#but usually like scenes will have a Feel. and if it feel like its getting away from me or getting too long it pretty much always is

[nemisuki]

Stay By Me

Synopsis || When the crowded trains are the worst part of their date, or so he thought... maybe they aren't so bad after all.

᧔o᧓ || katsuki bakugo x f!reader, she/her pronouns, fluff, no smut or angst, physical touch, protective bkg, clumsy reader, aged up to seniors, dating au, short fluff oneshot, silly moments, he’s just a lil guy, 601 word count

The sound of closing doors echoed throughout the cart, the confined space being filled with its bustling passengers of all ages and sizes.

Perhaps choosing to go on a date on the weekend wasn't the smartest idea for a couple such as themselves, who much prefer a quiet ambience.

"Tch, so many damn extras."

His attitude is visible towards those unfortunate enough to accidentally make eye contact with him, his signature scowl so intimidating that they avert their gazes elsewhere.

"We only have a few stops, don't worry!"

She softly hums at the music vibrating in her headphones as the train slowly begins leaving the station.

He grunts in response to her words, already looking up at the sign for the number of stops left, his patience already thinning out.

The cart sways back and forth as it descends out the tunnel, rays of sunlight creeping through the glass and lighting up the interior of the train.

The soft melody heard through his single earbud — courtesy of their joint playlist the lovebirds are listening too right now — only adds to the serene beauty of the sights outside.

As it shifts to the romantic chorus of the song, her gaze drifts up to his expressionless face, his eyes looking out towards the city below.

He is the epitome of perfection.

Her eyes soften as she studies the intricate facial features that make up that stunning look of a face, no shame whatsoever as she fights the urge to nibble on those puffy cheeks of his.

So it's no shocker when the blonde looks down at her, as if feeling the intense stare from his side.

"What?"

He raises a brow at her — complete confusion dawning upon him — and tilts his head to the side, urging her to explain.

And so she does.

"Nothing, just that you're really handsome Katsuki!"

The blonde gives her a deadpan expression — one that she's grown too familiar with these past couple of years to understand — its purpose to conceal his bashfulness under the stoic mask.

He scoffs with fake distaste at her compliment.

"I love you~" she mouths towards him, knowing he'd hate for anyone to hear her sappy words in public.

She's been around him enough to know — he feels the same, in his own ways of course, despite the way he rolls his eyes, causing her to bite back a knowing smile.

The peaceful scene comes to a halt however, when the cart gets a bit too wobbly for her liking.

She stumbles around like many other unsuspecting victims in the train and quickly tightens her hold on the pole, assuming the small scare was over.

But knowing her clumsy self is bound to fall any second now, he pulls her figure right into his chest, securing the girl by resting his arm over her shoulder and holding her close.

Her eyes slightly widened with shock, the familiar scent of his cologne invading her nostrils, warming her body instantaneously at the affectionate gesture.

He's usually not one for PDA.

At the same time, a cheesy part of the love song plays through her headphones, making her giggle at the cliche look of it all.

Given he's listening to the same song simultaneously beside her, he avoids her cheeky gaze and instead focuses on the view outside the window.

Though she saw it before he put on his aloof expression. A small smile — as he gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze, reminding her just how much he cares.

"If your showing PDA now then... perhaps a kiss-"

"Yeah not happening."

So much for a cliche ending...

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

a/n ||| omg a new layout?! if ur a og follower then u probably noticed some changes on my account hehe. i made myself some new banners, headers and borders! i hope u guys like it bc it took lots of days to finish since i did it myself *sobs* also changed to colored dialogue bc that won in the last poll yippieee! btw this fic was inspired by the couple pic i used in the beginning which i found on pinterest! tags ||| @leleyro @zaiban2989 ໒꒰ྀི ´๑  ̫๑`  ꒱ྀིა

[independentanon]

"RESIST PROJECT 2025" Stencil - BTS

I figured I'd share a behind-the-scenes look at how I made my stencil. Feel free to use what you find in this post (and my other posts) to make your own! Just be safe, as it requires sharp blades and chemical fumes.

I started by making the following graphic:

I did my usual thing of putting the graphic onto my phone, tracing it from my phone onto clear plastic with permanent marker, then projecting the shadow onto... well, usually I'd say "foam board" here, but this time it was card stock.

I first refined the pencil trace.

I then used a strip of cereal box I cut to help me consistently add bridges to the trace so no "islands" of the stencil would be completely cut off, and to "peninsulas" so they can remain ridged. I learned from looking at other stencil fonts online that following existing edges helps to keep the final product legible, but there also needs to be a balance with making the cut stencil sturdy enough to last. Most of the bridges I made were as short as possible.

I put this card stock onto a disposable hard surface so I could cut it using my box cutter. I also bought an Exacto-Knife but the blade was shit. Cutting with a box cutter is both painful and time consuming, but this ended up being the most effective tool I had available. I did end up with a blister, though.

Anyway, here's what I ended up with:

The above image was used in my second stencil post.

I ended up making a border of duct tape for my master stencil to protect its edges and to provide a surface for tape to cling to that wouldn't break down overtime.

The idea of a "master" stencil is to have a form I can quickly trace for when I want to make a new stencil. Getting paper wet will damage and warp it over time, so keeping a pristine master stencil is valuable since the copies are disposable and making one from scratch takes a lot longer.

=================================

Okay, so from here, I needed to make a stencil copy using my newly created master stencil.

After tracing and cutting the copy, I took it out in a well ventilated area to spray paint the decal onto some foam board.

A stencil copy like this one can be used multiple times, but it's recommended that you let it dry a little before uses or it will get too wet and warp quickly, ruining it sooner than later.

This was my first test with my first stencil copy:

The above image was used for my forth stencil post.

It's important to make sure the stencil is flat against the surface you're applying the decal to in order to prevent fuzzy edges. I didn't do that and you can see that the letters are not sharp in some spots.

