#less of a drabble more of a shit post

[a-lurking-fae]

Thinking about Angel!Reader. You, angel sent from eath to Teyvat to somehow quell the Archon war. You just died, and this is the first mission sent to you?? Genshin Impact, your favourite game before you died, ended up in your hands?

Oh shit.

And shit indeed. Thankfully, you were given a bazooka (why would they give you one??) that had infinite ammo and is invisible to others. So, how do you keep everyone out of war from each other? Well...

"HELP!!"

"PLEASE! HAVE MERCY! WE DON’T WANT THIS TOO!"

"AHHHH!!"

Uhm... to put in simpler terms, you handled it... violently. Both gods and humans alike feared you, but somehow, whenever you're busy quelling one war, another happens at the other side of Teyvat.

They are testing you frfr (´๑•_•๑)

Then, after the war, it had the same outcome, the seven gods. For some reason, Celestia fucking commanded to destroy K'hanriah. The same fucking place where you eat your burgers and fries combo, the only one in Teyvat.

And you shoot the gods down, like bitch, no. But K'hanriah worships you now?? You kindly reject them, thinking democracy is a whole lot better. The Royal family thanked you, and you lived happily ever after with your food.

The end.

[good-beans]

A little creative summary for the year ✨ (Template)

Even though I'd done art inspired by/for others before, it was my first time doing proper trades and projects together -- thank you for including me :D

As for writing, I was worried about my thesis next year since I'll be rewriting most of my novel which is a lot to do in a single year..... until I realized I posted 83,794 words for fun in 2024.... 😅 (11,259 words of longfic projects, 54,642 words in drabbles, 17,893 words in creative but explanatory posts, and who knows how many in wips/unposted things :0)

Though writing on here may slow down bit with my thesis, there's no way you can stop me from working on fic completely 😂 I also have some translyric projects I want to complete within the year, as well as the usual art ideas I'm plagued with haha!

[miange1]

I NEED MORE OF UR OLDER MEN.

please do a boyfriends dad where reader(male ofc) accidentally made a sexual relationship with his boyfriends dad because his bf couldn't satisfy him sexually?

COME ON YOU KNOW YOU LIKE..— drabble

pairing: boyfriends dad x male reader

tw: cheating, older man x younger male, "lana" mindset, feminization, reader is described as feminine, crushing, teasing, hinting, obliviousness, being bored during sex, breeding kink, frotting/grinding, hairy kink(if that makes sense), jerking off to pics, HEAVYYY daddy kink(i cringed too don't kill me brah)

note: i love these types. i never proofread

boyfriends dad, who when you first met him already had eyes for you. the way your soft hand wrapped around his, shaking it and trying to be polite. but he saw it, saw the way you stood still and the way you avoided eye contact with him no matter how hard he tried to look at you. "its..it's nice to meet you sir." it was sure as hell nice to meet you too

boyfriends dad, who adores it when you come over. always suggests that you stay over instead of his son staying over at yours. his eyes were always on you. he'd always ask you to reach high places just to see that sliver of skin, purposely dropping things so you could bend over in front of him. your eyes would have that look, like you knew what he was doing but you feigned innocence.

boyfriends dad, who found your Instagram quickly enough. scrolling along the photos that you would post, whether it be your face, outfits, food. he was always looking at them when he had some time alone. he couldn't help himself, sooner or later cum would be all over his screen and he'd have to wipe it off. no shame to his actions.

boyfriends dad, who was a little nosey. just a little bit. he had overheard a phone call a while back, you were talking to your friend and seemed distressed and even disappointed. "i dunno, he just can't..pleasure me like i thought he would." oh? really?

boyfriends dad, who would take advantage of times you two would have alone. sometimes he would give subtle touches, those subtle touches would turn into not so subtle accidents. unlike his son, he could make you squirm and writhe with a few touches. unlike his son, he could have you moaning for real on his dick. unlike his son, he could have you cumming with just his hand.

boyfriends dad, who fucked you like an everyday schedule that just couldn't wait any longer. he'd have you bent over every surface he could get you on. kitchen counter, bathroom sink, couch, your boyfriends bed. shit, if he could compare this to the first hole he fucked this would be much better.

boyfriends dad, who could never stop talking and grunting while he fucked you. he wanted you to know you were his, even if on the outside you weren't, you surely were on the inside. "don't act all wimpy, take this dick like a man— 'less you a lil' girl, hm?" "daddy's got you addicted, don't he? mhm, ain't even gotta tell me with your words i can already see." "shh, shh, ain't none of that cryin'. big boys don't cry." "goood boy, suckin' me in so good."

boyfriends dad, absolutely loved to watch you come crawling back to him after you said you wouldn't. you'd try so hard to be a good boyfriend, try to force yourself to like the way your boyfriend fucked you, but you just couldn't do it. it was so difficult, you had to jerk yourself off beforehand. you just missed it so badly. missed his big hands gripping at the soft skin of your waist, missed the way his chest hair tickled your back when he leant down to go deeper, you missed it all.

boyfriends dad, who would rub it in your face each time you'd come back to him. saying things like you couldn't resist him, and he was right. fucking right. you'd have to give him head as an apology, listen to him degrade you like some side bitch. "fuck..look at ya, chokin' on this dick like you ain't beg me for it." he would thrust his hips the moment you'd get used to it for a second, seeing the way you could only gargle and whimper as a response.

boyfriends dad, who was just as obsessed with your body as you were of his. he paid attention to every little detail, every little twitch and wiggle so he would memorize it and get it right(unlike someone he knew). watch your tummy fill up and bloat with his cum each and every time he plunged in deep so he could feel the relief of cumming inside like he was getting you filled of his damn kids.

boyfriends dad, who would wish you goodbye and watch you kiss his son on the cheek like you didn't just taste his cum in your mouth. like you didn't want him more than anything in this world.

[beloveds-embrace]

More roomate!au thoughts because, again, my brain never stops. When you move in with them, dont expect to be able to do anything by yourself ever again (unless its housework and their away), your car needs fuel? Dont worry Simon will go with you and fill it up for you and dont even think about trying to pay for it yourself, you tried once and Simon just glared at you so you tucked your card back into your purse. You need to go get a few supplies for college, Price and Gaz are joining you and giving their opinions about the best laptop to get or the best stationary (they fill out enough paperwork that they know the best ones). You're cooking them dinner, Johnnys right by your side following your every order and helping to wash up while you go relax on the sofa waiting for whatevers in the oven. And you will want for nothing, you see a pair of shoes you want while out shopping but their outside of your price range, they arrive at your door a week later just after the boys deploy, you see a pretty necklace on TV and comment on it, Johnnys there behind you fastening it just before your next night out. You lament that your mattess and bed are uncomfortable, a new one arrives the next and it just so happens to be big enough to fit all 5 of you on it.

