#incidentally there is only one bed

[gilverrwrites]

Oops

AN: Answer to an Anon regarding the Batboys reactions to finding their partner (during the early days of their relationship) sleeping with nothing on their lower half, or finding out they're not wearing underwear beneath their comfy bottoms. Gender Neutral!Reader Ft. Jason, Tim, Bruce, & Dick. In that order. No smut, but suggestive content below.

Jason is so dog-tired, too drained to make it back to his own place when he climbs through your window in the middle of the night. Normally he’d text or call ahead to ask if it was okay. But he’s done this a million times, and you’ve always told him that he doesn’t need to ask; he’s always welcome.

He’s already half asleep as he sluggishly kicks off his boots. He doesn’t notice your naked leg hanging out of the covers as he strips down to nothing but his vest and boxers. There’s a half moment of clarity as he stands above your sleeping form where he wonders if he should wake you, if only to alert you to his presence, but you look so peaceful, he doesn’t want to disturb you. He just wants to sleep.

So, he crawls into bed beside you and quickly dozes off. It’s not until hours later, as the sun peeps in between the curtains and he starts to wake that he realises something is off. Somehow, you’ve managed to become entangled during your sleep, which isn’t uncommon. Your back is to his chest, his arm draped around your waist, rough fingers under your oversized shirt and rested on your soft lower stomach. You mumble something dozily, rolling your hips in your sleep and his hands incidentally sink lower, and lower, before they touch something that he should certainly not be touching without permission.

“J-Jason? What’s going on.” You mumble, half-opened eyes staring at him blearily, having been marginally awakened by the ferocity of Jason ripping his hand away from you and jumping out of the bed.

“Nothing! Go back to sleep. I’ll call you later.”

Thanks to the low rise of your joggers, Tim's eyes are already glued to your hips as you lean over him to patch up a wound on his shoulder. It’s late, and quiet. You’re weary after he disturbed you in the middle of the night. He’s still feeling a little woozy from a knock to the head, and the way your lower body sways has him hypnotised, at least until you turn away from him, bending over to find something in your med kit. He’s distracted immediately by the garment label which is hanging out of your waistband at the back.

Without a second thought, he leans over to tuck it back in for you but as his fingers slip below the band you stand, having already started the motion to move back over to him. The sequence of mis-timed events results in your bottoms being pulled just low enough to bare your ass.

Perhaps if he was feeling 100% himself, Tim would have had the graciousness to look even a little bit guilty about it. You doubt it very much though. Instead, he bites his lips, eyes roving the curve of your backside before following the arc of your body right up to your face where he greets you with a lopsided but decisively provocative smile before whispering; “Oopssss.”

“If Punchline hadn’t already done it, I’d smack you upside the head.” You chide, brushing his hand away and pulling your pants back up much to Tim’s disappointment.

“Awh, c’mon. Don’t be like that.” He’s still smiling as you push him back into place so you can continue to see to his injuries. “Was just a happy accident.”   

There's a chill in your bones, one so sudden and biting that it jolts you awake. The first thing you notice is the imposing shadow at the end of your bed. Instinctively you shoot up into a seated position, pushing your body backwards and against your headboard until you start to recognise features of the silhouette before you; the lean shoulders, and stiff posture. The glaringly blankness of his chiselled lower face, and the emblem on his chest.

"Bru- Batman?" You exclaim irritated but relieved. “You scared me!”

Your sort-of-but-we-haven’t-quite-defined-it-yet-boyfriend doesn’t reply, and you start to worry again, inclining toward him unconsciously until he deliberately clears his throat. Between the mask and the darkness of the room, you’ve no idea what he’d been looking at exactly, but the polite, intentional turn of his head has it dawning on you quickly.

In an instant you snap your legs closed, embarrassed to have been so exposed but one panic fades to another as Bruce begins to rummage in your wardrobe, informing you that he has reason to believe you’re in danger and that he’s taking you to a safe house for your own protection as he hurtles underwear and pair of trousers at you.

Your nerves begin to calm as you sit in the passenger seat of The Batmobile listening carefully as he brings you up to speed with everything that’s happened and how he plans to fix it.

At least until he begins speaking in a voice that feels intentionally a little smoother than his vigilante persona would typically use. “If you’d like, you’re welcome to take your pants back off when we get there.” And again, you can’t tell where he’s looking, but the coy smile on his lips tells you all you need to know about what he’s thinking.  

Dicks always had a habit of hooking his fingers into the waist of your pants to get your attention by pulling you closer or to direct you around busy areas. Even before you’d started dating.

You’d woken before him, but he’d followed not long after, sensing your missing presence from the bed and following the smell of breakfast. It’s the most natural thing in the world for him to grab you by the drawstring band of your joggers as a greeting, planning on pulling you away from the sink so he can accost you with morning-breath-laced kisses.

There is a solid 10-second interval in which he stands, staring at you, stock still and silent as he registers the lack of barrier between his skin and yours, and a further 10 more as he examines your face, searching for signs of distress. When he finds nothing but bashful excitement he grins at you, devilish, sinking his fingers further down so he can graze the space just above your stirring sex before fisting the fabric to pull you closer.

“For me?” He quizzes with a quirked brow as he leans in close to you, still watching every micromovement of your face.

“For comfort.” You correct him with a playful grin, lacing your fingers in his shirt regardless.  

Feigning disappointment, he sucks on his teeth for a second, rolling his eyes and head back before turning to you with a pout. “An’ here I thought I was special.” Despite his ‘dismay’ you feel his free hand decisively press into the small of your back, holding you in place as the other begins to explore beneath your joggers.

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[deepspacenova]

Zayne teaching you & Caleb how to touch each other HCs

Zayne x Caleb (x Reader)

Inspired by the replies in this post about Zayne and Caleb being each others' firsts and how Zayne would revel in being the bridge between you and Caleb during sex.

I wrote some HCs for Zayne x Sylus a while back (incidentally, also influenced by @leighsartworks216 - aka the equally lovely and evil genius on my shoulder) so... let's call this a spin-off?

Caleb and Zayne become each other's firsts and it starts off very awkward, they're doing it for the sole reason of not botching up their chance with you but;

Unexpected side effect after a few times? They ended up mildly obsessed with each other (physically). "Practice" became more of an excuse than a reason yknow (Like, did they really need to 'practice' in an empty classroom at school for your sake??);

Needless to say, Caleb and Zayne knew exactly what made the other tick in bed by the time they parted ways;

You and Zayne have been together for a while, so of course you know what he likes, every sensitive spot, every sound he makes when you touch him in the right places;

Now that the three of you are together and you know about Zayne and Caleb's history, something hits you at an inconvenient moment: Zayne is behind you, panting into your throat, while Caleb’s chest brushes against yours, his eyes dark, breaths uneven;

Your fingers hover uncertainly over Caleb’s jaw when he leans in. You know how to touch a man, obviously, but with Caleb, it’s new, and it’s been so long, and you don’t know what to do yet, but… Zayne does, you realize;

Ever-attentive Zayne feels your hesitation, realizes what's going on, and immediately starts to put you at ease: tracing the tip of his nose down your neck, he shoots his gaze to Caleb and commands, “Lie back.”

Zayne starts with kissing, his voice soft in your ear. "He likes it when you bite. Not too hard- just enough to make him chase after it." When you test it, press your teeth and tongue against Caleb’s bottom lip and slowly suck it and tug, Caleb growls, gripping your hips;

As your proud smile brushes against Caleb's, Zayne's fingers ghost over your jaw. "Again. A little rougher." To which Caleb sighs, nearly whimpers into your mouth, hands gripping the back of your neck as he scrapes his top teeth against the inside of your lower lip;

The touching starts off slow as Zayne guides your fingers over Caleb’s abdominals. "Lower. Press just a little- yes, there." Caleb exhales sharply at the touch where his hip meets his inner thigh, eyelids lowering, muscles tightening.

Sometimes, if Caleb's done something to goad him or push his buttons, Zayne uses his evol, applying a flash of cold to Caleb's lips, neck, shoulder, hip, that you love to melt and soothe by dragging your tongue over them. Caleb's groans make the torture even more worth it;

More often though, Zayne slides his laced fingers with yours down Caleb's torso, directing your movements as every gentle command heats another inch of your skin, "Try- no, lighter. Mm. Now drag your nails until you get to his-" Caleb groans, hips lifting slightly;

"I think pip-squeak’s got it, Z,” but he can only gasp when Zayne leans down and kisses Caleb himself in response, slow and wet and deep;

You watch the movement of their lips, breath catching as one of Caleb’s hands tightens around your waist and his other fists Zayne’s hair. Zayne just hums, satisfied that he was right as he pulls away, kisses you, the flavor of Caleb still on his lips, and says, “Your turn.”

In fact, Zayne revels in knowing he’s the one in charge in this situation. The who bridges the gap between you both. The one who’s making it work. Caleb may be the one with the evol to literally control things, but here? Zayne was the one who pulled the three of you together;

He’s not afraid to boast about it in his subtle way either, like when Caleb's kissing you, Zayne watches intently for a few moments before pulling Caleb away by the nape of his neck, murmuring, "Not like that. Let me show you,” kissing you in a way that makes Caleb growl under his breath;

At the end of the day, though, Zayne takes the most pleasure in being the one to show Caleb how to touch you;

It's his win against Caleb, his trophy in their competition of "may the best man win you" because it's Zayne who's whispering in Caleb's ear, or guiding Caleb's hands all over the body of his obsession: you;

Neither of them says they’re competing of course, but it’s so obvious to you that they are when your ringing ears catch a smug “Pip-squeak came harder when I was down there” while Zayne licks his lips. To which Zayne grabs him by the root, eliciting a full-body shudder from Caleb when he murmurs, “Are you sure about that?”

