#gn folks!

[no-tengo-ojos]

Maybe we should fear the owl, what if it's Duolingo reminding the boys to take their spanish lesson?

[abbloke]

A floating head????

Bonus:

Yupe its just a little comic I made. Oh and uhh I might've changed guiding light.

And yes ambush's mouth can become wider/larger!

[fosermi]

It's pretty late over here so I'm heading off to bed! Yall can go ahead and send me stuff you want a doodle of for tomorrow.

Also @livingthewritelife-things just to quickly answer you because I want to respond to that later I have NOT read the thanksgiving fic yet BUT ILL DELIVER I SWEAR I WILL (at least as well as I can without having read it yet :D)

[atomic-rattz]

energy is wearing off.. cat vids did the job…

[sonicf64]

what a lovely little guy

[x-pair-o-dice-x]

The FitnessGram™ Pacer Test is a multistage aerobic capacity test that progressively gets more difficult as it continues. The 20 meter pacer test will begin in 30 seconds. Line up at the start. The running speed starts slowly, but gets faster each minute after you hear this signal. [beep] A single lap should be completed each time you hear this sound. [ding] Remember to run in a straight line, and run as long as possible. The second time you fail to complete a lap before the sound, your test is over. The test will begin on the word start. On your mark, get ready, start.

okay well now i don’t know if shushi is being framed now, or if they’re sending it again in hopes of reverse psychology-ing me

[hungharrington]

So I um I found an amazing video and now I’m plagued by thoughts of sitting on Steve’s bed, him between your legs with his back to your chest, and giving him the sweetest loveliest softest handjob ever, scratching his tummy hairs and peppering kisses all over his neck

nonnie did i or did i not tell u i was coming back for this ask? and i came back with a hunger -- sort of sub!steve, 1.5k, everything the ask describes, as always MDNI this entire blog is 18+! enjoy <3

Steve doesn’t think anyone has ever asked to take care of him before.

He’s had plenty of partners in bed, sure. He’s rife with enough experience that honestly he thinks it would take a really strange request to throw him off his game. But you had— when you asked, “Can I just take care of you tonight?” 

He hadn’t even been entirely sure what you had meant, pulling back from the steamy make-out with you on his lap— the usual late night rendezvous. 

But still, he gave a slow and earnest nod, a soft ‘sure, honey’ and let you rearrange the two of you til you were leaning back on the headboard and he was leaning back against you. Your thighs on either side of him, your arms looped around his middle. Like a little spoon. Steve secretly adores it. 

“Y’know I can’t exactly do much in this position,” Steve chuckles, pretending to have his reservations, even if he’s already eager to see what you mean by taking care of him. Your arms are around his waist, warm, your fingers tucking up his shirt to begin to work it upwards.

“Mm,” you hum, hoisting it higher and Steve moves forward, letting it get tugged off and over his head. Cool air flushes down his chest. “Dunno if you’re grasping the idea of letting me take care of you if you’re worrying bout that.” 

The shirt flutters to the ground, forgotten, as your hands explore to freshly exposed skin. Steve sighs sweetly as you trace softly across his tummy, nails dragging lightly as your near his thighs. His cock is already perking up. It’s been interested since earlier, you in his lap and your tongue in his mouth, and it doesn’t take many more lingering touches for it to reach proper attention. 

“No one ever taken care of you before, baby?” You ask, lips scraping his ear. Your breath is warm and your voice is low— but the kiss you give beneath his ear is hot and wet. You suckle at the skin, not even a nip of teeth. Desire pools low in Steve’s gut, a simmering heat. 

One of your hands moves over his boxers and gives his bulge a gentle rub, making Steve rumble out a soft moan. Your other hand rubs soothing down his thigh. 

Steve shakes his head to answer no to your question. His eyes fight to stay open, torn between wanting to watching your wandering hands or turning to kiss you but your persistent kisses on his neck give him little choice. He shifts his hips. 

“Not- not like this,” Steve admits, breath a little short already. His tummy tenses when your hand drags back up over it, just a soft scratch of nails. His cock aches harder. He wishes you would touch it, wishes you would reach your hand in, all hot, soft and wet and tug it in that perfectly teasing way he knows you can. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, hips shifting upward again. You smile at his impatience. 

“Can we take these off?” You ask, pinching the ruffled elastic of his boxers. Steve nods fervently, hips shifting up to let you slide them down so he can kick them off. His chest feels warm, flushed beneath the hair and another groan tumbles out when you finally curl your fingers around his cock. “Fuck,” he pants as you pump tantalizing slow. “Fuck, feels so good, honey,” 

A hunger for the feeling grows in his stomach, gnawing for more bliss. Steve lets his head tips back, resting against your shoulder and you take advantage of it in an instant; kisses upon kisses up his neck. It’s messy, lips wet with spit as you scrape your teeth down, right as your rub over the slit of his cock— Steve twitches, a jagged whine pushing past his lips. He pants a little heavier. 

Pausing for a moment, you pull your hand back to your mouth and let yourself drool over it— sticky saliva covering your fingers. This time, when you grip his cock, Steve gasps loudly. Slick, hot, sounds reverberate in the room as you jerk him, hand twisting perfectly. Still slow, still gentle. 

Your mouth find his earlobe, teeth nibbling a little mean, your hand not stopping— and Steve moans a little louder, like he can’t help it. His cock gives a little dribble of precum, tummy all tensed up again. 