Lastly, I did my little test where I put my sign in a distant room with all lights off except in that room, then took a photo to see how it looked:

There are tricks online about how to flatten a warped piece of paper that I'd recommend looking into, since stencils generally don't last long and will warp pretty quickly. As for how to properly secure a stencil to a vertical surface, well... I won't go there :)

Here are the original posts:

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a companion fic, scene excerpt: Spite learns how to paint

Scene written with my Rook Calais as the eight companion. Read more about him here!

Scene is a takeout of a larger Rookanis fic that I'm writing so this is a bit of an experiment. If this does well I'll post a few more scenes on here!

-

Cal was a few minutes into his painting exercise when the door of the pantry opened and a sleepy Lucanis came out. “Oh, hello. You’re back already.” he said, surprised. “Yeah.” Cal said, a little short. Lucanis frowned, cocked his head, but didn’t inquire further, walking over to the kitchen counter for coffee first. Of course. “Here, looks like you need it.” he said, coming over after finishing brewing coffee for both of them and putting the cup next to Cal. Cal couldn’t hold on to his anger in the face of such a kind gesture, smiling gratefully at Lucanis. “Thank you, Lucanis.” “You’re welcome.” Lucanis smiled and took a seat on the table next to Cal. “I thought painting was supposed to be relaxing.” he pointed vaguely at Cal’s tense frown. “Usually it is. Today I’m just trying to keep the demons at bay.” Cal sighed, deflating a little. “What?” Spite chimed in. “I’m not doing anything!” Cal chuckled. “Sorry, Spite, I didn’t mean you. I more meant my personal demons. Bad thoughts.” “What bad thoughts?” Lucanis asked. “Did you not have fun last night with Emmrich?” “Oh no, it was great. I had a lovely time.” Cal said. “Perhaps too lovely.” “Talk to me.” Lucanis said, openly looking at Cal.

“Everything was perfect, Lucanis. Exactly as it should be. But I ruined it with my feelings.” Cal sighed. “Emmrich was very clear on the arrangement. It was going to be one night only.” “Right. But.. you felt different.” Lucanis said. “I foolishly thought we had something special. He and I always talk so easily, make each other laugh, understand each other in a way no one else does.” Cal sighed. “And I guess I was dumb enough to think maybe he felt like that too. So when we got back this morning I asked him if he really was set on it being a one time thing. That I was open to it being more than that.” he took a sip of his coffee, letting the hot liquid settle his nerves a bit. “And he rejected you.” Lucanis concluded. There was a little contempt in his frown, but it quickly disappeared. “I’m sorry.” “Thank you. I suppose it’s my own stupid fault though.” Cal said. “I knew the terms.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself. What you said is true, you and Emmrich are usually like butter and toast. I can’t begin to guess why he would reject you, but I know that what you feel isn’t stupid.” Lucanis assured him with a gentle smile. “Sometimes things just aren’t meant to be.” “I guess. But the rejection hurt more than I like to admit. It made me feel.. small. Like I wasn’t enough. That’s why I’m here, painting the feelings out. That’s why I was frowning so hard.” Cal smiled sadly. “It’s hard to feel useless when you’re creating something.”

Lucanis looked a little lost on what to say, but Spite had a word of wisdom as usual. “Useless? No, never useless! Create in spite of what he said. Prove your worth. But you are already enough. Like pennies in a jar.” Cal laughed a little. “Thanks Spite.” “He has such a way with words.” Lucanis smiled when he saw Cal smile as well. “He’s right though. You’re never useless. Always enough. You bring joy with your presence, your smile.” “Thank you. Both of you.” Cal smiled warmly. “I really appreciate the support. I’ll be fine. Just need to get over myself for a bit.” “And painting helps?” Lucanis asked. “It does. It’s calming. I like the feeling of the brush on the canvas, thinking of what colours to use and mix, plan out a painting step by step.” Cal explained. “You can try, if you want?” “Yes, try!” Spite was clearly excited. “Sure, why not?” Lucanis said, indulging him. “I should warn you though, I don’t have an inch of artistic talent.” “It’s not about talent, or about what you make. Its about expression. As long as you’re conveying what you’re feeling, it doesn’t matter how ‘good’ it is. If its worth doing, then its worth doing badly, too.” Cal smiled, Lucanis surprised by that little bit of wisdom at the end. “I suppose you’re right.” he said. “Well, I suppose it can’t hurt to try.” “What do you want to paint, you think?” Cal asked. “You.” Lucanis said, honestly. “How I see you. Well, I mean, I’ll try.” “Oh, okay.” Cal said. “Then I’ll paint you, if that’s alright?” “Yours will be better.” Lucanis smirked. “But it’s the thought that counts right?” “It is.” Cal agreed. “Can Spite use objects in his latent shape?” “Yes, I can if you are near! I want to paint too!” Spite proclaimed with his usual smirk. “Hold on, I’ll get you set up.” Cal said, grabbing a canvas and putting it on the table for Spite to use. He put his older brushes there for him, the ones that wouldn’t suffer much for a bit of abuse, the hairs already starting to split. “There you go. Just dip your brush in water first before you grab paint.” he said, Spite eager to do so. It must have looked strange for anyone walking in, Cal and Lucanis painting, and a third canvas being assaulted by a floating brush. But Cal actually found a sense of peace in it, and the bad thoughts left him as he kept looking at Lucanis’ face for reference. The portrait was turning out quite nicely, and he couldn’t help but feel curious as to how Lucanis’ painting was going. Lucanis kept looking at him too, Cal smiling whenever their eyes met. There was something to it, he found, feeling the stirrings of something beneath the surface at Lucanis’ slow smile. Or was that just because he was still emotional from this morning? He probably couldn’t really trust his own feelings right now, but it was nice to take his mind off of this with someone he liked and trusted. Even Spite seemed to be having a good time, happily painting away. At first the strokes were big and aggressive but he seemed to hone in now, scribbling with a smaller brush. “What are you painting, Spite?” Cal said, seeing him so focused on his canvas. “Home.” Spite said, and the longing in his voice was clear. “Can I see?” Cal asked. “If you want, yes.” Spite said. He still seemed a little awkward but Cal was glad for the trust that was clearly returning after their earlier mishap. He came over to look at Spite’s painting, surprised to see how well he’d managed to represent the fade with colours and shapes, even if they were more abstract than how a humanoid would have done. “Spite, that’s beautiful.” Cal said, taking in the painting. Lucanis joined him, curious to see it as well. He seemed surprised, eyebrows rising. “I had no idea he could do this.” “I love the colours you used, very expressive.” Cal smiled when he saw Spite’s giddy grin. “I like painting!” Spite proclaimed with enthusiasm. “Giving shapes and colours to feelings and thoughts!” he wiggled excitedly. “I want to paint more!”

