#you don't need glue though

[origami-fleur]

-Mom mom mom!!! -*sighs*

Modular golden dragon instructions. White dragon instructions.

Bonus picture below.

Here’s a closeup of the dragon’s face.

[euclydya]

I have brought the two halves of Spacehead back together. I now await my significant other to join me with glitter glue.

[softgrungeprophet]

i've given up and i'm just going to wear my previous broken glasses and hope the lens doesn't fall out lol

i'll just keep the new pair as a backup pair for emergencies or something... the broken ones are more comfortable and the smaller lenses have less glare even though both pairs are uncoated...

[neverendingford]

Idea first came to me after I said something like "a thousand needles sewing you to a canvas of pain" and so I decided to make it real as best I could.

[rubys-domain]

i kinda don't want to play genshin tbh. i just want to play minecraft

[corvidiss]

#smile at people #a majority of the time people will smile back and you win Human Points #learn how to compliment people and do it often #Normalcy is a perspective that changes depending on who is looking but kindness and a positive attitude shows the same view to everyone #basic politeness with a little extra effort is amazingly difficult at times #but it goes MILES

Genuinely good advice from @aroace-get-out-of-my-face

can someone recommend some beginner normal behaviors for someone looking to become normal

[flocon-tourne-en-rond]

(See the post about not being superstitious but maybe being a little stitious? Turns out I've been making up many tiny beliefs the past few years, and readopting some from my childhood also)

[inamindfarfaraway]

Meet my Disney Descendants OCs! Children of Bill Sykes, Tiana and Naveen and Charlotte La Bouff. They live an altered version of canon, because we all know that canon has serious flaws in writing, worldbuilding and tone.

[bi-writes]

thinking about being the new addition to tf141. you are an asset given to laswell by the CIA, a timid little thing but your aim is always on target, and you are quiet, tech savvy, and you do as you're told. (18+, dark)

just how lieutenant riley prefers. he dwarfs you. the first time you meet, your eyes nearly come out of your head from how wide they go. he's so large, and you feel so tiny compared to him, and even though he does nothing but a disinterested once over, it is obvious to the rest of the team that you might just be his favorite.

it's most obvious in the subtle touches. when you're getting ready to jump, ghost comes up from behind and tugs on your parachute, nearly topping you over making sure it's secure. when you're getting ready in the back of the humvee, he reaches over and buckles your thigh holster for you when he notices the strap is coming loose. you nearly choke when you feel his big hand between your thighs, and you stare up at him with wide eyes when his pinkie moves up the seam of your zipper when he tugs his hand away.

and then the way he's on your six is unlike anything else. like glue, chest pressed to your back, his gloved hand squeezing your waist as he moves you every which way he pleases because you're so small to him, so easy, and he growls under his breath when he touches the curve of your hips or the fat of your ass.

maybe you might enjoy it if he wasn't so fucking awkward about it. if he didn't stare at you without blinking. if he didn't adjust his cock in his jeans right in front of you. if he didn't grip you by the back of your head, tugging you any way he wanted as if scolding a kitten using the scruff of their neck.

you think the team would notice by now--that they would step in, tell ghost to back off, but they turn a blind eye. they tolerate this behavior, and you don't know if it's because ghost is so good at his job, they don't want to, or that they are so afraid of him, they refuse to say anything.

or maybe they approve. maybe it keeps ghost at bay. maybe it keeps a lion in his den. a spider in its nest. maybe indulging ghost in his fucked form of flirting and socialization is what keeps the foundations of this team right where it needs to be--and you realize, slowly, that maybe that is why you're here.

because ghost likes them soft, and they need to put a muzzle on their dog.

so when you feel him in the dark, slipping a gloved hand under the blanket that keeps you warm at night, he is pleasantly surprised to find you awake. and even more surprised to feel your hand slipping the soft lace of your panties right into his fucking pocket.

"they teach y'that 'n basic training? how ta give y'r knickers to y'r lieutenant, eh?"

"no," you whisper, and when you meet his eyes in the dark, he looks so hungry. he's untamed, no training, he's used to getting what he wants with no resistance. you turn over in bed, and you don't get to see the way he sucks on his teeth when you let your knees fall, revealing the pretty place between your thighs, soft and puffy and wet, just waiting for a good mutt to eat her up. "but i learned other things."

"tha' right?"

"yeah," you say softly, and you turn over onto your stomach, pushing back onto your knees right in front of him. he bends, leaning over until he's pushing his masked face right into the seam of your cunt, and you grip the sheets tight when he inhales deeply, a rumble following as both of his hands grip either side of your ass and spread you open for him. you're drooling, wetting the nylon fabric, and you gasp when you feel the wet, warm muscle of his tongue suck on your folds through the mask. it's lewd, and you're wetting the material so much it sticks to the strong lines of his face, but he continues, tilting his head to the side as he laps at the pretty slick that dampens your thighs.

