#it’s clean enough and I like the natural look

[specialgradefckr]

it's been a long day for you, nerd gojo's personal bully.

shoving gojo into a locker. him getting a boner because he's a freak. locking him in there and having to pull him out.

by the time you arrive at your part-time job, you're already ready for the shift to be over. scan some items, restock some stuff, sweep and clean and clock right out.

unfortunately, today, you have a visitor.

a familiar voice saying your name. which you still haven't told him he could use.

you try not to make eye contact. it's so uncomfortable, so cringey.

why did a rich kid like him even go to shitty convenience stores like this? was his private chef taking a 15 minute break?

you feel heat rising in your cheeks. desperately you wish for him to just leave, to not talk at all, but even if he did he'd probably talk to you at school about it -

"earth to - AHEM! hello! it's nice to see you, i didn't know you worked here!" gojo chirps, lounging in front of your cash register.

he's dumped a giant pile of treats on there. knowing him, he'd eat all of them, too.

you notice one of your favorites in the pile... now you're even more hungry. the last thing you ate was the lunch you normally steal from gojo, because he screwed up getting you a snack from a vending machine.

there's nothing at home, and you're saving money to go to college, you can't waste money on premade food.

he notices your scowl and giggles. not a chuckle, a giggle. god, he's so lame.

"what's wroooong?" gojo drawls, or tries to. but he's so lame he just looks stupid. then again, he always looks stupid.

leaning over the counter, he tries to lower his head enough to look up at your face as you scan the items. "heheh... you're mad 'cause you can't bully me?"

you're struck by the unpleasant sight of his stupid weird face staring up at you with his big weird eyes. his stupid sunglasses (it's night time. loser.) sliding down his nose.

it must show on your face. "come on! you gotta be nice to me! i'm a paying customer!"

gojo's face has always had this really punchable quality to it, one that made it hard to look away from. but he's never been quite as punchable as he is right now.

you feel your cheeks heat up. from the proximity, of course.

"your total is-" you begin very loudly, enough for him to jump back suddenly.

he twists his mouth, handing you his card, "come ooooon. you don't wanna talk? you're free right now!" he gestures to the completely empty store, "wanna come snack with me?"

you do, actually, but that would require spending time with his insufferable ass, and also agreeing with him.

"i'm on the clock, you moron," you snap, scanning his card and handing him his receipt, "get lost. and don't come here again."

you put his things in a bag and hand them to him. he sighs, pulling something out - coincidentally, the treat you'd been eyeing earlier.

"come on, really?" he whines, like the whiner he is. you don't respond.

he takes a long moment biting into it. making eye contact with you.

(well, he's trying to. you aren't willing to torment yourself with the sight of his ugly mug any longer.)

he starts sort of. side-stepping his way out, in the lamest way possible, shuffling so he can keep looking at you until he's at the door.

freak.

when he's at the door, he sighs as if greatly put upon. "see you tomorrow!" he calls out, which you ignore, "same place, same time~"

you ignore this too. right up until you see him discard his half-eaten treat straight into the garbage while he pushes the door open to exit.

and, well. maybe it's because you're hungry. maybe it's because he says he'll come again.

maybe it's just your natural killer instincts as a bully.

you dart past the counter, snatching satoru by the arm and yanking him back into the store. right next to the trash can.

"whoa, whOA, what - "

"pick it back up."

gojo blinks his big blue dumb eyes at you. "what?"

"you didn't finish eating it," you shove him so he's leaning over the trash can, "pick it up."

"you can't be seri-"

you shove his head straight into the trash can, and gojo yelps, muffled.

"hey! hey! let me out, let me out, i'll get it-"

you hold his head down as he struggles against you (weakly, like the lanky nerd loser he is), until his crying starts to grate on your nerves.

"pick it up with your mouth."

"what?" he's still muffled, "with my mouth? that's so gross-"

"do it, nerd," you seethe, shoving his face further into the trash until you hear a crushing sound.

"okay okay! let me up a little, i'll do it, i'll do it!"

you barely hear him through the trash his face is now buried in. huh, you did need to empty the trash can soon. you'll have him do that next.

so much for being nice to your customer.

...no one will check the security cameras, right?

giving gojo just barely enough room to move around, you wait a moment until he starts to grunt and pull his head back up.

when you let him go, he's got the half-eaten snack in his mouth, like a dog with a treat.

he is kind of like a dog, isn't he?

gojo quickly takes it out of his mouth to complain, but you shove it right back in.

"finish it." you glower.

he doesn't argue with you anymore, quietly eating while his face is red and sticky. he sniffles a little, like a pathetic puppy digging for sympathy.

"what's the big deal," he mutters, "it's just cheap junk food."

you can almost feel your stomach growling. you try to pretend you don't hear-

"oh, are you hungry?" gojo brightens noticeably, "we can go out, my treat-"

the fury of a thousand suns rains upon him in the form of your glare. "finish it."

he swallows. quickly eats the rest of the treat. "there! do you wanna-"

"and take the trash out," you say, striding back to the desk, looking for the trash bags.

"what? isn't that your job?" gojo whines as he obediently pulls the bag out.

for once in his worthless existence, he is correct, but this is immaterial, because he is also stupid, and annoying, and the least he can do is make up for it by taking this task off your hands.

"do. it." gojo rushes out with the trash. he's back in just a few seconds.

by then you've put the new bag in, and you put a hand on his chest as he tries to enter through the door.

"okay, good enough. get lost, nerd."

gojo's face reddens, his eyes flicking down to your hand on his chest, and then your eyes.

what's up with him? his shoulders shift and for a moment you feel his chest flex, like there's any muscle on his scrawny -

shoving him back, you turn straight around, darting right to the counter and quickly grabbing some random items from underneath the front desk to stock.

you don't look up from under the table until you hear the door close.

...

...

...ugh. it's warm in here.

"i'm telling you. suguru, it's SUPER EFFECTIVE!" "dude, there's no way this lame ass flexing impressed her." "what do you mean lame? not every girl likes muscles that are huge, suguru! they're noticeable, but not overt. very mindful, very demure." "this is why she bullies you, satoru." "i'm lean. elegant. gracefu- WHOA!" "heh. graceful, right?" "you literally tripped me! anyways. she was blushing! it was the cutest thing ever! she put her hand on my chest-" "willingly? i doubt it." "she DID! and then i flexed for her and she turned around immediately-" "now that i believe." "but before she did, i swear i saw her blush! i'm getting through to her, suguru! our relationship is getting closer by the day!" "ugh... you could start a cult with this level of delusion." "oh my god, should i? i could dedicate it entirely to her! do you think she'd be into that? i think she would, but she's too tsundere to admit it, hehe... i could build a shrine." (suguru is starting to think satoru is not the victim in this relationship.)

[bakahimesama]

The Allmother: An Entirely too Long Analysis

In the whole demo, we only get one completely missable set of dialogue on this potential deity.

But that is more than enough information for me to start speculating. The two important parts to break down here are her supposed connection to the hearth and thus fire, and her title of Allmother.

A hearth is the part of a house where fires are made and kept (a fireplace is the modern day equivalent). Traditionally, before the advent of stoves and furnaces, this fire was used both for heating the house and cooking meals. It was considered one of the most important parts of the home, and so by extension, the spirits and deities that lived in the hearth and controlled the hearth fire were the most important beings to the household and its survival.

Hestia, Greek goddess of the hearth, was given the first offering of every domestic sacrifice, and at feasts she was granted the first and last sip of wine.

Gabija is the Lithuanian spirit of fire, who was offered bread and salt to feed her. If you did something to disrespect the hearth, like spitting or peeing in it, she was known to burn the house down. Later she would become known as the hearth goddess Matka Gabia.

The Ainu people worship Kamuy-huci, who lived in the hearth and controlled the gateway between humans and the divine. Deceased souls would reside in the hearth alongside her, and so keeping it clean was vital to ensuring those souls could eventually reincarnate properly.

Jowangshin is the hearth goddess of Korean shamanism, and relayed to the heavens the going-ons and behaviors of each household's inhabitants. She is described as vengeful towards those who do not respect their hearths, and actively works against such individuals.

The pattern between all of these deities is clear. The hearth is controlled by a woman who is deserving of the utmost respect. And it is pointless to think on the hearth without tying it to the element it is tasked with controlling and maintaining, fire. Hestia is sometimes described as a living flame, Gabija is originally a fire spirit, in some myths Kamuy-huci is born from a fire producing drill, Jowangshin is the goddess of fire alongside the hearth. To say that a hearth goddess is also a fire goddess is no great stretch of the imagination.

But why does the Allmother's connection with fire matter? Because we're all rather familiar with a certain being who is constantly being associated with fire, flames, and especially warmth:

Right from the beginning, before we even know what he looks like.

In non canon events.

In teasers for the game.

And of course, in the demo itself.

Kuras is a furnace, and we're not allowed to forget it. And wouldn't it just make sense, that the angels of a hearth goddess are themselves related to fire? Kuras is an angel, which means he responds to a higher being, why not this one? What that means for his route, I can only image.

Back to the original text, the traveler is praying that the Allmother will be forgiving of sins, implying that part of her domain includes the right to judge lives and morality. She is also believed to guide lives "unto her hearth," likely at the time of death considering the context of when the pray is being uttered. Which leads me to believe that she is responsible for helping souls pass on peacefully, but only if she deems them worthy of her fire. Since in many cultures a "good" death is a very important end goal to pursue, staying in her favor would be considered paramount to those who believe in her.

Moving on to her title, the name suggests that she is either the deity of a monotheistic religion and thus naturally all encompassing, or a major deity in a polytheistic pantheon. Either way, there are only so many interpretations one can dissect from a title that implies an all encompassing claim of maternal jurisdiction.

If nothing else, I suspect she is considered a mother to her angels. Whether or not Kuras will even bring her up is debatable, since I could just be seeing connections that aren't really there. But as an angel I'm sure he'll at least drop the name of the being he's serving penance for.

