#short little drabble

[coyote-with-a-keyboard]

hello!!! Love all your writing, it's hard to find x male reader writers in the cod community but you are certainly a saving grace. Have you ever thought about doing Phillip graves with a male bodyguard/loyal guard dog reader? Remember to drink water have a good day 🫶

a/n: heheheheh dog reader my beloved, i dropped my phone and it’s so shattered atm so this was a bit of a slow write but yk 🤷‍♂️

Minors DNI

Phillip relied on you more than he should, from secretary work to being leader of a mission he couldn’t oversee, you were his jack of all trades and his right hand man. And of course with that, you were also his emotional and physical support

he wasn’t ever quite sure if you cared about him, but he didn’t think it really mattered when you had him bent over his desk while he tugged on the leash attached to your mic collar from your most recent mission you hadn’t even had time to take off when he called you in; needy, whiny, and commanding and begging ordering you to take off your clothes and get to work already. He could feel your cold hands gripping against his hips as your cock hit his prostate with sloppy fast thrusts, your breath coming out in little gasps time to time from the sheer amount of times you had already came inside of him, it dripping out of his sloppy hole onto his expensive desk’s nice wood finish.

he was still unsatisfied however, even with his own orgasms covering his stomach and chest in a sticky overstimulating feeling, he still needed more. Needed his guard-dog of a man to fuck him stupid. He tugged on your leash harshly whenever you got too slow or didn’t hit his insides just right, muffled whines and curses leaving his lips when your thick cock dragged in and out of his gummy warm walls

he swore he could feel you in his throat, your cock-head rutting against his prostate ruthlessly. Not that he’d tell you that, he was feeling bratty, and it was nice to have the illusion of power for a moment even if he knew your hands alone could wring his neck like a chicken

he bit into your arm violently as he came for.. perhaps the fourth time, already starting to shoot blanks as he reveled in the slight sting it left in its trail, feeling more globs of your semen drip out of him as you fucked into him even harsher then before- the overstimulating feeling of the heavy smoke from his now discarded cigar, of the sheer pleasure-pain and fucked out bliss coursing through his nerves being a mix that was driving him insane

[coolgrl111]

heyy everyone. although i’ve been pumping out these texting aus i still write a little too 😭 here’s something short and sweet

—

you and art were the kind of high school sweethearts people talked about like a fairytale. everything about you just fit—the way he’d wait by your locker, grinning like he had the biggest secret in the world; the way your laugh seemed to pull him out of his own head, especially during the relentless pressure of tennis tournaments. weekends were spent driving aimlessly through town, sharing milkshakes, or stretched out in his backyard, counting stars and dreaming about futures you didn’t realize would one day diverge.

art was a star even back then, his name already whispered by scouts and coaches, while you worked tirelessly on your own academic goals. but there was always time for each other. late night calls about everything and nothing, love notes passed during lectures, his thumb tracing absentminded circles on your palm as you studied together in the library.

it seemed perfect. and it was, until the weight of his tennis career and your academic pressures began to press down on the bubble you’d built together. time grew scarce, tempers short, and the ease that had always been your foundation started to crack. you drifted. quietly at first, then all at once, like a tide pulling you apart. the breakup wasn’t explosive; it wasn’t cruel. it was just… sad.

years passed.

art’s name popped up on the news occasionally, a rising tennis star. you cheered for him from afar, even when it hurt. eventually, you found your own happiness—married someone kind, built a family, carved out a life that, while good, never quite felt whole in the same way.

and then one day, by chance, you saw him again. you were at a park, chasing your kids as they laughed and stumbled over their own feet. and there he was—older, of course, but unmistakably him, his son on his shoulders, the same boyish grin still lighting up his face.

he saw you too, and for a moment, it was like no time had passed. he walked over, his voice tentative but warm. “hey… it’s been a while.”

you talked, awkward at first but quickly falling back into an old rhythm, reminiscing about the lives you used to share. “funny how things work out,” he said, glancing at your children, then his. “we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

“we did,” you agreed, though your chest ached. it was true—you were happy. he was happy. but as you sat together, watching your kids play, you couldn’t help but think of all the little things you’d missed. the quiet mornings. the shared dreams.

