#thanks for sending this in it was fun!

[tirkdi]

It irked her — she wished it didn't, because she knew that was why he'd said it. "I'm chaining you to me. With magic."

An eyebrow lifted. "To what end?"

"You want me with you? Here I am. But I'm not going to be tricked into disappearing only for you to vanish on me, with a head start on whatever havoc you've decided to wreak. I'm not going to let you leave my sight. So you can hold out your wrist right now, or I'll follow those trees back to find Nikolai, and we'll finish this war." She raised her head and held his gaze, daring him to take her up on the challenge.

He didn't, of course. His expression shifted, more curious than anything, and he held his left hand out to her, palm up.

She grabbed his wrist, ignoring the rush that she felt at the contact of his skin on hers, and pushed up his sleeve, settling the cuff into position on his forearm. A deep inhale — on the exhale she focused, calling on all her practice, and formed a tiny, shining merzost monster in the air between them. The creature vibrated with movement, bright enough that she squinted her eyes. She directed the light-monster into the hollow of the cuff before pushing the two ends together, grabbing the vial David had given her, pulling out the cork with her teeth, and pouring the purple liquid where the edges of the cuff met.

The liquid bubbled and fizzed where it touched the golden material, and when it fell on the Darkling's skin, she heard a swift intake of breath. After a minute, the liquid had disappeared and the cuff had melded together, the seam invisible. Alina blinked hard and wiped at the wetness on her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing the blood that had leaked from her eyes. Her shoulders sagged in exhaustion. Such a small amount of merzost — the physical ramifications caught her by surprise every time.

He twisted his wrist in front of his face, examining the cuff. "What's the point of this?"

"Your nichevo'ya can't go far from your side," she replied. "A mile, maybe? We saw their limit when we escaped with the Sea Whip and when …" She paused, the orphan in her deciding better than to continue. "This one is smaller, so has a tighter radius." She started backing up, keeping her eye on him, thinking about the tests she'd done with David. When she started feeling a tug on her powers, she looked up, and the Darkling's wrist had lifted towards her — her own monster in the cuff unwilling to leave her side.

"Let's call it forty feet," she said, walking back towards him. Enough for some privacy, not enough to start a war.

"David made this special for you, you know." She traced a fingertip along the edge, could feel the slight warmth of her monster humming inside. "It can't be dissolved or broken other than with a special formula that he left only one copy of, in a location no one but me knows." She smiled, not kindly. "If you do manage to break it, though, know that this special bit of merzost has a taste for flesh; it will burrow into your veins and eat you from the inside out."

He looked at her for a long moment, an island of composure in the wild of the forest. "Intriguing," he murmured.

A wind picked up, and Alina felt a part of herself lifting with it, trying to run from the savage, hungry part of her. Trying to run from what she'd done, what she would have to do.

Then, all at once, those feelings she had kept at bay came crashing back through her like a wave. This was it — it was done, the bargain sealed, the sacrifice made. This was her life now. She looked up at the man in front of her — her prison, her prisoner — and wiped her cheek again, expecting blood, but finding only tears.

"What are you crying for, Alina?" he asked. When she didn't answer, he amended: "Or is it a who?"

She would not dignify him with a response. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and shook her head, willing the tears to stop. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To a house I keep."

She dropped her hands and sniffled. "And where is that?"

"Does it matter?"

for this writing meme

This is a fun passage! This is very much the crux of the fic switching from backstory to something else. I'd had an idea of where I had wanted this story to go post-trilogy, but I hadn't really been sure how to get a setup that would work. On a reread of S&S I realized that this was the perfect way to keep them together: a trick that Alina could use to ensure everyone else's safety, something she'd be confident enough in to agree to his demands. Ok! I'll put the text below, my comments in bold *

It irked her — she wished it didn't, because she knew that was why he'd said it. Getting what he wants does not make him less of a jerk. "I'm chaining you to me. With magic."

An eyebrow lifted. "To what end?"

"You want me with you? Here I am. But I'm not going to be tricked into disappearing only for you to vanish on me, with a head start on whatever havoc you've decided to wreak. I'm not going to let you leave my sight. So you can hold out your wrist right now, or I'll follow those trees back to find Nikolai, and we'll finish this war." She raised her head and held his gaze, daring him to take her up on the challenge. She's capitulating but she's not scared of him.

He didn't, of course. His expression shifted, more curious than anything, and he held his left hand out to her, palm up. What's happening in this part becomes, I think, more obvious in the later chapters. We don't get his perspective here (writing a piece with different POVs was so fun and allowed a lot of leeway!) but later on we realize how unconcerned he was about this whole thing. Here, you can see that a bit – he's curious where she'll go with it, but not afraid of a real consequence.

She grabbed his wrist, ignoring the rush that she felt at the contact of his skin on hers, (girl, pull it together) and pushed up his sleeve, settling the cuff into position on his forearm. A deep inhale — on the exhale she focused, calling on all her practice, and formed a tiny, shining merzost monster in the air between them. The creature vibrated with movement, bright enough that she squinted her eyes. She directed the light-monster into the hollow of the cuff before pushing the two ends together, grabbing the vial David had given her, pulling out the cork with her teeth, and pouring the purple liquid where the edges of the cuff met.

The liquid bubbled and fizzed where it touched the golden material, and when it fell on the Darkling's skin, she heard a swift intake of breath. After a minute, the liquid had disappeared and the cuff had melded together, the seam invisible. Alina blinked hard and wiped at the wetness on her cheek with the back of her hand, smearing the blood that had leaked from her eyes. Her shoulders sagged in exhaustion. Such a small amount of merzost — the physical ramifications caught her by surprise every time. Knowing that merzost would be a big part of the story meant that I needed to set up a structure for exactly how it worked, the cost paid for it, and what it meant. Here we see the initial differential in their capacities for merzost, and her initial reaction to the physical toll.

