#rhi writes ����

[the-great-kraken]

if you see a male character kiss a male character, you assume they are gay.

if you see a female character kiss a female character, you assume they are a lesbian.

if you hear a character say they don't feel like their gender, you assume they are trans.

so why do a-spec characters have to jump through so many loops?

a character saying they've never had a crush or don't want a relationship or that they don't understand romantic love is so often ignored or used as fodder for other queer or autistic headcanons (reinforcing stereotypes that aroace people are secretly gay or always autistic)

why is it that our stories are always "up to interpretation"? why do we have to wait for the words aromantic or asexual to be said to be taken seriously? why is it that even when characters say they don't want relationships, fans will scream and cry about sex/romance favourable aspecs and qprs?

when it comes to gay and trans characters, even the likes of bisexual lighting is often treated as though it canonises their sexuality. for aroace characters, even the most explicit coding possible is swept under the rug in favour of other "interpretations"

i'm so tired of fighting for representation just to have it ignored and minimised by fans. let characters be aroace. please.

[ghostbsuter]

"You're not supposed to be here." Peching on the roof edge is batman, staring down at the child crouched.

The child, blue-eyed and black haired, looks up at him with wide eyes. There is this weird but familiar feeling to the boy, like he'd know him, of his existence and his face– those eyes.

They remind him too much of Dick and Jason, have a hint of Tim as well, Damian's greens shining through the blue.

His hair has some blond spots, Stephanie his mind connects, and Batman shakes his head, denying these similarities.

The child is still watching him, head tilted and listening.

"Brother," Lady Gotham's voice echoes by his side, Bruce gives her an acknowledged nod.

"This one," she appears around the child, something Bruce has never seen his sister do before. Closer than any civilian she'd ever protected.

Batman re analyses the moment, finally taking the similarities to his former partners/children and tensing.

"Is mine." Her hands, borderline claws, hold the child gently, Lady Gotham is careful in her handling, crooning.

Bruce nods slow, accepting. "What's his name?"

"He prefers Danny." The shadows flicker around Batman's feet, unbothered.

"Is there a reason he shares the features of every Robin?"

Lady Gotham smiles knowingly, picking up her boy with bright eyes.

"Just as I am created by people's beliefs and wishes," she pets the unruly black hair. "So is he when you first got Robin."

[katiefrog217]

Aziraphale waited patiently in the shallows of the dropoff near the shore of his post on the Eastern Side of the Lake, fidgeting with his ring as the sun rose higher in the sky. He cast anxious glances behind him to scan the area, both for any potential intruders (which were rare) and any visitors from his colony (equally as rare). His side of the Lake went practically forgotten, but one could never be too careful. A flicker of a shadow over head caught Aziraphale's attention, head whipping around to scrutinize the surface.

The pale merman could just make out a shadow near the edge of the shore, and suddenly his anxiety washed away, tension easing from his shoulders. He reached out invitingly towards the shadow, fingers brushing the surface. He didn't need to wait long before there was a splash and his vision was suddenly obscured by a slew of bubbles. Aziraphale remained calm, even as a massive figure descended in front of him, even as they latched clawed fingers around his neck. He reciprocated in fact, reaching a confident hand out to cup a sharp jawline. The bubbles cleared just enough for him to catch a glimpse of golden eyes framed by a shock of red hair before he slid his own blues closed, leaning into the gentle kiss on his lips.

Crowley hummed as he leaned into his touch, claws tugging him forward ardently. Aziraphale obliged him, leaning further into the kiss with a sigh. He wished they didn't need to rush all the time, that they didn't have to fret about getting caught.

Fueled partly by his regret (and a hint of mischief), Aziraphale boldly pressed a tongue forward, slipping between the seam of Crowley's lips to press against his pearly whites.

Crowley growled a warning and he teased over one of his fangs - Aziraphale chuckled but relented, withdrawing for now. Crowley always worried about possibly invenomating him, though Aziraphale assured him that it was unlikely, implicitly showing Crowley how much he trusted him. No, he insisted it even. Regardless, he didn't want to spend what little time they already had together pushing his buttons.

This was so closed to not getting done before May I swear...

Seriously would you believe me if I said this was started at the beginning of the month? Yeah I got heavily distracted.

But I finally got it done! Hurrah!!!

I do have their designs somewhere on paper, but I'll have post them later once I clean them up.

Happy Mermay everyone!

Azi - [Fresh Water]: Based mainly on a feather tailed Betta Fish, a sea angel (loosely), and an angel fish.

