#Gotta write it first lol

[keferon]

*clasps your shoulders gently and looks you straight in the eye*

Keferon. Please read Ninth by Kyn on AO3. I think you would love it very much. It has a large chapter count, but don't be intimidated, it's very easy to get into. It is currently unfinished, but is being updated regularly.

You are the seventh person that recommended this fic to me so ahahahaha yeah

I’m doing great Help I hate some parts of it but I love the other parts I’m spinning in the blender

…..I made the moodboard….

[kazutora-kurokawa]

What iffff poly hcs with kakucho x reader x izana ifkwim? I don't care if it's nsfw or fluff, just how would it be like? headcanons about it in general! ♡

Poly Relationship w/ Izana and Kakucho

♡ SFW and NSFW, fem reader, fluff, set in the corrupt Toman timeline, public sex/car sex, double penetration, double head??, oral->fem and male receiving ♡

note: thanks for requesting anon 🩷 sorry it's so late lol

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SFW

💞 Izana buys you and Kakucho earrings that match his

💞 Kakucho tries to keep you out of gang related business, but Izana doesn't really give a fuck because he knows he can protect you regardless

💞 They have bodyguards following you everywhere, it's not like they don't trust you, they just don't trust other people

💞 Izana teaches you how to walk in heels, he'll literally teach you runway walks and Kakucho will cheer both of you on

💞 All three of you ride on a motorcycle together on the weekends, obviously Izana is the one driving (recklessly btw)

💞 Kaku cooks dinner and Izana treats him like a 50s housewife 😭 he rushes him like that'll make the food cook faster

💞 Izana plays guitar for you and Kakucho and learns all your favorite songs

NSFW

💞 Kakucho is the quiet type during sex, the most you'll hear is a few deep grunts. Izana is a lot more vocal though, he'll moan and whimper depending on what you're doing.

💞 Izana is really into public sex, the risk is high but the reward is far greater because he gets to see your fucked out face. Kakucho just goes along with it because why the hell not? That's how you end up in the backseat of Izana's car, lying on your back as Izana fills your pussy and Kakucho fucks your throat.

💞 Izana and Kakucho both love giving you head, usually simultaneously. They love seeing you writhe in pleasure and become a whimpering mess underneath them. Their tongues rub together as they glide them on your clit. They don't even have to fuck you for you to be fucked out, and they're obsessed with having that amount of power over you and your body.

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Taglist

@arlerts-angel @i-literally-cant-with-this @trevengersprincess @giugiette @katkusuo @happy-trenchcoated-impala @drunkcheesecake @darkstarlight82 @reiners-milkbiddies @manji-hoe

[jadecantcreate]

i wanted to write a quick 3-chapter fic for day 4 of loa shiptober (how they met i think) and i (a fool) was like. yeah. i could totally write 3 chapters in a few hours. i was wrong. SO wrong. haven’t even finished kremy’s (the first one).

so instead have a maybe-past-kremy design that im conflicted about compared to his current design, as a peace offering

[stevebabey]

no one asked but this is the post that inspired this! thank u immensely for the luv <3 number 1 comment was wondering what steve’s bids were & from his pov, so without further ado...enjoy — part one here!

—

Begrudgingly, Eddie has to admit that Robin might be right.

It’s impossible not to be looking for the bids since he brought them up to her. Even though Eddie was fully expecting to tell Robin to suck it, maybe even wager what little money he had against this working out, Eddie can’t help but watch for them in every interaction. And fuck, she’s right.

They’re little, but they’re there.

The first one Eddie would’ve missed if he wasn’t looking for it. Actually, that’s a lie; Eddie does miss it, until Robin points it out, the nosy bitch. It’s minuscule and honestly, it just seems like Steve asking his opinion — which friends do all the time! It’s why Eddie brushes right over it.

“Okay, be honest,“ Steve had said, walking and talking as he entered the living room where Robin and Eddie were sprawled across the couches. They were both waiting on him, the three of them set on heading out to the drive-in to catch a film.

Eddie can’t fathom why Steve felt the need to change his outfit for it, but when he returns, he gets it. It’s not quite the usual polo Eddie had grown to like on Steve, this one hanging a little looser, the colour a bit darker than Steve’s usual choice, the sleeves a little shorter — almost midway to a muscle tee.

Steve’s fingers fiddle with the distressed collar of the shirt, smoothing invisible wrinkles and fussing over nothing. He swishes back his floppy hair with a flick of his head. “It’s a new shirt, I know it’s a little different - but what do we think?”

He says we but he’s looking at Eddie.

Eddie, who has taken to trying to reel in his gawp because what the fuck Steve? It’s like he’s well aware of what drives Eddie insane and has specifically leaned into it. Some evil goblin in Eddie’s brain whispers think how good he’d look in your shirt and he squashes it, giving a visible twitch to shut down that train of thought.

From the other couch, Robin clears her throat loudly and smiles sweetly at her best friend. “It looks great, Steve.”