Yeah, the boys would 1000% give you princess treatment

My mind is still on that drabble so i absolutely love this so so so very much god yes….

Original post

It doesn’t end there, of course. God, they do so, so much for you.

It’s Simon who stands right outside the bathroom door when you get sick late at night, trying to be quiet and not bother anyone yet when you tell him he should go to sleep, you’ll be fine, he doesn’t even let you finish your sentence.

“Don’t need sleep,” he grunts, pulling you against his body. Despite your protests, his warmth alone makes you melt. “Jus’ tell me what you need.”

It’s Gaz who gifts you with a surprise spa day kit after he notices how exhausted you look during your exams, gently pushing aside your laptop. “You look knackered, lovie,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you, alright? You always spoil us when we return anyways, this the least we can do.”

It’s Johnny who immediately knows your day has been shit just from listening the way you shuffle in, shoulders slumped and head downcast.

“Someone steal yer sunshine, hen?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it, Johnny,” you mumble tiredly, yet you have no energy to refuse when he leads you to the couch. “Bad day. I’ll just go to my room-“

“Nah, none o’ that,” he shakes his head, taking your bag. “Sit down, aye? I’ll fix you up something warm.” Though he makes sure to drap a blanket over yours shoulders before he goes into the kitchen, muttering about food.

It’s Price who goes hand in hand with your safety. All of them do make you feel safe but John is just- a bit different.

Once, you were being followed after you finished shopping and like an idiot, you’d forgotten your usual pepper spray you carried. You knew you were being followed because you could feel the eyes constantly on you and you circled the same area several times. Your hands are shaking when you text him, praying to every god-

- john

- Yes, love?

You are too afraid to even crack a smile at his serious punctuation.

- someones following me idk what to d

You don’t wait for him to reply. Just nervously, with too many typos, you tell him where you are and if please can he come or any of the men-

When John appears by your side in no less than five minutes, he just pulls you close to his side.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He ushers you along. “Bloke’s been dealt with. Give me your backs, yeah? Next time tell me or any of the muppets to join you.”

Too late you notice the blood splatters on his knuckles.

Also, remember when I said the original ad had been because they wanted someone to keep the place tidy when they are away? That doesn’t apply when they are home. If they see you cleaning or cooking, they are helping- nu uh, no complaints allowed, they are not about to let you slave away when you have four very capable men at your beck and call.

Hell, once it was Johnny who saw you scrubbing the kitchen floors and he just picked you up and placed you on the counter, tsking at you.

In a few hours, John returned to find all of them cleaning the kitchen; Soap was now dusting, Gaz vaccuming, and Simon wiping the counters.

And you were bundled in the couch corner, cozy and cute.

“What’s all this?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, and you shrug.

“She was tryin’ to clean.” Johnny grumbled from the corner.

“And you didn’t stop her sooner?”

“Bloody stubborn bird,” Ghost was the one who replied this time, not even looking up.

You opened your mouth to argue, but the look John fixed you with made you shut your mouth with a click.

“Good girl.”

The warmth on your cheeks was definitely not from overworking, at least.

You mention needing new clothes? You wake up to Simon’s credit card on your nightstand with a note ordering you to use it. “Strangely”, you can’t find neither your own card nor your wallet.

You also can’t find him, but Kyle’s there and oh wow! He has nothing to do so he will in fact be joining you (and making you model the dresses and outfits and send pictures to the others so you can be drowned in compliments)!

Also i like to hc that john(s) are both huge coffee lovers and they do in fact have those huge, fancy coffee machines yk? They are insulted when they see you drink the cheap, shitty, tasteless instant coffee you are surviving on and from then on, you will wake up every day to warm, fresh coffee made for you <33

Anyways gods i love them sm can you tell 😩😩

[lushleona]

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. ♡

[grotesquevi]

Please pleasepleasoelsplaspsPLEAZEEEPLEASE do Ellie masturbating for the first time and like experimenting with herself PLEASE I BEGGGGGDHEJDHDU

18+ mdni, smoll-drabble? kind of perv!ellie idc i'm just living

waittt holdup my brain is processing this cause of-fucking-course collage!ellie would take so much time into actually cum. all jokes aside, she tries to be polite, to not worry the girl’s she sleeps with cause deadass? it can take her whole forty-five minutes, an hour even as she tries to reach a solid peak.

who mentioned first? was it you the one who suggested she should be stop looking for pleasure in others when you were sure she can reach it for herself? ellie has always listened to her roommate, so she put your advice to the test that very same night cause shit, she’s sure there’s something wrong with her, needs to test and see it for herself. plays type o negative in the speakers, lights up a candle that smells like candy since she read some shit online about settling the mood, smells and her five senses coming together.

and when she starts touching herself? there’s something missing, like, a whole part missing when ellie’s fingers slip past her pj’s and she’s using two fingers to move it right over her clit: she knows herself, what’s missing? the visual part. she’s good at imagining sure, but she’s not that level of a pro, cannot make up something that good to get herself that turned on, that wet so she can fuck herself into oblivion.

porn? no thank you, she wanted something else, tangible, there. so when she’s pulling her phone out to open up her instagram account, her fingers type on their own and it’s your profile the one who she taps in, lurking in your posts until she comes across the one you published in bikini after a hot summer afternoon in the lake. it’s black, simple, it got a damn charm in the hip attached to the thin fucking thread there holding the lower part of your bikini and suddenly she’s touching herself.

starts slow — teases her entrance using a couple of fingers to realize she’s actually soaked, focus on herself for once, on what she’s feeling, on the curves of your body there posing for the camera. if she zooms in she’d see the sweat that makes your skin glisten, the messy makeup cause you’ve been swimming to escape from the hot sun in the sky.

so ellie’s clearly buried in her own version of the seven circles of hell. face hot, she’s riding her own hand when her hips seek for some more friction: she knows what your skin feels like under her touch, what you smell like, even your laugh when she has made you giggle multiple times already, you live with her and oh god- a finger slips inside her warmth and its pathetic as she swipes through a set of at least, 7 or 8 photos. different angles, cheeky smiles, you know your game. you know what works.

takes way less than expected, makes her loud, whiny as she ruts against her own fingers. she’s touched like shit before it seems, so she starts masturbating daily to her favorite content: you.

