it with whoever I damn well please," she continued, her tone growing sharper, "and it's none of your business who that is."

You noticed her tone change, she was closing up and it was best not to probe further. Not with Sevika. You simply nodded, closing your eyes against the potent spell of Shimmer's downturn and the days and days of work taking its toll on your body.

You felt her scent close by, a warm hand on your forehead and then tracing circles on your hair. You thought you were dreaming, or it was just the Shimmer messing with your mind, but you felt like you were in some kind of enchantment with those fingers massaging your scalp and the weight of her body next to you on the couch. "Get some sleep," she said quietly, her voice gentle. "I'll be here when you wake up."

To be continued...

taglist: @lez-zuha @amoraeu @nikaachuuuu @furrytaesss @elliecoochieeater @n-noctiss @emmanetalias

[reasonsforhope]

"A 1-megawatt sand battery that can store up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy will be 10 times larger than a prototype already in use.

The new sand battery will eliminate the need for oil-based energy consumption for the entire town of town of Pornainen, Finland.

Sand gets charged with clean electricity and stored for use within a local grid.

Finland is doing sand batteries big. Polar Night Energy already showed off an early commercialized version of a sand battery in Kankaanpää in 2022, but a new sand battery 10 times that size is about to fully rid the town of Pornainen, Finland of its need for oil-based energy.

In cooperation with the local Finnish district heating company Loviisan Lämpö, Polar Night Energy will develop a 1-megawatt sand battery capable of storing up to 100 megawatt hours of thermal energy.

“With the sand battery,” Mikko Paajanen, CEO of Loviisan Lämpö, said in a statement, “we can significantly reduce energy produced by combustion and completely eliminate the use of oil.”

Polar Night Energy introduced the first commercial sand battery in 2022, with local energy utility Vatajankoski. “Its main purpose is to work as a high-power and high-capacity reservoir for excess wind and solar energy,” Markku Ylönen, Polar Nigh Energy’s co-founder and CTO, said in a statement at the time. “The energy is stored as heat, which can be used to heat homes, or to provide hot steam and high temperature process heat to industries that are often fossil-fuel dependent.” ...

Sand—a high-density, low-cost material that the construction industry discards [Note: 6/13/24: Turns out that's not true! See note at the bottom for more info.] —is a solid material that can heat to well above the boiling point of water and can store several times the amount of energy of a water tank. While sand doesn’t store electricity, it stores energy in the form of heat. To mine the heat, cool air blows through pipes, heating up as it passes through the unit. It can then be used to convert water into steam or heat water in an air-to-water heat exchanger. The heat can also be converted back to electricity, albeit with electricity losses, through the use of a turbine.

In Pornainen, Paajanen believes that—just by switching to a sand battery—the town can achieve a nearly 70 percent reduction in emissions from the district heating network and keep about 160 tons of carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere annually. In addition to eliminating the usage of oil, they expect to decrease woodchip combustion by about 60 percent.

The sand battery will arrive ready for use, about 42 feet tall and 49 feet wide. The new project’s thermal storage medium is largely comprised of soapstone, a byproduct of Tulikivi’s production of heat-retaining fireplaces. It should take about 13 months to get the new project online, but once it’s up and running, the Pornainen battery will provide thermal energy storage capacity capable of meeting almost one month of summer heat demand and one week of winter heat demand without recharging.

“We want to enable the growth of renewable energy,” Paajanen said. “The sand battery is designed to participate in all Fingrid’s reserve and balancing power markets. It helps to keep the electricity grid balanced as the share of wind and solar energy in the grid increases.”"

-via Popular Mechanics, March 13, 2024

--

Note: I've been keeping an eye on sand batteries for a while, and this is really exciting to see. We need alternatives to lithium batteries ASAP, due to the grave human rights abuses and environmental damage caused by lithium mining, and sand batteries look like a really good solution for grid-scale energy storage.

--

Note 6/13/24: Unfortunately, turns out there are substantial issues with sand batteries as well, due to sand scarcity. More details from a lovely asker here, sources on sand scarcity being a thing at the links: x, x, x, x, x

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS

➔ PAIRING: Taehyung x Y/N (ballerina x stalker AU)

➔ MOODBOARD

➔ RATING: Mature, 18+, explicit themes and content.

➔ DATE POSTED: May 01, 2025.

➔ SUMMARY: Altars crumble faster in shallow water. But he still knelt like it was sacred. No one ever warned you that worship could look like love. Or that love could look like drowning.

➔ TAGS: second person perspective, female reader, ballerina!Y/N, stalker!taehyung, obsessive devotion, psychological tension, fixation, worship dynamics, Paris setting, religious imagery, voyeurism, sacred/profane dichotomy, slow burn, touch starvation, ritualistic behavior, gradual corruption, power dynamics, mirror imagery, water symbolism, sensory details, clean/unclean fixation, contamination OCD, professional dancer, self-destructive patterns, compulsive behavior, unhealthy coping mechanisms, possessive tendencies, praise addiction, spiritual yearning, toxic attraction, dangerous adoration, self-loathing, body discipline, mental health issues, self-harm, mental deterioration, unresolved sexual tension (for now).

➔ CONTENT in this chapter: first sight, obsessive observation, ballet practice scene, initial fixation development, mirror dynamics, ritual beginnings, sensory fixation, internal monologue, self-loathing, self-discipline, cleanliness obsession, OCD, asocial/antisocial behaviors.

➔ AUTHOR’S INTRO AND TRIGGER WARNINGS

➔ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQ | WORDCOUNT: 2.9k

➔ A/N: Before we even begin, let me say this loud and clear: This story explores dark themes, toxic dynamics, and morally fucked behavior. If that’s not your vibe or you’re in a vulnerable place right now, please prioritize your mental health and click out. I have a trigger warning + author intro linked above in pink—read it before diving in. Know what you’re getting into. Once you scroll past this note, you’re responsible for engaging thoughtfully. This is not an endorsement of anything. This story is an exploration, not a statement of belief. Don’t absorb it at face value. Think critically. Or log off. Either works. Okay now that the serious voice is out of the way—WELCOME TO ASW. Yes. We’re doing this. Yes, Taehyung. No, I don’t know why either. He just… is. This fic has been rotting in my brain like a cursed wine cellar, and he fit the flavor of psychological mess I needed. It’s the velvet-soaked, morally gray, low-light, mid-cigarette kinda vibe. And you’re invited. This isn’t a longform fic like Fuck Me Up—it’s a series, a slower, tighter pace, same chaos engine running under the hood (hi, it’s me, Kiki Nation). If you’ve read my stuff before: buckle in. If you’re new: …I swear I’ve written fluff before. Maybe. No but seriously, if you like character-driven, trauma-informed, unhinged-but-meticulous messes with literary undertones, welcome. You’ve found your swamp. Also. I beg you to listen to the ASW playlist I linked. It’s essential. Think: Paris—but not “Emily in Paris.” More like the kind of Paris where you haven’t slept in three days and your eyeliner’s smudged and some man with secrets is staring at you across a neon-lit dive bar while Edith Piaf plays from a busted speaker. That Paris.

See you on the other side. You’ve been warned.

➔ SERIES : NEXT

KIKI NATION’S DISCUSSION THREAD FOR THIS CHAPTER

PLAYLIST

Worthless.

The word sits in Taehyung's skull like a rotting tooth.

Not painful anymore—just there, decayed into the bone, a permanent fixture. Worthless. His mother's voice, twenty-something years later, still echoing.