It’s sincere and Steve’s mouth tugs up, nearly a smile but his gaze fast-tracks back to Eddie. Eddie nods in agreement, a bit sluggish from his distracting thoughts and god dammit, the extra exposed skin of Steve’s arms are so not helping. “Yeah, looks... looks good, man.”

Steve smiles, lips pressed together but his shoulders curl in just a bit, deflating just a tad. From where Steve can’t see her, Robin waves her hands wildly and catches Eddie’s attention. He watches as she gestures wildly and it takes a moment to realise what’s she mouthing — ‘A bid! That’s a bid, you idiot!’

Oh fuck, Eddie thinks. Cos it totally was; the question, the focus on Eddie. He doesn’t even think about the logistics of it, of the fact Robin was right, just jumps right into picking up the bid.

“You trying a new style?” Eddie asks and then thanks whatever god invented the whole fake-it-to-you-make-it schtick because he’s feeling so far from casual or confident. “Going metal on me, big boy?”

Eddie just manages to catch the grin that breaks across Steve’s face as he turns away, giving a scoff — it comes out too soft though, giving away his complete lack of annoyance. He pulls that usual Steve Harrington pose, hands sliding onto his hips, and screws his face into some melted smiley-grimace. “Shut up, Munson.”

Eddie grins and goads on the blush that’s beginning on Steve’s neck, a glorious tinged pink colour. “If this shirt is any indication, you’d pull it off just fine.”

Eddie watches the blush climb higher as Steve ignores the comment, his smile still giving him away. He grabs his coat and pats down his jeans — ridiculous tight acid wash jeans that Eddie hates he’s somehow become attracted to — ensuring he has his keys and wallet. Once assured, he looks up at his two friends again, brows raised, and says, “Ready to rock and roll?”

That comment alone has Eddie seriously reconsidering his type in men.

There’s only a brief moment to talk about it when Eddie and Robin cajole Steve into going and getting them both popcorn to get a moment alone. Steve had scoffed, face twitching in the way it did whenever he tried to hold back a bitchy comment, but he still stomped off in the direction of the snack stand.

The moment he’s out of earshot, both voices explode in the back of Eddie’s van.

“What did I say—”

“Jesus H Christ, you were right—”

“Literally how many times do I have—”

“Oh my god, you were right—”

“ —before you realise I’m always—”

“Robin.” He cuts her off, hands landing on her shoulders. Robin eyes them warily, lips still parted from how her rant had been cut off. “Robin, I’m gonna kill you.”

“What?” Robin’s nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you—”

“Oh Christ, I can’t believe- how long have you noticed those bids?” Eddie’s aware he sounds a bit estranged, eyes probably wide and it doesn’t help when he softly shakes Robin back and forth. She lets herself be shaken, hair flying back in forth. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You are such a bad gay friend!”

Robin smacks his hands off her shoulders with a frown, her freckly face perturbed at Eddie’s outburst. “Dude, it’s not my fault! May I remind you that until very very recently you were seeing someone else? What difference would it have made?”

Eddie waves his hand, disregarding the point with a shake of his head. His unkempt curls cover his face and Eddie sweeps them back in one motion, “What difference would it have made? Oh my, Jesus—“

Whatever long-winded sentence Eddie was about to spit out is lost by the sound of Steve’s approaching footsteps, effectively shutting both of them up.

Eddie flings himself to the other side of the van, putting an unusual amount of distance between Robin and him like they were being caught doing something they shouldn’t.

Robin frowns at him and gestures wildly with her hands in a way that means what the fuck man? Eddie gestures back, though he’s not entirely sure what his fast hand motions are supposed to mean when Steve rounds the door.

He’s got two buckets of popcorn tucked under each arm and Eddie quickly crosses his arms, tucking his hands into his armpits like his stupid hand motions will somehow give him away. 

Steve looks up, stopping just a way from the edge of the van, and looks at the pair of them. His eyes track from Robin still sitting on one of the old cushions and looking two seconds from burying her face in her hands, across to Eddie. He huffs a laugh and kneels on the edge of the van.

“I know he’s gross Robin,” He begins, tone light, as he holds out one of the buckets for Robin to take. “But c’mon, is the distance really necessary?”

Robin snickers as Eddie makes an appalled noise, both of which make Steve smirk. He holds out the other for Eddie to take and Eddie snatches it, glaring at him over the buttery rim for his comment. Then takes a handful and shovels it in because he can’t think of a witty comment to retaliate. Steve crawls into the van and plops himself between them with a content sigh.

“See? Gross.” He teases, shoving his hand into Eddie’s popcorn bucket to grab a handful. Eddie scowls and chews a little faster when the flavour on his tongue seems to register in his brain.

His eyes stare at the popcorn bucket as he chews, then swallows — up the front of the van, the radio that’s tuned into the correct frequency begins playing the opening credits song as the screen changes. Silence sweeps across the drive-in but despite the sudden hush, Eddie has no qualms about breaking it.

“Sweet n’ salty flavour?” He asks Steve, only half attempting a whisper. Robin shushes him instantly, her focus already on the movie that’s beginning. Steve smiles, looking a bit sheepish beneath the glow of the drive-in screen, but he nods.