Sometimes, Caleb retaliates by pressing one palm between your legs and the other into Zayne's throat. "Tell me something, Doctor. If I move my hand here, what sound will pip-squeak make?" Zayne's smile is small, and his voice is breathless when he shoots back, "You wish you knew like I did.";

That’s when Caleb is pushed to his limit. He's used to giving orders, not heeding them. And he's still full of raw power — I mean, he’s a high school jock turned military adult with the ability to control gravity — so when he finally has enough of Zayne’s teasing? Caleb pins him down with his evol, leaving Zayne gasping for breath;

What’s your favorite part of this? That comes a while later, when your hesitation is gone. When you’re reassured that Zayne and Caleb are in the palm of your hand. When you and Caleb find your rhythm and finally, finally team up against Zayne;

You and Caleb have every intention of teasing Zayne until he’s a pleading mess. Caleb's pinning him down with his evol as you hover over Zayne’s tip, just barely brushing over him before you straighten your thighs just out of reach. “Be good,” you taunt softly, bending forward to let your lips brush his;

You forget that Caleb’s behind you though, and that the sight of you in front of him and showering Zayne with so much attention could only lead to-

A sharp gasp is torn from your throat as Caleb uses his evol on you, forcing your body down down down with a, "You two were taking too long. Thought I’d help out.” Meanwhile, all you and Zayne can do is groan and pant, the breathless as he's forcefully stuffed into you;

The aftermath is the only time Zayne and Caleb set aside their competitive streak and become perfectly in sync;

Zayne focuses on the physical, on cleaning you up with a warm cloth, wiping you down with slow, careful strokes. Every pass of fabric is followed by a kiss on your thighs, stomach, shoulder, wherever marks were left. It's methodical and grounding, not just for you but for him.;

Caleb, on the other hand, focuses on the emotional, shushing your lingering cries. Stamping words of praise into your temple, your cheek, your eyelids. Each time you tremble or shudder he tucks your face into his neck, feeling his own lungs calm in tandem with yours when your lips brush his necklace;

When Zayne joins you both, he hooks your leg over his hips and rests his head in the crook of Caleb's elbow, nose pressed against your head, which rises and falls on Caleb's shoulder;

But their competition will come back again tomorrow, the teasing, the push and pull, the battle for control. And the need to see who could wreck you the best.

[livecrow]

Gundog!Soap's errand gets derailed when he catches your scent.

A retriever "retrieves" a plump bird.

Shifter/Hybrid Dark!Soap x fat reader

(cw: kidnapping)

Soap’s popping down to the shops.

He just needs to pick up an ingredient for dinner last minute. Ghost isn’t home yet, so he’s off the lead. Unsupervised. Normally, they’d get the messages together, but he only needs one thing. He could manage it. It wouldn’t be more than a wink.

But as he mills about, he can’t help feeling off.

Like he really is a dumb dog wandering around without his owner, his lead might as well be dragging on the floor behind him, collecting lint and stray bread ties—

It’s turning into one of those days where he feels far more mutt than man. 

Without Ghost’s firm hand grounding him, the place is a cacophony of input. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many colors, too much movement—all melding together into a murky emulsion of stimulus under the glaring LEDs. 

He squints down the vast row of isles for longer than he’ll admit.

Eeigit.

He should have written a note.

Thought he could have remembered one bleedy thing. Ye dinnae need a list for one thing—

Feeling frustrated and dafty, he resigns himself to traipsing down each aisle and hoping something jogs his memory. Pride wouldn’t let him call up Lt. He’d never hear the end of it. He’s a birddog for chrissake, proper braw at findin’ things—when he knows what he’s fuckin’ looking for. 

Least he can skip the sundries. He knows that much. Soap’s more than happy to avoid the detergent aisle. Stuff is bowfin. Stings his nose, makes his heid ache.

Lot of good his heid was anyway, feeling fuzzy, like it was packed with cotton. Might as well be. Nothin’ else between his ears. Certainly not the one fuckin' thing he pulled on his gutties and left the house for—

He let's loose an irritated huff and it's probably a bit too close to a growl than is wise.

Soap's trying to make good time, but he's a solid four isles in and hasn't had any luck. Eventually, he finds himself staring down a sea of tins. Fruit and veg, beans, and the sort. His eyes scanned the labels, but even readin' was a real Herculean task when he's feeling so out of sorts.

The canine part of him can't be convinced deciphering rows of little lines and squiggles is a proper use of his time. Especially when he could be usin' his nose instead.

Some wee bairn has starts greetin’ a few aise down.

—Green beans, peas, sliced carrots, corn, diced potatoes. Nae, that wasn't it—

....who in their right mind buys tinned tatties?

A passing trolley is making an awful racket. Discordant shrill squeaks and clunks of a stuck wheel scraped against his ear drums.

—It’s definitely not the asparagus—shites mingin’, and that’s fresh. Wouldnae faff about with a recipe that called for that. Cannae think how foul tinned would be… 

Soap sighs in exasperation. As he goes to abandon this aisle, he steps back to turn and bumps into something.

Soft. Soft, soft, softness presses into his hip—

The kind of softness that cradles, that molds around him. Softer than any of his toys. Soft an’ cozy as his own bed, maybe—nae, softer. His bed didn't have the same give, the same wobble. It was a softness that sent a literal shiver up his spine, saliva pooling in his mouth. That smell—

Not something, someone then.

An incidental collision, a bird had been trying to slip by him just as he stepped backwards.

The touch was there and gone in a second but he was mournful for its absence. The scent lingered at least, soothed the whine that crawled into his throat. There was no artifice to it, no acrid chemical edges that came with any fragrance found in a bottle.

You had actually managed to catch him off guard. The shiver that rattled through him began with a slight jolt of surprise at the two of your union. He must have been more out of it than he thought, he hadn't even noticed anyone else in the aisle. He'll never get used to being startled, but he wouldn’t hold that against you.

“Oh, sorry,” you muttered apologetically as you stepped back, embarrassment coloring your face. The contact clearly ruffled your feathers a bit.

Soap’s mouth shuts with an audible click, he hadn’t realized his lips were parted. He hurriedly swallows a completely unadvisable pant in your direction.

“Nae bother, hen,” he blinks. Finally finding his human voice, responding like he's supposed to when he's out and about on two legs. It’s a little breathier, a beat later than he should have responded, lower too. There's a rasp there that chafes the very air. 

...Maybe his head wasn't packed with cotton.

Maybe it was your soft, downy feathers that was muddling him up, making itself a sweet little nest in his cranium—

The bird sends him a polite, restrained smile as it scurries off.

His world narrowed, like he was watching through a spyglass. Or was it a scope? Regardless, everything else but you dissolved into blur, even his peripheral was swallowed up. Framed you in a vignette. Every tiny aspect of the minute interaction seared painlessly into his mind.

A pretty, fat partridge.

Wandering too close.

Game like that, ambling by all round and plump, right under his snout? Feathers close enough they almost tickle his nose—

It's instinct, ya ken?

Mind, for a dog that retrieves quarry, it’s in his nature. Cannae help it anymore than the shade of his coat. So, is it the dog's fault then, when he lunges? Snatches the bird up, into his warm mouth? Firm and soft all at once. The delicate control from a pup that can cradle a raw egg without fracturing the shell. When he brings it back to his master, tail waggin’ as he’s done a hundred other times?

Nae. Noone’d blame him.

He can already practically feel the pantomime thumping of your frantic heartbeat in his mouth—echoing his own excited pulse. 

Soap’s keen eyes never left his prey, even as your back was foolishly to him. His hind paws were already ahead of his brain, he followed, trailing at a distance. Stalking.

Thing should know better, he might have been a wolf. You’d have waddled straight into it's gaping maw, mistake the canines for stalactites and his tongue for a cozy spot to lay your little head.

But no, he’s no wolf. He’s safe. Won't take a bite out of you. He's a good boy— 

Good dog.

Bird dog. A Gordon Setter, Si says.

A jack of all trades, proficient at tracking, pointing, and retrieving. A soft-mouth breed. That’s very important. Most dogs cannae do what he can. Pick up a bird without pricking it. Ghost has been working with him, trainin’ him up. Helping him be more patient, learn new tricks.

Your scent—it was so hard to describe, but he luxuriated in it, nose twitching. It was warm, but not torrid. Sweet, but not cloying. Rich, but not heavy—

Familiar, somehow. Like a childhood lovey. Cheek-worn and supple as a lamb's ear. 

He’s struck by a piercing déjà vu.

It should have confounded Soap—but it didn’t. It just was. The strange mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity that shouldn’t normally coexist. He didn’t know you, nae. But it felt like he should. Maybe he’d seen you in a dream? Some sticky remnant from a past life? Nothing else could explain the strength of the reaction that gripped him by the scruff. Commanded him to “fetch”.

...He’s doin’ so well. Being so, so careful—game’s normally still, after all. Not wriggling about anymore. Is much more effort to control his grip on a bird thas tryin' to fly away.

Thing squealing like a squeaky-toy doesn’t help, zaps somethin' in his brain, even though he’s hardly pressing. Ghost will look at you an’ see there’s no teeth marks on you. He’s being good. Knows better. Not even a tiny nibble. 

Soap's so pleased.

Only wish he'd had his tail out, so he could articulate his excitement properly.

He’ll take you home and keep you. Rest a heavy paw on you when he wants you to stay put. Carry you round the house with him. Share his food with you. Show you his other toys. Only roughhouse gently, like he would a puppy. Bat you around a bit. Paw at you real gentle like. This soft, living squeaky-toy that he can nap with. Even let you nest in his own bed, tucked under his chin. He’d only ever mouth at you gently, you'd learn you wouldn’t have to fear his teeth. He’d rasp his tongue over you, help you preen yer pretty feathers.

He ached to sigh happily against you, rut his face against you. Wanted all the rest of his sighs to be against you, pressed into your skin. Nose at your crown, in your soft neck, on your squishy belly. He’s curious where on you that scent would be the strongest.

Ghost will be so proud when he sees, when he proudly lays you at his boots—

You'll like his owner. He'll pet you real nice. Ghost always knows the right spot, even before you do. Thoughtful.

So thoughtful that he won't even mind that he'll have to sort something else out for dinner.

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I dont know if you write smut, but if you do, I was wondering if you could do a bestfriend!james and reader going further above the just touching? Like, they're cuddling and then suddenly grinding, leading to some you knooow!! Hehe, thank you!

I do ! This one is fairly tame though, sorry, it just felt more right for them in the moment. Thanks for requesting babe <3

cw: pg-13 smut

bestfriend!James x fem!reader ♡ 658 words

James is hardly the poster boy for cleanliness, but even he won’t stoop to getting in bed with jeans on. Which is how the two of you always end up like this, curled up under his covers and pantless for a midafternoon nap. 