[lovscb97]

— nerd!chan drabble #1

part 1 / part 2 / headcannons

synopsis: the aftermath of what happens between you and nerd!chan following the events that take place in part 2

tags: nerd!chan x cheerleader!fem!reader, established relationship, lots of fluff, lots of kissing, nerd!chan being a cutie, oral sex (f. recieving), unprotected sex (plz do not), basic lovemaking, aftercare, etc

wc: 1.70k

add. notes: idk why i wrote this n how tf it got so long. those pictures (i cannot upload them rn idfk why. if they r uploaded by the time u r reading this then good for us if not then i'll kms) seriously did a number on me i think tho bcs holy fucking shit man he looks so good. like i adore this man to death n beyond GRRR!!! anyways enjoy :3

. . .

saw chan's latest post and now i can't stop thinking about how the pictures are extremely nerd!chan universe's bangchan coded.. specifically, they're the type of photos chan would post the day you guys finally get together, on the first day he gets to call himself your boyfriend at last.

he's long dropped you off at home and is still reeling from the excitement of everything that's happened after the game, not to mention that he was so giddy to the point he ended up texting all his friends about everything that happened, making sure to repeat how he finally, finally!!! got the girl of his dreams at last. his joy is to the extent that when he gets home, he can't stop thinking about you, thinking about how you sounded and felt, thinking about the way you'd straddled his lap in his beat up car, thinking about how you'd kissed him breathless, just thinking about you.

when he's in the safety of his room behind locked doors, he positively melts against the wall, crumbling to his feet with a lovestruck grin on his face as he repeats everything that went down an hour prior and quite literally changed the trajectory of his entire life if he's being honest. when his phone pings with a message, he's immediately shooting to swipe for his texts, giggling at the sweet messages you've sent him to remind him once more that you love him and can't wait to see him tomorrow. he'd reply back with a goofy smile and kick his feet, of course, before impulsively making the executive decision to once again, stalk your instagram.

when he pulls up your account, his heart clenches against his chest, because there you are, plastered all over the feed with your beautiful features that he's fallen for over the last few months. the way your hair cascades over your shoulders, how your face is lit up and beaming in every post he looks through, your uniform or even casual clothes clinging to your body perfectly in specific uploads— everything about the way you are makes him feel dizzy in the head. he genuinely can't fathom the fact that you're all his starting today and onwards.

the next day when he sees you, he thinks he might ascend onto a different dimension. he's all dazed and in awe when he approaches you, softening at the way your eyes brighten after falling on his figure, watching with honey dripping as you parade up to and crash into him with your arms wrapping around his waist on instinct, no less in public. when he hugs you back, he can smell the familiar scent of your perfume and shampoo mixed together, burying his face in an effort to cling onto you like he's often dreamed of. though he's a bit pouty when you eventually pull away, he thinks you you make up for it by leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his cheek and grabbing his hand to drag him away for a late lunch date.

the hours pass with you and him spending as much time as you can together to make up for however much you'd lost avoiding each other and sneaking around in private previously. chan does his best to pay attention to what you're rambling on too, something about your professor marking you down for a test when you'd answered correctly, but he truly can't seem to focus with the way he's so down bad for you. everything you do, everything you say, everything you are in general makes him want to swoop in and kiss you silly.

so, he does.

it catches you off guard when he leans over the table you're both sat at and connects your lips together, but you're no stranger to his affection (okay, maybe you are a little), so of course, you kiss him back, giggling against his mouth with him. he thinks your laughter might be his favourite sound in the world.

as the sky turns to orange with the sun dipping down, chan allows you to tug him around campus, going with you to the library to pick up a book you needed for your class and accompanying you to the university cafe where he insists on paying for your drink. you both eventually end up back in your dorm, with you letting it slip mid-conversation that karina would be at her parent's house today. the seemingly little tidbit makes him freeze in his place, but he brushes off the lewd thoughts entering his mind in favour of continuing the impromptu and innocent study session you decide to hold in the middle of your side of the room. he tries, he really does, to concentrate on the material he should ideally be preparing for his next exam, but you look so cute focused on the text you're busy highlighting that he can't resist reaching over to graze his thumb over your palm softly. you look up at the sensation of his touch, cheeks tinting pink at the way your boyfriend is staring back at you.

and so, it doesn't take very long for the two of you to get back into locking lips once more, chan hovering over your sprawled out body as his mouth ghosts the skin of your jaw, neck, collarbone, shoulder, everywhere. you swear he's gotten more bold ever since you started dating, but one glance at the burning red of his ears is enough to make you chuckle. when he asks you what's so funny, you simply shake your head, wrapping your arms around his neck to yank him in for another kiss that leaves both of you practically levitating.

chan makes quick work to have you cumming on his face after that, languid swipes of his tongue flicking against your clit and swirling at your entrance as you let out the cutest whimpers he's possibly ever heard. when his wet muscles wraps around your sensitive nub and sucks, you see stars, clenching around nothing with your juices gushing down his chin as you spray everywhere. when your boyfriend rises to meet your gaze, glasses fogged up and stained with your release, looking like he'd descended from heaven itself, you can't stop the meek "need you inside, please" that leaves you from escaping. it makes his eyes widen, but he's stripping off his clothes in record time at your plea, causing you to laugh quietly in the darkness of the room, save for whatever light is streaming through the curtains.

when chan finally does enter you, despite having done so multiple times, you gasp. you still get butterflies from the feeling of his cock stretching you out, and he still can't shake off how his stomach swirls in delight at the way your warm walls basically suck him in. he moves slowly but surely, deep thrusts hitting every right spot that has you keening and shaking under his hold. his words are barely above whispers, filled with nothing but loving remarks and reminders of how much he adores you and can't believe you're his. he babbles about how lucky he is to be yours, and how he's never going to let you go, to which you breathlessly huff out something about how you'd never want to go anywhere anyways. that sentence coupled with the way your doe eyes blink up at him is enough to send him hurdling to his climax, triggering your own. you both lay there in the comfort of each other's arms for a while after that, snuggling into one another's skin and exchanging short kisses.

it's only after a few moments pass that chan gets up to clean you off, tugging his clothes back on along with the glasses he'd tossed on your bedside table before wiping you down with a wet cloth. the way you look at him as he tends to your needs makes him flush bright under your gaze, which only has you tittering and sitting up to kiss him once more.