Crowley- [Brackish Waters]: Based on a Sea Krait, a Mangrove snakes, and loosely inspired also by an angel fish.

[shovellyyy]

Sukuna doesn't have many regrets in life. He simply doesn't give a damn if he messes up.

But he does regret giving his nephew his phone number.

"Unc let me in don't tell grandpa 😭"

"Yo can I borrow like... 50 dollars for a pizza? Megumi and nobara are over and we're hungry"

"Grandpa said you'd give us a ride to the theme park this weekend!! Just me, Megumi, Nobara, Maki, Panda, Gojo..."

"Hey unc, please please pick me up grandpa's about to find out I smashed that one vase he liked 😭"

He tells Yuuji every time to shut up and leave him alone, and yet he still finds himself driving to their house or driving a car full of gross teenagers to god knows where.

He wishes Jin were here to control his brat. (He wishes Jin were here at all.)

[midnight-wood]

PLEASE

here goes nothing - minors/ageless blogs DNI. you will be blocked

zayne x reader (if you wanna be MC, be MC)

wc: 2k (just a quick drabble, im a filthy liar)

AO3

warnings: fem!reader, fingering, nipple play, penetrative (p in v) sex (be smarter than me and my tho(ugh)ts, use protection), ovulation, breeding kink, pet names (love, momma), established relationship, lmk if I missed something but I tried

swollen.

tender.

hot.

you woke up feeling swollen and uncomfortable, a little too warm for your liking too.

you knew it was on the way. you counted your days, took your tests, hell, you even kept track of your internal temperature at night. this day was known. didn’t make it any easier, though.

one outstretched hand made contact with your lover’s chest and that was enough for you to drag yourself over to him and make this his problem.

you hauled yourself onto zayne’s chest and immediately nuzzled into the crook of his neck, enjoying the coolness of his skin against yours. thank goodness he ran a little warm and usually slept only half covered.

“where does it hurt?” he managed to rasp out, arms circling around your figure, hands moving with practiced ease, waiting for a pain response.

you placed a few kisses down his collarbone, chaste for now, but the slightest hint of teeth at the base of his throat told him what was wrong.

“oh” even half a sleep his clinician’s mind was working, doing the math, checking his mental notes about you. “let me help you, love”

zayne took his hands off your skin for the briefest moment. you whined at the loss of contact, never mind that you were pressed chest to chest, legs intertwined below the covers.

his cold hands returned to your feverish skin, eliciting a shiver from you. “so cold” you whispered out, relishing how his hands felt on the base of your breasts. he never liked to use his evol directly on you, but being your personal ice pack had its advantages. namely, the sounds you’d make as your pain resolved and the feeling of your skin under his hands.

“a little sensitive this morning?” he placed a kiss to the crown of your head.

you nodded back at him, “hurts there” it was nothing more than a whine at this point. part of your swelling problem was your breasts, bras had slowly become more uncomfortable over the last few days. but now, you were starting to melt under his ministrations, the ache in your chest settling down.

zayne rolled the pair of you onto your sides. able to reach more of you this way, his skilled hands quickly cupped your breasts and his fingers started to toy with your nipples.

“ohhhhhh” whatever thought you thought you’d had was gone, replaced with zayne.

he couldn’t help the smile that graced his features as he started to scoot down the bed, putting his face level with your chest. just a quick kiss to the top of your sternum, then the left, the right, and finally he nuzzled between them, a contented hum rumbling from his chest.

zayne looked up at you, sparkling green eyes meeting your own, hazy from just his touch, “how are you feeling?”

“g-good” it was barely more than a breath, but you were still managing to get words out. he took that as a good sign and kept going.

with his eyes still locked on yours, he wrapped his lips around your nipple, applying just enough pressure for you to feel tingles run down your abdomen, his fingers still toying with the other. you couldn’t stop the involuntary buck of your hips, your discomfort not quite subsiding, but starting to burn as something new, something more.

“zayne, please” his eyes shut as you said his name, the quietest moan of his own leaking out against your skin.

“please what?” he didn’t even fully take his lips off your skin, choosing to keep the corner of his mouth anchored to you, the words scattered over your chest.

he switched nipples, eyes locking back on yours, waiting to hear your request. “i can’t help you, if i don’t know what you want” he continued to suck on your chest, alternating between leaving love bites and bathing your nipples with attention. zayne is a patient man, he could wait for your brain to come up with something.

