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sunsburns · 6 months ago

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imagine trying to keep up with clark 🤯 (18+)

clark kent is an undeniably gentle lover—clumsy at times, almost bashful, his movements hesitant in a way that’s endearing. sometimes, he looks to you for reassurance, those soft blue eyes pleading, asking if he’s making you feel good.

and he always does.

he knows your body so well it’s almost frustrating. his hands, his mouth, the way his voice drops just slightly when he whispers your name—it’s enough to leave you trembling every time.

he always tells you that you do. “perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm and uneven as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his voice is wrecked, raw in a way that makes you believe him—for a moment.

but there are things you’ve started to notice.

like the way he lingers for just a second too long, his lips brushing your temple as if hesitating to pull away or draw you closer. or how his hands tremble slightly when they release you, the strength behind them still careful, too careful. then, there are the moments he waits for you to fall asleep—the soft creak of the mattress, the shuffle of his feet as he slips out of bed, barely disturbing the air.

it’s always the same. the quiet click of the bathroom door, the faint rush of water as he turns on the shower.

you know what he’s doing in there.

and it eats at you, imagining him under the stream of hot water, head tilted back, his chest heaving as he works through the need that still claws at him. need that you weren’t able to fully satisfy.

once, you caught him. half-asleep and bleary-eyed, you stirred when the bed dipped, his weight returning as if nothing had happened. his skin was still damp, his hair darker and curling against his forehead.

but you want to be the one to help him blow off that steam.

“just blowing off some extra steam,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

no, you need to be the one.

you want him completely undone—panting, his chest heaving, red staining his cheeks while he’s too wrecked to say anything but your name. you want him shaking with pleasure, the same way he leaves you, winded and unable to think of anything else.

you want him gasping, moaning louder, his voice breaking apart as he tries to keep himself together. you want to see spit pooling at the corners of his lips, his body shuddering uncontrollably. you want him to blow load after load—on you, with you, inside you—until neither of you can take any more.

you just have to make sure you don’t turn the tables on yourself.

“you got another one for me, hun?” clark pleads, his voice soft but ragged.

his curls stick to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his face is flushed deeper than you’ve ever seen. his big hands hold your hips gently, fingers twitching as if he’s trying to resist gripping you tighter.

you’re blubbering, incoherent, your eyes unfocused as your nails scrape at his shoulders. it’s ridiculous trying to leave marks on steel skin, but the feeling of him, the weight of him, makes it impossible to stay still.

you’ve finally managed to corner him. after weeks, nearly a month of easing him into the idea that you could keep up with him, he let you try. and now he’s showing you a side of himself you’ve never seen before.

his body trembles against yours, his movements are frantic, urgent, a stark contrast to the measured pace he usually sets. your legs ache as you struggle to keep up, your body pliant and exhausted, while he bucks up against you, doing most of the work after you had given up on riding him.

he moves you easily, up and down his cock, his strength apparent even in his restraint. his head falls back against the headboard, blue eyes locked on yours, his glasses long discarded.

in all honesty, you don’t know if you have another one in you. you’d lost count three orgasms ago. you must’ve been delusional thinking you could keep up with clark kent, a man who is finally breaking a sweat, his broken moans and soft whimpers starting to turn into ones you’ve never heard from him before. even after cumming countless times, making a mess of your sheets, he still wants more, asks for it, begs for it—he needs more, he can take more, wants to give you more.

the slow drag of his cock, sliding in and out of you, has you mewling, tears staining your cheeks as the pleasure mounts again. his grip is firm but careful, guiding you, ensuring you can take everything he’s giving.

he makes you feel so good. your body trembling in his hands, every nerve alight and melting under his touch. you’ve become putty for him to mould.

it’s a little embarrassing, honestly—that he’s got you like this. you were supposed to be the one pleasing him, breaking him down, undoing him. not the other way around.

but he seems perfectly satisfied with the way things are right now.

you’re fully collapsed onto him now, your strength all but gone. his hips jerk upwards, his movements frantic and desperate, breath puffing hot air against your ear.