“I know you like it.” He whispers with a small shrug of his shoulders. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Fuck, Eddie thinks again and hastily feeds himself another handful of popcorn before he says anything majorly stupid in response to that, like: Oh, amazing- have you noticed the big fat crush I have on you as well?

He doesn’t even need to look at Robin to know she’s smiling, smug as ever.

—

Steve, God bless his oblivious little heart, doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.

Steve likes Eddie. Eddie is— god, Eddie is different but he’s good.

He’s this strange amalgamation of traits that Steve can’t comprehend how they fit together in one body or how Eddie manages to pull it all off completely charmingly.

He’s loud, he says rude things, he’s fucking dorky, and far too sweet on the kids — he likes to tease Steve, and yet somehow, when Eddie calls him ‘pretty boy’, Steve knows he’s not actually making fun of him.

Steve likes Eddie, likes his boyishly endearing charm, likes his touchiness towards Steve that no other boy his age is like, likes his messy curls and his ‘holier than thou’ attitude about metal music even though Steve doesn’t get it, like at all. And fuck, Steve really wants Eddie to like him.

It reminds him faintly of when he first started working alongside Robin at Scoops. That thought tickles in the back of his mind, something along the lines of how he had wanted Robin to like him for other reasons, but he doesn’t delve into it.

To Steve, it’s simple: he just wants Eddie to like him.

After the night at the drive-in, between Eddie acting strangely skittish and Robin giving more amused snorts than usual, Steve knows something is up.

He knows they must have discussed something when they sent him on popcorn duty, the bastards. He tries his best to not feel left out; god knows Robin and he have more than a dozen secrets they’ve sworn not to tell anyone but each other.

Besides, Steve trusts Robin to come and tell him if he really needs to know, even if it does worry him a bit. He bites down his anxious thoughts, even trying for a moment to see if there’s a pattern he’s been missing.

That train of thought gets derailed when Steve recalls instead Eddie’s delightful reaction to his new shirt — that Steve definitely hadn’t bought for that specific reason.

Even though Robin had given him that look when he’d first shown it to her — her bright eyes had narrowed, her smile turning a little more coy, and Steve had felt his ears get a little hotter. She hadn’t said anything though, just suggested that he should wear it tomorrow night when they were going out with Eddie.

God, he was glad she suggested it.

Rewinding over Eddie’s parted lips, the way his brown eyes had drank in the details as they trailed up his body and lingered on his arms— Steve had the sudden thought to flex the muscle, just to elicit some reaction, but it had gone out the window at Eddie’s original dismal reaction.

‘Yeah, looks... looks good, man’. Said all aloof, like he hadn’t really thought it. It was like bursting a balloon hidden behind Steve’s ribs, one he wasn’t even aware was there until it was deflating pathetically, making his shoulders sag.

Then— ‘You trying a new style? Going metal on me, big boy?’ And dammit, it’s like Eddie had clocked exactly what calling him ‘big boy’ had done the first time in the Winnebago.

Eddie had then grinned, done another once over of the new shirt, even as Steve pretended to search for his keys and wallet while saying something snarky to try to cover up the heat crawling up his neck. Yet, Steve found himself smiling too because, fuck yes, Eddie liked it too.

But, apparently, whatever Eddie and Robin had discussed wasn’t considered important enough because Robin never brought it up.

The thought and worry about it melt away in Steve’s mind until the memory of that night is about Eddie’s compliment, about his cat-like grin over the popcorn bucket, and how he had leaned over to whisper every bad joke into Steve’s ear all through the movie.

Some of them had been down-right filthy jokes which Eddie only seemed to enjoy more when Steve screwed his face up and nudged Eddie in the ribs, yet unable to hide his smile.

After the third vulgar joke and subsequent nudge, Steve had chided ‘dude’ with a poorly hidden grin. Eddie, smile all cheeky, had nudged him back with a ‘dude’ of his own.

Which, of course, ensued a nudge competition til Robin had given a shush that librarians all over the world would be jealous of. But Steve didn’t even care because he and Eddie were arm to arm, pressed close together and Eddie…didn’t move. Stayed close, like he wanted the closeness the same way Steve did.

Steve only remembers the strange drive-in moment when Robin brings it up finally, on one interesting Saturday night.

It’s not the usual routine; it’s not very often that the whole group gets together to share drinks and get rowdy.

But it was for Robin’s birthday and she’d been persuasive enough to get even the introverts, like Jonathan, to come along. Though, she was aware he’d probably spend the night on a pool lounger, stoned to high heaven. Whatever floats your boat, she’d said, happy for the company in any form.

There’s enough of them there that it almost resembles some sort of party— and makes Steve try not to think about the last small party he threw here. He can tell Nancy notices it too, eyeing the pool a bit too long in a way he’s very familiar with, then taking a swig of beer.

So, Steve heckles them inside — doing a fantastic mothering impression as he waves the group indoors with a promise of pizza, and that has both Jonathan and Argyle perking up and beginning a fast discussion on the best pizza toppings.