“See? S’nice to be taken care of,” You murmur softly. You thumb his slit again, delighting in the spurt his cock gives, then dive down to cup his balls. Your other hand strokes along his thigh lovingly, nails drawing lines as you rake them back up to his v-line. 

Steve shivers, shuddering sweet whines escaping him. He’s so unbearably hard for you- especially as you rub his balls so perfectly, your hand dragging back up his cock and then back down, a mind-melting cycle. It’s so much, it’s not even close to enough, it’s, it’s— 

“Oh god,” Steve whimpers loudly. His eyes have finally crushed closed, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly beside you. His gut is burning with heat, pleasure filling every limb. It feels good. He wants to writhe against you, wants to fuck your fist, wants you to keep teasing him just like you’re doing. 

“Oh god, oh fuck- f-fuck,” His words are getting more pathetic by the minute, barely fully formed, drenched in a whimpering tone. “Please, don’t… don’t tease, no- ah,” 

It’s not even teasing, you just aren’t rubbing him hot and fast like usual. Your movements are slow, doused in adoration — your core feels sticky, burning hot from watching Steve get all worked up in your arms. 

“M’not teasing you,” you say, fondling his balls and rubbing your palm against them in a circular motion, building his lust. Steve’s tense body and punched out breathes contradict your words. He’s so whiny. It’s a pity no one’s ever taken care of him before — though your stomach pinches hotly to know only you get to see him this way. 

“Just taking care of you,” you sigh, grip tightening as you pull it back up his cock, giving the smallest jerk. Steve warbles out a throaty whimper, egged on by your roaming touch along his thighs. He feels molten hot, tummy already all clenched up, his cock just leaking all over your hand. Pleasure buzzes wildly in his body, back starting to arch up. 

“Hone- aw, fuckfuckfuck, yes, just there, please, honey,” he pleads, voice starting to sound wrecked and feeble. God, he sounds pathetic; he only sounds like this when he's been fucking you for a good while. But a few minutes of the right touch? Reduces to a whiny mess in your hands. 

“So pretty,” you whisper and Steve can’t tell if you mean him or his dribbling cock, all pink and twitching in your hand. He can’t even feel the fabric gripped between his own fingers— can’t feel anything except your palm right around the head of his cock, teasing it lightly. It’s torture, it’s perfect, it’s not enough, it’s— 

“Please!” The word bursts out of Steve, desperate, swallowed immediately by a moan. He fights to get his next words out as your hand returns to his heavy balls, caressing them soft and slow again. It’s not fucking enough. His pleas fall out all whimpery, “Take— take care of me, please, wanna cum, I wanna- I wanna—“ 

It’s the magic words. You grip his cock properly, your whole hand curling around him for the first time that night and you set a fast pace- lewd, squelching sounds echo in the bedroom. Steve keens forward, a soft cry coming from him as his pleasure turns into a blaze in his stomach. “Oh my god, oh god- yes, fuck—“ 

Your free hand moves to his tummy, scratching down to thatch of hair at the base of his cock and Steve can’t help it, he cums, hard. He turns his head, hides it in your neck and releases a whimpery sort of wail. His chest heaves as his pretty cock spurts out his hot pearly cum — coating your hand enough to ride him through it, your hand never stopping. 

“That’s it, so good,” You coo at him. Your sweet words carry him through it, your pace slowing as his body starts to twitch back against yours. His cock gives a few final dribbles of cum and you rub your thumb over his slit, spreading it. Steve whimpers loudly. “Mm, there we go.” 

It feels like it takes forever for him to settle back down. Steve feels wrung out, feels spent, feels like he had his brain melted out his ears — like he could just nap against you now and be happy forever. Your soft kiss against his cheek has him opening his eyes, pulling back enough to look at your face. 

“Good?” You ask, though he knows you can tell just how fucking good it was. “Good to be taken care of?” 

Steve nods with a loving hum, a hefty exhale rushing out his lungs and he lets his face huddle back into your neck, eyes slipping shut. He’ll move in a minute- maybe when he can feel his thighs again. 

[ferritins]

IN A STITCH, IN A PINCH | J. TODD

SUMMARY: you’ve developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws, but you’re not quite sure about what the irascible Red Hood thinks of you.

WARNINGS: graphic description of burn injury, oblique reference to canonical parental drug dependency, reader is a meta.

NOTES: bringing back an old work! Re: the burns treatment depicted here - my area of study was clinical microbiology, not emergency medicine; everything I know about burns is relegated to opportunistic Staphylococcus aureus infection and how Gram negative skin flora influence wound healing. Take none of what you see in this fic as medical advice; if you do have a severe burn, call 999 and get your arse to an A&E ASAP.

After an extraterrestrial incident in your city that ended with something to the tune of 5 and a half million dollars worth of property damage and you knitting Arsenal's torn-open back together in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled insanity, you've developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws.

What that really means is that you periodically come off your shift at the hospital to find 2 mercenaries and an alien princess divesting your fridge of it's contents, and get wheedled into using your meta abilities to heal wounds that would otherwise take them out of play for a good few months.

You're under no illusions. You're aware that a healer is a useful contact to have, that should the situation necessitate it they'll take the few scant inches you can give and run a mile with them.

However, you're also aware that being a meta is a risk and that it pays to be liked and valued by dangerous people.

It's a friendship of convenience, but a friendship nonetheless.

Kori picks you up bodily and spins you in a tight circle until you're giggly and dizzy when confess her favourite shirts of yours are always freshly washed, just in case.

