#Ye im very late

[kaziearts]

Year of the Dragon

[alalnsted]

[daily-basil]

My idiot son . Whom I love so much (MS Paint doodle yet again)

The process for this required taking progress pics, so :)

[revasserium]

A request for the prompt "Stolen kisses" + Zayne!! Thank you so much :D

also I love your writing SOO much <3

prompt list reqs are: temporarily closed

49. stolen kisses

zayne; 1,720 words; fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", whipped!zayne, implied sex, but still very saucy, zayne is hornee 24/7 and hes not afraid to show it

summary: 3 kisses, some stolen, others willingly given

a/n: i believe in my heart of hearts that zayne is barely keeping it together around the mc

one. After dinner, when the pair of you are cleaning up and your sleeves rolled up to your elbows, his arms snaking around your waist to pull you back into him as he presses a kiss to your neck before trailing his lips up to your cheek. Your laughter rings through the kitchen, folding around the pair of you like wings. His smile is soft, is radiant, is tender and absolute as he pulls back to regard you with his searching eyes.

“Good dinner?” he asks.

“The best,” you answer, grinning as you trail a finger along his jaw to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Good…” he breathes the word against your cheek, leaning in, the ends of his bangs tickling the skin of your face. You make to pull back, but his arms loop tighter around your waist, pressing you close, holding you against the solid cool of the marble countertop.

“But we haven’t yet had dessert.”

Heat flushes up your neck and up, up, up till you can feel your face burning, as you blink up at him from beneath your lashes, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t know we had dessert planned on the menu.”

His grin goes sideways, his eyes taking on a darker, more dangerous light.

“It’s not always planned but…” his voice trails off as a tingling shiver races up your spine, “It is always… considered.”

And then, he leans in to kiss you — and he kisses you with a hunger that has nothing to do with the scrumptious meal you’ve just shared and everything to do with the pulsing heat coalescing between your bodies as he lifts you up onto the counter.

He kisses you like he wants to ruin your mouth for all other tastes but him; he kisses you as if he’s already been ruined by the taste of you.

two. It is unprofessional; you know — and so does he — to do this here, with your back pressed against the wood of his office door, his white coat slipping off his shoulders, his glasses nearly knocked askance by the force of this kiss.

You’d always known that just beneath his smooth, tempered glass facade is the kind of roiling heat that makes up the heart of the earth, the kind of passion that licked at the mouths of volcanoes and rends the sky into nothing but a devastation of ashes.

But here, now, the only rending is his fingers pressing into the dip of your waist, the only devastation his tongue as it traces along the inside of your teeth. You hear yourself make a low, wanton noise and feel him react, his fingers tightening impossibly, his mouth ever and ever more demanding.

“Z-Zayne… we —” but the words die on your lips as he drops his to the bare skin of your neck. You can’t help the gasp that tumbles from your mouth, nor the sudden flash of memory — crystal clear and sharp, as if carved from ice — of the night before, when he had sunk his teeth into your bare shoulder and twisted your hair with trembling fists. It had been pain and impossible, improbable passion. All urge and fire, desperation and need.

“Shhh…” Zayne murmurs against your skin, groaning softly as he finds your lips with his own again. And you are helpless all over again. Weak against the burning need of his embrace.

A soft knock shocks both of you from the frenzied passion soaking through your bones, threatening to blot out your good sense entirely. You pull apart, gasping. From the other side of the door comes the muffled voice of a nurse -

“Dr. Zayne? Your next patient is here. Shall I let him in?”

Zayne hisses out another breath before pulling away.

“Yes, just give me five minutes - finishing a report.”

You can't help the amused grin that tugs across your lips as the both of you make to tidy the slight mess you've made.

“So… I'm a report now, am I?”

But Zayne only regards you with a light, challenging look, quirking his brows.

“No.”

You blink, confused. Then Zayne smiles.

“We’re nowhere near finished.”

A fresh wave of heat crests up into your cheeks as you purse your lips, casting your eyes anywhere but Zayne's pleased face.

“Unprofessional,” you accuse, through the word lacks any vehemence, marred by the extensive blush still coloring your cheeks.

Zayne straightens his impeccably pressed white doctor's coat before taking three swift steps into your space, his chest nearly pushing against yours. He reaches out to tilt your chin up towards him and you feel a hitched breath caught like an insect in amber, suspended perfectly between your lungs and your throat.

