#inspired drabble

[spn-fanfic-reblog-writes]

You haven’t seen Castiel since before the angels were ejected out of Heaven, so many years ago. He was such a humble but fierce warrior that you admired. What you thought was a crush that died long ago turned out to be something else when you see him again.

Currently, you’re with the Winchester brothers and their angelic best friend fighting a huge pack of vampires when he witnesses your arm bitten by the leader of the pack. The Angel reacts so violently to your injury that he almost blindingly glows and reveals his wings, damaged from the fall.

You gasp at the sight, eyes wide, mouth falls open looking past the most beautiful being in your world and see his…scarred wings. Wings that used to be so lush and full, a pride of his. He places two fingers upon the vampire’s forehead and smites the creature behind you. He looks at your arm and fails healing you. You place your hand on his cheek with a soft smile trying to show that it’s ok. That you’ll be ok but before words can be exchanged, the angel collapses.

You catch him and call the brothers who help wrap your arm and get the surprisingly heavy angel into the impala. You sit in the back with his head in your lap, carding your fingers through his hair, and a a double crease between your furrowed brow, worried.

++++

In the bunker, you sit by his side in his room as he lays on his bed unconscious. His body is still warm at his usual temperature, toasty. Your mind dwells on his wings and wonder how that works. You know this body, a vessel, is more like a puppet he uses to communicate with the human world. It makes you chuckle at the thought of a giant Castiel with a hand puppet interact with walking puppets. Your chuckle turns into a giggle as the thought remains in your head, holding your abdomen.

Not realizing you closed your eyes, you open them and suddenly feel homesick for the angel. Tears form behind your eyes, you get up and climb into bed with him. Your head on his shoulder, making that arm raised up to accommodate you burrowed into his side. If you stick your nose against his armpit and inhale his scent of petrichor and ozone deeply, it’s no one else’s business but your own.

——

You awaken later finding yourself lying across the angel’s chest, feeling fingers combing through your hair, covered with a thin comforter. You hum your approval as the fingers continue to card through your hair. You shift realizing both of Castiel’s arms are wrapped around you. Shifting your head up, you see him watching you.

“Hello, Y/N.”

You grin, voice sleep deep, replying, “Hello, Castiel.”

He returns your voice and pauses his hand.

You whine and pout at the loss.

He chuckles and continues.

“I don’t get…many chances to have someone…play with my hair.”

His face softens and nods. “Of course.”

Closing your eyes, you just breathe concentrating on his fingers on your scalp. “Thank you for saving me,” you whisper. Just stopping yourself from saying affectionately angel. “I’m glad you’re ok.”

“Me too.”

Awake enough to realize how intimate this is, you begin to get up, panicking and face hot in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to invade your space without permission. I’m sorry. I—I—I…missed you.” Your brow furrowed and frown deeply moving away from him when he grabs your biceps.

“No,” he commands.

You immediately freeze at his command, looking at his face.

“Stay. Please?” He quietly says.

Your face feels warmer now and the warmth moving down your neck. You smile sheepishly and look down before looking back at him, nodding. You return to your position across his chest with your ear above his sternum, and link your fingers with his his. His quickened heartbeat begins to slow after a few minutes. A little while later, you find your heartbeats in sync and the realization makes you feel connected, more intimate. You like it…a lot.

Castiel’s Wings

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Perhaps they ought not to have eaten the dragon. There had been people objecting to it at the time. Surely such meat was poisonous. Perhaps it was even an affront, an insult to some intangible order of nature they ought to honour.

But the city was starving, the siege had gone on too long, and the king's troops were still a week's march away. The scorched earth would be fertile again in time, but right now it was barren. Right now there were mouths to feed. So they changed their crossbows for butcher knives and got to work.

None of the royal commanders asked any questions that could not be answered. After all, their aid had come shamefully late. The dragon's horned skull made a noble gift, a fitting tribute from a triumphant city to its humbled king. Who would have thought to question them?

And none of the townsfolk spoke up, when the first golden-eyed babes were born. Children who grew up barefoot and fearless, clambering over the city's patched and rebuilt roofs like they had no notion of falling, with a strange glitter to their skin when the sunlight hit it just so. No one breathed a word about dragons.

Because soon enough there were deft, young hands taking loaves straight out of the oven, heedlessly lifting iron from the forge, plunging into boiling laundry water. And some of them more wondrous still, wild, warm-skinned youths, with inexplicable knowledge and peculiar remedies.