“in another life,” he said softly, almost to himself, “i’d love to just… fold laundry with you or something.”

you smiled, tears stinging your eyes. “me too, art. me too.”

what he meant was—share the domesticity of life. together. what a sweet thought, what a desperate need. the moment passed. you went your separate ways again, carrying the quiet weight of a love that had been good, even if it hadn’t been forever.

[yanderedrabbles]

Foreign Yandere x Air Hostess Reader

He's beyond shady. Got connections and friends in all the lowest places. But you're just a little too slow to realise it.

Foreign Yandere who sees you for the first time on his first flight out of the country. He’s a sketchy guy, got a pack of fake passports in a hidden compartment in his bag, but you smile at him like you don’t see the tattoos, the scarred knuckles, the too quick hands.

Oh, you’re pretty. All the cabin crew are, but you’re something new. Exotic almost. Got him wondering exactly how different you are in bed too, got him wondering if you’d put up a fuss if he cornered you in the bathroom. Hell, you might like it. Folk always said foreign girls were down for so much more.

It’s a long-haul flight and your supervisor is bitchy about damn near everything you do. Passengers aren’t much better after twelve hours with their legs cramped up and only shitty plane chow to eat. He can see it wearing on you, can see the way your smile gets tighter after every too sharp complaint. Makes him want to beat their faces into a pulp.

His last straw comes at hour sixteen, when you’re clearly exhausted and one passenger just won’t let up. Practically screaming at you about not getting his specially ordered meal. You’re dealing with it as best you can, but everyone has a limit. He can see the tears starting to brim behind your waterline, can see you struggling to fight them back.

He stands so fast that his seat mate actually flinches. Comes to stand behind you and glares at the troublemaker. The man doesn’t let up, just switches his anger to him.

“You got a problem, huh?”

Foreign Yandere who doesn’t have a lot of English, but he knows a threat when he hears one. He leans down, shoots the man a smile filled with all the menace of a streetfighter.

“What did you say to me?” he asks, in his own language. It isn’t the standard dialect. It’s the regional kind, the type that’s as rough ‘round the edges as its speakers.

The man quails.

 “Sorry,” he mutters. But that’s not good enough.

Foreign Yandere who jerks his head at you, his message clear even across the language barrier.

Apologise to her.

The guy does. Red in the face, resentful about it, spitting his sorry through his teeth like an insult.

You look up at him, the foreigner with the hard eyes, and thank him. In his own language.

Your accent is thick, the pronunciation too rounded on the vowels. But he’ll be damned if it ain’t just fucking adorable.

“Anytime,” he tells you.

It’s not long after he’s back in his seat that you bring him a complimentary cup of coffee and a muffin. The good stuff too, not the swill that usually gets served in economy. He grabs your wrist before you can leave, grip just a little too tight without meaning to be.

“Can I see you again?”

Your grasp of the language isn’t the best, and it takes you a minute to puzzle out what he's asked. When you finally get it, you smile at him and shake your head. Rueful.

“Against company policy to meet the passengers after the flight ends.”

He lets it go. Sighs and says he understands, wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. A surprisingly polite answer from a man who looks like he never hears the word no without following it with a punch to the teeth.

But he doesn’t let it go. Not really. After the plane is deboarded, he skips lines and almost skips customs to keep his eye on you. When you get into a shuttle bus with the rest of your coworkers, he takes careful note of the hotel name scrawled on the side.

His business goes well - if you can call smuggling business that is. The boys he’s dealing with have their own plane to get him home. The kind of small jet that never lands at any airport marked on a map. He slips them all a little something extra under the table and asks if he can bring a guest.

“Will they be conscious?”

He grins. “Not if I can help it.”

Getting you is the tricky part. He borrows a suit and cleans himself up. Shows up at the hotel desk in the middle of the night and tells them he’s here to pick you up for an unscheduled early flight. He knows your name, your company, even your damn rank in the crew. Everything he says checks out. And if the receptionist that calls you thinks he looks a little rough to be a driver, she doesn’t mention it.