Maybe she won't be mentioned ever again. Maybe she'll be an integral part of Kuras' route. Maybe she'll be a passing mention that isn't nearly as important as such a name suggests. Regardless this break down has helped me better understand Kuras' themes, and has made me even more excited to play his route.

[00valentina-writes00]

fingering Ellie in her dorm room? 👀👀

✞⛧ Restless Nights ⛧✞

warnings: smut, fingering, teasing, Ellie being a flustered mess, slight dom/sub dynamics, praise, explicit sexual content

The dim glow of Ellie’s desk lamp casts soft shadows across her cluttered dorm room. The air smells faintly of weed and the lingering scent of her cheap laundry detergent—something citrusy, but not quite natural. Her guitar leans against the wall, forgotten, and the bedsheet is tangled at the foot of her mattress, as if she’d been tossing and turning before you showed up. She’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, her wiry frame leaning back against the wall, her sharp green eyes watching you with that mix of curiosity and defiance she always seems to have. Her freckled face is half-hidden under the brim of her backward cap, her messy brown hair spilling out in unruly waves. She’s wearing one of her vintage band tees—it’s a little too big, the neckline slipping just enough to show the sharp lines of her collarbones.

“So,” she drawls, her voice low and lazy, “you gonna tell me why you’re here, or are you just gonna keep staring at me like a creep?”

You smirk, leaning against her dresser, your eyes trailing over her. You know Ellie well enough to know that her cocky exterior is just a shield. She’s all sharp edges and quick wit, but underneath it all, she’s softer than she’d ever admit. “Maybe I just wanted to see if you’d finally cleaned up in here,” you tease, gesturing to the mess of snack wrappers, guitar picks, and textbooks scattered across the floor.

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches, like she’s fighting a smile. “Yeah, well, I’ve been busy. Besides, you’re the one who showed up unannounced. Don’t get to judge my mess when you’re the one invading it.”

You take a step closer, your eyes never leaving hers. Her green eyes narrow slightly, but you can see the way her chest rises and falls just a little faster than it did a moment ago. “Maybe I’m not here to judge,” you say, your voice dropping lower. “Maybe I’m here because I heard you’ve been… restless.”

Her smirk falters for just a second, her lips parting as if she’s about to say something, but she swallows it down. ���Restless?” she repeats, her voice quieter now, almost tentative.

You take another step, closing the distance between you until you’re standing at the edge of her bed. You lean down, your hands resting on the mattress on either side of her, caging her in. “Yeah,” you murmur, your breath ghosting over her skin. “Restless. Like you’ve been thinking about something—or someone—and you can’t quite shake it.”

Her breath hitches, and her eyes flicker down to your lips before she forces them back up to meet yours. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, but her voice wavers, betraying her.

You tilt your head, studying her. Her cheeks are flushed, the freckles standing out against the pink, and you can see the way her pulse jumps in her throat. “Don’t lie to me, Ellie,” you say, your voice firm but gentle. “You’re not good at it.”

She shifts slightly, her hands fidgeting in her lap, and you know you’ve hit a nerve. “Fine,” she mutters, her voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I’ve been… thinking about you. A little.”

“A little?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

Her lips press together in a thin line, and she looks away, her shoulders hunching slightly. “Okay, a lot. Happy?”

You reach out, your fingers brushing over her jaw and turning her face back toward you. “I could be,” you say, your voice soft but deliberate. “If you let me.”

Her eyes widen slightly, and she swallows hard, her throat working. “Let you what?”

You smile, slow and deliberate, and you can see the way her body tenses, her breath catching in her chest. “Let me take care of you,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her bottom lip. “Let me make you feel good.”

Her lips part, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her green eyes wide and vulnerable. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nods.

You don’t wait for her to change her mind. You lean in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Her hands fly up to grip your shoulders, her fingers digging into your skin like she’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t. You press closer, your body leaning over hers, your tongue sliding against hers in a way that has her whimpering into your mouth.

When you finally pull back, she’s breathless, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her lips swollen and wet. “Fuck,” she breathes, her voice trembling.

You smile, trailing your fingers down her neck, over her collarbone, and down to the hem of her shirt. “You’re so beautiful, Ellie,” you murmur, your voice low and husky. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

Her breath hitches, and she shifts nervously, her thighs pressing together. “You’re just saying that,” she mutters, but you can see the way her cheeks darken, the way her body leans into your touch.

“No,” you say firmly, your eyes locking with hers. “I’m not. You’re strong, and you’re smart, and you’re so fucking beautiful it drives me crazy.”

Her lips part, and for a moment, she just looks at you, her green eyes wide and vulnerable. Then, slowly, she nods, her hands reaching up to pull her shirt over her head.

The sight of her bare skin makes your breath catch. Her chest is small but perfectly shaped, her nipples already hardening under your gaze. You reach out, your fingers brushing over her skin, and she shudders, her breath hitching.

“So sensitive,” you murmur, your thumb circling over her nipple, and she whimpers, her head falling back against the wall.

“Don’t—don’t tease,” she gasps, her hips shifting restlessly.

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to her collarbone, then her sternum, then finally her nipple. Her breath catches in her chest, and her hands fly up to grip your hair, her fingers tangling in the strands as you swirl your tongue around her pebbled flesh.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her hips bucking up off the bed, and you can feel the heat radiating from her, the wetness soaking through her jeans.

You pull back, your hands moving to her waistband, and she freezes, her green eyes wide and nervous. “Is this okay?” you ask, your voice soft but firm.

She hesitates for a moment, then nods, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

You smile, your fingers making quick work of her jeans, pulling them down her legs and tossing them aside. Her underwear follows, and then she’s bare, her wiry frame stretched out in front of you. Her cunt is already glistening, her lips slightly parted, her clit swollen and begging for attention.

You can’t help but groan at the sight, your fingers trailing over her inner thigh, and she shudders, her breath catching in her chest.

“You’re so wet,” you murmur, your fingers brushing over her folds, and she whimpers, her hips bucking up into your touch.

“Shut up,” she mutters, her cheeks flushing, but you can see the way her body reacts to your touch, the way her cunt pulses around your fingers.

“You like it when I tease you, don’t you?” you ask, your voice low and husky, and she whimpers, her hands gripping the sheets.

“Please,” she gasps, her hips shifting restlessly, and you can’t help but smile.

“Please what?” you ask, your fingers circling her clit, and she cries out, her back arching off the bed.

“Fuck—please, just—just touch me,” she gasps, her voice trembling, and you finally give in, your fingers sliding through her wetness and pressing inside her.

She’s tight and warm, her walls clenching around your fingers, and you can feel the way her body reacts to every movement, the way she pulses around you. “You feel so good, Ellie,” you murmur, your thumb brushing over her clit, and she whimpers, her hips bucking up into your touch.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, her hands flying up to grip your arm, and you shake your head, your fingers moving faster inside her.

“I’m not going to stop,” you promise, your voice low and husky. “Not until you come for me.”

She cries out, her body tensing, and you can feel the way her cunt clenches around your fingers, the way her clit pulses under your thumb. “Fuck—fuck, I’m—” she gasps, her back arching off the bed, and then she’s coming, her body trembling as she falls apart under your touch.

[star-suh]

The Cabin in The Woods

Johnny Suh x Male Reader

an: this is a short one.

—

johnny and his boyfriend planned to go on vacation to one of those cozy cabins in the woods, where you would be surrounded by wildlife and plants and the sounds of nature that could help to calm down even the most stressed person, “this would be a relaxing weekend” yn says with joy. but this plan soon would be scrapped because johnny’s hornyness augmented when he saw his dear boyfriend in black shorts and a sleeveless white shirt, “let’s go for a swim” yn said while running towards the lake but johnny just stood there, sitting with his mouth open and looking over his black glasses, “the fuck” he murmured. like a deer in headlights johnny kept watching yn swimming, how that white shirt sticked to his wet body, is like the shirt became transparent by how much of yn’s skin could be seen through the fabric. johnny was flustered to say the least, his little friend down there slowly grew in size “why you have to be so hot yn” he exclaims, “fuck!!” he yells while running towards the lake too. he jumps on it and splashes everywhere including yn, “someone’s eager to swim” yn jokes but then he chokes on his words when johnny emerged from under the water, now the tables were turned, this time yn is the one being in awe at johnny’s figure seeing through that piece of fabric, his sexy chest and toned abs… damn, such a fine man.

the couple tried to brush the obvious sexual tension with some games like swimming races or who could last more under the water, in one of these rounds is when yn managed to see johnny’s thick meat bulging in between his laughs, this made him open the mouth and by consequence he drank some water causing him to choke and go quickly to the surface to cough it out “oh my…. what the fu-”. “are you okay?” johnny asked, worried by yn’s well being, “what happened?”, “i think i saw a monster down there” he replies, “don’t be dumb yn” johnny said a bit annoyed, “don’t joke with those things”. minutes passed since that incident and the atmosphere turned a bit awkward but the older couldn’t take it anymore swimming towards the floatie in where yn was resting, proceeding to steal a kiss from yn who opens his eyes in surprise “what-” he says confused but johnny didn’t let him process what just happened when his tongue was already deep in yn’s mouth. johnny’s kisses were always rough and messy, something that yn liked, how the other man moves his tongue inside in the right places, that would be enough for yn to cum.

things escalated quickly when johnny got yn off the floatie and started humping on his wet clothed ass, drawing little sobs from yn who was biting his lower lip, “come here” johnny uses his big hand to move yn’s head closer and kiss him again. his meat getting bigger and bigger down there, yn could swear that thing would rip the fabric of the shorts apart by how massive it was, “do you want it?” johnny asks lowly, yn nodded “yes sir”, “that’s what i thought” the taller one says happily.