Slowly, Zayne draws his thumb across the plush of your bottom lip. You feel his breath fanning across it like a wave of summer heat, found at the heart of winter itself.

“Only in front of you.”

He pulls away just as another gentle knock comes at the door, the nurse's voice announcing the arrival of Zayne's next patient. Zayne casts you one last lingering, meaningful look before gently nudging you aside to pull open the door, the vision of a young and promising doctor as he greets his patient with a small smile, the other hand guiding you towards the opened door.

"Don't forget to take your supplements,” he chides in a voice just gentle enough to inform polite company of his fondness for you, but nothing in it would hint at the indiscretions that had been committed only minutes prior.

"Okay,” you say, ducking your head as you brush by the middle- aged man blinking at the pair of you.

"And… see you at home.”

You only manage a nod and a squeak as the nurse chuckles behind her hand and the middle- aged man makes a soft noise of understanding.

three. You are both eighteen, and teetering on the edge of adulthood — though he’s already well on his way to stardom.

“Congrats — on the Starcatcher Award —“ you feel your throat catch around the words, and suddenly, your mouth is dry, your cheeks hot, your fingers twisting behind your back as you rock on the balls of your feet.

Zayne watches you, his expression thoughtfully blank, but his eyes — they’ve always been his tell. You meet them and search them and feel the fire caught behind them. His Evol might be ice, but… his soul has always been something that burns.

“Thanks,” he says, and you can almost taste the unsaid words bubbling just at the back of his throat. You wish he would tell you, but there’s a depthless chasm cut into the air between the pair of you, rough and jagged and —

“Do you know what I received the award for?”

You blink, startled. You purse your lips, looking away. It’d been too painful, too much to look into it, the knowledge of his brilliance always nipping at your heels like an unruly dog. It had pushed you forward, yes, but only out of the fear that if you let up even one single step, he’d race too far ahead and… leave you behind.

“N-no — I haven’t —“

“For my research on congenital heart defects in infants.”

The world slows, tunnels, and tilts around you. Your eyes jerk up to meet his and there — you see it, the blistering heart of all his so-called fire — and you remember suddenly that if it’s cold enough, the body starts to process the sensation as heat. That ice and fire are not so different.

That ice can also burn.

You find your own hands clutched just above where your heart beats inside your chest and you see his eyes flicker down towards them.

“Zayne —“

“I start work at a clinic next week.”

A frown creases at your temple.

“Our first appointment is on Tuesday.”

Your frown deepens.

“What do you —“

“To qualify for the Hunter Program, you need a medical verification of fitness. And… a primary care physician.”

At these last words, his eyes finally cut away. And here, in the dying light of his brand new living room, the sunset turns his glasses opaque for just a second. You’re left blinking in the aftermath of that light, the afterimages will be stained behind your eyelids for hours after — just that look, the firm line of his shoulders, the determined set of his mouth, his jaw, the softness in his fingers as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering against the bend of your cheek.

“L-Lying on reports would be a medical malpractice suit waiting to happen,” you say, your voice shaking with either delirium or emotion, you’re not sure which.

Zayne quirks an eyebrow, “I have no plans on lying.”

“But —“ your fingers clench at your chest.

“I’m just… confident in my own skills, that’s all.”

The shadow of a grin twists his lips and he turns back to you, his eyes cast in threads of molten gold.

“Oh… of course,” you let out a soft breath of laughter, toppling back into the sofa and tossing your arm across your eyes. A moment later, you feel the cushions of the sofa sink beside you.

“Hey, look at me.”

You drop your arm and turn, your head still pillowed against the back of the sofa. Zayne’s gaze flickers over every aspect of your face before he reaches out to take your hand in his. Slowly, he leans down to press his lips to your knuckles, letting his lips linger there till you make a soft, questioning noise at the back of your throat.

He looks back up with a knowing smile.

“Shall we get something to eat?”

You jump to your feet, “Y-yes! My treat — a congratulations gift!”

Zayne considers for a moment before sighing, “Alright, but just this once.”

“What, we’re not allowed to go out to dinner now that you’re a certified doctor?”

Zayne’s mouth twitches with amusement as he reaches for his coat.

“No, we’ll still go out for dinner — you’re just no longer allowed to pay for them.”