"what'd y'learn then, swee'eart?"

not how to fuck your lieutenant. but...you did learn to keep them happy.

"h-how to be a good girl."

and you think you feel him smile.

[bbokicidal]

Again & Again. | Hybrid!SKZ [B.C.]

╱|、 Pairing : Wolf Hybrid!Bangchan x Fem!Reader (˚ˎ 。7 Warnings : Aggressive Chan, Sexual Content (MDNI), biting, knotting, |、˜〵 choking/pinning, spit/drool, growling/snapping, borderline BDSM じしˍ,)ノ Notes : Day 3 of 4 from the BbokiDwae Collab with @dwaekkicidal!

ㅤ-`♡´- Hybrid!Chan likes to have his way - all of the time. But that's because he views himself as the Alpha in your household, so if you comply with him, it just makes everything easier. And of course, that slips over into the bedroom as well. -`♡´- Which means that he wants you to just sit still, look pretty, and let him abuse your holes until you're reduced to tears that stain the soft white sheets under your head.

-`♡´- Constant, hard, rough, bed-rocking, headboard-slamming-on-the-wall fucking ; whether that means he's got you bent over the side of the bed or he's mounting you from behind - maybe even letting you sit atop his hips while he pushes his cock up into you from below. -`♡´- He cannot do soft sex unless he absolutely has to. And there is a reason for that.

-`♡´- Primal urges are constant when it's mating season for him. He's growling under his breath at people who get too close to you, he always has to have his hands on your waist or in your back pocket, and if you're at home then he's stuck to your side like glue. -`♡´- And those primal urges also transfer into the bedroom as well. He'll snarl at you from behind when you squirm as your orgasm approaches, whispering out that you should stay still if you want it to take and that he's going to keep going until he knows you're full of his pups. -`♡´- If you're not listening and keep moving underneath him, he'll scruff you by biting at the side of your neck and sinking his teeth in just enough to hold you tight. It hurts, he knows it hurts, and he'll apologize for it later with a soft whimper in his voice - but for now he just needs your pretty body to lay still for him.

-`♡´- Speaking of urges - during mating season all they're telling him to do is breed. -`♡´- He's constantly in you - pinning you down with a hand on your neck on the sofa, bending you over in the bed, filling you to the brim against the kitchen counter; He's fucking up into you with heavy balls and a ruddy tip that is always, always leaking in desperation to be rubbing up on your gummy pink walls. -`♡´- And he's got so much cum to give. During mating season his body is constantly vibrating, jittery and aching for release. And one knot is never enough.

-`♡´- He's flooding you with cum so much so that even his knot can't contain it. He'll fuck into you, growl out as soon as his knot inflates and huff as it locks him into you - and even then he won't stop, rutting his hips desperately for more friction until he's grinding his cock deeper against your walls, kissing your cervix with a tip that spurts thick ropes of white to fill you up. -`♡´- And as soon as his knot deflates, it comes leaking out the moment he moves away. So he plugs you up again, cock still hard and eyes rolling back at the way you're so slick now. And how is he supposed to stop then, hm?

-`♡´- There is a lot of biting involved. You're constantly covered in marks of his dominance and adoration by being littered with imprints of his canines - though he knows better and will leave them in less obvious places - both from holding you down/frustration and pent up feelings and from needing to mark you up so others know that his territory includes you. -`♡´- And the man is feral. He's absolutely going to be drooling when he fucks you, tongue sliding over his lips over and over at the sight of how delicious your body looks rocking underneath his as he fucks into you for the fourth time that evening - if you ask nicely, and if you're into it, he may just spit on your pussy too. (He probably will anyway.)

-`♡´- He is determined to breed you. Even if you're on birth control or simply don't want kids (and he knows it), he'll still attempt to fill you up as much as he possibly can. Even though there's just so much cum that it all ends up leaking out in the end.

-`♡´-

"Gonna fill you up. You want that, yeah? You want me to fill you up?" He'll whine to mock your moans, brows crinkling when you choke on your sounds. "Say it." He'll growl, "Say you want it."

"Sit still. Sit still," He huffs, hand landing a harsh slap to your ass before squeezing the tender flesh in an attempt to keep you from moving. "Don't you want my pups, baby? Then quit moving."

"Oh my God, you're so fucking tight. So warm. God, don't ever wanna pull outta this pretty pussy."