The first time you did this, you were hardly able to sleep, but now it feels fairly normal. It helps that you’ve got the world’s least sexy underwear on, full-coverage and worn, a pinkish beige color that you suppose was probably supposed to be someone’s skin tone but you’d only bought as part of a multipack. And James has the comfiest bed in the world, a weighted comforter and the sort of heavenly mattress only generational wealth can procure. His arm is strewn loosely over your side, his front pressed to your back, and his breath is a steady rhythm on the nape of your neck. You’ve never felt so blissfully warm and heavy. 

You know without knowing how that James is starting to wake up just like you are, slow and lazy. You stretch out a leg, feeling the muscles tense all the way up your back, and he splays his hand on your abdomen as though to keep you in place. Makes a soft, sleepy sound. 

Later, you’ll say that you don’t even remember deciding to do it. Maybe you’re too tired to think straight, maybe you’re still halfway in a dream, but you nudge your hips back into James. A subtle movement. Incidental. 

Only, James nudges back. And he tilts his head so his mouth moves closer to your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent into your skin. 

It feels good. You keep going. After a while, his hand has migrated up to cup your tit, not hard, not squeezing, just a lazy perusal of unexplored skin. There’s not much of your skin James doesn’t know, but this is some of it. 

There’s a nice, sluggish warmth seeping into your core, sweet as a river of honey. Your breaths are still as relaxed as when you’d been sleeping. Syncing now. 

“James,” you whisper, his name hardly more than breath. 

“Yeah.” His hand trails back down to your hip, helping you turn over. “C’mere.” 

Your mouth practically falls onto his. There’s no parting of lips, no tentative pecks. Your mouths find each other warm and open. James tastes like basil, the pasta you’d had for lunch, but somehow also like himself, like even his saliva is a little bit sweeter than everyone else’s. 

You end up on top of him through a team effort, your leg hooked over his and his hands helping you the rest of the way. He holds your hips gently, guiding you back and forth over him. 

It’s slow and easy, like leaves swaying in the breeze or the tide coming in. So natural you wonder if this is actually the first time it’s happened. Maybe you and James have been doing this, somewhere just outside the reaches of your consciousness, forever. 

“Jamie,” you say in between kisses. Your voice hardly sounds like yours, breathy and still stretched with sleep. “What’re we doing?” 

“Dunno.” James’ voice sounds just as lax. It’s oddly comforting. “Don’t stop, yeah?” 

You weren’t planning on it. You let your head fall beside his on his pillow, face nestled in the downy softness of his curls while you kiss at the skin behind his ear. 

James makes a murmured sound of encouragement. His thumb begins to make smooth, indolent circles over the fabric of your underwear. 

“I fucking love these ones,” he sighs. 

You guess they’re not so unsexy after all. Once you decide you’re done with his neck, he takes a turn, slipping your sleeve off your shoulder to give you a pretty mark just to the left of your collarbone. Your bodies are warm everywhere they touch, that heat in your core a steady comfort. 

You don’t talk any more. You fall back asleep with your nose smushing into his cheek. 

[mreowsu]

BANGS

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summary · have you ever wondered why and when sae started wearing his baby bangs up? :) cw · itoshi sae x fem!reader, español convos r google translated, please correct me for any mistranslations and i apologize in advance, both are 14-15 in this since i speculate the reason started all the way back, hopefully, once the mangaka reveals more of sae's backstory in españa, he isn't far too emo yet at this age wc · 2.5k

Sae had never been one for vanity. His appearance was something he wore like his jersey—unremarkable in his eyes, but a source of endless fascination for others.

He’d stick to the basics—clean-cut, effortless, and sharp enough without even trying. Though, his fans obsessed over every detail, from the sharpness of his jawline to the way his bangs, short and neat, fell softly over his forehead, framing his teal eyes. To Sae, all of this was incidental—just another part of his preference for simplicity.

It was one of those days, during a rare quiet (courtesy of you) evening at the academy dorms. Dinner had been a casual affair, with nothing much to do afterward, and as you wandered back to your room, the brightest idea struck you: why not pay a visit to—bascially, your only friend—at the other side of the academy housing?

When you were both scouted at the ripe age of 13 to play in Spain, both of you had left behind everything you knew—your families, your home, your language. The sudden plunge into an entirely different environment had been jarring. The culture, the food, the constant buzz of español around you—it was overwhelming. High expectations pressed down on your shoulders, with the academy’s reputation and dreams of a professional career constantly looming.

There was no support system to fall back on. Your parents were thousands of miles away in Japan, unable to offer more than occasional video calls and mailed letters. The club staff and academy members tried, in their own way, to act as mentors and parental figures, but it wasn’t the same. The homesickness, the struggle to adapt, and the pressure to perform all felt crushing. Conversations had been stilted and awkward, especially with the two of you still learning to speak in broken, halting español. But over a year later, you’d found a rhythm. When no one else understood, he did. You both knew what it felt like to miss home, to feel like an outsider, to be surrounded by noise but still feel alone.

As cliche as it sounds, in the end; it was you and, annoyingly, Itoshi Sae against the world.

The male dorms were quieter than you expected, a stillness hanging in the air that made your footsteps feel far louder than they were. You had no business being here, not really, but that never stopped you before. And besides, Itoshi Sae didn’t seem to mind your intrusions. Or so you told yourself.

The sharp knock you gave was met with his voice, calm and cool as ever.

“Come in.”

You opened the door to find him sitting at his desk, the glow of his laptop casting shadows across his face. His bangs shifted with the turn of his head, teal eyes flicking up with an expression that was neither surprised nor annoyed—just Sae. Acknowledging you before returning to whatever analysis or footage he was engrossed in.

“You again.” he said, his voice neutral, almost bored.

“You should be honored, really,” you poised, breezing past his room like it was yours too. “And unfortunately, you’re my only option Sae.” You drawled.

“Lucky me,” he said dryly, though he didn’t tell you to leave. “You know, most people knock and wait for an invitation.”

“You’ve never needed to invite me before,” you said, settling onto the edge of his bed. “Why start now?”

He didn’t argue, but the faintest ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. For all his complaints, you knew Sae appreciated having you around. You were the only piece of home he had here, just as he was for you.

No matter how much the world outside demanded of you—how high the expectations, how foreign the environment—in moments like this, with him, you could breathe.

Sae's dorm was a plain space that reflected the utilitarian nature of the academy housing, yet much derived of personality compared to yous: sparsely decorated but immaculate, everything in its place. A couple of freshly folded jerseys on the shelf, a framed photo by the bed—nothing excessive, just functional and quietly personal. It was so… Sae.

“Well, you’re early.” He remarked, shutting the laptop and leaning back in his chair, his eyes briefly meeting yours before shifting to the clock on his desk.

“Dude, it’s literally evening, and everyone just finished dinner,” you exasperated, rolling your eyes.

He shrugged, a faint smirk at his lips. “For you, that’s early. You usually show up when you’re about to pass out from boredom.”

You crossed your arms, pretending to be offended, before mirroring his smirk. “Damn right I did.”

“Of course,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“You need to lighten up,” you teased, flopping around his bed unceremoniously. “This place feels like a showroom. Do you even live here?”

He rolled his eyes, standing up to retrieve something from his shelf. “It’s a dorm, not a hotel. What do you expect?”

“A little personality wouldn’t hurt,” you quipped, watching as he settled back into his chair.

He glanced at you, expression calm but faintly amused. “If you don’t like it, you know where the door is.”

You grinned, knowing full well you aren’t going anywhere. “Nah, I think I’ll stay. Someone has to make this place feel alive.”

Sae sighed, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Just don’t make a mess.”

“Right… So, what’s the plan?” You asked, kicking off your shoes and leaning back on your elbows. “Am I supposed to sit here in silence while you work on drills in your head?”

He stood, walking over with that signature calmness of his, and sat criss-cross beside you on the bed. The mattress barely dipped under his weight, as if even gravity couldn’t unbalance him.

“Maybe,” he teased, voice soft but laced with dry humor. “Unless you have a better idea.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out your phone and shoving it toward him. “How about we pick a movie? Something that isn’t Taxi Driver for once.” As much as you loved the movie, it was getting repetitive, and you were starting to feel like you knew every line by heart.

Sae glanced at the phone, then back at you, his lips twitching ever so slightly. “You don’t like it anymore?” he teased, his voice the usual mix of indifference and amusement.

“I love it, but I don’t need to watch it every time I’m over here,” you replied, scrolling through the options. “We’ve literally watched it four times this week.”

“Then pick something better.” He leaned back against the headboard, his posture as controlled as always, like he had no intention of exerting effort in this decision. But you could tell by the way his teal eyes followed your movements that he was paying attention. Typical Sae.

You sighed dramatically. “You know, it’s a lot more fun when you at least pretend to care.”

Sae raised an eyebrow, gaze flicking to the phone before returning your sigh ten times more dramatic, a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Fine. But if it’s boring, we’re switching back to drills.”

You picked a new movie, something lighthearted, easy to watch, and settled back against the pillows, feeling oddly content.

The lights were killed, and the room slipped into a cozy darkness, save for the faint glow of the screen. Everything was ready to go and the movie started. But as it played on, your attention drifted back to Sae, completely absorbed in the film. His burgundy hair fell slightly over his eyes, distracting you for a moment. Without thinking, you reached over and brushed it back into place, the soft strands slipping through your fingers.

Sae’s eyes flickered incredulously toward you, but made no move to pull away.

He was uncharacteristically still as you perched beside him, fingers idly trailing through the silky strands of his hair. Your eyes flickered to his back and shoulders, noticing his now stiff posture. Though he didn’t speak, you could feel the subtle tension in his frame.

You murmured to appease him, “Sae, hold still.” The soft brush of your fingers through his hair seemed to ease the tension, so you continued with slow, deliberate strokes. When you brushed his bangs back, his eyes became the centerpiece of his face—sharp, vivid teals. They were like swirling oceans caught in the throes of a storm, deep and endless, with flecks of light dancing like sunlight on restless waves.

There was an intensity there, the kind that made you feel as though he could see right through you, peeling back every layer with a single glance. But beyond the sharpness, there was something softer hidden in their depths— like the stillness just before dawn.