A blessing, their families said proudly. A blessing after so much hardship. Which it was, in its way. This city would never fear dragon fire again.

[all-with-angel]

Snip. Snip. Snip.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Why'd you stop?"

Satoru asked, voice slightly shaky as he sat on the makeshift barbers setup you, Shoko and Suguru had made for this occasion specifically.

"Yikes." You heard shoko mutter, just before the flash of a photo being taken came from her flip phone.

"What's that supposed to mean?!?" Satoru's voice rose, back straightening just a bit more but not moving away from his spot. All the while you stood behind him, staring at your handiwork. "Hey?? Answer me!!"

You could hear Suguru nearly knock a vase to the floor as he's stifling in his laughter. Poorly, may I add.

"Damn, I messed up," You dropped the pair of the scissors to the side, grabbing the razor and clicking it on. "We gotta go bald."

You sighed in acceptance as Shoko and Suguru had moved to restrain a now-screaming Satoru in the chair with maximum effort. All the while giggling like idiots.

It was your mistake, but it had to be done. It was for the best. Even if Gojo was screaming bloody murder at you.

[urfriendlywriter]

specific tropes in romance that always heal something in me that it never broke

like, forehead kisses, soft love confessions, peppering kisses all over the lover's face. promises that are kept, hands those are held with a gentle love, and hugs that engulf the heart too.

or when they rest their head on your chest, or lean on you for support.

"your tears kill me," kinda thing. or when a sunshine character finally cries and bawls their entire life's hurt out into their comfort grumpy character (plus point, if the grump feels guilty thinking if they had done something to trigger this emotional outburst)

communication. no matter hard the topic is, how big your differences are.

listening to the other person yap

admiring their facial features and seeing not just the outer structure but the person that they really are.

them getting angry on ur behalf

cradling each other in hugs basically

feeling emotional walls break when you're with that one person particularly

gentle communication. yearning to do more for your lover (!!!!)

affectionate smiles and eyes crinkling with a smile that's directed specially at you.

finding their laugh contagious.

the feeling of being accepted, despite flaws and all

silent domestic acts like being in the kitchen together, dressing up together, them drying ur hair while u sit between their legs

occasionally stolen kisses

or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.

sleepily nuzzling into each other!!

reaching for each other despite being asleep, with mumbled endearments and whispers of need!!!

laughter coming easily by their side, like happiness is just another day to day thing (this can also be about self love. when u truly love urself and prioritize your own rights and cherish the fact that you're you. happiness becomes beautiful even in solitude)

their fingers buried deep in yo- OOPS.?! :)

[coffeetank]

Ideas to Show Secret Pining

"Why don't you join me?"

"I'll give you a ride, don't worry."

*does something they don't like* "What? I like it."

*immense staring at every chance they get*

*thinking of their crush while listening to songs*

"You said you liked it so I brought it for you."

*finds ways to spend more time with them*

*friendly bullying intensifies*

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"Are you gonna be there?"

"How about we sneak off, just you and me?"

"Why don't I cook for them? What's their favourite dish again?"

*aggressive google searches about how to propose to your crush*

"I'll join those dance lessons, maybe then she'll notice me."

*hopeless around them*

*failed flirting attempts*

*increased compliments*

"My problem is that I like them a little too much for my sanity."

*gets jealous* "So, are you seeing them or something?"

"Are you okay?" // "Completely okay!" (definitely not okay)

*tries to sabotage their crush's date*

*gets into trouble so they can be scolded by their crush*

"I want you to come with me, please?"

-ashlee

[yanderedrabbles]

I'm thinking about a huge ex-warrior of a yandere. Big and bulky and all too familiar with bloodshed. You'd think years in the king's army would have hardened him, made him callous and cruel. But that's not true at all.

An ex-warrior yandere who cares so much about preserving life because he knows exactly how fragile and easy it is to take. A huge, scarred, mountain of a man who gets soaked to the waist in the dead of winter to save a drowning kitten. Who holds the shivering, mewling, runt of the litter in his hands with a gentleness you've seldom seen.

An ex-warrior yandere who doesn't even eat meat anymore. Who doesn't accept work slaughtering and butchering pigs when the holiday season comes around, even though folk offer him good money for his strength.

A good man, despite it all. Too good for you.

War is a terrible thing and you end up a prisoner almost entirely on accident. Said to be a spy though you're nothing more than an unlucky commoner who angered the wrong people.