“Of course, here I have another canvas you can use.” Cal said, giving it to Spite, who was as happy as a child with a new toy. “I’ve never seen him like this.” Lucanis said, almost in awe as they returned to their own canvasses. “He’s so happy, so calm.” “We all need a hobby to express ourself.” Cal smiled. “Even spirits.”

“I wonder what he did before to express himself.” Lucanis said. “Can I see how you’re doing?” “Sure. It’s not finished by a long shot, though.” Cal said, standing aside to show Lucanis his painting. Lucanis took it in with a quiet look, smiling when he looked at Cal again after. “You’re very talented.” “Nah, I just practised a lot.” Cal said. “And you don’t even have a face yet.” “But I can already see it’s going to be me. The shapes, the stance, the essence is already there.” Lucanis said. “It’s going to be beautiful, I can tell.” “Thank you.” Cal smiled, flattered. “Can I see yours?” “No.” Lucanis said, quickly. “It’s.. nowhere near as good as yours. I am.. a little ashamed.” he admitted. Cal chuckled. “How many times have you painted in your life?” “The last time I painted was as a young boy.” Lucanis said. "It was with fingerpaint, and me and Illario started a war with it instead of painting our canvasses."

“Right, and I've painted every day, since I was four years old. So don’t put that pressure on yourself. Just have a good time.” Cal smiled. “Comparison is the thief of joy.” “You are just full of wisdom today.” Lucanis said, smiling.

Cal focused on his own painting for a bit, seeing Lucanis do the same, but he gradually seemed to smile wider, Cal curiously looking over. “What is it?” “It’s a mess. I don’t think I can salvage this.” Lucanis gave in. “It’s like a child made it.” “You’re too hard on yourself.” Cal said. “No, it’s fine. I’m just going to have to accept that I’m not an artist.” Lucanis sighed with acceptance. “I tried.” “Come on, just let me see.” Cal said, Lucanis stepping aside to let him look. Cal didn’t want to laugh, but he had a hard time keeping his grin contained when he saw what Lucanis had made. There was something of a face there, he had to give him that. The colours were unmixed, primary only, so his skin was red, his eyes blue and his hair yellow, a little orange where it touched his skin and making it look like spaghetti. He put his hand in front of his mouth to hide his smirk. “This..” he said, taking the canvas and presenting it to Lucanis formally, holding it in front of his chest. “Is modern art.” he saw Lucanis start to grin, finally breaking his own composure and laughing as well. Their joined laughter filled the kitchen, Cal having to wipe a little tear once they calmed down.

“It really is a disaster, isn’t it?” Lucanis sighed, chuckling and shaking his head. “No, no, it’s not a disaster.” Cal said, hiccuping. “I can see the shapes. That’s definitely a face. Everything is kind of in the right place, too.” “You’re being kind.” Lucanis said. “It’s ugly.” “It makes me smile.” Cal said. “And I love it for that.”

“You’re sweet.” Lucanis said, his eyes warm. “But I think painting is definitely your thing. Not mine.” he gave Cal the canvas he’d been working on. “Here, a gift. If it makes you happy, you should keep it.” “I will. I’ll look at it every day and remind myself that this is how you see me.” Cal smiled.

“Well, don’t do that.” Lucanis chuckled. “I didn’t even get your hair colour right. I don’t know why I didn’t just use white.” he subconsciously touched Cal’s hair, Cal looking at him with surprise at the familiarity. Lucanis seemed to realize his mistake after a moment or two, taking his hand back to himself. “Forgive me.” he mumbled. Cal smiled when he saw Lucanis fumble slightly.

“You’re okay.” he said. “Do you want to try again? The painting I mean.”

[beskars]

undisclosed desires; a silco x reader fic

rating: explicit word count: 3.7k warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, jealousy, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, oral sex (fem receiving), possessiveness, subby silco if you squint, 'good girl' + other pet names. no use of y/n [ao3]

“Is that what you wanted?” he questioned, his voice dropping lower as he crowded you against his office door, “To make me watch while you let that worthless nobody touch what’s mine?”

The admission hung in the air between you as his gaze burned into you, demanding an answer.

“Yours?” you challenged softly, “that’s interesting, considering how deliberately you’ve been pushing me away all this time.”

He reached for you then, his hand dropping to his side before it found you, clenching into a fist.

“Pushing you away?” he murmured, a short, bitter laugh punctuating his response. “No. On the contrary, I have let you get closer—far closer than I ever should have. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve fought to maintain what precious distance I am able to keep from you?”

undisclosed desires

You’d chosen your outfit for the evening carefully, selecting an ensemble that would draw his attention without being too obvious in its intention. A part of you felt slightly embarrassed that you’d resorted to such measures, but after months of subtle attempts to convey how you felt about him had been met with that same practiced distance he maintained with everyone, you had grown almost desperate in your need to provoke a reaction from him. Even contempt would be better than indifference.

The Last Drop was crowded tonight, the thrumming bassline vibrating the floor beneath your boots as you wove through a mass of bodies to position yourself just below the balcony he often occupied. You resisted the urge to look up, but you could feel his presence — could picture him standing there, hands folded behind his back as he surveyed the scene below. How many times you had stood beside him, the distance between you a fathomless chasm, cataloguing the elegant lines of his profile. Hoping he wouldn’t catch you staring. Hoping even more that he would.