“please” this one left as a gasp, his sucks becoming harder, focused on pulling noises from you, distracting you “need you, lower”

“lower?” he let his hands trail down to your hips, lips never leaving your chest.

your hips bucked again, his fingertips tickling your sides, his mouth making every train of thought you had derail. “please” you urged him one more time.

oh, he could stand to hear that a thousand more times, your sweet voice, hoarse with want for him. but instead of making you beg for it, he took mercy on you and moved one of his hands to where you needed him most.

although he was no longer using his evol, zayne’s fingers were still cool against your heated flesh. you couldn’t stop the hiss from leaving your mouth if you wanted.

“so wet” he murmured into your skin, fingers stroking you and gathering wetness to rub ever so lightly against your clit “my poor little love, no wonder you’re so uncomfortable.”

you had thrown your head back as his fingers continued to brush against you, not even sure you’d actually heard what he’d said. “zayne, please, please” he’d timed his circles, fingers and mouth, together to tease you “need you, inside, please”

“there we go” he slowly slid his hand toward your entrance, fingers trailing along your flesh “that’s what you’ve really wanted since you woke up, huh?”

slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed his middle finger inside you “mmm, so warm” he kept pushing until you could feel the cold of his ring press against you, a startling contrast to how warm his hand had finally become “so wet” his voice had picked up the slightest edge, like you weren’t the only one affected this morning.

he started up a slow but steady rhythm, pausing his ministrations on your chest to watch your face for just a moment. watching for any discomfort, any signs of anything other than pleasure.

when you opened your eyes, he decided to add another finger, his thumb brushing against your clit again. your eyes closed against your will. “eyes on me” zayne had pillowed his chin against your chest, watching you closely.

you opened your eyes to take the sight of him in. his usually neat hair rumpled from sleep, his eyes glassy with want, lips swollen from his attack on your breasts. the sight alone had you clenching around his fingers, zayne looking wrecked, for you.

“i think that’s enough of that” he pulled his hand from you and brought it to his mouth, quickly cleaning his fingers.

“no” zayne chuckled at you whining at the sensation of loss.

“i’ve got something better, don’t fret” zayne pushed you onto your back, your legs immediately starting to lock around him, not wanting to lose contact.

he pushed himself up to lean over you, eyes looking into yours. you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, a drop of precum wiping against your skin.

your lips met, the taste of yourself faint on his tongue. a hum of satisfaction started in your chest and ended in his, the two of you just enjoying being close to each other and unhurried.

“need you, zayne” you brushed your thumb across his lips, hand cupping his face. he nuzzled into the touch, his knees starting to spread your legs so he could slot his hips against yours.

“please” it was like a plea, a prayer, and an admission all in one syllable. 

he leaned in for another quick kiss “as you wish, my love”

slowly, slower even than we he pushed his finger into you, he eased himself inside, moaning into your mouth.

"ohhhh so perfect" he stilled for just a second, enjoying feeling you around him. "so perfect, been waiting for this day all week."

he started to thrust into you, your hands going to his shoulders, nails digging in to those perfectly sculpted muscles.

"fuck" zayne never really swore or had too filthy of a mouth, until he was inside you. then he couldn't stop.

"been waiting all. week." he made sure to punctuate the last two words with his hips, letting you feel him start to graze your most sensitive spot.

you just looked at him, a little dumbfounded and unsure if you were hearing what he was really saying. you knew he kept track of your cycles, knew he was almost too familiar with your personal calendar. the two of you had had the conversation, but you almost didn't believe it when you heard the words fall from his lips and onto yours.

"gonna make you such-" he paused for a moan as you clenched around him, excited to hear the words from him "such a pretty momma"

he continued to roll his hips into you, each thrust causing his tip to kiss that soft spongy spot inside of you that made you see and feel stars. "the prettiest - fuck"

you could no longer sit still, you had to meet his thrusts with your own, had to feel him deeper, needed it. "zayne, please, please, please"

"can't wait to see you, glowing" he paused this time for your moans, not letting his own words interrupt them gracing his ears. "growing round, with my child - mmm, fuck - our child"

he pressed into you like a man possessed "your chest is going to be so swollen" he was relentless, hips never faltering. "gonna have to take good care of such a pretty, pretty momma"

you could only nod in agreement, nails leaving little crescents on his skin. finally you found your voice, "yes, yes, zayne. want it, want you" he pulled another moan from you as his fingers started to draw quick circles on your clit.

"so close, my love" he'd adjusted to a new angle, hitting not just your sweet spot, but another spot within you that felt so good it almost hurt.

"don't stop" came out in one quick breath. you were teetering on that edge, waiting for him to push you over.