He ends up a prisoner too, hauled off the battlefield when he's too injured to put up a fight. Just another prisoner of war, a dime a dozen. He's thrown into the duke's lockup and forgotten.

Whatever fate had in mind, you end up in the same dungeon. Cells next to each other, with nothing to do but tell stories and shiver.

It's miserable there. The gaolers are cruel for the sake of it. The meals are scant, the drinking water not much better. It's the sort of place where dying is considered the lucky option. And maybe you'd have given in, the both of you. Just closed your eyes and let your bodies waste away.

But unlike so many others, you have each other.

You can't see him and he can't see you. All either of you have is a voice in the dark. And somehow, that's enough.

Maybe you manage to escape together or maybe the Duke is defeated and his prisoners liberated. Whatever the case, he's right by your side when you step into the sun again.

How many years has it been? When was the last time you saw the sky?

You were sweet once. Kind, gentle. But years in the lord's prison have changed you. You're sharp and prickly now, slow to trust and even slower to forgive.

An ex-warrior yandere who sees the hurt under all your layers of indifference. Who decides right then and there, that first moment in the sun, that his one goal in life is to keep you safe.

An ex-warrior yandere who says he'll be your guard until you reach your destination, wherever it may be. You're weak, you're unfamiliar with the changes in the world. Anyone can come along and take advantage of you.

An ex-warrior yandere who follows you with a sort of quiet, implacable devotion. It doesn't matter if you're prickly or sharp tongued or so ruined that you fear your heart is forever frozen over. He'll always be there - two steps behind you to guard your back.

You try to send him away. Try to tell him you didn't need a guard dog. He just looks at you and says he's not going anywhere. Not forceful, but gentle and firm. He isn't leaving you, not when you're so scarred from the war that most days you don't speak more than five words to anyone.

It's baffling. Why does he care about forgotten detritus like you? What good will it do? He's still strong, still handsome despite the scars. He can still have a normal life.

But no. He chooses you.

Chooses to walk with you from one village to the next. Chooses to sleep rough even though folk offer him work. Chooses to endure the rain and the cold and the long nights spent sleeping on hard ground. 

"Why?" you ask him time and again. "Why follow me? Why make me your purpose?"

He looks at you over the fire, a small, slanted smile on his face.

"Why do you think?"

You can't quite manage to puzzle it out, though anyone who sees him at your side can almost immediately tell.

Eventually, you settle down. A broken down old cottage at the edge of the woods. A place the villagers are all too glad to hand over. Better you than the vines, even if your eyes do frighten them.

An ex-warrior yandere who fixes the cottage for you, brick by brick. Who cleans out the overgrown garden and trades his labour to buy you seeds. Violets and lilacs and daffodils. Mint and thyme. All the plants you told him you missed the most when you were locked away.

An ex-warrior yandere who spends his evenings sitting next to you at the hearth, not speaking much, just resting his head on your knees and carving wood. Thinking how lucky he is to have this bit of quiet. That all the years of war and captivity were well worth the price if it means having you.

An ex-warrior yandere who slowly heals the broken parts inside you. Who teaches you to watch the sky and the path of the birds. Who teaches you to breathe deep when the nightmares come. Who sits awake with you when you're too afraid of your past to sleep.

An ex-warrior yandere who tells people in the village that you're his wife, even though you've never even kissed. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs his massive shoulders and says it's safer that way. And it's only the trees that know the truth - he calls you his wife because he likes the way it sounds.

For a while, things are good. You tend your herbs and make your tinctures. For a while, he believes he's put his sword behind him for good.

But your past follows you. The angry lover who called you a spy, maybe. Or a lord who isn't satisfied that his secrets are safe with you still around. Whatever the case, they come at night. Watch you, wait for their chance.

You don't notice them, too focused on your brews and potions.

But he does.

When evening comes, he picks up his wood ax and tells you he wants to bring back a few more branches for the night.

"But we've got plenty. And it's dark."

He smiles then, warmed by your concern.

"I won't be gone long, dove. Just a short walk. Keep the food warm for me."

And it is indeed a short walk. He catches them by surprise, awfully quiet for such a big man. They don't even have time to scream or grab their swords before he's cut them all down.

An ex-warrior yandere who wipes the blood off his face and inspects the blade of his ax.

"Ruined," he sighs. "She'll give me hell for it, I hope you know that."

The cooling corpses have no reply.