He twisted his wrist in front of his face, examining the cuff. I was trying to figure out what to call it. Since Alina's necklace and bracelets are a "collar" and "fetter," I figured his should be "cuff." "What's the point of this?"

"Your nichevo'ya can't go far from your side," she replied. "A mile, maybe? We saw their limit when we escaped with the Sea Whip and when …" She paused, the orphan in her deciding better than to continue. I always read Baghra taking the nichevo'ya with her as a way to ensure he came down the mountain, too. "This one is smaller, so has a tighter radius." She started backing up, keeping her eye on him, thinking about the tests she'd done with David. When she started feeling a tug on her powers, she looked up, and the Darkling's wrist had lifted towards her — her own monster in the cuff unwilling to leave her side.

"Let's call it forty feet," she said, walking back towards him. Enough for some privacy, not enough to start a war. The two big considerations when picking a roommate.

"David made this special for you, you know." She traced a fingertip along the edge, could feel the slight warmth of her monster humming inside. It's mentioned later on, but I thought a lot about how for the next hundred years he has a warm, vibrating piece of Alina strapped around his wrist. I mean. For real. "It can't be dissolved or broken other than with a special formula that he left only one copy of, in a location no one but me knows." She smiled, not kindly. "If you do manage to break it, though, know that this special bit of merzost has a taste for flesh; it will burrow into your veins and eat you from the inside out."

He looked at her for a long moment, an island of composure in the wild of the forest. "Intriguing," he murmured. We find out later just how little he believes of this, even at the time. He's right about the flesh-eating part being a bluff (and he could probably handle a tiny merzost monster without a problem anyway), but here he's learning about the limitations in her own knowledge, and learning her assumptions about his knowledge. He has discovered an important way she has underestimated him. And, as always, he believes he is the only one being underestimated in this scenario.

A wind picked up, and Alina felt a part of herself lifting with it, trying to run from the savage, hungry part of her. Trying to run from what she'd done, what she would have to do.

Then, all at once, those feelings she had kept at bay came crashing back through her like a wave. This was it — it was done, the bargain sealed, the sacrifice made. This was her life now. She looked up at the man in front of her — her prison, her prisoner — and wiped her cheek again, expecting blood, but finding only tears. Alina's relationship to her feelings has always been interesting to me. A little dissociation followed by immediate overwhelm felt right for her.

"What are you crying for, Alina?" he asked. What could you possibly be upset about, asks man who has given woman one million reasons to be upset. When she didn't answer, he amended: "Or is it a who?" Also, he's a jerk.

She would not dignify him with a response. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and shook her head, willing the tears to stop. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"To a house I keep."

She dropped her hands and sniffled. "And where is that?"

"Does it matter?" The absolute hopelessness of her situation. It literally does not matter where he takes her �� everything will be the same.

[mintaii]

one piece characters! suggestions were taken from here and twitter 🤠

[salamispots]

a rug hook commission for @stickynotebirds! :O (who also drew the original sketch/design and I tweaked it a little bit)

[tytolito]

"he listened with seeming impassiveness; but his nostrils twitched and his eyes blazed as I told how the ruthless hands of the Count had held his wife in that terrible and horrid position, with her mouth to the open wound in his breast. It interested me, even at that moment, to see, that, whilst the face of white set passion worked convulsively over the bowed head, the hands tenderly and lovingly stroked the ruffled hair."

[potato-lord-but-not]

hi i hope you know the moisthur fanbase (me and like four other people) just went batshit insane over your most recent reblogs and tags,, anyway hope youre having a wonderful day :)

gather children for I have your meal.

I need it be shot for feeding into this.. but it’s too late now it’s been done. Sorry to everyone else except the five people who created this god forsaken ship.

also some Adora and John because well. it’s Adora cmon

[gianttol]

♡ GT July 2024 Prompt List ♡

[erwinsvow]

i can see the trio dangerously driving to or from a party. they’re speeding down the empty road, the new future album blasting from the speakers of topper’s jeep. kelce is up front, and reader and rafe are in the back. reader is a bit drunk and rafe is high out of his mind and can’t control his feelings for reader so he starts getting touchy with her, maybe trying to kiss her. since you’re just starting this au out, i’m curious to know how do you think reader would react and if she did kiss him back, how would topper and kelce react?

the last line of coke was a mistake—it made him lose the last bits of his self control. it was clear that he was way too high to drive, even though it seemed like rafe always drove clear-headed or not, so you were assigned babysitting duty in the back.

top was on a rager today, even worse than his usual ones. whenever him and sarah started fighting, he got like this, currently blasting some future song at the highest volume possible, speeding through the streets of kildare. you would be a little scared, except kelce is driving while topper nurses yet another beer in the passenger seat. you're deliciously drunk, still gone from the drinks you had at the party, not a care in the world except making sure rafe doesn't keel over in the back.

you mumble along the words to the song, pretty much engraved in your memory from how often it was played. you don't know how it happens, your fingers just find rafe's hair, brushing it out of his face while he talks to top and kelce in the front, amped up and loud, acting as crazy as you've ever seen him. you giggle, continuing your motions.

topper begins some rant about his girlfriend, or rather, his ex, while rafe locks eyes with you. it's hard to keep eye contact, looking away the second rafe shuts up and focuses on you completely. you're never shy around them but this might be the closest you've gotten.

you feel rafe's hands on your exposed thighs, your tiny skirt ridden up in the seat. his touch feels good, in your drunken state you don't think there's anything wrong with it. he's just being friendly, being touchy, being rafe. he strokes the soft skin of your legs, running his hands down to your ankles, while you shift around in the back. all it would take is one look from the boys in the front to see that something's going on back here.