Eddie makes a fuss, because of course he does, and moans terribly when Steve tries to roll him off the pool lounger he’s on. He’s had a bit of a joint and some beer, and Steve’s learned that he gets adorably stubborn after some substances.

“Stevie, this is mean,” he had pouted, gripping the edges of the lounger and staring up at Steve with those big brown eyes. “You telling me I did all that bonding with you for nothing? Can’t even lounge by the pool! I’ve got a couch at homeeeee.”

Steve had sent him an amused look of disbelief, hands on his hips after his first round of flicks against Eddie’s arm were apparently fruitless to get him to move. “Really? Didn’t peg you for a gold-digger, Eds.”

Eddie had snorted at that, one hand coming to slap over his mouth. Steve couldn’t quite hear what he had said but the words pegging and anytime slipped through and Steve thinks he could get the gist of that.

“Oh for Christ’s sake,” Steve muttered, feeling the tips of his ears turn warm. He didn’t know how Eddie could be such a menace— or why he enjoyed it so much when he was. Steve waved a hand in the direction of the doors, ignoring Eddie’s delighted snickering. “If you go inside now, you can be on music, alright?”

And that had finally got them all indoors, Eddie whooping and skedaddling through the doors in an instant, with a call of ‘no take backsies!’ echoing behind him.

Inside was much cozier, the whole group a little more connected when squished up on the couches together. Eddie had taken Steve’s word and was jamming a cassette into one of the speakers when Steve made it back inside after scouting around the pool for leftover cans and butts to throw out.

He’s just been thinking about what playful jab he could make at Eddie’s music, like Eddie always did to him when Robin hollered at him from the kitchen.

“Steve!” She’d yelled excitedly and he come to find her quick, brows raised as he entered the kitchen. She was grinning, already a bit jumpy as she got when she had a bit of liquor — but apparently not enough because when Steve saw what she’d called him in for, she’d announced, “Tequila shots!”

Which lead to now. A hazy combination of beer, tequila, and a bit of weed, and Steve is feeling good. Robin had managed to hijack the music not too long ago, with a hiccup of ‘it’s my birthday’ that had Eddie surrendering with a pout.

She’d since put on a bit of everything: some Blondie for Nance, Talking Heads for Jonathan, and some Bowie, just so she and Steve could dance along to ‘Magic Dance’ and she could do all the silly little goblin voices that made them both cackle.

Steve realised at some point that Robin was playing their mixtape, the one she’d made for driving in the morning, and nearly tripped stumbling over to her in his excitement. He grabbed her shoulders, not too hard, and squeezed.

“Is it- is this our mixtape?” Steve asked, words slurring only a bit. Robin gleamed, hair bouncing with her excited nod.

“Yes!” She was already dancing, even though the tape was between songs — because she knew what song was coming. “It’s Springsteen time, Steve!”

Right as the drums to Born to Run filtered out the speaker.

And oh, Steve loves Robin so much. He loves having a best friend that knows his favourite song and gets jittery and excited because she knows it’s about to play— that she put it on this mix for him.

“You’re my best friend!” Steve says, the words bursting out like he can’t control them. He doesn’t even feel embarrassed, just happy, just drunk, and overwhelming happy to be able to have this.

And even though Robin knows this, she still beams, feet dancing along and just begins to sing along with the song, “In the days, we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream…”

It’s a brazen drunken performance from the both of them. Steve’s chest is heaving after just one chorus that he’s pretty sure he put his whole soul into and he’s so fucking happy —and it feels like pure instinct to seek out Eddie, his eyes scouring the room for him.

Eddie’s leaned up against the wall, hiding his smile behind a can and Steve doesn’t think twice about it— doesn’t think about why he’s so drawn to Eddie, why he wants to include him in this happiness — just extends his hand out and grins.

Eddie sees the bid coming this time.

Part Three.

— 

yes i saw all ur lovely tags and MAYBE cried about it. but thats none of ur business.

@orangeandthefairroadkill @swimmingbirdrunningrock @sadcanadianwinter @phantypurple @omg-elledubs-things @henderdads @farfaras @mixsethaddams @prismandblue @kerlypride @bushbees @legitcookie @temporalcoffin @callmesirkay @beautifully-useless @millyditty @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @ninjapirateunicorns @darkwitchoferie @vi-the-best-you-can @psychosnowfox @desert-fern @scarletzgo @cr0w-culture @softpink-candlelight @livingforfictionalcharacters @makewavesandwar @kozuuji @rhapsodyinalto @eddiethesexy @cassaloopa @lightwoodbanethings @qu33rcommunist @moonlitkilljoy @starkdusk @theysherobinbuckley @sanguineterrain @loganwright @sillysparrow @hotcocoaharrington @eddie-munson-is-my-wife @she-is-tim @steddiehearts @sideblogofthcentury @sidebarre @corrodedcoughin @stevieclaus

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

what is a battle but a dance of two warriors?

