#i'M TEEHEEING AND KICKING MY LEGS

[rhaeravir]

VEXXXXXXX 🤭💗💞

SAIIINNTTTT !! ❤️💚🤗

[max-the-silly-guy]

chat I did a thing

[crimeoflove]

so i just rewatched S1 of good omens again (as you do)

and i think it's finally, fully hit me

crowley loved aziraphale from the beginning.

let that sink in.

when we meet them in the first episode, crowley loved aziraphale.

when they have too much to drink and talk about creates big and small, crowley loves him.

crowley loved aziraphale all along.

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

sometimes i just sprinkle in how young i am in conversation bc it turns me on btw.

[ashes-of-ailell]

cackling maniacally as I write this yuriashe fic (it's all fluff)

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐦

𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

୨ৎ Dancer!Vi x Ballerina!Reader Enemies to Lovers Headcanons

‧₊˚── Synopsis: After years of competing for the title of Star Senior at Piltover Springs Dance School, the hatred that Violet Lanes and Y/n Y/l/n have garnered for each other is rendered a waste when in a turn of events, they are both awarded the distinction. When this forces them to confront what feelings they have for each other outside of unbridled loathing, they find that the line between hatred and lust is much finer than they thought...

Word Count: 2.3k Content/Warnings: nsfw, smut!, top! vi, bottom! reader, low-key softdom! vi, lowkey subby! reader, reader has female anatomy, reader referred to with feminine terms/pet names (princess, good girl, etc.), oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), semi-public sex, mirror sexxxx, lots of consent checks bc vi you are so sweetie, can't not think of Wicked when i hear the phrase "unadulterated loathing" so i am sorry if you are in the same boat A/N: okay guys... here it is teehee. thank you SO much for all of the love on my dancer! vi x dancer! r headcanon; I honestly did not expect it! i really really enjoyed writing for this little plotline and I'm glad you guys enjoyed it, too; and i hope this scene brings it justice... enjoy! mwah ha ha

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

You’re not quite sure how seven years of pure, unadulterated loathing between you and Violet Lanes had led to this; Vi, with a knee slotted in between your legs, hands splayed across your torso as she kissed you, and you, pinned between her body and the ballet bar behind you, whimpering into her mouth as you rode her thigh… 

The two of you were staying late at the dance studio to see if you could finally manage to perfect the lift in your duet that had been kicking your ass, and somewhere along the way, you’d found out just how fine the line between hatred and lust could be. 

What possessed you to step- no, leap- over said line, you didn’t know, but you resigned to mulling over that later, when your sworn enemy wasn’t pulling at the hair on the nape of your neck.

Her tongue traces the line of your throat before she latches on; it isn’t long before she gets carried away and you let out a hiss at the pinch of her teeth on your pulse. 

Her movements come to a halt. “Shit,��� she’d exhale, “Sorry, didn’t mean to-”

“Keep going.” 

She raises a brow, rearing her head back to look at you. “Yeah? I'm gonna leave a mark if I do.”

“I don’t care what you do, just want you to keep going.”

Who is she to deny such a sweet request?

She resumes her attack on the sensitive skin until the mark on your neck is to her liking. She pulls back to assess her handiwork, and you can’t help but chuckle at her concentration through your haze. 

“Seriously? I think you're good, Vi.”

“Just makin’ sure,” she’d say with a lop-sided grin. 

You shoot her a grin of your own. “Don’t worry; I know you don’t like to share.”

“No,” she begins before leaning in, her smile barely brushing your own, “I don’t.”

Your lips would meet again, tongues moving slow and languid against each other as she rocks into you just the same. The contact- however delicious- isn’t quite enough, and it’s starting to drive you crazy. Your breath is getting heavier, your whines more shameless, and you’ve started meeting each rock of her leg with the rock of your hips. You’re chasing more- you need more- and Vi can tell. 

She’s not going to make it easy for you, of course. 

She plants the heel of her foot back on the ground, separating her knee from the heat between your thighs.

“Wh-what?” You plead breathlessly, “Why’d you stop?”

“You sure you can handle this, sweetheart? You’re falling apart and I’m not even inside you yet.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet hers, wild and desperate. 

“What,” she’d ask, cocking her head to the side, “Is that what you want? You want me inside?” 

You nod frantically. “Yes, yes, please, that’s what I want.” 

You swear you can see her pupils blow out. You were begging for her. You’d been icing her out for the past seven years, and now, here you were, begging for her.

If this was a dream… then she was sure she’d wake up soon, and she wanted to taste you first.

“Can you hold out for just a little longer?”

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “I mean, yeah… why?”

And then, Violet Lanes is on her knees in front of you.

“Oh. That's why.” Your smile is bashful as you look down at her, heat rising to your cheeks.

“Can I?” She peers up at you, hands toying with the waistband of your sweatpants.

“Fuck yes, you can.”

A satisfied smirk spreads across her face, and she tugs the sweatpants down to your ankles, leaving you to step out of the rest of the pooled material.

“Alright, baby; toss your leg up,” she commands, guiding your leg over her shoulder with a hand behind your thigh. Your hands grip the ballet bar behind you, and you hope to God you’ll be able to hold yourself up through the feeling of her mouth on you.

“You good? Holding on tight?”

“Yeah, yeah; I’m good.” 

She nods from below you with a smile, and her hand comes trailing up the calf swung over her shoulder to the plush of your thigh seated next to her head. She’s got an arm wrapped around your other leg, securing you in place.

Your breath begins to stutter as she places open-mouthed kisses on the inside of your thigh, your body twitching and tensing in anticipation each time she grows closer to where you need her.

“Relax,” she purrs, thumb rubbing circles into the meaty flesh beside her.

You nod, closing your eyes and leaning your head back with a sigh; and when she finally places a kiss on the patch of wetness soaking through your underwear, you fucking melt.

“Good girl,” she draws out, feeling your weight press into her fully. “You still good with this?”

“Violet, I’m gonna lose my mind if your mouth isn’t on me in-”

You yelp as she pulls your underwear to the side to lick a stripe up from the nectar pooling at your entrance to the hardened pearl above it. 

“Not sure you’re in any position to make demands here, sugar plum.”

Your eyes roll back into your head when she attaches her lips to your clit, and when she sucks, your hand shoots down to grab at the hair on her crown. 

She moans into you- noted- and her tongue darts back down to lap at your wetness, trailing up, then down, then up, then down, collecting as much as she can on the tip of her warm tongue. 

“Fuck, princess; you taste so fucking good.”

She barely lets herself finish her sentence- words muffled in your pussy- before she’s back on your clit, swirling her tongue in circles around the swollen bud. 

The grip you have on her hair is tighter now, your thighs trembling, your features knit together in pleasure; you look down to find Vi so lost in between your legs that you don’t even think she notices how close you are.

You loosen your grip on her hair to tap rapidly on her shoulder. “V-Vi, baby,” 

As pussy drunk as she is, her head still snaps up at the sound of the pet name on your tongue. Her lips are swollen and glossy with your slick, her cheeks flushed red as the hair on her head. 