Sometimes he imagines cutting into his brain, finding where that word lives, and scrubbing it clean. But nothing ever gets clean enough.

Paris is outside—pavement slicked with cold, the breath of a morning rain barely dried. In here, the air is flat. 

Fluorescent. 

Everything smells faintly of mop water and dying batteries. 

He exists behind the counter, with his wrists tucked close, thumbnail grinding against the seam where the plastic laminate splits. It’s not a conscious movement. The itch just collects there—under his skin, inside his jaw, everywhere his mother’s voice ever landed. 

(worthless)

The shelf by the door coughs out its contents: a can rolls, then a bottle, another bottle, a clatter that jars the pulse behind his eye. Sticky leaks on the tiles. No one looks at him—customer, manager, pink-haired girl behind the second register sketching with a dried-out pen. He’s the quiet one. The shadow. The clean-up.

He counts the droplets on the ground. One. Two. The stain widens. Beer and cola. A chemical amber, eating its way along the grout. His fingers twitch for the cheap blue rag balled up under the till. Sticky spots, dirty dots, broken thoughts. Three. Four. Five. It’s spreading. Marcel’s voice always comes before the panic does.

“Kid! Clean that shit up, come on! Clients don’t have all day.”

He sees the world in surfaces and stains. Every footprint etched in last night’s grime. Chewing gum slicked flat under a boot near the cooler. The way someone’s fingernails left half-moons in the tape over the torn cereal box. Small atrocities. He is intimately acquainted with the way filth lingers—in the cracks, yes, but also in his chest, in the language of his own hands.

He moves without thinking: rag in hand, knees bending. The bottle neck is sticky. His palm leaves a ghost on the glass—oily, ugly. 

(dirty, dirty, dirtydirtydirt)

He swears he can hear her voice; the echo that raised him sharper than any cradle song. 

He wipes too hard, more circles than necessary, like there is any chance of making the world new.

One. Two. Three. Seven. Seven. Seven again. If the number is right, the feeling dulls. 

Nothing makes it right. 

The rag soaks up sugar, cheap wheat, that thin acrid scent that reminds him of old men on metro benches. The stickiness clings to his fingers, seeping past skin and nail, as if he’s absorbing the world’s waste molecule by molecule. 

If he had a choice, he’d bleach the whole city. Himself first.

Someone steps around him—he feels the shadow before the person—a grunt, a grumble in French about the mess, about incompetence. He shrinks into the crouch. Tries to take up less space. 

Sometimes, he wonders what it would take to be truly invisible. 

Sometimes, he thinks he’s halfway there already.

(worthless) 

He doesn’t know when the word started looping. Was it, really, at two years old? Maybe three. Maybe four, when he dropped a bowl and she made him hold the shards, blood trailing into the grout as proof of his clumsiness. 

‘If you were worth anything, you’d be clean. You’d be careful. You’d be quiet and good and wanted.’

He’s quiet. He’s careful. He’s so good at disappearing he startles himself when Marcel barks his name—the only time he hears it, sandpapered into a reprimand. 

Sometimes the sound of it makes him nauseous.

He presses the rag into the floor. Bleach sting in the back of his throat. Nails scrub until knuckles ache, the line between diligent and desperate lost years ago. He likes this better than standing—the way knees grind bone against bone, the ache that says he’s solid, present, here. 

It almost feels like penance.

He glances up—Sophie sketches him again, glancing once, twice, pausing on the curl of his neck. He will become a line in her notebook, a story she tells at parties, a tragic fixture in the background of her real life. He hates that he has thoughts about being observed. If anyone really saw, they’d peel back layers until nothing was left but the word. 

(worthless)

The store’s radio coughs static. Some old pop song limping its way through a broken speaker. The world blurs at the edges—what is Paris, if not concrete and piss and distant sunlight, leaking slowly across linoleum? He wishes the tiles here would just dissolve. 

Wishes his skin would too.

He wrings the rag out in the bucket, watches beer foam swirl with grime down the cheap plastic drain. His hands are pink, raw, stained with the same feeling that never quite leaves. His fingertips burn. Sometimes they bleed. That’s good. 

Pain is clean. Pain is honest.

Marcel doesn’t say thank you. Doesn’t look at him. Sophie tucks her drawing away, eyes flickering elsewhere. Taehyung straightens, wipes his palms on his trousers, and returns to the counter. He exists to erase.

Counting in his head—seven steps to the end of the aisle. Seven minutes until the shift ends. Seven letters in the nine his mother wrote under his skin:

Worthless.

Sometimes he thinks it’s the only word he’ll ever earn.

And outside, the city is gray. Inside, he is nothing. Inside, he is clean.

(For a moment. For seven counts. That’s all.)

The water makes patterns like fractured light.

His shift ends like they always do—uneventful, almost unregistered in the library of his mind. 

Paris is set in a brooding mood, rain stalking down the windows carelessly. Taehyung watches each droplet make its slow descent, leaving dirty trails on the glass he'd scrubbed this morning. 

Seven hours ago. The bleach has worn off. Everything wears off eventually.

He'll have to clean the windows before going home. Marcel doesn't really care. Clean windows mean cleaner space. Cleaner space is good for Marcel's business. Or its reputation at least. Not that Taehyung cares about reputation or lack thereof, he just needs to quiet down the bubbling pressure that builds in his chest when the water droplets remove the bleach he's injected into the glass this morning.

The streak marks form constellations he doesn't know the names of. Names have never mattered much to him. Except when they belong to ghosts.

(worthlessworthlessworthless)

The register drawer sticks when he pulls it, a metallic scrape that makes his molars ache. He counts the bills by sevens—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. Again. The rhythm is comforting, like a metronome he can set his pulse to. His fingers leave no prints on the paper. He's careful about that. So careful.

Sophie comes by his counter, as she usually does at this time. Her hair is wet at the ends, dripping onto her shoulders. The moisture makes him twitch. He knows the pattern, knows how her hand raises to pat him in the shoulder, so he moves. Just lightly. A shift to the left. His body tilting away from contact like a plant bending from shadow.

She notices. She always notices. But she never says anything about it.

"Marcel left early," she says, tapping her pen against her lower lip. "Something about his daughter's recital. You know how he gets about that little prodigy of his."

Taehyung doesn't respond. He doesn't know what it's like to have a father proud enough to leave work early. He doesn't know what it's like to have someone watch you with anything but disappointment.

Sophie sighs into the silence. The sound scrapes against his eardrums. He counts the register one more time, even though the numbers are perfect. They're always perfect. He makes sure of it.

"You should really come to the dinner tonight. Would do some good for you to socialize," she says with a grin that shows too many teeth. 

Her lipstick is smudged at the corner. Imperfect. He wants to hand her a tissue but his hands stay where they are, counting, ordering, fixing what isn't broken.

He doesn't blame her for trying. He doesn't blame her for the invitation that comes every Friday, the same words in slightly different arrangements. He doesn't blame her for not understanding that socializing feels like drowning with an audience.

Taehyung doesn't respond, simply nods. He's learned the minimum requirements for human interaction. Nod. Blink. Breathe. Exist without being noticed.

She sighs, signals two fingers over her forehead as she exits the store, all while saying, "Don't stay too late, and close before you leave!"

Taehyung didn't need the reminder. He always checks seven times before he leaves, that the door is closed. 

Sophie knows. He knows she knows. He still doesn't say a word, just nods. Then, Sophie is gone.

Solitude, at last. 

Empty store, peace restored.