There was nothing especially memorable about the man who approached you, though he was handsome enough in a plain way. What he lacked in looks he made up for in enthusiasm, eagerly drawing your back against his chest as you undulated to the pulse of the music. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you even closer, and you tried to ignore that the shape of them was all wrong, the fingers too broad as they dug into your skin. Nothing like the fine-boned hands of the man watching you from above, whose stare was now too heavy to ignore. 

Tipping your head back against the shoulder of your nameless partner, you caught a groan escape from his lips as you rolled your hips back.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” the man breathed out, and you forced a smile, willing yourself to keep up the false display for your audience of one. 

Unable to stop yourself from glancing up, you caught sight of Silco’s jaw tightening for the briefest of moments before his usual placid expression slid back into place. He held your gaze for a beat, his face betraying nothing, before he turned and strode in the direction of his office, disappearing from your line of vision. You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat, but found yourself unable to, suddenly suffocated by the closeness of the man behind you and the heat of his breath on your neck. 

“I’ll be right back,” you told him, disentangling yourself before he could ask where you were going, pushing through the crowd toward the bar. 

You were stopped in your tracks by one of Silco’s employees, his hand wrapping around your bicep firmly but carefully as he guided you through the club.

“You’re wanted upstairs,” he said by way of explanation, only relinquishing his grip once you reached the bottom of the steps. 

The walk to his office felt longer than usual, anticipation and dread building in equal measure with each stride you took. He was standing at the window when you entered, the angularity of his face thrown into even deeper contrast by the sickly glow of the city lights behind him. He was silent for several long moments, giving you ample time to take in the rigidity of his posture, the displeasure pulling down the corners of his mouth.

“Would you care to explain,” he began, a dangerous edge to his silky voice, “what little game you think you’re playing?”

“I’m not sure how what I do in my free time is any of your concern,” you replied, watching his features go taut at your insolence.

“No?” he asked, moving toward you with a predatory grace that made you shiver. “Then perhaps you’d like to explain why you were watching so closely for my reaction when that man had his hands all over you.”

Your pulse quickened as he all but closed the distance between you, fighting to maintain your defiant expression.

“Maybe I wanted you to watch,” you told him, the words slipping out before you could trap them behind your teeth.

“Is that what you wanted?” he questioned, his voice dropping lower as he crowded you against his office door, “To make me watch while you let that worthless nobody touch what’s mine?”

The admission hung in the air between you as his gaze burned into you, demanding an answer.

“Yours?” you challenged softly, “that’s interesting, considering how deliberately you’ve been pushing me away all this time.”

He reached for you then, his hand dropping to his side before it found you, clenching into a fist.

“Pushing you away?” he murmured, a short, bitter laugh punctuating his response. “No. On the contrary, I have let you get closer—far closer than I ever should have. Do you have any idea how hard I’ve fought to maintain what precious distance I am able to keep from you?”

“No, I don’t,” you snapped, unable to keep the hurt from seeping into your voice. “It doesn’t seem to be hard for you at all.”

He let out an uncharacteristically frustrated exhalation, his good eye fluttering closed.

“Then know this,” he said, his gaze snapping back to yours, “I have lain awake every night for months , replaying every single touch, every lingering glance you’ve given me. I have spent so long trying to convince myself that keeping you at arms length was the right choice, the rational choice, only for my resolve to crumble within seconds of being in your presence.”

Your breath caught, heart beating wildly in your chest as you watched him.

“If that’s how you feel, then why—” you started.

“Because everyone I allow close becomes a weakness,” he gritted out, “because watching you dance with that man tonight made me want to tear him apart with my bare hands. Because the way you make me feel, the things you make me want—that loss of control will be my undoing. You will be my undoing—”

He stopped, seemingly struggling for words, before reaching for you, his hands cradling your face tenderly even as his lips met yours with bruising intensity.

“Tell me what I make you want,” you whispered against his mouth when you finally broke apart, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Everything,” he admitted roughly, pressing a kiss to your jaw. “Anything you’ll give me.”

“Silco,” you breathed, reveling in the almost pained groan he let out against your skin, “it’s all yours. I’m all yours, have been for so long—”

He drew back to look at you, his composure beautifully disheveled, chest rising and falling rapidly as he caged you against the door within his arms.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me,” he murmured, “watching you touch him like that? Knowing you were doing it to deliberately provoke me?”

His fingers found your waist as he bowed his forehead against yours, silent for a moment as he attempted to steady himself.

“I could see it in every movement,” he continued, “the way you glanced up, hoping I was watching— knowing I was watching—”

“Yes,” you admitted quietly, “I just wanted to know you felt something for me, anything—”

“I feel everything for you,” he told you, the words scraped from somewhere deep within him as he clutched at you tighter, “every moment of the day, wanting you, needing you…”

He trailed off, his hands slipping beneath the revealing top you’d chosen so carefully, his thumbs tracing possessive patterns against your sternum. 

“And then you show up here, dressed like this…” he paused, his eye fluttering closed as you shivered beneath his touch, “knowing exactly what you’re doing to my control, knowing I couldn’t bear the sight of someone else touching you like this—”

You hummed in agreement, arching into the warmth of his hands.

“Yes,” you whispered, “wanted you to stop being so fucking careful and just give in.”

Tilting your head, you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck, inhaling the scent of cardamom and tobacco, tasting the salt of his skin.

“Fuck,” he exhaled, the uncharacteristic loss of eloquence causing scintillas of heat to race up your spine. “Getting exactly what you wanted, aren’t you?”

You nodded, trailing kisses down the column of his throat until you were hindered by his shirt collar, letting out a frustrated sound as you tried to undo his tie with trembling fingers. 

“I shouldn’t reward such behavior,” he told you darkly, “shouldn’t give in to you like this when you behaved so wickedly downstairs, making me watch the way you pressed against him like he was the one you wanted—”

His hands stilled and you whimpered in protest, cupping his jaw desperately. 