“What’s up, princess?” 

“J-just… gonna cum soon,” you pant, “want you inside first…”

“Yeah?” she smirks, gently guiding your leg off of her shoulder. She stands up, hand gripping your waist as she leans to press a sloppy kiss on your lips; and fuck, you can taste yourself on her mouth. 

“Wanna cum on my fingers?” She asks in between kisses; and you nod against her mouth, hand on the back of her head pulling her impossibly close.

She chuckles into your mouth before pulling away to drink in your features; your pleading eyes, your soft lips, the rapid rise and fall of your chest.

“You’re beautiful.” 

There was that look: so soft. So soft that you could hardly stand it, your head lowering in order to escape it. 

“Oh? You’re shy now?” 

You giggle- and she wonders if that sound had always been so sweet- before pushing at her chest.

“Shut up. I'm not shy.”

“Oh, yeah?” The raise of her brow and the cockiness of her voice says she’s got something planned. 

“Turn around for me, then.”

“I-I… what? I’m-”

“Turn. Around.”

Her grip on your waist tightens, and she’s twisting your hips until suddenly, you’re face-to-face with your own reflection.

“There’s my pretty girl,” she lulls, head dropping down to plant a kiss on your shoulder. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Y-yeah… yeah,” you breathe out. You’re watching yourself come undone for her.

“Look at me.”

You’re a little embarrassed at how quickly you obey.

“You look away, and I stop, yeah?”

You whine. “Vi, really? Just-”

For a moment, the intensity of her gaze disappears, as if she’s dropped whatever persona she’d been assuming; as if she was making herself smaller for you

“If you don’t like this, just let me know. Don’t want you uncomfortable or all in your head, yeah?” 

You quirk a smile at her consideration. “No… I like it. I trust you.”

She smirks at you. “Just being a brat, then?” 

Your eye roll answers that question.

“Just being a brat. Got it. Eyes on me then, baby.”

And then, she’s pulling your- now soaked- underwear down to your thighs, reaching down to glide her middle and ring fingers through your slick, and your eyes flutter shut, and you’ve already broken the one rule she gave you.

“Y/n,” she scolds, her fingers halting. 

Your eyes fly open to find her again, and you’re muttering out a desperate apology, rocking back on her fingers, seeking any sensation you can get. 

Her free arm comes around to circle your waist, holding you in place so that you can’t chase your release on your own. “I gave you one rule, sweetheart. Keep those pretty eyes on me and I promise I’ll make you cum.”

You nod frantically, eyes never leaving her own, even as she brings her fingers up to rub your own wetness into your clit; even as those fingers sink into you from behind, three knuckles deep.

“Jesus fuck,” she curses, “fuckin’ swallowing me.”

Your thighs are already shaking, your walls fluttering around her fingers as they adjust to the new fullness.

“Gonna move now, okay?” she warns before pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“Yes,” you nod, “yes- fuck!”

You call out as her hand flips over, fingers rotating inside you to press into the ridges of nerves on your front wall.

“That didn’t take long to find…” she muses.

“Fuck you,” you scoff to the best of your ability- although it doesn’t really pack a punch when you look so blissed out- and Vi laughs at you.

She fucking laughs, and you remember for a moment what makes her so damn annoying; but then, she’s pistoning into you, and your mind goes blank.

You feel high off of her fingers, limbs tingling and head fuzzy, completely out of control of whatever sounds are coming out of your mouth. You can vaguely hear “fuck, yes,” and “shit, shit, shit,” and “please, Vi, please” in your own voice. You can vaguely hear the obscene sounds of her fingers moving in and out of your slick, which is, no doubt, dripping down your thighs by now. You can vaguely make out her focused expression through the stars you’re seeing.

When she brings her mouth to the shell of your ear to speak to you, though, it’s her voice that brings you back down to earth. “You with me, sweet girl? Focused on me?”

If you focus any harder on her fingers slipping in and out of you, or on the way her breath picks up in your ear, or on the furrow of her own brow, you’ll cum.

Wait… shit, you're about to cum.

“Vi,” you call out, eyes widening, “I’m gonna- I’m so close- fuck, please.”

In a second, the arm around your waist is unraveling, and she reaches down to rub tight circles onto your clit, coaxing you closer to the edge.

You can’t fucking help it; your eyes roll back, head falling back onto her shoulder, breaking the one rule she gave you.

“Sorry, sorry, ‘m sorry, I can’t-” 

You’re near tears as her hands continue their ministrations. “ ‘S alright baby,” she coos, “You’re doing so fucking good, just want you to cum for me.”

And with a guttural noise you’ve never heard yourself make, you’re doing just that; spasming on her fingers, legs shaking underneath you, knuckles white as they grip the ballet bar you’re practically doubled over. 

Vi works you through your orgasm until your hand is shooting down in between your legs, shooing her own away. “Shit, that’s enough… ‘m all done.”

She’s careful pulling out, taking the two digits into her own mouth before pulling your underwear back up in place. Her hands return to your hips, turning your body back towards her. You still haven’t opened your eyes; still trying to catch your breath.

“Hey,” she speaks softly, pulling you in, “You okay?”

When you open your eyes, she’s smiling down at you like she adores you. It’s so tender, so gentle; so much so that in the come down off the high you’d just experienced, you start to tear up.

“I’m sorry,” you begin with a sniffle, “for being such an asshole all this time.”

“Woah, woah, woah- first of all, so was I; but more importantly, you’re fucked out right now. Just worry about catching your breath for a few minutes, okay, love?”

You give her a weak chuckle as she pulls away to gather your previously discarded bottoms. She leans down in front of you, guiding your legs as she directs you to put “one foot in… okay, now the other,” before pulling them up to their place on your hips.

You thank her with a smile, and she waves you off in response.

“Do you, uh…” she’s nervously rubbing the back of her neck as if she weren’t just demanding that you keep your eyes on her while she plowed you, “do you think you’d wanna come back to my place? Powder’s over at Ekko’s and my Dad has game nights with his friends every Wednesday, so it’ll just be us. We can just chill, watch a movie or something, order food if you want. Just… don’t wanna ditch you or anything, wanna make sure you’re all good after-”

“That sounds perfect, Violet.” 

──˚₊୨ৎ‧₊˚──

You’re not quite sure how seven years of pure, unadulterated loathing between you and Violet Lanes had led to this; a sleepover at her house, watching shitty action movies together, splitting a pizza, and falling asleep on the couch with your limbs tangled together.

But here you were. And it really was perfect; and everyone knows that you don’t settle for less than perfect.

──˚₊ 𝐄𝐍𝐃 ‧₊˚──

Taglist: @spidercat-soccerfan, @lipglosskxsses, @baylegend6

[madaqueue]

TEAR MY FLESH, HOLD MY HAND, FEEL MY WARMTH

the weight that lies in a pinky promise

pairing: suguru geto x gn!reader

themes/content: curse/canon au. fluff, angst. mentions of fights/difficult childhood. (wk: 3.2k)

a/n: this was originally gonna be for flufftober but it got a lil angsty teehee so here we are :) also the mouse on my computer stopped working so i did all this formatting on my phone bc i'm that dedicated to serving you guys this fic

Suguru was a soft child. Chubby hands, round cheeks, gentle steps.