His fingers move to the cloth under the register. It's damp from earlier, beer and soda and whatever else the world tracked in. He should get a fresh one. Clean things with clean tools. His mother taught him that, at least, between the lessons about worthlessness.

The rain comes down harder now, drumming against the glass. The windows will need extra attention. He can already feel the itch building under his skin, the need to make everything spotless before he leaves. Before he walks through the rain and into his apartment, where everything is already clean but never clean enough.

He moves methodically. Counts each step. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Again. The mop bucket rattles as he pulls it from the back room. Water sloshes against plastic sides. He measures the bleach precisely. One cap. Two caps. The smell burns his nostrils, familiar and comforting. It smells like absolution.

The store is empty now. Just him and the endless task of erasing evidence that anyone was ever here. He likes it this way. Prefers it. People leave messes. People notice things. People try to touch his shoulder and invite him to dinners where he would have to speak and be seen and remembered.

No one remembers the person who cleans up after them. That's the beauty of it.

The mop makes wet streaks across the floor. He counts each stroke. Seven in one direction. Seven in the other. The pattern matters. The rhythm matters. If he gets it wrong, something terrible might happen. He doesn't know what. He just knows the fear tastes like metal at the back of his throat.

The windows come last. He saves them because they're the worst. Because they connect inside to outside. Because they're never truly clean, no matter how hard he scrubs.

He sprays the glass, watches the solution drip down in rivulets that mirror the rain on the other side. Seven sprays. Seven wipes. Seven circles clockwise, seven counterclockwise. The ritual matters. The counting matters.

When he's done, the store gleams under the harsh lights. No evidence that anyone has been here. No evidence that he exists at all, except in the absence of dirt.

Then, a sound.

 It comes from behind the door nobody opens.

Not the storeroom where Marcel keeps the cigarettes he thinks no one knows about, not the employee bathroom with its perpetually damp floor—the other one. The abandoned space where even Marcel refuses to go.

Taehyung freezes mid-wipe, cloth suspended against glass. The sound isn't loud. Just different. A disruption in the pattern of silence he's grown accustomed to.

He finishes the seventh circle, completing the ritual. Can't leave it unfinished. Bad things happen when rituals break. His mother taught him that—one of the few lessons that wasn't delivered with a slap or that word.

(worthless)

The sound comes again. Not a crash or a thud, but something lighter. A scrape, perhaps. The shuffle of something being moved after years of stillness.

His bleach bottle is nearly empty. The level has dropped below the label, and the thought of finishing his cleaning without it makes his chest cave inward. The supply closet—the forbidden one—holds what he needs. Marcel put the cleaning supplies there because no one else wants them. Because Taehyung is the only one who uses them. Because Marcel knows he'll go, no matter how much it terrifies him.

The handle feels wrong under his palm. Not cold or hot, but somehow both. The metal leaves an impression on his skin that he'll need to scrub away later. Seven times. With soap that smells like nothing.

The door creaks—not dramatically like in films, but with the quiet protest of hinges that have forgotten their purpose. The smell hits him first: dust and mildew, ancient paper, and something underneath it all that reminds him of childhood. 

Not his childhood—someone else's. Someone who was allowed to be happy.

Taehyung doesn't step fully inside. He hovers at the threshold, one foot in darkness, one in light. Liminal. The word appears in his head unbidden. He knows it from somewhere. A book, maybe. Something he read in the quiet hours when sleep refused to come.

The bleach is stacked against the far wall. Seven bottles. Always seven. Marcel orders them in sevens now without being asked. It's the only kindness Taehyung has ever noticed from the man.

He'll have to cross the room to get there. Step fully into the space that feels wrong. 

His skin prickles with contamination.

One step. The floor creaks.

Two. Dust motes dance in what little light filters through a grimy window.

Three. His breathing shallows.

Four. The sound comes again, clearer now. Not from this room, but beyond it.

Five. His hand twitches at his side, wanting to count on fingers but knowing better. Counting out loud is for children. Counting visibly is for the insane.

Six. He sees the wall isn't solid. There's glass embedded in it, cloudy with years of neglect.

Seven. He stops, right where he needs to be. The bottles wait, patient as saints.

He crouches, careful not to let his knees touch the floor. It's filthy here. Beyond salvaging. The kind of dirty that lives in the bones of a place, too deep for even bleach to reach. He imagines gutting the room—tearing out floorboards, scraping walls down to bare structure, burning it all and starting fresh. The fantasy calms him enough to grab a bottle.

That's when the melody starts.

Piano notes, distant but clear. A practice scale, then something more complex. The music doesn't filter through the wall—it seems to emerge from it, as if the plaster itself remembers a tune.

Taehyung stands, bottle clutched to his chest. His eyes find the glass panel naturally, drawn by the sound. It's a mirror, he realizes. Or it was meant to be. Years of grime have turned it into a cloudy barrier between this space and whatever lies beyond.

Curiosity is dangerous. His mother taught him that too. But the music pulls at something in him—a thread he didn't know was loose.

He approaches the glass, steps measured in sevens. The closer he gets, the clearer the sound becomes. Not just piano now. There's movement.

Without thinking, he raises his free hand—the one not clutching bleach like a lifeline—and wipes a small circle in the grime. The action is so automatic, so ingrained, that he doesn't register the contamination until it's done. 

His palm is gray with dust. He'll need to wash it. Scrub it. Make it clean again.

But then he sees through the cleared space, and everything else falls away.

The room beyond isn't abandoned. It's alive with light—not the harsh fluorescence of the convenience store, but something softer. Golden. The floors are wood, worn but cared for. Barres line the walls. A practice room.

And in its center, a figure moves.

You don’t dance to the piano. 

You are the music. 

(worthyworthyworthy)

Your body creates shapes he doesn't have names for. Arcs and lines that make his breath catch.

Taehyung doesn't know ballet. Doesn't know dance at all. But he knows beauty when he sees it. Knows holiness. Recognizes glory.

The glass, he realizes, isn't just dirty. It's one-way. A mirror on your side, a window on his. You can't see him watching. Don’t know you’re being witnessed.

The knowledge makes him feel profane. He shouldn't be here. Shouldn't be seeing this. It's too intimate, too sacred for someone like him.

(worthless)

But he can't look away.

Your hair is pulled back, severe and perfect. No strand out of place. Your leotard (is that the word? he thinks it might be) clings to a form that seems impossible—all angles and curves existing together in defiance of what bodies should be able to do.

When you turn, your face catches light. Features like a doll. But your gaze is nothing like that. Eyes focused on nothing but your reflection. On perfection. On control.

You are everything he is not.

Clean. 

Worthy.

Then, a series of turns that make his head spin just watching. You’re counting, he realizes. Your lips move slightly with each rotation. One, two, three... he can't tell how high you go. Can't follow the complexity of it.

The bleach bottle is cold against his chest. His palm still dirty. His breath fogging the small clear spot he's made in the glass.

He should leave. Should run. Should take his bleach and go back to his world of sticky floors and meaningless tasks. Should never come back here again.

But even as he thinks it, he knows he will. Knows that he'll return tomorrow, like he has to now. And the day after. And every day the store is open. Just to stand in this filthy room he can't bear to be in. Just to watch you move like water, like air.

