#and i started these about a year and a half ago

[donutsbagels]

Okay I JUST realized I never posted these on here—- BUT BASICALLY, about a year and a half ago I started doing these experimental black hairstyle posts that were threads long on Twitter, to give artists a source of inspo for their black ocs whose hair they wanted to try something new with! There’s more to black hair than just the selected styles portrayed in media, and I thought it would be fun to show people how much texture, shape, fades, length, and style can be combined when drawing black hair—-cause it’s a kind of manipulation our hair can do irl! The OG posts were lost with the hacking of my original Twitter account (@/bagels_donuts) but I’ve since reuploaded the whole thread to my new Twitter (@/ItsDonutsFR)! I hope artists on tumblr find these useful, sorry it took me so long to post them here😭🙏🏾 I’ll upload them all in parts!

Part 1: Long masc hairstyles + playing with fades

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[homemadesterekpie]

im still such an og Hale pack enjoyer for real. i think about them all the time these days. Derek, Boyd, Erica, Isaac and Stiles just chilling together.

it starts awkwardly because they’re not used to eachother yet but the sheer instincts they all have to bond together is so strong the awkwardness feels just like background noise.

Scott having chosen the Argents while Stiles chose the wolves there’s this inevitable rift that forms between them. Stiles having been devoted to Scott for so long it’s obviously painful for him for a while and the wolves senses it.

especially Derek with his new Alpha powers, he can smell it on Stiles, his grief at losing his best friend. but he can also smell resignation and insistent determination.

Stiles does nothing in halves, when he’s in, he’s all in.

they start hanging out almost every day. not doing anything special most days. The betas train, Derek guides them, Stiles watches, he reads. Derek started going through the burnt out shell of his home and found some books and other things to salvage and let Stiles read through them.

and somehow that small thing almost moves Stiles to tears. Derek trusting him with the painful remains of his past life. Stiles is barely just starting to understand just how painful it’s all been for Derek up until now. and how it still tortures him. so having Derek casually show him the smoke smelling books and telling him he can read them if he wants to makes Stiles want to do something stupid like kiss Derek on the cheek and hug him. instead he fights tears and he thanks Derek sincerely as Derek just watches him intently.

It feels weird for Derek to have a pack now. It had been him and Laura for so long that his wolf had been content with that fact. but becoming an Alpha changed everything and he doesn’t know how Laura had been able to keep from changing people to add to their pack for all those years in New York because the drive to do so was almost impossible to resist. but Laura had always been the strong one, she had been raised to be the Alpha while Derek had been raised to become her beta. but he hopes he can make her proud. he hopes he can be half the Alpha she was.

its a relief to have numbers though. it feels safer and it’s easier to breath. he has people to take care of now. he has people to protect and provide for. he has people to patrol his territory with. he can secure his territory’s borders. he can start parley with the hunters occupying his territory.

it’s Stiles who brings it up. they’ve been a pack for a while now. almost a year. summer vacation is around the corner. the betas are strong now, they know how to fight, they know how to kill. meanwhile, Stiles has been going through Derek’s books obsessively. He started taking notes on loose paper but then started transcribing them more neatly into notebooks.

one late afternoon, when the pack is spending the day at the small lake deep in the preserve, Stiles sitting on the bank and reading, he asks Derek if they should consider dealing with the hunters.

ever since the pack has started growing stronger and more confident: patrolling the borders every night, contacting neighbouring packs to tekindle old alliances, Derek finally having his burnt out house torn down. the hunters have been making themselves known more insistently.

Chris Argent has been showing up with his daughter in the preserve hiking, more than once, both of them armed to the teeth. Strangers smelling of gunpowder and wolfsbane have been spotted in town a lot more often. actually, Stiles is pretty sure they’re being followed.

even Stiles who doesn’t have enhanced senses, spotted them all over town. once when out with his dad for dinner, a duo of them had come into the diner and sat at a booth not far from them. Stiles was certain he had seen them before. yes, he could swear he had seen them when he drove back home a few days ago after spending the day with the betas.

Stiles had watched as his dad had tensed when he also noticed the hunters sitting at their booth, ordering food. it was only after, when they were leaving the diner that his dad had asked Stiles if everything was good.

Stiles has told his father about werewolves a few months prior. he hadn’t gone into too much details but the sheriff knew about the pack and that Stiles was part of it. so Stiles shared to his dad his suspicions about the hunters. the next day, the sheriff gave Stiles a gun and took him to the gun range a few towns over. Stiles already knew how to use a gun but it had been a while since handling one so he made sure Stiles reacquainted himself. he also told Stiles that he would start keeping an eye on the Argents and waved away Stiles’ protests about not being worth endangering his job.

so this is why Stiles had to let Derek know they should definitely consider making a move. Derek just says yeah they should. he also confesses having been following the hunters’ movements for a while now. Stiles is taken aback because he had no idea of this??? and the betas hadn’t either from their reactions. they all stopped their swimming to look at Derek with various looks of surprise and betrayal. especially Boyd, whom had naturally worked his way to the second in command spot at Derek’s side.

so they decide to have an impromptu pack meeting right there on the bank of the small lake. they have a picnic and they talk things through as a pack, together. it feels so right to do so. this is what things are all about, Stiles distantly thinks as he watches and listens to Derek explain the hunters’ patterns of movement. a wolf pack, deep in the wilderness of their territory, ensuring the survival of their own.

they decide that Stiles will be sent with Boyd to the main Argent house and deliver the date and time and place for a parley meeting. Stiles recites the words he prepared beforehand , making sure to use the terms he learned from all the books he read.

there will be no violence. but if the hunters were to break that rule, the pack would be forced to take measures to protect themselves.

Chris’ face stays hard and impassive as he listens to Stiles but Allison isn’t as good at hiding her emotions, her face betraying her disdain and hatred. Stiles can’t help thinking those emotions don’t suit her, it makes her look a lot like her mother. the entire time Stiles speaks, she keeps her eyes on Boyd but the imposing beta doesn’t even bat an eyelash. It’s only when Allison’s eyes move to Stiles with the same animosity, that Boyd takes a step closer to Stiles, almost moving in front on him. a soft rumble growing louder the longer Allison looks at Stiles.

Chris’ eyes snap to Boyd for a second before falling to Allison and he stares her down until she has no choice but to lower her eyes, whole body shaking in anger. Boyd stops growling but he doesn’t step down or away from Stiles.

when they finally leave, Boyd walks with Stiles at his back and keeps his eyes the two hunters until they’re both back inside the house and Stiles is safe in the jeep.

Boyd and Stiles share a look when they’re both sat in the jeep. words aren’t necessary here. Boyd has done more than words could ever express so Stiles just pats Boyd’s shoulder, smiling and then he grips it for a few seconds. he’d prefer to hug him but in the jeep it would be too awkward so this would have to do for now.

not long after, the meeting happens. Derek, Boyd and Stiles arrive early. it’s happening at the outskirts of town, almost at the border of the territory. Erica and Isaac are stationed close by and they howl in warning when the hunters approach.

when Scott gets out of the SUV along with Chris, Allison and two other unfamiliar hunters, he’s the only one who reacts. he gasps and his jaw falls open in indignation but he immediately shuts it and rage courses through his veins. he never thought he would ever be feeling like this when it came to Scott but here he is. the gun in the waistband of his jeans at his back burns as his hand itches with the urge to take it out. he could shoot Scott, just to show him a lesson, he doesn’t even have wolfsbane bullets, he’d recover. but this meeting is more important than his ex best friend’s idiotic decisions.

he’s seething in it when Derek’s big hand falls to his shoulder and squeezes for a moment. Stiles calms down almost instantly. his breathing calms and he touches Derek’s hand softly with his fingers in acknowledgment, in thanks and Derek lets go. Scott’s eyes follows the movements and vague disgust blooms on his face.

Derek openly stares at Scott as he walks up along with Chris and his daughter. his stare is hard and unforgiving and he stares until Scott lowers his own gaze to the ground, fidgeting.

Derek leads the meeting and he’s surprised when Chris is the one to lead his own party. he was certain Allison was the one in charge now. She turned 18 and had finished her training months prior. that meant Chris and his men didn’t consider her ready for some reason. it must be because of the way she can’t seem to be able to keep her feelings in check. her hatred and discomfort at being in their presence is so palpable, Derek couldn’t avoid the smell even if he wanted to.

the terms of the Hale pack are brought forward. Hunters have a month to leave Hale territory or face repercussions. if they want to parley in the future, after leaving the territory, they will reach out to the pack for a meeting, the proper way. any other manner of ways used to reach out to the pack, will be considered a breach of the terms and the pack will be forced to take action.

Derek is implacable, his word is law. Stiles feels it in his bones, the skin at the back of his neck prickles with goosebumps. the wind picks up, the trees trashing with it and it becomes undeniable just how powerful Derek truly is at this moment.

the nematon is alive. Stiles has been working tirelessly for months with Deaton to purify it and then secure it’s connection to the Hale bloodline. tonight was the first test in checking the connection and the result is more than promising and Stiles can’t help giving a little smirk.

Chris looks around them furtively, feigning calm but there’s beads of sweat forming at his forehead. he watches Derek for a long time as the trees trash and creak under the force of the wind around them. the ground starts to shake slightly, pebbles and gravel rattling about.

it goes on until Chris finally extends a hand toward Derek and accepts the terms. Derek simply grips Chris’ hand in his own and they shake on it. the ground stops shaking and the the wind slowly die down to a gentle breeze.

Erica and Isaac show up at that moment, making themselves known and the entire pack watch as Chris, Allison, Scott and the two other hunters walk back to the SUV and drive away.

Stiles knows they’re out of earshot once the betas’ tense postures finally relaxes. Derek stays tense for much longer but that’s only before his senses are sharper than the betas.

Stiles and the betas celebrate by sharing hugs and a few nuzzles to cheeks. then Stiles walks over to his Alpha and just has to wait him out a few more seconds before Derek’s posture also relaxes.

he reaches out to place a hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulls him into his personal space. he pushes his forehead to Stiles’ own and they breath the same air for a few moments. Stiles lets his eyes fall shut and he grips Derek’s henley at his side.

eventually, they separate and Derek’s hand shifts to lay to the side of his neck, thumb brushing back forth. Stiles can’t look away from Derek’s gorgeous face, his heart pounding in his chest. emotions surge up inside of him and the next thing you know Stiles is kissing Derek on the lips, arms around those broad, strong shoulders.

his uncontrollable emotions seem to burst inside of him and tears prickle at his eyes behind his tightly shut eyelids. he wants to give Derek everything. everything he has, everything he is. he wants Derek to own it all.

the Alpha must feel it all because when he puts his arms around Stiles he squeezes him so tight it borders on painful but Stiles doesn’t even notice it.

when they finally let go of eachother, the betas are gone. they probably left pretty quickly, giving them privacy. they probably went ahead to wait for them at the diner where they said they would regroup after the meeting.