He was sweet in all the ways a child ought to be, at least according to your parents - sweet in all the ways you weren’t.

You, on the other hand, were loud, jarring, unreserved. “A handful,” you were always described as by those who attempted to care for you. Perhaps that’s why they allowed you such a great extent of freedom, tugging against the length of a leash they tried to place around you, but they’d need stronger chains to tie you down.

And yet, you and Suguru found your similarities - you were both unencumbered by expectations. I am who I am. In spite of everyone, in spite of the ways they tried to dig their tight hands around you and force you into something you weren’t. You are who you are.

The first time you met him, all you saw were tiny feet kicking the air, unable to reach the ground from where he perched upon the park bench. He was the only one not screaming, something you appreciated, something novel. Your life had held such chaos, constant arguments, slamming doors. The peace that wrapped around his small frame seemed to exude a comfort you craved, even if it couldn’t be articulated by your six-year-old mind, you were drawn to it. To him.

“Hi,” you chirped, lifting yourself next to him.

“Hi.”

When you grinned widely at him, he returned a thin-lipped smile, as though he had been trained by wild dogs who took eagerness as a threat, who wouldn’t dare snarl unless as a warning.

(He noticed your absence of fear immediately - how could you approach him so easily? Had you not been taught to be wary?)

(You had been taught. “Avoid strangers, they’ll hurt you.” But you would never choose the harm of the monsters you knew. Better to take your chances in the wild.)

Averting your gaze, your dirtied fingernails began absentmindedly picking at the green paint coating the wood beneath your legs. Your eyes landed on his knees, scuffed and bloody.

“Did that hurt?”

Without looking at you, he shakes his head. “No, I’m just clumsy. I fell off my bike.”

“That’s okay,” you hum, “I get bruises all the time. You must be pretty tough if it didn’t hurt.”

And this time, he giggles, crooked teeth poking through. “Anyone can get hurt, it doesn’t make me tough.”

Leaves rustle overhead as you let out a thoughtful sigh, allowing the sounds of the breeze to fill the silence. It’s comfortable, you realize, no tension hanging in the air like there always seems to be at home, no threat looming around the other side of the kitchen counter.

You tug with all the strength your muscles can muster at a large strip of paint. With a final pull, your palm catches along the fraying wood, splinters digging under your flesh as you let out a choked cry.

Immediately, the boy’s small hands wrap around your wrist, pulling it to his face. Worried eyes inspect the wound. “Are you okay?” he asks without looking up.

A small whimper falls from your throat, lower lip trembling as you hold back tears. “Y-yeah,” your voice wobbles.

You’re lying. He knows you’re lying - you aren’t particularly hard to read, he grows to learn, somehow always wearing your heart on your sleeve. It’s a trait he admires (perhaps because he’s never quite able to place his there so visibly).

When he frowns, you almost giggle at the sight - no child should frown like that. It’s endearing, the way his eyebrows furrow, mouth tugged downward.

“Can I make it better?”

It takes very little to make you trust him, but you believe he wouldn’t hurt you. Just as animals seem able to sense intent, an implicit knowledge that the human freeing them from a cage won’t inflict additional pain, you know that his stubby fingers won’t dig at your flesh and make you bleed.

So, you nod.

Determined eyes turn from your visibly pained face to your aching palm. Slowly, he removes the shards of wood from your skin. When you wince, he pauses immediately, waiting for your shoulders to relax before he continues. By the time he’s finished, your bottom lip is red from biting into it but the pain isn’t even noticeable, not when every nerve in your body seems focused on the warmth coming from his fingertips still lingering on your wrist.

“There,” he breathes through the softest smile, “all done.”

“Thanks,” and you can’t help but grin back.

“And see!” He’s beaming now. “You were very tough!”

Your laugh is brighter than the sun, more calming than the birds chirping overhead, a sound he can’t help but mirror. His desire to cheer you up, to comfort you through it all, makes your cheeks warm.

“I’m Suguru, by the way.”

He opens up easily to you, an honor you don’t quite understand yet. When you introduce yourself, he repeats your name back slowly, the vowels sweet like the flowers blooming nearby. It sounds good in his voice.

A whistle cuts through the humidity, immediately drawing Suguru’s attention.

“I gotta go,” his face draws into that adorable pout again.

“Oh.” Dropping your attention, it falls to your freshly healed hands resting in your lap. “Can you do me a favor?”

Expectant eyes meet yours.

“Promise me I’ll see you again?”

This time, he smiles so wide his cheeks push up into his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Holding out a hand, he gently grasps yours as he intertwines your fingers.

“Pinky promise,” he grins, linking them together with a shake.

Through a giggle, you mimic, “pinky promise.”

He shuffles off the bench, clumsy feet landing on the ground before he hobbles off to the waiting arms of a parent who seems to love him. Your heart aches for a moment before it stills - you’re happy he has someone to take care of him, to pull the splinters from his hands and clean off the scrapes on his knees.

It’s a miracle when you both get placed at Jujutsu Tech. It takes very little for you to abandon the place you called home, having jumped at the first chance to leave your childhood behind, but having Suguru there makes it even easier when you get approached by a strange man with dark hair and glasses who touts himself as the principal of some elusive school a few hours away. They’ll pay for your housing, your food, anything you need to survive for the next four years so long as you agree to train and work for them. It was an easy yes - you would have done more for less.

And of course, there was your so-called “power.” The two of you had danced around the subject for years, hesitantly testing each other’s experiences to not unload worry onto the other. That was the thing about Suguru - he was always looking out for you, and you, him. He never needed to ask if you were thirsty, he’d just bring you tea; you never had to ask if he was lonely, you’d just find him sitting alone on the same park bench.

It was Suguru who finally broke on his thirteenth birthday while the two of you made your way through town, snowflakes hanging in the air.

“Do you ever…see things?” he asked, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket in a futile search for warmth.

From the corner of your vision, you caught the faintest glimmer of fear in his eyes. And you understood immediately.

“Yes.”

His shoulders visibly relaxed, hot breath puffing into the air. “Thank god,” he murmured.

Again, it wasn’t a surprise, per se - the two of you had shared everything. It only seemed natural that you would share this ability to see curses, the monsters hiding in the shadows.

“Do they ever…scare you?” Your voice felt small as you asked - you hadn’t yet reached relief, or at the very least, neutrality towards these things.

And he sees it in you, too - the dread he felt when he first saw them, the pang of terror that shoots up his spine when he catches one moving in the dark. He’s grown more accustomed to their presence, but there’s still that thread of fear lingering, choking him when he gets tangled in it.

“Yes.”

Cold fingers lace through yours, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

“But I’ll always keep you safe,” he smiles that sweet, soft smile, “pinky promise.”

The training wasn’t easy. You hadn’t expected it to be, obviously, but fuck was it hard.