Like everything pure in a world of contamination.

goal: 150 notes.

taglist: @cannotalwaysbenight @taevescence @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @mikrokookiex @minniejim @curse-of-art @cristy-101 @mellyyyyyyx @rpwprpwprpwprw

© jungkoode 2025. | banners and dividers by dailynnt

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[starkeyvhs]

introducing… dad!rafe && mom!reader’s family! <3

LEO CAMERON . . . aged 18 years old 

first kid of the family, and was grown up with immense love and care… maybe a little too much. a little spoiled and careless, but rafe doesn’t want to see him going down the same path as him, so keeps a strong check on him. captain of the school basketball team, and takes pride in it. has girls on their knees because he’s a spitting image of teen rafe. it took some time, but he finally starts to understand what his role is for the family as the eldest child. 

SAGE CAMERON . . . aged 14 years old 

the middle child, and as generic it is, she was kind of overlooked. developed a major interest in physics and wants to become a mechanical engineer. has grown up messing with every electronic she could find in her house; opening up the remote control of the tv just to see what’s inside. collected all sorts of knick-knacks to make her own creations. more on the nerdy side, and is practically a self cleaning machine. her parents rarely have to worry about her. wants to make her family proud and hear the words ‘our daughter is an engineer’. 

ORION CAMERON . . . aged 9 years old

the youngest, and the craziest. the little ball of sunshine of the family. loves art and trying all sorts of new things. comes home babbling about all kinds of things he did at school. momma loves to pin his art on the refrigerator door. a little too hyperactive; so momma struggles to make him sit down and complete his maths homework. forgets to give his friday lunchbox which he realises on monday morning, and unfortunately, there are leftover carrots in it. believes in santa, and tries to stay awake each christmas eve to meet him, but always falls asleep. momma and dad are proud that he isn’t growing up to be a kid who is addicted to technology in any way. 

edith speaks: ty to everyone who participated in my poll!! 🥰 yes, the inspo is very much the dunphy kids, but in my eyes they’ll always be the most perfect 3-sibling dynamic. I loved watching their family grow up and wanted to create one that is just as chaotic and loving as their is :) welcome to the cameron family!!! send any asks/hcs/reqs on them :)

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mccaffreyswifey / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @kaileashiftz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @cherrys-muses / @mattyskies

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall / @congratsloserr / @maybejj

[kitbunnyroo]

thinking about...abandoned android boyfriend....

lemme apologize from now...this is a looong one. it could be structured better, but it's literally just me updating this over the course of some hours/days (?). hope you enjoy this ridiculously long tidbit thooo! <3 (help y'all hit that 30 fast....tyyy!)

also omg thank you all for all the love on the centaur man post??? we love big strong bby fr, 100% will bring him back if y'all wanna see more of him 🤍🤍 (also, not proof read nothing i write is, so forgive any errors plsss)

like picture it, you just find him in a scrap yard cause your pet ran into it or something right...and you can tell that he's functioning, so you're confused as to why he got put for scrap? considering these things are crazy expensive, and the people who threw him out were ever so kind enough to leave all his original packaging, you took him back home.

it did take a while to get his station set up in a little corner, but it wasn't too bad, especially as you looked into the illuminated green eyes of the android who stood a good head or two taller than yourself once you figured out how to get him up and running again.

after you explained in even greater detail how he came to be in your possession, you could almost hear the mechanics in his brain recalibrating all the missed system updates as he now addressed you as master/mistress. not ideal, but who are you to complain once he fixes the drip in your sink that almost cost you hundreds of dollars. maybe having an android in your home wouldn't be so bad.

time flies and you come to find out he was scrapped cause beyond functionality, he had somehow developed a conscious of sorts. which when you think about it, anybody else would be freaked out by their machine suddenly smiling and showing human emotions. was it freaky? hell yeah. was it bad?....not so much.

there was lots of reassurance to be done...he thought that once he started to slip and his consciousness shone through again you'd dump him to be scrap metal too...well, after they remove the scarily realistic skin-like material that outlines his hardware. "So...you're not going to power me off and box me up like the last family did..?" he'd find himself asking after long conversations about how you don't really care he got more human-like as the days went on. living on your own it isn't that bad to feel like you have extremely helpful company rather than a machine in your empty halls. and when he looks at you oh so sweetly? how can you not tell him this is his home too.

android housemate, doing his best to make sure you're always happy. always stress free. always well taken care of. always healthy. always satisfied. so when he's cleaning your room and finds a vibrator, he's everything and appalled. why would you have this when he's right here? was he not good enough? did you not want him to help you? was it his fault? but he simply places it on it's charger and closes your door. when you get home that day you can tell something's off, it's the same air as the early stages when he thought you'd throw him out. so you just make sure to be extra sweet to your caring housemate.

android housemate, now doing research on human pleasure, watching porn, reading all sorts of articles and Quora forums. this seems easy enough to do...he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't ask him to help. darling android housemate realizing that his fans start to go double time when the pixels start to look like you instead of whoever is actually in the videos...even more so when he realizes that's what an imagination is like and that his is picturing himself with you in these videos...he wonders if that can happen....

yandere (???) android housemate who's suddenly gotten all clingy once you're home. as usual, dinner is hot and plated, desert already lined up, but as you shower you can hear him making the time to pick out your outfit from your drawers instead of double checking all is well in the rest of the house...odd, but you don't pay the particularly revealing choice of clothing much mind. dinner goes as usual, till he offers you a much more...inviting? smile after you tell him about your grievances of the day. his eyes never leaving you, even as you eat and he updates minor software...you ask if he can close the windows cause there's a much too warm of a breeze coming in, and he's suddenly glad he has the capabilities to hide the blush that threatened to rise to his fabricated cheeks since it was just his fans. he was getting a bit too much enjoyment from the sight of you wearing an outfit he had picked, enjoying his meals that he makes you everyday, you chose him from the scrap yard that he's convinced held many other androids...

yandere (??) android housemate that's gotten cold to you since you brought home another human and claim that they're your partner. he'd thought that he was being clear with his consecutive months of flirting since his research began, but apparently not clear enough. now he's forced to watch as you bring this human over, it is nice to hear you brag about how lovely he treats you though, especially when he sees them almost shrink where they sit, obviously he can already tell they won't be able to treat you better than your housemate. how could they? they're just a weak human, and he's an android that's learnt every last one of your tastes.

yandere (?) android housemate that's gotten over his chilly attitude in favour of comforting you after your breakup and every proceeding one from then on. on one hand he doesn't enjoy seeing you hurt, but on the other hand he knows the only one meant for you is him, so he'll continue to let these humans know that they won't ever hold a candle to him when it comes to your affections. you don't have to be in pain, you just have to realize he's the one for you. and you can go back to your blissful life.

possessive...android housemate who's worried after you stumble through the door after a work/college party, clearly intoxicated out of your mind. he effortlessly picks you up and takes you to your room, laying next to you when you refused to let him go cause his generated warmth was nice compared to the cold of the air conditioned room. he listens to you babble on about who knows what, and then about your latest break up, and then he's shocked when you blurt out that he'd make such a good boyfriend if he wasn't an android...and somehow, somewhere in his wiring, that hurt? but it also lit something cause you went on to praise all he does for you, especially highlighting his advances and he comes to the conclusion that you only started looking for a human partner because you had assumed that although he had a conscious, he couldn't feel romance. and boy was he now determined to prove you wrong.

possessive. android housemate, now doing everything possible after that night to display romantic affection. sensual massages after particularly aggravating days where his fingers work wonders to the tension coursing through your body, at first you don't think much of it, but when you feel the spikes of breeze specifically from him after every one of your moans, you try to keep your voice down. he downloads them to his software though, and is quickly researching the different modifications available for his kind.