"rafe, listen to top he's talkin-"

"shh," rafe says, noise completely overlooked by the others, nothing audible except the thump of the bass. he takes your face into his hand, leaning in close. "shut up for a second." he kisses you, briefly, barely, lips touching together and your eyes fluttering shut, when kelce slams on the brakes. the two of you fly apart, your heart thudding for an entirely different reason now.

"what the fuck, kelce, my brakes-" top starts.

"it was a deer, you idiot. you guys okay?" he turns to look at you and rafe in the back, your face flushed and rafe's hands still on your legs.

"fine," rafe mumbles. the four of you head back to tannyhill, you crashing on rafe's bed like always while top and kelce take the guest room down the ball. the two of you are out before you can bring it up, but rafe doesn't forget about it.

in the morning, you stretch, the oversized shirt of his you'd put on for the night riding up. rafe doesn't wait another minute.

"so, about last night. in the car." he looks at you, waiting for your response.

"oh, rafe, don't apologize. it's okay. we were both pretty gone."

"m'not apologizin', i-"

"and i mean, who hasn't been there once or twice-"

"once or twice?"

"and i kissed kelce that one time, so i guess-"

"you kissed kelce?" rafe looks at you like you've committed a crime.

"what? it was new years."

"where the hell was i?"

"i don't know, probably sucking some girl's face off. i was busy making out with kelce, remember?" you laugh, getting up and looking for your clothes. rafe lays back down on the bed, deciding he's never leaving you alone with kelce ever again.

[myaverageartblog]

~Basketball club~

[barblaz-arts]

Has there been something you've written or drawn that was so funny that you couldn't stop laughing?

And on the contrary, it was very sad and you had to stop to dry your tears?

Probably the funniest thing I've drawn was this

So sad that we'll never get to see Enid and Yoko act like besties. Crazy that the only canon on screen interaction we've seen between them was Enid nagging Yoko over the dang boat they were painting lol

I can't say I've written or drawn anything sad enough to make me cry, but these are the ones that have made me the most emotional when making them

Drawing Vaggie in the many stages of her life was idk how to say it. It made me feel really proud of her? One of the most frustrating claims about her as a character was that she was bland, but I always saw her as one of the few characters in the show that was given the most actual DEPTH. All the reasons people give to hate her is such a disservice to her character's journey. I wanted this piece to show the appreciation she deserves.

These two pages are some of my favorite of my more emotional comics. Just Enid and Vega crying as they turn back to their human form while finding comfort in Wednesday. One of the many parallels I love to put in my art

[blindmagdalena]

i'm thinking about john killing someone in front of his s/o, but that was about to kill them so his violent is seem a protectiveness. to be seem bloody and not be feared....

18+ 2.7k homelander x reader, established relationship, gore, blood, morally grey reader? shower sex, fingering, praise kink, breast play, dirty talk, rough sex, count down, needy/possessive/yandere HL, reader is nondescript with f!anatomy.

Homelander is breathing shallowly, eyes wide—wild—blood dripping from his chin and from the stray strands of hair that fell forward when he lunged. He's elbow deep in a man's sternum, and his other hand is wrapped tight around his broken neck, the bones like fragments of glass poking out from beneath rapidly cooling skin.

It all happened in an instant. One second, the man currently in his hands was grabbing you by the hair, a knife swinging wildly towards your throat, and the next he was dangling from Homelander's grasp, heart slowing against his knuckles.

He laughs through his teeth, licking his lips reflexively. The blood is sour, contaminated with god knows what, but that hardly takes away from the thrill of the moment.

It's been a while since he held the gaze of someone whose life he just claimed. Long enough that he forgets where he is, and who he's with.

He drops the man to the ground like a wet sack of potatoes, innards spilling out from the hole his arm leaves behind. In the man's hand, Homelander sees something that sets his teeth on fucking edge: strands of your hair ripped from your scalp in that limp, dead palm.

"You stupid motherfucker," he growls through a crooked sickly smile, lifting his boot to crush the hand like it were nothing more than an insect. The man's heart has long since stopped, but the rapid pound of another is still loud in his ears.

Yours.

Slowly, he turns around to look at you. You're cradling your skull where you'd been grabbed, tears gathering in your wide glassy eyes, the shock of it all catching up to you. You're staring intently at the corpse, watching blood pooling out from beneath it.

You've never looked at him with fear in your eyes before, but that's precisely what he sees when your eyes meet his. It makes him bristle internally. What was he supposed to do? You were in danger, and the way you screamed will follow him into his nightmares.

He could have lost you just now. You could be the one soaking in a puddle of your own blood, losing your life to the press of nothing more than a flimsy metal blade. While Homelander has always been logically aware of your humanity and the tender vulnerability that entails, nothing has ever put it so viscerally in the forefront of his mind as a freak incident coming so close to erasing you from his life.

He did what he had to. You'll understand. You have to understand.

"Hey," he says, hands raised to you placatingly, as if coaxing a spooked wild animal. The blood just makes his crimson gloves look glossy. He blocks your view of the body. "Hey, it's alright."

Your terror is palpable in the race of your heart and the sour smell of adrenaline coursing through you.

He reaches for you with the hand that isn't drenched in viscera, but before he can take hold, you beat him to the punch, throwing yourself into his arms, your own wrapping tight around his middle, hands clasping together beneath his cape.

Caught off guard, Homelander's arms hover awkwardly for a beat before he returns your embrace. He'd been certain that he was the source of your fear after a display like that.

"He just-he tried to kill me," you rasp, tears overflowing, spilling down your cheeks, wetting his suit further. "Yeah, yeah he sure did. S'alright, he's not gonna hurt you again," he coos, stroking your back with one bloodied hand, the other cupping the back of your neck. He kisses the top of your head as you cry, working the shock and fear from your system. "Ssshhh, shhshh."