Derek entwines his fingers with Stiles’ before pulling him gently towards the waiting camaro. Stiles steps up quickly and lets go of his fingers to instead hug Derek’s entire arm, smiling brightly. he may let out a few giggles, he’s so giddy he can’t help it.

after the diner, Stiles invites Derek over and they end up watching a movie in the living room since his dad is out pulling a double shift but Stiles can’t seem to concentrate on any of it. after the movie, Stiles asks Derek if he wants to sleep over. he can’t look at Derek in the eyes when he asks because it’s actually the first time Stiles does and there’s arousal thrumming in his veins that he knows for a fact Derek can smell.

he slowly makes his way up the stairs, knowing Derek will follow. at the landing he takes off his t-shirt and drops it to the floor. his jeans, underwear and socks are next, then he hears the creaking of the stairs and he knows Derek is almost at the landing.

he enters his bedroom, still keeping it slow but he chances a look back from under his lashes to watch Derek enter his bedroom with all the grace of the apex predator he truly is.

a shiver runs up Stiles’ spine and goosebumps spreads over his entire body. Derek’s eyes are glowing blood red and he’s fixated on Stiles so intently, it’s like he can feel the gaze on his skin like a physical touch.

heart pounding in his chest, he breaks eye contact to climb into his bed and settle comfortably onto his back. their eyes meet again and he watches as the Alpha stalks stalks deeper into his bedroom. their eye contact break again when Derek pulls off his henley and then Stiles’ eyes are naturally pulled down to watch Derek undo his belt.

he’s panting as Derek pushes down his jeans and underwear at the same time and he spreads his legs almost on instincts. slowly oh so slowly, Derek climbs into bed to settle onto top of Stiles and in between his spread thighs.

Stiles rummage under his pillow until his hand finds the bottle of lube he left there earlier in the day exactly for this. he presses it to Derek’s hand. he doesn’t want to wait anymore. he needs it, he needs it so bad.

Derek doesn’t use the lube right away though, instead he folds Stiles almost in half and opens him up with his mouth and tongue for a long time. Stiles squirms and moans, his dick so hard it hurts but he won’t come. he knows he won’t and he doesn’t want to, he wants to come on Derek’s dick, like he should but he’s already close so fucking close.

when Derek finally pushes two fingers into him Stiles is whinny and he’s panting hard. he knows he’s babbling but he’s not sure what he’s saying. when the third finger goes in his ass it starts making an obscene squelching sound as Derek’s fingers thrusts in and out of him. there’s no discomfort at all and he knows he’s ready, he’s so ready. he tells Derek as much and Derek who’s also panting at this point, takes out his fingers and strokes the lube onto his dick before moving his knees up a little for better leverage and lines himself up.

he kisses Stiles as he breaches him and continues to kiss him as he slowly pushes until he’s balls deep. Stiles can only moan and grip Derek’s shoulders hard as the stretch borders on painful for a moment until his body adjusts.

he doesn’t even have to say anything for Derek to know exactly when the discomfort of the stretch abates because the second it does Derek starts moving. slow steady thrusts that leaves Stiles whining into Derek’s kisses.

slowly but steadily, Derek picks up the pace and then they’re both panting too hard to kiss so they pant into eachother’s mouth for a while, Stiles sometimes babbling unintelligibly. Derek then moves his kisses to Stiles’ cheek, down his throat and settling there. he lavishes Stiles’s throat in open mouthed kisses and starts making a constant rumbling sound in his chest that Stiles can feel under his own skin.

with a hand in Derek’s hair holding him in place at his throat, he slides his other hand down to Derek’s ass to edge him on and he starts begging his Alpha to go harder. Derek doesn’t need to be told twice, on the next thrust he slams back in so hard Stiles screams.

after that, Derek fucks him so hard it’s hard to make any sound. the wolf is growling on top of him, leaving bite marks at his throat and Stiles arches into the thrusts, pleasure climbing until he’s on the edge.

then Derek’s thrusts go erratic and he’s growling louder before he pierces the soft skin of Stiles’ neck at his shoulder with his sharp teeth and Stiles is coming. spurts after spurts of come painting the length of his stomach and torso while Derek spills deep inside of him.

there’s a moment of stillness, Stiles breathing really hard and Derek twitching with aftershocks. the moment passes and Derek lowers himself gently to rest his weight completely on top of Stiles. Stiles lets out a small contented sigh. he’s so happy. he’s so sated. he’s done it. he gave Derek everything. he’s Derek’s now. he’s so happy.

when they’ve both regained their breathing and Stiles starts to doze off, Derek nuzzles his cheek and whispers “you’re mine, i love you so much.” in Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ heart flutters and warmth spreads in his chest.

“yes, God yes, i love you too.” Stiles whispers back.

[saatorus]

had the brightest idea…sukuna x tattoo artist reader..😪😪

wc: 1.4k

warnings: smut (unprotected sex)

authors note: anon anon anon. i need to pull your head off so i can get access to your brain like kenjaku so that i can give your smart brain a lil smooch. this was fun to write :3

The first time he walked into your studio, he had zero tattoos. Just scars from what looked like getting into fistfights and that sharp, cocky grin.

You didn’t think he was serious. Guys like him—too smooth, too smug—usually just wanted to flirt and bounce. But he picked a design off your wall, pointed to his chest, and said, “Right here. First one. Don’t fuck it up.”

You didn’t. In fact, he looked almost… reverent, watching you prep. Like he wasn’t used to being touched gently.

You assumed he’d be a one-and-done. He was not. He came back the next week, shirt already off when he walked in. “What’s up, picasso shawty. Wanna do my ribs next?”

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt, but you let him sit. Again. And again.

He kept coming back. More tattoos. Bigger pieces. One on his back. One winding around his thigh. Some you designed just for him—your art permanently etched into his skin.

Your studio’s small. One chair. Walls covered in sketches and post-it notes. Half your tools are secondhand, but your work is crisp—clean lines, solid shading. Sukuna never comments on it directly, but he never lets anyone else touch him. Not once.

You pretend not to notice how he watches you set up. The way he stares at your hands like he’s memorizing every move.

He’s always saying dumb shit.

“If I say something filthy mid-session, will you mess up on purpose?”

“If you talk while I’m doing linework again, I’m putting a Hello Kitty on your ass.”

“Tempting.”

You keep it professional for months. Years. But it’s not cold—it’s comfortable. Inside jokes. Dumb snacks during long sessions. Him crashing on your couch once when it got too late. You drawing a fake tattoo on his thigh with sharpie “just to mess with him.”

One night, you’re doing a detailed piece low on his hip. He’s quiet, for once. Then:

“You ever think about how many hours you’ve spent touching me?”

You blink.

“You ever think about shutting the hell up?”

But your voice cracks a little.

The shift is small. He starts showing up without appointments. You don’t kick him out. You start drawing designs with him in mind. You stop correcting him when he calls you “baby” just to mess with you.

One night, it’s late. Like should’ve closed an hour ago late. The shop is quiet, just the soft hum of the fluorescent light and whatever chill R&B playlist is still looping from your phone. You’re cleaning up after a late session with Sukuna—again. He’s lounging in the chair, shirt half-on, scrolling on his phone like he lives here now.

“You know I have other clients, right?” you mutter, wiping down your machine.

He doesn’t look up. “Yeah? You tattoo them like you do me?”

You pause. “What the fuck does that mean?”

He looks up now, real slow. Smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Means you get real quiet when you're working on me. Like you’re focused or… like you’re trying not to think too hard.”

You toss the rag on the tray, annoyed. “I don’t know if you know this, but that’s actually called doing my job.”

“You’re shaky sometimes,” he adds, casual. “Especially when I’m shirtless. Or when I ask for spots you gotta like, get on your knees for.”

You scoff. “You think you’re hot shit.”

He stands. Walks up, real close. “I know I am. But that’s not the point.”

Now he’s right in front of you. Not touching—but close enough that you feel him. Heat off his skin. The scent of his cologne and smoke and something distinctly him.

“You wanna do it or not?” he says, voice low, like he’s done waiting.

Your stomach flips. “Do what?”

“Come on,” he mutters, like he’s tired of the game. “You’ve been looking at me like you want to fuck me since the third tattoo. You gonna keep pretending or you gonna let me fuck you in that chair of yours?”

Your throat goes dry. You stare at him—cocky bastard, red eyes burning into yours, hands flexing at his sides like he’s holding back too.

You don’t say anything. Just grab the front of his hoodie and pull him in. Not your proudest moment professionalism-wise, but he kissed you like he’d been waiting for this.

The kiss is messy. Too fast. All teeth and tongue and breathless gasps. You don’t know who moans first—doesn’t matter. His hands are already on your ass, pulling you in like he’s starving.

You shove him back into the chair. Straddle him. His hands slide up your shirt, palms hot and rough, and he mutters, “Been jerking off thinking about this for months, fuck.”

Your fingers are already at his belt. “Shut up.”

“Not a chance,” he laughs, voice wrecked. “You’re gonna hear how bad I wanted this.”

You sink onto him right there, still half-dressed, the whole thing rushed and reckless. The studio smells like ink and sweat and skin. He’s gripping your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. And you’re riding him like you’ve been needing it just as bad.

No soft words. No slow build. Just the creak of the chair. His filthy mouth in your ear. Your nails digging into his shoulders. And that broken sound he makes when you clamp around him, whispering “Fuck, don’t stop—”

Before you know it, you’re clamping down on him, hard, your orgasm washing in pleasurable waves over you. He follows suit, a final thrust of his hips, emptying his load inside of you.

The only sound is your breathing—still uneven—and the low thrum of the playlist you forgot was even on. You’re half-naked in your own damn studio, still straddling Sukuna in the chair, clothes tugged out of place, skin flushed and sticky with sweat and everything you’d been ignoring for way too long.

You shift off him with a wince. “Holy shit. That chair is not designed for fucking.”

He groans and leans back like he’s broken. “Speak for yourself. I’m thriving.”

“You’re gonna walk outta here bow-legged.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’ll limp home with dignity.”

You tug your shirt back down and start reaching for paper towels, the reality of what just happened catching up to your brain.

“Yo—chill,” Sukuna mutters, standing up behind you and gently taking the paper towels from your hand. “I got it.”

You blink, thrown off.

He gives you a flat look. “I just fucked you in your sacred little tattoo chair. Least I can do is wipe you down…and the damn chair down too.”

You snort, but your stomach flips at the way he says it—casual, like it’s no big deal, but not teasing either. 

He gently parts your legs, a grin on his face when he sees himself seeping out of you, wiping the mess clean. You lightly push your foot against his chest when he continues staring and he finally relents, snickering and grabbing your disinfectant spray.

He grabs a fresh towel, sprays down the chair, even gets the floor where one of you knocked over the rinse cup. You watch him for a second—shirtless, pulling on your pants and standing up—shakily— still flushed, watching the glint of his rings on his fingers as he moves. Like this is just part of the routine now.

“Don’t get used to this,” he says, not looking at you. “I just—y’know. Respect the tools.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So what, fucking me is now a line item on your cleaning checklist?”

He grins, tossing the used towel into the bin. “Only if it’s a recurring event.”

You scoff and toss him a water bottle. He catches it midair without flinching, cracks it open like this is just… normal now.

And maybe it kind of is.

He walks back over, presses the cold bottle lightly to your cheek with a smirk. “Still blushing?”

“Still annoying.”

“Still wet?”

You swat him, laughing despite yourself, but you don’t pull away.

There’s a weird quiet after that. Not awkward—just new. Like something’s shifted and neither of you’s pretending otherwise.