Suguru excelled initially, as he did with everything. The others in your small class also show great potential, Satoru in particular, but Shoko’s abilities develop in her own way, too.

It’s nice to finally feel like you have a place where you belong, to have people to return to, people who care about you, who love you. It’s nice to be here, even if it pushes you to your limits everyday, because you know you’ll always have someone to come home to - to know you’ll always have Suguru to come home to.

It hits you on a sunny day in October when you’re watching him spar with Satoru. Fists fly, a mix of black and white flashing across the grass. When Gojo lands a particularly well-timed punch, Suguru’s body lands with a thud in the dirt.

You’re on your feet in less than a second, shoving Satoru out of the way as you stand over the dazed boy on the ground. He looks beautiful like this, you think - his hair splayed out around him, blood trickling from his nose, lips tugged into an awestruck smirk - before you shake the thought aside.

“Are you okay?”

Panicked hands run over his torso, checking for injuries before they land on his face. Cupping his jaw, he can’t help but breathe a laugh at the worry painted across your features. His palms come to rest along your wrists, dark eyes meeting yours.

“I’m okay,” he sighs. Now that you’re here. “I’m tough, remember?”

Every muscle in your body releases tension just at hearing his voice, his calming aura once again blanketing you, bringing you under the warmth of his peace.

With a playful punch to his shoulder, he feigns a dramatic wince. “Just don’t get hurt again, okay?”

He knows it’s impossible - it’s the nature of the job, of the responsibilities he holds. He will be hit and bruised and battered and brought to the brink of death again and again, but right now, that’s not what you need to hear. Because you know it’s impossible too; and you also know Suguru is strong.

“I pinky promise,” he halfheartedly grins. He promises to at least try. For you.

Wrapping your finger around his, you let the heat of your bodies fill the air, vibrating in tune with the cicadas lining the trees. His hand is soft in yours. It feels like coming home - the familiar walk up the steps, the paint on the front door cracking from where palms had rubbed against it time and time again as the handle turned. The wooden floors are worn in with the path you take through each other’s lives, from the kitchen to the living room to the windows, gazing over the backyard.

Suguru had a swingset, you remember. You figured out how to use it the first time you ever sat on the sun-worn rubber, going higher and higher and higher until the toes of your shoes scraped the sky. But Suguru always struggled - he couldn’t quite move his body in the right way to grant him flight. He would get frustrated with it rather easily, until your small hands rested against his back. With a firm push, you set him free into the air, his feet kicking perfectly with all the momentum a child’s body could hold.

Maybe gravity was discovered by children on the playground. There had to be a reason they couldn’t swing forever; there had to be a reason they couldn’t reach the sun.

The problem is, though, that a star’s heat dissipates with distance. It can’t always warm you, not when your feet land back on the ground.

Over the next year, Satoru began going on more missions alone, and Shoko stayed behind to hone her healing, leaving you and Suguru in the purgatory between power and nothingness. And most days, you feel closer to nothing.

It’s eating at him, you realize. The missions, the responsibility, the whole fucking thing is taking bites out of his soul with sharpened teeth and leaving nothing behind but a bloodied mess of torn expectations. It makes him smaller and smaller, pulling pieces of him until there’s nothing left.

You can see it in the way his clothes hang loose on his body. His shoulders slump forward, the shadows beneath his eyes growing darker each night he spends with his gaze locked on the ceiling.

The foundation of his soul is crumbling, the front door barricaded closed. The windows are boarded up. You can’t see your childhood anymore. All the grass in the front yard is dead.

You miss when the sun’s rays shone through him.

You miss when he was warm.

Finding him resting on one of the old benches in the school’s courtyard, it creaks beneath your weight as you sit, the only sound breaking the stagnant silence of the summer air. That’s another thing you’ve noticed - sometimes, Suguru is so quiet you aren’t even sure he exists. If you weren’t here watching his chest rise and fall, could you even prove he was breathing?

He says nothing when you rest your head on his shoulder, not that he needs to, of course. He hasn’t said much lately, mostly responding to everyone else’s overflowing conversations with empty smiles and sad eyes.

You aren’t sure how much longer you can take it.

“Suguru?”

His body doesn’t even shift in response to hearing his name, but you feel his eyes on you even though you can’t see them, your gaze instead focused on your hands resting in his lap. Picking at the skin along your nails, you continue.

“Are you okay?”

He’s grateful you can’t hear the way his heartbeat stutters (because then you’d already have the answer to your question).

“Mhm,” he hums, his lips never parting. You miss the way they used to curl into that childlike grin, it’s been so long since you’ve seen it.

You know he’s lying, but unfortunately, you want to believe him. You want to believe him so badly it feels like you’re trapped underground, buried under your love for him, banging on the floorboards overhead, but there’s no one around to hear. There’s dirt in your lungs and you can’t breathe. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

Silently, you hold your hand in front of him, pinky raised in a question.

Would you promise?

On instinct, his own hand lifts from his side. It hovers just inches from yours, but he hesitates. The gap between them grows farther with each second they don’t intertwine, stars pushing one another apart, unable to collide. The steadiness in him wavers for a moment as you watch his fingers shake.

He can’t.

When he collapses into you, everything falls apart. Arms wrap around your frame, hands grabbing fistfuls of your uniform. He clings to you like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him from drowning. Because as a child, no one ever taught him how to swim - maybe they didn’t see the point in learning such a useless skill, or maybe they thought they were protecting him. But now, he’s been thrown into relentless waves of grief and with each breath more briney water fills his chest and he’s gasping and scared and he doesn’t know what to do except hold you. The tears falling from his eyes taste like the sea and they burn his throat, but at least for a moment his legs can stop kicking. For a moment, he has someone who can keep him afloat.

Your palms rub slow circles into his back as he cries. The sound is sharp and painful, carving into the still-beating flesh of your heart, but at least it exists. At least he’s here. At least he’s alive.

Placing your lips to the top of his head, you let them rest there as his body shakes.

“It’ll be okay, I’ve got you,” you whisper into his skin, surrounded by small strands of hair pulled loose and warm from the sun. “I promise.”

As things tend to do, they eventually get easier.

You and Suguru talk to the higher ups about changing his schedule, only going on missions with at least one other sorcerer so he’s not doing all the work by himself. They bargain and ultimately even agree to grant him dedicated days off to rest. And finally, you feel as though you’ve been granted your miracle, the scales of fate begrudgingly tipping in your favor.

(If all your pain meant that Suguru’s would be lessened for even a moment you would do it over again a million times. If all your suffering meant that Suguru wouldn’t have to endure it for a second longer, you would suffer for eternity.)

Even as fall returns and the sun shines through the sky less and less, things feel brighter. The two of you find yourselves in the school’s cafeteria making tea every night, and he learns he sleeps better with you in his arms.

When the four of you gather around a picnic table outside to recap your recent assignments, you tell some stupid joke, one that makes Satoru groan and Shoko roll her eyes through a smirk, and you hear it: Suguru laughs. And for a moment, the world stops spinning.