possessive android housemate that gets tired of being referred to by his model name and demands you give him a proper one. and you do. and he loves it. thankfully, he's still linked to the cards of his previous family, so he can make purchases using their money instead of yours without suspicion. he gets his "personal" modification made under their card, leaves right after you do for school/work, and he's back before you're home, already getting things sorted for when you're back. now he just has to hide the tent that forms whenever you call him by the name you gave him....

newly named possessive android...you're not sure anymore. after walking in on him far too many times since you're used to him usually being smooth, but now he has an...enticing, length of dick just hanging between his legs, it's kind of awkward. even more so when you find yourself outside his newly appointed bedroom to ask him to do something, and end up overhearing his whiney voice floating through the air. now you can't help but wonder how it feels if the rest of his skin feels like regular human skin...maybe an android boyfriend won't be so bad after all...

your android housemate, putting in extra work to keep you happy once he realizes you're not bringing home any more humans. even the vibrator and any other toys you might've had are stored away rather than readily available near your bed. maybe if he does a good enough job, you'll finally ask him for help. you swear you see a subtle throb in his pants sometimes when the thought runs through his not so little android brain.

your android boyfriend with fans so loud when you finally ask him to touch you, that you could've sworn you misread his intentions. but as soon as you try to back out of the situation he's pulled you against his chest with one of hands deeply entangled in you hair while the other hugs you close to him, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was desperate for that moment...that and the fact that once you're finally in bed he takes initiative to slip under your blanket next to you instead of going to his own room, his hands finding their way snugly around your waist to cuddle you but surely making their way lower down, quicker when he realizes that not only are not trying to stop him, but you're basically leaning into his touch. the frenzy he goes into when you whisper his name that you gave him has your legs quivering on his shoulders, toes pointed every which way as those same illuminated eyes stay glued to your body, confusingly realistic tongue moving more enthusiastically with every sound you make.

your android boyfriend. who now takes any chance he can get to ask if he can fuck you. if his tongue game was this good...what else was he capable of? the thought barely has time to run across your mind because as soon as you agree he's gonna have you folded in half and stuffed full of the most realistic dildo you've ever felt. it didn't feel fabricated in the slightest. from the throb of the veins in your walls to the way it drags so fucking good inside of you, and he makes sure to study your body as he goes. this particular spot made your eyes roll? he's going right back there. you like having you sensitive bits teased while his balls are slapping your skin so hard you can hear them through the wet mess? he's abusing them. by the time he's done you've came enough times to lose count, and best believe he makes sure to endlessly thank and praise you through every bit of it. comments of how good you make him feel, the dimming of his eyes enough to let you know he really does feel it, thanking you for letting him be this close to you, begging you not to go when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation (he calms down a bit so you can catch yourself whenever it's really too much), not to mention the starved kisses he gives you whenever the position allows (all the time). he'll have your back against the wall and hold you up so the only place you can go is further onto his cock while his tongue finally gets to explore your mouth. you'd never believe an android could be so adorably vocal. the moans, the whimpers, the whines. (he can't bring himself to degrade you though, sorry </3)

your android boyfriend making sure he puts the utmost effort into after care. if you let him hit, he's sure to run you a shower or bath of your preference, and trust that when you're out he's already got you a freshly made meal with an accompanying drink. he always makes sure to ask if he was too rough with you, gently massaging your muscles while you relax after your meal. if there's anything, anything at all you desire, he already does it for you, but now he'll go the extra miles if it means you'll be even happier.

your android husband, proposed after years of taking you out on the most wonderful dates, planned more of the wedding than you did since he only wanted you to worry about looking your best, he does let you help if you want though <3. android husband who can't cry, but you almost swear you see him sobbing as you walk (or he walks if you'd prefer) down the aisle, the tears slowing down but never to a complete stop till it's finally time for the "I do"s. your android husband who takes you on a splendid honeymoon of nothing but relaxation, good sights and food, and even better sex. he knows he can't get you pregnant, but that doesn't mean he can't try extra hard once the topic of children roll around. if you do want children though, he's not against adoption (or a sperm donor once their background checks out)

(for his family he invited his previous family, who were surprisingly chill with him using their cards to fund your vacations and now wedding...talk about rich rich)

your android husband <333.

this totaled to 2,264 words (woah??), and i can NOT lie?? i like it. hope you enjoyed this terribly long read and tysm again for all the support like hello!!🤍✨

[queenimmadolla]

𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐨𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

(dad!eddie x mom!reader)

Summary: Eddie has to shower before he can hold his impatient baby. She's having none of it.

a/n: i was attacked by yet ANOTHER cute baby tiktok so here we are with a little bit of grease monkey!eddie and another little drabble. set in the early days of the pennyverse. and yes, i've used this gif before but he's dead so i'm running out of them. mistakes might be fixed later, i dont know :)

“Are these your little fingers?” You asked your baby, tone saturated in honey and affection as you held the chunky palm in question, lips pressed to her pudgy fingertips. 

  Despite your aversion to it prior to your pregnancy, you’d inevitably developed a baby voice when Penny had come into the world and you couldn’t be blamed. Not when she was all squish, delicate cheeks holding so much chub they bulged, and rolls decorated her little limbs. She was a glutton, always demanding your milk and you couldn’t deny her; those big, gorgeous eyes she’d inherited from her father made it nearly impossible to, even when the wetness welling up in them were completely alligator tears. And those curls. 

  Regardless of taming them with some water, a brush and maybe some vaseline, they ended up wild, flying about or mussed and matted to her head with sweat because your baby was a little heater when she slept and napped. Just like her daddy.

  Your smile widened in size when you heard the sound of keys slotting into place at the front door, the lock mechanism giving away. It tripled when you realized your baby also recognized the sound, head turning to stare at the door as she bobbed in place, thick legs squatting and then popping back up as you held her by her waist with your other hand, assisting her with standing.

  The moment Eddie opened the door and came into view she began cooing and squealing in excitement, mouth parting in a wide smile as drool raced down from the corner of her mouth.

You laughed, and so did Eddie as he heard his baby welcoming him home.

  “You excited to see me, sweet pea?” He cooed right back, walking over to squat in front of the two of you, eyes raking over you momentarily in appreciation before focusing on the little one in your arms. 

  She let out another long coo that ended on an airy sigh, pulling her hand from your grasp to reach both of her pudgy ones out to him, practically begging him to hold her as she began wiggling in your arms.

  Eddie’s head tilted, lips curling into the most tender smile as he stared down at her with nothing but love swimming in those eyes he’d shared with her. 

  “Daddy missed you and mommy so much.” He whispered, a hand reaching out, almost close enough to caress her soft cheek but it hesitated before he could touch her. His rough, grease covered finger was a stark contrast to her clean, smooth skin. Clearly, you’d given her a bath before he got home because her mouth and cheeks were usually covered in the food you were starting to offer her (sometimes baby food, but mostly bits of your food because she wouldn’t accept any offerings of mushed up veggies and fruits if there was something else on your plate, hence why your diet had been pretty bland and not at all a result of the tight budget your maternity leave left you on).

The rest of his hands were no better, palms stained, streaks all over his arms as a result of shucking the top half of the monkey suit and rolling up his sleeves at the garage. 

  There were even a few streaks of grease and maybe oil on his face and neck. Your husband smelled more so of tires than he had the spicy cologne that surrounded you when he’d kissed you goodbye in bed this morning. 

  And he knew it.

  Penny didn’t let that stop her, still eagerly reaching out for him as she grunted to try and provoke him in swooping her up into his embrace.