Looking over his shoulder once, he lifts you up into his arms and takes off gently into the night sky, keeping you gathered close as he flies, carrying you far away from the mess spilled all over the pavement.

Not his problem. His focus is you.

With your face buried in the crook of his neck, he can feel your tears rolling down into the collar of his suit, can smell the sea salt sweetness of them. He's never let you see that side of him before. When the shock wears off, will you see the moment for what it was?

Will you realize how much he enjoyed it?

Landing on his balcony, your arms are still tight around his neck. Neither of you have said a word since take off. He's not sure where your head is, other than the fact your racing heart has slowed to a more natural—albeit still nervous—patter.

Inside, he sets you down gently on your feet. Your balance wavers, and he settles you with his hands on your hips, staining your clothing with smears of dark blood.

He's almost afraid of breaking the tenuous quiet, but he needs to know where your head is. When you glance away, are you looking towards the door, planning your escape?

His hands tighten reflexively on your hips, and your eyes spring back up to meet his.

"You okay?" He asks quietly, warily.

"Yeah," you say, though it's hardly convincing.

"You're in shock," he says, touching the side of your face. Enough of the blood has been wiped on your clothes that it doesn't transfer much to your skin. "You remember what happened?"

Maybe your distress will leave you malleable enough for him to shape the incident just right. Make sure that you remember first and foremost that- "You saved me," you say, cutting his thoughts short. "That man was trying to hurt me, and you... you saved me."

His brows lift, surprised to hear you say it first. "Yeah. Course I did."

"You were so..." You trail off, gaze moving along his features.

Apprehension prickles from his spine all the way up to the back of his neck. He's accustomed to being scolded for his brutality by Madelyn, or looked on with thinly veiled disgust by Maeve.

They're both long gone from his life now, yet he finds himself waiting with bated breath for your response, his throat tight under the gripping hands of the ghosts of his past.

"Amazing," you exhale, banishing his specters with the sweeping wind of your breath. "God, I've never been that scared in my life, but you reacted so fast. No one has ever protected me like you do," you say, cupping his blood spattered face in your palms, smearing it into thin pink swaths across his skin with your thumbs.

He breaks into a slow, pleased smile. "Well, you've never been with anyone like me before."

"No," you agree. He can still feel a slight tremor in your hands, your body still coming down from the adrenaline high. "And I never will."

That strokes his ego deliciously. He likes the finality in your voice, the dreamy way you're looking at him, even as the smell of blood hangs heavily in the air. He almost kisses you before he remembers he's got the blood of some random thug all over his face.

"I need a shower," he says, lips close enough that his breath teases yours.

"Me too. Guess we'll have to share," you say, feigning resignation.

He grins. "Uh oh."

In the bathroom, Homelander makes quick work of undressing, but you're faster. You're already in the large shower, steaming water pouring down from above. He steps in with you, letting the water wash over you both. The water turns pink as it carries the blood away, and then sudsy as you both soap and shampoo the mess of the day from you bodies.

Once he's rinsed, he slips in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling into the crook of your neck. "I love you," he says at your ear, trailing kisses down to the lobe, to your neck. He loves the feel of goosebumps rising against his lips.

"I love you, too," you respond as you have a thousand times before. Maybe more. He stopped counting when he was sure you'd never stop.

"How much?" He prompts, hungry for more. Your praise and assurance after a moment of such uncertainty has only made him desperate for more. He wants to wring more pretty words of admiration from you, hear more of just how good he is to you.

He can't help but color your answer with a slip of his hand between your thighs, toying with your clit.

The touch earns a shivering sigh from you. "So much. More than I can stand sometimes," you say, leaning your head back against his shoulder.

"I thought you'd be scared of me after seeing what you saw... What I'm capable of," he murmurs, pillowing the reminder with deft, wet fingers. "Are you?"

You shake your head. "No, m'not, mmm... You'd never hurt me," you say, breath hitching as his fingers slip in further, fingertips stroking the lips of your pussy.

"Never," he echoes, his other hand slotting over your throat just to feel each noise you make. He pulls you back flush to his body, presses his hardening cock to the curve of your ass with his a shaky groan. "I liked it," you admit quieter, moaning when he slides his middle finger inside you. The confession stirs something primal in him, makes him growl out a rough little noise against your skin, grinding his cock into you.

"I wanted to rip his fucking guts out for touching you," he says, working another finger into you, savoring the slick, velvet feel of you around them. "For trying to take you from me." His words make your cunt quiver. He can't help himself, has to pull them from you just to taste you, sucking the nectarine sweet flavor from his fingers, rolling his tongue between them, hungry for every ounce of it.

He moans around his own fingers when you reach back and take his cock firmly in your hand, jerking him slowly. "I want you inside me," you say, your legs spreading slightly, back arching into him. "Touch me until yours is the only one I remember."

Fuck. Yes, that he can do.

You let go of his cock, and he wraps an arm around your waist, guiding himself between your wet, soft thighs. You close your legs, earning a breathy noise from him as he rocks between them, the warm, wet heat of your cunt a tease along the top of his cock.

"Take me," he murmurs fervently at your ear. "Wanna be in you, feel you, fuck you, make your pussy mine."

Shuddering against him, you reach down between your legs. Pressing your fingers to the underside of his cock, you push it up as he moves forward, the thick head of it catching on your entrance and splitting you open in one long, slow thrust.

Christ, you're so fucking tight. He can feel your muscles contracting, flexing, pulling him deeper. Your cunt feels made for him.

No one will ever take you away from him.