"never" you swore he'd be the death of you one day. "cum for me, my love. cum all over my cock. milk me for all i'm worth, make a mess" he was babbling, close to his end. but it was more than enough to push you to yours.

you came with a strangled moan, pulsing around zayne, your hips never ceasing to meet his, pulling him down with you.

by the time you had both recovered enough mental capacity to move again, you were a tangle of sweat sheened skin, chests still heaving from your bout of cardio. zayne had collapsed onto you slightly, the majority of his weight on his knees and elbows, but his forehead pressed to your skin.

"can't pull out just yet" he shivered as you clenched around him again, both of you starting to verge into overstimulation "have to give it time to stick"

you let out a small laugh. unbeknownst to you, once you had agreed that you want children, zayne started reading every academic article he could about conception. if it would even raise the chances by 1%, he was willing to try it.

he finally raised his head, and started to ease back onto his knees, slowly, carefully pulling out of you. he was quick to lift your hips, giving gravity a chance to help by placing a pillow underneath you. he was quicker still to use his fingers to start pushing your combined releases back into you.

"can't let it go to waste, my love" he pressed a chaste kiss to your temple, a dirty contrast to the lewd sounds he was causing at your entrance.

you moaned from the contact "no, no, can't waste it" you could feel your knees shaking with each brush of his thumb against your clit, each pass of his fingers into your heat.

"feeling better now, love?" zayne's hand finally stilled and he looked at you, a far too pleased smile on his face, like you'd let him eat every available macaron in the house and he'd skipped the toothache.

"much, so much better" and you actually did, there was nothing the rush of endorphins couldn't overcome.

"excellent, how about a shower and round 2?"

you gasped as zayne pulled you off the bed and to your feet. yes, please, that did sound excellent.

a/n: yayyyyyyy, you made it! sorry about all that. i, uh, got dreams/problems and if zayne has the same ones, we're not gonna talk about it. feedback appreciated! again, minors/ageless blogs DNI. here and AO3 are the only places this will be posted. please do not repost. 🖤

[kissedloveletters]

dazai, a person who wants to die but deep down he knows he wants to live

you, a person who claims life is precious thing to feel blessed about but deep down wants to die

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[sweeneydino]

I'm making autism

[crsssie]

city night - nightwing! leon kennedy x reader || (inspo by lavamars)

Raccoon City is... dark. The corruption ran deep in the bones of the city across the entirety of the law, and it wasn't safe to go out at night. So, the introduction of vigilantes to the city wasn't surprising, but what was surprising was the appearance of a certain blue vigilante, domino mask covering his eyes, hair unmistakably someone you see often.

"Hey, little bird." Nightwing!Leon makes a spectacle of visiting you at night, takeout in hand or pizza steaming hot. "Nightwing's nightly delivery at your service."

"You're so funny, birdie." You press a kiss to his jaw as you accept the plastic bag. "What's on the menu tonight?"

"Wings."

"You don't feel bad for killing distant cousins all to satisfy my late night cravings?"

You can feel him rolling his eyes at you despite the white of his mask.

"I have to get back to patrol." He brushes his thumb across your bottom lip, lips pressed to cheekbone as he hums. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Stay safe, birdie." You hum. "Don't come back with too many bruises."

"Of course." He launches his hook. "Only for you."

and the darkness of Raccoon City returns, this time, a little brighter from your beloved birdie.

[saintmurd0ck]

i've got you, darlin'

masterlist

pairing: frank castle x afab!reader

summary: frank makes getting your period a little easier to bear

warnings: mentions of heavy periods (cramps, pain, body aches, but no bleeding), fluff and frank looking after you, protective frank!!!

a/n: for my sweet @chellestrash 💗 who deserves the world (and frank castle)

He knows, even before your eyes flutter closed and your grip tightens on the sheets. He knows, just from the way his name comes out in a hoarse whisper, more of a plea than a prayer.

Frank kneels onto the ground, his voice a gentle cadence in your ear. "That time again, huh?"

You swallow harshly, unable to stop the pained grimace distorting your face, at a loss of how else to say yes. It seems like a simple answer, a candid one, but it's a response you've come to loathe. 

Because every month, not unlike clockwork, it's an age-old reply to the same question.

Your body starts to seize, despite the breathing exercises running rampant through your head — in through the nose for three, hold for four, out through the mouth for five — and the heavy blankets doing absolutely nothing to warm your frigid skin. 

Ice and searing fire glitter in your veins, a complicated dance with no ending, not bothering to tiptoe around the white-hot knife twisting into your stomach. 

"M'right here, sweetheart," Frank murmurs, at the ready, dropping Advil into your gnarled, outstretched hand, before lifting a glass of water to your lips. 