You break it first, voice lower now. “So… you still want that piece over your heart?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “If it’s your name? Yeah.”

“You’re so corny. That trend died in 2015.” You roll your eyes, but the smirk tugging at your mouth gives you away.

And when he leans in and kisses you again, actually moving his lips against you with a soft precision, different to how his tongue had been plunged into your mouth just minutes before. He grins—sharp— before uncapping the water bottle.

After a sip of the water, he looks at you over the bottle. “So… you free next week?”

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He shrugs. “Tattoo. Fuck. Hang out. Whatever. Don’t pretend you’re not thinking about doing it again.”

You groan. “You are so lucky you’re kinda hot.”

He winks. “And marked up like your own personal sex doll. Admit it—you liked the dick.”

You’re smiling this time. It’s different now. Maybe him being a regular wasn’t so bad at all.

[lazysoulwriter]

you've GOT to be kidding me. - pedro pascal.

specially requested! thank you for sending, hope you like it, love.

---

The first time you got pregnant, it had taken months of tracking apps, fertility tests, and quiet heartbreaks. So when your daughter was born, a chubby, sleepy miracle who preferred Pedro’s chest as her pillow, you both assumed you had time. Time before thinking about a second. Time before your life shifted all over again.

So yeah, you weren’t being reckless, just… human. Tired. In love. Closer than ever. And maybe a little too confident that history wouldn’t repeat itself so fast.

Which is why now — sitting on the cold bathroom floor, face against your forearm after your third round of throwing up that week — you absolutely refuse to admit what Pedro is starting to suspect.

He kneels beside you, gently rubbing slow, grounding circles on your back. “Breathe, baby. I got you.”

You groan. “Maybe it’s a bug. Or something I ate. Or—”

Pedro interrupts softly, “When was the last time you got your period?”

You blink.

“Pedro, no.”

He laughs under his breath. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s just—! I just had a baby.”

“You had a baby three months ago,” he says gently, like he’s afraid you’ll float away if he says it too loud. “And I remember very clearly that we haven’t exactly been cautious lately.”

You bury your face in a towel. “I’m thirty-six. I’m tired. I’m breastfeeding. This shouldn’t be possible.”

He’s quiet for a second. Then you hear him murmur, almost to himself, “You’re glowing though. Just like last time.”

You stare at him.

“I threw up on your sock, Pedro.”

“Romantic,” he teases, leaning in to kiss the top of your head. “Let’s just… take a test, okay?”

You agree only to shut him up.

And that’s how you end up in your shared bathroom twenty minutes later, holding a stick with two pink lines, while your newborn daughter babbles in the background from her bassinet.

You sit down slowly on the edge of the tub, stunned.

Pedro peeks into the room, half-expecting to be scolded. “Well…?”

You hold up the test, eyes wide.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then he grins. “Oh my God.”

You shake your head, a bit dazed. “We’re insane. We’re insane people.”

He walks over, kneels in front of you again, rests his forehead against your knees. “We’re insane. And apparently very fertile.”

You burst into laughter, the kind that feels like the only possible response to this whirlwind. You’re terrified, still tired, still healing — but when his hands slide up to cup your cheeks and he kisses you like it’s the easiest thing in the world, you remember that this is your home now. This life. These two babies. This man.

Pedro looks up at you, eyes sparkling. “You think we should just keep having one every year? Start a band?”

You smack his arm. “You’re never touching me again.”

He winks. “You said that last time.”

And somehow, through the chaos, you both just start laughing. Loud and real and maybe a little scared — but together.

---

escrevi essa aqui com um sorrisinho no rosto o tempo todo, juro. obrigada demais a todas as leitoras brasileiras que tão por aqui lendo, surtando e comentando — vocês são tudo pra mim!! espero que tenham curtido esse caos romântico com o pedro tanto quanto eu curti escrever 💌

[chipthekeeper]

Today I had the displeasure of reading the words “we get it vel is sad and gay can we move on” and several other similarly ridiculous things on twitter a website not to be named, so I spent my whole 45 minute drive home just absolutely fuming with the need to defend my girl. Most of you know I've already done this in a broad sense before (defending her as a character and as half of a complicated relationship on her appreciation Friday), but let me focus in on what we’ve gotten from Vel so far in season two for now. Because yeah, it might not have been exactly what I was hoping to see, but it’s meaningful as hell and Faye is doing a fucking incredible job and deserves to be applauded for it.

Look. Even if all she was doing was being sad and gay, I would be here for that. You know this. Those are two of my most favorite qualities of her. But let’s not pretend that all she’s doing is “mourning her gay situationship” and forget why we’re seeing her in this arc in the first place. She’s Mon’s cousin and closest confidant, and she’s Chandrilan. Stuck between these two facts is a conflict for Vel. She HAS to be at this three-day-long heteronormative child wedding from hell because someone she loves needs her support, but she hates every second of it. She hates this place, these people, this culture, probably even the clothes on her back. She looks uncomfortable just about every second she’s on screen in this arc, ESPECIALLY in the third episode.

See?

Something you may or may not have noticed – even I didn’t really register it until I started thinking about all of this because watching three fucking episodes all in one night made them all blur together – but Vel DOESN’T ACTUALLY SAY A WORD IN THE THIRD EPISODE. She has no lines. Vel’s extreme stress and discomfort are conveyed only through Faye’s body language and facial expressions. To complain about this and cry about her only being “sad and gay” is a huge discredit to the performance and I simply won’t stand for it.

Like yes, she’s sad and gay but why can’t we take a second to think about what that means? Look at her circumstances, even leaving out the Cinta of it all for a second. This is a person who must have realized at a very young age that she was not only different but very likely going to either live a completely miserable life or be a disappointment to her very wealthy family and her society at large, and being back here in the middle of it all for an occasion like this hurts fucking deeply even if it’s a weird tradition and she wants no part in it. I can tell you this for a fact because I have fucking lived it. As a gay person, I have no desire whatsoever to take part in a traditional religious marriage or wedding ceremony like the one my sister had a couple years ago, but being at her wedding and the party that followed was overwhelming and painful because I spent so much time thinking something along the lines of “even if I had someone in my life to do this with, these same people – my family – would never celebrate my love this way.”

Now, is that what Vel’s thinking about as she stands next to the other unmarried women (i.e. teenage children) watching her niece’s first dance with her new husband? Perhaps not. But the way she breaks down after seeing Cinta sure looked an awful lot like how I looked sitting outside in the dark and the rain, drunk as I’ve ever been, while my sister’s reception carried on behind me.

And this, to me in particular, is what’s so great about Vel as a character – as a STAR WARS character – and why I will never ever complain about seeing her be “sad and gay.” For the first time ever in my favorite franchise, I get to see myself so clearly. She’s sad and gay, yes, but she’s also fiercely supportive of her family (the part she likes, anyway) – she takes Mon’s hand in support when she needs it, and she seems ready to snap at Kleya for even being around and creating the possibility of trouble at this function. She’s sad and gay, yes, but she’s on the front line of a fucking rebellion. Just because you don’t see it in this arc because that’s not where the story is focused doesn’t mean that’s not still true, and we’ll see that again come next week I’m sure.

I don’t really know how to wrap this up, but the point is if you’re tired of what’s happening with Vel in this show, you’re probably not paying enough attention. I want more of her and more for her to do as much as anybody (that’s a lie, I want it SO MUCH FUCKING MORE THAN ANYBODY, fucking try me), but there’s already a whole ocean of her character to explore with just what we have, if you only bother to stop and consider it.

[alchemistc]

Inspired by Lou mentioning that we're getting B**** f*********

"Tell me about your old captain," Bobby says. It's not a question. It's not a suggestion - or if it is, Tommy doesn't have the ability to view it as anything but a demand.

Bobby's eyes catch the bob of his throat as he swallows.

They're in Bobby's office. Tommy's pretty sure he's been in this office twice since Bobby took over - he doesn't do things in any sort of official capacity, seems to hate the four walls and the door like a man with experience stuck in tight spaces.

"Off the record, of course."

Tommy's a grown ass man who's been through more Captains and Sergeants and other miscellaneous authority figures than Bobby can count on fingers and toes.

There's just something about Bobby that makes him feel wrong-footed. Like he's simultaneously the most comfortable he's ever been and the most terrified he'll ever be. Like he has to get this right.

"Sir?"

Bobby tosses a balled up piece of paper at Tommy's forehead. That's fair. That's absolutely fair. Tommy blinks, and the nerves sort of just... fall away.

"He was a homophobic, racist, misogynist prick and I still hate that I followed along like a little duckling."

Bobby purses his lips. Widens his eyes with brows raised.

The silence and the eye contact stretches.

Eventually, Bobby steeples his fingers, leans his chin on them. Stares. "We can circle back to the second part in a moment. I'm asking because I sent in your transfer papers last week."

There's that fear crawling right back in. He'd never even fucking tried it, under Gerrard. Too afraid to watch him crush that dream, too afraid to make a move for himself.

He'd mentioned flying offhand, a month and a half ago, a second serving of roast melting on his tongue while Howie stole potatoes off his plate.

Two days later Bobby'd pulled him aside and told Tommy he'd reached out to Harbor - that Harbor had an opening in air ops and he'd asked them to hold the position internally for an extra day or two. In case Tommy wanted it.

("I saw the way you look when you're talking about flying, kid. If I overstepped, tell me to shove it, but the 217 could use a man like you."

Tommy's had the words 'man like you' running on a loop in his head ever since.)

"Did they fill the spot?"

He hasn't let himself get excited about it. Hasn't told a soul other than Bobby that he's even thinking about it. He never would have done it without that push, and he's already gearing up to make himself not resent Bobby for even putting the thought in his head.

Bobby smiles. "They did."

Tommy would love it if the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"Their newest pilot is going to be Thomas Kinard. Pending my approval, of course."

His heart does something strange in his chest. A squeeze, a jump, a flurry. He's gonna be in the air again. Going to have to use whatever's left of his mind to learn new birds, to teach someone else, one day. That's not as daunting a task as it would have been, a year ago.

Tommy squints, because Bobby looks entirely too pleased with himself for nearly giving Tommy a fucking heart attack. "What does that have to do with Gerrard?"

Bobby tips his head side to side, fidgets with a pen. Tommy never knows if that's a nervous habit or if he's so committed to the "fucking with you" bit that he's adopted a bunch of other people's tics.

"He tried to block it," Bobby tells him, a little solemn, finally. Tommy can feel his teeth clenching. His body tightening. His arms are crossed over his chest and he doesn't remember the act of raising them from the armrests. "I told him, respectfully, where he could stick it."

Bobby has this insane ability to ease a thousand worries with just a turn of phrase, a tone of voice. Tommy can feel the ire melting right off. "You already did it?"

Bobby huffs a soft laugh. "Professional disagreement. We don't see eye to eye on your talents. Harbor was fairly easily convinced, once I started listing them."

The lump in his throat makes it a little difficult to forge ahead. "Why'd you ask about him, then?"

Bobby's soft grin turns to a full on smirk. "Because I thought, given that this is your last week here, you might want to get it off your chest, Firefighter Pilot Kinard."