Without the curtain of his bangs to soften the edges, his gaze became piercing, almost dangerous, like shards of sea glass—beautiful, but with a sharpness that could cut if you weren’t careful.

It was impossible to look away, not when his eyes held that kind of quiet power, commanding attention without a single word.

But then, Sae blinked.

He looked up at you with a slight frown.

"What are you doing?”

You felt the trance slip away, leaving you almost disappointed at how quickly reality snapped back into place.

You blinked back at him, brushing your hands off like you hadn’t just been lost in his eyes for longer than you cared to admit. “Nothing,” you replied innocently, tucking a few strands back into place and brushing his bangs, so they no longer fell over his forehead. “Your hair was in your face.”

“It wasn’t bothering me.” He said, though he didn’t pull away or stop you.

“Yeah, but it was bothering me.” You shot back, smoothing the strands until they stayed where you wanted them. His hair was surprisingly easy to manage, soft and silky under your touch. You backed up to admire your work.

His hair stood upright now, his whole face on display—sharp lines, ahem piercing eyes, the kind of look that stopped hearts if you weren’t careful. Gulp. “You look good like this. Cooler, maybe.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, his attention seemingly back on the screen, but the slight tilt of his head toward your hand betrayed him. He wasn’t just tolerating it—he didn’t mind.

He scoffed, “You’re ruining it.” He finally uttered, voice flat. Though he didn’t make a move to fix it.

“Ruining what? You barely even care about how it looks.” You teased, letting your fingers drift through his hair one last time before settling back against the headboard.

His lips twitched, almost a smile but not quite. “Maybe. But now you have to watch the movie. No more distractions.”

“Fine, fine.” You smiled, turning your attention back to the screen. Yet something about the quiet approval in your gaze stayed with him.

From then on, Sae started keeping his bangs up.

It was a subtle yet significant change that didn’t go unnoticed. His fans speculated endlessly about the reason behind the new style—some attributing it to his growing maturity, others to a shift in his on-field persona. But smugly, only Itoshi Sae knew the truth.

-----

The stadium roared with life as the final whistle blew, signaling another victory for the Re Al youth team. Sae, as always, was the picture of composure. His hair, damp with sweat, stayed stubbornly defying gravity in its upright style, the way he’d styled it before the game.

You watched from the stands, pride swelling in your chest amidst the thrumming energy of the crowd. Unlike your usual matches with the female Re Al youth team, tonight was all about the boys. Your district didn’t have a match, so you’d ended up in the crowd, cheering for a game you didn’t have to play in.

Sae’s teal eyes scanned the rows until they found yours. He didn’t need to smile or wave—just the faintest nod in your direction. It was so like him, subtle and understated, but somehow, and alarmingly, made your heart flutter all the same.

As the team took their victory lap around the field, Sae broke away, making a bee-line toward you. The crowd stirred, curious eyes following his every steps.

When he reached you, there was no hesitation. You leaned over the railing, your fingers instinctively brushing through his sweaty hair. His bangs, stiff from hairspray, you assume, and effort, softened under your touch, falling slightly out of place.

For a second, everything stilled. The roaring crowd, the flashing cameras—it all melted into a backdrop as Sae stood there, letting you fix him like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The stadium fell into a stunned silence before the spell broke, erupting into cheers and whistles.

One of his teammates, whose name you didn't really care enough to remember, shouted from the field. "¡Oye, Sae! ¡No sabía que tenías un peluquero de guardia!" Oi, Sae! Didn’t know you had a hairdresser on call!

Hollering followed, and Sae shot them a quick, unimpressed glare. He turned back to you, his lips quirking into the faintest of smirks, leaning just a little closer. “You’ve made quite th scene,” he said, voice low enough for only you to hear.

You smiled, your fingers still lingering in his hair. “Can’t help it. You looked like you needed it.”

For the first time that night, Sae let out the faintest chuckle—a soft, almost invisible sound that felt like a treasure meant just for you.

When he walked back to his team, his bangs slightly tousled from your touch, the teasing began almost immediately.

“No sabía que nuestro Sae-chan podía verse tan humano.” Didn’t know our Sae-chan could look so human. They teased, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“O tan mandilón.” Or so whipped.

“Ni siquiera puedo imaginar que pueda sonreír así.” Can't even fathom he could smile like that.

“¿Es esto lo que el amor le hace a un chico?” Is this what love does to a guy? One of them added with a dramatic shake of his head, sending the group into another fit of laughter.

Sae ignored them, of course. But as he glanced back at you one last time, there was something different in his expression—something warm and quiet, a look reserved, meant only for you.

Meanwhile, the crowd’s whistles and playful jeers had you feeling just as flustered. Your cheeks burned, and you could tell by the way Sae’s ears tinted pink that he wasn’t immune to it either.

It was a simple thing, really. A touch, a moment, a look. Nothing too out of the ordinary for the two of you. After all, you were just friends. But amidst the crowd’s cheering, the teasing of his teammates, in the way Sae’s gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary, and in the way your heart raced, it felt like there was more to it.

And then the whispers started.

Backstage chatter, curious glances, and the media’s ever-watchful eye. They’d always known you and Sae were quite close, two prodigies from Japan.. childhood friends, even. But now... now, it seemed the world was starting to wonder if there was more to your bond than just friendship. Perhaps it was.. puppy love? Was there something more to the way you interacted? The teasing? The hair stunt you pulled? Was it all casual?

For now, that was all it was. Just speculation. But for Sae, maybe that small, fleeting interaction was everything.

Maybe.

And maybe that’s why, no matter how many times his teammates teased or fans speculated, Sae never explained why his bangs were always styled up.

-----

© 2024 mreowsu

HAPPY NEW YEARS! 🥳 🎉 🪅 sorry that i didn't write the way i usually do—in a poetic sense, anyway. This was just pure unfettered bluelock brainrot and the last epiodde from s2 had me going haywire i swear the animators were in the flow ong 😭🙏

[assortedvillainvault]

Disney villains reacting to you nonchalantly calling them your husband/wife please?

Sure thing Anon! You didn’t specify who, so I’m going to go for Hades, Jafar, and for funsies...Mim.

Disney Villains vs The Accidental Matrimonial Pet Name Slip Up

Hades

MHM!

Yeah baby flex his title, say his name! He can’t stop his flame from swooshing up and only barely resists the urge to pump his fist.

VERY likely to holler it across the street at random incidental strangers. Hey, you! Yeah schmuck you heard, he’s your HUSBAND, get it right!

Honestly he’s smiling like SUCH a goober, he can’t keep his hands off you now. Shoulders, waist, lower back – pretty much everything to say you’re an item without actually hollering it across the street like he just did to some poor bozo.

He’s also gonna swing you round into a big ol’ kissy and amp up the PDA.

Have you considered maybe matching outfits babe? Not- y’know, that he’s into ‘coordinated looks’ and all that garbage, but, know, maybe same pins? Same colours? Anything really, to mark you out as an item on his arm.

Much as he loves claiming you and making that abundantly clear, he’s also very much into being claimed in turn, y’know? Nice to know you’re proud of being with him, gets him all happy and excited. Loudly and proudly claim that he’s your husband in a public space (esp in front of his family) and he’s going to be an absolute sap for anything you wanna do.

Aphrodite has never seen such a lovestruck fool in all her life and honestly? She thinks half of Olympus could take notes on what love looks like after marriage from you two. Not that she’s ever going to say that when Hera is within earshot...

Jafar

He's startled... then sinks into a smug smile at how adorable you are.

Yes, he IS your husband, isn’t he? Why, he wouldn’t mind you saying it again, slower, maybe….

He’s one to get touchy, like Hades, but much more possessively. He’ll play with your hair, tug you close when you least expect it, and is a BIG fan of pulling you into his lap as a break from work.

Granted, he’s also very fond of subtly using his status as your husband to manipulate you into doing things for him. It IS your duty to him, after all…why is he holding his staff up like that-

Make sure to collaborate with Iago to push him down the stairs every once in a while to temper his ego. Put mousetraps on his side of the bed. Fill his shoes with sand and bat your eyes at him when he complains. Give and take.

He expects you to use your status as his partner for your own gain. Of course? Why wouldn’t you? Go on, tell the guards who you’re married to, see how quickly they get out of your way.

He’s also going to kiss you with tongue about it, but that’s a given.

Madam Mim

I have genuinely no idea if you’ve actually managed to get a ring on this menaces finger or just called her wifey for the vibes and a joke.

Regardless, she’ll blink owlishly...then a slow cheshire grin full of unpleasant promise and gleaming green eyes will split her face and honestly? You’re beyond help.

The Game has begun.

Will IMMEDIATELY use her wifey title to nag you then knock something over.

She’ll burst in to whatever room you’re in to trip you up, ‘straighten’ your clothes and force feed you a meal that could wrench whole kingdoms into developing indoor plumbing four centuries early.

The sound of mad old woman giggles is going to follow you everywhere you go.

If you chicken out and try to tell people she’s not your wife she will LOSE IT

Crying, wailing, screaming - throwing herself dramatically over public furniture to ‘cry’ about how you’ve betrayed her and how she ‘does so much for you’ and oh! The INGRATITUDE, taking advantage of a poor old woman-

Ants! Wardrobe full of ants for 10’000 years.

Thanks so much for the ask!!

[getaapologist]

A follow-up to my betrothed!reader blurb. Made just for me, a slightly early birthday present. Hope you get some enjoyment out of it too.

[ Prior betrothed!reader blurb here, has some important context ]

“Not there, Geta, they’ll see it!” you hiss, pulling the small blade away from his palm.

He’s just looking down at you, grinning, not a care in the world. As if you were his greatest treasure. Because you are.

“Do what you must,” he sighs, golden laurels glinting in the light. He brings his hand down to you, offering you the blade. As if he trusts you. Because he does. “But maybe wait until after?” He settles down over you, not worried about the knife you hold. His nose nudges your jaw as he settles on top of you, lips finding your throat. You quickly drop the blade on the floor.

His touch is overwhelming. His affections were never half-effort. 

For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why he desired you so strongly. The first time someone referred to you as a witch, you were concerned. When that very same title came tumbling from Geta’s lips as he held you in his lap, sweat sliding down his temple, breathy moans following it, you found you quite liked it. 