[silverskye13]

Just watched Grian's most recent Hermitcraft episode. Sorry. Sir. The idea that you can step in Tango's redstone and he can feel that and panic like he's attached to it or it's a part of him. Hello???

[answermywearyquery]

the theerapanyakul kids: how close are you with each other?

loan’s kinnporsche 2nd anniversary: favourite familial relationship: the theerapanyakul kids (insp: ½+½)

[north-noire]

so, uh, i got confirmation that i'm on the spectrum recently so i drew this as a silly joke art ft. my sona, henry and charlie because i also headcanoned them to be on it long before i even got assessed

[monstermonger]

A few people asked me to compile my Elden Ring arts into a zine errr months ago .... I'M FINALLY DOING IT :")

Gonna get a proof printed at the local shop early next week... then I'll be binding the pages at home with thread. I'm excited >.<

[emergingghost]

some silly chappell roan blinkies i made

made with blinkies cafe!

[tennessoui]

aaaaa can i request #44?!?

absolutely of course you can 🫶

[from this list of prompts]

[5. 'are you jealous' - 27. 'i'm pregnant' - 46. 'hey, have you seen...? oh']

44. 'if you die, i'm gonna kill you'

"Hey, hey," Anakin hears. Or feels, rather, as each word is punctuated by an ungentle tap against his cheek. Which is really sort of rude, considering that the last thing Anakin remembers is taking a grenade to the chest.

The least Vos can do is be nice to whatever's left of his dying body. He hopes the grumble of dissatisfaction he makes conveys this, because he can't find the energy to actually speak, let alone turn his head away from the hand on his face.

"No, nope, c'mon, Skywalker. Get up. Keep those eyes open. There you go. You're fine."

Anakin doesn't feel very fine. He feels disjointed and confused. He's in so much pain that it's honestly hard to focus on anything else, not even the blurry vision of Quinlan Vos' face leaning over him.

There'd been the grenade. So for all intents and purposes, Anakin should be dead, not dying. He'd been wearing armor, at least. Obi-Wan had given him his armor before sending him into the caves with Vos. He thinks. He remembers that, the way his master had taken Master Vos aside for a conversation that looked tense and unhappy, even to Anakin's eyes. And then his master had taken off the armor provided by the planet's guards--something heavier than what Anakin had, higher tech and sturdier--and given it to Anakin. It'd still been warm from Obi-Wan's body heat when he'd helped him fasten the straps around him.

His master. Anakin needs to--if there are grenades around, if the rebel group has access to that sort of fire power, if they're here in these caves with grenades while Anakin's master is walking about without armor--

"You're fine," Vos tells him, tugging once, sharply, on the padawan braid hanging down Anakin's throat. "Missing a bit of your side, but of your--your arm, but you're fine."

Anakin doesn't feel fine. Anakin has no idea how he feels. Anakin needs to find his master. He can't--

"Swear to the Force, Skywalker, if you die--I'm gonna kill you. Cause Obi-Wan's gonna kill me," Vos is muttering and Anakin can feel his hands ghosting along the site of the injury. It must not be good. He doesn't sound like it's good. He doesn't sound like Anakin's going to be fine.

But at the sound of Obi-Wan's name, Anakin forces his eyes open into slits once more. "'ll be fine," he tells Vos.

"Damn right you will," Vos replies, and suddenly his hands are tighter on Anakin, pressure being applied that lifts him up off the ground.

"No, not--" Anakin says, and he can hear the way he's slurring his words. He can hear the sound of his breath and the beating of his heart. "He'll be fin'."

It's easier to let his head flop down against his chest than to try and lift it to see where they're going. If they're moving somewhere, he trusts Master Vos enough to get them there, even though it's at least partially the man's fault that he went and got himself blown up. After all, he'd pushed Vos out of the way of the explosive the moment he felt it flying through the Force. So really, it's his fault.

He wonders if he should say that out loud. If Vos already thinks it, if it matters.

He doesn't think it matters, really.

"Oh, he'll be fine?" Vos asks, and Anakin's dropped--at least gently this time--against the wall of the tunnel as Vos pushes against a door with the Force. Checking for danger. Securing the area. "He'd be devastated, Skywalker."