“You’re the only one I want,” you promised, pressing a kiss to his lips before continuing, “the only one I’ve ever wanted like this. Gods, if you knew the things I think about you…”

You trailed off, tracing his lower lip with your thumb, heart fluttering as he kissed the tip of it with unexpected tenderness.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his hands continuing their exploration of your torso, leaving your skin flushed and aching in his wake. “Make me believe you want this as badly as I do.”

Drawing in an unsteady breath, you leaned into him, your breath fluttering against his ear.

“I’ve lain awake at night thinking of you, too,” you whispered, a heat rising in your cheeks as you continued, “imagining us here, in your office, sitting on your desk while you kiss me, your hand between my legs so you can feel how wet I am for you…”

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his voice hoarse with desire, clutching at your hips.

“Pretending my hands are yours while I touch myself,” you went on, tracing the shell of his ear with your tongue, “not letting myself come until I imagine you giving me permission to—”

He sucked in a breath at your admission, turning his head to capture your lips in a dizzying kiss.

“The mouth on you, sweetheart—” he choked out, “saying things that make me want to—”

“To what?” you challenged, watching his control unravel bit by bit, “show me. Show me exactly what I make you want. Show me who I belong to.”

With that, his composure finally snapped, his mouth claiming yours in fierce, possessive kisses as he pushed your top up before finally lifting it over your head and discarding it.

“Mine,” he murmured, kissing his way down your neck, licking into the hollow of your throat as your fingers carded through his hair. “Mine to touch. Mine to taste. Only mine.”

“Silco,” you keened, clutching just tightly enough for him to exhale shakily against your stomach. 

Dropping to his knees, his hands skated down your sides to stop at your waist, holding you exactly where the stranger had earlier. 

“Mark me,” you begged, unable to stop yourself. “Make me forget anyone else has ever touched me, please—”

Letting out a quiet, desperate curse, he acquiesced, pressing heated kisses to your skin, erasing the memory of each point of contact from earlier with his mouth. He glanced up at you, a question in his gaze, and you nodded, gasping as his teeth sank into sensitive flesh. Each mark he placed was careful, deliberate, his tongue tenderly laving each bruise before he moved on, leaving you a trembling mess. 

“Perfect,” he breathed, leaning back on his heels to admire his work, his fingertips tracing the blooms on your skin. “You’re so perfect like this, so beautiful.”

You barely had time to bask in the adoration in his voice before he was reaching for your remaining clothes, hesitating at your zipper as if waiting for permission before you urged him on with a whispered plea. With painstaking slowness he dragged the garments down your legs until you could step out of them, kicking them to the side to join the rest of your outfit. Silently, reverently, he lifted one of your legs to hitch it over his shoulder, turning to the side to press a line of kisses to the inside of your thigh.

“Tell me you want this,” he urged you, looking up pleadingly. “Tell me I can have you—”

You nodded frantically, nearly sobbing with need.

“You can have me,” you babbled hoarsely, “you can have all of me, I’m yours, only yours—have been for so long—”

He let out a gratified curse, leaning forward and engulfing you in the heat of his mouth, moaning at the taste of the arousal gathered there. Your hips jolted forward at the contact, and you let out a soft cry as his tongue flattened against your clit. The sound seemed to bring him back to himself, pulling away and getting to his feet even as you whimpered in protest at the loss of his touch.

“Need you in my bed,” he told you, grabbing your waist and drawing you flush against him, “need to know that I’m the only one who gets to hear those pretty little sounds you’re making.”

His hand slipped between your legs, fingertips brushing against you teasingly before he covered your mouth with his, swallowing your moan. He walked you into his bedroom, his thumb tracing achingly light patterns against your clit all the while, stopping only to lock the door behind him. It was quieter here, the pounding bassline of the club a dull muffle beneath your feet as you watched him, your trembling breath audible above the faint music. When he reached for you again, you caught his wrist, giving a single shake of your head.

“Get undressed,” you said, somewhere between a request and a demand, and he halted momentarily, a vulnerable look flashing across his face. “Please,” you added, finding the fastenings of his vest, “let me see you.”

He nodded, his hands covering yours as you started on his tie, gently guiding your movements until you could pull it from his collar and let it drop to the floor, where it was soon joined by his vest. Slowly, deliberately, you began undoing the buttons of his shirt, covering every inch of skin in kisses as it was revealed to you. A tremor ran through him as you pressed a kiss to his sternum before taking a step back, pushing his shirt open to expose the lean, elegant lines of his torso. 

“Gorgeous,” you breathed out, reveling in the sight of the corded muscles of his forearms, the map of silvery scars that adorned the left side of his body, the tributary of dark hair that began beneath his navel and disappeared into his waistband.

You circled him slowly, your hand anchored on his narrow waist, leaning up to whisper in his ear.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” you asked, inhaling the scent of spiced cologne and pomade mixed with the lingering cigar smoke that clung to his skin. “How perfect?”

He didn’t answer but you felt him shiver as you placed a tender kiss between his sharp shoulder blades, your hand slipping down into the front of his trousers. 

“Take these off for me,” you murmured, kissing the nape of his neck once before he acquiesced, shucking off the remainder of his clothes and turning to face you. 

Cupping your jaw in his hands, he kissed you slowly, licking into your mouth as the warmth of his skin seeped into you, stoking your burning need into an inferno.

“Silco,” you pleaded against his lips, arching into him.

“Say it again,” he commanded, walking you backwards toward his bed, lifting you onto the edge of the mattress and fitting a hand back between your legs.

You obliged, watching his face transform with something like wonder.

“Again,” he breathed against your mouth, his fingertips sliding through your slick heat as you shifted beneath him, desperate for more. “Keep saying it. Let me hear how my name sounds when you’re completely undone.”

You bit back a sob as one of his fingers sunk into you, his thumb drawing insistent circles against your clit.

“Silco–” you cried out, an incoherent mixture of curses and pleas falling from your lips as a second finger joined the first, beckoning at something deep within you. 