"Where are you going?" He'll chuckle, grabbing onto your hips to drag you back to him when you try to crawl away for a small break between fuckings. "I'm not done with you yet."

"Fuck, might break you open. Split your pussy apart with my knot. Think you can take it? Yeah? Well you're gonna."

[bandgie]

Quietly

hyunjin x fem!reader

warnings: MDNI 18+, DUBIOUS, fingering, cum eating (brief), public indecency, thigh groping, uni classroom setting,

1.3k words

Class had already started 30 minutes ago by the time he comes in. You hardly so much as spare him a glance when you hear the door open, but you're able to catch his long, dark hair. He's got a pair of headphones wrapped around his neck as he nonchalantly strides into the room, looking for an empty space.

The professor doesn't acknowledge his late student, attendance isn't a part of your grade after all, but you do notice how he chooses the chair right next to yours. 

It makes you slightly frown; the reason you sat far in the back corner was to avoid people, and there were plenty of other seats available. Still, you don't say anything as he pulls out his notebook, the words 'HWANG HYUNJIN' written in silver ink. 

You tear your eyes away from his belongings to focus on what the professor is saying. The quiet atmosphere of the classroom, both from the lack of students and the attending bored students, makes your eyes slightly drop as minutes pass. You can distantly hear the professor explain the difference between monism and dualism before you feel Hyunjin's leg brush against your own.

The fabric of his pants is rough when it makes contact with your bare legs. You jolt awake, briefly glancing at him before adjusting in your seat, and scooting a bit further away. Hyunjin doesn't mumble an apology, not so much as a sympathetic look as he keeps staring ahead. 

You brush it off, but it takes less than a minute for it to happen again. This time when you look at him, you stare in an attempt to get him to notice your slightly agitated expression, but he doesn't return the favor. You're stuck looking at his side profile, taking in how plump his lips are, the pretty curve of his nose, and his long eyelashes. 

You blink, swallowing the salvia that's pooled in your mouth before deciding it's better to ignore him. 

When you feel it again, it's his hand on your knee, warm and overly friendly. You jump in your seat, eyes widening as you force yourself to look at the projected notes in front of the room. Hyunjin's thumb moves in circles, rubbing your hot skin soothingly. 

Your body is stiff, back straight as his hand slowly trails higher until it's under your skirt, groping your thigh. His fingers softly dig into your plush flesh making your legs clamp together. 

You need to say something, anything. You didn't come to class with the hopes of being groped, but any and all words die in your throat. It's like your brain short circuits, unsure if the reason you're not saying anything is because you're too shocked or too aroused. 

Hyunjin's hand grips your thigh so he can pry it from your other leg, spreading them just a few inches. It's enough for his fingers to graze against your clothed core. Two of his fingers rub against your clit, applying just enough pressure to make you involuntarily widen your legs more. 

His middle and ring finger rub the peak of your clit earning a soft gasp from your lips. He dips them low and you lean back slightly to give him more access. Finally, you build the courage to look at him, eyes wide and mixed with emotions to see him smirking still facing the class. 

You're not sure if he can feel how wet you're getting, how hot your cunt feels against his fingers. Your hips begin to try and grind against his hand, but it's hard to move in a way where it's not noticeable. Hyunjin notices though, and places his hand on your thigh to keep you still. 

Don't move. He hadn't said it out loud, but you listen. Your ass glues itself to the seat and your rest your back on the chair, letting this stranger take full rein of your pussy. 

As if in reward, Hyunjin pulls your underwear to the side. Your legs tremble and you bite your lip when he makes contact with your bare sex. He must feel how wet you are now that fingers slide against your cunt. His movements are slow, terribly soft as you try not to whimper in your seat. 

You can feel yourself gushing. Your panties already got the worst of it, but you're hoping that your skirt remains dry by the end of class. Hyunjin doesn't seem to have the same worries as you. He spreads your arousal on the inner parts of your thigh and all over your pussy. As messy as he's making you, he manages to keep the slick sounds to a minimum.

His middle finger slides all the way down to your entrance before he slips it in. You squeak, immediately putting your hands to your mouth and fake coughing. Only a few students turn, but their bored expressions don't linger on your flustered face for too long. You're stuck covering your mouth, eyes slightly rolling to the back of your head while Hyunjin pumps his finger steady in you. 

Now you have something to clench down on, but at the price of being not-so-quiet. The professor is loud enough to cover the sounds of you being finger-fucked, but you're not sure how much longer you can last keeping the moans at bay. 

His palm bounces against your clit every time he thrusts in. You wish you could reach down to properly rub yourself, but you can't risk that. The build of your orgasm is slow, borderline edging as your legs shake. You want to cum. You want to cum so bad that drool has begun to leak from your mouth onto your palm. But Hyunjin doesn't pick up the pace, he doesn't go any harder. 