You show up with your uniform a tiny bit askew and a sock sticking out of your suitcase. You must have scrambled out of bed without even bothering to double check with your supervisor. Good. The less people that know the better.

He mostly keeps his back to you. Doesn’t want you to recognise him too soon. He shouldn’t have worried. You’re too jetlagged and blurry eyed to even recognise your own mother.

It’s only when you’re in his car and speeding down the wrong highway that you start to get suspicious. Start to come awake fully.

“Which company did you say you work for again?”

He doesn’t reply. You’re going to have to put more effort into learning and speaking his language. No point encouraging you by answering.

“Excuse me?”

You lean forward to get his attention and when he hears your little gasp, he knows the game is up. That you recognise him. Honestly, he’s a little offended that it took you this long. He could keep track of you through a sea of faces back at the airport after all.

“Listen, I don’t know why you’re here. But please stop the car.”

See? You’re speaking his language a bit better already.

“No chance sweetheart. You’re coming home with me.”

He can almost admire your guts when you go straight for the door, despite the speedometer showing over 200. Locked of course. He’s not an idiot.

When he finally arrives at the hangar, it takes him and two other thugs to finally hold you still.

“Fucking feisty thing,” one of them snarls when you land a good kick to his knee.

When he finally manages to prick the injection into your neck, you’re crying so hard that your mascara is running.

“You put up a good fight baby,” he comforts you as you go limp in his arms. “But I just want this more than you.”

His buddies smirk when they look at your body sprawled out on the seat.

“Nice catch. I’m mad I didn’t see her first.”

“You gonna be nice and share?”

That makes him grin. “We’ll see. If she’s too much to handle, well…”

That makes them snicker.

You shouldn’t assume someone’s a thug just ‘cause of the way they look. But in his case, those scars weren’t earned through gentle accidents.

And when he gets you home, someplace probably tropical, someplace where a missing foreigner isn't that surprising a thing, he'll show you exactly how dangerous it is to smile at a criminal and expect him to just let it go.

[katsukistofu]

claire de lune

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ k. bakugo x fem reader. 1.8k words — domestic fluff. slightly suggestive. ⭑ there’s nothing you and katsuki wouldn’t do for your baby girl, and that includes giving her the moon.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“Yes angel?”

“I want that thing down!” Your daughter points above you with her tiny finger. The faint chirping of crickets can be heard in the distance, and tall, silken blades of grass tickle the both of your cheeks as you gaze upward at the vast periwinkle sky. 

A sweet smile spreads across your lips. “You want me to get the moon down?” 

“Yeah!” 

“Aw sweetheart, I’d get it for you but mommy can’t reach that high. Daddy probably can though.”

She pouts at this, and turns away from you to poke her dad who is on the brink of falling asleep again on the other side of her. 

“Dada!”

Katsuki’s eyes flutter open and he groggily faces her, head resting on his folded arms behind him. You bite back a laugh at the crumbs still decorating his cheeks. Sumi was trying to balance Cheeto puffs on his nose earlier before his nap. “What ‘sup bubba?”

She points at the moon again. “Get it down.”

“That?” Your husband covers his mouth to yawn, glancing up at the darkening sky. Sumi nods excitedly. “M’kay. Was thinking about it when you and mommy started lookin’ anyway.” He says it so casually, like getting the moon for her was a feat as simple as buying a carton of strawberries at the store.

“Yay!” Sumi cheers, and he chuckles when she struggles to slip her hand under his arm on the ground to hug it. Katsuki rolls over and she giggles, now sandwiched between the both of you as you hug her.

“Sumi, how about you wait inside while Daddy gets it for you?” You suggest. It was starting to get late. 

“Nooo,” Sumi whines. “Wanna stay here and watch.”

“You can have the last cookie in the kitchen’s jar.”

Sumi’s eyes brighten. “The bear one that looks like dada!”

“That’s right, sweetheart. The one with his grump grump face.”

“Who’re you calling a grump grump.” Katsuki scowls, secretly reaching over Sumi to give an affectionate pinch to the softness of your hip and you squeal. 

“Sumi, Daddy’s being mean to mommy!”