Roy gives you a vulgar wink when you order his shirt off to take a look at where his back scarred over, but faithfully applies the Vitamin E cream you give him for the scarring, trusting you to ease his discomfort, and sneaks bottles of your favourite elderflower cordial and the tins of Zambuk you can never find in the US for you to find when he leaves.

The only one you can't quite puzzle out your relationship with is Jason. He's taciturn, stands watch faithfully as Roy and Kori pull you into friendly hugs and dizzy spins, pepper playful kisses on your cheek and rub their knuckles into your hair. He rolls his eyes at his teammates' antics, huffs through his nose at your fussing.

Sometimes though, he'll call you sweetheart in a low rasp as he bumps you away from the sink to take over doing the dishes.

Sometimes, you think you catch him watching you with something unnameable and warm in his eyes.

You're not expecting your front door to fly open and damn near off the hinges late on Saturday evening — just as you're fresh out of the shower and only just into your pyjama shirt & shorts, might you add — but your alarm and annoyance die on your tongue when you see Roy and Kori's grim faces and the way that Jason sways despite both of their considerable strength holding him up.

You smell the odd, sour-smoke char of burned flesh as they pass you to ease Jason down oh so gently onto your sofa, and your gut goes cold with fear. The burn, once you get his shirt cut open, is not as extensive as you'd feared, but it's still something from a horror scene.

It's a third degree burn, skin mulberry-red, weeping and blistered in a long arc that curls up from his right hip to just under his right pectoral.

"Bloody hell." You breathe, horrified.

You run to your room, digging out your first aid kit, and drop to your knees by the couch as you tear it open.

Roy snorts, bitter as cyanide. "Yeah, that's a fairly accurate summary of the situation, sweets. The only reason he's still alive is because he dodged and got a glancing blow from the energy beam instead of a direct hit."

You look up from Jason's side.

"I'll need you and Kori to get some things." You say, hands shaking at the prospect of the task in front of you. "I can reduce the severity of the burn to a first degree, maybe, but it–"

"What do you need?" Kori snaps, terse. You reel off a list - topical antiseptic, light bandages, a banana bag & an IV kit, amoxicillin - and then look to Roy.

"I need you to get him to take some co-codamol. It'll kick in in about 10 minutes given his enhanced metabolism, but I can't do anything until he's got painkillers in him."

Roy's brows tighten further.

"Jason doesn't do opiates."

"Roy, if this was anybody else he'd be hooked up to IV morphine! If I start working on him without him having painkillers, he'll go into shock which could kill him." You exclaim.

You make low, soothing sounds when Jason tenses at the shouting, only to groan at the fresh wave of agony in his side.

The sound of Jason's pain seems to be decisive enough for Roy, who moves round the couch and grabs the box of effervescent tablets, dissolving two in water and coaxing Jason into drinking it down.

When the glass is empty, Roy is back to his feet, quick as lightning. He strides to the door, shepherding Kori out of your apartment.

"We'll be back with everything you need in half an hour, tops. Please, help him."

Jason comes out of the shrieking adrenaline of agony to the sound of your voice, and a slight cotton fuzz in his head.

Narcotics, then, but a fairly low dose for him to still retain this degree of alertness. Feeling the encroaching spectre of that terrible pain just barely held at bay, finds he's grateful for the medication.

He goes to prop himself up on his elbows, only to strike a line of phosphorus-white flare of pain down his side that has him hissing breath through gritted teeth.

Above him, you make a startled sound, press a hand to his sternum to keep him down. His eyes catch yours, and he sees the relieved sag of your spine and shoulders at the alertness in his eyes.

"Thank fuck you didn't go into shock." You sigh. "Stay still, I've just about got this down to a second degree burn. I've just got your hip."

You snap off your nitrile gloves and lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Don't make a habit of this. You'll kill us off with stress if you keep on nearly-dying."

As if on cue, the front door opens and Roy and Kori come into the living room, pharmacy bags clutched tightly in their grips and fragile hope in their eyes.

When they see Jason's alert eyes, the slow knit of skin and sub-dermal tissue and hear his sheepish grumbling in, response to you, their smiles are like sunlight.

Healing the burn is slow going, taking a full five evenings after your shifts.

Roy and Kori are intent on Jason staying the full course of treatment — settled by a, literally, on account of Kori, flaming row when he asks for his helmet and body armour —and though your entreaties are quieter, they're no less insistent.

It serves him right, probably, but it's driving him to distraction.

Specifically, the feeling of your hands over his skin is driving him to distraction.

He's not sure whether it's mercy or the sweetest of torture when you approach him, eyes darting down his body in a way that's half-assessing, half appraising before the heat-shock of your touch makes contact, pieces his skin back together.

(The thing is, Jason's attuned to everything about you, has been ever since you pulled Roy's flayed skin back shut whilst the city was still smoking behind you, totally unafraid in scrub trousers and a hoodie.

He's got it bad, and it's not exactly subtle.

Roy and Kori haven't missed that, or the way he reacts to you, judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smirks as they lean up against the wall and watch you work.

He hopes the glare he levels at them over the top of your head communicates exactly what he'll do to them if they open their mouths.

It all comes to a head on Monday evening, when you come home from your OR shift, duck into the shower and then come into the living room in a too-large grey t-shirt and deliciously short sleep pants.

Jason's heart stops for a second. He lets his eyes flit despairingly over to Roy and Kori as you prep your kit, watches their unrepentant grins with a burning resentment towards them.

