#just writing this down breaks my heart so bad

[spicyspiders]

Professor Howlett

logan howlett x male reader smut

3.7k words

cw: power imbalance (logan is the reader's professor), age difference, rimming, virginity kink, thigh fucking, size kink, and spit as lube.

“This is utterly disappointing,” Professor Howlett tosses your paper down onto his desk with a thwap. The sound makes you jump, but you quickly steel yourself before he can look up and see how your calm expression is beginning to break.

You have to clear your throat before responding, though it does little to stop the lump you feel forming in your throat, ”I tried my best, professor,” you respond, keeping your eyes locked on the paper littered with red pen marks.

“Did you?” Professor Howlett questions angrily, making you jump once more at the tone, “because this sure as hell doesn’t read like it!”

“Professor, I-” you try to explain, but he cuts you off. 

“The first paper you wrote got the highest grade in the class, and then you go on to write this?” He asks, waving the red pen he used to mark up your paper angrily in the air as he speaks. If you weren’t biting your lip hard enough that at any second you thought it would bleed, you would laugh at the display. 

He looked at you expectantly, and with how angry he looked, you didn’t think any explanation that you could give would be enough. You had to try and do so anyway, knowing the sooner you spoke, the sooner you could leave his office and contemplate dropping his class or dropping out of college in general. 

You suck in a shaky breath before you respond, “I’m sorry, professor,” and when his angry expression doesn’t falter, you continue, “I knew I didn’t give myself enough time and knew I just had to take the hit to my grade and do better on the next paper.”

The man in front of you lets out a bitter laugh, “so you waste my time?”

“That wasn’t my intention, sir,” you respond, slouching down into the chair, trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You look up at the man across from you after a few moments of awkward silence, meeting his eyes as you try to calm your racing heart. 

He lets out a long sigh before he speaks again, “I must have set my expectations for the rest of your assignments too high,” he passes the paper across the desk until it sets in front of you, “I apologize.”

You can feel anger welling up in your body at his words. It was one bad assignment, it’s not like you were now some lost cause. “I can still write a paper just as good as the first one,” you snap before snatching the paper off the desk. “I told you,” you huff, angrily unzipping your book backpack to put the paper inside, “I didn’t give myself enough time, which won’t happen again,” you stand up in a flash, the chair shooting out from behind you fast enough you’re surprised it didn’t tip over, “I apologize, professor.”

“Hey hey hey,” Logan says, racing around the desk to grab your shoulder. He turns you around slowly from where you were about to stop out of his office and slam the door behind you, “I don’t want this to impact your grade.”

”It already is,” you spit, not angry at him, but angry at yourself. You remember getting the notification this morning that your professor had posted the grade, the number immediately turning your mood sour. 

“It’s okay,” Professor Howlett says, running a soothing hand down your shoulder, “I’ll give you a week to rewrite the paper and give you full credit back.”

“I’m not rewriting the paper,” you say with a bitter laugh that sounds a lot like Professor Howlett’s did earlier. 

“I know you can do better than this,” Professor Howlett responds, crossing his arms along his broad chest. 

“As you’ve already said,” you say, rolling your eyes, “I’m not writing an extra paper,” too tired to even think after you stayed up all night bullshitting the paper you had turned into Professor Howlett, you put the decision in his hands: “so what do you want to do, professor?” You ask tiredly.

You stare into Professor Howlett’s eyes, waiting for the man to make his decision. He looks back at you, observing you closely with his dark eyes. You are on the edge of feeling uncomfortable by the time he’s made up his mind, a look that you’re unable to pinpoint settling over his face. 

“Take off your bag and put it in the chair,” he commands, the lone tone of his voice making you shiver. 

“Okay,” you respond shakily, now back in front of him with your bag resting in the chair, “now wh-”

Your back collides with the door, and then a second later, his lips collide with yours. You gasp in surprise against his mouth and feel his tongue enter the opening, the appendage sliding wetly against yours. 

Too caught off guard to respond to the kiss, Logan moans against your unresponsive lips, one of his hands going to your chin to angle your head so his tongue can move deeper. His other hand you can hear beside you fiddling with the lock, and when the knob finally clicks, you can barely hear it over the sound of Professor Howlett’s breathing after he pulls away from the kiss. 

“Professor-” you begin, placing your hands on his broad shoulders, your mind too confused on whether you should push him away or pull him closer. You’ve already crossed the line you never thought you would cross. Sure, you had your fantasies dating back to the first day you walked into class, but you thought those would just stay in your head, only coming out in breaths of the professor’s name when your mind would wonder when you touched yourself.

“Logan.”

“Logan,” you correct yourself, trying to bite back a moan when Professor- Logan pushes his thigh between your legs, “I don’t think-”

He cuts you off with yet another kiss, but this time, you crane your neck to pull away from the kiss, trying your hardest to ignore the weight of your cock chubbing up in your pants. 

The second kiss ending abruptly does nothing to discourage Logan, instead, it gives his lips a new area to map out. “You drive me insane,” Logan moans against the column of your neck, his stubble digging into the sensitive skin. “So smart,” he says kissing down until he reaches the collar of your shirt, “so beautiful,” he whispers, moving to press his forehead to yours, “yet you barely talk in class,” he says, pressing his lips to yours once more, but this one much softer than the last. 

There wasn’t a participation grade outlined in the syllabus for Logan’s class like it was for some of your other professors, meaning you weren’t going to talk if you didn’t have to. Sometimes you did, feeling bad when he would ask a question and no one would respond immediately, hating the awkward silence. And now that you think about it, those were usually the nights your mind would think of him while your fingers were wrapped around your cock. Good job or good answer Logan would say, the praise lighting a coil of pleasure deep in your belly. 

“It’s only for me to see, is it?” Logan asks, his hands moving to hold your hips possessively, “only I get to see how smart you are,” he says in a low, gravelly voice, seemingly answering his own question. His lips go to the racing pulse point on the side of your neck, his teeth sinking into the skin. 

The bite burns, making your mouth fall open with a whimper, the sound a mix of pain and pleasure. Logan’s hot tongue runs over the mark, trying to soothe the pain with warmth. You give way to the feeling, letting your head fall back onto the wooden door, giving Logan more room to work. 

You bury a hand in his dark hair, running your fingers through the dark locks. Logan pulls away at the feel of your fingers in his hair, his eyes now darker than they once were, his pupils dilated in lust. You stare at each other once more before, taking in Logan’s already disheveled appearance with his dark eyes, messy hair, and crooked tie.       

You respond to the next kiss Logan initiates. It’s softer than you expect, at least, it is at the start. It begins to heat up when you tighten the hand in Logan’s hair to change the angle. You both moan when your tongues meet once more, spit mixing together. 

Logan wraps an arm around your lower back so you can stumble your way to the couch that sits against one of the walls of his office. Your lips break for air when you feel the back of your legs meet the cushions, your chest heaving as you suck in lungfuls of air.

Logan pushes you down onto the couch before one of his hands yanks at his tie, pulling it through the neckline of his sweater, and then he throws the garment away as if it has offended him.  Next comes the black sweater, leaving him with dark slacks and a button-up shirt. 

You feel your cock throb in your pants as you watch Logan lower himself onto his knees. He pushes his way between your legs, his hands going to your hips to get your pants down in a pool between your ankles. 

Your breath comes out in a stutter when Logan leans down, his nose coming into contact with the bulge in your underwear. He runs his nose along the length of your cock, then his tongue runs along the same path, paying extra attention to the wet spot on the cloth that rests over the head of your cock.

You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your moan when Logan gets your underwear out of the way and swallows your cock. Logan takes it deep enough for you to feel, the hot, wet, constriction of his throat, his hand finding balance on your thighs. 

Logan’s breath puffs wetly against the head of your cock when he pulls away, his spit hardly having the chance to cool and dry as Logan runs his tongue up the length of your cock. He doesn’t take it as deep when he sucks it back inside his mouth, instead, he focuses on the suction. The hot suction of his mouth pulls a glob of precum from the head of your cock onto Logan’s tongue, the older man groaning at the taste.

The vibration through your cock makes your hips jump, sending your cock back deep into Logan’s throat. The movement catches Logan off guard, causing the man to gag around your cock, his throat convulsing wetly around the hard length of your cock. 

You pull the hand over your mouth and put it into Logan’s hair, trying to run your fingers through the strands soothingly. “Sorry,” you gasp, swiping your thumb under Logan’s eyes to wipe away the tears that fell. 

Logan surges up to pull you into a wet, messy kiss. His tongue is immediately in your mouth, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“M’sorry,” you repeat. 

Logan chuckles softly, “it’s okay, baby,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses on your cheeks.

Your stomach tightens at the pet name, affection coursing through your body. You place your hands on Logan’s belt buckle, already knowing how much you’re going to struggle trying to get his pants undone and out of the way. 