“My Empress,” he breathes, holding himself up with a forearm, his big brown doe eyes fixed on you, “you are radiant.”

His words fill you with pure love and adoration. If anyone knew the depth of his love for you, they would surely exploit it. You made a game of it, appearing sometimes disinterested and bored at gatherings, almost contemptuous, but you stole your moments of affection behind hedges and in darkened rooms when the need was too great. 

Much like now, you made your Emperor sweat, every bit of his energy spent driving into you, considering your pleasure as much as his own. After a month, you knew each other’s bodies quite well. It did not take him much to cause you to cry out, squeezing his shoulder tightly as you tremble, vision going spotty.

Geta, for all his bluster, was quite sweet. But only for you, he assured you. He even insisted that he would be the one to journey to your chambers for those secret moments of melding in the night, so you would not have to walk back after. 

And now, now that you would not have to be so secretive? Well, it just meant more. More time spent together. More time to work at this next task. 

An heir. 

And as he moans into your skin, his mouth finding yours, you dig your heels in, keeping him sheathed deep. Tearing away the laurel crown and abandoning it somewhere on the floor, you ran your fingers through his hair to soothe him as he buried his face into your neck, recovering.

“Wife,” he whispered. 

“Husband,” you countered.

“Get the blade.”

It wasn’t a command. He didn’t command you. It was a request. 

So as he sits up on his knees, you lean down to collect the blade, offering it to him hilt-first.

He shakes his head, a soft, lazy smile on his face. “You. Here.” He presses a ringed finger to the inside of his thigh, skin pale, untouched by the sun. Soft.

You hesitate. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

He shakes his head, gripping your wrist. He holds himself out of the way to avoid any incidental nicks, and waits, watching you. 

He gasps as the sharp blade splits a small bit of his skin and vibrant red blood drips down his leg, staining the marital bed, as promised.

You get up, finding some bits of cloth that get torn into strips, and you create a band of linen around his thigh, patting his leg once you’re finished.

“Was it worth it?” you ask, a grin already spreading across your lips. 

“My Empress, why do you ask a question you already know the answer to?”

[mokulule]

A Man Has Needs - Part 2

First | Masterpost

DP x DC Ship: Dead on Main Summary:

In which Jason keeps up ending up in Danny's bed and not even for any fun reasons.

Part 2

Danny awoke Wednesday morning to the second coming of his human shaped bedmate. Of course with the terrible shape the guy’s core was in he hadn’t expected the first time to be the last time.

He sighed and rested his forehead on the warm bare chest right in front of him, closing his eyes again. Despite the dumpster smell, Danny was really freaking comfortable in the guy’s arms, pressed skin to skin, enveloped in his larger frame. Sighing again he slipped intangibly out of the hold. It was one thing to cuddle incidentally while sleeping, entirely another to continue while he was awake.

The guy was here because he was starving.

Danny cast a longing gaze over his shoulder - was it so wrong to long for someone who’d hold him like that just to hold him and not because he gave off surplus energy?

Danny frowned and floated over to his closet to pull out T-shirt and jeans, he didn’t want to risk getting caught in his underwear again. It had been embarrassing that he’d forgotten the last time, but it was only when the guy came out dressed he’d realized. Maybe he needed to start sleeping in a shirt? Maybe it would be less awkward. - Less like waking up from a one night stand without the benefit of even having gotten laid.

That was a thought - Danny couldn’t really have someone staying overnight.

Not that he really had much game in the first place, but a small part of him had hoped maybe getting away from his parent’s infamy and his own unfortunate high school reputation might change things a bit. And while Danny wasn’t discounting the possibility that he could end up doing something ridiculously embarrassing that would make him a social pariah for the rest of his college experience, these first two days had been really nice.

Nobody could replace Sam, Tucker and Val, but he’d met some really nice people that felt like they could be good friends.

It wasn’t like Danny had had plans to start dating or end up in bed with strangers, but it was college. There were gonna be parties - that he might even get invited to! And he’d been open to the possibility, if it happened. Mutually consenting adults doing adult things because they wanted to. Danny knew and embraced the fact that he was something of a bi-disaster.

Not that that mattered right now. Nothing could happen.

Danny finally pulled the shirt on over his head and stared unseeingly at the closet door. Ghost animals wouldn’t have been a problem, they were generally shy and wouldn’t join him if he wasn’t alone. But Danny’s ghostly visitor was part human and not only that he was starving and sick.

Not only did he not want to explain to a one night stand, or worse someone he was dating, why an unfairly handsome man joined them in the middle of the night, he also didn’t know how his guest would react to Danny not being alone. The starvation might make him territorial over his food source. It also wasn’t out of the question that he would seek out Danny elsewhere in the city.

It was just a potential disaster best avoided entirely.

Danny sighed and finished dressing. Lamenting temporary restrictions on his non-existent love life didn’t help any. Breakfast and coffee however, that was something he could do.

Oo o oO

Mint and frost in his nose.

Jason’s eyes flew open and he sat up. Not his room, not his apartment.

Memories flooded into his brain and he buried his face in his hands. How could he have forgotten this had happened? How had he not done research? He had crawled into some guy’s bed to sleep, been fed breakfast and sent on his merry way, and Jason had forgotten? Or well not exactly. Rather he’d been distracted and the strange events of Saturday morning hadn’t seemed important.

What was wrong with him?

Jason rubbed his forehead. Somehow it had happened again. He quelled the rising alarm. Panicking would do him no good.

There was the rustling of movement beyond the not quite closed bedroom door. Jason’s head snapped up.

For a moment he just breathed watching the door. He would be on the other side of the door. There was the scent in the air again beckoning him to follow. His head spun as he breathed in deep.

Jason should have conducted a proper background check on the guy after the first time. He had no real excuse, but he’d gone to Sunday dinner at the manor. They’d all been so surprised and happy to see him, that had been a surprise for him. He’d expected their surprise but not their happiness. He’d even managed to interact with Bruce without any scathing words. He’d scarcely been able to believe how well it went.

He’d gotten so much done since Saturday and then, what had happened last night?

He was on patrol and he’d suddenly been hit by exhaustion, like a sledgehammer. He’d had to call off relatively early. The last thing he remembered was stashing his gear and then nothing.

Mint and frost.

Would the man have called the police on him this time? First time could reasonably have been called an accident, but a second incident? Didn’t seem near as accidental.

Jason’s eyes fell on the pillow his head must have rested on just moments ago and promptly had to strangle the urge to burrow his face in it and breathe it in.

Disturbed, he jumped out of the bed. Something was up with him. Something weird.

He collected his clothing and boots, just as scattered around the room as they were last time. He couldn’t find his left sock. His shoulders wound up in tension. Just his luck.

Like last time, he considered jumping out the window, but he really should face the music, and he wouldn’t figure out anything if he ran away. Maybe this time he would be able to apologize for the intrusion.

He opened the door the rest of the way and promptly his shoulders lowered as the tension left him in a sigh at the sight of the guy in kitchen area.

Jason didn’t know what to do with the reaction. It didn’t make sense at all. Nothing about his situation had changed. And yet, it was okay now. The idea that the guy would call the police on Jason was ridiculous, because he was safe here.

The guy watched a sizzling pan intently, his black hair was an unruly nest on top of the bent over head. He was clothed today, which wasn’t something Jason should be disappointed about.

“There’s a cup of coffee on the table,” he said, without taking his eyes away from the pan.

Jason’s eyes moved to the small table they’d eaten at last time. Sure enough, a steaming black mug with white text sat there innocuously.

Okay, so they were doing this again.

Carefully he made his way to the table, looking around. There were a lot less moving boxes this time. A bookcase had been assembled next to the window on the right wall and half filled with books. He was too far away to read titles, but the size of most of them pointed toward textbooks rather than literature. There was still an open place on the floor over there suitable for a small couch.

He sat down and folded his hands around the warm mug, then immediately unfolded them as he caught a glance of the word dead. He turned the mug around.

Are you a half-dead or half-alive kind of person? The mug asked to Jason’s bemusement. It was clearly a pun on the glass half empty or full saying, but rather on the morbid side.

“Gift from my friends, they think they’re hilarious,” the guy said, and Jason looked up to find him smiling at him even as he rolled his eyes at his friends. Jason’s lips turned slightly upwards of their own accord.

“Anyways breakfast! And not even burnt,” the guy declared setting a plate down in front of Jason: A piece of buttered toast with two fried eggs sunny side up. And indeed not even burnt. If that was a concern that certainly explained his intense concentration earlier.

Guy sat down with his own plate. Just two fried eggs.

“No toast?” Jason asked before he could help himself.

“I hate toast.”

Now even more confused Jason looked at the toast on his plate. Why did he even have it then? He lived alone, far as Jason could tell.

“My sister brought it,” guy explained exasperated, “she says I should eat some bread too, for variation.”

Jason snorted, then looked down to the breadless plate, and back up with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah, yeah, you laugh it up. I bet you don’t do everything your older sibling tells you to either - if you have one, that is.”

Jason did actually laugh at that. He raised his mug. “To disobeying older siblings.”

Guy’s face went from momentarily confused to a feral smile and he lifted his own mug to clink against Jason’s. “To disobeying older siblings.”

Breakfast continued mostly silent after that point as they both ate. Jason was careful not to touch the other man, he remembered the strange reaction he’d had last, but otherwise he felt good; relaxed, languid and full as if he’d eaten quite a bit more than a single piece of toast and two eggs.

Guy was leaned back in his chair head resting on top of the backrest eyes looking unseeing at the ceiling, long line of his neck on display. It was good Jason felt so sated, it made it easier to ignore the fact he kinda wanted to lick and bite his way up that throat.

It wasn’t like Jason didn’t have any libido but it was an odd thought process to have for him with someone he barely knew.

Guy’s hands were curled around his mug and he occasionally took a sip, throat bobbing with the motion. He looked as relaxed as Jason felt. After one such sip, he checked his phone and the atmosphere was broken with a “Shit! Forgot the time!”

The guy rushed around the apartment grabbing coat and keys and backpack. Jason followed him outside into the hallway as he finished tying his shoes while somehow walking. He straightened and locked his door.

“Take care of yourself,” he called after Jason as he ran down the hall.