by the time everything's done and he has to go home, chan lights up with an idea, lacing your fingers in his and rushing you outside the doors of the student accomodation. he flashes you a grin that makes you weak in the knees, ruffling his hair to slide his hat on before passing you his phone and posing for the camera. you're confused what this has to do with anything, but you click the pictures for him anyways, heart fluttering at the way he beams at the lens, or rather at the fact that you're the one behind it. when you're done, he thanks you with a smooch to your forehead, shrugging off his jacket to wrap it around your frame despite it being one too many sizes big for you. he buttons you up to the end, throwing his head back at the way you look so tiny compared to the clothing you've got on, which only makes you roll your eyes regardless of the smile that creeps up on your face at his joy.

it's only when you've said your goodbye's and shared a last few kisses of the day that you find yourself back in bed, wrapped up under chan's clothes and inhaling the scent of his cologne that brings back memories of today. when you open your phone, you're hit with his notification in an instant, eyebrows furrowing in confusion when you read him asking you to check his instagram but doing so anyways. you think your heart stops when you see what he's referring to.

chan had tagged you in the photos you'd taken a few minutes prior to seeing him off, but not just that, he'd captioned it too—

@.gnabnahc: thank you for being mine, pretty girl.

hot infatuation floods your system at the words he'd used, and for some reason, it dawns on you now of all times that chan is yours. he's yours. all yours. you can't stop the smile that graces your features at that realisation, replying back to him with something cheesy. safe to say, you drift to sleep that night with thoughts filled of your precious boyfriend.

in conclusion, chan may be smitten, but you're just as bad as him, it seems.

. . .

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

[nubsdolls]

SYPNOSIS ; g/n reader x sparring partner! bakugou, fluff, not proofread .. matching bracelets , enjoy ! xoxo, jord .ᐟ

A/N; this was supposed to be a lil drabble but this came out longer than i intended .. anywaayss. I PROOOMISEEE im gonna start posting more i’ve disappeared for sosososso long.. in the meanwhile take this, luv u guys !!!!!

sparring partner! bakugou that swears he only bugs you 24/7 to “get your ass to training grounds” because you need to improve. no other reason because of course, he cant stand you.. or anything about you, for that matter.

so no, it doesnt “mean” anything when sparring partner! bakugou comes up from behind you to, “fix” your form. adjusting you by signaling you to rotate to the side by giving your hips a little push, nudging your elbows up so your face is protected by your hands.

sparring partner! bakugou who always insists to be near you, discreetly, if he can. because he obviously doesnt want it to seem like he cares, because he doesnt. even during training or maybe even an attack on the school? near you. covering you and making sure warn you of the sneak attacks from behind you.

and even though you practically hate sparring with him, because hes so damn ruthless, ensuring a trip to recovery girl by the end of it, its weirdly the highlight of your days. hearing the ding! of your phone, followed by the usual message from him.

: training grounds. 5 mins

even when its five in the goddamn morning. you never fail to meet him there.

and after a small while of this cycle, you make the (probably) safe assumption you guys are, friends? acquaintances?..hell, maybe you were even on kirishima’s level of ‘friend’. toleratable? at the least.

so while on one of your free days afterschool, youre shopping with the bakusquad. mina, jirou, denki, sero, kirishima, and obviously, bakugou. god knows how they convinced him to tag along.. you get lost in a cute little merch store, spotting matching all might bracelets. ew, corny. who would even get those?

ca—ching! “aaand heres your change, have a nice day!”

you would.

though, you probably shouldve thought this out.. who were you gonna match with? ofcourse, it could always be mina, but she also didnt absolutely fixate on all might. but, there was, one person you had in mind..

and sometime in the week after the hangout, at the end of your—no less than brutal, training session, you tiredly brought it up.

“the other day—while we were at the mall, i saw these matching all might bracelets—�� pant, “i kinda just bought on it on sight, annnd i didnt really think of who to give the other half to before i did.. but i know you like him, so..”

you trail off, simply suggesting it as you move over to sit down on a bench, taking a drink of water, while also, pulling out the bracelets from your pockets and reaching your free hand up to show him.

sparring partner! bakugou scoffs upon seeing the bracelets in your hand. golden age and bronze age all might bracelets.

“thats stupid. im not wearing that shit.” he growls, crossing his arms. his voice a little panted from training. you were getting better. not that he would tell you that directly, of course.

“chill, dynamight.” you roll your eyes playfully, emphasizing his hero name on your tongue. “i was just suggesting it, if you dont want it its fine.” you explain casually. even if, the sentence did hurt your feelings a little.

“ill just give it to izuku.” you shrug, you guys were friends, pretty close if you did say so.

and you almost swear you saw bakugou’s eye twitch. a glint of, jealousy? in his eyes as you bring up the green haired boy’s name.

he lets out an amused huff, rolling his eyes. “tch. whatever, give it to that nerd. not like i care.” before he reaches down next to you for your water bottle, taking a swing, airsip.

setting the bottle back down next to your thigh, he speaks up again. “‘aight, hurry, we arent done. round two.” he adds harshly, motioning with his hand for you to get back up.

“come on. please? one more minute. its so eaarlyyy.” you whine, almost pouty as you throw your head back. still exhausted from the sparring just a few minutes ago. 6am and hes annoyingly productive.

“hurry or i can blast your ass right here.” he glares down at you, grumbling through gritted teeth.

“im getting uupp, geeez.” you groan, lazily getting up from the bench and almost coming up to meet his full height.

later in the day, during class training, you figure you should probably find izuku to give him the other matching half, one already on your wrist.

you couldve sworn you remembered putting it back onto your other wrist so you wouldnt lose it. maybe it was in your dorm instead? whatever, youd just have to give it to him tomorrow.

today, you were working in partners, testing out new possible moves, strengths, weaknesses, and overall just trying to improve on any weak spots.

and like always, sparring partner! bakugou was next to you. basically having claimed you as his designated partner for anything by now, glaring at anyone who even suggested you work with them and not him.

and as your throwing hits at him, trying to catch him off base with your quirk, you notice a glint coming from under his gauntlet, you pause a moment.

its the matching half of your bracelet, all might’s golden age bracelet.

he notices this. feeling his ears dust the slightest pink from, embarrassment? and he uses this moment of weakness to gain the upper hand, pinning you down on the floor.

and youre completely shocked by the sudden move. somehow flipped on your chest to the ground, arms tucked behind your back with his knee holding you down.

“stay focused.” he hisses, reprimanding you for your bad habit.

“thought you said it was stupid?” you mutter. tilting your head to the side ever so slightly to look at him. a sly, cheeky smirk on your face.

“it is.”

maybe it wasnt so stupid after all.