[ahappydnp]

being a full adult during ii was so funny

like just sat there while dan and phil worked it out in the remix with the 14 year olds who were yelling at them to kiss

[hairpinturnn]

yk what i'm gonna post this on my account too

originally written under my rosquez head art

[crybaby-bkg]

You and Bakugou had discussed your plans of your future pretty early on in the relationship. You wanted to move in by this time, be engaged at this time, have your wedding, enjoy married life, and then have kids. Only thing now, is to have kids. But the problem?

Bakugou keeps pulling out.

You’re not sure what’s going on, where the hold up is coming from. You went through all the steps of getting off your birth control, prepping your body for what’s to come. The only thing you need is him, and for some reason, he keeps denying the last piece of the puzzle.

You confront him finally, after another night of him wiping down your stomach and inner thighs. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling with a soft frown. Bakugou pecks at your collarbone and squeezes your flank to hear you giggle, but you only shuffle a little away from him. He pauses, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he stares down at your crumpled expression.

“What’s going on?” He hums quietly, brushing a few hairs from your forehead as he throws the washcloth on the ground. He holds your face in both hands, kissing gently at your skin when he sees your bottom lip wobble in frustration.

“Why won’t you cum inside me?” You snap, cringing as the words leave your mouth. You could’ve said them a little more gracefully, but it’s hard finding grace when your life plans have suddenly come to a halt without a word on his part. Bakugou’s eyes bulge in confusion before a soft look passed over his face. He sighs, body slumping on top of you heavily, knocks the breath from your lungs and the tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he mumbles into the skin of your neck, flinching a little when you pinch his side.

“How couldn’t I have noticed? I thought this was our final step to completing the life we wanted together. What happened?” Your voice gets softer with every word until you’re nothing but a whisper in the quietness of the room. Bakugou doesn’t say anything for a long while, just breathes in the scent of you before murmuring quietly,

“I don’t think I’ll be a good dad.” He confesses. You’re not sure if you should stop him and reassure him, but he takes a deep shaky inhaled breath in, and you decide to let him continue.

“I don’t wanna be an absent father to the only brats I’ll ever have. They deserve to have someone be there for them, every step of the way. I don’t think—I don’t think they deserve to have a fucked up person as a father. ‘S not fair.”

You can only lay there and listen, rubbing gently at his back, over his scars and still healing wounds. You run a hand through his hair and blink away tears when you feel his sniffle more than hear it. You both stew in what’s been said for what feels like hours before you speak up.

“How can you say that, when we’ll have the safest kids on the block?” You whisper, pulling his face from your neck so he can look at you, wipe away the stray tears that muddle his ruddy cheeks.

“Knowing you, Katsuki, you’ll be there no matter what. No matter what strings you have to pull, time you have to sacrifice, how many times you’ll have to break your neck—you’ll be there, because you always are. For me, for our friends, your parents, for the shitty civilians that never wanna listen to your instructions.” Bakugou chuckles a little at that, mumbling a quiet, shitty extras, under his breath. You smile at him, leaning forward to kiss his eyelids and eyebrows and forehead and nose and cheeks and lips. When you pull back, he smiles softly, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth and blinks up at you like some big cat.

“You’ll be a great dad, because you’re a great person first and foremost. And our kids will love you unconditionally because you are their dad.” You whisper to him, pressing a final kiss to his lips for the night. With that, you two lay together, discussing possible plans on future endeavors, how you guys will work together when the kids are here, time taken off and how it’ll be spent together.

So, it shouldn’t, but it comes as a surprise months later when Bakugou wakes up one morning to find an empty ceramic mug sitting on the kitchen table. You’re sat beside it, failing to hide a grin behind your own mug you sip at, a new one he hasn’t seen before. He looks at you funny, before picking up the mug, eyes bulging out of his head as he reads what’s on it, and the little capped stick inside.

He doesn’t say anything as he embraces you, pulling you up from your chair and hugging you to him as your giggles fill the atmosphere of the house. The quiet house, that in a few months, won’t be as quiet for much longer.

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Just some kids

[itsticklishme23]

What I Need

911! It’s an emergency! Here’s what I need STAT: to get all dressed up with a handsome man who has a deep craving to tickle me, wine and dine somewhere with my feet secretly in his lap under the table, talking about everything and nothing… then to be whisked off to a cute cabin with a cozy fire, be pampered and spoiled, massaged and cuddled… Afterwards, once I’m feeling all relaxed and cared for, then I’ll be his own personal little tickle toy all night.