they didn’t bother to discard all their clothes completely, johnny just took off the sleeveless shirt and yn just the shorts and underwear, “you went commando?” yn asked when he saw johnny pulling his dick out by one of the leg openings, “i like it better without underwear” he winked at his lover. yn was now folded in a mating press with johnny pummeling into him, his big balls slapping against yn’s ass. “tight as always” johnny whimpered while yn tried to not cum right away. johnny’s meat went up and down, slicked in their fluids and some spit. “sho deep…” a dumbfucked yn murmurs, in this position johnny easily managed to fuck yn’s prostate, abusing it to the point he just goes dumb. “cum for me ynnie, cum on my dick” johnny commands, stroking yn’s dick that after some rubbings spurted his spunk everywhere including johnny’s chin, he cleaned it with his thumb and licks it “sweet as always”.

johnny didn’t stop fucking yn in that position until he reached his orgasm, nutting inside, “that was wild” he admits while gasping for some air, “yeah” yn barely speaks, his chest heaving up and down rapidly, is like johnny fucked the air out of him. the older then kneels and starts moving his tongue up and down yn’s hole and then putting it inside, “johnny what the hell?” yn mewled, pushing johnny’s head deeper with his hand, “i just wanna eat some cream” he says with a sweaty face, his hair sticked to his forehead and the surroundings of his mouth and the tip of his nose smeared in a mix of saliva and nut, “you know how much i love to creampie you but sometimes i wonder how it would taste it, but know i know” his smile with that disheveled hair and fucked up face made yn came once again, “you’re quite the milk fountain” johnny sad while nuzzling yn’s balls with his nose, “god i fucking love you so much” he says and stands up to kiss yn, “i love you too” he responds. the couple spend the rest of the day sleeping with yn cockwarming johnny’s cock.

[studiogrimm810]

Full Moon

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a cramming for finals, a late night walk back to your dorm leads you to discover what sam really left behind before coming to stanford

warnings: werewolf attack, description of creature and it being killed, kinda bloody but not too graphic

word count: 1,971

A/N: quick one shot with minimal editing becuase i LOVE this idea :,)

———————

Finals week. God, you could just scream. You had just logged in another 10 hours at the campus library and despite the lack of knowledge you still felt you had, you had to go back to your dorm and at least try and get some rest.

All week you’ve been taking any time you could find to study- in between classes, on your walks to and from destinations on campus, and even sneaking in some note cards during the particularly boring classes. And after all of that hard work, you still felt it wouldn’t have been enough if Sam hadn’t been helping you out. You always considered yourself a smart student- prepared and logical- but Sam was a kind of smart that made you question him sometimes. It just came to him so naturally and if he wasn’t so damn sweet and helpful, you’d almost hate him. He’s one cocky attitude away from being a rival that you don’t have the time for like you did in high school.

Walking back to your dorm, the sky is dark, freckled with stars and dotted with a vibrant full moon. It had rained earlier today so you side-step a worm or two on the sidewalk and avoid the puddles. The air smells nice, clean, and refreshing. You savor this moment because you know once the rush of finals is over, you're stuck in your dorm for the holidays. You weren’t close with your family and that often left you alone during school breaks. That was something you and Sam had in common, you two never discussed it in detail much but you both understood the isolation of the lack of family in your lives.

This is your third year at Stanford and you couldn’t believe how long you had gone without knowing Sam Winchester because now you couldn’t imagine life without him. You missed him tonight for a study sesh but he said he had other matters to attend to and you were too wrapped up in a study-fried frenzy that you didn’t think to ask if everything was okay. It was too late to call him now, but you made a mental note to check with him between classes tomorrow.

Halfway to your dorm now, your exhaustion is really getting to you. The walk is peaceful, but almost too peaceful, and it only makes you more sleepy.

Until it’s not.

A loud crash echoes from up an alley between two lecture halls and you jump. Life on campus was almost boringly bland and uneventful, so you're more startled by the loud noise than afraid. You duck your head down the path and call out.

“Hello? You okay?” You ask, worried that maybe a night shift staff member was hurt. When only complete silence returns your beckon, you decide that it must be fine given the alley looks empty. Also because your prior sense of blissful ignorance is now frozen into a jagged unease of anxiety that gives you goosebumps.

You take a few steps back and bump into someone, letting out a small yelp at the contact. You spin to face Sam.

“Sam? What’re you doing out this late?” You ask, clutching your chest and laughing off your spook to try and seem calm and collected. His eyes scan over your frame and his face is serious- more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His hands reach out to hold your shoulders and he looks behind you, into the alley.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, bringing his attention back to you. Your brows crunch in confusion.

“I-I’m fine. It’s stupid,” you chuckle nervously, catching your breath. “Just thought I heard something.” You swallow with a confident nod.

“Get back to your dorm- lock the doors,” he says, leading you away but you shake your head, working against his steady, but firm, shove.

“No- what? What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a step back so he isn’t holding you anymore. You miss it already.

“Please, just trust me and go back,” he practically begs. There’s something you’ve never seen in his eyes before- fear. He’s afraid.

“Sam, are you okay?” You search his face for any hint at his immense distress.

A low growl from the alleyway makes you look behind Sam, trying to see what’s going on. Sam goes stiff, turning back to the alley and tucking you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered over his shoulder, his hand on your arm to hold you in place.

Scraping footsteps echo from the alley and out emerges this creature. You gasp, gripping the back of Sam’s jacket and you feel just how tense he is. The creature looked human, a large row of dog-like teeth lined its lips and its eyes were a sickening mix of neon yellow and green. God, and its mouth was smeared with crimson red that made you gag.

Sam reaches behind him, pulling a shiny, silver blade from a sheath on his belt loop. Your eyes widen at the size of it and he readies it in his dominant hand. The creature growls and pounces but Sam is quick and meets it in the middle, fighting the creature with a skill you’d see in some action movie a dad would boast over.

You stumble back a few steps, watching in horror. The creature is winning, throwing Sam across the walkway and he skids in the damp grass, landing with a grunt. You call out for him, keeping your eyes on Sam and wanting to go and help him but your feet are planted in place. You still can’t comprehend what this creature is or how it’s even real.

But it is, and it snaps its head to you, snarling as it slowly progresses to you. Its chin slick in bloody slobber, growling as it gets close enough to close the distance with a leap. The creature grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact makes you go dizzy and you try to catch your breath.

You struggle, doing your best to hold it back but the creature is unnaturally strong. You cry out, putting all of your weight into trying to keep the creature back but its snapping jaw gets closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature is ripped off of you and a burst of pain erupts in your elbow as you land into the cement.

Sam is wielding the blade again, this time having the upper hand, yet covered in mud that dampens his clothes. You wish you looked away before Sam sinks the blade deep into the creature's chest with a scowling grunt. He yanks the blade back out and stands to his feet, huffing and staring down at the creature for a moment before turning to you. Your eyes are locked on the creature, barely even registering Sam’s presence, that is until he starts towards you and you instinctively flinch back.

He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands in a steady manner. There’s blood splattered on his face and his lip is bleeding. He’s hurt. There’s something else though, his face is twisted- pained. He looks like someone just kicked his damn puppy and is now mocking him for it.

You didn’t mean to flinch, it’s just that with what you saw and how you were attacked, you were scared. But not of Sam.

Never of Sam.

“You're bleeding,” he says, looking down at your arm and sure enough there’s a scratch that has ripped your favorite jacket. The blood is steadily flowing though, more than you’ve ever seen seep out of your own body. You close your eyes and turn away, trying to settle the dizziness.

“What w-was that?” You keep your eyes screwed shut.

“Werewolf.”

You scoff.

“Jesus,” you groan, sitting up fully and leaning against the wall, your arm really hurts now. You finally reopen your eyes and Sam is taking cautious steps towards you.

“Can I take a look at that?” He asks, pointing to the wound, his hands still braced. You nod because of course he can.

“Please,” your voice cracks. You’re bad with blood and he knows it too. He’s quick to crouch down next to you, grabbing your arm to inspect the gash. You swallow down a whimper, trying to steady yourself against the cold brick behind you.

“You’ll be okay, shouldn’t even need stitches,” his words exhaled with his previously bated breath. “Look at me,” his hand cups your cheek to pull you towards him, holding gently to allow you to dictate when you want to move your head.

As you face him, your eyes crack back open and you catch a glimpse of the creature's lifeless form on the pavement.

“No, no,” he uses his hand to guide you fully to him, “don’t look.” His eyes are softer than usual, like melted pools of hazel. He’s worried about you, that’s obvious, but he looks so torn too.

“How did you know?” You ask and his thumb brushes away a stream of tears you didn’t realize were flowing. His gaze dips down like he’s ashamed but he seems to settle on something as he returns his eyes to yours.

“Family business,” he echoes the simple explanation of when you asked why he ran from home. Your shock and fear morph into confusion and a little annoyance.

“Wait- this is what your dad and brother do? The same ‘family business’ your dad ‘trained’ you for? What the fuck is wrong with him? How the fuck is that- thing even real,” your eyes catch a glimpse of the corpse again and your fear starts to return. “Why is that real,” you whisper, your heart racing. It starts to drizzle.

“We should go,” he urges gently, looking around to make sure no one new is nearby. Your eyes close again and you shake your head.

“God,” you groan, the pain in your arm really taking over your train of thought.

“C’mon, I’ll get you fixed up,” he says, standing and raising you with him. His arm snakes around your waist and you can almost guess that the reasoning isn’t just to help you walk but to keep you close to him out of whatever protective instinct took over during the fight. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay,” he says and you can also deduce it’s for his benefit.

Your legs are shaky as Sam leads you away from the scene, keeping you secure and going slow enough for you to not get too disoriented.

“So,” you start, “you’re telling me that you ditched me to hunt a werewolf? If you’re sick of explaining appellate advocacy you coulda’ just said so,” you chuckle awkwardly. He scoffs and meets your laugh, the sound rattling through his chest and you can feel the rumble into your side.