It takes you longer than you want to get his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned, and Logan doesn’t make it any easier when he presses, chaste, soft kisses to your mouth. Once open, Logan stands to get his pants down and off, the large bulge of his cock trapped behind his underwear. 

Just the sight of the bulge has you feeling intimidated, while at the same time making your mouth water. Anticipation joins the mix of lust and intimidation in your gut, which all combine into a feeling of pleasure that has your cock throbbing in the air. 

You place your hands on his waistband, Logan’s hands coming to rest atop yours a second later. With Logan’s help, you push his underwear down slowly, watching second by second as his cock is revealed to you.   

Your fantasies did not measure the actual size of his cock in all of its long and thick glory. It hangs heavy in front of your face, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip. Past the length of Logan’s cock, his balls hang heavy and full. This up close, you can also smell his musk: heady and all Logan.

A broad palm cupping your cheek draws your attention away, turning it instead to Logan’s face. A wave of heat washes over your body when you realize that in the moments where you were taking in the appearance of Logan’s cock, the man had pulled the rest of his clothes off. The button-up now lays in the pile with the rest of his clothes, giving you a full view of his broad, muscular chest. 

“I’ve never seen you so distracted,” Logan says with a smirk, his thumb running along your cheekbone. 

“What?” You question back, your voice breathy. 

Logan’s smirk broadens into a full smile, “I asked if you wanted to take that off.”

At a loss for words, you can barely think of a response, “oh,” you decide. 

Logan chuckles softly, his other hand running along the slit of his cock. When he pulls it away, a strand of precum follows the pad of his finger. Logan pushes his finger past your lips, still open in the shape of the soft oh you just let out. 

You suck at his finger when it touches your tongue, the salty taste lighting up your tastebuds. You hear Logan groan when you suck harder, wanting to get to the flavor underneath and see what Logan himself tastes like. 

Logan’s finger comes free with a slick pop, “let’s get the rest of this off,” he says. 

You only had your shirt and shoes to get off, and what should have been an easy, less than a minute process, felt like a lifetime. Logan tenderly pulled your shoes and socks off, one and then the other. Your shirt was next, coming off slowly with two broad palms sneaking up your shirt. Logan’s lips followed the path his hands made, all the way up to your lips that he kissed after your shirt was tossed away. 

Logan got back into the familiar position he was just in, but instead of sucking your cock, his mouth went lower. He bit into the meat of your thighs, and though you couldn’t see the one on your neck, you were sure that it matched the new ones he was making. 

“Roll over,” Logan commands, pressing a kiss to the mark he just made on your left thigh. Logan maneuvers your body into the position he wants, leaving your body pressed to the front of the couch, and your feet hanging over the cushions in front of Logan.

You press your forehead into the wall in front of you, feeling the puffs of Logan’s breath along your back, “do you have lube?” He asks in a low voice, his lips running across your skin. 

“No,” you reply, your body tense as you try not to shake in anticipation. 

“Fuck,” Logan breathes, his head coming to rest against your shoulder, “that’s okay,” he says, and you feel your body relax, “I can get you wet enough,” With how big his cock was, you doubt it, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

Logan’s first step to getting you to be what he says is wet enough is with his tongue. He starts with soft swipes of his tongue, letting you get accustomed to it. It wasn’t like it was hard, especially with the combination of the rough stubble on his face, which only added to the pleasure. 

The next step is spit, which, really you could say goes with the first. You already feel as if there’s enough of it already there from Logan’s tongue, a large extent due to when Logan kept pushing his tongue as far as it could go. It left you clenching down on the wet muscle, clawing your fingers into the couch as it massaged your walls. 

Logan didn’t let up and moved to spit a glob of spit onto your hole when it relaxed after pulling his tongue free. Caught off guard, you jerked forward, your cock coming into contact with the cushion of the couch. The friction had you gritting your teeth trying to stay quiet, hoping that because it was nearly five in the afternoon on Friday, most of the people in the building were already gone. 

Logan was quick to press the spit into your hole with a thick finger, all the way down until you were clenching down on all of it. “There we go,” Logan whispers from behind you, the wet heat of his breath on your shoulder. 

You turn your neck to face him, gasping into the kiss he presses to your lips. Logan swallows the moan that’s punched from your chest when his finger finds your prostate, the older man groaning as you clench down on his finger. 

Logan pulls away from the kiss at the same time his finger is pulled free. You feel the couch shift as Logan moves, the man making his way back down face-to-face with your hole. You’re proud of yourself for not jumping as hard when Logan spits on your hole a second time, the glob going deeper than the first after opening your hole just with one finger.    

“Does it burn, baby?” Logan asks, now that he’s using two fingers to chase after the spit instead of one.

”A little,” you whine around the burn as he scissors them apart. Almost like Logan can read your mind, he brushes his fingers along your prostate when the burn feels like it’s becoming too much. You feel precum leak from your cock, staining the upholstery. 

”That’s normal for your first time,” Logan says, pressing kisses along the shell of your ear. 

”I’ve done this before,” you respond, pushing back into Logan’s fingers. 

”Someone’s fucked you?” Logan asks, his arm coming to wrap around your stomach, right above your hard cock.

”Just my fingers,” you respond quietly. 

“How many?” Logan asks, his fingers coming to a stop. 

“Four,” you grit out, clenching down on his fingers like you’re wordlessly trying to get him to continue. 

Logan lets out a dark chuckle. He lays his hand on top of yours, his big hand bigger than your own. He stretches his fingers out, showing you how they compare in size. “That’s nearly your whole fist,” he says, his fingers starting to move again. 

“Need more,” you whine, clenching down on his fingers. 

“Shh,” Logan coos, “I know,” he lets out a warm breath at the back of your neck, “I can’t fuck you,” he says, pulling his fingers free slowly, “not like this.”

”Please,” you whine, louder than the one before. 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he responds, pressing soft kisses to the back of your neck. You feel his weight on the couch shift once more as he spreads your thighs apart. It’s a tight squeeze trying to fit the both of you on the couch, but Logan makes it work. 

He pushes his cock between your thighs, right below your balls, already tight against your cock. He grips your hips tightly before he begins thrusting, only taking a few jerks of his hips before you push your thighs together around his cock. 

The sound of Logan’s groan behind you travels from his chest to your back, letting you feel how good you’re making him feel. ”Does that mean I was the first?” He asks, one of his hands moving to wrap around your cock. 

“What?” You asked, confused, your mind cloudy from the pleasure. 

“Am I the first to touch you like this?” Logan questions, his voice a low growl. His fingers are slick around your cock, gliding along the length. 

You nod quickly, too close to the edge and overtaken with pleasure to even say a single word. You cum to the feel of Logan’s hand around your cock, his teeth biting possessively into the skin of your shoulder, and his cock nudging your balls. Ropes of cum shoot from your cock, staining the couch in his office. You probably won’t be able to look at couches ever the same again. 

Logan’s hand shoots up to your mouth, covering your lips as you moan, overtaken by the pleasure of your orgasm. You rest against his palm, falling forward while at the same time tightening the slick valley of your thighs.

Logan muffles his moan in the crook of your sweaty neck when he cums. It nearly burns, making a bigger mess in your thighs and on the couch. 

In a blur, Logan gets you onto his chest, his back now resting on the couch, “you okay?” He questions, his hand running softly along the sweaty expanse of your back. 

“I don’t think I can move,” you respond, still riding the high of probably one of the best orgasms you’ve had. 

Logan laughs loud enough that your head shakes against his chest. Moments later, when you’re nearly lulled to sleep by the ticking of the clock in his office, Logan speaks, “I’m sorry for getting so frustrated with you,” he says softly. 

“What do you mean?” You question, craning your head to look up at the man.

“I see how smart you are,” he answers, his voice a low rumble, “it made me frustrated to see you not working up to your potential.”

“I said I was sorry,” you immediately respond, not sure if you should pout or roll your eyes.   

“I know, baby,” he says with a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling, ���I know,” he leans down to press your lips together softly, “I just wanted to explain myself.”

This time you did roll your eyes, too fucked-out to try and control your expression, “I’ll write a better paper next time,” you grumble, moving to lay your head down once more over his chest.  

[scented-morker]

Skz when their overworked idol!gf faints

thank you to the anon that requested this!! it is LONG and idk why I gave so much backstory for all of them, but yolo! 2.3k words, fainting and overworking, a couple mentions of weight loss, worried and stressed skz. I fear this qualifies as angst

Chan

He's plenty familiar with the signs of being overworked

He's been trying to support you in any way possible, sending you meals to the company building and convincing you to get rest

You feel bad about giving the food away to your members and texting him goodnight while still working, but you're just too much of a perfectionist

He's excited to be on music bank at the same time as you because he's been having girlfriend withdrawals bc of how busy you were

So so happy watching you and your group rehearse, fawning over your oversized hoodie and little dance moves

But right as the dance break ends he sees you go down

Is nervous that you tripped, but he's sure you'll get back up fine and he'll just kiss your boo boos later

But then you don't get up, and he sees your members start yelling for help

When he realizes you passed out 🙃

Screw being secretive, he's jumping up onto the stage, taking his hoodie off and using it to prop your head up, interrogating all of your members about the last time you ate and your sleep schedule

He tells your manager that under no circumstances are you performing anytime soon

You're stuck laying in the green room with doctors surrounding you until the show is over and then instead of being sent home, Chan is taking you himself

You WILL BE TAKEN CARE OF, and that is a threat

Spends the next week fawning over you, cooking you meals and cuddling you half to death

"You scared me, angel. Let me take care of you now."