“can you… can you look at me?” he pleads, his voice cracking as his hands shift from your hips to cradle your face, tilting your head so you’re staring into his glassy, almost desperate eyes. “look at me while you come—it’ll make me come, too. please.”

you mean to whine, his touch burning against your skin, but the sound catches in your throat when you see him.

he looks utterly wrecked.

his eyes are clouded, unfocused, his lips slick and parted, his brow furrowed with something between pain and pure desire. you imagine you look much the same—spit glistening on your chin, cheeks flushed and tear-streaked, wetness trailing down your thighs.

he holds your gaze for a moment, his thumb brushing your lower lip before slipping into your mouth.

then, both of you move at once—you surge forward to kiss him, capturing those perfect, pink lips, your movements slow and languid while he remains restless. he adjusts to your pace, pulling you impossibly closer.

his blue eyes roll back as he thrusts into you again. one hand traces lines up your spine while his lips devour yours, leaving you trembling and teetering on the edge within minutes.

his kisses turn softer, trailing to your cheek, his teeth catching on your skin as he nips gently. “i’m not hurting you, am i?” he murmurs, his voice trembling. “i know it’s sensitive, baby. tell me if it’s too much, okay? i can stop if—”

“no, please,” you whimper, terrified he might actually stop. “it’s so good.”

you’re drunk with desire, clenching tightly around him.

“you feel so good, baby. so fucking good. you’re taking me so well.” his next thrust is sharp, deep, dragging a cry from your lips as he stills, buried to the hilt. “you’re gonna make me come again,” he groans, his voice breaking.

“fuck, please—”

“i want you to come for me again,” he interrupts, his desperation bleeding through. “you’re so tight and hot when you do. i need it again—please, baby, one more for me. can you give me one more?”

“i—yeah,” you nod, trembling, your body already vibrating on the verge of release.

he hardly gives you a moment to recover before he’s crooning, “one more, just one more, please, please, please—”

clark kent is completely undone.

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neoheros · 25 days ago

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sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.

he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.

(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).

(not that he’d ever admit that).

despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:

he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).

so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.

or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.

that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.

sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.

the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.

he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.

he memorized it.

and still, he messed it up.

the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.

“sorry … for this.”

his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.

on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.

you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.

you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”

you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.

it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.

“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”

you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.

“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”

sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.

his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.

“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.

he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.

the truth is — it is a bad date.

he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.

it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.

you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.

he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.

but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.

he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.

don’t say stupid things.

“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.

you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.

“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.

sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.

you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.

“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.

he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)

you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)

you give him a look.

listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.

he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.

he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)

you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.

you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.

“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”

and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”

you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”

he frowns at that.

“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”

his frown falls almost immediately into something else.

one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?

were you trying to kill him?

“heads or tails, omi.”

he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”

you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.

you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”

sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.

he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”

you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.

“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”

sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.

his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”

you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.

you fall back against his shoulder, “ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”

there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.

his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.

sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”

and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.

“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”

he walks faster.

“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”

“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”

he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.

you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?

maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.

and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?

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cheriecoke · 1 year ago

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nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

#this is very silly #i just wanted to get it out of my drafts #i’ve had this thought for a while but #i decided i didn’t want to write a whole drabble so now you get this #kento being inexperienced at dating & not enjoying it is very special to me #and so is him having a cat tehe #selfship coded i suppose bc reader is me but it’s not that obvious i hope #kento 💋 ⋆ ˚｡⋆#nanami x reader #xoxo rylie 💌 ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆#jjk x reader #nanami x you #nanami fluff #nanami x gender neutral reader #la bibliothèque des vampires ♱˚.⋆

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huntingrays · 1 year ago

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pjo prompt: percy and jason have to go on a quest together, so they both decide to bring their respective partners (annabeth and leo). during the quest, they get kidnapped by monsters and percy and jason wake up in an arena. the monsters explain that they have their partners and in order to save them, they have to fight to the death, with the winner getting to leave alive with their partner, while the other is killed. however, the monsters are very shocked when percy and jason sit down and start calmly playing cards with each other. they’re not worried about their partners. instead, they’re worried for the monsters. they trapped annabeth and leo together, two of the smartest demigods. the girl who redesigned olympus and the boy who built a warship in six months. they were toast.

#pjo #percy jackson #jason grace #annabeth chase #leo valdez #percabeth #valgrace #like they could probs take over the world if they wanted (and those two would help)#never leave these two alone for too long they will find a way to defy the laws of the universe just for fun #lowkey kinda wanna write it but too many wips #might start a drabble series just to write like the one scene i want to in long fics I have ideas for #mmmmm we shall see

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caitlynsrighteye · 2 months ago

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Ex!girlfriend caitlyn misses you

She fucks her fleshlight to the thought of you.

Your moans the bounce of your tits while you pinch ur nipples. Riding while she thrusts her hips up.

The thought of ur lips wrapped around her, kitten licking her tip driving her crazy.