Kneeling beside the bed, he bowed his head between your thighs as if in prayer, his tongue replacing his thumb, licking at the most sensitive part of you as you clenched around him. His moans vibrated against your core as he devoured you, letting out soft sounds of need that seemed beyond his control to contain. When your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him even closer, his efforts intensified, each touch intent on making you fall apart for him. 

“Baby, please—” you gasped, the endearment earning a desperate groan from him, his gaze lifting up to meet yours. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—” you urged, a telling heat creeping up your chest as you felt yourself go taut. 

When you came with his name on your lips, he made a sound that was almost broken with need, working you through it slowly and methodically, pressing soft kisses to your aching flesh. Overwhelmed, you stifled a sob into the back of your hand, squeezing your eyes shut as tears began to well up. In an instant, he was there, wiping the salt from your skin with his thumbs, capturing your cries in his mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured soothingly, “so perfect. The way you look when you fall apart for me…the sounds you make…the way you taste—” he broke off, bringing his fingers to his mouth to suck them clean of your arousal. 

“Fuck,” you whimpered, the ache between your legs already returning as you watched him, “come here, please—wanna feel you, all of you—”

Pushing yourself back to make room for him, you pulled him down beside you, gasping as he slotted his thigh between your legs, giving you something to grind down on as he kissed you.

“That’s right,” he murmured approvingly against your mouth, “take what you need, sweetheart.”

He pulled back slightly, groaning at the sight of you undulating against him, before looking back at you, a possessiveness in his gaze that made you tremble. His thigh flexed against your sensitive flesh and you whined, leaning into his touch as he cupped your face with one hand. The pad of his thumb traced your lower lip, and you opened for him instinctively, moaning as he pressed down on your tongue.

“Oh, good girl,” he praised softly, the words pulling a muffled whimper from deep within you as you ground your hips against him, seeking the friction you needed to ease the throb between your legs. 

It was too much and not enough all at once, the feeling of him everywhere but where you desired him most. Carefully, you shifted your positions so that you were straddling him as he pushed himself back against the pillows. As he pulled his thumb from between your lips, you caught his wrist, pressing a tender kiss to his palm before pinning both his wrists over his head. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, shifting beneath you as you bent down to kiss him.

“Taking what I need,” you whispered in response, sinking down onto him inch by inch, so full of him it forced the air from your lungs.

“Fuck,” he gritted out, throwing his head back, exposing the column of his throat as you began to move. “Gods, you feel perfect. Like you were fucking made for me—”

“I was,” you murmured, slowly circling your hips down as you pressed open-mouthed kisses along his sharp jawline. 

He arched up into you, breathing out your name with a reverence that made your heart stutter.

“Let me touch you,” he begged, whining in protest when you shook your head and adding, “ please—”

“Not yet,” you told him, “I want you like this a while longer. You look so fucking perfect like this,” you continued, and though he let out a frustrated curse, he relented, his hands unclenching from where you had bound them over his head. 

You slowed your movements, watching as he surrendered to you, a beautiful flush rising in his chest. His lips were kiss-swollen and indented where he had worried at them with his teeth, errant locks of dark hair falling across his forehead, every shred of his usual composure gone. In its place was Silco as only you would ever see him, completely and utterly wrecked, gazing up at you with unabashed devotion.

“So good for me,” you praised, delighting in the shiver that ran through him at your words. “Making me feel so fucking good—”

He let out a sharp exhalation, straining against you once more.

“I can make it even better for you,” he gasped, “just let me touch you, I’ll make it so fucking good for you, please— please let me touch you—”

Your resolve crumbled. 

“Yes,” you breathed, relinquishing your hold on him, “touch me—”

He complied without a moment’s hesitation, one hand reaching for the place where your bodies met, the other curling around your hip, both working in tandem to bring you closer to the edge.

“Silco, Silco, Silco,” you whimpered, any semblance of coherent speech now gone, his name the only word you could conjure. 

“That’s it,” he murmured, his brow furrowed intently, focused entirely on your pleasure, “just like that. Let go for me.”

With one last cry of his name, you did. Trembling, you grabbed his hand as he slowly withdrew it from between your thighs, interlacing your fingers with his as he sought his own release. When he came, your name a broken plea on his lips, you brought his knuckles to your mouth, softly kissing each one before bending down to rest your forehead against his. You stayed there a moment, listening as his breathing slowed before pressing a gentle kiss to his lips and whispering,

“Yours.”

You felt his mouth curve into a small smile as he repeated the word back to you.

“Yours.”

[bunnyfluffy16]

sephiroth x you !!

things you should know: sfw, reader’s pronouns aren’t mentioned, this is set where sephiroth never went crazy / pre-nibelheim (choice is up to you dear reader <3)

here’s a poorly drawn sephiroth to help set the scene

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ Sparks and Roses °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was a wondrous evening in Costa del Sol. Many tourists and locals on the western coast gathered to celebrate the summer solstice. The tropical resort was decorated with all sorts of exotic flowers and streamers. Its streets were lined with more food and souvenir stands than usual. The warm smiles of the crowds were lit by torches and lanterns. The soothing scent of the sea breeze filled the air. And the beat of bongos and the shake of maracas were in sync with the excitement that thumped in your heart.

“Thank you,” you said as you received the deep red rose you purchased from one of the stands. You wanted to give your sweet soldier a little gift.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! The fireworks show will begin shortly. Always remember to have a good time and HANG LOOSE!” announced the host on the loudspeakers.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh, no! I don’t want to miss the show and keep him waiting,” you worried.

As you walked briskly along the cobblestone path, a flock of tourists suddenly blocked your way.

“E-excuse me,” you said with as much politeness as you could muster.

You were starting to lose your patience, and all of a sudden, you fell to the ground and dropped the rose. Someone bumped into you and did not bother to apologize. Groaning in pain and annoyance, you noticed the special flower getting stepped on.

“Hey! That’s for Sephi—” You covered your mouth.

Everyone knew who he was—Shinra’s greatest soldier. If he was not loved, then he was envied and feared.