Minho

When I tell you he's pissed

He was so excited when you told him about your multiple stages for the golden disk awards

Until you're at three rehearsals a day along with fittings, photo shoots, and appearances

He loves that you're booked and busy, but not THAT BOOKED

He wakes up to your goodnight and good morning texts only hours apart and he cant think of the last time you were home for dinner

He's sent multiple paragraphs to your manager and emailed your company, to no response

He keeps telling himself he just has to make it through the award show and then everything will calm down

However, the lights going down at the end of your stage aren't dark enough to hide you fainting half way off the stage, and he doesn't even notice when he jumps to his feet

He gets yelled at to sit back down, and he only does so in order to grab his phone and call your manager ten times until they pick up

"Oh my gosh she's fine, stop calling."

"She just fainted on stage. She's not fine. Where are you?"

They don't want to tell him, but he pries the information out of them and soon he's tearing off backstage to find you

He kicks everyone out, and he looks so scary that they actually listen

"I'm sorry," your voice sounds so small, still weak from fainting and worried that he's mad at you

But he just shushes you, sitting down on the couch you're stretched out on and pulling you into him

"It's ok baby. You did so good. My strong girl. Just rest."

You sigh into the crook of his neck and he holds you backstage for the rest of the show, idol image be damned

Changbin

HIS BABY IS MAKING HER SOLO DEBUT

He could not be happier or prouder if he tried

He knows it's a lot of work, especially since you're producing and writing all of the songs yourself

He tells himself that he's overreacting, it's normal to see less of you when you're working on such a big project

But you always feed him with updates and stories about your day

So when he hasn't heard from you in three whole days, he's showing up at your stage rehearsal

He doesn't care what anyone says, he needs to physically see you or he's going to have a heart attack

He's relieved when you walk on stage, because at least you're alive

But it doesn't take very long for him to notice the dark bags under your eyes or the way your hand is shaking around your microphone

The second you hit the ground he's running

A background dancer carries you off stage, and they barely hit the curtain before he's snatching you out of their grasp

He walks with you so gently, sitting down on a couch and cradling you while the nurse takes your vitals

He's the first thing you see when you open your eyes and it squashes all of the fear that had filled your gut about what just happened

"Hi doll." He coos, and you give him a tiny smile

"I missed you"

Once you're cleared he's ordering takeout to his dorm and taking you home

Your performance is postponed because Changbin still hasn't put you down a week later

Hyunjin

He knows how excited you were to be going on tour for the first time, and that reminder has been the only thing getting him through

Every time you're meant to come home your company adds another night or a new leg, and Hyunjin is SICK OF IT

Poor guy has not seen his girlfriend in OVER A MONTH

He loves you so much that he watches clips of every show and performance

And he knows you so well that he notices the hollowness of your cheeks and the way you've started to struggle to keep up your energy on stage

Buys a ticket right then and there to your next show, not trusting anyone else to take care of you

He's standing in the wings as you and your group finish your first set of songs, rushing off stage to change outfits

He legit screams when you go down, and if the fans didn't notice before they definitely did after that

One of your members picks you up and soon there's a flurry of people running around trying to make sure you're ok

The other girls are shooed away to go change, with a manager insisting "the show must go on"

Hyunjin sends the man what is quite possibly the dirtiest look to ever exist

When you come to, your boyfriend is holding onto you for dear life, fighting away any staff member that tries to talk to you or coax you back onto the stage

He takes you back to your changing room and locks the door, feeding you small bites like a child and stroking a hand through your hair

"Don't worry about them, be here now. I got you."

Jisung

He's shocked when you casually mention news of your comeback at lunch together one day

"Aren't you not even done with this promotion yet? How are you already having another comeback?"

You shrug, saying something about your brother group not doing very well revenue wise and your boss wanting to take advantage of your groups current success

Jisung frowns at that, but decides to keep it to himself, surely as your companies main money maker you'll be well taken care of

But then you don't come home after your music bank performance because you have to run to a dance rehearsal

And then you have to cancel date night to re-record an entire song

Jisung shows up at the first sound check for your new comeback, and you happily give him a kiss before heading onto stage with your group

He frowns, worried about how small you felt in his arms and how weak your hold on his hand was

He sees you teeter once, accidentally bumping into another member before fully crashing onto the stage

He feels like he can't breathe watching the girls try to get you up and responsive

Your fans are screaming and there's a paramedic running over

He's holding onto your hand the entire time your vitals are being taken, tears streaming down his face

Once you're cleared he's wrapping you in a blanket and holding onto you like you're made of glass

When you wake up he's promising to never ever let you out of his sight again

"We're becoming a duo. You're never allowed to scare me like that again."

Felix

He is worlds proudest boyfriend

He gets to watch HIS GIRL perform onstage AT COACHELLA

He'd spent the day with you, taking pictures of your festival outfit and reapplying your sunscreen to try and keep you safe while in the middle of the literal desert

You'd kissed him goodbye three hours before your stage was scheduled for, needing time to get ready and have some extra rehearsal time

He isn't sure why considering you'd had rehearsal every day this week while also making interview appearances and flying to different locations in between instead of sleeping

He's trying his best not to worry, but your eyes are looking hollowed and he isn't sure the last time you slept in an actual bed instead of a plan seat

It makes him sad to see you unable to give your best energy during the performance, though you even at 50% was still the most exciting performance of the day

He plans on being backstage when you exit after at least two more encores, but you apologize for no encore tonight and are only halfway off the stage when you go down

Let's out the worlds biggest gasp

He follows right behind the paramedic that carries you off the stage and into the back, refusing to be more than a foot away from you at all times

He calls and cancels the rest of your appearances himself, insisting that you need to be resting

You do not escape his hold or your bed for the next two days

"Just let me take care of you! You deserve some princess treatment right now."

Seungmin

He's so so excited that you're also at lalapalooza bc that means you guys can spend time together even tho you're working!!

You're even an mc, so he gets to stare at you on the screen backstage, which just so happens to be his favorite hobby

He wasn't expecting your group to actually perform considering you'd just finished the Japanese leg of your tour and had been performing every night for the last few weeks

But he sees your stage listed on that days performance list, and he frowns thinking about it

He'd made you tea last night after you'd showed up to his hotel room on the verge of losing your voice, and you were so tense when you laid down that he'd rubbed your back for almost an hour with no difference

"Are you sure you should be performing?" He asks as soon as he enters your changing room

"No, but it's just one more stage and then I get to rot in bed for a while. So I'll be okay."

He still doesn't like it, and he shakes his head but gives you a hug anyways, rubbing a soothing hand down your arm

"You better."

He's so stressed he can't stay in the boys waiting room and he stands under the stage as he watches the lift take you and your group up

He catches a glimpse of your performance from the monitor to his left, and he barely breathes until you're taking your last bows

It isn't until the stage starts moving to bring you back down that he sees you wobble uncertainly before falling onto the ground

All of your members jump in surprise, but they don't even have time to react before he's jumping up with them, the lift not even fully on the ground yet

He picks you up and lays you down on one of the spare blankets backstage, propping your head up against his torso while the rest of your body lays between his legs

His thumb rubs your cheek while the medical team checks you out, clearing you when you become responsive

You blink up at him slowly, eyes shiny from unshed tears

"I guess I was wrong."

He sighs, letting you bury yourself into his chest

"That's okay, I've got you now."

Jeongin

End of the year award shows were no joke, and Jeongin knew you were working hard for your performances

Your group had just finished promoting your last album when the never ending flood of award shows started, and he'd found you knocked out asleep in the most random places the past couple weeks

He hated that your group had such loud antis, because he knew how much pressure you were under to prove yourself

You'd told him about the strenuous dancing you were doing, learning borderline acrobatic tricks while conditioning like you were trainees all over again

He'd done his best to remind you to rest and slip protein bars into every bag you owned, but he knew you were past exhausted

He momentarily forgot his worrying when you were performing, and he let out cheers and danced with the rest of his group while you and your members put on an incredibly challenging performance

But all of the fun was drained out of the air when he saw you go down on stage as soon as the camera zoomed in on your maknae's ending fairy

The lights drop, and Jeongin whips his head around in every direction, trying to think of anything he can do to help

Hyunjin asks him to “go to the bathroom” with him as soon as you’re offstage, and that’s all the clearance Jeongin needs to go running backstage

You’re already awake when he finds you, small tears slipping down your face while you nurse on a water bottle

You can’t even say hi before he’s practically tackling you, pulling you so close that you can feel his own heartbeat in your chest

“Are you okay? Oh my gosh you scared me. Don’t ever do that again.”