You all exchange glances before turning to face him, his cheeks pushed up and pink, eyes closed in bliss. You can’t contain yourselves as you join him, fits of giggles lilting through the crisp air.

That night, he welcomes you into bed with open arms waiting beneath the covers. His lips are curved into a grin as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead, a newer part of your routine, one that makes your entire body vibrate.

Snuggling against him, the warmth of his chest radiates into your skin, each beat of his heart a welcome melody.

“Hey Suguru?” you murmur.

His voice is laced with sleep as he answers into the darkness, “Yeah?”

“You’re really strong, y’know that?”

Letting out an airy chuckle, he rolls his eyes. “I’m nothing compared to Satoru-”

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

You can hear the air entering his lungs with each breath. He takes in three before he responds. “I know.”

Long fingers trace circles into the bare skin of your arm.

“Suguru?”

You know what you have to tell him - you’ve been holding it for years, keeping it close to you, carrying its weight through each day until you barely notice it anymore. Maybe it’s the change of the seasons, a different density to the air, but suddenly it has begun to feel heavy in your hands.

“Yeah?”

His hands make their way up your neck until they rest along your cheek, guiding your gaze to him through the dark.

Three breaths in, three breaths out.

“I love you.”

You can’t see him smile, but you feel it. The warmth of his palm leaves your face for a moment until you feel it again along your hand. He intertwines his pinky with yours. “I love you, too.”

[stupidlittlespirit]

Idk if this is too much of an ask (but my fiancée and I are huge fans of your MTB series and we're getting married today! Teehee) (and my ass is on tumblr rn instead of getting ready)

Do you have any fun facts that you'd be willing to share about Ford that wouldn't otherwise be brought up in the fics?

Idk if that's a dumb question lol sorry if it is

OMG NO WAY?!!!!!!!!!!!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!! That's so amazing, also mood being on tumblr when you're supposed to be getting ready lmaooooo!

I hope your day is incredible, I'm toasting my cup of tea to you rn <3

In terms of facts, hmm..... I don't necessarily have anything I can give you in that sense but seeing as it's your freaking WEDDING, I can offer a measly gift of a tiny little unpublished fic for you both. It's really not much, it was just an exercise I did based on puns but.... Fresh from the pages of the Library of Alex-Stan-dria (aka my warm up doc) :

Rating: NSFW (implied) Type: Drabble - part of the Maid to Be AU Pairing: Ford Pines x reader Tags: Word play (??), drinking, teasing, car talk, Stan Pines, Ford Pines Word count: 1422

Tonight, the summer air is thick and cloying as you sit out on the porch of the Pines' house, your feet kicked up on a spare crate and a half empty bottle of cheap beer dangling from your fingers. 

The working day is finally done and every chore has been ticked off of your list just in time for the setting sun to finally recede below the distant horizon. Your back aches and you'd planned to head straight home to soothe your muscles with a warm shower, but life rarely goes as planned whenever you're in the presence of this family. You'd barely even gotten a hand on the front door before Stan had deployed his disarming wiles to sweet talk (see: bully) you into joining he and his brother for a nightcap, and those aches had melted away in the face of an easy time with two of your favourite people. 

The four generously large bottles you've already tanked down are sitting warmly in your stomach and the edges of your vision are ever so slightly skewed in a familiar, pleasantly boozy way. 

Stan is lounging like an overfed housecat in the wicker chair in front of you, a thick lit cigar perched between his lips as he too settles into the effects of a few too many drinks himself. Acrid smoke plumes up and around his head as he brags about his beloved car for the fifth time tonight and his words mingle amongst the crickets and cicadas that sing from the forest’s edge. 

You'd made the mistake of bringing up your personal driving opinions in his presence and now you're being subjected to an earful from him on everything car-related. They're his own personal PhD specialism and you really should have known better than to have tempted the bull with such a red flag.

To Stan's left, his brother sits leisurely in his own weathered rattan chair, watching you both with amused, if glazed, eyes. Ford's been working hard all week on some fancy paper he expects to publish soon and this is his miniature reward for taking a break: a casual kickback free of complex biology and laden with his sibling's charm. You're sure he'd rather be working but when he'd become aware you'd be joining them, it had been enough to seduce him into a few hours of down time. 

Part of you thinks he'd been looking for an excuse to take some time away, but another, prouder part thinks it's sweet that your presence is enough to tempt him into some minor truancy. It doesn't happen often and you're willing to privately take a little credit for it, just this once. 

Ford's usually-prim posture is slackened tonight; the exhaustion wears heavily on his handsome face and though he hasn't had as much to drink as you or Stan, it seems tiredness is enough to mimic mild intoxication. He sprawls in his seat, slumped down, legs open wide, taking up space that he might otherwise be inclined to save. He still looks dashing, though, in your humble opinion. 

His dark eyes flick from Stan to you as you parry one another's quips, but his gaze lingers on you for longer than he might normally allow in such a public setting. It isn't heated, he isn't that far gone just yet, but it's indulgent and it makes you feel hot under the collar all the same.

“No way,” Stan is saying, vigorously shaking his head as he disagrees with your assertion about the drive-ability of your own claptrap car. “My Diablo is the finest old girl you've ever seen. Nothin’ runs as smooth as she does.” 

“You're biased!” you accuse him light-heartedly, pointing a finger at him. “You've never even driven anything else!” 

“That's a valid point,” Ford chimes in helpfully, smirking. “Statistically speaking.”

You toss him a pleased smile and Stan rolls his eyes. Ford's ears tint rouge.

“You drive a shitbox van,” Stan snarks. “What do you know about good cars?” 

“First of all," you say haughtily, offended on your car's behalf. "She isn't a shit box, she's a classic from 1984 and you'll treat her with respect if you want me to keep hauling your stuff about in her.” You stick your tongue out at him as Stan mutters something under his breath about how '84 barely qualifies as historically classic.

“And," you go on with a huff, “I have car knowledge too, thank you very much. It's not like I intend to keep the same car until I die, unlike some people.” 

“Oh yeah?” Stan teases, sounding tickled. “And what do you want? A little Fiat? One of those prissy ass electric cars? You look like the type.” 

Clumsily, you lift your foot off the crate and kick him gently in the side of his shin. He kicks you back. “No, asshole, I want something big. Like a...." You wrack your brains through the rolodex of classic cars adverts you keep saved on your laptop for if you ever win big one day. "An F1-50. A 1950 model with a big fat engine in it.” 

Stan guffaws, gravelly and charmingly demeaning. “That? You're too small for one of those, you'd never be able to handle all that.” 

“What about a Capri? Or a ‘69 Mustang?” you argue back. 

Ford’s smirk grows. It’s less out of understanding (Stan’s the true gearhead here) and more from pure mirth at the fight you’re valiantly putting up. 

“You got a world of options out there, kid, why not expand into something more exotic?” Stan says, punctuating his sentence with a solid puff of his cigar. The gold signet ring on his finger glints in the low light as he flexes his grip around the stem and smoke billows out from his mouth.