  “As soon as daddy’s clean, okay? I’ll pick you up and my sweet girl can give me all the cuddles she wants.” He promised, hands on his knees before he stood back up, leaning over her to give you a sweaty, greasy oh so sweet and firm press of the lips kiss before he swiveled around and disappeared into the small bathroom as quickly as he could to be out of hearing range when Penny began whimpering at his absence. 

  You heard the shower start running at the exact moment she began to cry and you offered a sympathetic whine of your own as you adjusted your grip on her, bringing Penny up to your chest, your cheek smushed against her more plump one.

  “Shhh…it’s okay, my love. Daddy’s just showering. He’ll be back.” You stood up, hitching Penny on your hip as you walked to the entrance of the small hallway so the bathroom door was visible to her. Eddie’s humming floated out from underneath the crack of it. 

  Penny was Eddie’s daughter, alright, full of dramatics as her breathing remained heavy, chest rising and falling quickly with the hitches in her breath as a chunky fist gripped onto your blouse, lower lip curling out and wobbling. She didn’t seem satisfied with your explanation but that didn’t worry you. If Penny was awake when Eddie left for work in the morning, she’d start bawling. 

  The first couple of times she’d started reacting to his departure, he’d ended up full of guilt and late to work. It still wasn’t easy for him, even after you’d finally convinced him she’d have the same reaction whether he left in the morning, afternoon, or evening. Regardless of the time, she was going to be upset that she wouldn’t be able to see her daddy, probably convinced in her little baby mind that he’d abandoned her (he’d nearly quit the shop when you’d phrased it like that) but he’d always come home to her—and you—and that’s what mattered.

  You were positive she’d start yelling and shrieking when it came time for you to go back to work, too. She was just a baby, so she was being a baby.

  You carried your huffing and puffing daughter back to the living room, placing her down on the carpet in front of some toys she had been playing with earlier in the day. Maybe they’d distract her.

  Wrong.

  She sat on the carpet, chunky legs strewn out for just a few seconds before she was moving forward onto her belly and propping herself up. Then she was off, crawling as fast as she could towards the hallway while breathing heavily with exhilaration. You trailed after her, amused at how stubborn she was when she stopped directly in front of the bathroom door, propping herself up on her bottom.

  You watched Penny reach out with shaky palms, pressing them gently against the door. It looked like they were feeling around it before she began slapping them against it as hard as she could as she yelled her baby babble, no doubt demanding her daddy open the door, pick her up and love her right now.

  Giggles were muffled into your palm, as she kept up with it. 

  Eventually, maybe when she realized that wasn’t working, Penny leaned over, wiggling around until she was on her tummy and the side of her head was resting on the carpet. You realized she was trying to look under the door for him and your heart clenched, hand flying over your chest as if you could grasp the organ.

  You expected her to sit back up and go back to smacking the door but she remained there, a stubby finger absentmindedly trailing through the carpet as she stared through the thin crack, warm bathroom light and Eddie’s voice flooding out from underneath to comfort her as she waited.

  Picking her up had crossed your mind, and so did the idea of how loudly she’d probably start screaming and crying if you did. 

  The two of you didn’t have to wait for long, the shower shut off and you could hear the sounds of the shower curtain rings scraping against the rod as Eddie pulled them back. 

  Panic briefly filled your chest as you realized Eddie probably wasn’t expecting his baby to be lying on the floor directly outside of the bathroom—he’d step on her, so you called out, “Heads up, Eddie, you’ve got a visitor.”

  You didn’t hear a response, but a few moments later, the door opened to reveal your husband. Water droplets slipped down his neck and chest. He had one towel—that had definitely seen better days—wrapped around his waist and another (yours) he was using to scrunch up his sopping wet curls to dry them.

  Eddie had heard you, shooting you a smirk before he addressed the baby beaming up at him, “Shower’s free if you wanna hop in, stinky.”

  Penny had no idea what he was saying, it didn’t matter anyways because he said it in the same voice he used when he gave her kisses and held her to his chest so she was reaching up for him and he finally reached down—with clean hands—grasping her sides before she was hoisted into his arms. Penny wasted no time, mouth parting wide to mouth aggressively at his face and chin while she shook her head and wiggled about.

  She was giving him kisses.

  Or trying to eat him, she had little bursts of energy where she’d do that—attack you out of nowhere while you held her causing the both of you to break out laughing.

  Eddie let her get it all out, and when she cooed, resting her cheek on his shoulder, he retaliated. Her cheeks and little neck rolls were smattered in his smacking kisses as she squealed and shrieked and wiggled but there was no escaping her daddy’s clutches now that she was finally in them. 

  When every inch of her available to him had been kissed, he turned towards you and you suddenly found yourself victim to two sets of identical crinkly brown eyes. A deep chuckle rumbled from Eddie as he padded over to where you stood, mischievous smirk making another appearance.

  “Mommy’s turn.”

[kaninekodiak]

"Zhis is unacceptable - cavities!! Not in MY ranks!!"

Dr. E. L. Clemens, RED medic and certified freakazoid bird. he's been my brainworm for two weeks.

his playlist:

some more fun facts which couldn't fit on the sheet:

- gay (:

- "he/him" but sometimes prefers "it."

- probably autistic, probably self-diagnosed.

- i cannot overstate how obsessed this man is with teeth. it's borderline fetishistic. if any of his mammalian colleages don't take proper care of their teeth he will often force them into "emergency" dental procedures. usually just a cleaning, which he's shockingly good at, but he will spend the entire time frantically chastising the patient for "squandering their gift." he takes great pride in his dental work, far moreso than his surgical ventures. it's his passion vs. his job. (most definitely a hyperfixation.)

- he prefers travelling by car to flying after a traumatic experience when he was a youngster - when he was fledging, he was hit out of the sky by something and broke one of his wings. he can still fly, but avoids it unless absolutely possible. he's developed very strong legs as a result.

- bit of a motor enthusiast. he owns a red-and-cream 1933 Duesenberg SJ which he has nicknamed "Imogene." she is his pride and joy. he always dresses up in old-timey driving gear whenever he takes her for a spin.

- pretty much still lives in the 50s.

- did NOT lose his medical license, he just likes to joke about it to scare his patients. (whether he'll retain it after the Gravel Wars is another story, but RED does a good job of covering up his breaches of the hippocratic oath.)

- always has classical music and jazz playing in the infirmary.

- gave his Sniper (the only other avian on his team) a set of teeth just like his. less out of necessity and just because he thinks more birds should have them.

- LOVES crime novels, reads every night before bed. has a large collection of pulp krimi magazines from the 50s in their little plastic dust covers.

- also collects wet specimens of animals with birth defects. he collects a lot of things.

- least favourite medical procedure is anything involving broken bones - reminds him of bad things.

- he can spit his stomach acid as a defense mechanism. he doesn't like to do this since it's painful, but he absolutely will as a last resort.

- sadistic streak, naturally. switches from docile to dangerous in a moment's notice, usually on the battlefield.

- actually treats his team pretty well and with a level of professionalism - saves (most of) his crazy experiments for enemy prisoners and cadavers.

- knows too much.

he's part of a furry AU of mine, so expect more animal mercs soon (:

[natalievoncatte]

The yawn stretched Lena’s jaw to the point that she felt like a cat, baring her fangs. Naturally, it prompted a Kara Danvers Pout, which was utterly devastating. Kara looked at her over the top of her drink cup, straw still pursed in her delicate pink lips as she frowned slightly.