Having you this close to him, worry-soft and lit like a Rembrant from the lamp on the side table without being able to touch you is the closest thing to hell there is. You're close enough that he can smell the overlapping, inoffensive fragrances of your facial skincare products, see the faint pearlescent sheen of the residue of some serum on the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the soft line of your jaw.

Your nitrile-gloved hand settles gently on the raw new skin just above his hip and he jumps, his own broad hand flying up defensively to catch your wrist and still your movement. It's a mistake he regrets immediately.

The skin of your wrist is still tacky-soft with still-settling moisturiser, hair curling damp where the spray of your shower caught it. Jason's mind spins an unbidden reel of your hands, smoothing lotion over the plush expanse of your thighs, the line of your neck and the gentle swell of your décolletage, the curve of your hip.

He presses his eyes shut tightly.

He feels feral, the hungry bones of him blown open and exposed like the hull of a shipwreck. He wants to worry marks the shape of his mouth into your thighs, your neck, across your collarbones. He wants your knees bracketing his hips, the weight of you on top of him.

God, he wants–

"Are you okay? You're not in too much pain, are you?" He hears you ask.

He knows he's in far too deep when the thought of tasting the way the words roll off your tongue flits across his mind.

"Sorry." He croaks, releasing your hand. "Instinct."

(Roy turns to Kori with a snort, murmuring low so you can't hear.

"He's been watching like he wants to eat them alive since the first time we met and it's a miracle he's got enough blood north of his waistband to be capable of speech, but sure. Instinct.")

[mysterycitrus]

Genuinely curious about your take on Dick’s relationship with being both a natural performer and a private person at heart.

bruce wayne and dick grayson are very similar in many ways, but i'd say one of the most profound is their shared grief - experiencing immense personal loss at eight years old, in a spotlight on a stage that they can never truly leave. in the same way that the waynes murder cast bruce as a tragic figure in gotham, who can never escape the shadow of his parents passing. he was alone in the alley, but he will never stand alone without that weight of an audience again.

but the graysons literally died onstage, during a performance, before a horrified crowd. there is no part of dick's loss that is private. there is no part of this loss that is his alone. he is a born performer who loses everything, then transforms that grief into a literal symbol of light, which is taken from him again. how would u not want to fiercely protect what u have left? why would u ever want to share urself with a world that has already seen everything u are, and still wants more?

someone like that would bury themselves so deep that it becomes a non-story. nothing escapes the tight grip he holds over himself, the trickle of personal information he lets escape at a time. he wants eyes to pass over him, utterly disinterested. the less remarkable he is, the better. the easier he is to ignore, the more he can breathe.

brucie wayne is a performance for a goal, to hide in plain sight, but the art of pretending to be dick grayson is an act of self preservation. his body is not his own, nor were his parents. his name has created a legacy he has no control over. every kind smile is an effort to detract further questions. every barb, every cruel word means people might refuse to dig deeper. if he is nice, he is trusted. if he is mean, he is reviled. there is nothing more terrifying than being truly seen and still found wanting. people only get to witness what he wants them to. he controls the light, and the stage. the art of the performance is only showing the audience what u want them to see. never reveal ur hand. never show the other side of the box. and always keep the curtains drawn.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Mess in Chat >w^

This is an entry for the Sweet Shroud Summer 2024 event held by the lovely @cloudcountry

Content; Gender-neutral reader, fluff, some swearing here and there

Word Count; 1.8 K

Part 2; Mess at Con

Please do not put my work into AI. If you would like to see more of my work check out my masterlist!

Summer was back in full force. Even from within the cold walls and highly air-conditioned hallways of S.T.Y.X. Idia was overheating. He didn’t even have Ortho, since he was powered down to prevent his system from overheating — they both learned that lesson last summer and neither of them were happy not to have the other for three days while Idia was trying to fix him up. So, he was busy typing away at his computer, switching between his actual tasks and the multitude of open tabs that he had open.

Finishing up on reading one of what seemed to be a never-ending pile of reports, Idia took a look at his messages, Mess in Chat >w^ — getting a small smile from the little winky face — and saw that there was a new message … from an hour ago.

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess I’m melting I’ve melted I’m a pool of goop on the floor

Idia tapped his fingers on his keyboard, trying to think of something to say. While he wouldn’t say the two of you were overly friendly, you also weren’t acquaintances. Idia knows that you’re trying to be his friend — dear Sevens, Ortho was so happy when he saw Idia smile at his phone when you messaged him — but it’s hard with being online. 

Would he actually ask to meet in real life? Oh Sevens no! You, the self proclaimed ‘mess’ (Idia wouldn’t even say that you were a mess, just well-meaning and a bit awkward at times) low keyed scared him. Well not actually scare him, but he didn’t want to get too close only for the friendship to blow up in his face.

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess AHA! I CAN SEE THAT YOU’RE ONLINE!

Idia sighed, the jig was up.

Gloomurai I thought you melted into goop Goop can’t type

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess I’ve regained my non-goop form to bug you I’M BOREDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Gloomurai … F

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess DON’T PUT AN F IN THE CHAT WHAT THE HELL … eugh… dying of heatstroke Tell my cat that I love him…. X-X

Idia coughed out a small laugh. He doubted you were as melodramatic IRL as you were online, but it made the monotony of his day — especially now that he didn’t even have the excuse of classes to break it up — a bit better.