Tonight was special. It was one of the rare times when the two of you could go on a vacation together. It would be quite a shame if you had to share his attention with a few of his admirers. Though you adored how he appreciated his fans, you could not help but want to spend a little time with just the two of you. Despite his seemingly endless number of missions, he tried his best to make time for you. He was utterly devoted to you. Your happiness was his number one mission.

Sometimes, you could not help but wonder why he chose you out of so many, but he was drawn to the way you smiled, the way you called out his name, the way your hand felt in his, and the way you lit up when you talked about your brilliant ideas. He loved how he felt at ease whenever he was with you. You made him feel like he could express his vulnerability freely. You made him feel human. He was filled with great honor to be yours.

Grinning in excitement to see him, you crawled to pick up the rose and regain your composure.

After struggling against the crowds, you jogged to a secluded gazebo at the far end of the resort, where you had promised to meet Sephiroth.

You made it to the gazebo entrance and hid your hands, which held the rose, behind your back.

“S-sorry, I’m late,” you apologized between breaths.

You caught your breath, only to have it taken away again by him.

He was leaning against the railing, arms crossed. His beautiful face was illuminated by the soft light of the moon. The wind blew his long silver hair, making it look like mist in the night. He was not dressed in his usual leather attire and armor. Instead, he wore a loose black long-sleeved cotton shirt. A few of its buttons were open, exposing his bare chest—his signature style. Wistfully, his feline Mako-green eyes gazed at the sky.

He noticed your presence and instantly made his way to you.

“Where have you been? I was just about to go looking for you,” he said, his face and voice expressing his worry.

You brought your hands in front of you and held out the rose to him with the biggest smile on your face.

“Who’s that from?” he asked skeptically, with a hint of jealousy. The sea breeze blew on him again. His hair tousled in the wind as he drew closer to you. His eyes shifted to peer at the rose.

“From me…” you said, quite flustered. There was something about the air that night that made Sephiroth look so serene.

He raised a silver-grey brow and cocked his head.

“To you!” you beamed.

He raised both of his eyebrows and chuckled. His hand flew just below his nose, covering his charming smile.

“Thank you,” he said, smiling at you as he reached out to take the rose.

To your surprise, he gingerly wore the rose on his left ear. The red rose complemented his green eyes perfectly. The greatest war hero, smiling while wearing a flower on his head, truly was a sight to see. He looked angelic, and his appreciation made your cheeks warm up. Being so flustered, before you could react, he reached into his back pocket and said, “I should be giving this to you.”

He had a red rose just for you too. A soft gasp escaped from your lips. You could not contain the joy in your heart.

Smiling, Sephiroth placed the rose on your left ear as well. It was almost like your heart could burst. The two of you were wearing matching roses.

You both walked to the gazebo railing to get a better view of the upcoming fireworks show.

“Thank you, Sephiroth!” you said with great joy.

“You’re welcome.” A hint of red appeared on his cheeks.

He softly caressed your cheek, and at the right moment, when the first firework sparkled, he pulled you in for a kiss.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𓏵𐙚

⋆˚✿˖° in the hawaiian culture, if you are to wear a flower behind your left ear, you are married or unavailable ⋆˚✿˖°

A/N: Hello! if you took the time to read this THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😩💗 this is my first oneshot fic AAAAAAAAA i have a few other ideas that are in the works rn hehe i hope you guys enjoyed sjsjdjs im shy wjsjskwk im always tryna improve so comments, suggestions, and constructive criticism are welcomed just be nice plz 🥹

[triglycercule]

can the mtt commit more crimes that just murder please i know theyre the MURDER time trio but ppppleasse,,,, please,,,,,,

they'd be terrible to be next to on the highway. horror's going 160 mph amd has long past gone over the speed limit. dust's out for BLOOD and by blood i mean your tires. he's somehow sniping those round rubber wheels from the high moving vehicle with the precision of a master fruit ninja player. if your car explodes or flips over in the process that's not his fault. and then to make matters worse for everyone on the highway killer's in the backseat scratching up the doors and windows of your car with a knife everytime horror gets close to another car and oops he accidentally just disfigured your face also did i mention theyre all drunk during this

ok so theyve all got the classic face WHY DONT THEY ABUSE IT!!!! horror gets to do a little paper mache to cover up his head hole and then wearing glasses. killer i dont know what the FUCK he can do to get rid of his perpetual tears but let's just pretend that theyre conveniently gone for now. and then all dust has to do is put down his hood! anyways identity theft is cool. imagine how much they could totally fuck up classic's reputation with this. set up fake tinder profiles and then scam people for their credit card info/free dates (while ordering every expensive thing) and stealing wallets. walking into various grillby's's around the multiverse and telling terrible jokes. like ACTUALLY bad jokes. and then of course just being a huge piece of shit at the bar. god theres so many things they could do pretending to be classic. which one of us is hikaru looking ahh except the only difference between the three is the color of the stains on their clothes (either gray (dust) black (killer) or red. well faded red (horror))

ROBBERY!!!! ROBBERIES PLURAL!!!??? train robbery gas station robbery bank robbery GOVERNMENT robbery (what would you rob the government for?? documents??? idk) anyways. mtt robbing a train except its just a really shitty plan and they dont know jackshit about what theyre doing. killer's taken over the conductor's cabin and now he is booking it. how fast are trains allowed to go idk but the maximum. anyways meanwhile horror's on the tracks fucking up the rails with his strength or whatever (listen i know he's weak but picking and choosing what hcs i believe in is my art) and dust is there to teleport him away before the train crashes into him and turns him into a trolley problem victim. and then of course that shit doesnt fucking work and the train just ends up flipping over and catching on fire or something (killer survives because of course he does he's killer). and then in the end dust just has to flip the entire train over and they just stroll into the part that actually HAS the money

and then they go out and get ice cream. sometimes the murderers need to take a break from murdering and just do NORMAL crime yk???

[floorpancakes]

[thelesbododo]

I just realized I accidentally predicted Bakugou sacrificing himself for Deku when making up an AU fic in my head last year 😭

[lesbianraskolnikov]

RODYA WAS A MAMAS BOY HE DID NOT HAVE MOMMY ISSUES.