You can't ask him, it's far too risky, but you want to. You hope he finally looks at you so he can see your needy eyes, the pathetic drool on your fingers. If Hyunjin stood you up and bent you over the shared desk, you're sure you would let him take you in front of everyone if it meant you could finish quicker.

Instead, you let your orgasm slowly make its way throughout your body. Sending chills over your skin and making your stomach feel warm. White cream rings around Hyunjin's finger, a warning that he ignores. He pumps and brushes against your pussy each time.

You think you're going to be stuck just before your climax forever before he slides a second finger in. You finish promptly after feeling the slight stretch, your body going ridged and breathing hard. A low whine sounds from you, but no one seems to notice from an informational video playing that you didn't notice was up. It drowns out your labored breaths, your shaky inhales.

Hyunjin's finger pumps into you at a much slower rate, letting your cunt squeeze around his digit until you grab his wrist as a silent plea. It's now that he looks at you, a glaze over his dark eyes and lips twisted into a sick smile. 

"I think we can end class here," the professor's voice startles you from Hyunjin's terrifyingly attractive face. "I can see you all are bored and we can pick up next time when we meet." 

Papers rustle and backpacks unzip. Hyunjin slides his fingers from your sopping cunt, sticking them in his mouth with a cheeky grin as he puts away the notebook he never opened with his free hand. 

You're still trying to get your body to stop shaking when the professor makes his way to the back end of the room. You don't notice him until his hand places itself on your desk, and you look up at his cat-like eyes behind his glasses. 

"Professor Lee?"

He completely ignores your confused expression, "I'm going to need you and Mr. Hwang to stay behind. I couldn't help but notice you two being...disruptful."

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

[whirlybirbs]

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning. 

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!" 

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea. 

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase. 

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked. 

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you. 

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them. 

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck. 

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived. 

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here. 

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table. 

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute. 

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even. 

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close. 

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers. 

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this. 

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time. 

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next. 

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life. 

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks. 

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name. 

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches. 

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up. 

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often. 

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life. 

Hawks brings his visor back down. 

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement. 

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing. 

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings. 

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again. 

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors. 

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy. 

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back. 

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'. 

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five. 

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday. 

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining. 

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster. 

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster. 

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out. 

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back. 

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver. 

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter. 

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants. 

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over. 

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding. 

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun. 

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm. 

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation. 

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke. 

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated. 

[azulock]

btw I'm doing a milestone event right now, so check out my blog!!

the small things

small gestures of love the guys give you

ׂ╰┈➤ Oliver Aiku. he applies lotion to your legs every night, large rough hands massaging your skin as he rubs the cream over it. Is it just an excuse to grope your thighs? Yes, for sure, but he'd do it without the excuse anyway, so it's nice that he finds a use for his obsession with your legs. It also helps that he's good at it too, applying just enough force to make the touch feel good on your sore muscles at the end of a long day. And if you do end up getting something else at the end of it, that's a nice bonus.

ׂ╰┈➤ Reo Mikage. he makes you breakfast whenever he's around. He feels that, since his job keeps him away a lot of the time, he doesn't get to properly show you his affection, he feels like he is lacking somehow - even though it's not true. So he tries to make up for it by getting you breakfast in bed whenever he can, by this point he has your tastes memorized too. And it doesn't matter how many times you tell him he doesn't need to do it, he just won't listen. Well, you can't complain, he makes a surprisingly good coffee.

ׂ╰┈➤ Michael Kaiser. he always buys the same sweets from the same store when he comes back home from a trip. It's something stupid, some cheap chocolate treat from a coffee shop down the street that you asked him to buy you one time when he was coming back. You were really just craving it, but too lazy to leave home. Now he does it every time, every single trip he takes, haven't missed one in a while. And it's not like those treats were your favorite before, but now he made them be.

ׂ╰┈➤ Ryusei Shidou. whenever he has to leave before you wake up, or when you aren't at home, he writes a post-it note and glues it to the fridge. It's his way of showing that he cares and that he misses you, even if sometimes the message written is something crass, it's still a love note, in his own weird language. Sometimes they are actual love notes, sometimes just weird little doodles, but it feels like getting a goodbye kiss, even when you are not there. You keep them all in a box, a memento you don't want to lose, but you are soon gonna need a second box.

[yandere-romanticaa]

"How long do you plan on keeping me here?" you ask with a slight sneer. The man in question hardly pays you any mind as his large back is still turned to you, his attention seemingly fully concentrated on some flashing images on the screen that change every few seconds.