The toy squished between 2 pillows while she thinks ab fucking u from behind

Her face pressed into her pillow while she fucks the shit out of her toy, remembering the feeling of your smaller body underneath her, ur pussy at her disposal.

On her back, out of breath, soaked in sweat in her dark room in the middle of the night

Her phone screen lights up

A text from u... and photo.

A pic of u laying on ur bed, naked, fingers teasing ur clit with a text saying "i miss u"

Even when ur no longer together shes still wrapped around ur pretty little fingers.

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teddybeartoji · 1 year ago

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18+ mdni; gn!reader

tiger!sukuna taking care of his kitty...

you squirm and twitch as his large, rough tongue runs up and down the juncture throat, the side of your neck, your jaw. your tiny hands push at his chest but it's of no use – he's just so much bigger and stronger than you. his tail sways from side to side and his ears keep twitching out of excitement; he can smell you, really smell you, and he can't stop grinning to himself – you keep trying to resist him while in reality... you love it.

his poor little kitty – overwhelmed by his need to simply take care of you:(((

the deep rumble, the low purr that reverberates through his chest is making you feel dizzy and you can't hold back the broken mewl that spills from your bitten lips. you feel his mean grin against your skin and it makes you try to push him off again. it doesn't work. when you try to fight him, fight his love for you – it only eggs him on further. his sharp nails dig into the soft meat of your waist as he lowers his hips, making you gasp when you feel his bulge rubbing against your heat.

claws sink into you and he's most certainly marks on your, oh, so sensitive skin; he uses his free hand to grab and turn your head to the other side as he licks and licks and licks – his saliva covers just about every inch of your neck and he just can't get enough. he holds your face in his big hands and he revels in the size difference... you're just so small compared to him:(( you don't even have a chance:(((

"stop... s'too much." you whine as you squirm under him. "'m clean now, kuna..."

that earns you a nip at your jaw.

he pushes you deeper into the mattress. he's nowhere even close to being done with you. he's only at your neck? what about the rest of your body? he'd rather have you crying from the suffocating weight of his overbearing love than to leave you like this – dirty and smelling like... well, not him. this is completely unacceptable!!!!

#if this seems similar..#i realized that i have smth like this for snow leopard satoru too #but i still wanted to write it #hehe #sukuna #wtf mickey can write #sukuna x reader #sukuna drabble #tiger!sukuna #cw hybrids #cw dubcon

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after-the-end-times · 5 months ago

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random omegaverse gang leader!eddie idea that popped into my head. Not sure if I'll expand it, but figured I'd throw it out into the ether

Omega Steve who's heading back to his car late one night and gets lightly kidnapped by a local gang because they think he's the kid of a local politician.

he rolls his eyes and tries to explain that he's no one worth kidnapping, but they still tell him to get in the suv. He huffs and says 'fine, take me to your leader. we'll get this straightened out. and you're personally paying if I come back to a parking ticket.'

he sits in the backseat on the drive, arms crossed, mouth down turned, side eyeing anyone who speaks.

they arrive at some bar, motorcycles lining the front. Steve hops out willingly, but one guy still grabs an arm to pull him through the bar's door. Steve yanks his arm away, steps into his space, glares at the guy and points a finger in his face. 'what was the point of that, hm? I was already coming in! hmph! I'm gonna speak to your little ringleader about this behavior. completely unacceptable treatment of an innocent kidnapping victim!'

the guy looms over Steve (what is he? 7ft tall?? rude) and gives him a shove backwards, Steve stumbles back into someone. the guy sneers, 'yeah? go ahead. see if he cares about some yappy omega we can use to protect our pack.'

the hands on Steve's shoulders push him back to standing and the familiar voice of somebody that he used to know says, 'what's all this about a yappy omega?'

and confusing every gang member in the entire bar, Steve's face lights up. he spins around, eyes bright and grinning. 'Eddie!' and throws his arms around Eddie's shoulders in a tight hug.

Eddie's arms encircle his waist, holding on tight. after a long moment wherein not a single gang member breathed, he lifted his head from where he'd instinctively tucked it against Steve's throat and sent a cold look at the guy who shoved his Steve

#steddie #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #ficlet #I guess I have a writing tag now #stranger things #I guess I have a drabble tag now

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heartmaddie · 3 months ago

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MICHAEL KAISER’s arms wrapped around you, tugging you closer. More recently now, you had been spending the late hours of your night within his bedsheets, and leaving just as it became an hour too unsafe for you to be alone. Your warmth would escape him as you slipped out of his arms, and he would be left alone. He didn’t like the whispered goodbyes and rushed kisses you would leave behind at his apartment door.