[vargaslovinghours]

Say it like you mean it

[supernotnatural2005]

Clowning Around

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You’ve got a crush on Dean, your best friend’s brother. The catch, he's only in town for a few more days. However, all it takes is a haunted house, a punch to the face and a surprising confession to know where you stand.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings/tags: Fluff! Eventual pairing. I love everyone involved. Mentions of unintentional assault.

AN: Okay, so I hadn't expected to get something out so quickly, but I guess I was just inspired and this is what came of this wonderful mood board and challenge from @chevroletdean ❤️ I've never written from a mood board inspo before, so I hope I did okay? 😅 I also took a bit of inspo from New Girl S2 Ep6. (gif not mine)

Congrats on 500 friend 🎉

Masterlist

The evening air was crisp, swirling with the scent of kettle corn, hot cider, and woodsmoke from the fire pits set up around the Stanford fall carnival. You stood just outside the haunted house, the multicoloured lights of the fairgrounds casting a warm glow on your torn and bloodied zombie costume.

Fog machines hissed faintly behind you, and a dark sinister voice echoed from the entrance speakers, adding atmosphere for the next wave of thrill-seekers waiting to be terrified.

You should’ve been hyped. Halloween was your absolute favourite time of year. Spooky costumes, haunted houses, candy, cozy sweaters—this was your season. You’d even signed up to volunteer as an extra for the haunted house this year, practically bouncing when Jess suggested it. But tonight, the buzz just wasn’t there.

Because Dean hadn’t shown.

A week and a half ago, Sam had introduced you to his older brother at your local bar just off campus. You’d heard stories about Dean Winchester—grease monkey, classic rock enthusiast, had practically raised Sam after their parents had passed. You expected to like him on principle alone. You just hadn’t expected how much.

And man, you were crushing hard.

You’d hit it off immediately—easy banter, shared love for horror movies and greasy diner food, the way he actually listened when you talked about your thesis like it was interesting and not soul-draining. And his eyes—God, those green eyes—had this way of locking onto yours like he saw you. Really saw you. 

He’d been in town for two weeks, crashing with Sam and Jess, and since you’d been the honorary third wheel long before Dean arrived, it was only natural that the four of you had spent a lot of time together. 

However, nothing had happened. Nothing beyond harmless flirting or the occasional teasing glance. Sure, there were moments—his thigh brushing yours when he sat too close, fingers grazing as you passed each other a drink or walked side-by-side—but it never led anywhere. 

Dean was leaving in a few days anyway, heading back to Kansas, back to a life you weren’t part of. Maybe that was why he’d kept his distance. Or maybe it was your own insecurities whispering that he just didn’t see you that way.

Jess swore up and down that he was into you.

“He asked me if you were seeing anyone. Twice,” she’d said just this morning, practically bouncing on her toes as she dabbed fake blood onto your cheek. Jess had clocked the chemistry from the start, maybe even before you had.

A part of you couldn’t shake the feeling that this had been her plan all along. That she’d hoped something like this would spark before Dean even got to campus.

Sam, of course, seemed blissfully unaware—just happy to have his brother around again—but even you had started to get suspicious of the hushed whispers between him and Jess whenever you and Dean were in the same room.

Still, despite yourself, you’d smiled—nervous, giddy, full of hope.

Tonight was your chance to find out for sure. You’d invited him to the carnival, hoping he’d show up. Maybe even join the haunted house with you. Your plan was to finally bite the bullet and just ask him out. Long-distance? You could try it. 

There was just something about Dean that made you want to throw caution to the wind—to be bold, reckless, brave. He was different. Special.

And maybe it was crazy to think that way from only knowing someone for such a short period of time, but there was something electric about Dean—like he was carved out of your daydreams and dropped straight into your life.

But then Jess and Sam arrived without him. She had tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice when she said he had to drive out of town for something work-related.

You’d played it cool. Nodded. Smiled. Shoved the disappointment down into the pit of your stomach as you took your place in the haunted house, ready to scare the ever-loving hell out of strangers.

But, your heart wasn’t in it. You did your job—jumped out of coffins, hissed from behind tombstones, chased a couple of high schoolers with a plastic axe—but your enthusiasm had taken a hit.

And then, just as you were leaning against a gravestone prop, waiting for the next group, you heard a noise behind you.

“BOO!”

A clown—huge mask, frizzy hair, red nose, and all—lunged out of the shadows right into your face.

You yelped and reacted on instinct.

CRACK.

Your fist collided with the clown’s face with a satisfying thud, and he stumbled back with a sharp groan.

“Shit—”

You blinked, adrenaline still buzzing in your veins, as the stranger pulled the mask away from their face.

“Dean?!”

Dean stood there, eyes wide, one hand clutched over his nose, which was rapidly turning red and beginning to swell.

“Oh my God!” You rushed forward. “I am so, so sorry—oh God.” You cupped his face in your hands without thinking, scanning his features with guilt.

He winced, but his grin was lopsided and teasing. “That was one hell of a right hook.”

You groaned and grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the carnival grounds, guiding him to a picnic bench beneath some newly lit orange lanterns. People milled around you, kids in costumes darting between booths and couples sharing funnel cake, but your world had narrowed to the man nursing his nose beside you.

“Sit. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

You returned minutes later with a paper towel-turned-cloth from a nearby food stall and a small paper cup filled with ice. Dean took them both with a grateful grunt as you sat beside him.

“You really clocked me,” he said with a chuckle, pressing the ice to his face. “I’m gonna feel that tomorrow.”

“I feel it now,” you muttered, horrified. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

“That was kind of the point,” he said with a sheepish smile. “Wanted to surprise you.”

Jess and Sam passed by just then, and Sam burst out laughing the moment he saw Dean’s face.

“Oh this is everything?” Sam wheezed. The kid was turning purple almost as he clutched his stomach, and Jess was no better as she giggled beside him. 

“Yeah, hold this jokester.” Dean threw his mask at Sam who caught it on reflex and then recoiled instantly, dropping it to the ground when he saw what it was. 

The two of you burst out laughing, Sam’s bitch-face in full bloom. His phobia of clowns clearly not lost on the pair of you. 

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” The brothers exchange before Jess looped her arm through Sam’s, tugging him back towards the line of stalls.

“Come, we’ll leave the zombie to nurse her victim, maybe even sample his flesh.” Jess shot you a sly wink despite your pointed look, before they wandered off, leaving the two of you alone once again.

Dean leaned back, ice still to his face, but he offered you a crooked smile. “So… Hi.”

You couldn’t help but huff a laugh and cover your face with your hands. “I can’t believe I punched you in the face.” You groaned.

He laughed, nudging you with his shoulder. “Yeah, but come on, at least it was memorable.” You laughed softly, and he smiled at the sound.

The moment stretched out, neither awkward or uncomfortable. The fading sun had cast the sky in a hue of deep oranges and purples and you found yourself admiring it before Dean spoke up again.

“I quit my job.”

You blinked. “Wait. What?”

He nodded, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Told my boss to shove it. I’m done busting my ass for sixty hours a week just to get talked down to by a guy who thinks a compliment might kill him.” He huffed humourlessly and shook his head.

“I mean, I've been dreaming about opening my own garage for years—figured it was about time I stopped dreaming and actually did something about it. So… why the hell not, right?”

Your eyes softened. He’d told you about this dream one night while the two lightweights had passed out on the couch, leaving you and Dean to keep the party going, which essentially consisted of eating your weight in multipacks of halloween candy and watching b-movie horror films. 

You remembered the way his eyes lit up as he talked about it. Of wanting to be his own boss, about the freedom, about building something for himself. You’d been more than encouraging, having to refrain yourself from sounding like every positive, uplifting bumper sticker ever.

“But it’s more than just the job,” he went on, voice quieter now. “Kansas hasn’t felt like home in a long time.”

Your heart twisted at that. You already knew from Sam about their parents—how much they'd lost, how empty that place must feel without them. A ghost town full of memories.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his and giving it a soft squeeze. He looked at you then—really looked. And for a moment, everything around you seemed to slow, like the world had paused to catch its breath.

“Now I’ve quit. There’s nothing keeping me there. But…” He trailed off, tongue darting out to wet his lips as his gaze flickered between your eyes. “There’s a lot pulling me here.”

Your heart skipped, like it had hit a bump in the road. Hope bloomed fast and fierce in your chest.

“I found a shop,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Small place, not far from here. Needs some work, but it’s got good bones. I’m thinking of buying it.”

You stared at him, mouth parting. “You want to move here?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost shy. “And I was kinda hoping that… if I’m gonna be sticking around, that maybe I could take you out sometime? If you’d be interested?”

He barely got the words out before you leaned in and kissed him.

It was fast, impulsive. One full of pent-up nerves and relief, but when he let out a soft grunt and you jerked away.

“Oh crap—sorry!”

Dean winced, but the crooked smile spreading across his face was pure mischief. “No, no—it’s good. Totally worth it.”

You snorted, but your laugh dissolved as he hooked a finger into the neckline of your torn costume and tugged you gently toward him. This kiss was much slower—sweeter. His lips brushed over yours with such softness it made your breath catch, his hand warm against your cheek.

You melted into him, smiling against his mouth as the carnival lights flickered behind your closed eyes like the very fireworks exploding in your stomach.

Halloween had always been your favourite holiday, but now you have one more reason why.

AN: I hope you all liked this one, it was a lot of fun to write 💗, feedback is always welcomed 😘

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter

@tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2

@deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown

@jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @shadysoulangel @my-stories-vault

@piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27

@idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith

@zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @jaredpadonlyyyy @waynes-multiverse

@impala67stellawinchester @youroldfashioned @bonbonnie88 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes

@rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @amberlthomas @illicithallways

[faunandfloraas]

Seeing someone be like you can clearly see seungmins been going to the gym and is getting built and im just here like ??????????????????? are you hallucinating??? Have you had a head injury? Quickly go to the emergency room to get your head checked. With hast.

[shoukokus]

Hi! Can i have Diasomnia, №1, fluff, please?

here you go lovely!

sebek zigvolt/reader prompt #1 - marriage

Not a day goes by in the Briar Valley without Sebek thinking of you. His wonderful, troublemaker former classmate who had helped him through so much. It had only been a year since the both of you graduated from NRC, but he missed you terribly. He didn't think he could grow so accustom to a human's constant presence, but he had.

Sebek was a talented, distinguished knight. His family was happy and thriving from his success, and he finally achieved his long dream to always serve Malleus. Last he heard from you, a month ago, you were in the Sunset Savannah. That lazy lion of a second prince had somehow gotten you to work for him, but you seemed quite content with the job. You'd traveled to a lot of places, exploring more of Twisted Wonderland in an attempt to better understand the world you dropped into, and still called home.

From what Sebek can tell, the both of you were achieving great things. So why did his heart feel incomplete?

He tries to shake those feelings off, even if just for today. Tonight was an important event, after all. A knighting ceremony followed by a banquet for the new recruits. It was a big affair, with all sorts of people coming. More of a celebration to show off Briar Valley's might, really.

As the ceremony came to a close, and the festivities were just getting started, Sebek grabs himself a drink. He was only on duty for the main event, after all. Now he was free to enjoy the night. He makes polite talk with other guests before settling next to his family. It was short lived however, when he spots something unexpected. Just now entering was Leona Kingscholar himself, and if he was here...

