#birthday fics

[doiliedaze]

Match Me

Warnings: nothing just fluff and soft kisses

Genre: fluff

A/n: im dyeing my birthday wig and I imagine doing shit like that with my butch so boom this idea was created; hopefully it manifests LMAOOOO

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Vi loved home projects and she especially loves doing them with her girlfriend! So she got a bright idea…

“Babe! Have you seen my wig?” You yell from your shared bedroom as you see the wig missing from its stand. You have a 613, 22 inch wig prepped and ready to be dyed except it’s gone now.

“Yeah it’s on my head!” She yells back and you scurry to the bathroom. Vi sees your things and likes to play in it, she thinks the girly stuff you like is interesting! However she can be quite clumsy and has broken a makeup pallet or two.

When you go to the bathroom it was actually not on her head and on your other wig stand.

“Okay before you say anything I kidnapped your wig because I have to re-fresh my hair and I was thinking what if we had matching hair? It feels kinda stupid to say out loud but I thought it be nice…” she got a bit shy towards the end and her cheeks change to a rose hue. Vi likes to do cutesy couple stuff but she’s always ashamed asking you about it.

“Of course I want to match with you” you lean up and peck her plump lips.

Vi wraps her arms around your waist and kisses you deeper but you pull away before it turns into something more passionate. Which is a common occurrence for you two.

Happily vi set up both of your stations, you prefer the water method when it comes to dyeing weave so vi set everything up by the tub for you. She doesn’t care for gloves when dyeing her own hair whilst you wear two to make sure it doesn’t seep onto your nails.

The silence and occasional giggles when the two of you looked back at the other.

“Can you help me reach my roots cupcake?” She pouts as your wringing the water off the wig. You know she can reach, she just wants your touch.

She sat on the floor in-between your thighs. Her fingers drawing shapes onto your legs and pinching your calves here and there. “Thank you” She whispers, her body almost leaning into yours. “Anytime baby” you whisper back as you massage her scalp.

Vi hasn’t know much comfort let alone a family structure so you aim to make her feel as loved as possible.

You wash the excess dye out her hair and you do the same to the wig.

“Can I install the wig for you?” She says with a small smile, “you may help me style it but install is a no.” You say patting her cheek causing her to pout.

“Why not?”

“Last time you poked several holes in my lace so no!” You bop her nose and you go to move the wig onto the wig stand.

“Can I at least blow dry it?” Your mind goes back to the time she yanked the wig too hard by accident and a rip a little bit out but you push it to the side.

“Uh sure just let my hand guide yours!”

The two of you spent the eve of your birthday, doing hair and talking. This is a bliss the both of you never imagined you’d be in but you’re so grateful to be here.

───────┈ · ·

Dividers- @thecutestgrotto

Taglist: @manfuckthisimout @bambishaven @femme-historian @furrytaesss @milanyas @highnfemme @5seos

[brenna]

Trans!Omens birthday fics

This weekend I wrote two Trans!Omens birthday one-shots:

Slipped and Fell Into Your Arms

For @hakunahistata

Aziraphale/Crowley | Rating: E | Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 1,951

Tags: Snowed In, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Porn with Feelings, Neck KissingKissing, Oral Sex, 69 (Sex Position), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale in Lingerie (Good Omens) Summary: It’s their first weekend away together, and it’s not exactly going to plan. The ancient furnace is barely working, and most of their heat is from the fire. Luckily, the cabin is small, one room on the ground floor and a loft, which unfortunately is where the bed is. There’s no way Crowley will be able to climb the ladder in his condition, and Aziraphale can’t carry someone up something so steep.

read on ao3

----------------------

The Tide Rolling In

For @ineffabildaddy

Aziraphale/Crowley | Rating: E | Chapters: 1/1 | Words: 1,237

Tags: Trans Character, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Trans Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Porn with Feelings, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Couch Sex, Couch Cuddles, First Kiss, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Crowley wears a dress, She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens) Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley take a walk on the beach. Aziraphale has a hard time asking for what he wants, but Crowley knows exactly what it is. She takes him back to the bookshop, he kisses him, and things escalate from there.

read on ao3

---

@goodomensafterdark

[blackknight-100]

This fic is written for @ronika-writes-stuff , a very, very belated Happy Birthday to you <3

Bheema growled as they barreled through the dense undergrowth, stumbling across protruding vines. A few paces ahead, Arjuna danced in the rain, fleet and swift and beautiful.

“Angaraj!” he heard his brother call out, “do you not like the rain?”

Duryodhana exhaled noisily beside him. “Is it too much to hope he will slip and fall?”

Bheema agreed with the general sentiment; Arjuna’s antics were getting on his nerves. But damn him if he ever chose his homicidal cousin over his own brother.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He sent Duryodhana a scowl for good measure.

“Actually, I would like an umbrella right now, and a sedan chair, but Arjuna shutting up is an acceptable alternative.”

Bheema called him a cuss word he would never dare pronounce in Yudhisthira’s earshot. His cousin burst out laughing in response.

Karna, who had abandoned any attempts at running, marched up to them. “Wait,” he said, catching Duryodhana by the arm and flapping his hand dangerously close to Bheema’s face. “Prince Sahadeva believes there is a cave close by.”

Bheema stopped, and Duryodhana did the same, leaning against a false ashoka. “Is this belief the result of some tangible evidence or is he doing his mind-manifestation thing again?”

“Oye!” Bheema scowled, swinging his mace up his shoulder, “I’m going to bash your head in.”

Duryodhana rolled his eyes but pushed himself off and Bheema stomped ahead of the sycophant and his king. He was ready to go home.

They marched the remaining hundred paces in silence. Sahadeva and Yudhisthira were huddling under an arched stone structure that once might have been a sprawling temple but was now reduced to a glorified rocky outcrop. Dushashana crouched beside them, close to Nakula. They were shaking their heads hard, fanning out their hair and sending sprays of water everywhere.

“What is wrong with you?” Karna demanded.

“I shook out more water than Nakula,” Dushashana told him proudly.