Your members leave the two of you be while Jeongin clings to you, refusing to let you go for hours, constantly brushing his hands against your heartbeat

[crocodile-tears-and-a-dream]

excuses..

summary: the two of you stopped at an inn after a long night of travel, but there was only one room..

pairing: geralt of rivia x gn!reader

warnings: they're stupid, fluff

word count: 1.6k

a/n: i haven't written anything that's not a crack fic or a screenplay in ages. this is my attempt at fixing my bad writing, any constructive feedback is welcome!

it was stupid, borderline pathetic, how the two of you tried to find any reasoning at all that cold winter night.

you and geralt had been traveling for quite some time trying to get to the famous kaer morhen. he needed to gather more elixirs and supplies for future battles and monsters, but the weather became too harsh to keep going up the mountains. tonight seemed particularly frigid, so you both decided to stop at an inn rather than camping outside like usual.

as you walked in, the warmth from the fireplace consumed the small space of the room, a stark contrast from the conditions you came from. a frail-looking old man sat at the counter bored, instantly sitting up as he watched geralt’s large form stomp through the quaint lodge. you followed closely behind as he made his way to the reception desk.

“we need two rooms.” the white wolf grunted tossing a bag of coins on the counter. (haha.. I'm not funny)

“yes of course,” the old man says snapping out of his stupor. he flipped through his log book and lets out a sigh. “unfortunately we only have one room left”

“we’ll take it”

you weren't given much of an option and the innkeeper had already handed you the key. it's not like you were disappointed though. you had developed quite the attraction for the silvered-haired witcher during your travels together. you would never admit it out loud, but the longing gazes and lingering touches the two of you often shared meant something more. at least to you it did.

it was a silent walk up to the room. neither of you knew what the other was thinking, but maybe that was for the better. it was selfish the way you hoped there would be an excuse to hold him close as the night grew colder.

the door creaked open and your heart sunk a little as you took in your surroundings. the room was beautiful, yes. the nicest thing you had stayed in for months but, there was one problem.

there were two beds.

geralt, oblivious to your internal conflict, stepped further into the room and dropped his belongings onto the bed nearest the window. the soft creak of the mattress, as he sat down, snapped you out of your thoughts, and you busied yourself by removing your cloak, shaking off the snow that clung to the edges.

“we should get some rest,” he said, his deep voice breaking the silence. “the snow will calm by morning, and we’ll need to leave early.”

you nodded, avoiding his gaze as you placed your things on the other bed. the room was quiet except for the sound of the wind howling outside and the faint crackle of a small hearth in the corner. the heat was soothing, but it did little to calm the restless energy swirling within you.

as geralt began to undo his armor, his movements slow and deliberate, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. the firelight danced across the sharp lines of his face and body, casting shadows that only made him seem more otherworldly. he caught you staring, and for a moment, his golden eyes met yours.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his tone softer than usual. never in a million years could you have imagined a time where geralt spoke more than you. i guess there's a first time for everything you thought to yourself

“i’m just tired,” you lied, forcing a small smile.

he nodded but didn’t look away, as if he was trying to read something hidden in your expression. the weight of his gaze made your heart race, and you quickly turned back to your belongings, fumbling with your pack.

“get some sleep,” he said finally, his voice low but gentle. “we’ve got a long day of travel tomorrow.”

you nodded again, slipping under the blankets of your bed and turning your back to him. but as you stared at the wall, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was just as restless as you.

a couple of hours passed, and the two of you drifted into a deep slumber. your dreams took you to familiar places—snow-covered trails, battles against monsters, and the quiet moments by the campfire when words weren’t needed. but more than anything, you dreamed of him. his sun kissed eyes, his rare smiles, and his strong presence always keeping you safe.

then the dream shifted. the warmth of the campfire turned into an oppressive heat, the orange glow becoming flames roaring at the edges of your vision. your heart raced as the bed beneath you ignited, the fire consuming the blankets and wood. the panic felt so real, and you jolted awake, gasping for breath.

except it wasn’t just a dream.

flames flickered at the edge of your bed, small but growing, their heat unmistakable. you scrambled out of bed, the pounding of your heart echoing in your ears. the realization hit you like a cold slap: you had caused this. your magic, tied so deeply to your emotions, had manifested the fire from your nightmare.

“geralt!” you called instinctively, but you didn’t wait for him to wake. your hands moved on their own, summoning a stream of water from thin air. the magic poured from your fingertips, dousing the flames before they could spread further. steam rose in a hiss, and the smell of scorched fabric lingered in the air.

geralt sat up abruptly, his sword already in hand, instincts sharp even in the haze of sleep. his eyes darted around the room before settling on you, still standing with trembling hands and remnants of magic fading from your fingertips.

“what happened?” he asked, his voice low but alert, eyes narrowing in concern.

“i—i had a nightmare,” you stammered, your voice shaky. “and I... i think my magic got out of control.”

he stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides clearing some of the smoke with his arms along the way. his gaze flickered between you and the damp, charred edge of the bed, realizing the situation.

“are you hurt?” he asked, his tone softening as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

you shook your head, swallowing hard. “no. i’m fine. i put it out before it got worse.”

he studied you for a moment, his hand lingering as if to steady you. “you should’ve woken me,” he said finally, his voice calm but firm. “fire magic is dangerous if you’re not careful.”

“i didn’t mean to,” you whispered, guilt creeping into your voice.

“i know,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder before he stepped back. “but you handled it well.”

he looked at the scorched bed and then back at you. “you need rest. take mine.”

“what about you?” you asked, still shaken.

“i’ll manage,” he said simply, dragging a chair toward the hearth and settling into it, his sword resting across his lap. “just... sleep. i’ll keep watch.”

you hesitated, the weight of his gaze grounding you. slowly, you nodded and climbed into his bed, the lingering warmth of his presence oddly comforting. his scent lingered on the pillow and you found yourself wanting more.

"wait-" you called, your voice wavering slightly as you sat up in bed, unsure of the words you were about to say.

geralt looked up at you, his honey-dripped eyes still sharp but softer in the dim light. he waited, allowing you to speak, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

"you're going to be tired tomorrow if you don't rest now..." you hesitated for a moment, but the quiet need gnawing at you grew stronger. "we can share the bed, i don’t mind."

you could feel the tension between you two, both of you trying to navigate the line between comfort and something more. geralt's gaze flickered to the bed, and for a moment, you saw a flash of hesitance cross his face. but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that familiar stoicism.

“are you sure?” he asked quietly, his voice low and careful, like he was weighing the words carefully.

you nodded, not trusting yourself to speak again. you didn't need to, though; your eyes, pleading and vulnerable, said enough. there was no turning back now.

geralt gave a soft grunt of acknowledgment, settling back slightly as you climbed into the bed next to him. his body remained rigid, keeping a respectable distance, but the air between you was charged with something unspoken. neither of you said anything, but the shared warmth in the bed was all that mattered. you could feel his presence beside you, close enough to touch, but not quite allowing it. as you lay there, facing your back to him, your heart raced with the knowledge that, despite the stillness of the night, something had shifted.

before long, the warmth and the sound of his breathing lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep. the tension in your body melted away, and the darkness of slumber took over.

but geralt stayed awake a while longer, his gaze never leaving your form. he couldn't help but watch, the softness in his expression betraying his usual guarded demeanor. as the hours passed, something inside him shifted, a quiet longing he’d tried to ignore.

slowly, he moved, as though pulled by some invisible force. he gently shifted closer, his arm slipping around you instinctively. his body molded to yours, and without a second thought, he held you close, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield.

the movement was so subtle, you barely registered it in your sleep. but your body, so attuned to his presence, naturally relaxed against him. his heart beat steadily behind you, his grip possessive but not tight, just enough to keep you there, pressed perfectly against his chest.

and maybe- just maybe, you would never find out that it was him who set your bed ablaze finding it the simplest excuse, in his mind, to hold you close.

[veephoenix]

track by track series | n.s. one shot

A quick something I wrote as a tiny wave of inspo kicked in while I was staring at those new pictures in the studio. No trigger warnings. Just fluff and an implied sexual scenario at the end. I might give it a title later. | Words: 700aprox. | I'll probably turn this into a series comprised of random scenes that take place in the studio. You can read the last song as a previous part to his.

There’s something about the silence in the studio once it empties out—when the boys abandon their instruments, the machinery, and the space sinks into an almost sepulchral quiet, where the musical notes that had been filling the air just minutes earlier are relegated to a nonexistent plane.

As much as I love being there to offer them my support and watching them strive minute after minute to achieve that near-perfection they’ll showcase in front of thousands of people hours later, there’s nothing like finding yourself standing in the middle of an empty studio.