You must understand he is in a situation that will make you want to bark at everyone at some point... He is already extremely isolated but combined with his own issues it can make you want to push everyone away. Not to mention he's in all this for his family. But he doesn't hate them. He doesn't want to see them because he's depressed and isolated, and he (feels that he) FAILED THEM!!! He's out here to get an education to support his family, and now he's expelled and cant manage a job and his mama is having to send over money so he can get by. Of course he doesn't want to see her or his family. He's ashamed he's DEPRESSED.

Any moment he claims to hate his family is not literal. There's a lot going through his brain. He did also just kill someone. And then his family returns, so the guilt is making him insane. You forget he calls her mama/mommy. Deep down, he's child who wants to run back to mama. In my opinion. He loves her deeply.

[dennisboobs]

my favourite thing about the always sunny podcast is listening to rcg all say something extremely neurodivergent and then agree amongst themselves and convince themselves its completely normal

[ratatatastic]

do you write fic on ao3?

unfortunately for everyone involved i do!

[liquidstar]

a friend who'd wait :)

[dreadfutures]

.

I love Solas, and I love Solavellan, because I find the character and story so compelling, but sometimes I feel like a fake Solavellan

to me Ixchel and Solas has kind of always been about two friends who both suffer from the same affliction and they are the only two people who can ever understand it, the affliction being outside (duty, responsibility, guilt) and inside (inherent fatalism in philosophy, viewing the self as unworthy, haunted by despair) and though

they can't at first forgive themselves or find the strength within them to stay out of their dark spirals, they can do it for the other. and how important that is. that's love. the smooching and everything is on top. the knowing what dark predators haunt the other person's psyche and saying I'll be there with you when the wolves come, we'll survive together. the I know exactly who you are and how ugly it is and I love you for it and I see the beauty still. the I will never get tired of you even if youre never "fixed." that's love right. that's Ixchel and Solas to me.

so like yeah they have been Together for about like 170+ chapters. they're not being tested about being pulled apart by duty or fear anymore, they're testing the strength of that bond in those dark ugly moments that come for us all. and mostly theyre good. mostly they're just on an adventure together.

somehow it feels like I'm a fake Solavellan 🥲 like early dpdf captured something and... getting together, having truths revealed, this *aftermath* is like I left that behind somehow. like it's beyond what Solavellans want. idk. I think about other fics that are post- truth coming out and staying together and they're very different vibes, I think, you know?

I like my action/adventure fic, I like them together, I like having moments where they find that there is still a dark corner they haven't swept out into the light yet and the way it's still scary for someone to want to know those ugly parts of you that they maybe haven't seen yet. I like having them be mostly utterly confident in each others competency. I like them united against the unknown together. but like did everything about them peak in Here Lies the Abyss, you know? or maybe Wycome? I'm so nervous about everything in TBG :'( it's just hard for me RN in my heart idk to feel confident of like. where it Fits into fandom besides "blue loves lore and wants to explore metaphysics with Ixchel (new perspective) and Solas (wise, experienced guide)"

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[frobby]

i love madoka magica however i dont think we as a fandom talk enough about how tragic madoka herself is. probably because the narrative itself steers you away from thinking about her personally. shes not a character shes a desire that homura has, shes a force of good, shes homura's foil. but those are all madoka's narrative roles but madoka herself as a person is not really looked at because we are viewing this world from an unreliable narrator(homura) who only sees madoka as those things. The best thing homura could have done for madoka was give up on her, to let her go. because every time we go back in time the image of madoka is distorted, she loses more of herself every regression of homura's as she tries harder and harder to save her. We don't even know what madoka originally wished for to become a magical girl in the original timeline. and she actually acts quite differently than the madoka we meet. shes a lot more honest and caring and bold. by the time homura's has reached the actual anime madoka has been reduced by the sands of time to a figment of herself. she has no wants or desires of her own beyond wanting to do good and help her friends and when all her humanity is stripped away is when she finally acends to godhood because thats all thats left of her. an ideal and a faith in her. madoka kaname died a long time ago and all that is left is her ghost.

[todayisafridaynight]

tbh I really wanted the 3jimas to win that fight, to have Kiryu realize that his actions have consequences and that maaayybeee the people he keeps disappearing on to only reappear briefly to make demands of are finally sick of it and the rose tinted glasses of admiration have come off

no absolutely i really needed kiryu to just. //shakes him//

another thing i really wish we got from IW was daigo going off on kiryu- like he STARTED to but i needed that Y4 shit RIGHT NOW. if Y4 did anything right, it definitely helped broaden daigo's character in how having the chairman title pushed onto him was stressing him out and having him express this to kiryu was SO cathartic, even if daigo's words ultimately mean nothing to kiryu (or at the very least, kiryu did a bad job on understanding daigo's grievances and helping him afterwards)

it really is agitating that the jimas ended up going to the tower anyway too. i get that saejima and majima are kiryu's ex-colleagues and daigo's practically his son, and the fight was supposed to be a 'wake up call' for them. but it just diminishes the anger we saw from daigo in that first scene (and as if i have to say it, daigo becoming angry is a rare thing so that when it does happen its so jarring and it's meant to be serious) and it continues to excuse kiryu's general disregard for others if it means he gets what he wants.

its unfathomable to me that after nearly two decades of holding a position daigo didnt want for the sake of his idol, he finally gets to break away from it. and now his idol's just waltzing back into his life- after acting like he was dead for three years- asking for ANOTHER favor. and daigo's just supposed to accept it. if kiryu wasnt literally dying i just know he'd keep doing this until his last breath and no one would punish him for it because despite how many times he claims to understand daigo's woes, it's evident he doesn't care enough to leave him out of things

[coern]

earlier when I said I was normal now while playing isat that was a lie I'm miserable trying to fall asleep. wtf. I'm on some type of shit. in this moment you are loved. friendship is magic and solves anything type of thoughts I have here