No, you did not.” Nakula thrust his head out into the rain again and started tossing his hair. “Look at this.”

Bheema rolled his eyes then noticed Yudhisthira taking a deep breath, clearly preparing some new lecture, and cast about for something to say before he began.

“I am hungry.”

Duryodhana stared at him. Arjuna started to laugh, “Are you ever not hungry?”

Bheema, who had blurted out the first thing on his mind in an attempt to distract Yudhisthira, blushed.

Karna hurried them all into the shelter. “It’s wet and cold,” he told Dushashana when the latter tried to drench his hair again. “You are going to forget about this match in half an hour. If you get sick, you will have to lay in bed for a week.”

“Oh, come on,” Dushashana grumbled, but complied.

Yudhisthira held out a hand to Arjuna. “Are you going to get some firewood?”

Bheema watched, a little bemused, as his brother bounded over a fallen log, and turned to Sahadeva. “Where is he going to find dry wood?”

Sahadeva shrugged and smiled. “Have patience brother. He will think of something.”

Bheema curled under the shade, huddling between his brothers. They watched in companionable silence as the rain slowed gradually, the pattering growing softer. Karna and Duryodhana had their heads together, murmuring in low voices. Once in a while there came distant whoops – Arjuna was certainly enjoying his duties.

Of course, because Yudhisthira could never let things be – he turned to Duryodhana and began, “So, how is the construction of the new quarters going?”

Karna jumped and Bheema smirked.

“Oh, pretty good. My mother is going to confirm the patterns on the balustrade today, and all the options look ravishing.” Duryodhana boasted.

“Oh,” Yudhisthira blinked, but was saved from thinking up an answer by Arjuna’s return. Their brother was dragging a dead stag behind him, grinning like he had won Draupadi’s swayamvar all over again.

“Where’s the firewood?” Dushashana asked.

“I forgot,” Arjuna told them.

“You forgot?”

Arjuna shrugged. “Okay, I did not want to. This was more fun.”

Yudhisthira rolled his eyes. Karna got up, stretched, and picked up Sahadeva’s axe, swinging it in his hands.

“No matter, Arjuna,” he said tauntingly, “I am sure you can eat raw flesh like a pisacha. For the rest of us, I will get you firewood.”

“Oi!” Bheema jumped up, clenching his fists, and narrowly avoided a head-on collision with the protruding rock. “You are just jumping to go, aren’t you? This is right up your lane.”

Karna snorted. “It is,” he said, “and you need better arguments if you want to defend your brother.”

And with that last piece of gratis advice, he was gone.

Bheema opened his mouth to continue, but Yudhisthira gave him a glare so stern he was compelled to roll his eyes and settle into sullen silence.

“We should get moving,” Nakula said, after a pregnant pause.

“Where are we?” Duryodhana demanded.

“Shouldn’t you know?” Bheema asked impatiently. “This forest is in your kingdom.”

“Look here-” Duryodhana began, but Yudhisthira intervened once more.

“It’s growing dark,” he pointed out, gesturing to where the patches of sunlight on the ground grew sparser and more diffused. “Maybe we should wait for the morning. We have food and we will soon have firewood. It is going to be safer.”

“It’s going to be boring,” Dushashana complained.

Arjuna shook his head. “I promised Draupadi we would not get in trouble. I vote for morning.”

“There are more of you,” Duryodhana grouched, but he must have agreed to it because he did not fuss anymore.

They fell into pairs – Duryodhana with his brother, the twins together, Bheema with Arjuna, and Yudhisthira the odd one out – and dispersed cautiously to gather materials to make camp.

They were hauling armfuls of underbrush to make their beds when Arjuna nodded behind him into the gloom. “Here he is.”

Karna emerged from the shadow of the trees, bundles of firewood on his shoulder. He took one look at the lumped beds, Yudhisthira’s half-skinned stag and flung the bundles into an untidy heap.

“Are these edible?” he asked Sahadeva, holding out his palm. Bheema spotted a bunch of herbs and some seeds.

Nakula peered over his brother’s shoulder and nodded. “Yes. Good job.”

In a rare moment of civility Karna nodded a vague thanks to the Pandava twins and started arranging the piles to build a fire.

Then, Dushashana ruined the moment (as he was wont to) by asking aloud, “Who is cooking?”

Yudhisthira looked up and offered, “Bheema perhaps?”

Bheema bristled, not because he did not want to cook, but because Yudhisthira had not even bothered to ask him if he was willing to burn a stag for eight people.

“I can’t cook very well,” he announced. “I think someone else had better do it.”

The others stared at him.

“What?” he asked defensively.

Duryodhana shook his head in amazement. “Who are you, and what have you done to Bheema?”

“You dumb thing,” Bheema sneered, “have you finally lost your sight as well as your brain.”

Dushashana rose beside them, but Duryodhana did not even take offence. He was still gaping at him.

“I don’t think,” Nakula began, “anyone expected to see the day when you refused to cook, Bhaiyya.”

Bheema sputtered, half in annoyance and half in betrayal, “Excuse you!”

There was a pregnant pause. Dushashana ventured cautiously, “So… what now?”

Bheema buckled under the pressure of several pairs of eyes and burst out, “Why don’t you do it?”

Karna, who had also stopped whatever he was doing to observe this playing out, stood up, sighed, and ruffled his hair. “Never mind, I’ll do it.”

This declaration was greeted with considerable suspicion by the rest of the group. Even Duryodhana, who had openly supported his then-commoner friend in front of the whole empire and his royal father, now blinked dubiously at him.

“What?” Karna asked, flinging out his arms. “I do know how to cook, you know.”

“I most certainly did not know that,” Dushashana muttered.

“Are you going to poison us?” Arjuna demanded.

Yudhisthira made a shushing sound, and Karna rolled his eyes hard enough to see the back of his head.

“If I decide to kill you, Arjuna,” the King of Anga enunciated slowly, “I will make sure I do it with a bow in my hands and a bow in yours.”