His right hand goes across your chest, cupping your left breast and rolling your nipple between his thumb and index finger while he braces you tighter to him. He rolls his hips slowly at first, relishing the tight, slippery pull of your cunt before he begins to pick up a proper pace.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He grits out, the slap of naked skin against skin loud in the shower. "Tell me how good it feels."

"Feels like being fucked by the fucking sun," you moan, gripping his arms, useless for anything other than taking his cock when he holds you like this. "Hot, you're so hot inside me, and I can feel... I can feel you holding back, it's like you're vibrating," you say, voice catching with every solid thrust. "It's like... it's like getting as much as I can take from something so much bigger than me."

He doesn't know what he expected to hear, but it isn't that. The idea that you can feel the true gravity of his power behind each restrained thrust drives him wild, makes him want to give you more, but he knows he can't. Not without breaking you. Sweet, frail, human thing that you are.

If he could, he would break you apart, fuck you until you fall to pieces in his hands, and then he would put every single fragment back where it belongs, but he can't. If he breaks you, he will lose you.

He needs you to survive him.

"Fuck, fuck," he rasps, holding you that slight bit tighter, lifting you nearly off your feet as he arches his back, lifting and dropping you onto every thrust of his hips. "M'gonna come," he says, voice reedy. "Come with me, let me feel you. I know you're close, can fuckin' feel it. Touch yourself for me, sweetheart."

Immediately, you drop a hand to your clit, the tips of your fingers brushing where he's pounding into you. The touch must be electric because you jolt against him. "I am, I am," you whine, rubbing yourself, the pleasure making you squirm.

"M'gonna count us down, alright? And you, mmmgh, you're gonna come with me," he says, already fighting to hold himself back. Your cunt is only getting tighter the closer to release you get, making it hard for him to stay focused.

"Five... four," he manages to say, desperately holding onto his final tethers of control. You're beyond speech now, reduced to nothing more than desperate, needy noises as you finger your clit, not even bothering to try and hold yourself up while Homelander mercilessly bounces you on his cock,

"Three... two..." His words are strained, balls drawn up tight, cock throbbing in the slick grip of your cunt. He needs to come so bad it makes his toes curl, but he won't let go until he feels you coming undone.

"One..."

One, two, three more thrusts, and you're screaming his name, knees curling up, your whole body tightening like a vice. The spasm of your orgasm rips his clean out of him, has him gasping into the crook of your neck.

He comes so hard his vision goes white, every movement halting, his focus purely on the ardent pounds of his cock emptying deep inside you, flooding you so thoroughly that the excess spill back down his shaft, his balls, mingling with the hot water and making him shiver from head to toe.

When he can, he takes in a deep, shuddering breath, easing his hold on you, though not by much. You're all but limp in his arms, panting, head lolled back against his shoulder. He lets the water run on the two of you a little while longer, savoring the aftershocks of your release before gingerly slipping out of you.

Carefully, he rubs the water between your thighs, tenderly cleaning you, kissing your neck, your shoulder.

"That was..." You trail off, words half slurred, and then you just laugh softly, the marvel clear in your voice.

He laughs, too, his own voice frayed. "Sure was."

The two of you put as much effort as it takes to get dry before making your way to bed, slipping beneath the cool sheets and rapidly warming them with your bodies, Homelander's in particular. He's always run hot, and you seem extra appreciative for it tonight, wrapping your arms around his waist and snuggling into his arms.

"I love you," you mumble sweetly.

Homelander draws the covers up over your shoulders before slipping his arm around you, drawing you into the warm, safe circle of his arms. "And I love you," he purrs, gently rolling his knuckles up and down your back.

You look peaceful, he thinks, watching as you begin to drift to sleep. He's sure it helps that he wore you out so thoroughly, but still, he'd anticipated that the shock of the evening would still have you worked up. It could be that you're still processing, that the trauma will return in nightmares that follow you into the night.

Maybe the threat of a rat simply makes less of an impact when you're cradled in the jaws of a lion.

Regardless, should you sleep fitfully or peacefully, he will be here.

No force in this would can keep him from you.

[naivegh0ul]

OKAY BUT how about Older¡Ghost extremely jealous when his neighbor (reader) brings someone to her house to fuck with her? He would be extremely mad about it, but couldn't help but hear her moans and whimpers, wishing it was him instead making her feel good. (And to be honest, she may only did that to caught Ghost's attention )

YESSS god I love the idea of jealous Older!Ghost (it took me way too answer this i am so so so sorry anon!!!)

(warnings: smut, fem reader, older!ghost, jealousy, blowjobs, face fucking)

(word count: 1908)

It's 3am and Ghost hasn't gotten an ounce of sleep. How could he, when he can hear you moaning so sweetly through the walls. This has been a nightly occurrence. Ghost would go to bed, lay there for a while as he scrolled through pictures of you on his phone, and then the moaning would start.

The first time it happened, Ghost brushed it off, he's heard you pleasuring yourself through the walls before. Hell, he's even watched you. But this time you sounded different. Not so breathy, more high-pitched. Exaggerated.

The second time, he heard the creaking noise. Your bed must be rocking back and forth. Again, not the first time Ghost has heard that, but it is the first time he's heard grunts to go along with it.

Now, at three o'clock in the morning, Ghost has finally had enough. He climbs out of bed, feeling angry and annoyed. Angry that his sleep is being disrupted, and annoyed that he's hard from your moans.

He storms out of bed and out of his house, making his way towards your home in only a pair of grey sweatpants and socks, the imprint of his hard cock visible at the front of his sweats.

There's no response when Ghost knocks the first time, so he goes to knock again but your front door swings open before he can. "Mr. Riley!" You exclaim, slightly out of breath. "W-what's the matter?"