Jason was left mildly shellshocked staring down the now empty hallway. He had managed to get through the whole encounter without any strange electrifying touches. Why did he feel so bereft?

Something was clearly up. With the guy? With Jason? He wasn’t sure, something in him rebelled at the very idea of labeling the guy as a threat, and that set him on edge.

One thing he knew for certain; he had a long overdue background check to do - and he felt full of energy to do so.

-

And so it continues, I actually wrote this months ago, but wasn't entirely happy with it, but then @ollietheotaku commented on part 1 and I was reminded and realized maybe my eyes would be fresh on it now and here we are. Never let it be said commenting on older fics doesn't work!

I also started writing part three but with Dead on MAYn starting in a week I really must focus on my fics for that!

Hope ya'll enjoyed! I don't always get around to replying to all comments but know they are appreciated and so is speculation what is gonna happen.

If you wanna subscribe you can do so at the Masterpost

Update: next

[sillygoofyqueer]

Hooooold now!!!! you can't just drop in shen qingqiu attic-wifing crow!yuan and then say JUST KIDDING, i want to hear more!!!

i looove the idea of that shen qingqiu is super suspicious and waiting for the other shoe to drop, for shen yuan to finally reveal the knife hidden in his pocket and stab them in the back, only to find out shen yuan is just... actually Silly & Goofy Like That, and not a threat at all, and also shen yuan isn't scared of him, not even a little bit, and not in the way of most stronger cultivators who shove it in his face that they're more powerful than him, but in the way that shen yuan casually relaxes around him and looks at all his shinies without apprehension.

he doesn't care at all about the rumors either (he's done his own research, and why care about things that aren't true?), but he isn't hanging off his robes either like yue qingyuan, making him the only True Neutral presence around him. so well. attic-wifing it is<3

ATTIC WIFE ATTIC WIFE ATTIC WIFE- Listen, I'm always partial to Shen Qingqiu showing feelings and care by just...shoving people into his home and not letting them leave. I think SQQ would be slow about it, casually making Shen Yuan stay longer - "it's far too dark and even an imbecile wouldn't be stupid enough to try and venture out THIS late" - making him share a bed/sleep where the head disciple would usually stay. He would analyse how SY makes mini/temporary nests and then make the comfiest nest possible for the demon. Then he would start distracting SY with shiny things, leaving them out and carelessly saying that SY can keep them - "does it look like it matches my home? No, go put it in your room." (SY doesn't know when it started being referred to as HIS room, but he lets it happen anyway). SQQ is the one that suggests that SY recruits his corvids to deal with any requests or prayers, so he has more time to "read those frivolous books and practice those instruments that you're dreadful at playing", incidentally, inside SQQ's home. Meetings start being held there, instead of anywhere else. By the time the other peak lords figure out what's going on, SY hasn't been seen outside of Qing Jing Peak for weeks. They're petrified about what SQQ - the one most adamantly against SY's existence on the peak - has done to SY, and go rushing to see what's going on in their shixiong's home. When they get there, they find SY comfortable in SQQ's home, letting him preen his wings as he rants relentlessly about a new book he's reading, pausing to greet them with a confused smile as SQQ smirks smugly from where he's perched, wrapping his arms around an oblivious SY.

[erwinsvow]

wait you’re so onto something with those sex position headcanons this is real character work like of course jack’s into cowgirl and popes into mating press and sammy’s into pronebone IT JUST MAKES SENSE for their personalities and now i can’t stop thinking about their favorite kinks and roleplays goodbye

THANK YOU!!! there is reasons and thoughts trust me... more than just my horny brain. jack likes cowgirl but he still does that thing where he just holds you up and does all the work and he teases you beforehand like "i dunno if you can handle doing all the work it's a lot of responsibility and you get kinda dumb after the second orgasm" and pope and mating press. oh my god. god bless the anon who sent that ask. because it makes so much sense. just every single part of you both has to be touching and so close to each other and something about feeling his weight on top of you oh my god oh my god just put me down. but he still takes the time to brush your sweaty hair away from your face and kiss your tears on your cheeks and i just bet he stays in that position for so long after you both finish because you don't want to separate. and sammy pronebone STOP!!! his personality just tells me he likes cowgirl and classic missionary but there's something about it. maybe it's because i imagine he has this fantasy of coming home after a long day at work to a Grateful Loving Wife (yes this is an indirect. yes i know she's not real) like dinner waiting for him and beer in the fridge for him and the game is on so he can catch the last hour or whatever and you asleep on the bed hugging his pillow because apparently he has an almost 1.5 hour drive to work every DAY???? so you can imagine he's rubbing his neck and his back hurts and he sees all of that and it's just very. every thing he's wanted. in front of him every day waiting for him in a cute nightgown or one of his shirts. sammy somno is also very real to me but like the cute kind not the kind i'd give to charlie reid (he gets the not cute kind. he gets the hard dom scary kind.) and he likes staring at your back and the curve of your ass and your exposed legs before hovering over you to give you a kiss and trying but not really trying hard to not wake you up and maybe that's how the whole prone bone thing starts. just tells you not to move an inch and stay asleep and he'll take care of you. and doesn't wanna wake you up too much so he just starts fucking you like that and it's just okay this is my new favorite thing ever. roleplays STOP!!!! i had a silly idea about 4th year reader showing up on halloween with her drunk friend who is puking in her costume and jack just is head empty trying to stop staring obviously while his patient (your friend) is puking up her guts and the other friend is looking around like "which one is jack?" so yes i think jack abbot likes costumes. just incidentally though. pope's favorite roleplay is loving wife sex which is coincidentally the only kind of sex he can have. he is such a i love my wife guy so i don't see him needing some other story. sammy is such a dog he loves cute nightgowns and he loves costumes and i know he's a freak he just hasn't explored all the avenues yet. i can 100000% imagine him bringing home handcuffs and the whole cop and pretty girl trying to get out of a ticket thing. this blog is a breeding kink and overstimulation safe zone so they all have that one duh. if i had to assign only one to each though. pope wins the breeding kink one. jack abbot is overstimulation. and sammy has a huge daddy/dad kink. charlie reid's kink is making you into his pet so do what you will with this information

[edenavari]

On the Matter of Mirrors

Eddie is still trying to convince Steve he and Nancy are made for each other. It comes up, like, everytime they hang out, which is all the time, because Steve couldn’t stay away if he wanted to. He doesn’t, but he also wishes Eddie would quit trying to set him up with someone else. 

‘Cause, like, here’s the thing. Steve likes girls. He also, he realized sometime after Robin came out to him, quite likes boys. He likes Eddie. Like… Really likes him. Practices pick-up lines in front of the mirror kind of like. Wears a little more black and tousles his hair just right to give himself a subversive edge he never used to have, just the right amount to trigger a subconscious response without appearing to be tweaking his fashion sense at all. Has mastered the art of wearing eyeliner without looking like he’s wearing it, and it took him a fucking while to work up the nerve to go out like that, not that anyone but Robin noticed. 

But Eddie just will not drop the Nancy case, no matter how many times Steve tries to stir the conversation away from her, and between his budding crush and the crushing fear that it’s never gonna be anything but one-sided, between the slightest of sore spots Steve still sports about the way things with Nancy ended in the first place and the bitter edge of never managing for something to start with Eddie after weeks of efforts, it’s beginning to grate, right? 

“So what’s the problem?” Eddie insists, bounding circles around Steve like an eager puppy, and something in Steve’s ribcage snaps. 

They’re in Steve’s room studying when it comes up once a-fucking-gain. Eddie is taking accelerated summer classes so he can finally graduate by September, and by some inexplicable fuckery of fate, despite Steve’s own dirt poor records, he’s turning out to be a decent tutor. Something about Eddie managing to focus in a way a classroom environment never allowed him to. Maybe because most teachers and over half the student body were openly hostile at worst and aggressively ignoring Eddie at best, all because of his last name or his tattoos or his loud brassy cheek.

All the same, Eddie does get distracted fairly easily, and an hour in, he’s bounced off the bed and started rattling reasons Nancy Wheeler is definitely Steve Harrington’s soulmate. Steve groans noncommittally, gets up to grab his water from the desk and takes a long swallow as Eddie keeps needling him. 

“You’re the problem, Eddie,” he all but snarls, when he really meant it to come out exasperated at worst.

He snarls, though, and Eddie stiffens, his eyes going cold and hurt and the corner of his mouth turned down in anger. 

“Right,” he says, and it sounds so casual Steve thinks he won’t make a big deal of his tone after all. Fool’s hope. “I’ll get out of your perfect hair, then,” Eddie spits out as he makes for the door, only Steve stands in his way, hands up in surrender. 

“Wait, I didn’t mean it like that,” he starts. 

“No, you’re right, it’s none of my business,” Eddie interrupts, but he steps back, gesturing wildly as he speaks. “It’s not like we’re even friends, you just got saddled with me because of Dustin. We saved the world together? Big deal! My involvement was incidental, really, more of an inconvenience than any kind of help. Why would you want my opinion, of all people’s, right? Even by this point. Get out of my way, I’ll quit stepping on your toes. Go on!”

“I don’t want you to go, Eddie,” Steve tries again. 

“Just want me to shut up, is that it? Not really my strong suit, you might have noticed.”

Steve can’t help smiling. “I have noticed.”

It only seems to rile Eddie up even more, throwing his hands out and making to step around Steve again. “Man, what do you want from me?”

“Is this allowed?” he breathes out, extending the last word beyond its scope. 

Which puts him within reaching distance of Steve, who grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and presses him, careful not to jostle him too bad but firm enough to counter his manic strength, against the wall. He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything, just presses a touch too close, lets himself imagine that he’s going to close the distance entirely, cocks his head and licks his lips and hangs there in a way he hopes spells it out for Eddie without inducing any kind of panic. 

Eddie, hands still up at shoulder height, lets out a little huff close to a whimper when his back hits the wall, bracing himself for a hit that would never come, and maybe some part of him knows this, because he doesn’t look scared or angry anymore, just kind of confused with a side of grief, and it doesn’t take two seconds for him to start to look intrigued, maybe even, if Steve allows himself a little optimism, interested. 