“Oh… um…” Yudhisthira looked taken aback. “Can we postpone all plans of homicide for a few prahars?”

“Sure,” Arjuna and Karna spoke at once.

“Then everything is settled?”

“I don’t want to eat his food,” Bheema told them.

There was a pause. Then Karna got up, swung the stag over his shoulder and glowered at Bheema.

“You know what? Stay hungry.”

With that, he was gone.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You know,” Bheema heard Nakula say, “this wasn’t actually that bad.”

“You sound surprised,” Karna observed.

“Do I?”

Bheema turned around and tried to block out the conversation. Since he had remained firm on his decision and refused to eat, the others had ganged up on him and sent him up a tree to keep watch. He would feel betrayed by his brothers, but he was far too hungry to care.

He heard them eating, and the occasional polite compliment floated between breaks in stilted conversation.

After a while, Sahadeva called out to him, “Bhaiyya, we are done. Do you want me to keep watch now?”

“No,” Bheema called back, although he just wanted to shout, ‘go away.’ “I am not sleepy. I will call you.”

“Huh,” Sahadeva muttered. “Not hungry, not sleepy, refuses to come down from a wet branch – what has happened to you?”

Bheema did not deign to dignify that with an answer. Yudhisthira came by sometime later to inform him that Arjuna had made his bush-bed, but Bheema ignored him as well. All he wanted was food.

Gradually the sounds of the camp quietened down, and the forest came alive. Moonbeams cut through the leaves like shards of glass, and crickets chirped in the night. Bheema heard the distant howl of jackals and shivered a little. His stomach growled.

Bheema looked over to their camp. His brothers lay sprawled over in various degrees of comfort – Nakula and Sahadeva were huddled together like newborn pups, and Arjuna had his head in a rather uncomfortable position on Yudhisthira’s arm. Karna and his cousins appeared asleep as well and Bheema gathered up the courage to venture closer.

The branches creaked and shuffled their leaves as he climbed down, but no one stirred. At the edge was a heap of banana leaves, and it was there that Bheema tiptoed.

Fate was not on his side, however, and when he parted them, he was disappointed to find a morsel of meat so lonely and small that he could not bring himself to eat it.

Someone coughed. Bheema jumped a foot in the air and spun around, heart pounding.

Karna had rolled on his side, watching him with glittering eyes. “Hungry?” he asked.

“No!” Bheema felt his face flame, and lowered his voice, “No, not at all.”

Bheema’s stomach chose that very moment to growl. The other man gave him an infuriating smirk, rolled over and stood up.

“Wait here,” Karna instructed, picking his quiver and bow, maneuvering around sleeping bodies, and disappearing into the forest.

Bheema sat there compliantly, feeling rather upset and a little foolish. He wondered if he should make off with the last piece, but the thought of Karna finding it missing was worse.

There was some rustling, and Karna reappeared, holding up an arrow with a dead rabbit skewered on it. Bheema was not faint-hearted by any means, but he had to turn away from the grisly sight. “What are you doing?” he asked, as Karna added wood to the fire and settled down to skin his kill.

“This is for you.” He held up a hand to forestall his protests. “Starvation is not rebellion; you just end up being miserable.”

“I was not rebelling,” Bheema sulked.

“Sure.”

For a while they sat together in silence – not particularly comfortable, but not hostile either, which was more than what could be said of their previous interactions. Karna cleaned the flesh and seasoned it with more leaves and mounted it over the fire.

Behind them, Duryodhana stirred. “I smell food.”

“It’s not for you.” Karna told him.

“Everything you make is for me,” Duryodhana drawled. “Wake up, Sahadeva, there is more food.”

Bheema expected Karna to take offence, but the other man only smiled, sighed, and handed Bheema the rabbit.

“Might as well get some more,” he clarified in answer to his questioning glance. “Something tells me everyone will be up now.”

And so they were. That night the eight of them feasted once more – with great teasing at Bheema’s expense, until he pointed out how everyone was gorging themselves on their second meal of the night. Afterwards, they lay on their backs in twos and threes, talking quietly.

When morning came, they began their long trek back home. Bheema threw Karna a smile when no one was looking and got a reserved nod in response. Then, Duryodhana turned to Yudhisthira, who was telling them about Indraprastha, and said, “When we get back, would you care for a game of dice?”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

OMG OMG OMG you have to read this fanfiction

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52861966

I know that is not 6 January (is April for the God Sake!), but is sooo touching......

Happy birthday, Sherlock Holmes! by Holmes_WatsonACSAneroxiaDalt (G, 1,665 w., 1 Ch. || Victorian AU || Established Relationship, Love Confessions, Light Angst, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Hurt Sherlock) – During the journey, Holmes was overcome by a million overwhelming feelings. Today is his birthday. His birthday. And Watson, dear Watson, his sun in the sky, his purpose in life, had not achieved this. Maybe he forgot, but he couldn't blame him. A story were Watson forgot the birthday of Holmes. Or not?

=====

Hi Nonny!!!

I LOVE sweet birthday fics, so THANK YOU for suggesting it!!

Everyone go give this one some love!!!

[sitp-recs]

in honor of Dracos birthday, do you have birthday centered recs :)?

Hi there! I definitely have some favorites, I just don’t remember if they’re more Harry-centric or Draco-centric 🤣 I hope you enjoy!

5th June by @shealwaysreads (M, 800 words)

Sometimes, a slice of cake is a declaration.

Hesperides by @lettersbyelise (E, 1.3k)

Draco Malfoy is not the kind of man to lavish gorgeous Greek holidays on his flings. So Harry doesn’t really know what to make of his invitation.

Birthday Boy by RurouniHime (M, 3k)

Thirty years old, and where was he?

Narcissus by cryptonym (E, 4k)

Harry wants to give Draco something really special for his birthday. What could more special than Draco, himself?!

Cake by astolat (M, 4k)

Harry tried not to care when after the war, everyone he knew seemed to have made an agreement to stop paying attention to birthdays.