Through the entryway, you timidly step in. Your clothes were magnificent, perfectly suited to you while simultaneously looking stunning. Sebek's very breathe was taken away seeing you in person for the first time in so long. You looking like that was just an added bonus. Without a word to his family, he moves away and towards you. When your eyes catch his, you grin widely.

"Hi, Sebby!" You half-whisper, half yell in an excited manner with a cute little wave. "Surprised?"

Sebek doesn't even have words to properly greet you or answer your teasing question. All that comes out is: "Would you like to dance?"

Now he catches you by surprise. "Y-Yeah. I'd like that."

The rest of the night sees the two of you never parted. It doesn't matter where you went or what Leona asked you to do, Sebek stayed glued to your side. Dance after dance, drink after drink was spent in radiating happiness. That hole he had been feeling was completely filled, no doubt about it.

When you finally had to bid goodnight to return to the hotel you were staying in, Sebek was sure of one thing. He never wanted to be away from you again, and marrying you seemed like the best way to do that, right?

[taesanluv3r]

how do you think idol!woonhak and nonidol!reader met? i love ur little series for them🥺

tysm for ur ask!!! i havent had the motivation to write in a while but this ask made me think of the cutest scenario >3< hope u like it!

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the way we met.

trainee/soon to be idol!woonhak x non-idol!reader

no warnings, cutesy fluffy stuff! lowercase intended. pls excuse any spelling or grammatical mistakes.

wc: 1,579

starts under the cut!

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ding~

the bell above the cafe door rings, alerting the single employee working there and the two customers sitting inside that a fourth person had just walked in.

the barista, who stood behind the counter, lifts her head up to greet the boy who had entered. "hi, welcome to bread and butter! what can i help you with today?" she asks, her voice the perfect balance of confidence and charm. "hi! ummm..." he responds, then pauses to read the menu placed above both their heads. she uses this time to examine the guy in front of her.

this was the first time she'd ever seen him. strange. working part-time in that little coffee shop for the past two years, the girl thought she had practically met everyone who lived in the area - he must be from somewhere else. come to think of it, he did look a bit different from everyone else. his hair was evidently damaged - maybe he had bleached it before - and he wore a mask that covered half his face - strange, considering the virus had ended over a year ago at this point! he wore an adidas tracksuit, the top and pants a matching black set, and he looked like he had just worked up a sweat - ah! he probably came from that dance studio nearby...that makes sense. most of the kids her age that hung out around this otherwise old-people area all came from that dance studio...i mean, there's really nothing else around here to do anyways. if it weren't for the fact that she had to care for her lonely grandmother, she wouldn't choose to live here either.

"um...excuse me?"

the male voice shook her out of her head. "huh?" she responds, eyebrows furrowed. "yeah, um- i'm ready to order now...sorry, you were kind of zoning out" his sentence ended with a little giggle, still muffled from the contact of his lips to his mask. for some reason though his smile was crystal clear, maybe cause his eyes squinted into little crescent shapes as he spoke - or maybe, it was the fact that he had such a happy-sounding voice in general.

"oh! sorry...force of habit...what was it that you wanted to order? sorry" she rambled, her cheeks tinted red from embarrassment. "i'll have one iced americano and an almond croissant, please" she nods, beginning to input his order into the screen in front of her. "and would that be dine in or take out?" there was a moment of silence as the boy thought shortly about his answer. "i'll eat here, please" they share another silent nod. "alright, here's your total, just tap your card or phone when you're ready" the boy pulls his phone out of his pocket, tapping the backside of it against the 'tap to pay' machine.

"alright, take a seat wherever, i'll bring your food out in a second!" - "alright, thanks!"

the boy settles down in the table closest to the barista bar. he removes his mask as he takes in his surroundings. he had never been to this place before, despite practicing at the nearby dance studio for a while now. one of his friends recommended it to him, said the coffee was delicious and the barista working there was just as sweet as the pastries. he agreed with that, eyes wandering over to the girl who expertly began to press and drip his iced americano into a glass - she must've been working here long, everything she did in the bar looked so natural. her hair was tied up in a little bun, and it bounced along with her as she walked over to the tray of croissants. the brown apron she wore fit snugly around her waist and not after long the boy catches himself staring - only a second after she had caught him too.

"alright...here's your iced americano, and your almond croissant!" the barista girl - who doubled as the waitress today - smiled, placing the coffee and pastry onto the table. "wow~ thank you...er- huh..." the boy's puzzled expression confuses her. "what's wrong?" she asks, wondering if it were something she did or had said. "oh! sorry, i was just searching for your name but you don't have a name tag. and i've just- i've never met a barista with no name tag" he laughs awkwardly, this time his smile is fully visible. the girl scans his whole face for the first time, "...cute"

"what?"

her eyes went wide. "shoot! did i say that out loud?" she mentally slapped herself in the face. the boy laughs, amused at her sudden confession. "sorry...what i meant was that...um..." she didn't know what to say, so he spoke for her. "that you think i'm cute?" he asked, a snaggle-toothed smile still holding onto his lips. the girl sighed, pressing the serving tray against her chest in defeat. "yeah...i guess you are pretty cute- what are you, a trainee?" she giggles, shaking her head as if her words were so totally far from the truth.

"and what if i am?" he asks, lifting a single eyebrow up in question. "then...then i guess it'd make sense. i've never seen you before, but i've met some kids from the studio nearby- they say a few idol trainees practice there and i mean you're fit, handsome, and you kinda have that star quality vibe so...i guess...yeah"

the compliments laced in her speech-like ramble made the boy feel all warm and fuzzy inside. "well you're right, i am a trainee" the girl smiles, feeling prideful from her correct assumption. "cool! well, um...enjoy your croissant and...good luck! you know, with the training and stuff...hope you debut soon!" he shot her one last toothy grin, before she returned to her counter. "thanks"

for the next hour or so, the boy remained seated in the little coffee shop. he had finished up his croissant, and was about to finish the rest of his coffee too. the whole time he was sitting there, he couldn't help but watch the barista girl at work. he watched the way she smiled warmly as she greeted customers, the way loose ends of her hair would fall against her cheeks as she prepared cups of coffee, and the way she would occasionally steal glances at him, making them both shy as they looked the other way.

the guy only decides it's time to leave when a banner appears brightly on his phone, alerting him of his next practice hour. as he goes to swipe the notification away, another one comes in. a text from his friend, the same friend that had recommended this cafe to him before.

sanghyukie hyung: yo can u get me an iced choco to go plz. and dongmin wants an iced americano. thx 😁

he sighs, rolling his eyes as he replies with a single letter.

k 🙄

the boy gets up, making his way back to the counter. "hey, what's up?" the girl asks, a smile on her face. "hey, can i get an iced choco and an iced americano to go, please? i have to head to practice but my friends asked me to get them drinks while i'm here" she nods, finding the defeated expression on his face quite cute.

"okay, just tap when you're ready!" the barista girl says, pointing to the payment machine. "yup" the trainee boy replies, tapping his phone against it. "oh! and i'm gonna need a name for those drinks" she says, grabbing a sharpie from the pen holder to her right.

"oh, right! it's woonhak." there's this little glint in her eyes when he speaks, like she was a lot happier to learn his name than she should be. "okay then, your drinks will be ready soon!" - "yup, thank you"

just about 7 minutes later, the sound of his own name being called out nearly made the boy jump out of his skin. "iced choco and iced americano for woonhak!" he got up from the chair in the waiting area, and walked right up to the pick-up counter. "here's your drinks to go, enjoy- or, tell your friends to enjoy" she giggles, and he smiles (again. they're a very smiley pair). "thank you...um..." he trails off, eyebrows furrowing again. "oh! wait!" she exclaimed, catching him off guard as she disappears below the counter. she jumps back out a seconds later, "tada~" she cheers, pointing at the spot on her apron right next to her chest. the boy laughs, moving closer to finally learn the name on her tag.

"ah...thank you, yn"

there was something about the way he said it that made her stomach do flips. "you...you're welcome" they stared at each other for a bit, their gazes lingering - as if the rest of the little coffee shop was moving in slow motion. "um- well, uh...i have to go back to practice now...thank you, again" woonhak laughs softly, finding it silly how shy he was being around her. "right! um...fighting! come again soon" he nods, "i definitely will"

"it was nice to meet you, woonhak" the barista girl says finally, possibly the warmest smile she had ever smiled on her face. the trainee boy reciprocated, "right back at you, yn" waving softly as he began to leave.

little did the two smiley idiots know that this would be the start of a very sweet romance.

the end.

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THANK U AGAIN FOR THE ASK!!! haven't written in what feels like AGES so this was such a good way to get back <3 i think this little scenario suits hakie sm TT speaking of hakie HAVE U GUYS SEEEEN THE CONCEPT PICSSS they all look so good, cant wait for this cb!!!! thx again anon for giving me writing material :3 luv u! love, kona.

[wlwsoccerfics]

Lightheaded(ArsenalWomenXMeadReader)

Warnings: Reader has adhd and is sick.

Summary: you give the Team a scare during a Game when you have to Go to the hospital. Lotte is going with you since she is out with an injury.

You had a cold the last two weeks. But were finally back on the pitch after you have been cleared for practice two days ago. What you didn't tell people, was that you had an ear infection still. Which you didn't think was important to mention. Would have been important though. Which you would find out soon.

It was the second half of the Game. The 49th Minute when the lightheaded feeling was coming back. You had it every day since the cold you had. But you didn't think anything about it. Until you stopped running down the pitch and started swaying. You couldn't even reply to Leah anymore who was trying to get your attention. She was quick to hold you up though. The Game was paused and the medics quickly ran over. So did Beth. Your older sister.

"y/n? What's wrong?" Beth asked, really concerend. Viv also ran over. She was your sister in law and played for Manchester City.

"i feel lightheaded & and my head hurts. So do my eyes and ears!" You admitted. Closing your eyes now. Holding your head.

"did you forget to drink water again, kleintje?" Viv wanted to know. She was quite concerned but tried to stayed calm for Beth who looked really stressed. You indeed didn't drink alot of water. You were a 17 year old Teenage girl with adhd. So you often forgot to eat and drink. Which is why your sister usually reminded you. Cause you live with her and with Viv when she is in London.

"might have forgotten that." You admitted.

"we will get you checked out at the hospital." The medics said. That is how you ended up being taken off of the field on a stretcher. Taking into the ambulance right away. you had your eyes closed for the most part because everything was spinning and you felt really crappy.

At the hospital they checked you over. Lotte was out with an injury so she went there with you. Keeping the Team updated.

"why didn't you tell anyone you still had struggles with your ears?" Lotte asked when you were on your way back to the stadium (one of the staff members picked you up) to meet up with the rest of the Team.

"i didn't think it was so important." You admitted.

"well it is when it comes to Balance and feeling dizzy!" Lotte told you.

"i promise i will let everyone know when i am not feeling well and i promise i will rest the two weeks the doctor suggested to make sure everything is okay." You let Lotte know. Offering her a soft smile. Leaning your head against her shoulder. Closing your eyes.

"tired?" Lotte wanted to know.

"yes, a little." You admitted.

"then rest, we will be back to the stadium in 20 minutes or so." She answered. Wrapping an arm around you. You had a pretty great Power nap.

When you reached the Stadium and walked into the changing rooms where your Team was already waiting for you, Beth went to hug you right away.