He helps you upright, making sure the pills go down, watching your reaction to see if you need anything more. 

Your eyes dart to the kitchen, a silent communicator of the one other thing that's missing, but Frank shakes his head, placing the heat pack across your abdomen in near-perfect synchronisation. "Already got it."

A meek "Thanks, Frankie" is all you manage amongst the bouts of blinding discomfort, more of a rasp than intended. Curling up into a ball, you bury your face into the pillows, doing your best to ground yourself, to let his scent settle over you in a wave of calm. 

The mattress dips as Frank sits down next to you, dragging a soothing hand across your back, alternating his touch between long, languid strokes and featherlight circles. 

"Honestly sweetheart," he muses, the hint of a smile flitting across his face, "you'd make a great Marine."

You blink at him, disconcerted.  

He gestures towards you, chuckling. "I tell 'ya, the guys thought they were tough shit, but one week of this and they woulda been beggin' for mercy. You put 'em to shame."

You roll your eyes, mustering a weak smile. "Well it's not like I have a choice, do I?"

"Yeah? And? Ain’t makin’ me any less proud."

The next cramp snowballs into you before you have a chance to respond, impending fatigue crawling up your spine in lashes. 

And then his hands are on you, his body sheltering yours, encasing you with every ounce of protective warmth he can muster. He holds you closely, nestling your head in the crook of his neck, letting his arms fall into place. 

He presses a kiss to your forehead, into your hair. “I’ve got you, darlin’. I’ve got you.” 

Sharpness turns to a throbbing, dull ache, though it reverberates in your bones, turning your muscles to jelly. 

Still, you grasp at him, clutching him tighter, as if he’s the one thing in the world that could actually get you through this. 

You suppress a bout of muted laughter. You’re always going to be the one getting yourself through this, no matter what, but…

At least Frank makes it more bearable. 

“It’s going to be a long week,” you sigh, your words muffled against his chest. 

And it’s true. You’re going to be here for a while. 

But he’s got you. 

And it’s gonna be okay. 

[butchreg]

puppyre ! galinda upland headcanons !!

eek !! finally posting wicked headcanons , the first of many to come >P<. i plan on doing puppy ! galinda with little ! elphie and cg / owner fiyero next so keep your eyes peeled tehe. also to come baby ! galinda and kitty ! elphie ehe (*-`ω´- )人 saw this lps and thought oh my gosh that's literally galinda eep ! she's the tiniest little thing at shiz. hyperfixation is hyperfixxing .. losing my marbles atm. anyway ^_< wicked masterlist here , upcoming list here

puppy ! galinda who is the most vocal puppy ever ! barking and yipping in excitement at the birds outside the window , loudly whining and whimpering when she wants attention , perhaps going so far as to howl when she's feeling lonely and can't find elphaba.

she's very excited by the world around her. she's quite curious , cocking her head in curiosity quite frequently. her tail is always wagging and she's quite the energetic pup , always bouncing and jumping to get out her abundance of energy.

she's very obedient and loves to fetch things , often bringing elphaba or fiyero one of her many plushies or ribbons as little offerings or when she wants to play. she'll drop a ball at fiyero's feet sitting there expectantly , giving him her very best puppy eyes until he throws it for her.

although she's typically quite obedient , becoming distressed when she breaks a rule by accident there are certainly times where she acts out to get attention. tearing apart her and elphaba's room if she wants her girlfriend's attention. this usually happens when elphie has a busy day of classes and galinda is left alone for too long. she's cooped up for soooo long with no elphie to keep her company or let her out to run around. it's just not fair !!

puppy galinda who just has so much energy !! running around the courtyards of shiz , leaping at squirrels and barking the whole time. running at fiyero and jumping up so suddenly she nearly knocks him over , panting excitedly at the sight of him. running circles around elphaba , tail wagging the entire time. spinning around or chasing her tail until she falls over giggling , a dizzy mess.

she plays until she tuckers herself out , padding over to elphaba and dropping at her feet , her blonde head in the other girl's lap. her tongue will loll lazily and she's unable to suppress her yawns. her body which typically wriggles with excitement almost constantly along with her wagging tail is still , and she whines if elphaba tries to get her to walk back to their room. "oh , alright ," she'll say with a chuckle , scooping up the puppy with effort. galinda now too tired to bark outright , will give elphaba's green cheek a grateful lick , being careful not to squirm so as not to give her any trouble.

galinda has the most lethal puppy eyes and she is not afraid to use them ! she knows just how to get her way , sighing just so , fluttering her lashes at her target. if she must she'll whine and whine and whine until they have no choice but to give in.