Have Your Cake and Eat It, Too by @peachpety (E, 4k)

Harry Potter loves his birthday… until he doesn’t. All it takes is a miserable slice of jealousy, sprinkled with an unfortunate slip of the tongue, and doused with a heavy dollop of pining to turn Harry sour. Fortunately for him, Draco Malfoy is there to sweeten the day.

The Best Laid Plans by playout (M, 6k)

Since when has anything in Harry's life gone according to plan? His birthday is no exception.

Divination For Dickheads (orphaned, G, 7k)

It doesn't actually turn out to be the worst birthday present he's ever been given.

(Un)Calculated Risk by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 7k)

He thought about the way Harry looked at him, smiled at him; about the way Draco’s head was nearly always full of him, all day every day, and about the way Draco sometimes deliberately went to bed still smelling of him, refusing to acknowledge what it meant – because he already fucking knew what it meant. What all of it meant. And then Draco decided, fuck it, he was going to risk it. They were going to risk it together, Harry and Draco.

Kill, Fuck, Marry by @lettersbyelise (E, 12k)

Harry and Draco unexpectedly meet again on Draco’s birthday, years after their last encounter.

Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 13k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

A Holiday in Provence by dracoismytrashson (E, 32k)

Harry Potter is turning 50 years old and feeling lonelier than ever. Divorced, retired, and learning he’s not quite as straight as he thought he was, Harry reluctantly accepts a birthday gift from his friends for a week’s stay at an idyllic French vineyard. Too bad Hermione and Ron neglected to mention that the owner of the winery happens to be a certain quick-witted blond Slytherin…

[navybrat817]

Navy's Nonsense: 8/14 - 8/20

My birthday is this week, lovelies! Yikes. 😂 I got 2 of the 4 birthday fics done, which will be posted this week! Anything else shared if there's time is extra. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog so you don't miss out on any new fics, updates, or polls. 💙

Planned nonsense posting 8/17: What Happens in Vegas (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Planned nonsense posting 8/17: Light It Up (Curtis Everett x Reader)

Did you miss last week's Nonsense? No worries! Check it out here. Love and thanks for reading. 💙

[steddieas-shegoes]

Birthday Fics

A compilation post for all birthday fics written for amazing people:

2023

Sadie Dio Gerry  Hype Joey Randa Emily Worm Sandy   

2024

Lex Bee (tboygareth) Sadie

This will obviously be updated as fics are completed and posted!

[amazingmsme]

If someone was to write a fic for you what fandoms would be your top 5 choices 👀

Aw thank you for asking! I’m not picky & have a lot of fixations right now

1. Critical Role, specifically the mighty nein

2. DND Honor Among Thieves

3. Top Gun/Top Gun Maverick

4. Stranger Things

5. Peaky Blinders

& of course some honorable mentions:

The Witcher

Marvel (including the Disney+ shows but I haven’t seen she hulk or ms marvel)

Wolf 359

Castlevania

Better Call Saul

Inside Job

Twin Peaks

& basically anything I’ve written for

[skiimble]

sanji birth (of feelings for zoro) inspired by @/snomji's IKEA AU ;) read it here

[tojbnuy]

mini part 4 for gojo day 🧁 next part will probably be the finale. thank you for showing best friend toru so much love even tho he is fairly toxic. art by @ _3aem on twt!! part one part two part three

warnings: a very vague birthday bj, some feelings? MDNI

birthdayboybestfriend!satoru who waits with his phone in his hand ignoring all his other messages and skipping to your contact because he knows you’ll say it at bang on midnight. he is then smiling so hard at his phone suguru actually gets worried.

bestfriend!satoru who obviously has party of the century going on at his place. being the star boy he is, he is soaking up the attention. however he has been dyingggg for your arrival, he makes sure to tell every girl that approaches him that he is booked and busy for today.

bestfriend!satoru who tackles you into a massive hug when he sees you and picks you up just to make sure everyone else sees this. you’re wearing white (his favourite) and he knows for a fact you did that on purpose.

bestfriend!satoru who disregards everyone else’s presents for the time being so he can give you and your presents his full attention. unfortunately he is nosy and had scrolled through your google tab last week so he already knew what two of them were going to be.

bestfriend!satoru who (staying true to character) asks you for a birthday kiss. ‘can i have my last present now baby?’ and then he’s pressed up against you and his familiar taste is all you can take in. ‘toru people can see us’ ‘let them see baby’

bestfriend!satoru who wraps your ponytail around his fist whilst you’re talking. sometimes even pulling you back a bit so he can take a long inhale at your neck.

bestfriend!satoru who is actually very annoyed that he got a hot tub because now there were multiple gawking at you. suguru even wolf whistles at you at one point just to rile him up and he got a mouthful of tub water because of it.

bestfriend!satoru who catches you whispering to suguru and finds he definitely does not like the look of that. you had a worried expression which he made a mental note of to ask suguru about later.

bestfriend!satoru who casually gropes at your chest. (you allow him of course) (however you put an end to it when his fingers start to creep into the material of the lace covering your breasts.) (there were simply too many people present but satoru was content with just holding your tit) (stressball >__<)

bestfriend!satoru who makes his closest friends go round the tub and say what they like about him most. suguru is the only one who gives him a slightly heartfelt message, sukuna calls him ugly, toji calls him an airhead, nanami says he is ‘special’ (whatever that means?), shoko says he makes her want to smoke. and then it’s your turn and gojo actually tears up at your beautiful words. your voice and your eyes staring only ever at him saying that he is your person and you really do think he the strongest individual you know. (then he grabs your face and kisses you and the crowd boos until he stops)

bestfriend!satoru who is dead set on you staying with him for the night. ‘you’re not gonna cuddle your best friend on his birthday?’ and how could you everrrr say no to that.