His back was pressed against the headboard with you resting against his chest. Gentle fingers tracing down your spine, tender kisses peppered against your temple. His heart opened at full bloom, petals falling to rest upon your palms.

“It’s getting late, you should call a cab soon.” He murmured against your skin, arms restricting you against his body. He was hesitant to let you go, to venture further than his eyesight.

Your hum, a sweet melody against his eardrums as you shifted your head to gaze up into softened, light eyes.

“Will you drive me home?” A tired voice, innocent and lazy. Michael couldn’t help but let the chuckle vibrate from his lungs.

“I’m not your chauffeur,” he replied teasingly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Lips pulled into a slight smirk as his eyes grazed over your tired expression and slumped body. He wanted you to rest eternally against the swell of his chest, with angelic breaths escaping your lips.

You let out a light groan of protest, burying your face into his body as you let out a sigh, gathering your last energy to push from his mattress. But as you shifted to move away from him, he retaliated, tightening his grasp around your body.

“Stop that,” he huffed, almost exasperated at the audacity. You gazed up at him, a bristle of confusion and affection to be seen within your eyes. The way you were so carefree and unguarded in his presence, it was almost cute to him. He leaned a bit closer, revelling in your features. You smiled up at him softly, lips tugged into a lethargic beam. Michael’s breath hitched, heart melting.

“You may as well stay for the night,” he let out a faux irritated sigh, but he couldn’t deny the way his pulse would patter ever so faster. “There’s no point in you leaving and getting hurt on your way home, hm?”

You nodded, an agreement, but more a nuzzle against his chest.

It would’ve been a lonely night without you, any night is. Michael didn’t let his eyes close until dawn, the first sign of day. Azure was too busy, inseparable from the rise and fall of your sleeping figure. He ran his lips against your skin, constellations painted upon your cheeks, your arms tighten against his body instinctively.

An angel, wrapped around him.

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 6 months ago

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clark kent loves quietly

This is a collection of head canons I wrote with David!Clark in mind, but would really work for any Clark iteration. That teaser trailer did something to my brain

He knows that you hate being spooked, and his quiet footfalls have gotten the better of you more times than you would ever admit. When he comes home from a day of work, or finds you tucked into whatever you are working on, he purposefully makes sure that his footfalls are heavy, so that you hear him coming. You jump slightly when he notches his chin in the space between your head and shoulder, but he is quick to squeeze you tight and soothe them away.

You would think that he tries to fight your battles for you, protection hard wired into his veins. But he’s much the opposite. He knows that you can take care of yourself (super-human threats excluded, of course) and is happy to watch you stand up for yourself. It’s nice to see you love yourself loudly by making your wishes known.

This man can cook. He spent a lot of time with his mom in the kitchen, who used cooking to cope after his father passed. He absorbed every second of it, intent on making the memories last. Food is one of his love languages now. He will pick up your favorites if he is eating out, but when you are having a particularly hard day, he plops you down on the couch with your beverage of choice in hand, and insists you don’t move. You had assumed that cooking would be frustrating for him, all the super speed in the world can’t make onions caramelize faster, but he finds it so soothing- especially when he knows that you’re going to give him one of your big smiles, the kind saved just for him, at the end of it all. His specialties are casseroles and chilis and his mom’s fluffy biscuits, if you were wondering.

Does his best to mind his business (keeping his super hearing off the speed of your heart) as long as you promise to let him know what is bothering you as soon as you’re comfortable. He hates to see you hurting, but also respects that sometimes you need to process on your own. It’s unspoken between the two of you, you’ll curl up with him when you’re ready and spill your guts, and he will have a super powered ear at the ready.

Any of your accomplishments are office gossip for weeks, because he is telling everyone. A picture of you with the degree you finished several months into dating is framed on his desk, when you accept his proposal he finds ways to slip it into most conversations. You always blush, which fills him with pride. He insists it isn’t gossiping if it’s talking about yourself. You smile and resist the urge to point out that it is often more so about you. He views you as a singular unit in all things, and you can’t find it in yourself to complain.

Clark was simultaneously terrified when you figured out that he was the one flying around the city fighting super humans (and rescuing the occasional cat stuck in a tree), and not the least bit surprised. He has long considered you one of the smartest people that he has ever known. He chides himself for not preparing for it better. He stood speechless for several moments, before tripping over his words, a muddled confusion of explanation and apology. He calmed when you smiled shyly at him, approaching him like he might spook at any minute. He stilled, allowing you to take control of the situation and gently slip your hand into his. You squeezed, he squeezed back, and the rest was history.