That’s when he whips out the silk cuffs and traps me in all night on a comfy bed so I can just laugh and laugh, scream, beg and moan, and laugh even more, all because of his fingers/feathers/tongue/lips/whatever tools he surprises me with. I need someone who can play me like a piano and find out what music i make 🎶 someone who GETS it. Someone who knows exactly what it’s doing to me, and it does the same thing to you as a tickler. Someone who has an innate desire to find all the ticklish spots on my body…then exploit every. single. one. Someone who wants to sweetly, gently, ever so cruelly tickle me until I’m a babbling mess who can’t even form thoughts anymore. Someone who can expertly make me feel like I’m on tickle cloud 9 ☁️

When I’m tied up and tickled and gently teased, everything else in the world just allll melts away (while I’m melting into a puddle ahem). I love when a guy has that dominant energy, with a soft teasing side that just makes me absolutely turn to mush. Cooing in my ear with a honey-dripping voice, the occasional threatening reminder of how I’m absolutely trapped there with nowhere to go. That slight sadistic streak that perfectly compliments my fluffy masochist side. I love the gift of exchanging cheeky smiles and sharing joyous, contagious, uncontrollable laughter 🥰

[longtallglasses]

Are you working on anything new that you'd be willing to share 👀

i am working on the big bang, but can't share yet - and have two (2!) halloween ideas...

this is from my mid-00s internet/youtube au

[adreamingrevenant]

You've heard of 'Yuu is a Chernobog Parallel/Expy' and probably 'Yuu is a Firebird Parallel/Expy' (Which is SUCH a fire take pun unintended that I would love to yap about at some point as well as the KotD-Yuu-Silver changeling connection (among the venn diagram for it), now get ready for:

Yuu is a Enchantress (Beauty and the Beast 1991) Parallel/Expy

Ya know, this lady:

[artsymephy]

How would modern Philip look like with long hair?

Like the sweet boy he used to be (:

[zoros-debt]

hii i’ve been looking for long well written zonami fics and i was hoping you could recommend the best stuff you’ve read. i don’t mind any site i’ll even take wattpad at this point ;—; there’s waay too little of this pair on ao3 and so many works i’ve seen are abandoned. help a girl out thank youuu 🫶🏼

Oh man, I wish I could tell ya! I haven't had the time to read fanfics lately, so I'm not sure if there are any recent ones I can recommend.

If you're a long-time ZoNami fan, you might've already heard of these two completed M-rated fics by AshaRose on Fanfiction.net:

Mystery Pants

Memory

And there's one completed explicit fic that I've been meaning to read on AO3 by StillPurplePanicking: Dry Spell

If you've already read these, I can only apologize lol - there just aren't too many fics out there for ZoNami, and it's been a long while since I've last read a long and completed ZoNami fic. I want to write more to add to the collection of ZoNami works out there, but it's been tough finding time to work on 'em.

My one attempt at a long fic is still on hiatus, but I'm hoping to jump back into it soon! It's unfortunate, but the ZoNami drought is real 🥲

(A shoutout to @harritudur for feeding us all those goregous ZoNami art during these tough times!)

[evilfloralfoolery]

Love Bites: Romantic Operatic Fuckery

Yep, this again lol.

The vampire coerces the werewolf into going to see a bit of Mozart. Sort of.

As a reminder: Vampires. Werewolves. They do what those creatures do.

____________________

“I listened to some of this,” Marrok says.  “I thought Mozart was all about some funny and happy shit. This ain’t that.” 

“Did you believe that I would not take you to something worthy of your ears?” Lucian gestures to the curtained stage. “This is ‘Don Giovanni,’ one of Mozart's most grand achievements.” 

“Hmn, okay.”  Marrok scratches the space beneath his chin with a curved nail.  “What’s it about?”

Lucian smiles, the tips of his fangs showing.  “Promiscuity, infidelity, and murder.” 

“Huh.”  Marrok sits back in his seat, dark hair spilling over one shoulder.  “That actually sounds . . . good.”

“It is more than ‘good.’ It is magnificent.”

Much like his companion on this fine evening.  Marrok is dressed in unrelenting black, a combination of his own design with a jacquard vest beneath a more modern tailcoat with strategically placed metal studs that is more “goth rock” than it is operatic formal attire.  But Lucian has no complaints.  The mere fact that the werewolf is wearing a coat of sorts is nearly unheard of, a concession that he has made purely for Lucian’s sake.

The sentiment has not gone unnoticed.  

He nudges Marrok’s thigh with his own, lays his hand upon it with a squeeze. “Have I told you, mon cher, that you look lethal and divine?”

“You have.”  Marrok leans in close enough to run the utmost tip of his tongue along the shell of Lucian’s ear.  “But you can say it again.” 

“Rapscallion,” Lucian says.   

Marrok flashes him a smile that showcases both sets of canines. “Don't fuck with me or you'll be watching my face instead of the stage while I devour you.”

“Right here? Amongst all of these mortal gazes?” Lucian feigns a gasp, one hand upon his heart. “Why, I am scandalized!”

“Yeah,” Marrok rumbles. “Just like this.” 

Massive hands cup Lucian's face and Marrok kisses him with brief, but passionate fervor. 

“Well,” Lucian murmurs against his mouth.  “Scandalous, indeed.” 

The lights dim and the overture begins and Lucian is grateful for the change in lighting.  Why must mortals have the interior of everything bright as the midday sun?  Infuriating, to say the least.  At least he could manage without the sunglasses indoors.

For the most part.  

The effects of his latest sunlit excursion still persist, however.  Twenty minutes into the performance, Marrok is silent and attentive to the onstage antics.  Not at all what Lucian had expected.  

There is, of course, the occasional wince during a piercingly high note from the soprano or the ghastly idiocy of the assistant principal violinist, who clearly has the ear of deaf man.  Lucian himself does his fair share of teeth grinding aggravation.