Ghost looks you up and down not so discreetly, noting the fact that one of your pant legs is riding up a little, and your shirt is up slightly, revealing the hickies and bite marks littering your stomach.

A twinge of jealousy filled Ghost at the sight. He has no right to be jealous, he knows that, but he is. You are his. Not officially, but you belong to Ghost. He knows what you like, how to crook his fingers to make you cry out his name, what filthy things to say to make you an embarrassed, whining mess.

That man in your bed probably has no idea what to do, he most likely just whipped his dick out and tried to put it in you, not even bothering to make you cum on his fingers first. He's probably your age, too. Young, immature, thinks with his dick.

Ghost can feel himself getting riled up the more he thinks about that stupid guy in your house. Ghost's is gonna give him what he deserves, the second he leaves your house Ghost is gonna wrap his hands around his throat and watch the life bleed from him-

"Simon?" Your sweet voice coos, pulling Ghost out of his spiraling thoughts. "Have a nice night." Ghost grunts out, turning away and walking straight back to his house.

Going to your house was a bad idea. You're a grown woman, for God's sake. He should leave you alone and stop being such an obsessive old man.

The sound of your sock-covered feet hitting the pavement has Ghost turning around before he enters his house. "Simon!" You say, looking up at him as you come to a stop on his front doorstep. "What's wrong? Is everything okay?" There's clear concern in your eyes, making Ghost's heart melt.

"'M fine, love. Don't worry 'bout me." Ghost sighs, reaching forward to ruffle your hair. "Go back inside, 'm sure your guest is waitin' for you."

Ghost tries to turn around again but your hands reach out and grab the waistband of his joggers. "He..." You mumble, looking down at your feet. "He doesn't make me feel as good as you do." You admit as you glance up at Ghost with pleading, desperate eyes.

"Love..." Ghost sighs again "'M too old for you, alright? Go back inside, pretty girl." He leans forward and kisses your forehead softly and strokes your hair before pulling back.

Suddenly, you're on your knees in front of him, hands tugging at his waistband. "Please, Simon?" You coo, palming him through his joggers. Ghost swears under his breath, cock twitching and his hands curling into fists as he fights off the urge to give in.

No, he gave in once. He got his fill, he shouldn't be greedy. But you look so pretty in front of him, kneeling on the hard concrete, your face so close to his throbbing cock.

"You really want this, don't you?" Ghost says as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "Come on, get up. Don't want you kneeling on the concrete." Ghost reaches down and pulls you up, guiding you into his house.

Once the door is shut, you sink to your knees again, eager to please Ghost. "Fuck, you're eager." Ghost breathes as he undoes the ties on his sweatpants, pushing the garment down past his hips, exposing his cock to you.

He watches as your throat bobs and you swallow, your hands sliding up and down his thighs impatiently. Ghost wraps a hand around himself and strokes himself a few times, watching as you shuffle forward and open your mouth.

"Just this once." Ghost thinks to himself as he grabs the back of your head and slowly pushes his cock inside your waiting mouth, groaning loudly as the feeling of your warm, wet mouth engulfs him.

His hand guides you up and down the length of his cock, his fingers tangled in your hair and tugging ever so slightly. He has to fight the urge to buck forward, to fuck into your mouth as you drool all over him.

When he feels your hand on his balls suddenly, he jolts, a moan being shocked out of him as you gently roll them in your hand. "Attagirl," Ghost praises softly, barely audible over the sound of your slurping and gagging as you try to pleasure him at your pace, not his.

Ghost lets you do what you want, letting go of your hair and watching as you scoot forward and take more of Ghost into your mouth. It's a delicious sight, seeing your mouth stretching around him as your fingers wrap around the base of Ghost's cock.

You move further down Ghost's shaft each time, taking more and more of him. Your lips bump into your fingers as you take away one each time, building yourself up until finally you've got Ghost's cock buried deep in your throat, your neck bulging ever so slightly.

"Fuuuck," Ghost groans as he throws his head back, bumping it into the wall. His hips jerk, forcing himself further down your throat and making his heavy balls slap against your face. When you swallow around him, it takes everything in him not to cum right then and there. He has to pull you back so he can control himself.

You're pulled off with a wet cough, one hand holding your throat while the other wipes the spit from your mouth. "Why'd you stop?" You rasp as you look up at Ghost, licking your lips.

"Got close." You tilt your head at his explanation. "Why didn't you just cum then?" Your hand finds its way back to Ghost's cock, your thumb and forefinger gently pulling back Ghost's foreskin as you wait for a response.

"Didn't know if... mhm, if you wanted me to." He pauses mid-sentence as you wrap your lips around his tip, lapping the milky white precum beading from his slit. Your tongue digs under his foreskin, licking him teasingly.

You're so good at this, making Ghost feel like he has no control and you're in charge when you're only giving him a blowjob. You're not even doing anything special, not ordering him around or trying to be dominant, you're just gently suckling on his cock and now you've got him wrapped around your finger.

And it's not fair. Ghost wants to fuck a pretty girl like you with no repercussions, but he knows that's not possible, the moment they're having explains that all away. You can't get pleasure from anyone other than Ghost, and he can't stop himself from pleasuring you.

He's trying so hard to focus and what you're doing, but the way your hand strokes him and your tongue laps at him has him feeling floaty and drunk so he doesn't notice when he starts thrusting his hips forward slowly, fucking into the wet heat of your mouth.

Your hands hold onto his hairy thighs as he gently fucks your mouth, your nails scratching lightly as you let him do what he wants. He sounds so gorgeous, breathy moans and groans escaping his throat as he rocks his hips.

You watch him, big eyes looking up at Ghost curiously as you swallow. He looks so good from where you're kneeling, mindless yet focused as he moves you up and down on his cock like you're a toy, just a thing for his pleasure.