An ex-warrior yandere who returns home with a stack of firewood and a bunch of wildflowers.

You take them from him and breathe in their perfume.

"Lovely. Thank you."

That makes him smile again. Look at you, saying thank you. Accepting his gifts. It's been a long road to get here. If he closes his eyes he can still see you on that first day, too bitter and angry to even say please.

The flowers fill your whole cottage with their wild mountain smell, and you don't notice the faint trace of blood underneath the perfume. And if he has his way, you never will.

An ex-warrior yandere who swears off his old life. Who swears off violence and death and blood. Unless it comes to you.

He'll burn villages to ash for you. Cut so many throats he can drink the blood like water. He's a good man, but for you he'll throw it all away.

And those who are stupid enough to try it? To hurt the only good thing he's ever had?

Well, they find out awfully quickly exactly what happened to the Butcher of Brostick. They learn awfully fast that a man can change his name, but it's a much harder thing to change his nature.

An ex-warrior yandere who is the kindest, sweetest man you've ever met. Who doesn't raise his voice or pick fights. Who's always at your side when you need a place to lay your head. Who loves you with the deep, immovable devotion of an oak reaching for the sun.

An ex-warrior yandere who always washes the blood off before he comes home.

[softaestluv]

Kyle Garrick is competitive, a know it all, and a bloody sore loser.

When you join the team suddenly everything turns into a competition. Chugging a beer, clearing a building, lifting weights, sparring, Price’s attention— anything and everything under the sun.

The two of you drive each other up the wall, sneering into each other’s face with bared teeth and upturned noses. Until the day Simon pinches his temples watching the two of you argue over a game of dominoes.

“Won’t you two muppets fuck an’ get it over with already?”

You laugh, real deep from your core, “Like he could make me cum.”

Cue Kyle dragging you to the nearest spare room to show you how many times he can make you finish with his fingers alone.

a little part 2 | part 3

[heavenbarnes]

thinking about older bf!simon that takes great pride in being your built in pain relief.

“you right?”

delicate as always, gruff voice cutting through the peaceful lull as he stands right in the way of the television you were only really listening to.

“just a headache”

“you taken anything for it?”

you slowly open one eye as far as you can manage, confirming that the look on his face is endearing and he’s not purposefully asking stupid fucking questions.

he’s only man after all.

“i’ll give y’one if y’like?”

before you even have a chance to ask him what “one” might be in this scenario, he’s already nudging you up the couch to sit beside you.

he doesn’t give you the chance to ask any questions, really- not when he’s tucking your back into his side and slipping a large hand down your front.

long fingers slide your shorts to the side and immediately get to work, other hand holding your thighs open (more for his line of sight than anything).

“simon- you don’t have-”

“none a’that, rest y’head and i’ll take care a’ya”

[khioneee]

könig was a gentleman, no doubt about it. he’d open your jars without hesitation, offer you his jacket the moment you shivered, and god forbid you try to open a door—he’d sooner throw himself in front of a moving car than let you lift a finger. polite, chivalrous, and protective to the point of obsession.

könig was a gentleman.

but in bed, that facade shattered. in bed, könig was all man—fierce, raw, and possessive.

“mine,” he growled low in your ear, the word vibrating through you like a command. his voice dripped with ownership, each syllable leaving no room for argument. he wasn’t just saying it; he was declaring it, as if by the act alone, he had carved his name into your very soul.

and you would have denied it—if it weren’t true. no one else would ever fit where he’d been. no one else would ever reach where he’s been. not after him. you knew it, and he knew it. there was no going back now. you’re ruined for anyone else. so, as far as you were concerned, he better be planning to stay—because no one but könig could ever fill the void he left behind.

his cock twitched in response, like it was already considering going again, jerking slightly as you clenched around him. a warm trickle of his seed slipped from you, and the sight seemed to set him off all over again.

he grabbed your chin, rough and unrelenting, turning your face to meet his gaze. his eyes were dark and heavy with desire, an unquenchable hunger simmering beneath the surface.

“tell me it’s mine, maus,” he snarled, his voice sharp and desperate, like the words themselves could tether you to him forever.

and you knew—knew there was only one answer you could give, one that would satisfy the man hovering over you, his body tense with need and ownership.

“it’s yours,” you whispered breathlessly. “it’s always been yours.”

his lips curled into a satisfied, feral grin as if your words were the final piece to a puzzle he had already solved. there was no gentleness left in him now—only a man who knew he had claimed what was his.