Sumi’s face matches Katsuki’s expression from before. “Stop that dada!” 

Katsuki slyly grins and withdraws his hand, masking his face into an expression that is the definition of innocence. With amusement, you note the little huff of pride he makes seeing Sumi’s tiny scowl, perfectly identical to his. “Mommy started it.” 

She blows a raspberry at him and wriggles out of his grasp, then gives the both of you pats on the head like you’re misbehaving puppies and finally runs off back into the house. 

“You two play nice!” Sumi waggles her finger with as much sternness as a three year old can muster before promptly shutting the door in your faces.

Katsuki meets your eyes with his and the both of you laugh on the grass, breathlessly clutching each other. 

“I wonder who she takes after more,” you muse between giggles. 

“Definitely you.” Katsuki rolls his eyes, bringing you closer to him with his arms snug around your waist.

“Whaaat? No way, I was totally going to say you.” You grin cheekily, eyes going almost comically wide when he kisses you hard on the mouth in response.

“Shut up.” 

“Kiss me again and I will,” you murmur dazedly and he chuckles, muttering something under his breath about you being insatiable despite leaning in to give you another one.

With how close he is, everything is soft eyelashes, the dull thudding of his heart beat synchronizing with yours as his firm chest presses against you, and the warmth radiating from his smooth skin, slowly seeping into your body.

Each movement of your lips brushes his mouth more and more against yours and even after almost a decade of being together, the feeling still makes your brain go fuzzy. All your thoughts melt away. It’s just you and him.

“Kats,” you breathe in warning. His fingers have somehow found their way under your sundress and they’re mindlessly tracing nonsensical shapes into the small of your back, his other arm still tightly wrapping you in his warm embrace. “I really, really need to go iron your suit for tomorrow. Plus, aren’t you supposed to be catching the moon right now, mister?”

“Just ten more minutes,” Katsuki murmurs against your collarbone and you shiver. His voice is still husky with sleep. “And I already caught the thing.”

“Really? Proof or you’re lying.” You raise a brow skeptically, and you should’ve known better than to doubt him when he actually reaches behind him, the wedding ring that he never takes off even to wear his hero costume glinting in the moonlight, to lift up a neatly wrapped up box with a little baby pink ribbon on it. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. “Where the hell did you get that?”

Katsuki grins proudly. “Found it after patrol last week with Eijiro.”

“It being…?”

“The moon.” He sets the box down in front of you. “It’s a night light, ‘cause I know Mimi’s scared of the dark.” 

“Aww Katsuki,” you coo, reaching out to caress his cheek. “That’s so cute.”

He blushes at the pure look of adoration in your eyes, and you can’t help but smile when he hides his face in your hair. “S’nothin’. Just getting the best for our little girl.”

Your husband grumbles when you let out that perfect, angelic giggle of yours and rest your hand on his head in response. He was so adorable. 

The way he’s acting is so similar to how you did at the beginning of your relationship all those years ago in high school, but it seems that as the both of you got older the tables turned and he was the clingier one now, much to the amusement of your classmates and the press when they managed to get ahold of you.

Katsuki lets out a low, content hum as you run your fingers through his soft hair. The both of you lay there, basking in each other’s touch and comfortable silence.

“Couldn’t keep my eyes off of you when you were sunbathing on the beach this morning.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Katsuki smirks at your expression. “Sumi kept smacking me with her damn shovel when we were making sand castles. Stop staring at mommy, it's rude!” He says, mimicking your daughter’s scolding tone.

You laugh at his Sumi impression. “My girl was trying to teach you some manners!”

“Damn straight.” He grins against your neck, and your cheeks grow hot at the way his teeth lightly graze over your skin. “That’s why I said she’s more like you, mommy.”

Your stomach flips against your will and your cheeks burn as you smack his well-muscled chest. “Don’t call me that!”

“Hah? Am I hearing my wife being embarrassed right now, after everything we’ve done? After what we made together?” Katsuki teases. “When you’re talking to Sumi you call me dadd—“

“What’s taking you so long!” Speaking of the little devil, Sumi’s impatient voice floats down to the garden through the open window of her room upstairs. “I want my moon and bedtime story now!”