You shrug one shoulder and, under the cover of his puffing, your eyes flick to his brother as you say with a smothered smile: “I don't know, I just think Ford's offer the best ride.” 

Stan laughs at the comment, his tipsy mind sailing clean past the double entendre in favour of needling your choice with more dismissive laughter. But your shot hits its mark when Ford almost sloshes his tentative mouthful of warm beer down the front of his sweater at your words.

“No chance,” Stan scoffs, none the wiser. “I bet you've never even driven one.” 

It's your turn to scoff now. “Of course I have,” you say assuredly. “I have plenty of experience.”

No one else knows of the covert sins you commit with the not-always-so-sweet doctor sitting just across from you and the two of you intend to keep it that way for the time being. Still, that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt in the face of danger every now and then. It’s fun to keep Ford on his toes and though you know (hope) you’ll pay for your brazenness later, the opportunity is too enticing to resist. 

You’ll blame that squarely on the drink.

“Oh yeah?” Stan says, swigging his beer. “Like?”

“All sorts. The bigger the better, in my opinion.” You smirk. “But I prefer vintage, myself.” 

To the left of his brother, poor Ford is forcing himself to hide his laughter with a tactfully placed hand over his mouth as he leans on the arm of his chair. He's fortunate that it's dark out here beyond the candles on the patio table because you can tell his face is burning brighter than an ill-prepared sunbather at your words. He shoots you a look (one that is most definitely heated) when Stan pauses to rub smoke from his eyes, but you only return it with a quick, coy smirk that serves to darken his blush further. 

“Vintage breaks down if you don't know how to take good care of it,” Stan says confidently. “I do all my fine tuning myself, y’know.” 

“I rode mine pretty hard but it always held up well,” you say, trying to bite back the grin that threatens to take over your face. “I’m a gentle hand when I want to be. I’d do just fine with something like that, trust me.” 

Stan’s nose wrinkles in annoyance at the smoke and he chases its burn away, smartly, with more drink. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’d be able to deal with that much raw power.”

You spare Ford a very subtle, well timed look that he meets with equal revelry.

“You know, I think you’d be surprised at what I can handle….”

MAZEL TOV! Sorry it's not much but I hope it's enough for you to glance at when you get the chance! <3 Sending you all the love in the world!

[coquexari]

I'm sorry, I just realized something while I was reading your post about Banthena (I hope that's okay? If not, I'll stop using it) trying to fight the suitors & not having an easy time of it.

How she was upset over it due to her being the goddess of war, but then I remembered that she's not simply the goddess of war. She's the goddess of war strategy & wisdom.

It's possible that she may have somewhat forgotten that due to her previously natural goddess endowed strength & may need to be reminded.

(And as I was typing that, I imagined Ody or Mac or both possibly, singing a reprise of "Warrior of the Mind" to do so, which could be so flippin' cool!!)

Actually... this could be an opportunity for her to actually refine this aspect of herself because she can't rely on her deity strength anymore... In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she was used to fighting like a man. I wonder, would she need to learn how to do physical things as a woman? Like, by focusing more on the strength in her lower body; legs, hips, core. So, things like dodging, flexibility, kicking, quick reaction. It's like how guys can muscle through climbing, but women climb best by using their legs & core strength.

So, if one were to put that together with her having to work on her mind, including on-the-fly strategizing... if she were to turn back into a goddess... Man, wouldn't it be ironic is becoming a mortal ended up making her a better at her roles as a goddess, in the end? Like, actually being a goddess her whole life had actually been holding her back from her full potential?

Can you imagine that it eventually led to her overthrowing Zeus like he'd been afraid of happening with Metis? "One often meets their destiny on the road to avoid it," right?

(Some other things I also remembered reading about her lore is that she's also the goddess of justice & suffers of a chronic headache so long as injustice exists. But, as a mortal, that is no longer her domain, so imagine that she gets to a point in her recovery where she realizes that she'd been in so much pain all over before, that she hadn't realized that she suddenly didn't have a headache anymore &... she just can't... How do you even describe not being in pain after only ever knowing pain? But I imagine that it must be odd. Another thing I remember of her is that she's also the goddess of handicrafts, things like weaving, pottery, I imagine painting & sculpting are on that list too. So, if she insists on paying her way, then perhaps she could do so that way? Whether it be by selling them or just helping Penelope around the house.)

Sorry for chattering so much. I tend to do that when I find a REALLY good thing with a lot of potential. ^^;

HI I TOOK EONS TO ANSWER THIS BECAUSE YOU MAKE SUCH A GOOD POINT AND MY BRAIN CANT MAKE ANY POINTS TO ADD ONTO THIS, so I'm eating your thoughts now, please continue to ramble in my asks anon <3

Also, teehee banthena is allowed indeed, and it's now the tag for if you want to make fan posts of the au :3!

[bubblyernie]

thinkin bout how when i was like 3, there was a boy in my daycare class who loved batman and i had a crush on him so when he's like "ill be batman, you be catwoman" i was like okay :) even though i knew fuckall about superheroes, i just liked cats and was like yeah ill be a cat girl

then when i was 8 my friend was really into warrior cats but i didn't know fuckall about warrior cats but we were roleplaying crazy warrior cat RP on the playground with forts and being on all fours and i didn't know i was rp'ing warrior cats, i just liked cats, and then didn't realize "oh that was what we were doing" until 10 years after

then when i was 12 i loved warrior cat animations/mep's but i never got into it, but i loved animation and art so i took up animation as a hobby and went into the arts as my career

and we've reeled all the way back around where I'm still not into batman (I'm 21) but i like cats and also brooding bisexual people so I've gone down a little rabbit hole of batman and catwoman fanart kicking my legs like teehee idk anything bout this but i sure love cats and catwoman

in like a MARGINALLY alternate universe, i would've been a furry who fucking LOVED warrior cats but instead I'm like a catgirl in spirit but not in practice, its like celebrating Christmas culturally but not religiously

[art-emis-moon]

But i admire your writing so much

Even so, my statement stays 😺

🐱 moderately intimidating

I'm a pirate, i demand more than moderate intimidation across these wretched lands you see

[swarmishstrangers]

feed us with mspar headcanons 🙏🙏

you get extra purple sprinkles if you do mspar headcanons with marvus

[[ explodes ]]

Oh. OH YOU WANT MSPAR HCS??? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?? HUH!!?...Ok teehee :}c

🍀Has a genuine caffeine addiction, not even playing. It's not so bad where they'll legitimately freak out and turn up the house if they don't get it, but they will get a KILLER, BRAINSPLITTING, headache from caffiene withdrawls + fatigue. Something they want to fix someday! But god...those headaches are hard to get over for them. They're supplier is, of course, Galekh. He really spoils them with the good stuff. He figures, what's the point in drinking coffee if it isn't the good kinds? He doesn't kick up a fuss if they ask him for a bad of whatever coffee grounds, he'd like for them to try. In fact, they bond over it actually.