[suksatoru]

satoru gojo has quite the staring problem when it comes to you.

he knew well that his eyes were his greatest asset—wide, bright, electric blue, and undoubtedly aiming to be the center of your world with how he looks at you. but you don't even spare him a glance—ignoring satoru entirely and trying to focus on the paper in front of you instead. unfortunately, the words begin to blur together, and no matter how many times you re-read the same passage over and over again, you fail to absorb a single word.

you wonder if satoru knows how much he's distracting you.

your boyfriend doesn't seem happy by the fact that you're not giving him any attention. and satoru, someone who was all for the theatrics, makes a show of yawning obnoxiously loud as he stretches and conveniently knocks his foot against yours. you send him a threatening glare, but he just sends you a knowing smile in return.

you hate how your heart flutters at the sight.

biting your tongue to keep yourself from saying anything, your eyes revert back to the paper in front of you. after all, you were in the middle of an exam. a check-in to examine you and your classmates' basic level of knowledge of your most recent lesson. satoru seems to have forgotten completely about the test and is instead busy ripping the corner of his paper gently, writing something on it with his pen before he carefully folds it up and places it on your desk.

you glance up to confirm your teacher, yaga, hadn't seen satoru passing you the note. thankfully, he's far too engrossed in the book he's reading at his desk. you eye the note, preparing to flick it off your desk until satoru makes a wild motion with his hands, shaking his head vehemently with his eyes widening comically.

please don't, he mouths with a pout. sassily, you grab the folded sheet of paper and let out a quiet exhale when you read the words sprawled messily across the top.

do you like me?

satoru is grinning cheekily, one cheek smushed against his fist as he watches you fight back a smile. there's a little yes and no imprinted at the bottom, waiting to be circled by yours truly. and as casual as satoru tries to appear as he quickly busies himself with scribbling nonsense all over his test, you can see the pink flush dusting his delicate cheekbones.

you circle no before adding a little note underneath saying you love him instead.

see, the thing was that you hadn't outwardly said the L word yet. while your boyfriend was quite adamant and proud of his love for you, you were a bit more... reserved. satoru was your first boyfriend, and while you loved him dearly, you had a hard time voicing something you'd never said to someone before.

you pass back the note shyly, avoiding his gaze as you immediately turn back towards your desk once he takes the paper from your hands. curious thanks to your odd behavior, you hear the paper rustle quietly as satoru unfolds it. you curl a hand over your forehead, effectively blocking your eyes from satoru's so you couldn't see his reaction—was it wrong to feel nervous about how he'd react? maybe he wouldn't be happy since you didn't actually say you loved him out loud. or maybe he wouldn't even care about your little note—you're not sure what to expect for a moment.

there's a sudden screeeeech! that comes from beside you as satoru suddenly lunges out of his chair—standing to his full height, fist pumped into the air with your note pinched between his pointer finger and thumb. he smiles so wide that your lips part in both mortification and awe.

"satoru! do you want me to hit you in the head with a textbook again? you're asking for it now!" yaga's voice booms across the classroom, looking up irritably from his book as satoru eyes shine, turning towards you with a grin. he sits back down slowly as he mouths later.

he goes through the next hour working on the test with a smile on his face.

satoru knew you cared for him, and he would never push you to say something you weren't ready to. maybe it was the way he looked at you when he passed the note, blue eyes twinkling like the sea during a sunset, that encouraged you to tell him how you felt��or maybe it was the way his cheeks became extra round whenever he smiled or said something funny to make you laugh. you weren't sure what prompted the sudden surge of love you felt for him; all you knew was that once class was over, you were going to kiss satoru stupid.

in honor of the new hidden inventory art of gojo that dropped <3 tagging @tryingtofeelbetteraboutmywriting for some fluff! :D <3

[seumyo]

imagine how heavy bakugou’s gauntlets are to you.

You weren’t entirely sure what you had done to deserve this.

Maybe you had done something awful in your past life, and it’s finally come to bite you back in the ass.

Sure, you were a UA student. Sure, you had signed up for the hero course, fully aware that it would involve combat training. But this? Holding onto one of Bakugou’s gauntlets—the same gauntlets that had nearly blown Midoriya through a building during the first battle exercise?

You could already see your funeral.

Your relatives all coming together under one roof to mourn you.