“We’re on our way, Sumi!” You call up. Katsuki reluctantly lets you pull away from his arms, and the both of you stand up to dust yourselves off. He groans as he cracks his back next to you.

“Don’t think we’re nursing home age just yet,” you say jokingly. Katsuki snorts and pinches your cheek for the jibe. 

“You’re lucky I’m still gonna think you’re cute when you’re in grandma diapers.”

“Wha—Hey!” You trail after him into the house. Damn his fast pace and his longer legs. He’s already up the stairs, the present box in his hand.

You reach the top of the stairs and head for the familiar light pink interior of Sumi’s room but stop in the doorway to coo at the sight before you. 

“Hey, squirt. Got the moon for you, just like I said I would.” Katsuki’s voice is gentle as he kneels on the floor to meet her sparkling eyes, and gently shakes the box in his hands before holding it out to her.

“Whoaaa!” Sumi eagerly takes it. “Thank you dada!” 

She raises her head and spots you leaning against the frame of her door. “Mommy look!”

“I’m looking, Mimi.”

“You and dada watch me open it.” 

“Okay, go ahead we’re watching.” Katsuki and you smile softly as she unwraps the present with care and she gasps, tiny hands taking the globe-shaped, moon night light out. It was decorated with realistic looking craters, and even came with a wooden stand to put it on.

“So cute.” Her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “So pretty.” Then she tilts her head in the direction of her open curtains.

“Why’s she still up there though?” Sumi asks curiously, and Katsuki chuckles. Of course his kid is way too smart to be tricked by something like a night light. 

“Well we can’t actually take the moon away, sweetie. She has her stars to take care of.”

“Oh.” Sumi frowns, deep in thought, then perks up. “Mr. Sun would miss her too!”

“Mhm, that’s right.” You ruffle her hair playfully and she squeals. “That’d be like someone taking me away from you and daddy.”

“No!” Sumi pouts. “Don’t like that. Wanna stay with you and dada forever.”

“And you will, Sumi.” Katsuki pats her little head with his much larger hand in reassurance. “Mommy and I are gonna to be with you forever. Right mommy?”

You sigh, realizing he’s got you trapped. “That’s right… daddy,” you grit out, ignoring the victorious grin that causes his unfairly attractive dimple to appear on his cheek and you head straight for Sumi’s spot on the bed, taking a seat next to her. She leans against your arm, and you press a loving kiss to the top of her head. 

Sumi holds the night light out to Katsuki, who gently sets it down on her nightstand and plugs it in. It casts a soft, white glow, just like real moonlight on his face, and Sumi and you ooh and awe at it in appreciation.

“Can I have my bedtime story now?” Sumi pipes up.

“Sure, think it’s mommy’s turn to read.” Katsuki joins the both of you in bed, sliding an arm behind you. “What book were you thinking of tonight?”

“Le Peewee Prince!”

You giggle. “Le Petit Prince?”

“Yeah, that one!”

“Okay then. Come here and lay down, sweetheart.” You take the bookmark out from where you left off last time, the moon night light beside you illuminating the pages as you begin to read.

“Goodbye, said the fox.” You recite in a quiet, dulcet voice. Katsuki’s arm around your waist hugs you and Sumi closer, who snuggles up between you both, blanket tucked snug under her chin. Your chest warms at the sight, and you continue. “And now here is my secret, a very simple secret: It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye…”

[dissociativewriter]

Solutions

Sylus x reader/MC (not specified)

Sylus was confused.

He watched, head tilted in amusement as you vehemently complained about one of your coworkers again. About his idiocy, his laziness, his disrespectfulness, and how uncomfortable he made you feel.

This wasn’t what confused Sylus.

He could understand getting annoyed with your peers (in fact, it seemed to be his default setting). What he didn’t understand was why you had turned down the many solutions he had offered you.

He inhaled sharply, freezing you and your rant in place. He shifted on his feet, crossing his arms as he took in your annoyed expression. “Sweetie,” he said, “if it bothers you this much, why not just take my advice?”

You rolled your eyes. “Sylus, your ‘advice’ is hardly reasonable,” you scoffed.