🍀Kinda not great with comforting..with words! Their friend could have just vented to them about something that leaves them sobbing and Mspar, the fucking dumbass, kinda just there and is like, "Damn..that sucks, I'm sorry." They don't mean to sit around and twiddle their thumbs! Obviously, they try their best to comfort their friend, they just aren't always the most eloquent with their words so sometimes what they say can come out kind of strained and awkward. Much better with comforting people physically with hugs, rubbing their back, or letting them cry into them if needed. They just don't always know when they should deploy it? Cause trolls are so finicky and unpredictable to trying to gauge when it is or isn't okay to just be like, "Bring it in buddy, it's okay.." And go in for a hug or something. They think they're at least pretty good with discerning this for their closer friends.

🍀INCREDIBLY FUCKING LUCKY. Even outside of the initial control of Doc Scratch, and sure in some endings they die or it goes in a way it wasn't, otherwise? They're lucky. While there's definitely some existential stuff going on with them and who they really are, what they would be without their friends, had Doc Scratch not have been controlling them to some extent from afar..would they have ever really have even made any of the friends they did? They still consider it lucky to have even ever had them in their life. Outside of that, holy shit, how they survive some of the situations they do or are able to bounce back as fast as they do can be WILD to both trolls and humans. What they can they say? They just can't stop winning!

🍀Doesn't like working out tbh, they hate feeling so out of breath, they hate that taste of copper after having been running around for a while, that burning, itching sensation they get that feels like ants under their skin, etc. But catch them dead ever admitting it if it means that they can keep spending time with their more active friends, (Nihkee and Stelsa). Besides, in the end they know it won't kill them...er. Well, at least the jogging won't. Also it keeps those ROCKING legs in shape!!

🍀Did I mention having existential problems? I forgot to add they also deal with depression and dissociation problems smh.

🍦<- Be prepared to give me those sprinkles. Apologies in advance again, gonna try my best to characterize Marvus the best I can?? Aughh. Mspar I feel like, after a while, is one of those few people Marvus can trust to really let loose? Not as though he doesn't, but just like. More. He doesn't feel the need to look as pretty, to let those muscles relax (cause never really is, he's just really good at coming off as though he is lax). This feels GREAT if he was on a tour for weeks and he can just come back and be in the presence of someone who'll let him just chill out for a while. Pad Thai anyone?

🍦His sugar baby, his glucose grub, his uh. Insert other troll term for sugar baby. Jk!! Sort of..Marvus definitely gets them shit, and in return instead of something sexy, he gets their friendship cause DAMN Mspar!!! You pale friendslut!! You give them some cheap food and they're appreciative as fuck. But then again, they never ASK him for anything, they hate feeling like their mooching (even though they totally are and their friends don't gaf).

🍦Marvus sometimes does stretches, yoga poses, or these pretty contortionist poses. Mspar sometimes joins him for the stretches and poses part (hurt their back even TRYING to do the poses he does so effortlessly). While he's doing the more contortionist poses, sometimes Mspar gets stuck to places or tries on some places of his body. Think like..He laying down with his lower/middle back being bent with his long ass lanky legs in the air, then you got Mspar being airplaned by being held up by his feet. Adds a pressure to his body that he tends to like.

🍦OHH and uh, i've got one more for ya. Gonna admit, I don't know too much about chucklevoodoos or powers purplebloods tend to have, but um. Mspar has that ADHDtism, their mind is NEVER quiet. Always thinking, always running, so many thoughts, so many overlapping voices. It can be a real headache when they're just trying to rest but their brain is still active. I imagine on days when they're hanging out with Marvus, he can just..well, it's easy to tell. Cool fingers press to their head, rubbing over warm skin, claws teasing, biting as he scrapes them lightly over their scalp. Maybe he's humming with no real rhythm, but it's pretty all the while. They feel something be pushed, like their mind is being grabbed and like glass, something get's crushed (metaphorically), and when that hand opens it's palm, it's like all the sand in that dome runs out. And for once. They experience quiet.

[kittycarabiner]

Hiiiiiii! How are youuuu? I've been kinda quiet lately because the past week has been a whole lotta doom and gloom. :/ Plus I haven't even gotten my period yet so I've been dreading that on top of it all. Buuuuuuuut~ a drop in morale does mean that I've been masturbating like CRAZY. I've been rubbing at my clit so much this past week it's insane. I've even taken the opportunity to try out a few different positions to see what else I like. I'm usually on my back with my legs spread open but today I decided to scoot to the base of my mattress and bent over the corner and ooooooh my gosh- I don't know what it is about that position but I was so whiney and messy. Plus I couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to have someone collar me from behind and then pull me up by the back of it to fuck into me and inadvertently push my clit into the mattress, bell on my collar jingling with every thrust. So that's definitely helped! :P

I've also caught my mind wondering about 🐈🐈🐕 a few times... There's just so many possibilities! Two precious kitties nudging into each other, licking and kissing any bit of skin they can reach, both desperately pawing at the puppy who is all too eager to please them both...

One of the kitties blindfolded and bouncing on the puppy's cock, whiney and oversensitive from the second kitty running their hands up and down her sides. Sliding over her ass and tits. Kissing her neck from behind and whispering how good she is and how well she's taking it. Meanwhile, the puppy's busy biting at the kitty with their nails gripping her hips. Muttering about how wet she is, how she takes it so easy, profanities and moans falling from their mouth as they start making out with her. Solely focussed on fucking her down onto their knot and breeding her tight hot cunt until she can't even remember her own name. Of course the second kitty will be sure to lick everything up once they're done. The puppy though, may not be satisfied with filling one hole, so while the second kitty is busy holding down the hips of the sweet fucked out princess, tongue dipping into her hole and kissing at her clit, the puppy will most definitely take the opportunity to rut their hips against the slit of the second kitty, maybe even slipping inside...

But of course I haven't been thinking about it THAT much... -3- ~<3

- 🐈🐈

teehee you had me giggling and kicking my feet i LOVE everything about this. 10/10!!!!

ugh and you're always so cute :( it's so adorable how needy you are. and telling me about it... youre so precious :3

i do so love 🐈🐈🐕 there are just so many possibilities!

and it's gotta be sloppy but full of love and excitement !!!! that's so perfect ugh

now i'll have to think about it too >:[

[drc00l4tt4]

wave wave wave

hellooo its me again uhmmm

saw ur reqs were open and i have a couple

Melvinborg:

Melvin and reader like exploring parenthood with their new baby(i thought the idea was cute)

NSFW - Reader giving Melvinborg a blowie in his office teehee

Webslinger:

I thought reader maybe helping him tend to wounds from a recent fight? If you haven't done that already

I don't know if this was too much srry if this was too much,,,

Already did the borg parent one (and I'll do the blowie one l8r) so here's the Webslinger one!

Fuckin love this req <33

Obv not proofread, just wrote this as it came to mind :]

"Ow!"

Web-Slinger winced as you tightened the bandaging around his arm. "Sorry," You said softly, gently patting his arm before tying off the bandage. "S'fine," He sighed out, "It's my fault y'gotta tend t'me in th'first place."