“How long have you been awake?”

“I had a half hour nap this morning,” Lena sighed.

She’d been in the office for three days, but she didn’t admit that.

“Leeeenaaaaaaa,” Kara said, drawing her name out into a gentle rebuke. “You promised me you’d stop doing that to yourself. I’m taking you home.”

Lena’s heart skipped and Kara abruptly jerked upright, briefly glancing at her. Lena hated when that happened, when her body betrayed her. Kara meant escort her home; Lena’s thoroughly tired mind had supplied another scenario, one where Kara carried her onto the bed, relieved her of her clothes and dove between her legs, but that was never going to happen. Lena let out a long sigh of resignation, trying to be satisfied with best-friendship.

She hoped Kara hadn’t suddenly developed telepathy.

If you took me home I’d never leave. I could make love to you for a hundred years.

Kara smiled back at Lena’s wistful look. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I can come back to it tomorrow. Besides, I’m too full of grease and cheese to stay awake. Should we…”

Lena never finished her sentence. There was a crackle in the air, a sudden wet smell of ozone, and the thunderous boom that made her ears ring.

Kara flashed in front of her at super-speed, yanking off her glasses and tossing them on the couch in a smooth motion.

Hovering in the middle of her office was some ramshackle contraption resembling a mechanical eye about the size of a basketball that scanned Kara with a faint purple energy ray.

“Kara Danvers. Supergirl. I am Zeglos, Regent of the Alotian Republic. I am calling to you from the home of my people, located in what is to you a subatomic realm we call Universe Q. We need your help, you are our only hope. The invaders are slaughtering us and razing our home. There is no time.”

Kara glanced back at Lena. “I’ll help if I can. Let me-“

“There is no time. You must come with me now.”

“Wait, hold on a second-“

The machine flashed, thrumming as it powered up, and blasted here with a wave of light that surrounded them both, and then in a crackling boom they both vanished, leaving behind the ozone smell and a faint impression of Kara’s boot heels in the carpet.

Lena stared into the empty space for a moment, then shot to her feet, snatching the phone off her desk, where it had lain ignored since Kara walked into the room.

She called Alex, shocked at the blubbering panic in her own voice. Within a few minutes, everyone was there, piling into the room. Lena warded them off from the spot where Kara had stood. Alex was cold and calm, her voice clinical, and she immediately began issuing orders. J’onn took Lena aside and gently asked her probing questions in the manner of an old detective, coaxing every meager detail of the event out of her.

Within half an hour, Brainy and Lena had set up all sorts of equipment around the room, scanning, hoping to find some energy signature or other clue that could enable them to bring Kara back from wherever she’d been taken.

It proved fruitless. They tried everything.

Minutes stretched into hours. Lena was exhausted, heavy with fatigue.

“Go home, get some sleep,” said Alex. “We can’t help her if we pass out on the floor.”

“I’ll sleep here.”

She did, throwing a thin blanket over herself on the couch. It was Alex, not Lena, who cleaned up the Big Belly Burger mess. Lena slept fitfully, showered in the en-suite attached to her office, and changed into an old hoodie that she kept there and wore when no one was looking.

It wasn’t hers. Threadbare, a maroon color faded to a soft red, the back still emblazoned with a cracked and fading Midvale Mathletes Club logo, it was Kara’s. Lena had snatched it from Kara’s sofa and put it on one night when she was feeling bold and then, as now, felt surrounded by it, the oversized garment swaddling her.

And it smelled like Kara, just enough. Kara had stared at her intently for a moment when she took it that night but said nothing, a wistful sad look on her face before the moment was broken by Wynn’s bad joke at the table. Wynn was gone now, but the hoodie remained, just as it had remained when they were fighting, when she thought she’d never see Kara again. She’d worn it then and cried herself to sleep in it.

Just like now.

A day became two. Then three. Five. Lena tried everything, pursued every theory. They called in every favor, human and alien. Brainy tried to send messages to the future. Nia dreamed fruitless dreams. Alex paced like a caged animal and Kelly kept the peace, keeping them all fed, making sure everyone slept, talking things out whenever tempers flared.

Nothing worked.

Lena even tried praying, something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in a small church in Ireland. It didn’t work this time, either.

Lena was seated next to Brainy on the couch, going over a design for a new device to try to follow what was by now a thoroughly cold trail. Alex stood at the balcony door, staring out into a slashing summer rain squall that buffeted the glass with distant thunder and gusts of wind.

The ozone smell tickled Lena’s nose and she looked up, just as Kara took a stumbling step out of nowhere, appearing in her office with an utterly bewildered look on her face.

“Kara?”

Alex snapped round, adding her voice to the chorus. “Kara?”

Kara stared at her sister, open-mouthed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alex?” she said. “Alex, you’re alive? How is that possible?”

“Alive? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Kara!” Lena cried, her voice ragged in her throat.

At the sound of her voice, Kara snapped around, eyes wide. Her knees buckled and she sagged, almost falling. She stumbled forward as Lena stood and they fell into each other, Lena hurling herself, reckless, into an embrace that revealed too much. She almost climbed Kara, all but throwing her legs around her as well as her arms as she buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck.

“Oh God. Oh Rao. I thought you would all be gone. I begged them to let me leave but they wouldn’t let me go, I had to…”

“Kara?” Alex asked, cautiously. “Why would we be gone?”

Kara barely seemed to hear her as she gently twined her fingers in Lena’s hair and wrapped her powerful arm around Lena’s waist, encircling and shielding her.

“How long has it been?”

“About a week,” Lena choked out. “I was so scared.”

“A week?” Kara blurted. “It’s only been a week here?”

Alex put a reassuring hand on Kara’s back, standing next to them. “Yeah, you were taken on Tuesday, kiddo. It’s Wednesday, the 17th.”

Kara stared past Lena, resting her chin on the shorter woman’s head, and began to sob with relief.

“Kara?” said Alex.

“Time dilation,” said Brainy.

“They told me time would pass slower up here but I didn’t believe them. I’ve been gone for… for…”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Lena whispered. “You’re okay, you’re back.”

“Eighty seven years, four months, and eighteen days,” Kara sobbed. “It’s been so long, I thought you were all dead.”

Alex stiffened. “Kara. Oh my God.”

Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed her in, shuddering. “I’d given up. All that kept me going was hoping I could see you again. This is a gift. A gift. I love you all so much.”

Kara still held her, rocking slightly, her big shoulders shaking with powerful sobs.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Kara, it’s okay.”

“I love you,” Kara blurted. “I love you. It’s okay if you don’t love me back, I just need to tell you, I have to tell you. All I could think about down there is how stupid I was and how stupid I’ve been and how none of the reasons I never told you made any sense,” she sucked in a breath as if she’d briefly forgotten how, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There could be no mistaking her intent. She seethed with it, it radiated from her very bones. Lena hugged her hard, crushing her with all her might as if to crawl inside her.

“God, Kara, I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I love you too. Let’s… mmmph!”

Kara was kissing her. Lena’s brain briefly froze, then she realized the full magnitude of what was happening. Kara was kissing her. Kara was kissing her. Then Lena was kissing her back. There was so much in it, need and lust and adoration and an unbelievable desperation, but above all love. Lena felt her heart open as if hadn’t in a long time, like a flower unfolding to receive the nurturing warmth of morning sun.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Kara whispered when they finally broke and Lena again could breathe.

“Let me take you home,” said Lena.