His lips part on a sharp inhale, and they’re close enough to smell each other’s skin, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Steve’s mouth, a little watery and out of focus, edging forward in a way that could just be a twitch, just a consequence of holding his breath the way he is, plausibly deniable, subconscious no doubt, only when Steve mirrors the movement, he does it again, gaze moving up and down from Steve’s eyes to his lips and back and back again without blinking, until twitch by twitch their noses graze and their mouths connect and Steve closes his eyes and concentrates on maintaining that seal over Eddie’s plush, pliable pout, because if he didn’t focus, he’d be way, way overeager for a first kiss. 

He moves back after several seconds with a shaky exhale, swallows as he finds Eddie’s eyes again. His blood is thrumming in his fingertips, somehow he feels both cold between his shoulder blades and warm down to his toes, and if Eddie looks at all put out he thinks he might never manage another mirror in his life. 

The look on Eddie’s face is pure disbelief. 

Steve shrugs, not quite settled on the matter of mirrors. “I thought you made a point of breaking the rules?”

A glint starts to wake in Eddie’s eye that’s looking more delighted by the minute. 

“Just as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“We’re in the clear, then,” Steve whispers, leaning in, just a smidge. 

Both of Eddie’s hands sink into his hair as he pulls him into another, much steamier, kiss. Steve lets his fists fall from Eddie’s lapels and knot over his back instead, lets his mouth drop slightly open, an invitation Eddie wastes not a second to follow through on, teeth scraping and back arching like he wants to sink all the way into Steve, and by the time they’re parting, breathless, cheeks flushed, mouths stinging, Steve’s one hand is braced against the wall, holding himself up, knees too weak to do the job on their own. 

“I thought you could barely stand me,” Eddie heaves.

“I can’t,” Steve admits. “You drive me nuts. Just not how you thought.”

Eddie frowns, suddenly serious. 

“You should forget all about Nancy.”

Steve frowns too. “That so?”

“Hm-mm. She’s taken, man. And not all that. You need to move on.”

“Damn,” Steve sighs. “Am I being desperate?”

“Pathetic,” Eddie nods, barely a whisper against Steve’s lips, and they break into smiles in tandem. “Forget all about her,” Eddie repeats. 

“Who?” Is the last word Steve gets out. Then he’s busy enough he really does forget. 

When he fixes his hair in the bathroom mirror in the morning, he walks away with a wink.

Give us a kudos, if ye dare x

[yuyuwritesss]

AFTER DARK +18

Pairing : Simon "Ghost" Riley × Reader.

Summary: you and Simon get acquainted on the subway.

Cw : smut, public sex, reader is pent up.

————————————————————————

Chronically tired, sexually frustrated and working nights. Could it get any worse for you?

Luckily you get off just in time to catch the first subway of the day, saving you some bucks and lessening your burden.

Incidentally that's around the same time Simon, home from deployment but still used to the early hours, finishes his morning training at a boxing gym he frequented as a teenager which he no longer lives close to now and has to commute back from, muscles aching from his training and morning run.

It has become a habit for you and Simon to ride the sub together, sitting away from each other. With him keeping an eye on you while you doze off.

You're usually the only two people on it up until the end of your commute, with you getting off a few stations before he does, his eyes watching you jolt out of your light, restless sleep at the sound of the automated voice announcing your station's name, and you're out of the door in seconds, but not before throwing him a glance.

The masked, hulking stranger who usually makes his way into your dreams, an hour later when you've gone to sleep in your bed, turning them into wet fantasies of being taken by him in the sub, filth whispered into your ear. An orgasm, which has been out of reach for months due to low energy and stress induced mental blocks, finally ripped out of you.

You always feel his gaze on you when he thinks you're sleeping. You wear your prettiest pencil skirts and tights to give him something to look at but you're still too reluctant to actually strike up a conversation.

Which turns out to be unnecessary when one morning, he chooses to sit right next to you, boxing you in between his hard body and the window, no words spoken.

You don't look at him at first but a large, warm hand on your thigh causes you to turn your head toward him, his brown orbs already on you, gauging your reaction.

He lightly squeezes your thigh in silent question, causing you to freeze and your eyes to widen. You slowly face ahead, the realization settling in that you could finally turn your dreams into reality and release some of your painfully pent up frustration.

Just as he began to withdraw his hand, an apology for causing discomfort bubbling up,  your arm hooked around his and you slowly leaned your head against his strong shoulder. Feeling you relax against him, he returns his hand to where it previously was, and slowly starts running it up your thigh, going under your skirt and pulling it up, your legs spreading to allow him access.

When he reaches your crotch, his other hand is brought over to rip a hole in your tights enough to push your underwear aside, soliciting a gasp  at both ruining your tights and the sensation of his fingers sliding over your folds.

"Shh, I'll make it up to you, doll.", his deep voice sends warmth coursing through you, your hold tightening around his arm.

He gently spreads your wet folds before scooping out some of your wetness with his index and middle finger. He then rubs your clit, getting it wet and prepared enough for the stimulation to come. His hand cups your sex, his calloused forefingers squeezing your clit between them, then he begins moving his hand in a circular motion, leaving you gasping in his shoulder as the pleasure slowly builds up.

Your hands claw at his hard bicep, the fabric of his hoodie pulled taut under your hand. You feel his cheek against the top of your head.

"You like that ?"

You barely hear him as you feel your release approaching, with his hand going faster causing your breath to hitch and soft mewls to spill out of your lips.

"You gonna come for me ?" You quickly nod against his shoulder, your hair ruffling and your other hand gripping his arm, hugging it to your chest even tighter to increase the pressure on your clit.

He nudges his nose between your ear and his shoulder and whispers "cum.", wringing it out of you, sharp waves of pleasure pulling you under and nearly suffocating you with how intense it is to feel yourself come undone again after months of denied pleasure.

He slows his movements down as your clit continues its spasms between his fingers.

"That's a good girl." He gives your clit one last pat, startling you.

Then after readjusting your underwear pulls the leg on the other side to him and leans down, softly speaking by the crown of your head.

"We just missed your station. Come home with me?"

And you, made dumb by your orgasm and wanting more, nod against him for what surely wouldn't be the last time that morning.

[ellaismydog]

Thinking about the different forms of transportation in Trigun and what they say about the characters. Because the way a character chooses to travel is a metaphor for how they go through life yada yada, there's a sick part of my brain that misses writing uni essays and Trigun just brings it out in me.

Vash is usually depicted as walking. It's pretty consistent across all versions of Trigun, to the point where it's featured pretty heavily in both anime intros. It's a slow approach, but then Vash is a very patient man - he'd have to be after 150 years. He wanders across the planet, and he might do it slowly, but it's inexorable. He'll always get to his destination eventually, whether he likes it or not.

It's also lonely. No one else can wander the way Vash does - no human, anyway. They're mortal. They simply don't have the time or the built-up patience for it. It's another thing that separates Vash from the people around him, and shows just how different his perspective really is.

Then, there's Wolfwood's motorcycle, in both Trigun 98 and Trigun Maximum (and hopefully Trigun Stargaze, please please PLEASE give that man a bike).

If we look beyond Angelina just being cool as fuck, I think this choice of vehicle is very interesting, because it's almost as lonely as Vash's walking. Traditionally, motorcycles are only meant to accommodate one person. There's only one seat, only one person can sit comfortably (two if you want to get romantically coded, but we'll get to that later). Sure, as a method of transportation, it's faster than Vash's walking, but then Wolfwood is only human, so he has to go through life much faster than Vash does. But the fundamental LONELINESS is still there. Wolfwood doesn't have room to travel with anyone else. He expects a lonely existence, and that affects his choice of vehicle.

Then, you take into account the sidecar. Something you can tack onto the motorcycle, almost like an afterthought, to let someone else accompany you. Due to his mission, Wolfwood quite literally has to accommodate Vash, and involve him in his life/journey. So, the vehicle that could only seat one, has now grown to seat two - but that's it. Vash is the one person Wolfwood really 'lets in' in this way. I dunno, I just think that's really sweet.

In Tristamp in particular, there's also Meryl and Roberto's car. For as many times as it breaks down and Meryl runs people over, the car is really a symbol of safety throughout the show. Wolfwood and Vash are shown sleeping in the backseat more times than they're shown sleeping in an actual bed, and the design is just so LIVED IN, what with Roberto's stash of cigarettes and the little knickknacks scattered everywhere. There's something almost domestic about it. It's the first method of transportation I've talked about that seats more than one-two people, and it shows. When Vash travels with his three friends in this way, it's like he's with his family.

I think this is especially important in the Tristamp episode with the sand steamer. Vash and Wolfwood need to leave the car behind to board the steamer, and it's not really under the best circumstances. Roberto kinda urges them out - he's suspicious of Vash after finding the photograph with him and Rollo, and wants to protect both himself and Meryl by getting as far away from him as they can. So, Vash is ejected from the car in the same way he's ejected from the family dynamic they'd been building. Only for Roberto and Meryl to literally follow behind him in said car when they realise their mistake, inviting him back in and giving him their trust once again.

Incidentally, once Vash leaves the car, he goes straight from one form of transportation to another: the sand steamer.

The sand steamer is the biggest, most public form of transportation I've talked about so far. If Meryl's car portrayed a family dynamic, the steamer is more like it's own country, filled with all types of people and strangers from different backgrounds. So, when Vash leaves the car and enters the sand steamer, he's being ejected from life in an insulated place of safety, to life in the wider public - and is attacked almost immediately.

Really, this is representative of his relationship with the rest of the world. It's why he chooses to walk and why he lives alone - because people hurt him. It also serves as a fantastic comparison to Meryl and Roberto's car, showing that while he isn't safe around the general public, he is safe around them. His family.

The last form of transportation I could think of is the Thomases. Originally, I didn't have much to say about them - but the more I think about this series, the more insane I get, so have some half-formed ramblings.

Because I kinda see the Thomases as a symbol of Vash's connection to No Man's Land? Like - they're native beasts (I think? Let me know if I'm wrong), and Vash is shown to have such an affinity with them, especially in Tristamp. He rides them with such ease, after so many years of learning from Brad and his own hundred years' experience, that it's practically second nature. It's a form of transportation specific to No Man's Land, and it's something Vash has perfected, because he's tied to this planet in a fundamental way.