Gloomurai You shall be missed CAT CAT PIC PLEASE CAT PIC IN THESE TRYING TIMES

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess … my phone doesn’t have a camera … And he’s on top of the fridge complaining about the heat

Idia sighed, remembering that besides having a laptop for classes, that was the best tech that you had. He remembers you complaining about your lack of funds and your employer. How you managed to balance your job and schooling at the same time baffled and, as you two got closer, worried him.

Gloomurai You really need a better phone

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess I’M A BROKE STUDENT I’M TRYING MY BEST I EVEN HAVE A SECOND JOB

Gloomurai So you’re not only dying of heatstroke but also overworking yourself? F … what’s your second job?

‘WHAT AM I THINKING?! I DON’T KNOW THEM LIKE THAT-’

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess … swan boats …

Gloomurai … swan boats?

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess Swan boats.  Even have a silly uniform and everything The pay is decent though, and I only work weekends UNLIKE MY OTHER JOB-

“We’re going to see them, right?” Ortho asked, making Idia jump.

“OrThO-” Idia squeaked, switching tabs at the speed of light, and clearing his throat. “... no”

Ortho looked at Idia, who was smiling a minute ago and was now back to being jumpy. “But-” he paused, looking between the screen and his brother. He knew who Friendly Neighbourhood Mess was — hard not to when you can see the entirety of Night Raven’s search history — but he also knew his brother. “Just know that they enjoy having you as a friend.”

Idia looked back to his screen, knowing you were going on a tirade about your first boss. “They enjoy having Gloomurai as a friend,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Besides,” he looked back at Ortho,”it would be weird for me to just show up.”

“Not if they invite you.~” Ortho chirped, going back to his room since he could feel his systems starting to overheat again. “They’re your friend online… so why not in person too?”

Idia opened up your tab again, and sure enough, you were on a full blown tirade.

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess I SHOULD REPORT HIS ASS BUT THEN I WON’T HAVE A PLACE TO LIVE- OH WHEN I GRADUATE HIS ASS IS GRASS I TELL YOU-

Gloomurai I’ll bring you one of those lawnmowers you drive

Friendly Neighbour Mess *sniffles* You’re a true friend

Gloomurai So, about your other job…

‘Come on, think of a believable excuse so you don’t look like a loser. THINK! COME ON BRAIN! BE SMART!’

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess Wait Idea

Idia felt his hair warming, but patted it. ‘Get a hold of yourself, it’s just the word idea for Sevens sake!’

I take you for a spin on one of those death traps

Gloomurai I- DEATH TRAPS? NEVERMIND

Friendly Neighbourhood Mess Too late >w^ See you Saturday!

Idia stared at his screen for a bit, processing everything. You had invited him to your work. He was going to meet you IRL. He was going to get in a swan boat, like the one you see in cheesy otome cutscenes and animes, and they were, apparently, death traps.

… why was he excited about it then?

…

…

You were at work, giving your best customer service smile and voice to the kids, families, and couples that came up through the line. “Remember folks to keep on your life jackets at all times, and to keep your arms and legs inside the boat at all times! Enjoy your ride!~”

While yes, you did have to wear an all-white uniform complete with a baseball cap with swan wings, it wasn’t half bad. 

The lunch room was always packed with good food, cold drinks, and the comfiest couch you have ever had the pleasure of plopping down into. Sure, it was a bit embarrassing — Ace had nearly laughed his ass off when he saw you in your get up and the fakely sweet smile you gave him — but it was only for this summer, and only for the weekends. Besides, it was cushy and most importantly, not putting your life into peril every five to seven business days when compared to the job that Crowley had given you.

You were already getting into your little monologue that you’re used to saying to customers when you faltered. “Enjoy your- Idia?” You blinked, surprised to see him. You barely got to see him at school, so seeing him here of all places was a shock to put it lightly.

Idia was fidgeting with the zipper of his life jacket and jumped when you said his name. ‘Y/N? The Ramshackle prefect-’ “... hi?”

“Hi,” you say back. “Umm, sorry, but there has to be two people to a boat,” you say sheepishly.

Idia jumps a bit and accidentally zips some of his hair in the zipper. “I was waiting for a friend…” he mutters, “they, uh, work here?”

You pause and your eyes widen. “YOU!”

“Me?!” Idia blinked rapidly. “Wait, you?!” Idia put the pieces together.

The lamenting about your first job. The complaints about your cat stealing your food. The silly uniform for your second job — which is silly, but you make it work. And the way you spoke online matched how you spoke with your IRL friends.

“You’re Friendly Neighbourhood Mess-”

“You’re Gloomurai!”

You both say it at the same time. You offer him a bright smile before saying something quietly into your walkie-talkie and putting on a bright yellow life jacket.

“Well,” you chuckle, “good thing you have a friend that’s willing to get on one of these death traps with you then!”

Idia let you take the lead before stumbling into the boat. “You probably shouldn’t call these ‘death traps’ since you work here,” he offered lightly.

You helped stabilize him since he was struggling to stand due to the light waves. “Well, they are, my land-loving friend.”

Idia sat down quickly, trying not to get flustered by the skin contact but failing. “Then I p-probably shouldn’t be on here, should I?”

“Nope,” you popped the p at the end and started moving the boat with the hand pedals. “But it takes two people to move these things.”

Idia started pedalling with you, and despite his fears of you wanting to make idle small talk, you didn’t. Instead, you pointed out some favourite spots and allowed him to contribute to the conversation at his own pace. Even though it idled here and there, it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable.