“Shut up,” you can almost hear his eyes roll. His hold on you lightens up and you can feel some of the tension melt away. But the dead look in the eyes of that thing burns back into your eyes and you feel sick.

“Thank you- for being there,” you say seriously.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Sam’s thumb absentmindedly caresses your hip.

“Still debating that,” you shove lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, flashing a canine that you get a glimpse of as you look up at him. “I’ll explain as much or as little as you want to hear.”

Yeah, you’ll have to mull that over a bit too. But right now, as Sam leads you by your hips and the throb of your arm makes you bite your lip so hard that now you're bleeding in two separate places, all you can even fathom is each next step your feet take.

Rationality will be your friend tomorrow. Tonight, you plead plausible deniability.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

>tags: @checkedoutghost

[asundries]

VISARA. PLEASE. aventurine + YELLOW HYACINTH + evanesce + metanoia AND MY LIFE IS YOURS.

thank you for this request. it’s so apropos. brought to you by the gender envy lamenting i have daily over aventurine.

LIKE BLOOD IN THE SAND, A KISS IS A BRUISE IS ENDURANCE. ⏜⠀ . ⠀⟡

STARRING… ─ aventurine & gn reader. ✁ ... ❝ Aventurine is such a gorgeous, glittering spectacle, it pains you to look at him. He makes you sick with something that can only be akin to desire. ❞ CONTAINS… ─ 1.8k words. angst. not a healthy dynamic. cannibalism as a metaphor for envy? (not graphic, just symbolism). aventurine and reader are both aroacespec coded (by my own experience). crossposted on ao3 (i have some clarification and thoughts in the notes there).

Aventurine captures your attention the moment you lay your eyes on him. 

You’re not special for that, of course. Aventurine captures everyone’s attention—how could he avoid it, with his flaunting, his peacocking. He’s the focal point of any room he walks into, effortlessly; he’s the clean-cut gem catching the light in the center of a museum, boxed in by glass, look, don’t touch. 

But the thing inside is so breakable, and so is its shield; it’s more of a warning than any true protective measure. You will bleed, it cries. I will make you bleed, with my unpolished edges and my broken glass. You will have me, if you escape, but it will hurt.

And you want to. Some strange part of you wants to shatter the case, scrape off your skin, set off the alarms, and run. You want to bleed for him. You want to expose bone. You want to possess what he is, even if it hurts. You think he realizes this every time you hold him, the way you sink your nails a little too deep, but, truthfully, you’re not sure. You can never be sure with him.

You can bite, but I taste bitter.

He’s beautiful, and expensive, in the way only faux things are; aventurine masquerading as jade, pyrite fooling people into thinking it is gold, et cetera. You think that’s the point. You think you love him anyway. 

Bitter, like a toxic plant.

You want to dig your fingers into him the way you would the mud of a gold-filled riverbed. You’re impatient, and go in with your hands instead of a sifter. It’s less lucrative this way, little flecks slipping through your grasp and washing away down the current, but you can feel the weight of the gold, and the mud, and the frigid river water on your palms, and that’s enough of a trade-off. 

Bitter, like rat poison, like vitriol.

Every time he undresses in front of you, you can’t help but think of the space between each bone of his as something to excavate; the honeycomb holes spanning the gaps between each of his ribs and the rain-catcher dips of his collarbone. He tastes like sweet rot when you kiss him pliant, and you can hear something thudding behind the cover-up of those ragged breaths, something to prove he’s still alive beyond his half-hearted grasp on your clothing. 

It makes you nauseous. 

You’re sick at the sound, and you’re sick at the feel. You hate the pressure of his lungs as they expand, and you hate the mellifluous tone that accompanies each breath he takes, like he can’t possibly breathe without saying something. Something important. Loud and clear.

Bitter, like brightness, like a poison label, like the skin of a frog. Don’t touch me, it’ll kill. Neon is nature’s warning.

Your face is tucked into the crook of his neck, buried like a head in the sand. Your hands dig into the fabric of his shirt. You can feel his heart pounding beneath it.

“Is something wrong?” he breathes, taking pause. “If you want, we can—”

“No,” you say, cutting him off. You pull back to look at him for a second. Half of one. His gaze catches on yours. Bright, dead eyes. He’s so disheveled, yet still so effortlessly perfect. 

Something about it makes you feel strange. Hurried. Feverish. You drop your head back against him and close your eyes, trying to erase the image from your mind before it makes you feel even worse.

Bitter, bright, like his gaze on you. 

Your own heart is rapid in your chest, horrible and frantic like a prey animal, but betraying you like a bad dog. He could kill you, right now—his hands could close around your throat, he could flip you over, he could. But you’re the one with yours clenched into fists in his shirt, resting on him, above his most vulnerable places. You should feel powerful, but you feel sick.

Sweet. 

Aventurine is fool’s gold, all unpolished edges and dead fish eyes, and if you did pry that chest open, you would find nothing but a stone heart. You know that much. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say. You decide it’s best to stay where you are, face tucked into the crook of his neck, the closest you can be without truly feeling his heartbeat. You don’t want to look at him. 

His hands run up your back, skittish. “Are you sure?”

Aventurine is such a gorgeous, glittering spectacle, it pains you to look at him. He makes you sick with something that can only be akin to desire.

“Yes,” you say, lips meeting his throat again. “I’m sure.”

You love him. And this is what love is. Enduring. Wanting. Aching. 

Aventurine had captured your heart the moment you laid your hands on him. 

—

Aventurine is used to being seen as an object. 

Truthfully, he can’t do anything about it. An object is an object, and objects can’t just become people, so he takes it into his own hands. If he’s going to be seen as meat, a pretty gem to ogle and leer at and price and buy, that might as well be the point. 

They bet on you because you look good. 

They bet on him because his odds looked good, and his body looked better. 

They bet on him despite the fact his odds were abysmal. One in thirty-five. So it was only his—

You look good.

He believes it now. Because that is now the point, his desire, his intent. He looks good, he thinks. Now, he really, truly does. Not good as in pyrite, and pathetic, and dirt-streaked, and bloodied. But good as in golden, and flashy, and adorned. Truly. 

And the main point of it all, what he goes back to, over and over again: they can’t have it.

Bright like pyrite. Bitter like honey.

—

“What, you don’t trust me?”

Aventurine says the words with such slimy confidence that you don’t want to trust him. He’s all contrivance and reddened, flaky fish scales, the way he smiles at you like he wants something. But you place your hand on his waist to brush past him in his sterile kitchen, and you feel him tense. Almost imperceptibly, but there nonetheless.

“No,” you say, grabbing a glass out of his cupboard, just to see what happens. “Not really.”

He laughs, swirling his own glass of water absentmindedly, staring into the whirlpool it makes like he wants something from it. Like he expects it to swallow him whole instead of vice versa.

He looks at you the same way, you realize. Dreading. You wonder, idly, if he hates it as much as you do.

“Aw, come on,” he drawls. He sounds like he’s jesting, but you knew if you looked back at him his bright eyes would be just like a warning label. “Do you truly have such little faith in my… luck?”

Look, don’t touch. 

He downs the water like it’s something stronger, and sets the empty glass on the marble counter with a loud clink. By the streaky look of the cup, you suspect the water had been sitting out a few days, collecting dust and left to taste like silt.

“I don’t. Your luck is… yours. It’s not mine.”

You get water straight from his fridge’s fancy system, cold enough to hurt without the need for ice. Reluctantly, after bracing yourself, you turn back to look at him. He smiles. Dead eyes. 

“You’re right.”

—

Aventurine thinks about love, and he thinks about playing dead. 

Sometimes, when you hold him, he does that; plays dead, limp in your hands. Pliant, like a softer stone than aventurine is, almost malleable. You always stop touching him; your hands fall away from his waist and your lips leave his neck (which you always kiss on the right side). You always seem relieved when he gives you this excuse. To stop touching him. To pull away, because you’ve held on to something rotting for far too long, and his perfume can no longer mask the smell of iron under his nails or the decomposition in his gut. 

He can’t help it but play dead when he’s afraid: in the bloody river, face down and nearly out of air, drifting away from his sister because any sort of grasp on her hand would give him away; at the poker tables, eyes like a dead fish, boring into the cards like he wants something from them (he does); in the cradle of the Nihility, wading through a river a bit colder than the ones he was used to. He plays dead because playing at being truly alive would be much harder to pull off. 

Your hands are always dry, and always freezing, and they always feel like the sand of Sigonia The desert was always terribly cold at night. 

The desert was Gaiathra Triclops’ body, and the rivers her blood, and the rainfall both a blessing and her tears, and the idea that anything like her is laying their hands upon him again—that golden touch, that good luck, blessings are curses are blessings—makes him feel sick every time. 

When Aventurine thinks about luck, he thinks about the warmth of blood streaking through frigid water. He thinks about heartbeats. The shock of hot and cold and the rush of adrenaline. He thinks about pyrite buried in riverbeds. He thinks about death. 

—

It’s not his luck you want.

Love isn’t feeling sick when you hold someone, and sicker when you kiss them, you know that now. The only thing you can think about when you finally have Aventurine’s fragile ribcage between your grasp, when you hold all that he is—from his leaden lungs to his stone heart—between your hands, is that you want it for yourself.

Not him.

It.

You think about Adam’s rib. You think about breaking it off. You soothe the bruises on Aventurine’s paper-thin skin with a gentle hand. He doesn’t deserve your ire, or your hunger. Or maybe he does, and maybe you’re just a coward. Either way, you can’t bear the idea of bringing that body pain. 

You want, so badly, for it to be yours, that you’re soft with him. Even as you want to bite, even as you want to tear, even as you want to consume and become—you’re as kind as you can be, with your nails sunk deep into the wet sand of him—

You think about Eve’s body, born from a single bone, and you think about what you could be if you had the strength of all of Adam’s extra marrow. You do nothing. Nothing but dig your fingertips into the riverbed; nothing but fish for the pyrite; nothing but stain your fingers with the blood from salmon upstream.