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softaestluv · 3 months ago

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more of Ghost’s sweet wife from this blurb! | mlist ✎ᝰ.ᐟ

Ghost’s sergeant’s are still trying to figure out how a sweet thing like yourself ended up as their Lieutenant’s wife. Rumors spread, ones that bruise Ghost’s ego just a little— ‘Did you hear the Lieutenant is holding a poor lass hostage as his wife?’

It doesn’t help that anytime anyone asks he chalks it up to his ‘irresistible charm.’

The truth? Well he can’t let his team know how utterly soft he is for you.

It would ruin his image if he told them that when he’s not on base he spends his spare time at his elderly neighbor’s apartment. Carries her mail up the stairs everyday so she doesn’t have to climb up the stairs herself, helps her up them whenever he does see her shaking and stumbling up the steps.

Asks her if she needs anything from the market when he’s going shopping, takes her to get refills of her medicine. Always makes himself available to her no matter how minuscule, opens stubborn jars for her, helps her read the tiny font on her prescription bottles, fixes the time on her clocks when the time changes.

Her glorified maintenance boy, and truthfully, Simon was more than happy to help. It felt good to be needed for something normal, so he replaced her light bulbs, drained her clogged sinks, fixed her lopsided wash machine with a smile.

Every Sunday morning, the same routine, tea and biscuits while she taught him how to crochet. It wasn’t exactly easy to hold the slender hooks in his thick fingers, but he could hold them steady long enough, zero his focus through a needle after years as a sniper. He was quite a patient person, and the stitching helped pass the days he was alone, numb his mind to nothing, but loop and thread.

Loop and thread.

It’s not like she was the only one benefiting from the agreement. It was quiet, peaceful, a much needed contrast to the draining and stressful occupation he put himself in. Most days he fell asleep in her recliner, always had her heater a little warmer than needed, the smell of pastries she was baking wafting from the kitchen. Made her living room entirely too comfortable, but she didn’t mind when he took naps, even if he was sure he snored like a bear.

Insisted he call her ‘Gran,’ even if she wasn’t his grandmother. Though, he supposed she acted like she was; baked him an abundance of pastries, always made more than enough dinner for two people. Gave him left overs for lunch— ‘a little lady like myself can’t finish it all alone, Simon.’

Plus, it led him to you.

There were days their conversations strayed to his relationship status. Single, of course, something Gran tried to change, dropping hints throughout their time together:

‘A young man like yourself should have a wife and kids by now, Simon!��

‘You sure are a handy man, you’ll make a great husband someday.’

‘You should meet my granddaughter, I think you two would get along swell.’

‘You know, my granddaughter can cook just as well. Taught her all my recipes.’

He always brushed it off; he wasn’t exactly looking to be in a relationship, but Gran was cunning, sneaky, and set the two of you up. Invited him over for dinner and to watch the football game on the telly one day. Except when he walked through her front door, calling for her, he saw your figure in the kitchen, adorned in an apron, covered in flour and sugar.

And well, he already called her ‘Gran,’ why not legally make her his grand-in-law?

#the soft man apocalypse #this wasn’t supposed to have more parts but I couldn’t stop thinking about it #cherri writes #cherris drabbles #softaestluv #call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod #soft simon riley #hm yes serotonin levels just rose

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lushleona · 2 months ago

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funny how some people will preach “support writers!!” and then turn around and reblog posts shitting on people who write short drabbles and smut like it’s a crime. newsflash: not everyone has the time, energy, or desire to sit down and write a 10k yearning slowburn every time they want to post something. sometimes people just wanna write 500 words of filth and call it a day. because it’s supposed to be fun. it’s a hobby. what’s so hard to get?

also… you’re not slick. you know damn well your mutuals (aka the very people who write the type of content you’re complaining about) were gonna see that passive aggressive ass reblog. it’s disrespectful. instead of crying because someone’s 800 word smut drabble got more notes than a 12k yearning fic, maybe take a breath and remember nobody owes you a certain type of content. if you want long fics so bad, go write them yourself. or idk, look for them instead of bashing writers who are just doing what makes them happy. they’re literally out there.

it’s also so embarrassing to see writers dragging other writers because they’re bitter about engagement. i write long fics too. i have fics that are 5k+, 7k+, 9k+ that all receive less attention than my short drabbles, and yet you don’t see me out here making unnecessary posts and reblogs about what other people decide to create with their hobby in their own free time.

anyway. support all writers. don’t bash them for having fun and writing what they want instead of what other people want. ♡

#— ; 𝐥𝐞𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬 🧸ྀི #most ppl that write drabbles literally have long fics too LMFAO #they just wanna post shorter ideas too what’s so wrong w that

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vacate-et-scire · 4 months ago

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ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯ "AT THE HANDS OF AN ANGEL"

Jason groans as he slumps onto the bed, face-first, with all the dramatics of a man twice his age. His jacket’s already discarded on the floor, his boots half-kicked off, and his entire body just radiates exhaustion.