And you let him. You let him drag you along his cock or hold you still so he can fuck into your mouth; you let him lose himself as he stares into your teary, lustful eyes.

"So pretty down there." Ghost mumbles, slurring his words as if he's drunk on the feeling of you. "Perfect little mouth, so warm..." His hand moves from the back of your head to the side, Ghost's other hand joining in as he holds you still and slowly thrusts into your mouth, letting out breathy little grunts each time.

He's close, you can tell from the way his breathing speeds up and hips move faster, eagerly bucking into your mouth. Ghost gets rough when he's close, you know that, so you're prepared when he adjusts his stance and grips your head tighter, pulling you down so your nose is buried in the thick hair at the base of his cock.

"Fuuuck," Ghost groans as he feels your throat contract, watches as your eyes water and your hands grip his thigh. "Good fucking girl, takin' me so well." His thumb swipes below your eye, wiping away your tears as his hips snap against your face, balls slapping your chin.

"'M close," He pants, feeling his cock twitch in your mouth. "You gonna swallow it like a good girl?" At his words, you moaned, eyebrows pinching as you scooted forward on the floor and licked at the sensitive vein on the underside of Ghost's cock.

“Yeah, ‘s what I thought.” His hands tighten their hold on your head, pulling you closer to him. You’re a gagging, drooling mess, hands planted in your lap as you hear Ghost let out a loud, long moan, his hips stilling as he forces his cock further into your mouth, spilling his seed down your throat.

When Ghost finally lets you off – after holding you there for an unreasonable amount of time – you splutter and cough, one hand gingerly holding your throat while the other wipes your mouth.

You stand up after a moment, knees clicking and cracking from being so stiff and you look at Ghost with a tiny smile on your face and a happy expression. Boldly, you lean closer, standing on your tiptoes as you go in for a kiss.

But Ghost stops you with a hand on your shoulder, shutting you down. “We shouldn’t.” He shakes his head as he speaks. He can see the look of hurt and confusion in your eyes as you step back, visibly embarrassed.

“Um, I’ll go now.” You say softly, avoiding eye contact. “Bye, Mr. Riley.”

[zu-is-here]

[8/7] his day ♡

The capricious pharaoh drives away his servants, while a delinquent soldier, who's never served in the palace, is sent to him to the mercy. The mistake with a hand fan could really cost Cross his life, but Shattered finds it so amusing that he spares him :'D

Shattered Dream from shattereddreamsau by galacii-gallery / galacii || Dream by jokublog

Cross from xtaleunderverse by jakei95

[stevebabey]

uhm shyly comes into your inbox to give a steve idea :’)

finding him so so so pretty in that stupid dark blue polo, not being able to really look at him properly. it’s tight against his chest and stomach which makes him look delicious, wanting to be devoured really. he’s simply so pretty. worst thing is: he fucking knows it. so he’s cocky about it and teasing, it’s never relenting. he loves it and honestly so do you.

(feel free to ignore!)

trying to get my steve groove back on!!! thank u for sending something nonnie!! a lil bit of shy!reader <3 just a blurb too

Steve doesn’t know it’s a favourite of yours.

One of his polos fits his chest pretty perfectly if anyone asks your opinion. It’s that nice navy colour that looks good against his tan skin, with a bold stripe of white through the middle. A little plain but classic.

It hugs his biceps snugly and stretches ever so slightly over his chest. At the right angle, you can see the definition of his pecs and it’s awfully good at reminding you of what they look like with no shirt on at all.

The thought makes you fluster a bit.

He’s got plenty of polos but this one— this is your favourite. And he’s wearing it tonight, on Valentine’s day, and now you’re not quite sure you’ve been as slick with your wandering eyes as you hoped.

Across the booth, Steve smiles at you, his lashes kissing in the corner. He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and your eyes zero in on the bulge of his bicep instantly.

Steve’s smiles melts into a grin, a tad wicked.

Yeah, okay, maybe he does know it’s your favourite.

You fluster again. Something nudges at your foot under the table, right as Steve says, “What?”

He’s teasing. He definitely knows what.

“Stop,” you murmur, on the side of embarrassed. “You know what.”

Steve smiles again and drops his arm, thankfully, only to fold them and lean forward on the table. It does wonders for his arms, especially in that shirt. Damn that shirt. Damn him. He’s evil.

“Do I know what?” He pretends to muse thoughtfully.

He tilts his pretty head to the side just an inch. His eyes stay locked on you, drinking up every second your flustered reaction. You’re beautiful, even more so when you get all embarrassed about liking him.

“Steve.”

“What?”

“I will not be responsible for any further inflation of your ego, thank you very much.” You mumble it as you take a sip of your soda, eyes on the table. Why is it so terrible to have him know you were leering at him?

Steve laughs loudly. He finally slides his arms back and off the table, giving you a temporary relief.

“You’re the only one who can inflate my ego, actually.” Steve counters, his brows raising. He steals a fry off your plate and chews it slowly.

You eye him over your cup, skeptical.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” He shrugs, swallowing his food. He takes a sip of his own milkshake, oh-so casual when he says, “Your opinion is the only one that really matters to me anyways.”

He grins across the table at you, a more mischievous shine in his eyes.

“Why do you think I picked this shirt?”

You’re equal parts mortified and enthralled at what he’s said. In your surprise, you accidentally inhale a bit of your soda and it burns as it goes down the wrong way— you cough awkwardly to clear it. Okay, less equal, more mortified now.

It’s your turn to ask. “What?”

Steve nudges your foot under the table again, teasing and flirting all in one. His pink lips curve into that grin that makes your heart flip flop— and there’s even a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. As though he’s also endeared but embarrassed by your attention.

“It’s your favourite.”