All those weeks ago, you had been swallowed by a black hole and found yourself in a completely new dimension and by some strange twist of fate Miguel O'Hara had discovered you. He would often call you an "anomaly" and would say how you must go back home but should stay here in the meantime. Traveling through dimensions is rough on tough guy like him let alone a regular civilian who had zero combat experience. He would keep you close to him and his office, giving you little tasks and chores to keep you from dying of boredom and to, quite frankly, keep you away from the sea of endless Spidermen who were more than curious about your person as a whole, which risked you picking up their bad jokes and stupid attitude and Miguel was just not in the mood to deal with that. You relationship was purely professional with a slight humorous twist from time to time. Miguel was so easy to rile up, how could you not mess with him? Be it rearranging his stuff, poking and pinching his cheeks in order to get some sort of hilarious reaction out of him Miguel became your main source of entertainment. His stone cold attitude always backfired and instead of running away into the opposite direction like most people do, you stuck to him like glue.

Without even realizing it, your presence became a sort of weakness of his.

He lost track of how many images he had saved up of you in a secret folder of his and he just liked to... watch them. He just liked watching you in general. His face was devoid of emotion, his attitude was anything but welcoming but no matter how snappy he got, no matter how angry he may get, he never got truly mad at you.

People like to say that the eyes are the windows to ones very soul and Miguel O'Hara embodies that saying perfectly.

He could be having the worst day imaginable but all he needs to do is to see you, to look at you in your own element and he will feel like a brand new man.

He can't help but to be a little angry at you, for making him so weak.

You distracted him from his work, his duty, however, he still could not bare the thought of you being by anyone else's side. He needs you like a man needs air and you were left in the dark when it came to that fact.

Good.

You don't need to know the extent of Miguel's feelings, you don't need to see just how hard the flames of wicked jealousy roar in his heart and you most certainly do not need to know just how much his soul weeps to touch, kiss, protect, keep you.

He can keep that facade up only for so long though. And as much as he likes to think, Miguel is not the best when it comes to keeping his cool. It is only a matter of time before the dam of his feelings cracks and spills, overwhelming you and him both. Once that happens, there is no going back.

[ethereal-night-fairy]

AGELESS BLOGS AND MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.

This by @ghouljams for some reason made me wonder what the men would be like when sick.

Price: Gets extremely congested and his snoring gets so much worse. He's practically a chainsaw. His sneezes are obnoxiously loud. His only saving grace is Vicks Vapo Rub. You have to rub it on his hairy chest so he can get some sleep. His bedside is also littered with snot filled tissues. Some tea and cough drops would be much appreciated if given. He sucks on them obnoxiously too but you don't mind as long as he's getting better. At least he's not stubbornly working unlike someone else you know. He has the most sense compared to the rest of the men when sick. But that doesn't mean he isn't stubborn when he wants to be.

Simon: He's also congested but tries to play it off as allergies (That man doesn't have allergies). Will not admit he's sick until he's physically unable to move due to the fever. Like he'll have to collapse onto the floor before he admits he has a cold. Will complain about being babied when you push him to lay down but secretly loves it. Likes being tucked into bed and told to rest because he can't say it to himself. Loves chicken soup and would propose to you if you make it for him. Will not admit it but he likes when you pat his head while he's resting. Overall he's difficult to deal with at the start but he's docile when pushed to rest.

Kyle: Suffers from extreme muscle pain when sick. Everything gets aggravated when he gets hit with a fever. He hates moving especially when he's running hot. He's another stubborn man, he'll only rest when things get bad. But is surprisingly willing to go to the doctor straight away when you say so. Would be eternally grateful when you massage his sore muscles and run him a bath to help his blocked sinuses. You'd have to keep his fever low by placing cooling cloths over his forehead. Also some muscle gels would do him wonders. By far the most agreeable when you tell him to do something to help his cold. He takes his medicine on time and he eats the food you give him.

Johnny: The most needy man you'll ever meet when sick. A total baby. Needs constant attention 24/7. Wants blankets, plushies, snacks, you name it he's asking you for it at some point. Is a nightmare when taking meds because he doesn't like the taste or the fact that the pill is too big. He's sticks to you like glue unwilling to let you leave more than 10 mins at a time. WILL COMPLAIN ABOUT EVERYTHING! Only until he can speak though. His sore throat quickly shuts him up. He needs to hear you talking constantly now that he can't hear his own voice. The constant chatter soothes him. He also thinks handjobs would help sweat out his fever... among a variety of other methods he'd like you to try too.. Worst patient ever!

Masterlist

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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