Sweet like honey. Sweet like something rotting. 

Aventurine captures you the moment you realize it isn’t him you want.

[fear-is-truth]

I love your profile so much that I feel like this is a safe place to even ask something so weird, I was just thinking and said 'imagine if Kai dyed his bush blue too', so I'd like to know which of Evan's characters do you think cares about looking presentable down there, or who is just hairy and natural (I'M SORRY FOR THIS LOL)

⋆𐙚 ₊ the evans… & manscaping .ᐟ

ft. tate langdon ‧ kit walker ‧ kyle spencer ‧ james march ‧ kai anderson ‧ austin sommers ‧ peter maximoff ‧ colin zabel

a/n: rahhh ily no need to apologise lol

⟢ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐍.

tate wouldn’t give a damn about grooming, honestly. he has enough issues on his plate so he’s not the type to care about looking “presentable” down there. he died young and hot, so the hair situation stayed in whatever state it was in when he got gunned down—no need for upkeep. carpet matches the drapes; no ridiculous bush, (if you remember him in that latex suit) but it’s probably not perfectly groomed either.

⟢ 𝐊𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑.

he’s someone who would keep things pretty clean but in a low-maintenance way. maybe a little grooming here and there but nothing overly pristine. he’s not obsessive, but he’s conscious enough to maintain some level of neatness, especially for his partner’s comfort. overall practical and clean.

⟢ 𝐊𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑.

kyle is more into cleanliness and hygiene than tate, he might trim but not go all-out with shaving or waxing. no overly excessive effort in terms of presentation, but he’s not going for the wild “savage” look either. kyle strikes me as a naturally more “neat” person without being obsessive.

⟢ 𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.

doesn’t care too much about looking pristine down there. he’s got more of a natural, “i’m who i am” attitude when it comes to grooming. it’s probably a bit wild down there, but not in an unkempt, dirty way—but he’d clean up if it was necessary.

⟢ 𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇.

i guess he’d have a more natural, untamed look down there. a black curly bush. he’s not someone who would obsess over body hair, especially since it wasn’t really the norm back then for men to be overly groomed in such a manner. james would put all that energy into trimming that moustache lol.

⟢ 𝐊𝐀𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍.

having rewatched cult so many times, my friends and i have concluded that kai looked “weirdly hairless” even in the scenes when he’s shirtless. besides he’s not the type to indulge in excessive grooming rituals, so it’s unlikely he’d have much body hair in general. and he’s too serious to actually dye his pubes </3

⟢ 𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐒.

a little more on top of his grooming, suits his high-maintenance, perfectionist tendencies. i imagine he’d keep it neat and trimmed, maybe even waxing to achieve a sleek look.

⟢ 𝐏𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐗𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐅𝐅.

i think he’s too carefree to obsess over grooming too much. if anything, he’d probably be the type to have it as natural as possible. like, he’s too busy zipping around, having fun to worry about keeping everything trim. but i also think peter would be the type to do something completely random and out-of-character, like fully trimming for the first time and then being like “uh, i don’t know why i did that.” ultimately, he’s chill with whatever.

⟢ 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐋.

i could see him being similar to kit in terms of grooming. he’s probably not going out of his way to make sure everything is super sleek or perfectly maintained, but he doesn’t let it get out of hand either. it’s probably an occasional trim, but nothing overly meticulous.

[nightscythe]

the primarchs as dom/sub

sorry if this has been done before, I just couldn't get it out of my head. based this on my more dark view of the lore/universe and how I write them. there is a secret third (sixth?) option, vanilla.

nsfw, 18+ below the cut. mostly pre-heresy

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

the lion: dom. top of the charts. in his everyone is there to serve him, and you are no different. into all that humiliation and degradation, thoroughly enjoys the way you writhe under him and beg him so desperately. he'll hold your face towards him and ask you if you really deserve him in that way. makes you beg until you're crying. he just looks at you lovingly and finally gives you what you want, not before he makes it agonisingly slow for you. will still please you just to prove a point and he's surprisingly good at it, especially with his huge hands and his tongue. loves you deep down, but truly believes its his place to be above you and telling you what to do. gets you to clean him up afterwards and maybe lets you lay with him.

fulgrim: switch. it's too easy to say he's into everything, but I do believe he would try everything at least once, and is happy to indulge anything he likes. sometimes that's putting a collar on you and admiring his view as he tells you step by step what you'll be doing next. sometimes it's being held down to the bed with the softest of ribbons as you pour hot wax over his chest. he wants to explore what there is to offer and if you're open to it, so is he. so that does mean odd things as well, unexpected little kinks and treats along the way. admires the marks left on both your skin and his, as long as its not permanent.

perturabo: soft dom. doesn't like giving up his control to you, but doesn't reach the hard limits of dominating you fully. his touch is soft and his words and commanding, but only because he is usually like that. probably prefers to not treat you like another one of his men behind closed doors... but still doesn't want you telling him what to do. most probably tried it once and hated it (secretly didn't mind it but he struggles with actually acting submissive, as much as he wanted to be babied some more). there's not many kind words, just pulling your hair where he wants you, grunting as a return of satisfaction, pushing your face into the mattress but giving you enough room to breathe. its a personality thing, really.

the khan: soft dom. he would explore with you, try many things to understand what they are and how they feel, but ultimately he wants to take care of you. the natural result of that is someone who's stroking your cheek and hushing away the tears as you choke on his cock for the seventh minute straight. calls you his baby (or like, something equivalent) as he watches you use him to get yourself off, whimpering and moaning his name, something which genuinely warms him. can make any day better for you, loves to whisper to you how much he cares for you, loves to make you forget anything bad happened with those hands and fingers of his. tucks you in afterwards, protects you with his whole being. aww.

leman: vanilla. my most controversial take. my feeling is he craves connection and someone who understands him, and he's a passionate lover. that isn't to say he wouldn't try being dominant or submissive (probably the latter less so) but his preference is vanilla. something pure filled with emotions. he's so caught up in the moment that he doesn't have time to stop and thinking about telling you to what to do and how to do it. he just goes with whatever happens. maybe externally he puts on a gruff and domineering persona but actually, that doesn't matter to him. he just wants to see you happy and whatever that takes he will do - so he'd happily try any of the kink stuff you wanted. just don't expect him to want to be called daddy/master/etc or submit to you.

dorn: switch. thought about him being vanilla but I don't think he would be. its an interesting world to explore. he's perceptive to whatever you need, but understands that one person has to take a submissive role, and one person a dominant role. maybe that goes to extremes sometimes and he's telling you to call him sir, or he's presenting himself to you tied up (because you may have enjoyed that), but mostly its just the soft things. likes it either way and lets you take control most of the time. only thing he's precious about is giving head, he will always do that in the most submissive way, like he's feasting on nectar from the gods, blessed with each move of his tongue. an interesting experience, to say the least.

curze: soft dom. thinks it is his place to be in control but isn't precious about it like some of his brothers. not as gentle or as caring as he could be during sex but he certainly takes the lead and has something to show about it. wraps his fingers around your neck, holds your hands down against the bed so you can't move, leaves bite after bite over your neck and chest until you're covered in a reminder that you are his. in the same vein, quite possessive, and his more dominant tendencies seem to come out of that is threatened. would probably overstimulate you to let out his frustrations and remind you again that you are his. greedy is the word. wants all of you, to himself, forever and ever. kinks is a different story, but is holding your head underwater until you cum a really dominant thing..?

sanguinius: sub. sorry but like, the first ever thing I thought about with him was calling him a good boy. a very soft lover in general, he lets you take control and thrives off being told how well he is doing, that he's the one who makes you feel this good. isn't afraid to whimper for you, lay down all his strength just so you can tie his pretty arms to the frame of a bed and stroke him over and over again until he begs for it. endures it all just so he can see you ride him. lets you push him around test him. oh, he loves it when you tease him. cockwarming. rubbing him through his clothes. whispering to him that he needs to wait, but doing everything in your power to make him cum there and then? would do absolutely anything for you.

ferrus: soft dom. a bit vanilla at first, with actions and feelings not being his strongest selling point. a man of practicalities seeks to understand everything about you and learn your interests. but of course strength and perfection is key to him. everything he does is dominant. it starts with seeking you out, pushing you against the wall, lips ghosting your ear as you feel how much he needs you. the smirk when he feels how wet you are from just... the thought of him. every movement is precise, and equally intense. you feel all of him, and he makes sure you understand that he is in control here. making up with him in this manner may result in more dominant, hot tempered moments, telling you exactly what he's going to do, and you're going to like.

angron: vanilla. maybe a bit controversial as well. was thinking soft dom but then changed my mind, he's just naturally imposing and domineering but not dominant. when he had the capability to understand love and relationships in that way, I feel it was very personal to him. he wanted to feel the truth, not arbitrary words of praise or command. so therefore it does not steer in a particularly dominant or submission direction for either of you, it's a moment of you being truly together. probably the least kinky as well imo. as time progresses it becomes more feral, more of an untamed desire, which is still unmatched to either side. personality wise he is probably more dominant though so take that as you will.

guilliman: soft sub. but like close to vanilla. he doesn't need to be told what to do or pushed around, but just a little guidance. someone to kneel beside him, stroke him slowly, maybe play around with him to test his limits, really learn to understand him. very eager to please you especially when he's between your legs looking up at you with his eyes wet and eyes devious. just tell him he did well, you enjoyed it. makes him come back for more. almost a bit timid, afraid he may hurt you in some way, shy as well. of course by the time he is resurrected he's just baby boy™ but also a regent so the second he has some time away from, you know, being the regent, he just wants forget everything else going on and get lost in you.

mortarion: dom. how could he be anything else? at first its just letting out his frustrations but then it's something more. primal. there's no maybes with him, no suggestions. he tells you what to do and you do it. sometimes he would be a bit softer, but its rare and usually when he's tired or his mind is elsewhere. he's in control of everything, he tells you when you can cum, he tells you when you can move, and god forbid you don't listen to him. if he hasn't given you permission well... its a week of edging and desperation for you. likes seeing you helpless before him. but when it's all finished and his needs are dealt with, he's got his arms around you and he won't let go. a weird way of registering his feelings.