Your fingers curled stiffly around the massive piece of equipment, your right arm straining slightly under its sheer weight. You had always known they were heavy—Bakugou’s combat style revolved around explosive power, and he wasn’t the type to wield anything flimsy—but this?

This felt like holding a compact boulder.

A boulder filled with nitroglycerin-laced sweat.

That part was arguably worse.

It’s like lifting a weight that never really lightens over time.

Your mind raced with the implications.

His gauntlets stored his sweat to maximize explosive output. Which meant the one you were holding was loaded. Which meant if you even thought about holding it wrong, you’d be gone. Reduced to nothing but a crisp outline on the ground.

Holding an explosive hazard had never been part of your bucket list.

You could not channel your inner Meredith Grey and take one for the team to hold a bomb.

“I—” you started, your voice thin and weak. “I don’t think I should be holding this.”

Bakugou, standing in front of you with his arms crossed, narrowed his eyes. “And why the hell not?”

Because it was a bomb, for starters.

Because it was his bomb, specifically made for him, and you had just been handed it like it was some casual training exercise and not a potential death sentence.

Instead of voicing any of this, you swallowed hard and said, “I—I just don’t think I’m qualified? Don’t I need to have a seminar for this? Maybe a safety waiver?”

Bakugou scoffed. “That’s bullshit.”

Your grip tightened reflexively.

Oh god, was that too tight?

Was it going to go off?

Bakugou’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back to your face. “Your Quirk makes shit weightless and indestructible, right?”

You nodded hesitantly.

“Then you’re the best person to hold it,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted. “You wanna play defense all the time? Fine. But in the real world, you need to learn how to hit back. Can’t stand your damsel-in-distress act every situation, shithead.”

You bit your lip.

He wasn’t wrong, but… you had seen firsthand how much destruction his Quirk could cause. He had gone all out against Midoriya back then, using these very same gauntlets to unleash a massive blast that almost ruptured an entire building. You hadn’t even been in the fight, but you had felt the heat from a distance and had heard the deafening roar of the explosions echoing across the control room.

And now you were the one holding it.

“…It’s not gonna explode on me, right?” you asked.

Bakugou rolled his eyes so hard you were surprised they didn’t get stuck.

“Not unless you’re stupid.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Not at all.

You swallowed again, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t completely helpless. Your Quirk made whatever you held weightless and invincible. If you activated it now, you wouldn’t have to worry about the gauntlet’s weight—or about dropping it by accident and, in turn, detonating it.

Taking a deep breath, you firmly held the gauntlet with both hands.

The effect was immediate.

The heaviness vanished entirely, replaced by a strange, almost floating sensation. Your fingers adjusted around the gauntlet’s surface with ease, no longer struggling against its weight. A faint, translucent glow coated the edges, a telltale sign that your Quirk had fully activated.

You exhaled, relieved.

“Okay. I think I got it.”

Bakugou smirked. “Took you long enough.” He stepped in close without warning, his hands reaching for your wrists.

You barely had time to react before his grip closed around them, adjusting your stance.

Your brain blanked.

Bakugou was close. Too close.

You could feel the heat radiating off him, his fingers strong and sure as they repositioned your hold. He smelled like sweat and burnt caramel—like fire and something sharper underneath, something distinctly him.

(You tried not to think about it too much.)

If you hadn’t already been panicking about the gauntlet, you definitely were now.

(You were falling—ahem, failing at not thinking too much about it.)

“Loosen up,” he said, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You’re gripping it like it’s a fucking live grenade.”

“Isn’t it, though?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

He grinned.

Oh no.

That was a bad sign.

“Not yet,” he said, sounding far too entertained. “But it will be.”

You let out a strangled noise.

Bakugou ignored it, stepping behind you so that you were completely boxed in by his presence. His hands remained firm on yours, his chest nearly pressing against your back as he guided your aim.

Your brain was screaming.

It wasn’t like you were new to close contact—UA training often involved being thrown around by classmates—but this was different. This was Bakugou Katsuki, infamous for his temper and even more explosive Quirk, pressed up against you like it was nothing. Like you weren’t about to spontaneously combust just from the sheer proximity.

Maybe you were thinking too much into it.

“Alright,” he murmured, tilting your wrists slightly. “On my mark, let go.”

You nodded weakly, hoping he couldn’t feel how fast your pulse was racing.

“Three…”

You swallowed.

“Two…”

Oh god.

“One.”

You released, letting your left hand fall, Quirk disabling instantly as the barrier lightened.