“I don’t see any issue with it.”

“Do I need to remind you of your ‘solutions?’”

Solution 1

“Kill him. He’s clearly useless, and I’d certainly like to see a kitten unleash her claws,” he smirked.

“Sylus, I am not going to kill a man for being a little annoying.”

“I can do it for you,” he offered.

You shook your head firmly. “No, Sylus.”

Solution 2

“If you don’t want him dead, why not… rough him up a bit? Show him he should leave you alone.” You opened your mouth in immediate protest, but Sylus held a hand up. “Again, since you don’t seem to want to hurt him, I’d be more than happy to do your dirty work. You can tell this coworker of yours that your boyfriend will make his life miserable if he doesn’t leave you be.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Ah, yes. My boyfriend the fruit vendor threatening my colleague. That’s a good idea.” You walked off before Sylus could respond.

Solution 3

“Quit.”

“What?” You looked at him incredulously.

“You don’t need to have that job. So quit.”

“Sylus, I’m not just going to quit because my coworker pissed me off,” you chuckled.

“Why not?” he looked at you seriously.

“Because that’s ridiculous! How would I pay my bills? Pay for food? Or my apartment?”

“Move in with me,” he said simply.

“What? No…”

He shrugged. “There’s plenty of room for you at the base. I’d pay for everything you could need. You wouldn’t have to lift a finger.” He walked closer to you then, warm breath fanning over your cheek and sending goosebumps across your skin. “And you wouldn’t have to travel back and forth between Linkon and the N109 Zone. You’d always be here. By my side.” He raised a hand to hold your face.

“Sylus…” you breathed.

“I’m not asking you to decide right this instant,” he said softly, thumb rubbing back and forth on your jaw. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Just… consider it, alright sweetie?”

You stared up at him, lips parted slightly, and only nodded. Seemingly pleased with himself, Sylus smirked before dropping his hand and straightening up.

“Come to think of it, kitten, you still haven’t given me an answer.” He walked closer to you then, picking your hand up and drawing featherlight circles across the top of it.

“Sylus… I don’t know…”

“Do you need some help with your answer? It’s simple.” Piercing red eyes bore into yours. “Yes? No? Maybe so?”

“Maybe… it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to live in the N109 Zone.” You grinned sheepishly.

Sylus smiled, his eyes slightly crinkling in the corners. He gave you a quick peck on the forehead. “I’m glad you’ve come around, sweetie. Though, I’ll admit, I’m a bit worried,” he huffed. “You may take a certain someone for granted if you see him too often.”

“Hmm..” You raised your free hand to tap your chin in faux pondering before breaking into a wide smile. “Nope! I don’t think that’ll ever happen.”

Sylus chuckled, shaking his head. “Why don’t we make a bet?”

“Always bets with you!” You sighed, a pout forming on your face. “How can you be so sure you won’t get sick of me?”

“I could never be sick of you, sweetie.” He spoke each word with a quiet strength, like a reverent promise. “You should know very well that I adore you. There is no love purer than mine.”

comments and reblogs appreciated! <3

masterlist

[moechies]

kinktober ⋆౨ৎ entry #4 ; brat taming w shuji hanma .ᐟ

dear diary ♡,

i hate hate hate shuji hanma so much! god, he makes my life unbearable -- walking into that office everyday is like a form of torture! he's always teasing me, making fun of me non-stop, and every time i walk into his office completely fine i come out a huge, frustrated mess! and it ruins my entire day too, god. why does he have such a huge impact on me? it's so frustrating . . . anything he says to me or says about me will stick for at least a week -- he doesn't even seem to stop pestering me when i get off of work. how long will i last in this stupid office before i break? ugh! that would be so embarrassing . . . ironically i'm writing his from work so i better hide this away before hanma catches me! i'll see you later diary :(

"little lady, come in here." hanma commands with a lithe finger, pointing a low finger at your trailing body outside of his office. you had tried your best to sneak by his office and back to yours without being seen by the man, but the tall glass panes that are only see through from the inside of his office are of no help. you cringe, the hairs on the back of your neck standing frozen when you hear the familiar, sultry grime of his voice, walking defeatedly into his office before gently shutting the door behind you.