It could also be tied to the fact that Thomases are not human, and neither is Vash. They have that connection. So, while travelling by Thomas is still fundamentally lonely, without anyone else to talk to, there's still a level of understanding there, which shines through in how easily Vash can ride them.

I think it's also interesting that Vash chooses to walk in spite of this. He could make his wandering easier on himself by riding a Thomas instead, but he doesn't. Because that would mean putting the Thomas in danger. Because walking isn't so painful for someone like him - and even if it is, he can take it. Because he feels he doesn't deserve to make it easier on himself. This character makes me upset.

I don't really have a conclusion lol. This series just has me by the throat and I need to scream analysis into the void until it lets go.

[trashland-llamas]

dreamin' but I should've been with you instead

x gn reader // ao3 link

Reader had decided to stay up into the early hours. Intending to keep Damian company while he worked away on a case. The youngest bat unfortunately noticed how they were fighting to stay awake.

Watching from his peripheral as Reader's head dropped towards the desk. Eyes continuously drooping before they'd shake their head. Yawning, despite stealing a few energy drinks from Tim's stash. Incidentally making them more tired. At a certain point Damian deems them too much of a distraction. Instilled with a soft spot towards them.

'Up you get,' Damian instructed. Getting up and pulling their chair from the table. His hands guide them towards their bedroom. 'Gonna get into some comfy clothes, brush your teeth, and then hit the hay,' Damian made it crystal clear that there was no room to negotiate.

At the very least, he was realistic with his expectations. Laying out some pajamas out on the duvet before swiftly moving into the bathroom. 'Know you forget sometimes. Don't need you getting a cavity with the sugar in those energy drinks.' Grabbing their toothbrush and squirting a bit of toothpaste on it. Damian would be fine if they ended up lying in bed awake. He just would prefer Reader rather be comfortable.

'I'll be another hour or two. Almost done, but I will be here before the sun rises.' Observing for a few moments as Reader changing into the plaid pajama shorts and one of Damian's long sleeved shirts. Their day clothes piled on the floor. Instead of a harsh glare, Reader only ever received heart eyes from the bat. Slinking back to the library where the documents of the case where still spread out.

Unlike what Damian thought, Reader's eyes shut as soon as their head hit the satin pillow. Stumbling like a zombie through their nighttime routine; the cream and oils.

He did underestimate the time it would take though. It took almost double the time, nearing 4 hours. Reaching his hands up and above his head, tilting his back. A string of cracks echoing in the empty room. The finished case was put into an organized stack. All his notes scribbled in the margins.

Damian wished he could take a photograph after entering the shared bedroom. Their hair was messily strewn across the pillow. The blanket twisted between their legs to where one was outside of it. Going onto the opposite side of the bed, Damian stripped down to his boxers. Gently maneuvering Reader back onto their side so he could get in.

'Hey, sleepyhead,' he greets as their eyes barely flutter open. Turning over, Reader snuggles up to him. 'Dami,' his name comes out slurred. 'Go back to sleep...I'm here,' kissing their forehead as he brushes their hair out of the way. Guiding them to lay their head on his chest.

'Sweet dreams, lovely.'

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: blacktip reef shark

Yesterday, I released a joke Wet Beast Wednesday for April Fools where I treated the Blåhaj as if it was a real shark. Today I think I want to cover an actual shark and have settled on the blacktip reef shark. These sharks are a common sight in coral reefs of the Pacific and Indian oceans, but their future is in question as climate change and overfishing take their toll.

(Image: a blacktip reef shark from the side, swimming through an artificial reef. It has the classic shark shape and black tips on its fins. End ID)

The blacktip reef shark (Carcharhinus melanopterus) should not be confused with the visually similar blacktip shark (Carcharhinus limbatus). It is one of the live-bearing requiem sharks and as such, possesses the classic shark shape. Most reach a maximum length of 1.6 meters (5.2 ft), but larger specimens have been reported. The name comes from the black spots at the tips of the fins. Of said fins, the pectorals are slightly sickle shaped and the second dorsal fin is larger than typical for a shark. The snout is broad and the mouth is on the underside. As with other sharks, the teeth grow in a conveyor belt fashion, with multiple rows. As the teeth in the front wear out and are lost, teeth from the rear rows will move forward to take their place.

(Image: a backtip reef shark swimming above a coral reef. End ID)

Blacktip reef sharks are found in warm, shallow water throughout the Indian and Pacific Oceans. They frequent coral reefs and seagrass beds, but can also be found in estuaries and occasionally swim up rivers. Blacktips will stick to relatively small areas they patrol for food and frequently return to, a trait called site fidelity. The home range of blacktips off of Palmyra Island averaged 0.55 square km (0.21 square mi), which is one of the smallest ranges of any shark species that keep them. The sharks often share reefs with grey reef sharks and whitetip reef sharks, but the later two prefer deeper water while blacktips frequent water so shallow their dorsal fins often stick out of the water. They are known to surpass obstacles like corals by jumping out of the water to leap over them. Blacktips may be solitary or travel and hunt in small groups. They will leave their home range if they detect food, but will return afterwards.

(Image: a group of blacktip reef sharks swimming in the same direction over a coral reef. Other fish species are also visible. End ID)

Adult blacktip reef sharks are apex predators who hunt small fish, with invertebrates, smaller sharks and rays,, seabirds, sea snakes, and carrion being less common. Inspection of stomach contents has also found algae and seagrass, though its not clear if they can actually digest plant material as Bonnethead sharks can, or if these were incidentally swallowed while the shark was eating other food. Blacktips have been seen working together to herd schools of fish into shallow water where they are more easily picked off. Blacktips grow more confident and aggressive when there are other members of their species present. While rare, blacktips have been known to engage in feeding frenzies when enough of them are in the same space hunting for the same food. They are attracted by blood and the sound of splashing. As with other sharks, they can sense the electric fields of other animals and use this to hunt.

(Image: a blacktip reef shark swimming near the camera. End ID)

Blacktip reef sharks mate during summer. The frequency of mating is driven by food availability and temperature. Those living in warm water with plenty of food can mate twice a year whole those living in colder, more competitive water may only mate every other year. When ready to mate, the female will swim back and forth with her head pointed down. She likely releases a chemical signature while doing this to attract males. When a male arrives, he will follow her for a while, mimicking her behavior. He may also bit her on the pectoral fin or behind the gills, which often leaves scars. After swimming together, the male pushes the female so she is on her side, with her head pointed down. He then inserts a clasper into her cloaca and spends several minutes sending her sperm. Once mating is over, the two part and return to their normal activities. Gestation lasts 7-9 months in warmer water and 10-11 months in colder water. Females have two uteruses, into which she deposits egg cases containing the developing embryo and its yolk sac. As gestation progresses, the egg case attaches to the uterus and forms a placental connection that continues to feed the embryo even after the yolk is depleted. Females give birth to 2-5 pups measuring between 33 and 50 cm (13-20 in) in shallow areas of the reef. Juveniles live together in large groups in very shallow water and gradually move to deeper water as they grow.

(Image: a group of several juvenile blacktip reef sharks. They look like smaller versions of the adults and are swimming in water just barely deep enough to cover them. End ID)

Blacktip reef sharks are classified as vulnerable to extinction by the IUCN. They are threatened by overfishing and habitat loss. While not commercially hunted, blacktips are locally hunted for their meat, fins, and liver oil. They also rely on coral reefs, which are negatively affected by climate change and pollution. Blacktips are considered potentially dangerous to humans, though there are no fatal attacks on record. Most attacks appear to be the result of mistaken identity, as a shark confuses a wader's feet or someone's hand for food. Swimming is considered safer than wading in blacktip territory as they are much less likely to mistake a whole person for food as they are someone's feet. Blacktips are curious and have been reported coming to examine divers and swimmers. However, they are also easily frightened and will avoid people if scared.

(Image: a juvenile blacktip reef shark swimming next to a wading person. The person has their hand in the water next to the shark to show its scale. It is roughly two hands long. End ID)

[unhingedpolycule]

I wnana see nikto blushing pls 🥺👉👈

Like… I am super late to the party but I wanted to do a drawing and couldn’t seem to get it right until now…! Here you go, blushing Nikto.

He never really flushes aside from in anger, but I think you wanted to see it out of embarrassment/a cute situation. So…

Nikto has been with Krueger for some time now, they had been fucking for a few months, but during the last months, their instant attraction had become something…more. Sharing food as well as downtime, they gravitated closer and closer, until you rarely found one without the other. Krueger felt like an extension of himself, always following wherever he went, lazing just a tad too close for it to be incidental. Others noticed, but they were smart enough not to comment. Not that Nikto would have denied their growing intimacy, they decorated each other with bruises and bite marks alike, but it was an unspoken, silent claim.

And now that Nikto couldn’t pinpoint the last day that they had spent fully apart, Krueger got sick. There had been signs. A cough, a restless night for the Austrian was followed by a sleepless one for both of them. And instead of kicking Krueger out… he had merely accepted it. Had let the man stay in his bed despite his tiredness and the growing annoyance with the noise. In the end, he had given up, turning on the nightlight before he sat up to read, just for Krueger to turn around, albeit not without pressing his back against Nikto’s thigh. Sweaty hair felt familiar under his fingers as he caressed the feverish man absentmindedly. And with Krueger in and out of consciousness next to him, he got to watch. To care even.

The next morning, he called in sick himself, justifying it to the older soldier with having slept too little. A threadbare excuse, which was accepted without discussion as he slipped back under the blanket, pulling the man against his chest. He was used to operating on little to no sleep and Krueger knew as much. When he pushed his nose into the greasy hair, breathing in deeply, the Austrian pressed back against him with a soft grunt.

“M’ glad that you decided to stay in today.” The man mumbled before falling silent again, doubtlessly to rest his aching throat.

Nikto stiffened for a moment. It was an acknowledgement of their forming fondness, of his readiness to put the blond before others, before work even. It hadn’t quite occurred to him up until now, but it wasn’t even a question of who or what came first. It felt natural to put Krueger in that elevated position, doing it gladly even. He flushed, could feel the heat on his cheeks, his face, his whole chest. They were close. They were each other’s priority. And the man in his arms found some semblance of support in his embrace…

Only answering it with a grunt, Nikto hid his face in the crook of his lovers neck, letting him feel the heat of his skin. A hand came to rest on his own.

This wasn’t all that bad…