"You were helping catch an anomaly, I wouldn't exactly say that it was your fault you got hurt." You lightly argued as you started to clean another wound that was on his leg, just under his knee. "Let's agree t'disagree." He shrugged slightly. He then winced as you applied medicine to the wound. "You got hurt because you were attacked from behind, that's not your fault." You continued to argue as you grabbed more bandaging. "S'my fault f'not bein' careful." He argued back. "Yes because you have eyes in the back of your head." You said sarcastically, earning a light chuckle from him.

"No, but most'a everyone 'ere has um.. Spider-sense. All I got is my rider-sense, n' that jus' connects me t'Widow. Doesn' really help me with dodgin' or-" Web-Slinger paused to inhale sharply as you tightened the bandaging around his leg; he then continued, "Or, uh, sensin' whats comin' towards me unless it's Widow. Feels like I should have that but I don't."

You gave him a puzzled look. ".. You know Miguel doesn't have spider sense either, right?" You asked. "Yet he ain't the one gettin' patched up right now." Web-Slinger shrugged. "I dunno. I don' want you thinkin' I can't protect ya or that I'm gonna come back n'.. not be okay." He admitted.

You looked at him with a soft gaze. ".. You know I can protect myself right? We both have the ability to do that, spider-sense or not." You said in a soft tone. He almost looked like a kicked puppy (just judging from the way his eyes on his mask moved.) "Yeah," He muttered out, "But," He clapped his hands against his thighs, "I promised t'protect what I could. N' that includes you."

"I'm not a civilian though, Patrick." You continued to speak softly, and you could see his gaze soften from kicked-puppy to calm. "I understand that, m'just.." He trailed off. "Worried because of my line of work? Since you know how dangerous it is?" You finished for him. You could see the fond smile in his eyes as he let out a quick, "Yeah." He then continued, "Especially when I can't handle these other villains. Makes me think y're handlin' somethin' I can't n' that just.."

"Hey," You lifted your mask and his bandana enough to show your mouths, and you laid a gentle kiss on his lips. "I'm not going to be your canon event, Patrick. I'm not from your dimension, I'm safe." You said, and you saw how he melted from the kiss and felt him wrap his arms around you. "Also my villains aren't too difficult, I kick their ass each time and you are stronger than me so I'm not worried." You added, making him chuckle. "If y'say so." He muttered before kissing you gently.

When he pulled back, his lips still grazed yours as he spoke, "Speakin' of our dimensions," he whispered, "Y'feel like lettin' me come over f'some alone time, darlin'? Promise I won't strain nothin'. 'Less y'want me to."

Reqs are Open! | Comms

[traffic-light-eyes]

Can we have Lloyd head canons??????

I've done a few already so I'll link them here!

Headcanon list 1

Movie Headcanon

Headcanon list 2

Here's a quick headcanon for you, though !

Lloyd 100% reads fanfiction. I don't make the rules. He is deep, deep into the Starfarer fandom, and he sometimes even writes his own fics (with the help of Pixal <3)! He tried to commission Cole to draw something for him (Cole please please pretty please? I have this really cute idea!!! Don't you love me? 🥺) and that ended with him being tossed onto the closest soft surface and smothered by a pillow. Lloyd definitely jumped for joy when a few days later, there's the exact Starfarer drawing he wanted sitting peacefully on his pillow. Cole got a lot of hugs that day, not that he's complaining. Lloyd's the type of person to gush about his favorite hyperfixations but feels guilty about it when he thinks that no one cares/they're not interested/they think he's being too childish. To counter that, his family give their utmost attention to him, asking questions and giving their own thoughts about it. A safe bet for gifts is just giving him plushies or merch from the series. Jay got him a first edition comic, and then he couldn't enter a room with Lloyd in it without getting thrown into a wall by a very aggressive and well-meaning hug.

I've been talking about physical affection a lot in this hc, so I have to make it known my stance on this. When he was younger, he definitely had touch-starvation issues. He grew up with literally no physical positive reinforcement, and when he was touched, it was most likely for a cruel prank or a school-issued punishment. So, when he went to the bounty with the ninja, he tried his hardest to subtly try to get physical affection without seeming "needy" or "weak." He sometimes didn't even realize he was doing it. He just subconsciously walked closer to Kai and let his hand brush against him or sat across from Jay and "jokingly" kicked his leg. He uses pranks often to try to get some type of touch, usually in the form of being dragged to the scene of the crime to clean something up (oopsie sorry Kai I didn't know that you wanted your upside down container of hair gel to be closed. I didn't think it would just fall out, sorry teehee). Eventually, the ninja figure it out - probably with the help of Nya if I'm being honest - and make sure to give him lots and lots of cuddles. Eventually, he just grows to be a very physically affectionate person, most likely because he was deprived of it.

Anyways! Here you go <3

[sappho114]

Eid is in a few days so I'm thinking about stuff and also I saw some shitass zionist nonsense earlier kicking her legs going 'teehee' over an actual genocide but the reality of the liberal is that they don't consider people to be people, I don't think. It's like that right-wing "NPC theory" nonsense, they have that same mentality where you can be a person by degrees. like the Out Group of people you dislike are a lot like a dog or cat you think is acceptable to shoot when it becomes an emotional burden. 'Scratch a liberal,' right?

These are truly loathsome people. I see posts from Zionists being smug little cunts and I can only think of the unused days on the eSIM I got for my friend who more than likely died one night despite me giving everything I could to just try and help her. Because of a purposeful, targeted genocide that decided that what she was simply was 'unacceptable' and needed to be erased from the face of the earth. I'd like to think we were friends but I never really got the chance to ask. I just tried to distract her whenever she was able to message me. Talk about movies, music, hopes and dreams, her sister, whatever. I have no idea if her sister got to turn 10, nor if her dad ever got past his fever.

But Zionists can still smugly post about how they can't dehumanize an entire people while pasting the Israeli colonial flag on their forehead and saying its "necessary." They feel civility more than they do empathy - it's all about civility. That cold, horrible logic of 'fuck you, got mine.' They have no empathy, these people, they only hold onto the concept of it. Most of them have never suffered, nor even talked to anyone they see as sub-human for any true length of time.

I usually don't post any of my real opinions online anymore due to surveillance state bullshit, and even this might risk getting me nuked but I don't really care.

We need to protect humans from people like that. We need to do better so that the banal smugness of moderate evil doesn't just get to spew their hatred around without at least some pushback. We need to think so we can identify it and we need to hit back when to see it. There are no excuses, in my opinion, if you just dodder along and don't care enough to just type 'op is a nazi. fuck them' just because they're LGBT or use the right terminology to seem 'woke enough' to pass muster...

Basically, Tumblr is a comfortable blogging website where, ideally, most of its users wont' ever experience the hardship of the people who are in the most need. Most of the users are middle class, ignorant, and happily so. Worse then that - any kind of talk about this "negative stuff" is often met with total breakdown and apathy. Giving up. Like we even have a reason to fucking surrender.

If you're reading this and you can't summon enough energy to push back against any form of evil, then just never open your mouth until you learn to grow at least some backbone on a website where you can be anonymous.