When you sailed (can it even be called sailing when it’s a swan boat?) under the canopy of a weeping willow, you spoke again. “So, why did you agree to meet me? Let alone in one of these?”

Idia looked at you again, the dappled lighting blocking out the heat of the sun, yet he felt warmer now than before. “I don’t know, just,” he breathed in, centring himself, “I guess I wanted to spend time with a friend.” He smiled then, it was a small thing, but it was genuine. “Also,” he coughed, “you lied about the death trap part about this whole thing.”

You laughed, shaking the boat a little. “Oh it is, if not physically, then, reputation-wise. Death to social life via swan boat.”

Idia snorted. ‘Well, good thing that I don’t … didn’t have one then.’ “Good thing there’s someone who knows what they’re doing then… you do know what you’re doing, right?”

You shrugged, “I have a certificate if that eases your mind a bit.”

And the two of you continued paddling away, chatting here and there before heading back to the dock where a few of your coworkers gave the both of you thumbs-ups and winks. Idia felt himself go warm, whereas you rolled your eyes at them before helping Idia out.

“If you don’t mind, want to do this again?” You asked, undoing your lifejacket, looking expectantly towards him.

Idia fumbled with his own before you helped him out. “... that would be fun,” he smiled.

You smiled back, patted him on the shoulder as he walked away, and went back to greeting customers again.