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

[daryltwdixon]

𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥

Bitch!!! I ain’t even a series girl and there’s multiple in here!!! Who is she!!! And look at me tagging a fluff fic!! Turning a new leaf round here. If you see something you like please let these wonderful authors know by showing them some much deserved love Sorry this is late! I was traveling and literally haven’t touched my laptop in days

Bicep biting by @tinysunshine

Daryl Dixon x you one shot summary: you kiss daryl’s arms and have to explain what cuteness aggression is after you bite his bicep ♡ my thoughts: I feel like woodchuck todd from easy a when he’s gobblin’ on that wood log LET ME GET A BITE OF THAT BEEFY ARM, DIXON

literally anything by @cavillscurls

(bitch I’m such a fan we got a whole damn list to get thru)

daddy next door

joel miller x you ongoing series summary: It’s summer in Texas, and when the dashing Joel Miller moves in next door, your less than favorable life gets completely turned around. my thoughts: ohhhhh my heart. such a different version of joel than im used to (rich & fancy) but it really hits the spot. cute romance and I see you in so much of this!!!

ass man

joel miller x you drabble summary: joel miller is an ass man my thoughts: what I wouldn’t do for this man to put his hands all over my best ass(et). Mya showed me this after I went off about joel in fact being an ass man and I was eternally horny grateful

Inescapable 🕊️

clint (freaky tales) x you one shot summary: Clint always gets what he wants—this time, you’re going to give it to him. my thoughts: YES SIR YES SIRRRYYYYYYYY mya has already heard all my praise but we’re gonna say it again holy SHIT Clint smiling into my neck as he puts a baby in me?!?! SIR MAAM YES PLEASEEEEE this has been a fave trope of mine lately. Captive reader who used to scream and beg for him not to touch now loving every second of it sorry bit dark it’s giving “run” vibes which was rec’d on last month’s list!!! And that shit is one of my faves so I knew this would tickle my pickle in the same way. I wish I could be eloquent about this shit but my GOD it’s so good trust.

Joel in glasses by @mushgloomz

peepaw!joel x you drabble summary: what the title says my thoughts: I’ll just put this here and you tell ME you don’t feel some type of way: “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

of rage and ruin 🕊️ by @corazondebeskar-reads

werewolf/alpha!joel x you ongoing series summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though. my thoughts: no no no you don’t understand. You don’t GET IT. Is this omegaverse? Yep. I’ve been dabbling. And the others just don’t do it like you do baby 😭 I read this way too fast and now I just wait for the updates but holy shit. No one puts my baby in a shock collar 😭😭😭😭

Idle Threats by @pearlessance

jackson!joel x you series summary: Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for. my thoughts: I’m so glad I didn’t post this fic rec on time because holy mother of god. I blew through this so quickly because of how fucking beautiful the writing is. Joel Miller feeling dirty about liking a younger woman? Check. Religious themes denouncing god for his one and only girl? Check. I’m sorry I’m so sorry I don’t usually add this but some of this dialogue is 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 “Because if anyone but me ever called you a slut an’ I heard about it?” He presses your clit harder, grinning when you start panting. “I’d have to kill ‘em, baby.” .....Like W H A A A A A a a a aaaa 😵‍💫😵‍💫

[starry-sophrosyne]

i swear to god. i cleared out all my drafts. i was so proud of myself. i watched a really old animatic of a fandom i was in a long time ago? STEAMROLLED DECKED IN THE FACE BY A NEW IDEA.

Let's just say.. i'm afraid not even my own TTOS persona is saved from the graces of my angst writings/capabilities ahaha... ( ´﹀` )' /hj /lh

[witherby]

Hey El! I’m back and god this place needs a clean! *Iooks in the booth and sees a man sleeping* is this one of your employees or not? Also with truceJuice how would Kon and the family react to an over worked mouse?

You leave that little guy alone! That's Blorbo, he's my emotional support loiterer! I give him some leftover drabbles and he scrapes all the gum off from underneath my tables and warns me when the Health Department is coming. We have a symbiotic relationship.

And, hmm. I like this question! Let's walk it through!

How does your family + Kon react to you overworking yourself at Truce Juice?

Masterlist is Here!

Bruce:

Can't say shit to you and he knows it. This man is THE overdoer of overdoing anything. Trained his body beyond typical and atypical human limits. Used to train himself to sleep in 20 minute bursts in his prime so he could spend the other 23 hours and 40 minutes a day working on bettering Gotham day and night. Made contingency plans for every single hero and villain and antihero known to him just in case he might need to put them down one day. Bruce has never done anything with less than 110% commitment. It's not a surprise you picked up that trait, as much as it makes him both proud and worried for you. So, like the hypocritical coward he is, Bruce says nothing.

To you. He's gonna lament about it to the others, though.

Hal:

Not happy about it. You're grown, and you can do what you want with your time as you see fit, but if you happen to be spending more time at your cafe and less time at home, that's when he's gonna crack his knuckles and start bugging you.

"Hey, kiddo! I think you've stocked up enough ingredients to keep this joint running for the next 6 months. Five if Killer Croc orders anything more than once a week. Don't you think you're going a little overboard? Come on home and take a rest; I'll give you a ride."

Dick:

He's gonna try to get legal about it. If you're in there working beyond your posted opening and closing times, he's threatening to fine your business. You wouldn't want that, would you? Just call it quits for the day and go lie down! Everything is fine!

(This does not work. You hand him a fat stack of cash to cover the fine, call your brother a Blüddy pig, and oink at him until he rushes out of the store, embarrassed.)

Jason:

Enforces the Weekly Family Nap Time when you don't. He calls or texts you and says you've got five minutes to wrap up the most important shit, then he's coming. It doesn't matter if you lock the doors, he's getting in the building, he's hoisting you over his shoulder, and he's taking you home and putting you and everybody else to bed. Shouldn't have skipped dinner, idiot. Now you're in a big cuddle puddle. If you use your shadows to slip away, he's threatening to cause property damage. He'll take the heat on that if it gets you to slow down.

Tim:

You're stubborn and bull-headed like the rest of your family. Once you focus on a task you're very unlikely to pull your attention away from it unless you're made to. So he makes you.

He locks down your POS system until you call him in frustration, then gets you to give it up and come home.

"It's eleven at night, M. The place closed at seven. Come back and I'll reactivate it tomorrow morning before it's supposed to open again, I promise. Whatever you're doing can wait."

Damian:

Similar to Jason, he's slipping into the cafe after hours and leveling you with a disappointed glare. Unlike Dick and Hal, his little guilt trips and speeches actually work.