magnus: switch. thought about this one too long. sometimes he'd love to be cared for, have his hair stroked as you praise him. other times, he's got you up against a wall and using all that size to his advantage. kind of like exploring what their is to offer, but his preferences do not lean towards dom or sub individually, maybe just a very small amount towards sub because he feels utterly useless without being told just how well he is doing. doesn't mean he's not smug about it when he finds you alone thinking about it. that's when his more dominant side comes out. if we are talking about demon form though it's definitely dom all the time.

horus: soft dom. it's not that he can't be fully dominant. he can. but why do it when he can be taken care of with soft kisses and making you happy too? hence the soft bit. likes to watch with his hand in your hair as you suck him off. tells you to take a little more of him and softly encourages you, never forces you. it's like a subtle hint, one you will get, or he'll just add a touch more dominance for show. discovers the daddy kink by accident and is fascinated with it. show daddy what a good girl you've been. holds your hands down as he's behind you. praises you gently and rewards you for small things during the day. probably loves going down on you as well as a reward for bigger things. but he'd never take it too far, he just enjoys the simpler things.

lorgar: sub. so eager to please. wants to be rewarded. he'd be on his knees for days if you'd let him, begging, wanting a small taste. even just your scent makes him hard. would wait for your command to do anything - touch himself, touch you, etcetc. whines and whimpers until you finally let him cum each time. at first its seems like he hates it but he does very much like it. any time you don't tell him what to do he looks lost and needs your guidance. based on this he would always let you be on top and especially likes it when he can look at you and worship you. every part of your body is divine to him. any time you're apart he's thinking of you and wondering when he will next get to hear your voice command him around. whipped.

vulkan: soft dom. super protective of you and isn't afraid to show it. has you take about your day as he goes down on you. tells you not to stop and looks to you curiously when you can't get your words out straight. is always so gentle though he could never reach the level of dominance like some of his brothers, its barely even soft dom - it's gentle, passionate, but every single one of his movements means something. tells you how well you are doing as you take his whole length and holds you close. likes hearing every sound you make and still asks permission to do everything, uttering things like may I? as his lips and tongue finds your body. really cautious of hurting you.

corax: dom. nothing soft about him. maybe to everyone else he looks like he would not value anything physical, but really, he's an absolute...menace? has you over his knee letting out his frustrations one spank at a time. likes it when you cry his name. rubs you through your clothes and laughs when you're an overstimulated mess on the floor. master/slave dynamic at some points. and it feels like it goes on and on for hours with him, he plays out fantasies in his head, has you on your knees then in his lap making you watch in the mirror as you cry and beg. but afterwards he would clean you up every time and fall asleep with you between his arms because he's quietly, and a lot less obviously, devoted to you too.

alpharius: soft sub. though he could be anything. i like to think one twin is soft sub and one is soft dom, which would technically make the single entity a switch. is it too late to change? considering I see him as a bit of a yandere it may be a bit of a surprise, but his darker side is outside the bedroom. inside, he is sweet and innocent, he's begging for praise and to be held. has you straddling his lap with your fingers in his mouth making him wait patiently for you to be ready to actually please him. handsy, touches you everywhere, barely contains himself around you. you'd get suspicious when he tells you to stop, throws you onto the mattress and takes you from behind... but hey, they don't know what each other are like. daydreams about you though. has a little notebook with hearts around your name but no one can see it.

˗ˏˋ 𓅰 ˎˊ˗

I know not everyone will agree but I hope I at least made you think!!

[retiredteabag]

sorry for informality but i was stalking reading your pinned post and you’re in grad school at twenty!??!!!

unless i’m tripping or misunderstanding something, academic weapon tips please because holy shit that’s insane! what’s ur field of study if you want to talk about it/don’t mind me asking? any application tips/things you wished you knew before getting there/habits you wished you’d formed sooner? independent research has always been difficult for me because of how much i depend on structure (adhd imposter syndrome anxiety lets go) so if you’re working on a thesis/something similar, how has the process been in your experience?

i’m in undergrad atm and heavily debating going further, so i’d love to hear from someone my age who’s actually doing it! also unrelated, but i’m a certified notion/goodnotes girlie if you vibe with those as study resources!

🎸 tagging with an emoji in case i pop back around, yk?

I'm sorry to say, but my tips might come off as sort of typical... but I hope they're at least a little helpful!

I am currently in a masters program within the analytics field. Research/independent studies vary widely depending on the area of specialization, however, my program has an intensive practicum that is similar in nature. I have not started it yet, but what I can say for sure when it comes to research: make sure you are picking a topic that you could speak about for hours/answer argumentative questions about.

For applications, I would say to narrow your options down as much as possible and look into each program before applying. Know the curriculum and standard outline and what stands out to you as you decide.

^ on this same note, you will likely need at least one interview in the application process. Speak slowly and enunciate. Taking a moment to think of the proper words will always be better than speaking quickly without much thought. Most people say to use "down-speak" in these interviews, but in my experience, matching the examiners tone and energy makes the whole thing much more comfortable.

For study tips, I have a large notebook that I keep on my desk where I write down every assignment and the date that it is due. This is just for organization purposes, I find a physical copy helpful for a few reasons but also because crossing them off feels rewarding :]

Time managment is incredibly important. Everyone says this because it is true. Prep everything, organizing your day into chunks. Since you also like structure, this probably wont be an issue. I would also get comfortable with being self-aware of your priorities. There will come a time when you will need to choose between academics/work and other areas of your life.

Keep your spaces clean. Dedicate a day or so to just organizing/doing a deep clean. It will help you stay focused and minimize external anxiety. It’s also much easier to keep a place clean if you have put in such an effort.

Participate in class. I cannot make this clear enough. I promise it is not embarrassing to ask questions or "try". You will learn far easier if you put effort into the classroom/lecture setting.

It is a pretty typical "tip" is to just ask questions. Even if you feel like you might understand, just ask to make sure. And in this same vein, go to office hours if you need to.

Prioritize sleep lol, that and mental rest. You can't always be studying. For me, it is a real challenge to work and be full time in school so it's important to carve out those sections of "you time".

Try not to be on your phone tooooooooo much, I know it’s hard but I make an effort to not be on my phone while eating. Don’t use entertainment as a distraction, I find that it just delays anxiety :(

Lastly, apply for scholarships and know that you absolutely can appeal for more money.

I hope this was useful. Do know that it REALLY depends on your area of study and 5-year-plan. I would recommend not going to grad school unless you're absolutely sure it is worth it.

Good luck!

[lovezbrownies]

Excerpt from our next Valentine's special!

(to whoever that reads this please tell me if this is a good start for the fic before I'm contemplating writing a different beginning)

Today has been… strange. Very strange.

You sit stiffly, shoulders tensed despite the gentle pressure of your girlfriend’s hands massaging them. Julie never does this. She isn’t the type to indulge in romantic gestures—or at least, she never has before. And yet, here she is, pressing slow, deliberate circles into your back, her voice softer than usual, her lips curled into a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Her eyes stare, analyzing your every reaction.

It’s unsettling.

Not because you don’t appreciate affection, but because this isn’t her. The breakfast in bed, the strangely bitter tea she insisted you drink, the spotless house that looks too pristine to actually be lived in, I cleaned the house for you, so you wouldn't tire yourself out, my dear. And worst of all, the way she’s been shadowing you all day, hovering just a little too close.

Julie has always been a creature of logic, of routine. She doesn’t do spontaneous romance, nor does she dote. But today, she’s at your beck and call, watching you with a peculiar intensity, as if she’s waiting for something. And you can’t shake the feeling that whatever she’s waiting for… isn’t good.

All of it has been too much—far too much. You’ve been trying to brush it off, telling yourself she’s just in a rare affectionate mood, but the longer it goes on, the more suffocating it becomes. Julie isn’t like this. She doesn’t wake you up with breakfast in bed, doesn’t insist on following you around like a shadow, and she definitely doesn’t give unsolicited shoulder massages with a smile. It’s not that she’s cold, just… pragmatic. Efficient. Affection is something she doles out in calculated increments, a quiet presence rather than an overwhelming force.

You’ve known Julie for as long as you can remember, bound together since childhood, and now—years into a relationship that, at least on your end, began with some reluctance—you know her better than anyone. Julie isn’t one for grand gestures or spoken declarations; she expresses her love in the quiet, effortless ways that have become second nature to her.

She’s the one who wordlessly hands you something just out of reach before you even ask, who offers unsolicited advice that always turns out to be exactly what you needed to hear. She watches over you from a distance, ensuring no harm comes your way, even during the most mundane moments of your day.

But perhaps the most intimate of all is the way she helps you sleep. Even when rest eludes her, she remains by your side, her fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along your skin, guiding you into the comfort of sleep. She doesn’t need rest—only the certainty that you are safe, drifting into dreams under her gentle touch.

And yet, here she is, hovering over you, fingers kneading into your shoulders with just a little too much pressure. Being far too coddling, too affectionate, too romantic. And you couldn't handle it any longer when her grip tightens—just for a second, just enough to make your breath hitch—something in you snaps.

You jolt forward, nearly stumbling off the couch in your rush to get away, spinning around to face her. She’s still standing behind the couch, watching you with the same neutral expression, head tilted slightly. The only indication of her confusion is the faint raise of her brow—the same look she gives malfunctioning equipment, like she’s trying to figure out why it’s acting up.

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm even as your pulse thrums against your ribs. You don’t want to start a fight, but you also can’t let this slide.

"Alright," you say, forcing a smile that you’re sure looks more like a grimace. "What the hell is going on? The weird doting, the breakfast in bed, the tea that tasted… off? You’ve been acting so different today, and it’s creeping me out."