Idia was happy about how today went, even though he would wake up a lovely shade of lobster red tomorrow and a very curious Ortho, but for the first time in a while, he was looking forward to summer vacation, and having some of it be outside of his computer screen. And, most importantly, have a friend that he didn’t feel like he had to be someone else with.

~~~~~~~

Tags; @afunkyfreshblog, @bloomstruck, @edith-is-a-cat, @eynnwwyjth, @inkybloom-luv, @ithseem, @lucid-stories, @syrenkitsune, @the-v-lociraptor, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[boundinparchment]

Cry Like Rain

Neuvillette carries a heavy burden; you remind your husband he isn’t alone.

Gender neutral reader • Comfort • Drabble • Special thanks to the mutuals on this one 🫶 • Reblogs are greatly appreciated and encouraged.

On AO3 here (must have account to view)

It was instinct now, to reach up and catch the first drop before the tear grew too big.

Your husband, for all his fronts and stoic demeanor, felt everything from the water slowly swallowing the nation. A burden of his Hydro affinity as the land’s Sovereign. One so heavy that you were never under any impressions you could ever truly comprehend it in quite the same way.

The people of Fontaine experienced the rain. Just a change of weather.

For you, it was the way he grew quiet. Absorbed his feelings via osmosis, as if they were nothing more than molecules passing through. His eyes were distant and his touch was distracted, his mind long gone on trying to make sense of how the way justice was enacted was just.

How was any of this sustainable?

Gently, you cradled Neuvillette’s face in your hands, your thumbs wiping away more stray tears. Anyone who claimed his stoicism was apathy had no idea how truly in-tune their Chief Justice was to the world around him. You waited until his silver eyes fell on you and recognition passed over his features.

“I’m—“

Your lips brushed the tip of his nose.

“Do not apologize to me, mon amour,” you whispered. “What you do every day is the hardest work of all.”

One hand left his cheek to stroke his hair and smooth a blue horn gently. Neuvillette complied when you gently turned his head and kissed the tips of his ears. You heard a low rumble from his chest as you moved on to his forehead, his temples, his cheeks.

“You do so much for Fontaine, so magnanimously. Everyone, including me, is so grateful for you.”

Rain pelted the windows of your bedroom harder for a moment before he faced you again you kissed him, fully. The din tapered off as the last few droplets fell outside.

“And I will tell you as much every time you need to hear it, Neuvi.”

For the first time that might, the fog lifted, and your husband smiled softly.

“Thank you, mon couer.”

[dragonsholygrail]

The nerd monster fic was so good, imagine a monster that collects vintage stuff with an elf reader who sees it all and gives facts from when it was made or wonders if it really is all that old 💓💓💓

Awww thank you sm 🤭

And ooo that’s a super interesting idea!! But hear me out, what if they were booooth elves??

You have one elf who treasures history and the artifacts they’ve collected over their long life. And then you have another elf who is more bitter. They’re tired of seeing life, people, and eras pass them by while they remain. They certainly don’t want reminders of it.

But when their elf partner starts rambling about a new artifact they’ve collected or they start reminiscing about a certain artifact and the time it reminds them of… the bitter elf can’t help but feel a warmth blossom through them. Seeing their partner so joyful and excited over their little trinkets. They’d listen to them for hours— no days! For what is time to them, they have all of it in the world.

So no matter how bitter they feel sometimes, they’d never put that on their elf partner. They want them to remain as sweet and happy about the past as possible. They want to listen to them for as long as they can talk just to make them even happier. They can’t think of a better use of their time.

[honeysickledream]

Overloaded - Simon Riley x GN!Reader

Tags: SFW (minors and ageless blogs dni as always), established relationship, reader's mentally overloaded/overstimulated, fluff and comfort by way of acts of service

Simon entered the flat right as the clock read 1900 on his phone. He'd perfected his schedules and commute to aligned perfectly with yours. You had a thirty minutes at the flat all to yourself to decompress from all that people (and life) threw at you, and he had his thirty-minute decompressing walk around the neighborhood. Except something was different about tonight. The TV wasn't playing your favorite movie as you did something in the next room, the flat didn't smell like whatever you'd made for dinner. It was silent, stale...tense.

He moved to the living room after taking off his boots, keeping his steps as quiet as possible. There you were, perched on the couch and doing your best to take those deep and supposedly calming deep breaths every mindfulness person swore by. It was obvious you'd been crying: tissues were piled up beside you on the couch, the collar of his your shirt stained dark in some spots from your tears. Your breathing was uneven, a sign you were right on the precipice of more tears, and your hands shook subtly as you gripped your knees to ground yourself.

Something--a lot of somethings--must've happened with no time for you to acclimate, he figured. He'd gotten so used to you poking your head out of the bedroom or the office, welcoming him with a smile and kiss and a plea for him to tell you all about his day. He grabbed his phone from his pocket and sent a quick message to let you know he was home as he made his way to the kitchen to begin dinner. You padded into the kitchen five minutes later with a crumpled tissue in hand. He patted the counter space beside him, trusting that you would reach out for him in what ever way when you were ready. The two of you stood in silence, watching the microwave as the frozen meal slowly heated up. Simon had chosen your favorite out of the selection in the freezer and even fished out the emergency stash of your favorite snacks from the cupboard.

He slowly draped his arm over your shoulders when you leaned against his side, smiling to himself when you sighed softly. It wasn't the kind of heavy sigh you made when you were frustrated. No, it was the one you let out when your mind was finally quieting, your body no longer on such high alert. Simon only moved away to fetch the food from the microwave, putting it on a plate and handing you your utensils before he ushered you to the couch. He made sure you were settled before he put his own dinner in the microwave, popping his head into the living room like some mother hen before he sat beside you, digging into his own meal No words were passed between you as dinner was eaten. Simon occasionally added a new point to the daily recap he was writing on the back of the grocery list sheet, not missing the way you tried to skim the paper before he quickly turned it back over. It wasn't until you were cocooned on the couch after finishing your meal, now munching on your snacks, that you slowly opened up. You told him about your whole day, pausing to give yourself a chance to settle down when your frustrations grew, and Simon listened attentively the entire time--like he always did.

And you, like always, returned the favor when he gave you his recap. You cooed at the newest picture he took of the prissiest dog in the neighborhood and laughed when he told you, in great detail, the newest way Soap had caused trouble. When he suggested watching a movie to end the day, you agreed brightly and scrounged up all the snacks you two enjoyed during movie night.

Simon ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie (after he'd promised he wouldn't), but you didn't mind. You thanked him softly for his patience and snuggled up to him as you rewound the movie so you could fall asleep to it, too.

[peterparkeeperer]

sated boy ( Draco x reader )

“You’re so gone.”

Your voice was endeared beyond belief, a drooling Draco slumped over your lap. He was naked. You stroked your hand over the back of his thighs.

He didn’t respond, only blinked dazedly. It was all thanks to you, you’d worked countless orgasms out of his spent dick for mouthing back. You didn’t punish him for banter. Draco was bratty and cocky and that was just apart of his personality, and you were patient. You even indulged him.

But he occasionally, or rather often, pushed your buttons on purpose. You knew him through and through, and could differentiate between his normal banter and him trying to get put into his place.

So here he laid. Ass still red from the spanking he’s received. You stroked a hand faintly above them in thought and heard your boy hiss like a petty baby snake.

“I really did a number on you, huh?”