"When you were six years old, I watched you flatline in a hospital bed because of your poor immune system. And you hadn't even done anything to get yourself sick back then." He leans against the counter and watches you painstakingly adjust and readjust and re-readjust all the furniture in preparation for the painting crew scheduled to arrive in the morning to give the place a fresh look. You refuse to turn around and face him. "Why are you purposely working yourself sick again? Are you going to make me sit at your bedside in the ICU while you fight for your life over something you couldn't leave to the other staff? To the contractors you hired to do this for you? Are you trying to frighten the people that love you, Flit?"

You leave the furniture where it's at and go hug your brother, then let him take you home.

+ Conner:

Sometimes you're overworked because there's too much to do, and not enough hours in the day. You aren't the kind of boss to ask your staff to stay longer than they've been scheduled for (not realizing that they happily would if you needed the help), so you take on the mundane, often laborious, after-closing duties yourself.

Conner is attuned to your needs and desires. He doesn't have to convince you to pack it up and go home. He knows that's what you want to do. But you also have to take care of your business, and sometimes that means staying for hours past closing to supervise a major renovation, or coming in so early the sun hasn't even risen to receive a shipment of baked goods from across the city.

Conner doesn't force you to abandon those tasks to go home. But he does stay to help them along. Need something moved from one end of the café to the other? He's on it. Need something dropped off at another store? Leave it to him. Need someone to prevent the creepy window washer from staring at your ass? He's already on it.

And when it's all said and done, and you can finally head out for the night, Conner will carry you home.

[noearchives]

seeing you cry for the first time + one piece boys

pairings: portgas d. ace x gn!reader, trafalgar law x gn!reader

a.n.: my first post ever!! have a little comfort drabble for my two favourite boys. part two will be for mister roronoa & our favourite blonde cook <3

cw: none really... reader has a tendency to hide when they cry :(

portgas d. ace

when ace finally finds you in the crow’s nest of the moby dick after half a day of searching for you, he lets out a tiny “oh!” and a chuckle.

his smile doesn't stay on his lips for long, however.

when he sees the tremble of your shoulders and the quiet sniffle from your nose, his heart drops to his stomach.

“hey, what’s wrong? don't cry, now… don't cry, okay?”

it’s stupid of you to try and hide from him. even if you’d gone to the deadliest of seas, ace would still find you, so he’s bound to find out about your tears anyways.

his first instinct was to hug you- when ace was little, his brother always clung to him when he was upset, so surely it would make you feel better too if he did the same to you, right?

he’s so, so warm. his skin’s a little sticky against yours, and the ruby beads hanging on his neck are pressing into your bones, but it doesn't matter. you can feel his hand at the back of your head, petting you like you would a cat.

he doesn't push you about why you're crying, nor does he pressure you about the fact that you're hiding from him.

the two of you stay like that for a long while.

“does this make you feel better?” he asks.

you nod.

“do you want to let go?”

you shake your head.

so you stay in his arms until you stop sobbing, letting yourself relax in ace's warmth.

.

trafalgar d. water law

law might come off as apathetic, and yes, he might give less than two shits about certain things, but when it comes to you, he can't help but pay a little more attention than usual.

he’s a silent observer. he’s noticed how you’ve become quieter than usual during meal time, avoiding the crew and him. he knew something was wrong, but he couldn't figure out why.

so when he sees you curled up in your room, face buried in your pillow that’s been dampened by your tears, he just sighs and sits on the edge of your bed.

“you idiot.”

law flips you over, so you cover your puffy eyes with your palms. he removes them from your face and sighs again, pressing his thumbs lightly on your swollen undereyes.

“use a cold compress later, got it?”

you don't even nod. you stare at the ceiling despite the light shining directly in your eyes, and you sniffle to stop the snot in your nose from running. law physically winces and pulls a tissue from your bedside table.

god, it’s like taking care of a child. but law bears with it anyways, holding the tissue over your nose with furrowed brows.

“don’t be gross. blow your nose.”

your blank expression drives him insane. he doesn't even know how to handle his own emotions, so could he know how to deal with another person’s?

(but for you, he’ll try.)

for now, he’ll hold your hand and help you blow your nose, listening to you talk and talk until you fall asleep.

[skribbledarker]

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanji’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH

[mayday2007]

Perfect

Badass!Daryl x badass!fem!reader.

Warnings: mentions of Daryl's home life(beatings, blood, bruises)

Genre: fluff with slight angst

A/N: This is my first installment of the badass!Daryl x badass!fem!reader story? Au? I don't know what to call it, but I'm happy to post it because I want to know whether or not this is going to be as big of a success as my most recent drabble called love progression, which you can find if you click the link. It may not seem like much to some more experienced writers, but for me it's a huge deal. Anyways, like comment and reblog to support me, love ya!🥰

•°~*~°•°~*~°•°~*~°•°~*~°•°~*~°•°~*~°•

The late summer breeze drifted through the air, gently swaying the trees as it did. Mother nature was bringing an end to the scorching Georgia summer and was making way for a chilly autumn.

You were standing out on the plain of grass at the front of your highschool, having only just graduated, and you were more than ready to get the hell out of there alongside your boyfriend, Daryl Dixon.

You and Daryl had known eachother since the penultimate year of middle school, and you've been friends ever since. You know all about his home life, about the death of his late mother, his poor excuse of a father, and his asshole brother, who seems to care less about his brother than his own health, and that is an extreme low. You know about what his father does to him on a regular basis, beating the poor bot black and blue, not caring about his own son's health and wellbeing.

Daryl has come to you on more than one occasion, needing your help in medical attention. He'd climb up your fence, reaching your bedroom window and knocking on it, praying that you were still awake and ready to help. You always were, ready to put anything on the line for him. You'd tend to his wounds, cleaning up the semi-dried blood off his scarred body, sobbing quietly every time.

Now the two of you are dating, and there's nothing in the world that could pull you apart. Thanks to the fact that you're both graduates, you can move on with your new adult lives, together. Daryl has told you that he wants nothing more than to spend the rest of his days with you over and over, and you've told him the same.

You look at Daryl and smile at him before the photographer takes the class picture to put on the wall in the reception, a school tradition that went back years before you and Daryl were born. He gave you a small smile back before turning his attention to the camera man, who was asking all students to look forward and smile. You could see in your peripheral vision the people around you smiling broadly and you did the same, though you imagined that Daryl's wasn't, and the thought somewhat amused you, making your smile slightly more true.

After the picture was taken, the students were free to go home and relax, so you began to leave. Before you could make it out, someone grabbed your arm and began to pull you backwards. You whipped your head around to see who it was, alarm evident on your face, only to see your boyfriend, which made you smile softly as he tugged you along with him, leading you somewhere.