The remaining daylight still filters through the tall windows, and the human warmth of the team lingers between the stone walls. If I try hard enough, I can visualize the boys there, each in the position they’ve been in all morning. I can see Noah in the center, behind the stand, holding his mic, his lips brushing the casing in almost the same way they brush against my skin when he kisses me and we make love.

I don’t realize I’m smiling. I glance over my shoulder to make sure I’m alone, and once I confirm it, I drop my backpack onto the floor, over the Persian rug, take off my shoes, and sit cross-legged. From my bag, I pull out a notebook and a pen. I lift my gaze once toward the view outside the windows, and a moment later, I’m writing words onto the paper, drawing lines, creating something like poetry that Jolly will probably tweak and turn into the lyrics of a song.

I suppose at this point, some might be wondering where I am while they gather in the hotel lobby deciding where to go for dinner. I’m far from there, both physically and mentally. Minutes slip away, and so do the hours.

By the time the light turns golden, signaling the sunset, I’m lying on my stomach on the rug, my socked feet in the air, brushing against each other as I continue writing and nibbling on my lip, searching for the most fitting word to end this poem—if you can call it that.

When the air shifts, I don’t notice because I’m so absorbed in my own world and the warmth of the studio, though I should have recognized that familiar sensation—that feeling that tells me my favorite human is occupying the same space as me.

I don’t notice his footsteps as he approaches because he’s careful not to break my moment, and because he wants to surprise me—which inevitably means that once he’s within reach, he can’t resist the urge to touch me and he'll break my momentum. His hands catch one of my ankles in the air, making my heart leap in my chest, and when I look over my shoulder, my eyes meet his, and suddenly, I’m grinning like an idiot.

Noah pulls off my sock, and an instant later, he’s leaning down to kiss the inside of my ankle. I scrunch my nose.

“Don’t do that,” I say, feeling coy. “I walked here from the hotel. I need a shower.”

Noah releases my ankle and straightens up, raising his eyebrows. “What do you mean? Are you saying your feet smell bad? Because all I smell here is Thai food.”

For a moment, I don’t get the joke. Then Noah wiggles his eyebrows suggestively toward a sturdy wooden desk behind him. There are a couple of paper bags.

This time, it’s my eyebrows that shoot up as my eyes widen.

“I thought we could have dinner here,” Noah announces, glancing quickly at the food and then shrugging, still watching me as I remain lying on the floor. “Just you and me.”

It’s things like this that make me love him so much.

And the only way I know how to show him this love is by accepting what he offers me—his food and his care.

I hurriedly gather my things while Noah pulls containers out of the bag and hands me a plate of pad thai, still warm and smelling of lemongrass and other spices I can’t identify. Noah sits in front of me, also cross-legged, and together we devour the food, practically in silence.

After a while, my hands find their way to his body, because there’s not a single day I can spend too much time in his presence without touching him, without feeling the brush of his skin against mine.

I value the time I spend alone creating art, but there is no masterpiece more wonderful than him and the way he loves me.

[windvexer]

Hey chicken, I got hold of a pdf of scott cunningham " earth power" and "earth air fire and water " and something that confuses me in some spells is the method used relating to the goal. For example:

In one to help break bad habits, it says to write this bad habit in a a leaf, take it to a tree and bury close to the roots. Then put an offering for the tree in the same hole, cover it up and pour some water on the spot

But couldn't this action of burying and watering, be seen as "planting" the bad habit? And if you are planting it would grow...

Another one is for love/relationship, where with a burned stick you draw two hearts interwined in a piece of paper, visualizing a satisfying relationship and then put some rose petals in the paper, fold it and burn it in a candle or fire.

He describes that as it burns the power is released

But it makes me think that burning your wish in the paper would have an opposite effect, like destroying the wish

Idk. What do you thinks of those "mechanics" of spells? Am I overthinking?

Hi! I've never read those books and I'm not a Wiccan.

So I can only comment from my own perspective, which may be the incorrect perspective to accurately interpret what Cunningham is saying.

You are not over-thinking; you have stumbled onto a very important aspect of sorcery and one that is good to think about.

How is it that sometimes, a box is used to trap and bind energies, but at other times a box can be used to coalesce and radiate helpful energies?

How is it that a candle can both open portals and close portals? How can a candle both be banishing of spirits, and an offering to spirits?

How can burying something in the earth not only be destructive or even an aspect of curses, but also be a technique of prosperity and growth?

The reality is that burying something isn't magic and it doesn't do anything. Lighting a candle isn't magic and doesn't do anything.

"Doing magic" is not taking a leaf and writing things on it and burying it. A mundane person can do these things in a mundane way and no magic will occur.

Nothing is automatically happening; burying something neither automatically causes an act of banishing, nor an act of conjuring.

As the practitioner, it is you yourself who determines what happens. This is the vital and inexorable power of 'setting intent.'

The tree does not decide what happens to your habits leaf. The earth does not decide what happens to your habits leaf. YOU decide what happens to it.

No, it isn't strictly true that burying things is always an action of generative planting. A very popular form of cursing is to turn an apple into someone and then bury them to rot. But the Earth can also gently break things down through the cycle of decay. Or it can trap things, like a cave-in.

We see all of these things occurring in nature; of course you can plant seeds to grow strong. Of course if you bury a body it will rot. Of course leafs slowly decay and their particles return to nature.

All of these things are valid.

YOU decide which one happens. This decision is germinated with intent; it is gestated with technique. YOU are the creator god. The leaf is clay in your hands, and you can decide:

You are the body of the beloved that broke my heart, as this leaf decays their joy will decay.

You are the mustard seed that returns a hundredfold harvest, mightest among trees.

You are the leaf of the forest floor, breaking down and returning to nature, just as my bad habits break down and return to source.

It is not a leaf. It is not planting. It is a spell. You create the reality of what the leaf really is, and you dictate how it must try to interact with its environment.

It must be good with you, or it is not a good spell*.

So if you personally cannot get around the idea that burying something will always be an action of generative "planting," then you shouldn't do the spell like that!

It's not an issue of "wrong belief." You may be following valid intuition. You may be at a time in your practice where the Earth calls you to plant things to grow. You may be at a time in your practice where fire whispers sweet promises of destruction to you.

Explore what's around you and what you're feeling! Change the methods if you don't think they're right for you.

But it is also untrue to say that putting things into the earth is always an act of planting. It can be many things.

*This is not true but this is a post, not a book.

[giggly-squiggily]

requests! 🤩🎉 don't mind me taking one of those demon slayer slots, thank you very much! 😂

can i request lee!akaza and lers!gyutaro and douma please? daki was being a little snarky so akaza wrecked her and gyutaro naturally wants to avenge his sister but when akaza overpowers him douma comes to help gyutaro out. maybe douma even has a dramatic little "well well well" moment when he enters the scene 😂😅

i hope you're doing alright and feel free to decline this of course!

- 🐼non

{Request are closed! This is an older one!}

Panda! :D Oh how I love Akaza jkajkreajkrejkrjk My favorite thing ever is him being a softie for the kiddos, so this was a joy to write! :D I hope you like it! I hope it's okay I included Daki as one of the Lers given Akaza targeted her first lols

CW: Swearing, mentions of the entertainment district (Nothing descriptive or graphic, but I'm putting it out there)

“Yehehehehe, nohohohoooo! Yoohohohou son of a-”

“Oi, watch your mouth. I don’t care how strong you think you are- don’t go disrespecting your elders!” Akaza scolded gently, grinning from ear to ear as Daki squealed and ducked down. Nothing she did could protect her neck from his quick fingers, leaving her a shrieking ball on the floor. “Speaking of- you’ve been rather bratty lately! What’s that all about, huh?”

It wasn’t like he didn’t already have a guess. Daki’s hunting grounds weren’t easy, and some days she came back in such a foul mood even Kokushibou was hesitant to speak to her. 

Akaza may not be able to take away the bad days,, but he could at least take her mind off of them.

“Screhehehw you! Ehehehehek, brhoohohohother hehehelp!” Daki managed to roll away, giggling through her cries for help. She halfheartedly swatted at Akaza’s wiggling fingers as her brother appeared from her back, ready to fight. “Geheht him!”

“Who the hell’s bullying my-Lord Akaza?” Gyutaro’s murderous glare turned into a look of shock when he realized just who he was summoned for. It was just for a split second, but that was all Akaza needed.

“Bully, huh? Come here!” The redhead was on them in a microsecond, gathering both siblings up and swinging them off their feet. Shrieks and giggles quickly took over as he scratched at their belly and sides. “Oh ho ho, now I have two victims!

“Nohohohohoho! Aheahhaha, Lohohohord Ahahahhakahahahza!” Gyutaro cried, kicking his feet and pushing at the hand latched to his ribs. “Dohohohoohnt- no tihihihickling!”