"you really scared me." Beth admitted.

"i am sorry!" You told her.

"never scare us like that ever again!" Leah stated.

"i will try not to!" You said and blushed a bit.

"good. from now on you will let us know when you don't feel well!" Kim answered. It wasn't a suggestion it was an Order from your Captain.

"yes Kim!" You replied and sighed softly.

"let's get you home now and rest. Viv already went home to make your favorite food." Beth informed you.

"okay!"you just said and then hugged everyone. Saving Lotte for last.

"Thank you for going with me to the hospital. Means alot to me!" You told her.

"always, and let me know when you need something. I am always just a call away!" Lotte replied and squeezed your shoulder gently.

You went Home and ate some of your favorite food before Beth helped you shower and you went to bed. Having some much needed rest.

[theladyofbloodshed]

TRUE NORTH

A @nestaarcheronweek bonus chapter of Hunt x Nesta for my own self-indulgence.

Read the rest of the fic on AO3.

How beautiful life in Lunathion was. It had been almost a year since Nesta Archeron had tumbled from the sky and landed in an unknown world. There had been many challenges although they had lessened with the progression of time. Nesta could work a television, a washing machine, and even a printer when it was behaving. She loved the city. She was made for it. There were so many opportunities for her to seize. Such things used to be impossible. Kept by her father, kept by Rhysand then Cassian. Nesta could make her own choices. And none of them involved dangerous situations.

Nesta hefted her tote bag higher on her shoulder as it began to slip with the weight of the books inside. She rotated between education and pleasure with her reading. Her enrolment to Crescent City University was paving the way for her future, and Nesta was committed to receiving the highest possible grades. They had been set a new assignment. It wasn’t due for three weeks, but she would make a dent in it that evening. She had learnt that she was not like many classmates who left the essay until the night before where stress chased them to the word count. Nesta preferred order and peace.

A sudden gust of wind blew her hair then heavy boots landed behind her. Warm hands seized her wrists and pinned them behind her back.

‘You are under arrest by order of the 33rd.’

‘Oh really?’ she asked. ‘What’s my crime?’

‘Being too beautiful. Distracting an officer from his flight. I nearly flew into a building.’

Hunt Athalar released her hands so Nesta turned to face him. They had met almost one year ago in this very spot although his black hair had hung to his shoulders then. Hunt had since had it cut at her request and he was all the more handsome for it.

‘Tell me, Umbra Mortis. If I was driving a vehicle and the sight of a handsome malakh meant that I crashed into a lamppost, who would be at fault?’

‘You, as the driver of the vehicle.’

Nesta made a noise of agreement. ‘Then, I think this is a you problem rather than a me problem.’ 

Hunt touched her cheek. ‘Your beauty is everybody’s problem. If I catch Tristan Flynn looking at your legs again, I’ll snap him in half.’ Hunt kissed her playfully with a nip at her bottom lip. ‘And don’t get me started on that dog on the sunball team.’

‘Ithan,’ she corrected. ‘And he was only explaining the boundary rule.’

‘Yeah, well, I can teach him about boundaries.’

She rose up onto her toes to kiss him. These displays of affection were no longer strange or made Nesta feel like she was playing as somebody else. It was natural to seek Hunt out to kiss. Love wasn’t shied away from in Lunathion - and she didn't want to hide hers either. She was so proud of Hunt. Proud to be at his side.

‘Did somebody pluck out a feather today? You’re very grumpy.’

‘I just missed you,’ he murmured, squeezing her so tightly that Nesta’s bones creaked. ‘How was class?’

Together, they walked along a stretch of restaurants, trying to decide what to grab for lunch, while Nesta spoke of her morning’s lectures. Choosing a major had been difficult when she had so little knowledge of the world that was now her home. Her heart was drawn to history, but there were too many gaps that she was at risk of sounding a fool if she did not know the basic history of Lunathion, so she’d settled upon it as a minor. Literature was her major, so Nesta had to pinch herself still that she could read as part of her education.

They tucked into their lunch outside of a café near the Istros since spring was offering them a taste of warm weather. It also allowed Nesta the chance to catch a glimpse of the otters that she loved so much.

‘I wish I had a Mer penpal so I could see them more often,’ she lamented before reaching across the table for one of Hunt’s cheese covered fries.

‘The only Mer I know is Tharion Ketos and there’s not a chance in Hel he’s exchanging love letters with you,’ Hunt scoffed.

When Nesta reached for another fry, Hunt tapped her fingers away. ‘You do this every time, Starlight. No, I’m only having salad then you reach for the best bits of my food.’

Nesta formed a fist with her hand then rested her chin upon it, gazing upon her angel.

‘Don’t look at me like that.’

‘Like what, Orion?’ Nesta crooned, purposefully making her voice sultry.

Hunt released an exasperated sigh then plucked a fry from the plate. ‘Here. This one has the most cheese.’

With a satisfied smile, like the cat that got the cream, Nesta gobbled it down. ‘You’re too good to me, you know?’

Hunt did not share her playing today. He grimaced then pushed his plate towards her. ‘Micah cornered me today.’

The blood in her veins stilled. Any dealings with Micah meant bad news. Although Nesta had left Prythian for good with an eye-watering amount of riches, Hunt – her beautiful Hunt – hadn’t wanted Nesta to use that money on him. It was for her, he said. For her future. It paid for the small apartment and her university fees, but most of it was sitting in a safe in the wardrobe. Hunt’s debt remained looming over both of them.

‘I hate that man.’

His hand slid into hers, squeezing once. ‘Five names tonight.’

It did not matter how many names Hunt eliminated, Micah would never release him. There would always be more names added, more lives for Hunt to end. He carried all of them. There had been days where she lost him, times where Nesta thought she might never have her Orion back from the darkness.

‘After my shift, I will need to fly some distance. They’re not in this city. Don’t wait up, okay? I’m sorry, Nesta. Tomorrow, I have the day off.’

There were no promises of plans for the next day because Hunt’s mood could be anything from morose to catatonic to furious. He’d never let his temper out on her, but when anger filled his chest, Hunt preferred to be alone so would take himself off to the barracks and lock himself into his tiny room. It was kept for him, because – officially – he was not allowed to live anywhere else. Three nights a week was the maximum he could be away from the Comitium as a slave to Micah. They still had to be careful about Nesta’s presence too since she’d appeared from thin air. It was only thanks to Ruhn and his friend, Declan, that Nesta existed at all in Lunathion. Ruhn’s money and Declan’s forgery skills had created Nesta a fake identity along with a fake fae family who lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere if anybody asked.

‘Lunch break’s over,’ Hunt said glumly.

He paid for their food – as he always did, despite his pitiful wages. He was reluctant to ever use the pile of jewels and gold that Feyre had given her in her escape from the House of Wind. If she needed something for university, Hunt liked to buy it for her. A winter coat? He’d gone shopping with her and insisted upon taking care of her in all ways, including financially.

‘I miss you already,’ she said, bringing her arms around his shoulders. Hunt nuzzled close to her, the smell of storms upon his skin. She could have held him there in the street for an eternity. There was so much kindness in him despite everything. Hunt could have clutched to his past, used it to shape his destiny, but he bucked against it and chose to try and be good. She hated Micah with all of her being. That damn archangel killed her own angel a little bit each time he gave another name.

‘Let me look at you.’ Hunt’s dark eyes swept over her face then he offered a closed-lipped smile. ‘Warm the bed for me tonight.’

With a swift kiss, Hunt departed. Air surged towards them as his wings spread out then pulsed together to lift him off of the ground.

Nesta watched him go with a hand against her chest. The weather was fine and Nesta should have gone home, cracked open the windows and sat at her desk to start her essay. But she could not take the sadness on Hunt’s face. Orion Athalar, who had risked so much for her, who would move the stars if she asked him.

She pulled out her cell. It was the same one given to her by Ruhn Danaan although she’d deleted the photos of Tristan Flynn’s manhood long ago from the photo album. Now, it was filled with pictures of her and Hunt, their meals, their adventures, their attempts at snapping photos of otters who never sat still for long. Sometimes, she still had pop-ups for busty fauns in her area although she'd realised it was false.

‘Good afternoon. Here is Nesta Archeron.’

She heard the sigh from the other end clearly. ‘Sweetheart, when you call me, it shows your name. You don’t need to tell me each time.’

‘May I come to your home?’

‘What’s happened? Are you okay? Where are you?’ Ruhn’s voice changed from the careless male to one who did care. Ruhn liked to hide behind different masks of party boy and heartbreaker, but there was a good heart beneath the exterior. 

‘Yes. I’m near the Istros, not far from the River Gate.’

‘Oof. Getting a bit close to dog territory there. Tell you what, Nes, I’ll come pick you up – stay put – and you can drive us to mine. See you in five.’

Ruhn arrived with a minute to spare and honked the horn then laughed when it made Nesta jump. He kept the engine running as he hopped out of the driver’s seat, planted a kiss on her cheek, then gestured for her to get in.

‘It’s quite busy. It’s lunch time.’

Ruhn slid into the passenger seat then folded his arms. ‘You’ve done this loads of times now.’

‘Yes. At night. When there are less people for me to mow down.’

‘You know where the brake is and you have the quickest reactions of anybody I’ve ever met.’

Somehow, with coaxing from Ruhn and gritting her teeth, Nesta managed to drive them across the city. There was no joy in driving, although there was freedom. She had her driving test booked then would be able to hire a care with Hunt so they could take trips further afield. He liked to fly her, but it wasn’t always practical with bags or in bad weather. He had threatened her with fishing trips when she had her license though.

Ruhn was opening the door for her, before Nesta could blink. ‘You know, Flynn’s here. He’ll think you’ve come especially to see him.’

Nesta took the hand he offered to exit the car then followed him up the steps to the house. The smell of stale cigarettes and alcohol always affronted her senses and today was no different.

‘Luna bless me, the goddess herself is here,’ called Tristan Flynn from the upstairs landing.

He wouldn’t try to embrace her or kiss her cheek as Ruhn did. Not because of the Umbra Mortis. But because he’d tried once and Nesta nearly broke his neck with the force of her slap. She had more power than those from this land. She could move faster than them, with more strength. Once, Hunt had arm wrestled her to see and when she had focused, she had won.

‘I need to speak to you, Tristan. Both of you.’

That had Ruhn’s brows pulling together. He pulled his cigarette packet from his pocket, but one cocked eyebrow from Nesta had him tucking it away again.

While Ruhn went to make coffee, Nesta tried to find a surface in the living room that seemed clean. With a wince, she perched upon the arm of the couch that Tristan sprawled on.

‘Be thankful there isn’t a blue light. You’d never step foot in this house again.’

‘Will your parents arrange a marriage for you soon?’

‘Why? Are you interested?’

Nesta gave him a sarcastic smile. ‘I’m merely wondering how many more females there are in Lunathion that you and Ruhn haven’t had your sordid way with.’

‘Definitely one,’ he replied, giving her a heated look that she did not reciprocate.

Spirals of steam rose from their cups of coffee. Nesta would need to put on a brave face to drink it because she doubted the mugs were particularly clean. Still, Ruhn was trying. He flitted into her life frequently to check in, almost like a big brother she supposed. She was grateful for him – although she wished they would clean their house more. Or pay somebody to clean it.