“The fuck is wrong with that guy?”  Marrok’s breath is warm against his ear.  “The violin player.  I’m about to go break that screech plank over his head.”

Lucian nods. “Would it be unethical of me to drain him for such heresy?”

“No,” Marrok scoffs a laugh.  “I’d eat his heart in a fucking second.” 

“Hmn.  Better perhaps to consume his fingers, non?”

Marrok chuckles. “Something like that.” 

And while Lucian does his best to feign that nothing is out of the ordinary, things within his body are certainly amiss.  Particularly within his sinuses.  

Now?  His immortal body is choosing this moment for such nuisances?  Honestly . . . 

Lucian rifles through his inner coat pocket and cups the still-folded handkerchief in his palm for an instant before clamping it over his nose to muffle a tightly contained “Hhhuh–NKGT!”  His breath hitches and his chest heaves. “. . . IHHKGGTCH!” 

Marrok's hand  lights upon his own and squeezes. “You okay?” 

Lucian nods with a sniffle. “Yes, mon cher.” 

He tucks the handkerchief back into his jacket as Marrok's arm settles around his shoulders. 

He does, however, lean into the gesture just a touch, which elicits a dark rumble of approval from his companion. 

But putting away the handkerchief so soon was not the soundest decision. A pre-incident paralysis seizes him and he stifles the sound against the back of his hand with a clenching “--NXGT!” The one that follows is near silent, but the shuddering of his shoulders is far more pronounced. 

“Goddamn,” Marrok swears under his breath with such displaced frustration that Lucian chuckles. 

“Tres désolée,” ¹ Lucian says. “I could not prevent it.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Marrok says, but the words hold no true irritation now. 

After a good hour or so, the end of the first act signals an intermission and the werewolf clearly needs some air. 

Or perhaps, something more vital. 

______________________________________________________

A brisk walk around the fountain seems to cool the werewolf's near boiling need just a touch, which is, of course, amplified by the impending full moon.

“You're making it hard for me to pay attention to the damn story,” Marrok says, his fingers laced through Lucian's own.

The vampire offers him a coy smirk. “And for this, I am not sorry.”

“I'm so goddamn shocked.” Marrok rolls his eyes. “You French fuck.” 

Lucian laughs, but the sound is cut short by the very thing that has been incensing his companion for much of the evening.

He  holds up a hand in a halting gesture and leans away, the other hand pressed against his against the side of his nose in deflection.

“Hhih-iiih. . . ! HiihIESSCHHUh! –UhhISSCH! Hhk. . . ISSSCH–iiUUH!” 

The way his shoulders heave and shudder in such a horrid betrayal of decorum is mortifying, but not nearly as much as the fact that he has misplaced his handkerchief. Which, of course, had forced this ghastly display of indecency in the first place.

But Marrok has come to his rescue, pressing a clean fold of cotton into his palm. 

“Ah, such keen foresight you have,” he says, his voice softened and a bit breathless from the covert indiscretions of his body. “Mon dieu, that came upon me with such suddenness.” 

“Yeah.” Marrok's voice is a low, penetrative bass. “Yeah, it did.” He grabs the edge of Lucian's coat and pulls him into a claiming embrace. “I kinda feel like I should say something to you.” 

“What something?” Lucian arches an eyebrow.

“Whatever it is that humans say to each other. They still say it, right?”

He laughs at the absurdity of the thought, as does his companion. 

“Indeed, they do.” Lucian smirks as he meets the werewolf’s stare. “But that would be nonsensical, non? Blessing the damned.”

“But. . .'' Lucian drags a nail along the most delicate skin of Marrok's neck near the base of his throat. “You may say it to me, if it pleases you.”

“Nah, it's weird.” Marrok's claws sink into the shoulder of his coat. “Gonna do this instead.”

Marrok cups Lucian's face between his massive palms and imparts a growling kiss unto his lips.

“I'm wanna eat your fucking face,” Marrok murmurs against his mouth.

“Mmn, and here I believed your kind to be far more partial to the heart.”  Lucian nips at his lower lip and Marrok’s growl becomes increasingly more wolf and less human. 

The werewolf pulls back enough to showcase just how gleaming yellow his eyes have become, a tiny beading of blood upon his bottom lip.  And the ears.  Marrok never had bothered to hide those.  Decidedly pointed. And of course, the canines.  

What a magnificent, intimidating beast.  Remarkable in both mind and body.  Truly lethal, yet with the capability for chivalry and decorum.  

Lucian slides a hand over Marrok's cheek, nails skimming the skin with the most delicate of touches. 

“Je t’aime,” ² he murmurs.

Marrok cocks his head, ensnaring the fingers in his own.  “Yeah?” He pulls Lucian into a tight cinch of an embrace, pressing his forehead to that of his companion.  “You're mine.”  The kiss that follows is breath-stealing in its claim. “Say it.” 