Lube was oozing out of his hole, and with cruelty you circled the rim and pushed, only just.

He whined an aborted sound. “Best part is, you’d do more if I wanted you to. My brainless little boy.”

Alas, you left his hole alone and kissed his spine instead.

“You’re gorgeous. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

You cooed, and Draco nuzzled your hand when you pet his cheek and tucked a platinum lock behind his ear. Yes. This would sate your boy, for, well. A week.

[thesimpsbasement]

Nanami finding out you're asexual

•tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, gn!reader, established relationship,makeout sesh,talk of sex but no smut,reader has bad past experiences

Finally you had a day off from work.The past couple Days have been stressful for you,assignments left and right,major projects every week it took everything out of you and it was thanks to Nanami's convincing that you can now lay in bed all day. He always took such good care of you that sometimes you wonder how you managed to find such a man.Maybe luck was finally in your favor.

Your ears perk up when you hear the creak of the front door.You immediately get up,rushing towards it, knowing your boyfriend just came home.”Kento! Welcome back”You greet the man as you wrap your arms around him.”Hey dear”he smiles at you,kissing your forehead as he takes off his shoes. “How was work?”you ask as you help him out of his coat,hanging it in the hanger by the door.”Nothing much, same old, would rather hear about your day” he says,kissing your cheek this time.”Well I took your advice and relaxed,mainly sat in bed and slept because I needed to catch up,more than one all nighters in a row can really make you value sleep” you rant as both of you walk towards the living room.”That so? I'm glad at least you slept. Maybe I should nag you more since you seem to listen to me when I do, "he teases,cupping your cheek. You roll your eyes playfully,feeling butterflies in your stomach as you feel his warm hand on your cheek.Even after months of dating, it felt like this was your first time seeing the man.

Nanami leans in again,this time connecting his lips with yours.He lets out a hum,gently pushing you on the couch,hand behind your head as he pulls you in deeper.Your eyes close,moving your lips in sync with his,your arms wrapping around his shoulders.You let out a gasp when you feel him bite your bottom lip,allowing him access as he slides his tongue in.Your cheeks are tinted red as the kiss turns more and more heated. Nanami's hand slips under your shirt,palm touching your skin as he moves higher towards your chest.Your eyes widen as you pull away from the makeout session,your hand gripping his wrist “W-Wait!” You pant,eyes staring at his hand.Nanami is quick to retract his hand,eyes scanning your features. “I'm sorry dear, I didn't mean to,I should've asked you first” he immediately starts apologizing,giving you some distance.” It's fine Ken,I'm okay” you reassure him “I'm sorry”.

Your sudden apology made the man raise an eyebrow “what for? You didn't do anything wrong sweetheart, I'm not going to force myself on you,we'll only be intimate when you're ready,I'm not going to touch you until I have your consent” Nanami says,his words alone making you teary eyed. ‘We'll be intimate whenever you're ready." Those words played back in your head over and over.He doesn't know. He doesn't know that you'll never want to be intimate in that sense. “Kento…” you trail off,feeling as if your words are stuck in your throat. ‘Come on ___ you have to do it,the sooner you tell him the less it'll hurt when he leaves’ you tell yourself.”Can we…talk? It's important”.

Kento nods,sitting properly on the couch by your side,full attention on you “I'm listening”.You gulp,unable to look at him in the eye “This is going to be uhm I guess disappointing but….I never want to have sex” you admitted with bated breath “and before you say anything it's not you or something you did I just…don't want to have sex,in general, with anyone …ever” you continue, Nanami listening quietly and attentively “Might be a lot to take in but I understand if you're gonna leave for someone else who can fulfill those desires,you wouldn't be the firsthand he hears this Nanami is quick to stop you “Hold on there,let's take this slow alright?” he tries to calm you down “First I'm not disappointed, alright? I'm fine with not having intercourse as long as you're happy,I value you and your health more than I value lust” He says,noticing you staring at the floor “sweetheart..look at me please” You lift your head to meet his eyes,your face is scrunched up,eyes glassy as tears threaten to spill “Oh honey..come here” He cooes,pulling you in a gentle embrace,not to tight but enough to keep you grounded “I'm never going to leave ,especially not over some silly thing like ,I love you for you, I feel in love with that charming personality,your kindness,your laugh,the way your face lights up when you smile,I'd be a fool to throw such a precious treasure away for mere pleasure” his words makes your tears fall as you cling to him “stop talking you're making it worse” you say through sniffles.Nanami chuckles as he pets your back “I'm just being honest”.

After some time,you finally calm down as you rub away any remaining tears.”You really mean what you said earlier?” You ask,still holding onto him. “Of course,now mind telling me what made you think of such silly ideas?” He inquired.You sigh as you lift your head from his chest “Past partners…they weren't exactly fond of the idea of no sexual relationship” you start explaining “they thoughts I was broken or had some unresolved trauma with intimacy but that's not it ,I'm just asexual but they call me a prude, one even started treating me like some kid but one things they all had in common was that they left because of this and I was worried you'd think the same but over time I felt guilty,like I was holding you back ,you're such a great guy and you deserve better” Nanami holds your hands in his before he starts talking “you don't have to worry your pretty little head about any of that,you're definitely not holding me back dearest,this is the happiest I've ever been,truly there's no one else like you out there,besides,sex isn't the only form of intimacy, so I'll be fine, as long as it's you” you sometimes wonder how his words always make you smile.”The people that left you are idiots and quite frankly probably didn't love you that much if they left so easily,don't waste your breath on fools like them,focus on the present” Nanami tells you,kissing your forehead.”mhmm thank you” you smile at him,tackling him in a hug as you pepper his face with kisses “no need to thank me,but I'm certainly not going to complain about the kisses” he chuckles,every kiss making his cheeks heat and his heart racing.

Eventually you stop your attack of kisses,getting up. “You just got back from work so you must be hungry right? Well good news! Made you something extra special so hope you'll enjoy!” you say,taking his hand as you drag him to the kitchen.Kento chuckles,letting you lead the way.

Yeah, he loves you, alright. No way in hell he'll ever leave such a precious thing.

[monstersandmaw]

If prompts are still being accepted; a tiefling with "sneak" as a prompt?

During the day, the archives practically thrummed with life, but now in the dead of night, there was only the faint whisper of pages turning, despite the fact that there weren't any scholars sitting at the tables.

The blue of your magelight seemed impossibly bright, even though it was the smallest little firefly spark you could conjure, and it threw long, leaping shadows that made you jump and twitch.

A hand on your shoulder almost made you scream, but when you turned and found the familiar, black eyes and black horns tipped with gold that glinted in the winking magelight, all the breath left your lungs and you slumped into the waiting arms of your secret lover.

A tiny, whickering laugh was all the chastising you got before your hand was taken and you were led deeper into the archives, to a room few scholars even knew about. Being the prince's personal bodyguard had its advantages though, and the tiefling had come across the blueprints for the library while preparing for a security briefing six months ago. Since then, the two of you -- mage and soldier -- had used the place to meet in secret.

There, you kissed and talked and moaned and gasped and let your magic run rife and mingle with their own until you couldn't tell where you ended and they began. With their tail clamped tightly around your thigh, your lover made you come with a moan and a gasp, and your magic sparked hot in your veins.

"I don't want to keep sneaking around," you whispered when your heartbeats had settled and your magic had become your own again.

"I'll tell the prince. He'll understand..."

You could only hope.

A kiss chased away a little of the worry.

"He owes me. He'll understand."