The explosion erupted in an instant, the force slamming through the air like a shockwave. The ground trembled beneath them, a scorching heatwave blasting outward as the impact roared across the training field.

You barely had time to process any of it before you felt yourself lurching backward, the recoil throwing you off balance—

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, anchoring you firmly in place.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Bakugou had caught you.

His grip was solid, his chest firm against your back, keeping you steady against the sheer force of the explosion. His hand pressed against your stomach, holding you still as the last remnants of the blast dissipated into the air.

For a second, neither of you moved.

...

It was bad enough that you had just fired one of his gauntlets, but now you were in his arms? With his hand on your waist?

Man, maybe you should’ve been the gauntlet’s target instead.

Bakugou didn’t say anything at first, just exhaled through his nose before slowly releasing you, letting you find your footing again.

You stumbled slightly.

He steadied you with a single hand on your shoulder. “You good?”

You turned to look at him, still in too much shock to form a proper response. “Y—eah?” you replied after a moment.

Bakugou raised a brow. Then, to your absolute horror, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk. “Tch. Dumbass,” he says. “Not too bad, eh?”

“I could’ve died.”

“Nah.”

“I’m scared that you’re carrying heavy weight—bombs around like it doesn’t weigh a ton.”

A shrug. “Training.”

Your hands were still clammy.

Probably not from fear anymore.

“You wanna try using the other one?” he offered, surprising you and himself, really.

...

“Yeah. Fuck yeah, let’s do it.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[hana-no-seiiki]

Yandere! Husband who thinks of you every single moment of the day, spoils you rotten, makes sure you feel loved 24/7 with letters, gifts and his presence. Being married to you is a privilege and he makes sure he shows you that.

Who does the little things like making sure you never open any doors by yourself. “What the fuck do you think that ring of yours means? Get your hand off that handle!” proceeds to climb over the car to open the car door for you

who randomly squeezes your hands with a vulnerability you almost never see from him. muttering things such as, “i can’t even remember life before I met you.” or “i love you so much. leave me one day if you must, but know that i’ll never be the same without you.”

yandere! husband who always makes sure you take care of yourself, personally appointing days where you have to go the salon to get your hair or nails done. yandere! husband who always has a fun new date idea to keep things fresh in the relationship. yandere! husband who studies your body for hours on end so you’ll never have to look for satisfaction elsewhere.

so that you’ll never question why he’s changed so much. because he was never the man you married in the first place.

[lunarvera]

dean going sooo dumb and floaty while u scratch his scalp and tenderly caress his face and rub his back! literally humming and nuzzling into you and it makes your heart ache so bad because your poor baby :(((( he js wants to be soft and helddd sooo deeply and he's sooo excited n content to have u dote and love on him, letting you see him in a light he had tried to smother for a long, long time. and you really see dean, so naturally you have to plant like at least a million kisses over his pretty face and smooth over his features gently with your thumbs and squeeze him tight tight tight. and now hes lovingly gazing up at you from underneath his long lashes with green doe eyes, pupils blown big n wide, and it feels like flowers are blooming in your chest. his cheeks are a deep shade of rosy red from blushing at your sugary affection, coating him in a syrupy sweet state of mind, lovesick dopey grin on his face. leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on your soft skin and trapping you under the warm heaviness of his full body weight, his puppy tail would be wagging cus his brain's just so happy and empty, the only thought on his mind is about how he's all yours, yours yours yours!

[coliessions]

gojo satoru has you all covered. they were not joking when they said that this man would serve and protect because not a single thing touches you, ever. and gojo satoru is proud of that, that's what he's good at: being your personal shield.

and yet, even if he were to extend his infinity to you at every hour of the day, the one thing gojo satoru could not protect you from is getting sick.

then and there, the strongest one forgets how to act. this was not something he could fight off, something he could exorcise. no. but he felt helpless watching you squirm and curl up into a ball, sneezing and coughing on your bed.

he'd do everything in his power to take care of you, of course. but it was fidgety, at best. he never got sick growing up; he wasn't aware of the procedures of this all. so... he googled.

what else was he meant to do? you refused to eat, you were coughing up something, you were shivering, your temperature extremely high, and more things he truly did not want to think that you were going through. still, it was those same things that found their way to the google search bar as gojo satoru looked desperately for anything that could make your shivering figure feel better.

comfort was the last thing he got from his trip to the internet, however. the text on his screen informed him of the demise you'd supposedly face at this rate. you were gonna get worse and he was gonna lose the light of his life... is how he understood the search result.

after spending the whole afternoon napping, you finally stir awake feeling a cool towel on your head and something dripping on your hand. you blink the sleep away for a few more moments, eyes finally focusing on the sniffling figure holding your hand.