For a second, she says nothing. Then, slowly, her lips curl into a grin. A Cheshire grin. It stretches too wide, lingers too long, and your stomach twists.

For a fleeting, absurd moment, you wonder if one of her half-frozen, half-dead clones finally clawed its way back to life, killed the real Julie, and took her place. There’s something off about the way she’s looking at you, something you don’t like.

Then, as if nothing is amiss, she straightens her posture, clasping her hands neatly behind her back. Her blouse is ironed crisp, her slacks without a single wrinkle—meticulous, perfect, composed, as always.

"Well," she says smoothly, voice light, "I’m monitoring your reactions to the… love potion I slipped into your tea this morning."

The world slows.

Huh.

What.

Love what.

You blink at her, brain stalling like a car in the dead of winter, trying and failing to process the words that just left her mouth. Julie. Your Julie, your girlfriend. Just said—

Oh. Oh.

The realization settles over you like a cold wave, sinking into your bones. Calling her your girlfriend suddenly feels very, very new. Something you haven’t said up until today. After the bitter tea.

"Are you clinically insane?!?"

[shizuturnspages]

somewhat of a self-indulgent request but i've gotta ask... i've always seen characters like thoma and kaveh as 'softer' yanderes (still yandere, but it'd be somewhat doable actually being with them imo), and i was wondering how they'd react in a relationship with a more assertive reader that tends to take the initiative ie. being the one to ask them out and stuff like that. i just think it'd be cute in a way and i wanted to ask for yandere thoma and kaveh with an assertive s/o??? separate ofc.

Flustered Devotion

Synopsis: Soft, but still possessive. They’re not as overbearing as some, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less obsessed with you. Pairings: Yan! Thoma x Reader, Yan! Kaveh x Reader

Yandere Thoma– The Devoted Protector

Reaction to an Assertive Darling:

❥ Thoma isn’t used to someone else taking the lead. He’s naturally accommodating, always considering others’ needs before his own. So when you confidently ask him out, he’s stunned.

❥ “Oh! I—uh—wow, I was actually planning to ask you myself, but… you beat me to it.” His usual charm falters for a second before he recovers, his warm smile returning.

❥ He’s so touched that you chose him, that you want him. It fuels his already deep devotion—now that he knows you’re willing to chase after him, he has to make sure he never loses you.

How It Affects His Yandere Tendencies:

❥ Thoma is protective to the point of paranoia. He’s the type to cook for you, clean up after you, make sure your home is safe—except now, it’s a little too much.

❥ If you go somewhere dangerous, he insists on accompanying you. “Just to be safe, okay? It would kill me if something happened to you.” His smile never fades, but his grip on your wrist tightens slightly.

❥ Your assertiveness makes him so happy, but it also makes him nervous—because what if one day, you take the initiative to leave him? He has to make sure that never happens.

Flustered Moments:

❥ The first time you initiate a kiss? Thoma malfunctions. His face is completely red, ears burning, hands frozen in midair. “You— you— just kissed me?”

❥ He melts when you grab his chin and make him look at you. He’s so used to handling others with care, but you’re handling him, and he’s weak for it.

❥ If you call him yours? Forget it. He’s gone. His whole soul belongs to you now.

Yandere Kaveh– The Overbearing Romantic

Reaction to an Assertive Darling:

❥ Kaveh lives for romance, but he always imagined himself as the one making grand declarations of love. When you ask him out? He’s speechless.

❥ “You—wait—me? You’re serious? You actually want to date me?” He’s so flustered that he has to sit down. It’s not that he thinks he’s unworthy—he just wasn’t expecting it!

❥ The idea that you’re confident enough to pursue him drives him absolutely wild. He loves that you know what you want. It makes him even more obsessed, because it means he has to be good enough for you.

How It Affects His Yandere Tendencies:

❥ Kaveh is already overbearing as a yandere, and this just makes him worse. Since you’re the assertive type, he assumes that means you’ll leave if he doesn’t give you every reason to stay.

❥ He’s constantly trying to prove himself. He dotes on you so much—building things for you, making sure your home is perfect, always fussing over your comfort.

❥ If you so much as mention another person too fondly, he gets dramatic. “Oh, I see! You’re already growing tired of me, aren’t you? You deserve someone better, don’t you?” (He’s baiting you to reassure him.)

Flustered Moments:

❥ The first time you grab his face and say, "You're mine, Kaveh," he actually chokes on air. His entire brain short-circuits.

❥ He thrives when you assert dominance. If you tug him into a kiss? If you push him against a wall? If you tell him exactly what you want? Yeah, his knees buckle.

❥ The moment you take his chin in your hand and whisper something sweet, he’s clutching onto you for dear life. “Oh, you’re dangerous,” he murmurs, a shiver running through him. “Please—keep ruining me like this.”

[darl-ingfics]

Feveruary Day 7: "I’m still not used to being taken care of.”

Fandom: BTS

Sickie: J-Hope (flu)

Caregiver(s): Namjoon

Word Count: 983

Notes: This takes place recently, while the maknae line is in the military. That is why they are not mentioned in the paragraph when Namjoon considers where 'everyone else' is.

Hoseok shot up from the couch at the sound of a knock on his door. The sudden movement made his head pound, and Hoseok groaned, massaging his aching forehead. A another knock rang out, and Hoseok mumbled out a raspy, “I’m coming,” broken off with a hacking cough. With another groan, Hoseok stumbled to his feet. One of the blankets that had been cocooning his body fell to the floor as he hobbled to the door. 

Clearing his throat as he walked, Hoseok felt the most human he had in days as he undid the lock, as it was such a normal activity. A novelty since he’d caught this bug a few days before. Pulling open the door, he came face to face with a nervous looking Namjoon. 

The leader’s eyes scanned Hoseok from head to toe. He frowned. “Wow, hyung, you look rough.”

Hoseok scoffed. “It’s nice to see you too.” 

“You’re only wearing one sock.” Hoseok looked down, confirming that, yes, he was only wearing one sock. He wiggled his bare toes. 

“Huh. Would you look at that…”

Namjoon chuckled, rolled his eyes. “Can I come in, you goof?” 

Hoseok blinked in surprise. “Oh, I mean, you can…”

“I can also just give you the meds and go.” Namjoon held out a few plastic bags that looked like they held much more than just the asked for cold and flu meds. 

Hoseok acquiesced, nodding as he turned so Namjoon could come inside. As Hoseok relocked the door behind them, Namjoon glanced around the apartment. Everything was in decent order, save for the nest on the couch. “Not bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hoseok laughed. 

It was Namjoon’s turn to scoff. “Honestly, I expected a war zone.”

Hoseok gasped, playfully clutching his chest. “How dare you, sir? I am a very clean person. Even when I’m deathly ill.” He coughed at the end for emphasis, (definitely not to clear his airways, no not that.)

“You forget we lived together for several years,” Namjoon replied with a meaningful look.

“You forget we lived together for several years, and you have no room to be judging me.” 

“Fair.” Namjoon chuckled before his smile turned soft. “How are you feeling?”

“Bleh.” Hoseok collapsed back onto the couch, elbows resting on his knees.

“That much is obvious.” Namjoon set a few plastic bags down on the coffee table, scooching aside the clutter already littering the table. “I assume you’ve been medicating yourself, given that you asked for more?”

Hoseok nodded towards the empty medicine bottle on the coffee table. “Ran out this morning. Thus the S.O.S. call.” 

“Proud of you for asking for help.” Hoseok cocked his head to the side, squinting suspiciously at the leader. That was an odd choice of words. But Namjoon avoided his eyes, searching through one of his bags. “Are you hungry?”

Hoseok’s stomach grumbled in response. He pressed a hand to the offended organ, somewhat embarrassed at his body for being so impatient. “Very.” 

The leader chuckled. “Good thing Jinnie made you this.” He held up a large plastic container of soup. “I’ll go heat some up for you now.”

“Hyung made it?” Hoseok asked. Namjoon nodded, refusing to look back at Hoseok as he moved into the kitchen. He knew exactly where the dancer kept his pots, and he moved to grab one just big enough for a single serving of soup. “When did you see Jin-hyung?”

“This morning,” Namjoon said casually, still avoiding eye contact. “He came over to drop off a book, and he’d actually brought the soup for me because he’d made too much for himself…”

“Joonie.” The leader finally met Hoseok’s unamused glare. “You called him.”

Namjoon sighed, then nodded. “I did.” Namjoon knew there was a reason Hoseok had only texted him asking if he could maybe, possibly pick him up some medicine. Hoseok was a caretaker by nature; it came so easily to him. So when the roles reversed, he tended to self-isolate, to push the others away as a precaution. Namjoon knew Hoseok was painfully aware that Seokjin had a modeling contract two days from now, and Yoongi was in the throes of album production, the final days of his creative process before he sent the draft to the label. Hoseok had specifically chosen the member who would be least affected should they catch this bug from him, and the member least likely to stick around and help because he was ‘bad at this,’ by Namjoon’s own words. Namjoon, smart enough to put this all together from a simple text but admittedly terrible at physically caring for someone, had set out to prove his hyung wrong; Hoseok deserved just as much tender love and care as the rest of them. 

So yeah. He’d called Jin to make Hobi some soup. Sue him. 

Hoseok had fallen back onto the couch. “Namjooooooon….” The whine turned into a cough. Namjoon didn’t like the sound of that cough. 

“Hyung, when did you take your last dose of medicine?” 

“Three hours ago, so it’s wearing off but not yet.” Swallowing thickly, Hoseok’s gaze sharpened again. “Why did you call Jinnie?”

Namjoon lit the burner under the pot full of soup, then met Hoseok’s gaze. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“I’m…” Hoseok sighed, completely deflating. “I’m still not used to being taken care of,” he admitted, fiddling anxiously with the hem of his sweater. He bit his lip. 

Namjoon frowned. “I know, Hobi. That’s why I called Seokjin-hyung. He would be so sad to know that you hadn’t reached out to him when you needed him.”