Lucian’s voice is like warm velvet, softened by the wind. “I belong to only you.” He brushes a kiss over the hollow of Marrok's throat where the skin is visible and enticing through the cover of his scarf. “Only. To you.” 

Amber eyes flash back to bright yellow. “Je t'aime aussi.” ³

For once, the werewolf's accent is near perfection. 

“Ooh.” Lucian shivers, taken aback, a hand upon his chest. “You have been practicing, non?”

“Maybe.” Marrok tucks a loose strand of pale golden hair behind Lucian's ear. “Wanna skip the second half of this and go for a hunt instead?”

“Such a romantic,” Lucian says.

But he concedes to the change in plans nonetheless. 

__________________________

1- So sorry

2- I love you

3- I love you, too.

[pencilofawesomeness]

Guys I'm having such a bizarre moment. I didn't expect to win like this, or to have my personal headcanons be confirmed so directly, but I also feel simultaneously robbed because Akutami is reaching into my head /jk

We received so little about Sukuna, but those brief brief brieeef moments of existentialism really caught me and I've thought about him for so long because of it. He was a fantastically terrifying villain, but there was always that dissonance there, between some of his words and actions, that portrayed that aimless longing and hurt and what that meant as a characterization point, and I'm honestly so hyped we turn around and get this in 271:

(scanlation for this panel because I think it gets the sentiment across better)

Followed by

I'm���

Y'all I started my draft for my Sukuna Reincarnation AU months ago and I never expected canon to validate me. They leave it easier and more open-ended, of course, but I'm coming on the record to say I wasn't crazy for my stretch of a character exploration and also I called it.

I won't go into the specifics of my "study Sukuna like a cockroach" notes now I just wanted to come grab the mic and announce that I beat Akutami to it >:D /lh

I'm being a good noodle and not stretching myself thin by starting a new multichap now, but I've had With the Storm in the works since January, and in light of the end of JJK and this lovely little tidbit, I'm tossing a sneak-peak from Chapter 7 because why not:

But maybe it could be. Maybe, just maybe, Uraume could accept this proffered hand and continue to hope.

---

Yet… things were different now. Things changed. Uraume changed, Sukuna changed, and even though they were still themselves, there was a myriad of shifts that piled on their shoulders until something gave way. Maybe a subconscious part of Uraume had braced for that to be a crash, but instead, Sukuna had been nothing but accepting and open. It only made them more nervous about losing him, just as they feared losing Pops. Uraume was not used to wanting, or hoping, but there was a powerful need in their chest that childishly demanded that they should get to keep both their kinder father and this happier Sukuna close, even if that may not be possible.

They nodded, not trusting their words at the moment, and Sukuna relaxed slightly.

“Good. Though that reminds me… You never really answered my first question. What do you want to do? With this life, I mean.”

There was that want again. Uraume felt the pull at their lungs until it was unbearable. They knew what he was asking; the question didn’t hinge on his involvement anymore, just them. Sukuna said he wanted to live peacefully, so what, then, was Uraume’s answer?

As much as they felt like a coward saying this, maybe that was okay. Sukuna felt the same way, after all. “I like this life too…” Uraume answered, and it was very different saying those words aloud. “Pops isn’t a shaman at all, and he’s good company and a good father. If I wasn’t able to find you, or you were not of this world, then… I would stay as his family.”

“That’s good,” Sukuna agreed, lifting yet another anxious weight from their chest. “I get that. Nobody else in my family are shamans either—at least, not really—and they’re all good people. It’s a good life, and even though I would have never expected it… I don’t want to lose it.”

It was amazing how similar they were, then and now. Uraume…really shouldn’t have worried about a lack of understanding. Sukuna didn’t have to say it, but it was clear that their thoughts had wandered down a similar road yet again. Their families, full of normal people living normal lives, were an unexpected treasure; to willingly become a monster, to become a scourge upon the world for whatever reason, would forfeit that. More than that, having people to care about made the desire to spread destruction lessen, rather significantly. Maybe that hurt and rage and bitterness was still there, in between their ribs, but in the ones that were dead and buried—a part of them, but also not quite there anymore, like when a scar ceases to constantly itch and ache and becomes only a mark on functioning skin.

They didn’t have to be monsters anymore. There were calmer, kinder things available to want—available to receive, even.

“This is so weird,” Uraume blurted, staring at their small hands and thinking of the strange miracle their lives turned into.

Sukuna barked a quick laugh before it was muffled into something like a snicker. “I know, right?” He leaned back in a stretch, his face catching the sun and lighting him in something that wasn’t a fire, but equally bright. “It’s not bad though.”

It was weird, to be a child, to be without some far-off goal, to be loved and happy, in the sense that it was absurd and foreign and absolutely unexpected. It was a breath of fresh air after years and years of having frozen lungs. Weird, surprising, but unmistakably good after so long of believing that no such term, deceptively simple, could have ever been applicable.

“Not bad at all,” Uraume agreed, a bright and blooming thing in their chest as their life began to slot into a new place. Still open-ended and perhaps a little terrifying for it, but Pops accepted them, and Sukuna accepted them, so maybe they could truly accept themself now, and whatever that will look like.