bestfriend!satoru who has his head on your chest, you hands running through his hair and scratching at your scalp. his thighs are covering yours and he lazily kisses at your collarbone. the tension in the room is thick. you can both feel it. it was simply a game of who would move first. satoru knew you wouldn’t, always the more timid and shy one of the two so he took it upon himself to drag his fingers across the waistband of your shorts. ‘wait toru we can’t i’m, i’m your friend?’ god you were too sweet for this earth. ‘it’s okay baby. we don’t have to, but no one’s gonna know. just us.’ and he litters even more feather light kisses to the spot right below your ear until you were letting out soft little sighs. ‘then. then i want to do it, yk since it’s your birthday.’ he knew you weren’t the most conventional best friends but this, this was further than anything you’d ever done before. and he was on cloud nine.

bestfriend!satoru who was now realizing that he had never experienced true joy before this moment. before he had felt your velvet soft lips wrapped around his tip. your tongue licking at his crown so softly, so sweetly. he’s always been a moaner but now he had no shame in the sounds that were leaving him. ‘that’s it baby, just like that. that’s my girl’.

bestfriend!satoru who was a head pusher. he let you set the pace in the beginning but he was growing desperate, something he hadn’t experienced before. your little mewls as he holds you in place right at the base of his dick. your nose nestled against the faint hairs there, and your tears dropping directly into his skin. he had given you the chance to move but being the amazing best friend that you were you swallowed everything he gave you, even opened wide and let him take a look, that to make sure. ‘fuck baby that was the best gift ever’

bestfriend!satoru who snores like a truck directly into your ears and grinds his hips into your thighs whilst he sleeps.

(bsf!gojo will be returning soon!! and i’ll be adding everyone who asked to the taglist! thank u for showing him so much love :))

taglist : @haruhatake @moncher-ire @startwithrecords @ranatherealestsigma @chjinua @sukuxna0 @suechii @whozeurdaddy @purp1eha1o @greensunflowerjuna @jjkysnk @tibibibi123 @missthatgirl @macchiatoast @adanfore @namjooningera @jaeminsmilk @tojicvmslut @hachichann

[l-a-l-o-u]

Korra's Wardrobe | 2025 edition

Over 10 years ago, while LoK was still airing, I drew Korra in each of her outfits. I recently found that post again, and thought I should revisit my old obsession, and add the outfits that were missing. This has been really fun, it was like meeting up with some old friends - both my younger self and Korra herself!

Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to finish this!! ♥ And hi to the people who were in the fandom with me back then, I'm waving at you from over here in the future :)

None of these are show-accurate, I thought it would be much more interesting to give each design a bit of a twist while keeping their original visual language. It was a really fun challenge, and I love comparing the old and new.

Some of these are a lot further into my own interpretation - the chains ghost, for example, is super bloodied because I'm not restricted by a TV network censor and the Zaheer fight was violent. And it left scars, too! The Raava fusion designs are extremely self-indulgent (Raava I love you, you will always be famous), and the kid designs are pretty far from the depictions of Korra in Friends for Life and Weaver's Ball, but I wanted to make them into a real evolution getting closer to the Book 1 design over time.

Here are the two full lineups side by side:

how far we've come...

Here are some line versions also! I had a lot of fun drawing all the little tiny details:

I once said that if I ever stop posting Korra redesigns, assume I'm dead. and well. I guess it's still true

[bumbleboa]

Fanart of @cal-writes 's fanfic Dig Site as a very belated birthday present!

This fic is such a lovely character study for Robin, set in an AU in which Zoro joined Baroque Works at an early age, please go check it out!

[ronearoundblindly]

Big Pharma

Steve Rogers x doctor!Reader

Written for @stargazingfangirl18's Birthday Bonenanza--HAPPY BDAY, SIRI!--using the scenario prompt ~quick, frantic, secret sex in an almost public place + babe's hand over your mouth to keep you quiet~ and the dialogue prompt "goddamnit, will you just f***ing let me do this for you?" with free use kink for good measure. Why not?

Summary: The extreme drug cocktail you devise to save Steve Rogers has one major side effect.

Warnings for smut 🥴, sorta dub-con because it's like sex pollen, F E E L S, Steve being the most chivalrous gentleman while railing you (do it for your country, babes 🫡), completely unintentional dirty talk from Steve but 😮‍💨 we'll allow it, Tony being Tony, and--as always-- terrible puns. (There are no mentions of any medical instruments, except an IV, which is not used.) MINORS DNI. This is a mature gift work; see my Light Masterlist for all-age fanfic that is fine for minors. WC 2k

The constant photoflash burns into your retinas obnoxiously, and you’re not even the subject of the paparazzi.

Captain America is alive—all thanks to you—though he could easily have been six-feet under by now. The mysterious infection was so bad and spread so far, the drug regimen you administered constitutes one of the Avengers’ biggest Hail Marys to date, but it’s working. That’s all that matters…to the world. Behind the scenes is a different story.

As Captain Rogers turns to the next hand he must shake, his sharp blue eyes find you, twinged with a familiar fear.

This stupid event scheduled by Stark to boost morale, to show Cap is just fine and back in fighting form, has gone on too long. It’s happening again.

You worried Rogers might not make it when suddenly Stark showed up hours earlier than the initial, planned press conference—because, of course, there’s meet-and-greets, quick interviews, and these damn handshakes. He’s only gone so long between treatments for the last week.

You nod at Cap and make your way in the small crowd back to Stark. You tell him you’ll need a room, somewhere private to put in the IV, and at least thirty minutes to administer the huge dose. Rogers’s super-metabolism makes it necessary to use approximately forty times the prescription average for antibiotics and steroids. In theory, the side effects are well worth his speedy recovery.

Well, the only side effect.

Stark looks horrendously annoyed. “Can’t you just shoot him up with it and be done?” He doesn’t need your lecture repeated though. “Fine, there’s a greenroom thing over there, but you’ve got fifteen minutes at most, you hear me?”

“Twenty-five, Mr. Stark. He’s not a water balloon.”

“Twenty or he can wheel the damn thing around with him.”

You gulp in nervousness, but the problem isn’t Stark’s attitude. Rogers isn’t going to like rushing this. He feels shame enough already.