galinda is not a shy little puppy. she'll happily yip hello to the throngs of adoring students and she proudly wears her pink diamond studded collar out , enjoying the clinking sound of her tags. pfannee and shenshen spoil the pup rotten , offering her the most elegant of treats , bringing her little ribbons to tie around her collar and tail. they often coo over her , unafraid to protect her with scathing remarks towards anyone who dares to give galinda a side eye.

she does not stim publically , feeling a touch ashamed and embarrassed to do so but when she's in the safety of her and elphaba's dorm room she's constantly stimming by shaking her head to hear the jangling of her collar tags. she gets lost in the sound , often needing a gentle reminder from her roommate that she has to get some studying done if galinda wouldn't mind.

galinda hardly ever gets in trouble. her earnest giggles and lethal puppy eyes can get her out of it nearly always.

galinda only really gets shy if she's had an accident or perhaps broken something by mistake. her tail maybe knocked into a table leaving a vase tumbling. growing up she was punished for these things , often left to fend for herself and humiliated. she'll hide away from elphaba , tail between her legs , ignoring any of her friend's attempts to say hello or make plans. she's embarrassed and most importantly afraid of her beloved elphaba shunning her or perhaps punishing her for the stain on the carpet.

elphaba who comes home , noticing a faint smell becoming alarmed when she can't find galinda. "galinda ?" she'll call faintly. no verbal response comes but it's not long before the sounds of whimpering and suppressed cries come from the large wardrobe. a very concerned elphaba opens the door quietly bending down to find galinda curled up as small as possible. "what is it , sweet thing ?" she keeps her voice low and non confrontational. a teary galinda motions vaguely toward the stain on the carpet , curling in on herself in shame and fear.

"oh , we can fix that ," elphaba tells her reassuringly. "it was only an accident , hmm sweet girl ?" galinda who sniffles , nodding slightly. "come on out of there right away." her voice is firm but soft. a little "eep" sound comes from galinda. "you can't be comfortable in there , darling." a soft frown on elphaba's face. it takes a bit of convincing but eventually she clambers out , feeling rather icky in her stiff damp dress. she's anxious for a while yet elphaba is there , oh so gentle and oh so understanding.

elphaba who gently wipes the tears from galinda's eyes , kissing the top of her head and helping her out of her icky clothes into a warm bath , helping her into her pink silk pajamas and opening her arms to offer the small girl cuddles.

[the-longest-day-of-my-life]

[joelsflower]

a little thought i had let’s say i can’t sleep too and this would *definitely* cure me.

tw mature content 18+!!! a bit of anxiety (brief description of a panic attack nothing graphic), straight up porn (sos), no y/n, reader has hair but it’s only mentioned cause joel is addicted to its smell, otherwise not described, unprotected piv, veeeery lovey dovey deep sex tbh, soft soft soft dom!joel, mentions of subspace, one or two “daddy”, creampie, BRIEF breeding, overuse of petnames, reader cries a bit, thumb sucking, a bit of somno? joel fucks reader to sleep. that’s it. zero proofread first time writing smut ops

And it happened, again.

Without your control or consent, you eyes snap open and your heart jumps at an exasperated pace — just like it has been every other night. The weight of your day-to-day activities (added to your need to always give 101% of yourself to your work and lead your body and mind to exhaustion) has definitely and finally caught you.

Your thoughts start to tangle and suddenly your whole body is freezing and on fire at the same time, spiralling on a wave of anxiety; coming back to sleep is just not an option anymore. Attempting to at least hide from the cold breeze sneaking through the window and maybe calm your heart down a little, you reach your hand down to the covers, or you would have reached, if it wasn’t for the warm — and considerably larger than yours — grip around it, holding you in place.

And that’s when you feel it.

Him, bringing you back to peace. Inch by inch, moment by moment.

He’s sleeping peacefully, and it’s contagious — slowly, the sensation of him starts to guide your thoughts down, with his broad body spooning you and serving as your own personal bonfire. From head to toe, you feel safe again.

The hands that cage yours press firmly against each other, keeping you there through a hook made by his thumb invading the space of your much smaller fingers and finding its home there, reminding you that he’s not completely awake yet, but he’s with you.

It comes as a spark to the bicep that embraces your torso and pulls you closer, making your soft breasts almost spill from his hold. Suddenly, your body, mind and heart are all aware of him and nothing more — because right now, nothing matters if it’s not him; he has this power to keep you afloat in your most safe and vulnerable mindspace, and you follow him like a little bird laying on its nest.