"Fuck everything," he mutters into the sheets.

You lean in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with amusement. "Everything?"

"Everything. The city, the idiots running it, the dumbass informant who wasted my entire night—" Jason lifts his head just enough to glare at the ceiling. "And most of all? My goddamn back."

You bite back a laugh. "You sound like an old man."

He flops an arm over his face. "That’s because I feel like one."

"Jason, you’re not even thirty."

"I might as well be."

You roll your eyes, but there’s a fondness in it. With a sigh, you push off the doorframe and crawl onto the bed, settling next to him. Your hand ghosts over his back. "Want me to fix it?"

He grunts. "If you can bring me back from the dead again, be my guest."

"Ha-ha." You press your palms into his shoulders, kneading gently. The moment you do, Jason groans—a deep, guttural sound that makes heat creep up your neck.

"Shit," he breathes, "yeah, there. Right there."

You smirk. "Big bad Red Hood, taken down by some muscle knots?"

"Shut up and keep going."

You do, pressing deeper, working out the tension in his shoulders, the knots along his spine. Jason melts. The tension in his body seeps out little by little, his breath slowing, his grip on the sheets loosening.

"God," he mutters, voice muffled. "Marry me."

You huff a laugh. "You’re ridiculous."

"M’serious." He sighs, utterly content. "You wanna stop me from doing stupid shit? This is how you do it. Just bribe me with this."

"Noted," you tease, digging your thumbs into a particularly tight spot. Jason shudders.

"...Okay, but not like that," he mumbles. "I will fall asleep right here."

You roll your eyes, softening. "Good. You need it."

Jason hums, too relaxed to argue.

And yeah, maybe he's not old. But nights like this, when exhaustion weighs heavy and his body hurts, he thinks—if growing old means coming home to this, to you—

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

#🌟 drabbles #omg yall do not know #the way I LOVE #massage fics...#AUGHH #I would write these forever If I could #I have had this in my drafts forever contemplating to post or not to post #idk why but intimacy of it has me in a chokehold same with taking baths together AGHHGSUIGSIGD #but they never get the attention they deserve ):#jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason peter todd #🌟🦇 DC-BATFAM

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zephyrchama · 4 days ago

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Leviathan waved the screen of his DDD in front of your face. He had finally achieved an impressive full rhythm combo in extreme hell mode. Twinkling particle effects and triumphant background music accompanied this feat.

"It was only a matter of time," he gloated. "I knew if I kept at it, I'd get the perfect combo eventually. I actually have, like, really good reflexes, you know? Probably some of the best in existence. They didn't promote me to admiral for noth-- aah!!"

The boasting was interrupted when Beelzebub walked up and swatted him in the forehead. While Beelzebub looked calm, a flood of emotions washed over Leviathan's face. Hurt, betrayal, anger, panic, and above all, confusion.

"What was that for!?" he yelled, rubbing at the red bump just starting to swell under his bangs.

"I was testing your reflexes," Beelzebub said. "You said they were fast."

Leviathan scoffed. "Well, I wasn't ready! I was too distracted by my full combo to really notice... A-anyway! I know I favor RPGs, but just so you know, I'm also pretty high ranking when it comes to FPS games. So I know I can handle-"

Beelzebub smacked his brother in the shoulder. Straight-on, in full view. Leviathan did not dodge. He stayed completely still and only moved once the blow had already striked his shoulder. He stared at his younger brother in disapproval with wide eyes and a deep frown.

"Beel. What gives?"

"Levi, your reflexes suck," Beelzebub observed.

Leviathan growled, "I just wasn't in the zone, ok!? If you had gotten a full combo on extreme hell mode, I know you'd be open to attacks, too!"

"No, I'm pretty sure you just suck. My reflexes are way better."

"Please don't fight," you sighed. "You both have great reflexes for different situations."

"Mine are better," Beelzebub said at the same time Leviathan insisted, "Mine are the best!"

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