Eventually, you left the large group of both students and teachers, and headed down the alleyway leading to behind the dumpsters, you usual make-out spot.

"Daryl," you managed through a giggle. "Why are you bringing me here? We don't need to come here anymore. We can do this back at my place." Daryl sighed and turned to you, looking down at you with a serious expression that shit you up instantly.

His expression softened after seeing yours, and he let a small smile creep onto his handsome face. "I'm bringin' ya here cuz I dunno where else to take ya." He said, though it made more sense to him than it did to you. "I jus', I dunno where ta do this where it'll be special, cuz ya deserve nothin' less than perfect." He said sincerely, looking at you with something you could only describe as pure love and adoration in his baby blues.

"Daryl," you said calmly, bringing your hand up to stoke his cheek lovingly. "I love you, but what on earth are you talking about?" He chuckled slightly, then put his right hand in his pocket and it stayed there.

"You, y/n l/n, are the sweetest, most prettiest, most kindest person on this planet," he began, keeping his gaze on you. "Ya make me feel like I ain't ever felt before, 'n I can't find nothin' that'll make me feel the same way ya do. I wanna make ya happy, 'n I know I ain't ever gon' be rich, 'n I can' give ya none fancy 'n expensive, but I can give ya all I have, 'n I hope tha's enough."

He then brought his hand out of his pocket, a small box clutched tightly in his scarred fist. You let out a small gasp and tears welled in your eyes as he dropped down on one knee.

"Y/n," he said, tearing up a bit himself. "Will, will ya make me the happiest man alive and become Mrs Dixon?" He asked, a genuine smile on his face.

You let out a happy sob as you nodded your head frantically up and down before squealing "Yes! Yes, yes I will!"

Daryl laughed in disbelief before sweeping you off your feet and twirling you in two circles before putting you down again. He giggled for the first time in a long time with you, looking into your eyes and nudging your noses together, allowing both of your tears if joy to mingle as the poured down both of your cheeks.

You then put both of your hands in his hair as you kissed his passionately, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to bask in the moment. When you pulled away, Daryl opened the box once more to reveal the ring to you. It was beautiful, the diamond in the middle shone brightly, and the smaller diamond surrounding it shone just as bright. He lifted you hand and slid the ring on your finger; a perfect fit.

You giggled once more, giddy with delight as you looked up at him once more. Then a couple of questions presented themselves in your mind. "Daryl, how did you know what ring size I was?" You asked him. He blushed a little before admitting to you what he had done.

"I measured yer finger while ya was asleep. Wrapped a piece of paper 'round it and cut it. Then went to the jewellery shop and they were very nice and showed me that you were size [insert]. So I got a ring that I thought that ya would like in that size and they said that if I didn't have 'nough money on me then, that I could always pay em back in small amounts in the future. I chose that option since I didn't have 'nough on me then." You smiled brightly, squeezing his hand tightly.

"What are we going to do about the wedding? Do we have to invite anyone?" He thought for a second, his hands now resting on your waist, his grip tightening as she thought. "What if we eloped?" He asked, looking down to gage your response. "Yeah, that way then we don't have to tell anyone, but it'll be pretty much set in stone that we're married. I like your style, soon-to-be Mr Dixon." You said with a smirk. "And I like ya attitude, soon-to-be Mrs Dixon." He said, copying your smirk as he chucked.

"When are we going to do it?" You asked him, kissing him in the cheek. "Hmm, how bout tomorrow?" He asked. "What, can't wait any longer?" You teased, lacing your fingers deeper into his dirty blonde locks. "Nope. No I cannot. I can't wait for the lifea me." He said matter-of-factly.

"Okay then," you giggled. "We'll do it tomorrow. We'll pack our things, go get something nice to wear and get married. Then we can leave. Sounds like a plan to me."

He hugged you closer to him as he leaned down further. "Sounds like a plan ta me,too." He said, almost capturing your lips in another kiss.

"I love you, Daryl." You said, closing your eyes.

"I love ya more, precious." He said, as he closed the distance between you.

[l0serloki]

omg i just got to know u write for jjk too!! I originaly was following you because of your valorant stuff and i love your writing style and those cute gifs you add at the start of every post <3

If its not alot can you please make some short drabbles/headcannons for the jjk men (gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, choso, megumi) where its late at night you are all cuddled up and you hear something from downstairs, the man get all protective thinking its an intruder and go check it out. ( you can make it an actual intruder and add a lil fight scene or make it a racoon or a stray cat and make it cute its upto u)

Im sorry if i sound wierd english is not my first language 😅

Intruder Alert

(Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Todo, Sukuna, Choso, Megumi)

A/N : UMMM first off I read Toji as Todo soo.. sorry about that one. Second off thank you so much for the request!! I kinda made these more cracked out than I expected them to be.. I hope you still enjoy and I can always do more if you want.

CW : intruders (duh), casual murder (geto), gojo being an ominous being, Sukuna being on top of you as you wake up

masterlist

Gojo : 

    Your body was cuddled against your boyfriend as you tried to sleep. As quickly as sleep came, it left. There was a sudden noise downstairs that made you jump.

“What was that?!” Gojo turned to you, scratching at his face. 

“I don’t know. It sounded like something downstairs.” You whisper out and the blue eyed freak groaned.

“Don’t worry babe. I’ll go check it out. There’s no need to be scared.” Gojo grabbed at your hand pulling you out of the warm sheets.

“If you’re going to check it out, why are you taking me along with you?” You deadpanned as he corralled you down the stairs. 

“Because babe if I die then you need to avenge me.” Gojo whispered out as he peeked around the corner. His eyes surveyed the kitchen as he crept in.

“Coast is clear- HOLY SHIT!” Gojo fell back, crawling to your feet. You watched as a raccoon jumped down from the counter, scurrying back outside from the open porch door. 

“Satoru, why did you leave the backdoor open..?” You rolled your eyes as you helped the ‘strongest’ man to his feet.

“I thought you did.” He grinned as he got up and wrapped his arm around your shoulder. 

“Why am I with you?” You chided and he just pouted.

“So mean..”

Geto : 

   “There’s a noise Sugu..” You whisper out as you adjust in his arms. Your eyes stare up at him as he scrolls through the TV.

“It’s probably nothing Y/N. Don’t worry.” He rubbed at your head as he continued to mindlessly stare. You heard steps creeping as you continued to lay there. You couldn’t help but feel anxious and definitely with the warrant out for your boyfriends head.