You can feel the skin on your back almost melt as it presses against his broad chest and soft belly, warming and protecting your delicate body. One muscly leg comes to rest in between yours, molding your body into his and making the back of your thighs tingle from the hairs that adorn his. The ins and outs of his hot breath in your neck are also not helping

All you want is to let him take care of you. And at this point, he knows it too.

“Joel?” you whisper, fingers playing with his calloused kuckles. You feel the tip of his nose nudging your hair while a deep groan leaves his throat, sending colourful and shiny explosions of light down you spine and directly to your already throbbing core.

What can you do? It’s Joel. And what would your mind do if not go Joel Joel Joel Joel? When feeling the weight of his pinning you down, his beard scratching the soft skin of your neck and his rough fingers gripping your waist? After all the hard work he gives his life to accomplish just to give you comfort? For all the barriers he fought within himself just to be a better man for you? He loves you. Adores you. And you let him.

“I’m here, sweetheart” he assures, voice deep and drunk on the green apple scent of your hair. It’s his favorite. You’re his favorite. “Are you having one of those bad moments again?”

Your eyes water and you don’t answer him verbally (shit, you really didn’t want to cry), but let him know that you’re aware of his question by trying to pull your legs together, being interrupted by his own that sits perfectly in between yours — pressing forward and forcing yours open just a little more — just a little more so he can feel you, and you can trust him. He already knows how to make your pain go away, and the soppy pussy smudged against the flesh of his thigh only confirms the answer that he knows is floating in your pretty little head.

“Oh, angel,” he coos, matching his plea with a shift of his leg, taking a soft moan from you that lands directly on his heart “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Know what y’want. Gonna give it to you” he does. He always knows what you want.

“Please?” you beg, something between a moan and a whisper, as you feel his hands unclasp your own and each follow a path: the left one comes up to press against your forehead, freeing your mind from the unmerciful thoughts and nesting your skull against the curve of his neck, warm and safe and followed by soft kisses to your temple. the right one snakes up your chest and holds onde of your breasts tenderly, soothing your heart from the fear and thumbing at your nipple just to leave your head a little more fuzzy.

It does not stay there too long, tho. He brings it down to fist at his now hard cock, lining it with your needy, weeping hole. The contact of the thick tip with your lips makes you squirm under his hold, and for what seems an eternity, he keeps at that; starts down and collects your wetness with his head, letting it pool and mix with the precum bubbling there just to slowly drag it up and down your folds, up and down. Caressing your lips open and nudging at your clit, circling at a torturing pace that has your ears ringing.

After a little while, he brings it down and forces at your opening, unhurriedly stretching your tight pussy. The sensation of stretch and fullness is almost enough to send you over the edge; when you finally welcome him, mouth falling open, nails digging into his wrist and pussy ready to be fucked, that’s it — just the tip. In and out, in and out.

Which is good. But wait, is he taking care of you or teasing you? If Joel wasn’t holding his orgasm back for dear life and could answer now, he’d say he has greater purposes;

“Shhhhh” he sucks at the sweet little spot under you ear, keeping a steady pace inside of you. “Gotta do it, baby. Know you—“

“Joel, please—” you cry.

“No, hey,” he coos, using the hand on your head to twist it and hook his eyes with yours. His blow brown irises find you, and for a second you would even take just the tip the whole night if he told you to. “Didn’t prep you, did I, baby? Know you get just so tight when you’re feeling like this, hm?” you nod mutely, tears pooling at your waterlines at a unexpectedly deeper thrust, giving you a bit more of this cock. He’s so good to you.

“Shhh, none of that” he wipes one tear that runs down your cheek, “feel that? Too big to give it to you in one go. Gotta— fuck. Gotta stretch your little hole open a bit. Don’t wanna hurt you, not now. But you can’t do it, right, little one? Can take my cock just right?” The question becomes rhetorical when he slowly sinks his whole cock into you with an animalistic groan leaving his throat, “Fuck- yeah, baby you can. My best girl, aren’t you? My sweet, sweet girl with an even sweeter pussy”.

His words and girth stretching your tight walls open and making home for itself inside your hot, pulsing pussy have your head spinning. Being filled by Joel is the kind of experience that’s easily on top of any other you have in your life. Being filled, held and comforted by Joel has no price. His cock rests heavy and pulsing while occupying himself inside you, giving you time to adjust. His tip caressing sweet sweet spot deep in your core.