"Get a new on'," Anakin disagrees, going limp the moment Vos' hands lift him up again. It hurts. It still hurts. And there's the dark promise of sleep licking at the back of his mind. It'd be so easy to fall into, if he could just stop arguing with Quinlan Vos. "Jus' a padawan."

Just a padawan, just an obligation. They've been butting heads more and more frequently ever since Anakin turned sixteen. That was a year ago now. Their quarters are silent usually, but tensely so. Anakin spends a lot of his time in places he's not supposed to be: the beds of other padawans, the Lower levels podracing, the occasional jail cell if he can't run fast enough. Obi-Wan, he thinks, spends a lot of time tired. Regretful. Unable to look at him, which rankles more so than the cuffs the Coruscanti cops have put on him to keep him subdued on the way to the jail.

If Anakin were to--if he--if this...if he doesn't make it out of these tunnels, Obi-Wan'll be alright. Eventually.

Except Obi-Wan needs his armor back. That's where they're going, Anakin's sure. He needs protection because it's dangerous down here and Obi-Wan gave his protection away, gave it to Anakin.

Vos huffs--some kind of combination of a snort of laughter and genuine exertion from the strain of Anakin's weight. "Alright, kid. Sure, you're replaceable. But I'm not, and if you die because I accidentally blew you up on a mission, Obi-Wan's gonna kill me. And he needs a best friend, so if you die, then I die, what's the man gonna do?"

Anakin lets his eyes close. "Needs me," he slurs out nonsensically. Not because they mean anything. He just likes the way they sound.

"Yeah, that's what I've been trying to--oh, thank the Force, Kenobi--get your med-pac, he needs--"

"Anakin," and that's his master's voice, high and distressed and threaded with something Anakin can't name and has never heard before. "What happened? Vos, what--his arm, his chest--what did you--"

Hands that are familiar and roughly calloused and heart-stoppingly gentle cradle Anakin's face, lifts him up and out of Vos' hold, and Anakin registers a brief flash of his master's face--wide eyes, furrowed eyebrows, a clenched jaw--and then he lets the darkness overtake him. Safe. They're both safe now because they're here, together.

[tygin-ant]

Back from the dead to post about my new blorbo obsession

[majesticcorn2000]

[neptunescore]

Carcar au (accountant carlos, maybe lawyer, and university student 'landos-best-friend-away-from-carlos' oscar), where people in the company carlos works for get paid a much more significant amount if they're married...

Both of them hating each other, but somehow ending up engaged bc oscar needs some extra help paying for university, and Carlos had brought the idea up of having a fake marriage to lando very jokingly one night out.

Do you guys see the potential. Am I the only one going crazy thinking abt all the things that could happen.

[yamchala]

gay people eating good today

[orbch]

this verse from no good deed from wicked. does this read like at all? i got hit in the head with the c!emduo brick 🤕

[qoldenskies]

actually genuinely depressing that when people write april's mom as an actual character she's just kind of a one note Good Caretaker Mom... and like i know why this happens (let the the mammy trope dieee) but i still think there's a lot of untapped potential. im not saying she has to be a BAD parent but there are infinitely more interesting things you can do with april and her relationships with her parent(s), especially because she's WROUGHT with insecurity and is shown to develop a close bond with splinter, who she seeks out approval from, not to mention the absence of her likely working parents is so loud despite it never being mentioned as a reason for her issues, really.

april can take on the front of confidence because she's excitable and courageous but she is so deeply insecure. her being so tenacious despite that doesn't negate it. she notices how she doesn't seem to get along with other people and desperately desires balance between her love of the weird and her need for normalcy. april will work hard to fit in and she'll never succeed (also i really do relate to the fact that the one "friend" she has at school before likely sunita is kind of a creep that she doesn't like, can we talk about that more), and she does seem to find it frustrating that her only actual friends dont understand how that feels. being in the in-between point. wanting the best of both worlds and not truly fitting in either.

i think these are problems that can come with having a bad social life at school even with great parents, but unintentional emotional neglect due to being working class would be interesting, and parallel with splinter in a really fascinating way (+ they do say she has parents but i do prefer the idea of her having a single mom, more to be done with that. maybe they're divorced? that'd add something).

actually april's dynamic with splinter is really unexplored in the fandom because i do think there's a reason she finds his approval so validating,,, i think april's strong personality is mistaken for genuine confidence when it's really not.

SHE THINKS SHE'S A FAILURE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!