“Eheheheheehhek! Aehahhahahahah, coohohohohoem ohohohohon, thihihihs is uhuuhnfahahhair!” Daki sounded no better, howling like a witch as her waist was squeezed. “Leheheht me gohohoho!”

“Hmm..lemme think about it.” Akaza snickered, relishing in their childlike glee as he twirled around the room. Not the most ideal look for an upper moon, but when it came to the kids, he was in big brother mode. “Should I let you go here? Or how about here?” He crab walked from one side to the other, nearly dropping them but never loosening his grip. “Decisions, decisions.”

Naturally, their noise was going to attract attention. It wasn’t long before an all too familiar face arrived to investigate.

“What do we have here? Lord Akaza playing with the kids?” Douma poked his head in with his usual smile, watching the scene unfold before him. “Lord Akaza- playing with the kids, I see?”

“Douma.” Akaza paused his antics upon seeing him, good mood dampered. He’d be lying if he said it was completely ruined though. “Did you need anything?”

“My, my- don’t stop on my behalf. I just came to see what all the fun was about.” Laughing, Douma drank in the sight of the siblings trapped within Akaza’s arms, giggly and looking to him for help. “Did you two truly forget what I taught you? You’re breaking my heart!”

“Taught them?” Akaza raised a brow, not sure if he liked where this was going. Gyutaro titled his head curiously before realization hit him.

“Oh!” He shot a hand out, tracing the closest blue line. Almost immediately Akaza yelped and jerked back. “Go for his stripes, Daki!”

“There you go!” Douma cheered.

“No way you told them about tha-ahahhat! Gyutahharo!” Akaza twitched as fingers swiped along the blue lines of his arms, weakening his grip even more. Daki squirmed free first, diving behind him and grabbing his sides. “Nohohoho, Dahahaki!”

“Hehe, got you now!” She grinned as he arched, nails scratching playfully against the stripes along his sides as Gyutaro broke free. It wasn’t long before four hands were tickling him, getting at the blue lines across his entire torso. “Don’t let up! He’s a strong one!”

“Like I’d do that!” Her brother growled, jerking as Akaza poked him in the belly, retaliating. “Nhooohoh, don’t! Lord Doohohuma, hehelp!”

“Oh?” Douma, who was lounging across the floor in the background, looked up with peaked interest. “Do you want my assistance?”

“Don’t you dare!” Akaza called out, his snarl shattered when Daki wiggled a finger into his armpit. “Hehehlp me insteahad!”

“Get him, Lord Douma!” Daki cried, squealing when Akaza twisted around and got her neck again. “Huhuhury!”

“Hmm…oh, what a dilemma. I wouldn’t be much of a teacher if I did everything for you.” Douma stood, sashaying towards the trio with a cheeky grin. “On the other hand…”

There was a beat of silence. No one moved, waiting to see what would come.

Then..

“GAWHA!” Akaza let out a loud guffaw as his hips were grabbed, cold hands sending shivers across his skin. In a matter of seconds, he was flat on his face, half curled up as he tried slapping away those dastardly fingers. Yohohohou sohohon of a- heheahahhahahahha!”

“Didn’t you just lecture Lady Daki on respecting your elders?!” Douma laughed with him, keeping one hand on his hip as the other flipped Akaza over like a pancake. “Of course, I’m younger than you, so I can let that slip. Gyutaro- be a dear and get his arms for me?”

“Got it.”

“Noohooho, dohohohohn’t gehehehhet it! Dohohohon’t gehehhet it-ehahhahahahahaha!” Akaza exploded into laughter as his arms were pulled up, his armpits quickly attacked soon after. Between Gyutaro’s quick fingers and Douma’s lazy tracing of the lines along his stomach, this couldn’t get any worse.

“Lord Douma- what should I do?” Daki asked, eager to join in.

“Get his legs, dear.”

It just got worse! “Nohoho, do-EHHEHEHAHAHAHHAAHA NOHOHOHO!” Akaza nearly lost his voice in all the howling, spasming like a dying insect as the three ruthlessly attacked his tickle spots. He wondered if Muzan was watching them all now- shaking his head in disgust like he always did whenever the demons acted anything but serious.

What should have scared him out of being ticklish only worsened his condition. Damn- he couldn’t even rely on his greatest fears for help.

“Lord Akaza- are you still with us?” Douma’s coo brought him back to reality. Right- currently dying of laughter. Got it. “Does it tickle? Hmm? Does it?”

“He’s so loud! I bet the whole castle can hear him.” Gyutaro mused, bringing his tickles up Akaza’s triceps and earning a wheeze. “Whoa, bad spot.”

“Does he have stripes on his knees?” Daki dragged her nails where she assumed stripes would be, dragging her fingers straight down the center. The resounding booming laughter following confirmed her suspicions. “He does! He does, doesn’t he?”

“AHehahahahahhaha! Cohohohohme ohohohohn, gihihihive me a brehahahahhak!” Akaza pleaded, feeling his stomach start to hurt from how hard he was laughing. Yet another odd thing to discover about himself post becoming a demon. “I gihihihive, I gihihihive.”

“Boo- and here I thought we would go longer.” Signaling for the younger demons to stop, Douma rested his chin in his hands with bright eyes, watching Akaza groan through his giggles. “Still, that was rather fun, wouldn’t you say?”

If the kids weren’t here, Akaza would show him exactly how he felt. Instead, he rolled his eyes, dramatically sighing and making the others laugh. His limbs were free soon after; Douma saying something along about seeing his beloved whole Gyutaro folded himself back into his sister’s back. He closed his eyes, throwing an arm over his face as he seeked composure.

“Hey.” A finger tapped his arm, making him move it. Daki smiled down at him- not her usual sinister grin but a rare, more fitting smile for someone so young. “Thanks for playing with us today, Lord Akaza. And for cheering me up.”

“I just did what felt right, that’s all.” Akaza lifted a shoulder, making her giggle. She leaned down then, wrapping an arm around his chest and presing her face into his shoulder; squeezing him gently.

“I know I already have a big brother, but with you it feels like I have two. Thank you.” She gave him one more squeeze and a quick peck to his cheek. Did the room get blurry? God, even as a demon he was always quick to tears.

“You’re a good kid.” He hugged her back, patting her hair as she smiled brightly.

Thanks for reading!

[furshrimps]

I'm soooo 🤏 close to messaging my trainer if she knows somebody who would be a good fit for Sammy and his issues.

The more time goes by the more I think about this idea. I don't think I can give him the quality of life that he deserves and needs anymore.

The most noticeable thing for me is that he's regressed with grooming a lot and I don't have the (physical and mental) energy to put the constant effort in that would be required to improve that. Same goes for muzzle training, and he needs that done. I just don't have that anymore. Training fun things here and there is a whole other matter, but this is something that needs to be done continuously and with a lot of patience. I think he might be better off with someone else at this point.

[thatswhatsushesaid]

characters who are oriented towards survival and self-preservation often look to other characters who are in more stable positions socially (and are similarly interpreted by some readers) as being exclusively self-interested. which is, i suppose, not a completely inaccurate interpretation. prioritizing one's survival is a type of self-interest. but it is self-interest that comes from a place of not wanting to, you know. die.

--- this post has been added to my dreamwidth meta archive here: https://thatswhatsushewrote.dreamwidth.org/4706.html

[longagoitwastuesday]

Every day I am haunted by the fact JJK could be amazing but it will be just idk Bleach or something

[spotaus]

Thinking about Orchid and her connection to my take on Gender (because this was meant to be about her and the Crew but it just devolved into a character analysis kinda??? More trauma-dumping maybe???) This is very much an oc/personal rant so feel free to ignore it 🫡

So, Orchid started off as a character I didn't really think much of (hear me out this is going to be relevant) because I wanted to add a 'girl' character but didn't know what to *do* with her, y'know? She was always going to be the strongest one there, she had the odds stacked in her favor with her parents. She was always going to be the gloomy side-character to match Reset's energy. But I think she's gone through every stage of Generic Woman I could possibly find.

At first she was angry and abrasive (think Fell!Sans) where every other word was a curse and she was likely to throw the first punch then laugh as she kicks her enemy while they're down. This was when Reset was a cartoonishly self-centered villain whose goal was simply to prove others wrong. Then Orchid became a sort of sisterly figure. This was short-lived, but she was the one comforting people who Reset would torment, but would ultimately follow his orders, because at this point he was actually a danger and sadistic. And then there was the phase where the story mellowed out and she became the token Goth Girl who, yes she was strong, but was heavy on the 'whatever' energy. Then there was her Era of deep self-loathing and anxiety about her worth that held her back and made her a much more timid and meek character who would only lash out on occasion.

Now, Orchid is the best of those iterations I've written yet. She's calm, level-headed, and a natural leader. Her father raised those traits into her. But she's very reactive, and can be silly, and when she's comfortable it's likely that air of importance transforms into something more comfortable and familiar. She laughs loudly and grins wide, she likes loud video-games but loves to read in the quiet. She's extremely disciplined, and normally no one can get through her tough exterior besides her best friend, Reset. She does what she does for her own enjoyment, sure, but she's thought of every angle and makes her choice to help Reset and control the others with her whole chest. She still worries she won't live up to her invisible expectations, and that and her loyalty are her two driving forces.