“It’s—” You splutter and for some reason, decide to lie. “No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s—” You pivot mid-sentence. “Who told you?”

Steve laughs again, that big loud belly-laugh where his cheeks get all chipmunk-y cos he’s grinning so hard. When he stops laughing enough to talk, he’s reaching across the table. You’re not quick enough to pretend to avoid his hand as he snags it with his own.

“Baby,” he says. “Nobody had to tell me. I could just tell.”

Somehow when he says it like that, when he calls you baby in a voice all sticky with fondness, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing at all.

You nudge him back under the table and sip your sofa again to try think of something to say. He knows what you look like when you love something. How terrifying. How intimate.

Another sip of soda. Steve rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, content to gaze you. His view is sweet enough he must have cartoon hearts circling above his head.

You can’t think of anything to say in the end, so you just squeeze his hand and nudge his foot again — and trust that he’ll just be able to tell what you mean.

[cawsceries]

Pretty please can codywan kiss in global warming? If ur not doing ships then just cody having a silly/light-hearted/nerdy moment maybe!

yeah i’ll do ships!! BAD color palette did not enjoy it. the green… it’s killing me

contribute to my misery by sending me one of these color palettes :)

[semperama]

AHHHHHH will you write me buddie for 56 "it brings out your eyes"????????? 😃😃😃

“It brings out your eyes.”

----

"Okay, which one?" Buck asks, holding up two different t-shirts, one sky blue and one salmon-y pink.

Eddie sighs and scrubs his hands over his face. He's been perched on the end of Buck's bed for what feels like an hour, watching him fuss with his hair and then rifle through his closet. "I don't know, Buck." He lets his gaze drift down Buck's body for what feels like the millionth time, trying to ignore the way it gets fractionally harder to breathe each time he does it. "The blue, I guess. It brings out your eyes."

Buck snorts. "I'm going to a club. No one'll be able to see what color my eyes are." He tilts his head to the side and grins. "Not that they'll be looking anyway."

"Oh my God." Eddie looks up at the ceiling and says a silent prayer for mercy. "This is why I told you I wouldn't be much help. What do I know about clubs?" Much less gay clubs.

"Come on, man." Buck tosses the salmon shirt down on the bed and starts peeling the blue one off the hanger. "I'm freaking out, okay? Are you sure you can't come with me?"

Can't? Maybe that was a lie. With Chris gone, he has no good excuse to stay home these days. But the last thing he needs is to watch Buck get hit on by random strangers--especially not if alcohol is going to be involved. He wouldn't even have come over to help Buck get ready if he hadn't begged him. It'll be the first time I've gone out since me and Tommy broke up, Eddie. I could really use a pep talk.

"I don't even understand why you have to go," Eddie says. He watches Buck pull on the shirt, tries not to linger too long on how it stretches around his biceps, over his chest. "Is this really a good way to meet guys? At your age?"

Buck gasps with exaggerated affront. "At my age?"

Eddie raises an eyebrow at him. "Last time we went out with Hen and Karen you puked in my front lawn and then complained about your hangover for two days."

"I did a bad job pacing myself that night," Buck says, his mouth twisted into what could almost be a pout. "Karen holds her alcohol better than I do. And anyway, they're older than us, so if they can go out--"

"They go out like twice a year. Together. As a couple. Not to meet people."

Buck's expression darkens. "Yeah, well. I'm not part of a couple, so." Okay. So Eddie fucked up with that one. He sighs, but before he can apologize, Buck spreads his arms out and swivels his torso a little. "Just...how do I look?"

He looks good enough to fucking eat, of course. The shirt hugs him in all the right places. His jeans make his ass look great. He must have found some new product for his hair, because his curls are perfect and soft-looking, begging to be touched. Eddie wants to drag him in by the belt loops and beg him to stay.

"You look great, Buck," he says quietly. Because Buck asked him for a pep talk, and so far he's failed the assignment. The least he can do is try to turn it around. The least he can do is be a good friend, not a selfish, jealous asshole. "Seriously, you're going to have guys falling at your feet."

The smile that creeps its way across Buck's face make it all worth it. He ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders up, and Eddie is stabbed by a longing so intense he's halfway to his feet before he realizes what he's doing and stops himself.

"I'll let you get going then," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets do he doesn't give in to the temptation to touch. "Let me know how it goes?"

"Yeah," Buck says. His gaze is searching Eddie's face. For what, Eddie doesn't know. "Yeah, of course."

Eddie makes it to the door, breath painful and ragged in his chest, before he hears Buck's feet pounding down the stairs behind him. He turns to look, to ask if there was something else, but he barely opens his mouth before Buck is there, one hand on Eddie's neck, the other wrapping around his waist, pulling him in so close it knocks the air out of his lungs.

Then, Buck is kissing him. Desperate press of lips, tongue licking into Eddie's shocked mouth. It's an electric shock, white heat spreading through him, painfully good.

But then as soon as it started, it's over, and Buck is staring at him, wide-eyed. Eddie wants to dive into that blue gaze and drown there.

"I'm sorry," Buck says. "I just--I had to try. I had to know, before I--"

"Buck." His fingers are curled in the back of Buck's shirt, and he curls them tighter, presses Buck closer. "Don't go," he says. "Stay here. With me."

"Okay," Buck says breathlessly. He looks like he has no idea what's happening, and Eddie knows the feeling, but they can talk later, figure it all out later.

"Good," Eddie says, and pushes his fingers into Buck's hair, pulls their mouths together again.

[vicbutnotactually]

Oooo for the palettes, maybe from collection 2 A6 for 2012 Leo and then collection 2 D2 for 2012 Mikey? And the scenario, maybe just both of them being goofy/silly brothers?

They had a tough battle but don’t fear! Dr. Mikey is here to save the day with colorful bandaids