“I’ll make it work,” you assure the stubborn playboy. If he only knew…

“Good. A team player. We value that here.”

You have no fucking idea how ironic that is, you scream internally, but you follow him to a door off a back hallway, a room that shares a wall with the space all those people are gathered, and thank Stark.

“Oh good, he’s heard the dog-whistle of treat time,” Tony quips, and you swivel to see Cap trailing behind you.

He’s already made his excuses to step away, too. It must be bad.

You’re sure to pull out your props of a saline drip and tubing from your bag while Tony can still see, but you drop the act the instant the door clicks shut.

Cap take one step forward to flip the lock, immediately unzipping the fly of his iconic leather suit.

See, the only side effect of the drugs is Rogers gets hard, often, and can’t find relief from his efforts alone. Through trial-and-error, the clear solution has been help—discretely—from the only medical professional allowed around him until his condition improved.

Of course, he fought it. Of course, you wanted to preserve his dignity. Of course, you tried to keep it as perfunctory, methodical, and uninspired as possible, but the thing is, that didn’t last.

The more distant and cold the experience, the faster he became desperate and wanting again, and now you have just twenty minutes to make sure Captain America can hold out for hours.

Steve, you remind yourself. He prefers you not use respectful address when engaging is what he deems entirely disrespectful behavior. 

You need to get him off in essentially no time at all, so you’ve decided: go big or go home.

Bag tossed to the floor, you unbutton your pants and shimmy out of everything from shoes to panties, letting the longer tail of your dress shirt barely cover your modesty.

Steve looks dumbfounded. It’s bad enough he has to run to you for a handy every few hours, but this?

“Doc, no,” he breaths.

“I understand the procedure,” you say calmly, echoing his harrowing consent from that first night he needed you.

Steve’s brow furrows in strain. “We shouldn’t…”

‘We’ are way past ‘shouldn’t,’ buddy.

“Can’t ask you to…“ but he also knows time’s a wasting.

He’s already fisting himself, struggling to be the gentleman he never stopped being, which at the moment is a huge problem because both of you need to get through the day—you without losing your job and him without popping a boner on national television.

It’s your job to break him and break him right now.

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?”

There’s a flat smack on the door.

“Do whatever the lady wants and then get back out here,” Tony yells from the other side. “Put us all out of our misery,” he ends with a grumble.

That is by far the most helpful thing Stark has said in the last week, so you mouth “see” and begin undoing your blouse from the bottom, giving Steve his first peek of you. His hand speeds along his length, adam’s apple bobbing in concentration.

“Here, I’ll make it easy for you,” you whisper. You walk to the far corner of the room, put your hands up, shirt rising over your bare ass, and face the wall. Your voice is soothing, pleading even. “Just take what you need.”

In some ways, you feel responsible for his predicament. You are the prescribing doctor, he isn’t in a relationship where a partner could assist, and he insists no one else know. He doesn’t deserve to be poked and prodded more than necessary, and you can’t give him any other meds in combination. None of it is his fault same as none of it is yours. You only intended to heal him.

Truthfully though, none of this is just about his release anymore, much as you’d like to dismiss your feelings.

You can’t deny, however, that each time the air gets a little thicker with tension, the body language a little more intimate. Steve has kept his eyes open, clutched your free hand to his chest, rolled his hips open, and thrust up into your fist. The greater the satisfaction of his climax, the longer he retains control.

“When this is over…I swear,” he grits out, getting closer word by word until his deep voice is right by your ear.

He tugs your shirt up to dip his fingers between your legs. “Been smelling you for two days. Can’t do anything until—” Steve growls, feeling how slick you’ve become in anticipation “—you’re ready for me.” 

His concern washes away when two fingers easily breech you to the knuckle and are immediately replaced by the blunt head of his cock dragging between your folds.

You didn’t expect him to give in so fast. You didn’t expect him to have known this aroused you. The idea he might want to continue, to go further, races down your spine, following the opposite path of Steve leaning into you. His forehead presses your occipital as yours presses the wall. The heat of him makes you arch in luxurious proximity.

Steve fucking forward to enter you in one smooth motion makes you forget to be quiet, but before the whole shout of ecstasy escapes, his hand covers your mouth.

“Shhh, Doc,” he breathes at the base of your neck. “Be good for me.”

That only gets you moaning into the seam of his gloves.

His hips start a staccato rhythm, a second of loud friction for each second of silent, fulfilling pressure.

Steve slips his still wet fingers under your shirt and beneath the cup of your bra to swirl a smooth pattern over your nipple. Instead of voicing your approval, you shove yourself back into him faster.

You notice the muffled chatting of Tony and someone else outside while your eyes roll. The slap of your skin against the Cap suit becomes the loudest thing in the room, but that’s not what Steve minds.

He pulls out and spins you around, pausing to see the cream you’ve created at the base of him drip to the carpet below.

Deep sea eyes meet yours through golden lashes.

“If I can’t hear you…” Steve hoists you up to his waist, threading one arm through the bend in your knee, spreading you wide and diving in swiftly.

Your body curls forward automatically to grasp at him and smother yourself in the leather of his shoulder pad. This pace is much faster, purposeful, utterly unravelling you. The position delivers more range of motion, all of the buildup and less of the noise, with the added benefit of his tool belt nudging your clit repeatedly.

Tony pounds on the door. “‘Bout done in there, guys? Let’s go.” How apt, the unknowing jester.

Steve pants, open-mouthed, against your temple.

You smile but can’t stop your own ruin.

A groan gets buried in your disheveled hair. “Are you…close?” His hips snap brutally. “Are you—“ he sounds wrecked “—you gonna…come on my—uungh.”

You tip over the edge, clutching him tight and fluttering for him in every way. The detonation of your orgasm burns red behind your eyelids like camera flashes, a dirty snapshot for you alone.

“Mercy,” Steve begs, gripping your ass to rut into you, desperate to join. His neck tenses as he spills inside you, pulse throbbing in time with his cock. 