I know that Orchid is important to me because she's the longest-running female oc I've had. I have a rough relationship with womanhood/girlhood and I know looking back that Orchid recieved every ounce of my distaste for being a woman that I could shovel into her. That never made her less of a character, she was actually always one of my favorites, and rarely was she a 'punching bag oc'. I just... projected onto her a lot. And she's a good sign of how I've learned who I am. I've decided that my own femininity is something I could live without. I'd rather not associate myself with it, and I'd like to leave it in my past, focusing on a future where I'm not tied down with any gender roles or expectations. That won't happen, but I've come to terms with it myself. Orchid though? I figured out through her that I don't have to hate women characters. My own distaste for my circumstances doesn't mean I have to push it onto my characters (on God I've never expressed anything rude to actual people, that'd be rude as hell and uncalled for, but I have a bad habit of disliking fictional women in media). So, Orchid is a well-roubded character finally. She has motivations abd goals and a *lot* more depth than I ever expected her to. She's happy with being a woman, she's content. She's not treated differently for it in unfair ways by those she cares about, so she doesn't mind it. She likes to wear pretty outfits and lets Reset add bows to her ribbons. She doesn't let being a woman hold her back in the slightest.

So, yeah. Orchid is one of my babies. If I ever leave this Fandom behind for good, she's one that's coming with (Ichor, Orchid, and Pretender all have human designs I can use elsewhere lol-) but in the meantime I'll just rotate her around in my brain for a while longer.

If I'm right, she's been with me for nearly 5-6 years and I went through a *lot* with her as an outlet. So, she's kinda just like an old stuffed animal. A lil ripped, matted fur, maybe a stain or two, but there's a story there and that makes it important beyond belief.

[httpiastri]

don't mind me, i'm just crying listening to vienna and thinking about ollie…….

[sukirichi]

i’m so normal about aiku haha

[cakemagemaeve]

I'm just. So tired. I can't be the only gentile who thinks that wishing violent death on anyone who thinks the geopolitics of the I/P conflict aren't as black and white as "Israel bad, Palestine good!" or "Palestine bad, Israel good!" is, y'know. Bad?

Like, you get these kids (as well as people who are old enough to know better) who want to prove they're More Leftist than Thou who will shout about how much they hate Nazis and fascism, and then turn around and say that the Israelis should be cleansed from Palestine, often while spouting straight-up word-for-word Nazi propaganda.

It's really been jarring seeing so many people whom I had previously admired and respected for their leftist views and takes not only start falling for and parroting virulently antisemitic propaganda, but outright stating that anyone who thinks Israel has a right to exist at all should be murdered horribly. They're going on and on about all of the Islamophobic attacks happening around the world right now (of which there are a lot, no denying), and yet they're dead fucking silent about all of the antisemitic hate crimes happening at the same time.

Again, it's possible to want a free Palestine and a free Israel at the same time. It's possible to believe that both Palestinian children and Israeli children deserve to grow up without having to worry about bombings and terrorist attacks. It's possible to want peace and freedom for one without wishing terror, genocide or subjugation on the other. It's not a zero-sum game, for fuck's sake.

Also, it still galls me how many white Americans I see rabidly calling out for the blood of the "colonizing Jews" while they themselves live in a country which was founded by European invaders who committed wide-scale genocide against the native populations and whose government has been gleefully committing all manner of war crimes and atrocities across the world ever since. If Israeli civilians deserve to die for their government's crimes, then what do we deserve?

[the-weeping-dawn]

*lobs more picrew wildly at nothing*

[adelheidvonschicksal]

The Love and Deepspace Boys Trying to Get You to Sleep ⋆｡°✩

Tags: Fluff, teasing, needy boys, mild sexual content, gender neutral reader (I had to re-write so please let me know if I messed up.)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Xavier is surprisingly softer than you expected when you first met him on your mission together. He’s an incredibly powerful hunter but possesses a quiet and gentle, almost oblivious, aura when navigating everyday life, like a ghost floating through the space he takes up. It should also be understood that this very nature of his makes him affectionate, so much so, that he won’t unwrap his arms around your waist and stop pressing his head to your shoulder as you sit at the kitchen bar, typing on your laptop.

“Are you planning on staying up later than the stars?” he mumbles.

There’s a gentle yawn against your skin from the sluggish man, highlighting just how long he’s been trying to coax you into going to bed.

“I wanted to finish this report for work.”

“The report will be there tomorrow,” he says. You swat away his hand that reaches for the power button on the laptop causing him to pout. He grumbles. “You should go to bed. Otherwise, I can’t sleep.”

Smiling to yourself, you decide to tease him. “Oh, so you’re really trying to get me to go to bed for your own benefit?”

“Well, you can’t very well expect me to do it by myself anymore.” Xavier nuzzles his head into the slope of your neck, cuddling you. “It’s your responsibility since you ruined my sleeping habits.”

“Ruined?”

“Ramshackled,” he repeats quietly, causing you to giggle. With an airy sigh, he presses his weight into you more. “How do you expect me to sleep when I can’t hold you?”

Defeated, you save your work and close the laptop. You swivel in your chair, enough to meet his eye, and cup a hand to his cheek. It never stops being endearing to you how he cutely closes his eyes and angles his head to snuggle your palm.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to beg.”

His eyes flutter open, and the smile on his face grows as he wraps his fingers around yours. Carefully, he pulls on your hand to bring it up enough to begin to lace your wrist with affectionate kisses, tracing your pulse.

“I thought you enjoyed my begging.”

“That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” Xavier mutters into your skin, pressing another light kiss.

“It is.”

“So, you're resolute about that position?” he questions “innocently”. There’s something mischievous about the glint in those arctic eyes, which makes your face warm. You find yourself breaking eye contact, or else you’d lose it.

“Yes.”

Xavier chuckles then begins to lead his kisses down your arm. “In that case, care to explain the difference in detail, love?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Sleep.”

“But—”

“Sleep.”

Zayne narrows his eyes at you from his side of the bed. You can’t blame him for being a little annoyed right now but the movie you put on to fall asleep was much better than you expected; and instead of falling asleep, you were more awake than ever at a very late one in the morning.

“I’m almost done with the movie,” you tell him, hoping he’ll cut you a little slack this one time.

“Everyone dies at the end of their own stupidity,” he bluntly states and grabs the remote. The television turns off with an overly loud click, and you pout. “Now, sleep.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you huff. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m fine with that title if it gets you to rest,” he explains with a smooth yawn. “Poor sleep habits lead to bad decision-making later. You’re more likely to develop high blood pressure, and with your heart in particular—”

“I get it. I get it,” you say, wanting to be spared the lecture. Zayne is a good person and a better doctor, but you wish he didn’t worry about you so much just because you might have a little big heart problem. Sighing, you squiggle onto your back and pull the sheets up to your collar, kicking them a little childishly in the process (totally not to let him know that you were not pleased with his spoiling). “I hope you’re proud of yourself.”

“Very.”

Zayne turns over onto his side, away from you, and you frown at the loneliness. Softly, you poke him in the back, once, then twice then a third time before you finally get a hum in response.

“Am I really not getting a good night kiss?”

“Do you need one to sleep?” he asks, his voice deeper from the lack of sleep, urging you to convince him to kiss you even more.

“Duh,” you explain. Slowly, he turns back over to look at you, propping himself up on one arm with a look that says “Is that so” as you continue to ramble. It makes you a little flustered when he watches you so intently. He’s always had this silent dominance that makes you obedient, but you could get what you want from him just as easily with the exact opposite strategy. Cutely, you puff your bottom lip out at him. “There has to be some health benefit to it. Kissing makes people all happy. Happy is good, right?”

It takes a second for him to take in what you say, those smokey eyes closing in on you with thought before he climbs over you. He places both hands at your sides and quickly boxes in your upper thighs with his knees.

“You’re thinking of dopamine,” he says.

“Huh?”

“That makes you “all happy”,” he explains and presses a deep kiss to your lips, leaving you thoughtless and breathless all at once. He moves to your jaw, and you begin to squirm from the pressure of his impassioned lips.

“And Serotonin.”

Another kiss, lower.

“Oxytocin.”

He’s at your shoulder when he starts to nip your skin, and one of his hands moves to ski up the back of your thigh.

“Reduced cortisol.”

Flustered, you grip his arms.

“Zayne, stop, it tickles,” you whine, but it’s the last thing you actually want as he readjusts his position and hovers above you.

His usually neat hair is messier and his breathing a little heavier judging by how his chest laboriously rises and falls. Groaning, you bite your bottom lip as he knowingly leans in and whispers,

“You need it to help you sleep, isn’t that what you said?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

“Why don’t you just say you don’t love me anymore?”