‘I would like to purchase Hunt’s freedom. He doesn’t want me to.’

���How the hell would you have the money to do that?’

‘I have it. Let’s leave it at that. I cannot be the one to purchase him, however. We know why attention cannot come to me.’

If anybody dug too deeply into her identity, they would realise it was false. There could be no spotlight pointed at Nesta.  Hunt had likened their situation to a house of cards. He’d built one to show her how flimsy and fragile it was. If the Asteri knew who she was – what she was – then it exposed Prythian too.

‘So, you want us to make a bid for the infamous avenging angel. My father will have my balls, Nesta.’

‘Not you,’ she said then turned her gaze to Tristan Flynn. ‘Tristan, you care little for your family’s opinion. You have so much money in a trust fund that it won’t be out of the ordinary to pay such a sum.’

Tristan remained in his casual sprawl but Nesta made out the faint thrum of his heart, faster than it should be. ‘And what am I meant to do when I purchase him? Have him clean my room? Smite my enemies?’

‘You free him.’

Ruhn shushed his friend when he burst into false, riotous laughter at her expense. Laughter, Nesta could take. She had been locked in a house with no way of leaving. Forced to follow a man who tended to her misery rather than ending it. The week she had spent in Lunathion had been the best of her life – good enough for Nesta to take a chance on a forever here – all thanks to Hunt. She owed it to him to give him the life he deserved.

‘To sweeten the deal, I will use my magic for you. Three times.’

That had both of them pausing.

Deals were lofty things and fae in this world took them as seriously as they did in Prythian.

‘Give us a sec, Nesta,’ said Ruhn, as he beckoned for Tristan to follow him out into the kitchen to discuss it.

She sipped at her coffee which was better than expected although her stomach was in knots. If Flynn refused, there were only two other options. The first was to make the bid herself and lay everything on the line. The second was akin to slavery in itself. There was another rich and powerful fae in this city, but she doubted the Autumn King would ever agree to purchase Hunt without forcing her into a marriage with him or his son. It would be miserable, but she had contemplated it on the nights where Hunt came home empty and broken. On the nights where she held him to her in the bed to keep him from falling apart, Nesta had wondered if she would ever be able to explain that she would marry the Autumn King if it meant he was no longer a slave. That his happiness meant more to her than hers ever did.

The two males returned. Tristan’s eyes raked over her face then he said, ‘Two uses of your magic – but a free demonstration of it now.’

Although Nesta had given it up to save her sister and nephew’s lives, a kernel remained. For flame, a kernel was enough to spread. She had not made the Drop as they did in this land. Their power had its hands tied behind its back whereas hers, her magic that she’d never wanted, even in its smallest form was so much more than they could produce.

***

All Hunt Athalar wanted was to be home. The sight of the building had his heart beating again. It was on the third floor in a shitty building with an elevator that rarely worked but Nesta had made it a home and she was so glad to have a place of her own. She was so thankful for everything where others would find misery. Because of her, Hunt’s heart kept beating. It retreated to a place that was empty and dark to try and hide his feelings, but Nesta had a way of bringing it – bringing him – back to life.

The light was on in the lounge and the sound of the bath being filled greeted his ears. Their hamster, Smudge, one of Nesta’s whims which he’d had to indulge, ran on its bright orange wheel. He poked his finger through the bar as a greeting then continued on before it could chomp at his skin.

Nesta met him in the bathroom doorway, her arms coming round his neck before Hunt could even spit out a hello.

‘Why is it that the minutes pass unbearably slow without you? Then they race to catch up when you’re home?’

She kissed his cheek before Hunt could warn her against it. Although he wore his helmet when he worked for Micah, blood had a way of still splattering up his chin and onto his cheeks. The blood had never unsettled her. She seemed to compartmentalise that part of him and not let it affect her judgement of the rest of him.

‘Hop in,’ she murmured, gesturing to the bathtub before turning off the taps.

A mountain of bubbles grew at one end and she’d even lit candles. It was better not to use the brighter overhead light because the bathroom had mouldy seals that the landlord was dragging his feet over to replace and it made them more visible. Hunt wished he could give her a better life. Nesta deserved so much better than a cramped one-bedroom apartment. It sat near the human district which made it dangerous for her. She waved away his worries. Said it was strange to have somebody who worried over her – which only made Hunt more devastated.

Hunt took her hand. His throat was closing up, but he had to tell her these words before he sunk into the dark. ‘I love you. So much.’

Nesta brought his bloodied hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. ‘Do you want me here or to be alone?’

He swallowed. ‘Here. Please.’

The darkness reached out its claws for Hunt. Half-way through washing his body, Hunt shut down. It seemed like too much effort to continue. The darkness had teeth that pressed to his throat, holding him there.

I want it to end. I want it to be over.

A hand slipped down his back then searched through the bubbly water for the sponge. Hunt screwed his eyes shut with embarrassment that once again he needed his damn girlfriend to wash him. He hated himself. Hated that this was the life he offered Nesta. And she thanked him for it. How bad had her life been before that she was grateful for a fucked up slave and a crap apartment?

‘Keep your eyes closed now,’ she said, her voice close to his ear.

Nesta tipped his head back to wash his hair. He dreaded to think what colour he was turning the bath water. It was better not to think of the lives he ended. He’d force himself into the endless dark rather than face what he did for Micah.

‘I’m going to fluff you up like a chicken,’ whispered Nesta, as she took his hand and tugged for him to stand.

By now, Hunt knew how to navigate the bathroom with his eyes closed. It made it easier if he kept them shut. He couldn’t take a mirror. Couldn’t bear to see hollow eyes and despair staring back at home.

A towel was rubbed down his body then back up. The click of the hairdryer sounded then a blast of hot air was shot towards his wings. In these moments, Hunt tried to divert his sorrow towards good memories. They were few, but most involved his Starlight. Her discovering what a hairdryer was. The first time he’d let her blow-dry his wings. The ensuing laughter.

How Nesta could be with him, he didn’t know. Hunt did not deserve her.

She paused her task to make little cheeping noises then continued lovingly running the hairdryer over his wings until they were completely dry.

In bed, Hunt still couldn’t open his eyes. He was doing a mental count of all the places that he had shown Nesta and how many more he still needed to show her to provide a different avenue than sorrow. They still hadn’t been to a theme park. Nesta wanted to see a musical too. He’d teased her about fishing trips. It was hope that would lead him out of this. Hope and Nesta.

‘You are better than all of the stars, my Orion.’

Dawn brought with it a light drizzle that gave Hunt a headache. Last night didn’t weigh as heavily on him although he’d hardly slept. Nesta’s warm body slipped away from him with the promise of a hot coffee in bed. He truly didn’t deserve her.

One of his t-shirts skimmed her thighs as she returned brandishing two mugs. She had decided months ago that she was not a coffee person. She could only drink it when it was pumped full of syrups and topped with cream, so opted for tea to wake her up in the mornings now. Her blonde hair fell loosely to her shoulders. Hunt had nearly wept when she’d decided to have it cut, but it made her happy and was easier to manage at the shorter length.

‘Hey, handsome,’ she said, setting the mugs down on his bedside table before perching on the edge of the mattress. Nesta’s fingers pushed his hair out of his face. ‘I missed you yesterday.’

‘I told you not to wait up.’

There was a fierce look upon her face. He’d seen it once or twice when she heard sneers from brave humans or cocky wolves.

From the small drawer, she pulled out a cheque. In a terrible hand, Micah’s name had been written as the recipient.

Tristan Flynn.

‘What the fuck is this?’

‘I went to speak with Ruhn and Tristan yesterday. He will purchase you from Micah on my behalf. The jewellery from my sister will-’

‘No,’ Hunt said sharply. ‘No.’

‘Orion,’ she began.

‘No, Nesta. We’ve talked about this. I am not having you give up all of that money for me. I’m not having it. And don’t ever owe Tristan Flynn or his family.’

He wanted to tear up the cheque.

Hunt’s eyes snapped to Nesta’s face. ‘What did you do? Flynn won’t risk his neck for anyone except Ruhn and Declan. What deal have you made with him?’

A sudden horror washed over Hunt as he imagined another tattoo upon her skin like the star on her back that hadn’t been fulfilled. Fae were pricks. All of them – except his one. They weren’t selfless, weren’t altruistic. No, Flynn would have bargained to get what he wanted. There was no way he would do anything without gaining something.

Nesta folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. ‘Two uses of my magic whenever he requests it.’

He pressed a hand over his mouth. If Micah got a whiff of her powers, Hel, if the Asteri did, Nesta would become their weapon. They already ran the risk of somebody looking too closely at Nesta as a result of his association with him. This was too much. Hunt scrubbed his face with his calloused hands. ‘Fuck, Nesta. Why did you do it?’

‘You cannot think why?’ Her fingers grazed along his jaw. ‘You are the most important person in my life, Hunt. How can I watch you break a little more each time Micah sends you away? You changed my life. You saved me. Why can’t I save you?’

His eyes fluttered closed at her touch. Would it ever not immobilise him? It had been so long since anybody had touched him simply because they could not stop themselves from it. To be touched without malice or to be used was special.

‘Nesta,’ he breathed.

His Starlight straddled his lap on the bed, their hot drinks forgotten for now. She brushed the tip of her nose to his then her lips sought his. ‘I don’t want to spend this day arguing. It relies on Micah being willing to sell you anyway.’

‘I appreciate the lengths you’d go for me. I’ve never had that before,’ admitted Hunt.

Not with Shahar. Their relationship was never more than blowing off steam of desire or an outlet when the tunnel narrowed on them. They were a leader and her general for the majority of time, until one of them nearly died then the sex was animalistic. Shahar knew he was an asset. It wasn’t a gentle love. It wasn’t like this. He couldn’t imagine Shahar wanting to lay beside him and giggle over videos of chimeras. But, Hunt wouldn’t be the male he was now without that history. It was because of Shahar that he sought a peaceful life with Nesta.

‘There isn’t a path that I wouldn’t walk for you. You saved me, Hunt. Everyday, I am a little more like me because of you.’

Hunt leaned forwards to kiss her again.

‘I’d say we have about four minutes.’

‘Until what?’

Hunt grinned. ‘Until my coffee is too cold to drink.’

He rolled her from him easily then hauled the t-shirt she wore up over her ass. He smacked her there then kissed the same spot while Nesta buried her face against a pillow with laughter.

‘How would you like it, my lady?’

Nesta pushed up from her stomach with her elbows to glance over her shoulder at him. ‘By my calculations, you have about three and a half minutes now.’

‘Four thrusts it is,’ he teased.

Everything with Nesta was great – but the sex was magnificent. He didn’t know if it was because she was fae, or from another world, or just because she was her. Hunt couldn’t have enough. In the year since she had fallen from the sky, they’d tried every position possible twice over. Fast and rough, unyielding and teasing, soft and slow. They had a whole draw stuffed with toys and handcuffs, and anything else she had wanted to try out. All of it was a gift. Any moment with Nesta was.

His hand went around her middle, hauling her ass up in the air.

‘Make those four thrusts count,’ said Nesta.

Four was if Hunt was being generous. The sight of her, his beautiful girlfriend on her knees, face down and the rest of her exposed to him already had his composure unravelling. Nesta was a goddess.