Still staring down into your eyes, he starts to move with very, very deep thrusts, “that’s it, baby. Took it all like the good girl you are. And all mine, aren’t you?” You attempt a nod but the thumb that circled your nipple now stuffs your mouth quiet, so the best you can do is blink the tears down your cheeks for Joel to kiss them. “I know, angel. That’s what you needed, ain’t it? For daddy to fuck those bad thoughts away? To fill you and fuck full you the way you like? Always gonna, baby, fuck—“ a particular clench of you pussy strangling his cock and he has to hold himself back again, “always gonna take care of you. Grippin’ my cock real tight, little one. Wanna cum already?”

Another nod. “Shit, cock so good got your head all empty, hm?” he murmured, more to himself, but continued his praise since it’s something you crave during those moments, “you can come, baby, whenever you want. Can’t wait to have your little pussy gushing ‘round me” he confirms his saying by accelerating his thrust just a bit, making your eyes roll and your body flirt with your orgasm. “Come on, babygirl, let go for me, hm? Cum all over my cock, angel, that’s it”

You feel your pussy spasming and gripping his length and what feels like your soul leaving your body. Your mind is floaty and your lips are hung open by his thumb while you feel your juices coat the outside of your lips and down your thighs, making a mess of your conjoined bodies. You look up at him with big round eyes and babble a “thank you,” receiving in exchange a kiss to your forehead and a shower of “I love you”’s and “you did so good to me, baby” and “who’s my girl, hm?”

Even tho, that’s not enough to distract you from the fact that besides still, Joel is very much hard inside of you. And panting on your back. And gripping your body for dear life. And as much as he knows you, you know him too. So in a matter of seconds, you know what’s about to happen, and you welcome it as a more elaborated thank you.

“Shhhhh,” he soothes one more time before starting to thrust into you again, this time more carefully hence how sensitive he knows you must be, “go to sleep now, little one. You’re okay.” He kisses you again and caresses your scalp with his fingers, the thickness of his cum-covered cock pulsing and comforting your insides and weighting your eyelids.

You’re drifted from your dreams a few minutes later though, when thick, hot spurts of his cum breed your used hole, claiming you as his, reminding you you’re safe and filled by his affection. He pants and moans at a lower volume, doing his best to not wake you up, as if the more “I love you”’s he’s spent on your ear wouldn’t dance their way to your dreams. He knows you’re feeling better now, and you know he’s going to get up in a bit to clean you up. But for now, you both know you want to stay like this for just a little more.

[screampied]

For that last ask, now I’m picturing poly satosugu x reader with Satoru tied up while Suguru eats out and fingers reader, and Satoru can’t do anything other than watch reader cum like 6 times from just Suguru’s mouth & fingers. AND Suguru keeps teasing & taunting reader & Satoru the whole time 😩😩😩😩

YOU GUYSSSSS R FEEDINNGME HOLD ON. love a good cuck. oh wow satoru would be such a mess imagine how whiny he’d be. SUGURU TEASING READER AND SATORU oh ik that’s right 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️.

[haledamage]

When Edwin has a nightmare, he doesn't wake up screaming. Charles didn't understand it, not completely, not until Port Townsend. He didn't know what chased Edwin through his dreams. Some days, he wishes he still didn't know. Not as often as he wishes Edwin didn't. Or: one time Edwin has a nightmare, and one time he doesn't.

You know how it is. Sometimes you have a cute little story idea about some hurt/comfort cuddles after a nightmare, and it turns into a 10k multi-chapter love confession in which said nightmares barely feature at all.

first Dead Boy Detectives fic GO!

[kissingrhi]

roman roy who views intimacy like a reward he can’t grasp. it’s unfathomable, a taste he can’t describe or understand. roman roy who needs you to tug him off of your inner thighs by the gelled strands of his hair to feel blood rush to his veins. to feel adrenaline pop into his system the way it should when he thinks about doing more with you. roman roy who begs you to peck at his jawline or graze his pecs — a dog begging for a scrap in his bowl. just eager enough to pant but never enough to latch.

if he feels like he’s running over he goes cold. petulance and crossed arms at his own decision making, slinking away if you try to repair his damage. he knows it’s wrong, sure, and he knows it doesn’t make sense. then again, has he ever been known to care about making sense? he’ll stick to falling over you in the middle of the night haphazardly (as some kind of an apology), and waking up with his arms slung over your torso and going to the bathroom to wash his face and hands. he hates that he has to unstick his flesh from your own, a reminder that he’s something living, something needing of nurturing. he always manages to feel dingy in the luxury of his place, the velvet carpet makes him wince. he shudders at the thought of being something more than a mutt.