You look up from your phone screen at the sudden accusation. You’re resting on the couch, your back propped up by the armrest and legs splayed out on the other cushion while Rafayel looks down at you with crossed arms and a less-than-pleased scowl on his face. You’re entirely confused as to what you could’ve done to make him think something like that.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been playing video games for what—the last two hours?” he says, uncrossing his arms to grab your phone. It’s too late to warn him as he glances at the screen, clicking a few times. “What are you playing anyway? An…otome? Sheesh, go ahead and say you want me gone. Come on, tell me you actually hate me.”

Holding in your smile, you shake your head and affectionately roll your eyes. It takes an enormous amount of effort to not laugh as he continues to rant. “So, it’s one of those things. I thought I was actually in trouble.”

And by those things, you mean his dramatics.

“Hush, my complaints are perfectly legitimate,” he demands as he pushes your legs aside and sits on the couch. Leaning over, he flashes the screen at you to show the evidence he has that you’re completely unfair, unfaithful, and downright mean. “What’s this game giving you that I’m not? Are my dashing good looks and even better personality not enough? Is that it?”

Gently, you take the phone from his hand and set it down on the end table. “You’re plenty, perfect even.”

He scoffs and refuses to look at you. “Apparently not. Don’t you ever think about anyone else? What if I want to cuddle with you one day but you’re too busy to notice because you’re playing silly games?”

Ah, there it is. His real want. You never know why he can never just come out and say it.

“Rafayel, do you want me to come to bed and cuddle with you?”

“Want is a strong word,” he remarks but you can see his resolve (can you call it that when he planned to give in all along?) crumbling as he slowly turns back to meet your gaze, “but I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Not that you deserve it or care.”

Humming, you sit up, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and pull him down onto you. Lovingly, you snuggle him, stopping to only take in how red his neck and ears start to get when you squeeze him and start to stroke through his hair. You’re not sure if Lumerians can blow happy bubbles like he claims, but he definitely hums and relaxes his entire body weight to lay on top of you like he wants to sink into your skin.

Teasingly, you coo at him. “You’re so needy.”

“I’d rather say you humans aren’t needy enough,” he fires back as he wraps an arm around your waist and kisses the corner of your lips. “Ah, the sweet taste of victory.”

Giving out a gentle and short laugh, you lightly tap his back. “Go to sleep.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

[ennabear]

loser! sev getting all whiny and pathetic when she eats you out, rutting her hips against the mattress, cumming in her pants, accidentally overstimulating you like crazy because she's just loves it so much.

accidentally overstimulating HERSELF from eating you out?????? GODDDDDDD

HEHEHEH i said i was gonna respond to these as small little thoughts but i wanna write a real blurb about this because. wow. so true and real it brought tears to my eyes. THANK U FOR THISSSS i wish i could keep it in my asks forever hehehe… 18+

your wife has had one of the worst weeks of her life. the undercity has just completely gone rogue ever since silco has passed, and every effort she’s made to have everyone band together against topside is just worthless. nobody wants to listen to her, too obsessed with their own personal drama to see the bigger picture.

to make matters worse, she’s had to keep jinx under control too. when sevika imagined silco’s death, she didn’t imagine him leaving jinx in the will. and as if the sudden addition of jinx into her life wasn’t enough to stir the pot, jinx has found her own stray now too.

she’s exhausted. sick of sleepless nights spent erasing and rewriting silco’s mistakes, the bitter frost lingering in the streets leaving everyone in a tense and irritable mood. of fucking course she’s the one who has to deal with it, nobody else wants to take a stand or set things straight.

seeing her this way breaks your heart. she barely comes home anymore, usually to be found slumped over silco’s desk with a half empty bottle of whiskey at her side. her arm thrown across the table, an empty promise of getting it fixed and reattached hanging over her head. what she really needs is a new arm, but she refuses to take smeech up on his offer.

god damn it, your wife is so fucking stubborn. it turns you on immensely. because she’s loyal. she’s offered a brand new arm with all of the bells and whistles she could ever ask for, as long as she turns in jinx. easiest job ever, and she’s never liked the blue haired kid anyways. yet, she stands her ground. instead she’s been taking insults like “a bird without wings is just a funny lookin’ rat.” and trying to navigate her life with only one half of herself.

but tonight, she’s gonna make her absence up to you. she wanders home through the dark streets and alleys of zaun, straight to your shared doorstep. one could barely call it a house, as there weren’t really any dwellings that have survived this long in the undercity without being overtaken by moss and vines or crumbled to pieces— but it certainly was a home. especially when she gets to walk in and see you looking cozy and domestic.

you stare up at her when she saunters through the door, a crease between her brows and wet, red eyes painting her face as usual. she sighs, walking over to you and joining you on the couch. in an instant, she’s in your arms again. just the way you like it. without a word, you massage her temples as she nuzzles her face deeper into your hold. your touch is magic, she can feel the month long migraine she’s had suddenly disintegrating.

before she can stop it, before she even realizes what’s happening, hot streams of tears leak out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. you coo at her and swipe them all away, kissing the top of her head repeatedly as a reminder of your love. yeah, it’s been a day or two since you’ve seen her, and sure, it’s been even longer since you’ve been on a date or had any sort of alone time, but you know that it isn’t personal. she’s trying her best, even if that means stumbling over her words and tripping over her feet.

“bad day, huh?” you ask, another kiss to the top of her head.

“bad week, bad month, bad year…” she responds with a sniffle. “i just wanna be close to you.”

she peeks up at you though her wet eyelashes, some of her black eye makeup smudged around her eyes. you giggle at her, she’s so fucking adorable. and so sweet, so hardworking, so gentle. before you can muster out an ‘i love you’, she bolts forward and catches your lips in a sweet kiss, pinning you to the couch.

“sev, god, you’re so needy.” you pant when she finally releases your lips to catch her breath.

“i’ve missed you, shit. wanna taste you so bad.”

with that, she shoves your pants down, already eagerly sucking bruises into your neck. you groan, you’ve forgotten how good your wife’s touch feels. a big, warm hand wraps around your own, and although they’re rough and cracked, you’ve never felt anything softer. tears threaten to spill out of your own eyes with the amount of love and adrenaline pumping through your veins, but sevika grounds you by shuffling on top of you.

you think she’s about to sit her cunt on top of yours as she strips herself of her pants, but you’re mistaken, and you realize this when she whimpers out a little “hand me that” and nods toward one of the pillows behind you.

confused and turned on as you are, you do as she asks and hand her a throw pillow which instantly gets shoved between her thighs. she wastes no time in diving forward to lick up all of your arousal, her eyes growing starry as a little string of white connects itself from your clit to the tip of her nose. you almost faint. fuck, you’ve missed her face, even more what it can do to you. so you buck your hips up and slowly grind yourself against her face, sevika matching your pace with her own hips.

in an instant, she’s lost in the pleasure— more specifically the taste of you and the slow grind of her cunt against the pillow. moans vibrate through your folds as she buries her face between your spread legs, and you whimper, already embarrassingly close to the finish line.

surprisingly, sevika cums first, the pillow cradling her wet cunt as she humps against it in time with her licks and sucks. that doesn’t stop her, and she doesn’t even stop after you cum and start yanking her head away out of intense pleasure. she can’t stop, though, not now. she’s in too deep. literally. her tongue is buried inside of you and her nose runs over your clit with every thrust, her mind absolutely racing with emotional thoughts and horny feelings.

“sevika, please!” you grunt, her grip on your hips is relentless. “babe, i already came, that’s enough.” but judging by the way she completely ignores you, you wonder if she even heard you at all.

she whines when you tug on her hair or push her shoulders away with the heels of you feet, her face completely melted to your cunt. she never stops fucking her pillow, and now her clit is red and rubbed raw by the cloth. she doesn’t know how many orgasms she’s had, it could range between three and twenty. she lost count when she came for the umpteenth time after you pulled her hair and moaned her name at the same time.

tears spill from her eyes again, but this time they’re happy tears. god, she’s missed you, and she doesn’t ever wanna stop. you take her face in your hands when you notice the sobs and sniffles she’s letting out, along with more whimpers and groans. this time, she relents, slowing her own hips first and then licking up the rest of the cum and spit between your thighs.

“sev, baby, what’s wrong?” you ask, concerned that maybe you hurt her or she hurt herself.

“i just missed you…” she starts. “and i love you so much.” she crawls up your body and lays her head on your stomach while you both catch your breath, the pillow being discarded on the floor. your fingers work wonders on her scalp, and she almost falls asleep after half an hour of matching her breathing to yours.

“don’t fall asleep yet.” you warn, although you’ve been yawning more than she has. “you still need to carry me to bed and tuck me in like a gentleman.”

“you might have to be the gentleman tonight,” she giggles. “i don’t think my legs are sturdy enough to carry us to the bedroom right now.”