“Suguru, someone is in the house.” You plead. He only rolls his eyes as he shuffles around in bed. 

“You’re fine-” His eyes widen as the door slams open, a tall man standing in the wake.

“Geto Suguru, it’s nice to finally meet you.” His grin is wicked and you crawl closer to Suguru out of fear.

“It’s not smart breaking into my house, you know.” He grabs at your form and pulls you up. Curses forming behind the estranged man as Geto frowns. 

“Personal preference really. I don’t get why people consider you that strong.” The man shrugs as he gets closer and you flinch as a punch flies past your face. One of his many curses attach to the mans fist. 

“Pathetic. At least I know I need to replace the lock.” Geto rolls his eyes as the man screams in agony, his head exploding from the pressure of the curse.

“Are you okay darling?” Geto bends down to run his hand across your cheek, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to your warnings before. I’ll be more observant for you.” He leaves another peck as he sets you down against the plush pillows of the bed. 

“Give me a moment to clean up and we can cuddle, okay?” 

You only nod as you shake from the violent attack. You knew you were always safe with him but that didn’t make you worry any less. But at the end of the day, you still had him.

“Okay.” You lean in to give him one more kiss as he goes to clean up the ‘leftovers’.

Nanami : 

  You were cradled in Nanami’s arms as you heard rustling around. Nanami gripped tighter at you as the noises became louder. 

“Kento..” You mumbled out. His soft snores filled the room as you tried to wake him up. You squirmed around in his arms trying to get his attention. A scream left your lips as a harsh knock on the bedroom door filled the silence.

Nanami whipped straight up, gripping at his cleaver that sat on the bedside table. 

“Y/N what’s wrong?” He placed a quick kiss against your forehead as another knock sounded at the door. You gave him a scared look and he squeezed your hand.

“Nanami, are you there? I just got done giving Megumi his gift so if you could open up..!” Gojo’s voice filled the silence and you let out a giant sigh. Of course it was Gojo.

“Gojo, what are you thinking sneaking into peoples houses at 3 am. Regardless of time there is a thing called privacy.” Nanami swung the door open, berating the special grade as he started to push him out. Gojo gave you a thumbs up as he sat the gift bag on the chair and continued to struggle against the blondes hold.

“Try the lemon flavor Y/N! I think you will like it!” Gojo calls out as Nanami shuts the door on his face and sighs. He comes back over to the bed, his face worn down as he falls into his pillow. You couldn’t help but laugh at the buffoonery that unfolded.

“Ken are you okay?” You rubbed at his back. He only groaned as he peeked up from the comfort of the bed.

“Can we pretend that never happened?” 

Todo : 

Todo’s face was buried against your chest as he snored. You ran your fingers through his hair as you continued to mindlessly scroll through your phone. You heard noises creaking against the floorboards which attracted your attention.

“What the hell?” You pushed the large man off your chest and stood up to go check out the noise. 

“Huh..? Y/N..” Todo’s hand yanked you back towards the bed, his eyes pleading for you to continue cradling him. 

“There’s someone there Aoi. You have to let me check.” You push his hands away much to his dismay and move to leave the bedroom. His body moves quicker than yours, ripping away at the door.

“Is someone there!?” 

There was a scuttle from a thief grabbing at some of your belongings, his hands flying up as Todo stomped through the hall.

“How dare you ruin my time with Y/N?! I am disgusted!” Todo grabs the thief by his shirt and tears open the window. 

“Todo, the vase!” You screech as your vase teeters and he throws the man out the window, grabbing the nice china in time.

“Stupid. Now let’s go back to the bedroom.” He dusts himself off as he grabs you with one arm and makes his way back into the room.

“Maybe we should check the door..” You gasp against his tight hold as you try to process what just happened.

“The door should try and check me!” He gloats as he places you gently on the bed, still worked up from having his precious time taken from him.

Sukuna : 

    Your body slid in the sheets as you felt hands gripping at your face. Your eyes slowly opened and adjusted to see the beast on top of you. 

“What-” You struggled to speak as his hand pushed your cheeks together.

“Such pretty lips. All for me?” He grinned as you smacked his chest. Sadly this was a recurring theme with the two of you. Whenever Yuji lost control you always somehow had Sukuna trailing close behind you. And although you weren’t particularly happy waking up to such intrusions, you didn’t mind it either.

“Cmon.” Your voice is garbled as he pets your skin and grins.

“No scream for the intruder? I’m disappointed.” He slaps your cheek lightly, not enough to harm you but just enough to wake you up.

“You’re a piece of shit.” You roll your eyes as he chuckles and pulls you flush against him.

“You like it.”

Choso : 

“Baby.. there’s something outside.” Your eyes barely peek above his arm as you hear the scratching at the window. Choso just groaned and pulled you tighter into his embrace.

“It’s okay. Just sleep..” His voice was hoarse as he patted your head. You couldn’t help but still feel anxious, tugging at him to wake up.

“Please..” You jolted as another harsh slap hit the window. Choso sat up and made an annoyed face.

“Who would be stupid enough to come here?” He stomped out of the bed and over to the window. He ripped at the curtains and opened the window. 

“You think it’s funny-” Choso starts only to get backhanded by the tree arm that had apparently been smacking the window. Your eyes widened as he wiped at his face, turning to see you laughing hysterically. He let out a small laugh as he rolled his eyes.

“Glad to see you’re not worried anymore.” He slides back into bed, pulling you flush against him. 

“Baby you didn’t close the window.”

“Really..”

Megumi : 

  Your body rested against Megumi’s as you both cuddled against the sheets. It was a cold night and the heater was all but broken. One of your hands rubbed at the fur of the black dog coating you like a blanket while the other rubbed through your boyfriend's hair.

There was a ruckus from downstairs, your body jolting at the sudden noise. The dog seemed to notice as well, sitting up and growling, ready to protect you and Megumi.

“There’s something..” You pushed against your boyfriend and he slowly wiped the sleep out of his eyes. You arms circled around him as his shinigami jumped down from the floor and went to go sniff out said intruder.

“If someones there we will know. Don’t worry.” Megumi stretched as he tried to get into action. He jostled himself out of the comfy position and opened the door. 

“Really.” His voice was deadpan as the dog came back into the room and jumped on you, unfazed. You were confused - there had to be someone if Megumi was talking.

“Hello dearest son! I brought sweets! Oh and hello Y/N!” Gojo gives a wave as he holds a giant bag out.

“Get out.” Megumi rolls his eyes as he pushes the bag away and shuffles the sorcerer back through the house. You could only chuckle at the interaction and hope that Megumi would tell him to knock next time.