"yes, sir? what can i do for you?" you grin subtly, hiding your distress with fiddling fingers behind your back.

"so formal today? you're in my office wearin' a skimpy little skirt and a sheer shirt that barely covers your nipples, hun." he grumbles with a laugh, setting his arms down against the marble desk.

you scoff — dropping your previous dear little secretary act with a subtle roll of your eye. "shut up, hanma. you're not any much better than me . . . having s—sex with all those workers on this very desk." you point to the marble stable in front of you, mumbling a soft 'gross' under your breath — the least bit repulsed that you're standing in the same space as this satyriasis you call your boss.

"are you jealous, little lady? he laughs.

"n—never." you huff, tugging your skirt down out of habit. the atmosphere is tense and warm, and you can feel his glare boring into the side of your skull. he takes a sudden move, leaving his original seating and making his way towards you. he fumbles with his sleeve, fixing the crease slightly before stepping before you — nearly chest to chest. “you're so weird, hanma."

hanma leans low, lips inches away from your ear. it's disgustingly seductive — how close he is. it’s even worse when you find yourself not minding the intimate position.

“don't call me that name, doll. no need to be so formal, remember?" he turns his head to grin besides you, but soon moves back to his original position to whisper again, "by the way, i can see your cute little nipples, doll."

you scramble away from the man, arm defensively coming to cover across your chest. “per—pervert! ‘s cold in here.” you cry with a heavy blush that paints your face. you're met with a smug grin with no means to punish you for your indecency, but rather low glinting eyes with the opposite intent. "come here, girl."

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

it hurts. everything does — your thighs are sore, red streaks left across your bare tits, and your cunt aches despite shuji’s spent stuffing you full.

“s—shuji,” you cry. you’re met with a soft hum besides your ear, the sultry noise making you wince. his slender fingers force the small of your back against the table, arching you nicely before taking his cock head to your pussy. “n—n’more…”

“hmm, she’s holding all my fuckin’ nut in so well.” he groans, dragging his cock head through your spent folds. the action causes cum to dribble slightly, warm cum coating your clit and dripping onto the ground.

“c’mere.” hanma lifts you from where you had been bent over previously, switching positions with you. his back leans against the table, hoisting you onto the slant of his lap and forcing your naked body to face the glassed windows of his office. you’re quick to panic, whining and you fumble in his grasp. it’s especially terrifying when you see one of hanma’s hookups walk past, pointing at hanma’s office to her co-worker — and giggling.

her glare looks directly into yours, twisting your body to face hanma’s as you hide your face in the crevice of his chest. “n—no, shuji !”

“doll. you know they can’t see anything, right?” hanma chuckles. “what, you don’t want her to see you like this?”

you whine, looking up at hanma with large, watery eyes. “don’ wanna face the glass, p—please.”

he hums at your request -- but faces your body outwards once again. he lifts you onto his lap once again, but this time, slotting you on top of his cock and dragging you down his length by your arms. you're quick to squeal, filled up by shuji's heavy dick yet again in mere seconds. he groans at the feeling of his own nut painting his cock once he's inside.

"shuji!" you quip when another co-worker passes by -- what if the glass were to suddenly malfunction and everybody could see your naked body? you spiral. not to mention, your naked cunt lodged onto your boss' cock? what if—

"need to show you and your pretty pussy off. how these office sluts can't take me like you can. you're perfect, damn it." shuji moans, pumping roughly into your sore cunt. "you're c—creamin' all over me, little lady."

"s--shut up, shut up.." you cry, body damn hot. his hands feel as if they're burning against your skin. “g’cum ‘gain—“

“mhm, yeah you are. ‘cause you’re a little slutttt.” hanma moans, stifling when he feels your gummy walls clench at his crude words.

“n—not a slut ! shuji, shuji— !“

“that’s impossible, slut.”

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Little Handprints

There are little handprints on the walls. Eli has little hands. Case solved.