"toru, what's going on?" you squeeze his hand back lightly. you hear an almost theatrical gasp matched with widened blue eyes and immediately become engulfed in big bulky arms.

"i thought i was gonna lose you." he sniffs, nuzzling his face in your neck. you're left puzzled but return the hug nonetheless. "what made you think that?" satoru pulls away and examines your face. "baby, it felt like you were dying on me," he exclaims, still cupping your face.

"toru, it was probably just the flu-" you are interrupted by a cough that erupts from your throat.

"see! this is what google said would happen!"

"google? satoru gojo, you consulted google? and that's why you were crying?"

"next time i'll just exorcise every germ in this world."

"if you say so, baby"

[urfriendlywriter]

what will your character do..

(reblog and brainstorm, lovelies! u can also write drabbles with theseee )

if they're met face to face with their plot, with no warning?

if they're stressed?

if they're happy? who will they want to share it with?

if they're sad? will they go to anyone for comfort? if yes, who?

if they're forced into a life of death situation?

if they're being threatened?

if they're kissed by their ex?

if they're confessed to by someone who they had no clue liked them? (given, they're single or not)

if their lover betrays them?

if they're coughing up blood out of the blue?

if there's a strange presence in the room, and it feels ominous?

if they discovered a dead body?

^ if the dead body is their best friend? (great question to start and develop a plot)

if their enemy is at their doorstep, bruised and injured?

if they had to share a bed with someone they don't particularly hate? ahem

if they had to be fed by someone they didn't like/their crush?

if their partner-to-be? enemy? pulls them into a secluded and shushes them? (their bodies pressing and all that!!)

when asked to choose between their family and their lover? (given the circumstances of ur story)

when kissed on their head by their enemy after a near death experience?

if they're dancing with a stranger, and the stranger says 'stop dancing, sweetheart and you'll hunted. do u wanna die?' ?

if they find out the food that served to them has glass dust on it? (who is it served by?)

when being pulled into a hug when they most need it by someone they least expect?

when they have to hold someone they loved at a gun point? why would it even occur?

when they have to choose between their own life and their lover's?

when they've to give up something (of great importance to the character) to save their lover?

[tojisun]

!! suggestive-ish; dirty talking n insinuations; simon n his big body <33

"c'mon, sweetheart," simon murmurs, watching you with narrowed eyes. "won't you tell me why you wanna ride me?"

you puff a trembling breath, gaze turned away from him, before replying, "wanna feel you, s'all." you chew on your words, the rumble of your voice is so soft that simon almost missed it.

almost.

he doesn't bother hiding his smirk.

"is that right?" he sounds breathy even to his own ears. "anythin' else?"

he watches as you shake your head, still looking away from him, all shy and docile in your embarrassment. simon almost heaves a saddened sigh, but he sees the way your eyelashes flutter in nervousness, your bottom lip all bitten and nibbled on, and decides to take it easy.

well.

easy on his terms.

"you wanna take me to the hilt, yeah?" simon begins, his voice genuine even with the faint teasing tone. he adjusts the two of you on the sofa, grunting in satisfaction when your eyes flick up to meet his shyly.

"you wanna take control? wanna set the pace and do all the work?" he massages your hips, working his hands to grab fistfuls of your muscle and fat, groaning at the way your skin dimples.

he pulls you close to him, your chest pressing against his own, and simon tries his best not to flick his eyes down just to see the way your tits are all squished up against him. god, even just feeling the softness of them makes his cock stir underneath his jeans.

simon brushes his lips over the shell of your ears, purposeful in their teasing touch. then, "you wanna know how deep i can go in you, huh? wanna take your sweet time – or not, depends."

he lands a smack on your ass, the slap ringing between you two, and simon chuckles at your bit-off squeak. he watches as you tilt your head up to glare at him but simon just grins, teasing and meanly, before pitching forward to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

"no one's stoppin' you, princess." the words are mumbled into your skin and simon revels in the way you breathe in sharply, fingers trembling from where they are fisting his shirt, before groaning in quiet pleasure when he feels you rutting down onto his chub.

yeah. simon's gon' ruin you tonight.