“I didn’t…”

“You do.” Hoseok looked up at Namjoon with suddenly teary eyes. “It’s okay to be sick and want a little love, hyung. I know it’s usually the other way round for you but… we got you, yeah?”

Hoseok smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah.”

[toasttt11]

cleared up

September 1, 2022

Mary laughed as James tripped and tried to pretend he didn’t and he shot her a playful glare.

Mary and James were the last ones on the ice after practice just shooting more pucks together until they had to get off for the next team to practice.

Mary and James have spent most of their time together the last two week since they met, something that has definitely surprised anyone who knows Mary.

Will was just glad Mary has found such a good friend and glad to see her so happy.

Mary just feels comfortable with James and she decided to tell him about her ear into a few days ago and he took it extremely well, James was immediately asking questions wanting to be aware of everything involving her ear and he naturally started staying on her left side making sure to never go on her right side so she could hear him clearly.

It was a small thing but to Mary it just showed how accepting James is and she’s really glad to be his friend.

Ryan walked up the tunnel and standing at the bench as his practice was about to start and frowned crossing his arms seeing Mary with some guy.

He immediately did not like this and frowned even more seeing her laughing and smiling with the boy, he loves seeing her smiling and laughing but not with this … boy.

Ryan and heard from Mary and Will about James but he hasn’t had the chance to officially meet him yet.

Ryan is happy that Mary had a friend but he didn’t like how it made him feel seeing her with another guy who he had no idea what James felt for Mary. James could have a crush on Mary for all Ryan knows and Ryan doesn’t want anyone else with Mary unless Mary likes them than he will painfully accept that and step back but he has a feeling she won’t do that or he hopes she won’t.

A small part of him was upset over the fact he couldn’t be the friend Mary needed.

Mary and James cleaned up some of the pucks that they used before turning heading towards the bench to get off the ice when Mary saw Ryan standing at the bench, her face brighten and she waved at him.
Ryan looked over seeing her waving at him and his face brightened despite his thoughts by just seeing Mary and he softly waved back.
James raised an eyebrow curiously.

“Come on Jamesy you have to meet Ryan.” Mary told James and grabbed the sleeve of his jersey pulling him to Ryan.

James nodded slowly, He’s heard a lot about Ryan from Mary so it was nice to see the face of the boy he’s heard so much about.

“Ry!” Mary smiled brightly at Ryan taking her helmet off as she hopped off the ice and walked over to Ryan.

“Hey Ellie Belly.” Ryan mused fondly his hand brushing against her blonde hair that was in bubble braids.

James looked between the two with a growing smirk immediately realizing what was going on.

“Ry this is James my friend and line mate.” Mary proudly introduced with an easy grin staying close to Ryan’s side.

Ryan looked at James titling his head and James just raised an eyebrow having a feeling he knew why he was getting look from Ryan.

“Nice to meet you.” Ryan spoke monotonously making James and Mary both give him identical looks not believing his words.

“Nice to meet you. Mara doesn’t shut up about you.” James teased not taking Ryan’s word to harm and gave Ryan a smile. He immediately realized Mary and Ryan obviously like each other, it’s obvious. Ryan probably thinks James likes Mary, which James does not.

“Does she?” Ryan started smiling again and looked at Mary teasing relishing in the pink that dusted her cheeks, the pink just different enough from when she is on the ice Ryan immediately could tell the blushing was because of him and not from the ice.

Mary just rolled her eyes fondly at both of their teasing and shook her head before heading to the tunnel and started heading down the tunnel to the locker room.

“Man you have got it bad.” James smirked teasing crossing his arms over his chest.

“So?” Ryan crossed his arms to giving James a look, he’s not sure why James is bringing this up.

“Oh i just wanted you to know i’m not interested in Mary like that all. I purely care for heras my friend.” James just honestly told Ryan, he wanted to clear this up immediately. He’s found his first real friend in Mary and he wants to make sure Ryan doesn’t have a grudge or they don’t have a decent relationship with one another because he knows how much it will mean to Mary.

The tension in Ryan’s shoulders loosened and he un crossed his arms, “Thanks man.” Ryan gave him an appreciated look because James did not need to tell him this but James did.

“Mara is my friend now. I want to make sure i’m chill with the people she loves.” James just honestly answered shrugging nonchalantly.

“Good answer.” Ryan nodded approvingly patting James on the shoulder, “Now i know her and she’s definitely waiting to you so hurry up.” Ryan said looking amused as James threw him a wave before rushing down the tunnel and to the locker room where Mary was.

Ryan shook his head fondly, he has a feeling James would be sticking around now.

Ryan is glad Mary has found such a good friend but he wishes he could be that friend for Mary or even more than a friend but every time he even tries to say something about his feelings Will has interrupted them.

Ryan took that as sign to just wait and be patient for once because one day he is going to confess his feelings to Mary and he is not going to be interrupted.

He just needed to be patient.

[rosesonbreeze]

"I'm sweet as honey, but if someone gets in my way... I sting." It sounds more aggressive than it should. But Anna's are alight with something driven and competitive. A side often hidden behind all her good nature and sweetness. In the same way Aiden's soft underbelly is a shown to a privileged few. So, too, is Anna's cutting ambition and honesty. Except... Well, he'd see it anyway. Aiden sees her so clearly, it would be startling if it didn't make the hairs in the back of her neck raise with a tremble.

"Just none of that cocoa chia pudding crap." The go-to of many a model dietitian, quoted to be comparable to chocolate mousse. Anna crinkles her nose, the texture alone haunts her still. Luckily, "Though I'm lucky. Your old bachelor pad--" Because he's a bachelor no longer, right? Not with hand towels with daisies and lavender candles, it's not. "Wasn't some exercise in weird, fit bro health foods." Sure there's protein powders and granola bars. But at least there wasn't an entire freeze of chicken breast and brocolli.

She pushes her recliner back, steady against her seat as it transforms into a lay flat bed. Maybe she could ask the attendant to get the sheets, too, but frankly Anna's never been fussed about it. Once the lights go off, she will too. "Christopher." She tests out, and she wonders why she never found it in his file. "Like from Winnie the Pooh?" Anna doesn't know, of course, but if it's not in his file, then it has to mean something. And anyway, "Whatever the name, I'm crazy about the guy behind it." Simple as that, really.

"I know, babe. I promise." She says, not impatiently. But with a sigh that shows she hears him, loud and clear. It's in her nature to do anything for him, just like it's in his to never ask for anything. The combination of the two works in their favor this time. "But," she lifts her head. "It won't stop me from trying to do things for you, if I think it's good for you--" Case and point, her team ready to descend upon his London flat with one swoop.

"Two hours. Just enough time to clean your flat." It's a joke, obviously. AIden's place couldn't be any cleaner. Nary a sullied white glove, should an inspector look for any evidence. "Hmm..." She's not thinking about his request. Rather... "Sweet potato." She decides. "Yeah. That can be our safe word. Text me that, and I'll call Petra up. Tell her to back down." She trusts her team, of course. But just in case. "I'll be home at 1? Maybe midnight?" Or, if the captain's latest statement is to go by, just in time to see the end of the party. But she doesn't dangle the carrot. Instead;

"And I'll be here anyway I can." Outstretched on the chair, close to snoozing. But alert enough to see him enter the flat, and smile. A resounding thought in her head; I love talking to you, I love thinking about you... Shaking away the tigthening of her heart, she sighs. "I can't wait to see you all gussied up. You're going to look amazing." Not better, because it's impossible. But amazing in a different way.

“Is that the kinda ‘strong’ you wanna be? Ready to whoop ass the next time an Angel swings her wings at you?” Even without the training, he’d be Team Anna through and through. “I can do that.” Exercise comes down to simple science, and where his cooking hits its limitations, the access to top-tier private chefs can fill in. The sweets part is a different matter. If there’s one thing that he’s learned about discipline, it’s about identifying the way that it fits into an individual’s capacities and preferences. “Lotta options we can look at, to still incorporate sweets into your training regimen in a way that doesn’t make you feel deprived. Like— you know. Substitutions that don’t feel like them.”

He knows that’s not the most promising way to describe it, but he promises he’s got some ideas running around in there. Forgive him for focusing on the steps toward the flat. He takes them like he does whenever he’s alone, two at a time and with easy swiftness. Once he’s back in the safety of their entryway, he closes the door and tells her,

“It’s ‘Christopher,’ by the way.” Aiden Christopher Fitzgerald. There are very few things that he knows about his mother, but among those is her veneration of the Cross. The name and its significance— these are both details that he’s always kept to himself, in the same way that children carry memories that growing up overshadows, and how adults cling to details that life whittles away. Precious. Even now, sharing a tidbit that he's kept from all, including his employers.

"I know you'd never push me anywhere." Except for that one time when he refused to sleep, too busy stressing over player and scouting reports. But it doesn't count when Anna's only pushing him toward what his body needs— and it definitely doesn't count when she's pulling him toward the next discovery. "I'm fine with that," he nods back, putting away the last of their clothing. "—But A," he raises the phone back to that 'serious business' angle. "Promise me you won't do anything just for my sake? Take the job 'cause you want to take it." He doesn't think it's a big issue these days, but just in case. "They can't twist my arm about everything."

Tonight's party is one case of successful twisting. Compared to a couple hours earlier, however, he's feeling more optimistic.

"You got an ETA for their arrival? I'll forward you this month's guest code, in case they gotta park." He's not expecting an entire party bus full of glam, but... Well, maybe. If there's one thing he's starting to learn from the stream of boxes beginning to fill the guest room, you can never be too sure with Anna Ricci. "Can I..." He suddenly feels shy about asking. His voice softens some. "I don't wanna bother you too much about all of this, but is it all right if I still text?" And then he considers, "Can I have a safe word?" Just in case.

[seabeck]

Another comparison. It’s slightly longer and just generally denser. Man I hope I can find the skull next time!

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"