He leans against you and the wall, his steady weight stilling your shaky legs. Slowly, your feet are guided to the floor and Steve steps away to wipe away any evidence of his ‘therapeutic treatment.’ His breathing settles much faster than yours, and by the time he’s tucked back in with his suit righted, you’re simply sliding down the wall to catch up.

He hurries over to the small vanity and mini fridge—usually ‘guests’ for speaking (or interrogating) wait here—to bring you supplies.

A box of tissues is set by your side.

“So…” he hands you a bottle of water “…maybe…dinner tonight?” 

You set the water down in favor of cleaning yourself, glancing up to offer a reassuring dismissal. “This morning was your last dose,” you remind him. “It should be over soon.”

Steve may not need this anymore, may never need you again, but he doesn’t miss a single beat.

“I’d like—I want to take you some place nice, but…” He chugs his whole water then quickly unclasps the glove on his left hand, rolling up his sleeve, veins jumping over a thick forearm.

“I don’t know what food you enjoy.”

Arguably, he knows a few other things that you enjoy.

There’s another impatient bang at the door.

“I—“ Your heart soars with the soft sincerity of his face, no trace of fear left behind, no hesitation. “I’m gonna need a minute.”

Steve stands, smoothing a hand over his hair. “I’ll lock it behind me…and, um, thank you, Doc.”

It’s the first time he hasn’t apologized this whole week.

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Steve flashes you a dopey smile and shakes his head. “See you out there,” he chuckles.

You can’t be seen when the door opens just enough for Steve to step out, but he makes a show of rolling the suit’s sleeve back down like he really did have an IV infusion, selling the lie like a pro. He keeps Tony talking while shutting you back into your debauched bubble.

Through the wall, you still hear “could you have gone any slower?” followed by a curt, “yes,” and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’d you do, blow a vein?”

You’re picturing an incredibly ironic look on Captain Rogers’ face.

“Just be grateful she puts up with us, Tony…” and their voices disappear down the hall.

His treatment may be finished, but Steve wants you to stick around. He wants you.

Would having dinner with that man really be so terrible? No. Not at all. Even the ‘worst’ of this situation has been a great fucking experience. You don’t want to give that up yet.

It seems you’re both addicted now.

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers One-Shots; Ko-Fi]

[blackknight-100]

A Vrishasena backstory fic, written for our very beloved writer @the-lekhika . Happy birthday to you!!

It is a bitterly cold night in the month of Magha when Supriya’s first child slips into the world, kicking and screaming. His newly hatched lungs pull in the scent of misty air and his father's perfume, and his Uncle Duryodhana says, “Strong as an army, this one. Let him be Vrishasena.”

Little Vrishasena is four years and a day old when he first sees the Imperial Palace at Hastinapura. The dome shines in the diffused morning light, and it looks to him that it is drenched in liquid gold. His father laughs when he says so and puts a large hand upon his head. “This is not even half of it, little one.”

The doors are polished wood, carved with gods and gargoyles, higher and wider than those at Anga. As his father greets Uncle Duryodhana with a smile and a hug, he spies two curly heads behind the mahogany monstrosity.

“Namaste,” he says politely, with a bow of his head like Maa taught him. “I am Vrishasena, son of Karna of Anga.”

One of them, a younger boy, smiles up at him, wide and trusting. “Lakthman,” the child says, words dragging through his lisp, and Vrishasena is in love.

It is Drona who takes over his tutoring when Vrishasena turns eight. Mother is very unhappy about it, but Father shakes his head. “Drona is the best option, unless you want him to do what I did,” he says.

Mother wrings her hands. “I mislike that man, and that he comes to court.”

Father pats her on the shoulder. “It will not be long, dearest,” he says, and Vrishasena listens carefully. He would return a grown-up warrior, and surprise everyone. The thought of it puts a smile on his face, and he is not so scared to go away alone.

Drona's aashram is noisy and big. When he gets down from the rickety cart that ferries all the students to and fro, he sees Lakshman and Lakshmanaa standing on the dirt track, clutching mud-coloured satchels to their chests. He runs up to them and gives them a hug and laughs at the shock on their faces.

“Father said there was a surprise for us!” Lakshmanaa beams at him. “You were the surprise, weren't you?”

“Maybe,” he says, although he is no less astonished. “Do you like it?”

“Yes!” the twins shriek, and Vrishasena feels warmth flood his chest.

On the third year of his schooling at Drona’s aashram, Vrishasena gets a letter from Anga. No one is allowed to send or receive letters from home, and thus any correspondence brings with it the promise of ill-news.

He takes it from the messenger with some apprehension, and the twins come to look over his shoulder.

“Dear Vrishasena,” reads his father’s slanting script, and for a moment Vrishasena – who had thought the worst – forgets to breathe.

“You have a brother!” Lakshman screams right next to his ear, with no respect whatsoever for his privacy, and Vrishasena has to flinch from the sheer volume of it.

“We read faster than you,” Lakshmanaa – who has somehow snuck into the boys’ residence – beams happily. “This is so sweet!”

Vrishasena finally manages to master his relief and reads through the rest of it. His brother is newly come to the world, born only a few weeks ago, on the last of Sravana’s rainy evenings.

“We named him Vrishaketu,” Father writes. “It only seemed meet, since you are Vrisha-sena.”

He reads those lines again, presses the letter to his heart. Behind him, he can feel the twins shifting, and then their little arms hugging him. He pulls them close, and relishes in the joy lighting up his world.

Vrishaketu joins the aashram the year Vrishasena turns nineteen – and he thinks he has never known greater delight. His brother comes the same way he had taken eleven years ago, on the same rickety cart down the same dirt track, although the horses are new. He is tall for his age, with Father’s bright face, and Mother’s compassionate smile, and Vrishasena all but runs to him.

His brother lets out a full belly laugh as he lifts him and spins him around, and then Lakshman (and Lakshmanaa – who is, at this point, the sneakiest woman in existence) are clamouring around him, and he has to kneel down so everyone can hug each other.

He does not know it then, but it would be the happiest he would be in a long time.