He tapped his cock against her entrance.

‘Don’t tease.’

Hunt fought back a grin. He licked his fingers then smeared them at her entrance, but he found Nesta already wet. His cock was heavy in his grasp as Hunt guided it inside. It had Nesta giving a small cry as she adjusted to the size. That little noise had Hunt screwing his eyes shut. If he even looked at her now, they’d be on a total of zero thrusts and he’d be lost.

Nesta was tight and wet, the warm grip had Hunt short-circuiting. With his hands braced on the headboard, he gave a final moan and filled her.

While she showered, Hunt made them breakfast. They’d worked out that pancakes were far cheaper to make at home so he had become the appointed pancake master. She preferred them thin so she could roll them up and eat them quicker.

‘What are we doing today then?’

Nesta drummed her fingers upon the table. ‘A re-match, since I’m feeling generous.’

‘Try playing with the bumpers down from time to time, Stargirl. We’ll see who wins.’

Lunathion offered a world of opportunities. There were always new places popping up across the city. Nesta only cared for one place. The sticky bowling alley that he’d taken her to on her first week in the city. There were three places to bowl, but she still said that one was the best. They went so often that Hunt had purchased them a membership so they could bowl for free.

Her style had shifted over time as she explored the various shops. Jeans were a staple, but at home – where she was more comfortable – Nesta would slink into sinful yoga pants or steal his clothes. Heels were not allowed in the house; she’d worn them a couple of times and declared them torture devices. She slid about in front of the row of glow-in-the-dark balls.

 ‘You know, I think bowling shoes are the most comfortable to wear,’ she noted.

Hunt couldn’t hide his laugh. ‘A shame you resemble a clown in them.’

‘You still haven’t taken me to the circus.’

‘You’re welcome at the Comitium anytime.’

An eyeroll met him then Nesta slid her arm around his shoulders to peer at the small screen. The corners of her mouth ticked up at the names he’d given them for that day. Hunt liked to choose new ones based on their jokes and laughter from that week. Once, she’d shot cola out of her nose mid-laughter so he’d dubbed her The Snorter for bowling. Today, he’d opted for a relic of their first week together where she’d introduced herself to Isaiah and Hunt stuttered over his own introduction.

‘The Um and The Bard?’

‘It has a nice ring to it,’ he said, kissing her cheek then slapping her ass as a sign to take her turn.

Nesta had racked up the most wins, but she had hollow victories using the bumpers. Hunt played without them – the proper way.

There were a bunch of kids bolting around and birthday parties were being hosted. It was a noisy place to be with squealing, music, and pins constantly knocked down. The floor around the benches was always sticky from spilled soda. It had taken Hunt a long time to realise that Nesta liked this place because it was so different from anything she knew. She’d once told him that it was like using a sword except nobody was hurt. She could release her frustrations and anger safely by rolling a heavy ball at some pins – and at the end of it could get a milkshake rather than muscle pains.

Hunt was finally winning two games to one when Nesta disarmed him entirely.

‘I wish I could go back to Prythian sometimes.’

He chewed the skin around his nail to give him time to think of something to say in return. The Harp remained in Prythian, with only maybe one of Nesta’s sisters capable of wielding it though she doubted they would try. The Horn was another issue in itself. As far as the city knew, it was still missing. They had tried to destroy it, but even with Nesta’s diluted magic, it could not be destroyed. Ruhn Danaan kept it in a thick safe in his basement – although it had randomly made appearances in their apartment of its own accord. In those instances, Hunt would stuff it into a bag and fly it over to Danaan’s place. It had once teleported to Nesta’s handbag when they were out for a picnic. If she wanted to go home, the Horn was still there to be used.

‘We can make it happen,’ he said, voice fighting a losing battle not to reveal the devastation overcoming him. ‘A small toot then we can move you back there. I can help you pack what you want and-’

‘Orion Athalar, what are you wittering about?’

Wittering? He’d never been accused of such a thing.

Hunt struggled to look at her. This was a conversation that he knew would happen eventually. He didn’t know it would be so soon though. Nor did he expect it to happen in a fucking bowling alley while a kid screamed at her dad for ice cream.

He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I know I can’t give you the life you deserve. I just want you to be happy wherever that is – and if it’s not there then-’

‘Hunt,’ she said on a sigh. Nesta’s fingers sought his face. Tenderly, she ran the tips down his cheek. ‘Oh, my Hunt. I have sisters, a nephew, and friends there. It’s natural to think of them – to miss them. Sometimes I would like to see them. There is no desire in my heart to ever return there. Do not think for a moment that this life with you is one I do not want. You are better than all of the stars, Orion.’

He bent to touch his forehead to hers, the edges of his panic receding.

‘I wish I could see Emerie and Gwyn simply to show you off. I want to show them this male that I found for myself who is so wonderful and fun and everything I could ever want.’

‘I’m not that great.’

Great at killing, sure. Great to have as a general in an uprising, yeah. But Hunt had little else to offer. A bastard malakh who was a slave. Hardly a prize.

‘You are,’ insisted Nesta. ‘I am so proud of you. Proud to be yours.'

'Why?'

Nesta's lips sought his. The kiss was a slow smoulder. 'All of my life, somebody else has steered the ship or I've been lost in storms with no control. I never felt like me. I didn't want that to be my life. It wasn't my purpose. Wasn't where I belonged. This is the first decision I made for myself. I have weathered many storms, Hunt Athalar, because they led me to you. All of those storms were a sign. You are everything, Orion. You are my true north. My home. My heart. My everything.’

[jewish-vents]

I got so tired of one of Intro to Public Speaking professor constantly implying I'm a colonizer that I did my final speech on my family's genealogy. We are documented in the area that is now Israel/Palestine going back to at least 1702, likely further. How can you "colonize" the only place you've ever lived? How can you "colonize" your own house? I watched my professor's teeth grind and his jaw set as he grew more and more annoyed with me. Other than my mom, who is from Serbia, the only other outside ancestor I have who moved to the area instead of being from it was 1894, and she was from Lebanon.

I used to love this professor. I helped campaign and get signatures so he could start an African American Studies minor at this university. I backed him up when students were racist to him and the Dean of Students needed witnesses to confirm it. I filed a complaint myself when my French professor called him a term I won't repeat here. I have never missed a day of class. I take copious notes. When he would assign essays on films we watched in Intro To Africana Studies, I wouldn't half-ass it, I would easily clear double the word count he asked for, every time. When he mentioned wanting to go camping in an area, I explained to him that there's a Neo Nazi compound in the woods near there and they killed a black Forest Service worker a few years ago, because as someone from out of state, he had no idea what danger he was walking into. I wanted him to be safe and happy and live a good life. He helped me learn so much in such a short span of time and he always had book recommendations and more ideas to share that he hadn't gotten to in class.

I don't recognize the him I see now, gritting his teeth, angry because after a semester of him saying Jewish people aren't indigenous to Israel, I laid out the facts in front of him. A lot of being Jewish is grieving the loss of people to antisemitism. We lose our friends. We lose family. And we lose the person someone was before they let hate into their hearts, the educator who seemed almost like an older brother, the kindhearted person who wanted to fight inequality.

And then we just have to deal with it. Just accept that we've lost someone, again, and again, and again, on repeat, endlessly, and try not to let it impact us because if we do, the goyim assure us it's not that serious. Which is interesting, because when things actually aren't serious? No one needs to tell me. It always feels like a suspicious specific denial, every time.

Losing people because your family's history goes against propaganda's rewriting of history is a surreal experience. But sometimes losses are necessary. I'm not going to lie about our lives to make one man feel comfortable, even if he used to be a friend.

.

[tiredandsapphic]

LETDOWN

pairing ꩜ adult!lottie matthews x fem!reader headcanons summary ꩜ lottie whose cursed and blessed with loving you, whose time is running out (totally inspired by van) an ꩜ angst! i listened to too much radiohead writing this

꩜ when you show up to the commune with the others, helping find nat, lottie immediately knows. you don’t look sick—but that’s the worst part. you look better than you used to, stronger.

꩜ eventually you break, probably in some heated argument between you and lottie. you only break when she speaks so shakily, the poor girl from years ago resurfacing— “you don’t get to do that, you don’t get to come here and leave again.”

꩜ it’s bitter, but emotional fights aren’t uncommon. it’s old muscle memory, two broken girls who never learned to speak without bleeding. lottie’s words are always your weakness, “you don’t get to martyr yourself now, not with me. not again.” or when you insist you came to say goodbye—“don’t you dare, don’t you fucking dare say goodbye to me.”

꩜ lottie tries so so hard to be strong, for you. she doesn’t cry in front of you, she just assures you. but the minute shes alone? she crumbles. she slips out of bed when you’re fast asleep, wraps a blanket around herself and walks to the garden barefoot. she crouches down in the dirt and weeps. silent. grieving. mouth pressed into her sleeve keep any sounds from reaching you.

꩜ some nights you find her, her absence too heavy in bed. you’ll find her outside praying to the moon, the stars, whatever will listen. you always hold her, cry with her. “i don’t want to be strong. i want to be selfish. i want to beg you to stay.” she will admit, and you’ll just assure her you’re here, right now, in that moment. you have to pretend her emotions don’t hurt more than your actual illness.

꩜ you’re annoyingly independent. most days you bring her tea, you make her food, you help around the commune without her help. she tries to sit you down, but you insist she lets you live rather than just survive.

꩜ she loves to take control—especially when you’re too tired or weak do anything but whimper. you're stretched out on the bed when she kisses lower and lower. her words are soft against your skin “let me take care of you,” and god, she makes you come so gently. slowly. like shes drawing the pain out of you with every pass of her tongue, every roll of her fingers.

꩜ you, cold? all the time. it could be sweltering out and you’re a human burrito in bed. layers of stolen hoodies and comfy blankets. lottie loves it. she’ll happily pull you into her lap. you’ll press your freezing feet or fingers against her and laugh when she squeals.

꩜ you ramble about a bucket list at random times. half of it is genuine the other half pretty much nonsense. she doesn’t tell you but she keeps a little journal of your ramblings. some however aren’t as light hearted— “i want to live long enough to see you get laugh lines.”

꩜ when things start getting worse, you start getting worse, lottie holds you tighter and closer at night. she kisses you more, dances barefoot in the garden with you more, and perhaps prays to it a little more. she insists youre not getting weaker, youre just softening. like dusk.

꩜ the night it happens, shes holding you in the garden, under the stars, your favourite place. it’s quiet. she knows. you know. lottie doesn’t scream, she just holds you tighter, rocks you in her arms and kisses your hair until you’re gone, entirely.

꩜ when you’re gone, she breaks. she lets herself fall apart, knowing she promised you that she'd build something new with what’s left. she knows you're still with her, physical absence and all. she even does some of the things left on your silly bucket list she wrote down.

꩜ perhaps some of your past teammates visit her, support her. tai just looks at her like shes looking into mirror, a soft understanding.

꩜ she spends a lot of time praying to you now, as if you're a goddess or deity. something holy and lost. she dreams of you, constantly, like a soft haunting.

꩜ your music plays in her home, anything that reminds her of you. something physical to keep you tethered. she lets ‘landslide’ by fleetwood mac echo like a prayer.