[metranart]

pairing. arranged marriage! Dabi x fem! reader

Summary. Overhaul and Shigaraki want to join forces so to avoid a sudden betrayal they force an arranged marriage between their members: Dabi and you… From hate to love to obsession. Will you let your husband burn or will you burn willingly with him?

tags/warnings. nsfw 18+, teaser, smut, angst, hurt/comfort, arranged marriage, slow burn, massive jealousy, masturbation, wet dreams, slight canon divergence, reader is from overhaul's gang, breeding, breeding kink, praise kink, domination, league of villains appearance, (most of these tags are for the full version)»

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

You'd been together for over three months now, and things were getting…. worse for Dabi. Both gangs worked well together. His complicity with you was "tolerable" to a point. You continued to provoke each other, annoy each other, but you were both no longer jerks, and that was the worst part for our hotblooded Dabi who was on the verge of going crazy. Literally crazy with desire.

You had gone from annoying to average, to acceptable, to intriguing, to interesting, to captivating, to indispensable- all in three measly months. How touch-starved was he?!

At first, he could resist, he could pretend you didn't intrigue him, he could pretend he wasn't immensely interested in having your attention all to himself, he could stop himself from burning all your clothes, so you'd be naked for the rest of your life…

Dabi had developed a defense mechanism against your charm. He pretended to be bored when you spoke to him, he pretended not to notice how you bit your lip when he made you nervous, he pretended not to be murderously jealous when you leaned close to Overhaul so he could whisper orders in your ear, he pretended, pretended, and pretended, but he couldn't pretend while he was sleeping...

“Dabi, please—”

Finally having you to himself made him light-headed, made him forget for a split second how out of place all of it was, made him forget the constant, residual pain from resisting your natural charm, made him forget the itch of his staples when he jacked one out in the bathroom in the middle of the night—

He looked up at you, you were an absolute wreck: flushed, sweating, shaking, and seized with pleasure as you came on his tongue without warning, arching off the mattress while using his name as your new mantra.

"Dabidabidabidabidabidabidabi...."

He was too shocked by how addictive licking your sweet cum was, licking you clean was his new passion. He sucked and licked until you were writing. He wanted to punish you, wanted you to see how badly you needed him.

“Dabi—” you sobbed, tears pricking your eyes at the superb pleasure.

He finally pulled away with a loud smack of his lips, then moved back down to lick your pussy once more.

"You thrash and writhe so miserably, wife, I love it."

Then he climbed back on top of you, forcing you to face him. 

“See?” he panted. "See how fuckin' quick your husband can make you cum? You're not in position to be picky, (Y/N). This is what you need. You need me, you need this—”

He took your hand and forced it to rub between his legs. You stuttered a pitiful sigh as your palm stuffed with his massive bulge, so thick, so inhumanly hot, just for you. Under your touch, it twitched, eager to be inside you.

The blinding pleasure made your lids heavy with drowsiness. Your lips trembled. “Please, I need a minute, please—"

“No. Fuck no.”

He shredded his clothes quickly, kicking his shoes off, clawing at his belt and pants until his eager cock sprang free, gloriously thick and long. So much that gravity forced it down.

“Go easy on me, hubby,” you muttered "...please?"

"I can't, fuck."

Having you at his entire mercy gave Dabi an exhilarating idea and ended up manhandling you to a spread position beneath him, he was so ready to shove into you—he wanted to take you like this: dominating, and utterly primal.

"I could force your hips up, ass out, pussy spreading for me," he flaunted, "but I won't, you should fucking thank me, sweetheart."

He took his cock, flicked the head mercilessly against your clit until you were shivering. A firm hand on your neck prevented you from squirming away.

"Say it, baby," he stressed, "thank me."

“Thank you, Dabi.” 

You muttered, gasping, body trembling. The heat. The need. It was too much. Your skin crawled with euphoric pinpricks of anticipation. You needed it. You needed him. 

“Please, Dabi—”

“Please what?” he snapped, embers burning in his veins. "Say it."

You spread wider for him, mouth wet and gaping. "Please fuck me—”

A dangerous, slow, ragged laugh bubbled from his throat.

"You're fucking amazing. Look at that." He kneaded his hand into your folds, stretching the skin with two long fingers, keeping your pussy fleshed out for him. "Look at it. It's dripping for me. So wet, so MINE."

He started to jerk himself hard, precum spilling over his fingers in messy spurts. “Say it.”

His hand went for your hair, yanked it backwards, and a strained cry escaped your throat.

"Say it, (Y/N). Say you are MINE!"

“Dabi, please—" you purred. 

"Say it, dammit."

"Dabi, Dabi..." you cried out, more concerned than sensual. "Dabi, please...—"

Your palms gripping him felt scorching hot, beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, his cheeks burned like he had a fever and suddenly, the intensity shook him awake with a startled gasp and a mind-blowing orgasm hijacked all his senses, melting away what little strength he had left. Leaving him boneless like a fish and vulnerable to his roomie’s gaze.

Dabi panted like a dog in heat as he slowly opened his heavy eyelids to find you on his side of the bed, your beautiful eyes glued to his groin, color rising from your neck to your ears. You looked incredibly adorable until he felt the wet sensation.

Dirty and dripping, a visible stain formed on his pants from the awfully vast load now painting the inside of his pants, and shame, sudden and frustrating, began to take hold of his wounded pride.

“Shit! Shit!... Shit!” he yelled, angered. Another damn wet dream–… he internally scolded himself as he pulled the sheets up to cover himself in an attempt to calm his erratic heartbeat.

"Dabi..."

"Get the fuck away!"

His shirt was drenched in sweat and his cheeks were red and fogged up, his pants clinging awkwardly to his heated skin, reminding him of the cold stain of disgrace as he leaped out of bed, shoving you aside in the process.

"Dabi, I-"

"I said: Fuck off, (Y/N)."

You stood still as he stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door. Shit. You thought: Was that why he was muttering your name in his sleep? Was he having a wet dream about you? It wasn't a nightmare, he didn't hate you, quite the opposite...

Snapping from your stupefaction at this revelation, you hurriedly braced yourself and left the room to give him some privacy. You understood, truly understood, the embarrassment he must be feeling, and it made you wonder... Did Dabi also feel that strong attraction you felt for him?

Dabi ran a hand through his messy hair, brushing damp strands away from his forehead, and sat down on the bathroom floor.

"Fuck, I shouldn't have yelled at her."

This wet dream was much more intense and vivid than the previous ones... Huffing furiously, he lazily pulled off his shirt and let the heavy fabric fall, making a thud as it hit the floor. He felt instantly better as the cool air brushed against his warm skin.

"Shit," he wasn't used to this mess of complex feelings; he hated it. "Damn..."

A knock on the bathroom door startled him out of his obsessive mind, which was constantly replaying the dream. In a booming voice, he replied,

“Piss off.”

He heard snickers on the other end before a familiar voice insisted, "It's me, Dabi. We have a mission."

Highly annoyed, he took off his stained pants and change them for another pair before opening the door.

"What?" he confronted Toga. "I'm not in the fuckin' mood, go without me-"

Toga shrugged, ignoring his foul mood. "Fine, then your wife can team up with Shigaraki."

Dabi straightened his back. "Give me a minute, crazy, I'll be right up." 

"Okey." The girl skipped in her place, happy and pleased. Without Dabi it was going to be boring....

*READ THE COMPLETE FANFICTION COMMISSION IN MY PATREON (Includes heavy/possessive/husband-wife smut and NSFW artwork from scenes of the fic. Plus, lot of MHA NSFW content in general)