A year later, twenty years old and a warrior through and through, Vrishasena leaves his sobbing brother and the heartbroken twins and for the first time in more than a decade, goes home.

Anga is all decked-up for his return, and the citizens hold out their hands to him as he passes. His chariot rolls past no less than eighteen groups of men with drums around their neck, and as the capital comes closer, the air thickens with the fragrance of sweets and syrups.

It is, however, the sight of his parents waiting for him, Uncle Duryodhana and Uncle Ashwatthama flanking them, that brings tears into his eyes. He leaps off his chariot and runs the last few steps to his mother’s embrace. His father wraps his arms around them, as if he could shore them up by strength of will alone, and Vrishasena sinks into that warmth with a sigh.

Half a year later, Vrishasena meets Arjun for the first time when they visit the newly made palace at Indraprastha. No one he knows speaks well of the Pandavas, and he is… not curious, precisely, but interested.

The man in question is tall and dark, with a shock of hair tumbling from under his glittering crown. He greets them with a courteous, albeit stiff, smile, and a regal tilt of his head, and introduces Vrishasena to his son Abhimanyu.

Vrishasena quite likes Abhimanyu. The young prince is quick-witted and sharp-tongued, and for a while, he might as well have been back in Drona’s aashram. Abhimanyu takes him by the arm and shows him around the new palace, away from the clamour of visiting royalty. They sneak away to the kitchens together. His companion offers him sweets with a wink and a giggle, and it occurs to him they might now be friends.

Vrishasena would have been willing to follow Abhimanyu around all day, but they are princes still, and needed in the main hall. The kings gather there with solemn faces, seated straight-backed upon expensive chairs. Father catches his eye and frowns but says nothing.

There is an oddly tense atmosphere in the hall. The assembled Kings are silent and still, and Krishna, King of Dwarka, seems to be murmuring something placatingly to the recently crowned Pandava King. Uncle Duryodhana leaves his seat and marches up to the raised podium at the end, right up to King Yudhisthir’s nose, and starts a belligerent rant about punishments being kinder than crimes.

Vrishasena looks to Abhimanyu for clarification, but his friend is as bewildered as he is. Then Uncle Duryodhana whirls around, the edge of his fashionable shawl nearly smacking Queen Draupadi in the face, and strides away. “Come,” he orders. “We are leaving.”

The rest of his retinue gather themselves and follow him immediately. His father catches his eyes again. Abhimanyu pats his shoulder. “Go, before there is an even bigger scene.”

“Yes, I-”

Splash!

The two of them turn in horror. Uncle Duryodhana, Crown Prince of Hastinapura and arguably one of the most powerful men in Aryavart, sputters in a pool. It is so artfully crafted that Vrishasena is not sure he would not have mistaken it for the floor.

Around them, the kings are laughing, as are the Pandava brothers. Only the eldest, Yudhisthir and the Pandava Queen Draupadi hurry forward, appalled. To his horror, he sees most of Hastinapura’s retinue hovering around, unwilling to get in the water. It is his father who swims to the humiliated Prince and hauls him up, drenched clothes and all.

“Oh, Cousin!” Yudhisthir says helplessly, wringing his hands.

His wife is more sensible, as she bids a maid to bring towels. “My Lord,” she says softly, “we beg your pardon. Please do sit down. We shall-”

Uncle Duryodhana interrupts her mid-speech. “I will not stand for this,” he roars. “You play at being Emperor from a Kingdom my father gifted you, you try to steal what has ever been rightfully ours. You kill our allies upon your sacred fire, and scorn and humiliate those who have ever taken you since childhood!”

“Cousin, please,” Yudhisthir begins, but his brother, Prince Bheem interrupts with a taunting laugh. “Are you as blind as your father?” he jeers, and giggles fill the hall. The King and Queen turn with shock on their faces, but the damage is already done.

“You will regret this!” Uncle Duryodhana hollers, no longer caring about his dignity. “Wretched bastards of the forests, you will regret this!”

Red in the face and wet as a water-nymph, Uncle Duryodhana strides out. The titters quieten down to an uneasy silence. The promise of retribution hangs in the air.

Later, Vrishasena’s beloved father and uncles would reduce his cousins to paupers, would drag and disrobe their fire-born wife. There would be banishment and war and bloodshed, and the then warrior Vrishasena – bold and fleet and swift – would cut down scores and scores of people before falling to the cruelty of Arjun’s arrows – arrows of the man who had greeted them with a smile and given him a transient friendship. Vrishasena would die in pieces, not even knowing that he died by an uncle’s hand.

But that is far away. For now, Vrishasena bids Abhimanyu a hasty goodbye, and rushes after his father and uncles, worry tugging at his heart. The winds of Aryavart are ever changing, even for those yet too young to suffer for it.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi Steph!

Love your blog!!

Do you have any birthday fics? It’s my birthday tomorrow (21st) so it would be cool to read some birthday ones!

Really really REALLY love your blog ❤️

You’re the best in this fandom

HI LOVELY!!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm so happy my blog makes your day!!! And OMG you are far too kind, my goodness!! YOU should be getting all the love today!!!!! 💜🖤

I sadly only have one Birthdays list, so it's a bit old and lacking anything pretty recent, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

That said, anyone have other Birthday fics to offer Nonny for their birthday???????

And as an aside, I hope you have a FANTASTIC 21st birthday!!! 💜🖤

[thatskindarough]

“‘I just…I thought you might like to come back, one day,’ Crowley said very quietly. Aziraphale’s foot pressed against his again, and Crowley drew in a sudden breath, as if he hadn’t been breathing properly since Aziraphale had stopped touching him.”

This piece was a commission from the lovely @fellshish for their lovely friend, @alphacentaurinebula ‘s fic What Are You Doing Here? This fic is cute, funny, heartwarming, and incredibly spicy, and I’m very much looking forward to finishing it! Thank you Fells for being wonderful to work with, and happy (belated) birthday to you Alphacentauri, I’m very happy I could do this for you!