Based on the incorrect quote

Read it on AO3, here

Stiles leant against the kitchen counter, dragging his hand down his face as he let out a heavy sigh. A heavy case load and late nights were starting to wear him thin. And even when he wasn’t working late, his mind ran rampant, making sleep near impossible.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to wake himself more.

The sound of plastic clattering caught his attention. Stiles turned to look where Eli sat in his booster seat at the table. The food tray on his seat was splattered with toast and jam.

“You okay there, Trouble?” Stiles asked.

Eli giggled as he snatched up one of the pieces of jam-covered toast that he had knocked over and took a bite out of it.

“Yeah,” he chirped through a mouthful of mushed toast.

The nickname that had come from Eli’s comedic timing; Stiles’ dad said something about trouble following wherever Stiles and Derek go, and Eli toddled in after them at that moment, prompting the

Sheriff to say, “And here’s trouble!”

The name stuck. And it proved to be fitting on several occasions.

Stiles slid the coffee pot from the percolator and poured the dark liquid into his mug, heaping in spoonfuls of sugar before walking around the corner of the bench and into the dining room.

“Yummy?” Stiles asked as he walked over to the table and sat down next to Eli’s booster seat.

“Yummy,” Eli replied around another mouthful.

Stiles gave him a soft smile before resting his elbows on the table and letting his heady fall, heavy, into his hands.

“You okay?” Eli asked, his sweet voice coiled with worry.

“I’m okay, bud,” Stiles replied, unable to lift his head. “Just tired.”

He felt something tap his cheek. He lifted his head and turned to see what was poking him.

Eli held out a half-eaten piece of toast for him.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile.

“Thanks, bud,” he said softly, taking the piece of toast offered to him. He ate the toast, dusting the crumbs off his hand before laying his head back in his hands and watching his son eat his breakfast.

He let his mind drift, the world blurring into swirls of colour and movement. His eyes grew heavy as the seductive embrace of sleep crept into the back of his mind. His heavy eyes drifted shut and he sank into the darkness.

“Stiles?” Derek called from the hallway, starling Stiles.

“Hmm?” Stiles hummed questioningly—the most he could muster up.

“Why are there little handprints on the walls?” Derek asked, peering around the open doorframe of the dining room.

Stiles blinked a few times, his mind rattling through the mess of thoughts for an answer. He lifted his head slightly and turned to look at Eli in his high chair.

“Why are there little handprints on the walls?” he whispered.

“Because I have little hands,” Eli answered, holding up his jam-and-crumb-covered hands to show him.

Stiles turned his head to look at Derek.

“Because he has little hands,” he repeated.

Derek let out a soft chuckle, turning back towards the hallway to hide his smile.

It took a moment for Stiles’ brain to catch up with what he said, realisation stirring him enough for him to sit up and drag his hand down his face.

“What is it this time?”

“Markers,” Derek answered. “Thankfully, it’s the washable ones that Lydia got him.”

“I’ll clean it,” he volunteered, pushing back his chair as he tried to summon what little energy he had left.

“No,” Derek said softly. “Trouble and I will clean it after we finish breakfast.”

“I’m Trouble!” Eli said excitedly, perking up at his nickname.

Stiles and Derek couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yes, you are,” Stiles said softly, smiling lovingly as he reached out and gently tousled Eli’s hair.

[i9chicago]

thinking about kissing spencer behind the curtains as the rush of the jet whirring hums in his dazed ears. till his hands slip under your shirt 'cause he needs to hold on to something or else he is gonna wipe out right there. his lips on yours, warm, sweet, but moving in steady rhythms as his fingers press into the softness of your hips. he giggles when he pulls away to catch his breath and you start kissing his cheeks, and those chuckles turn into whispers that seem all too intimate and genuine to him. he knows you'll probably get caught, or worse, be swarmed with questions by the team to ask why you guys have taken so long, but does he care? Not when you kiss him like this, like it's the last time. much less when you grab his face and your tongue caresses his lips.

his skin is practically crawling by the time you pull his hair gently back, and he lets out a shallow, soft gasp as his big, warming hands move around your back underneath your shirt.

as you both step out of the small compartment and take your respective seats away from each other to avoid raising suspicions, however, spencer knows that the absurd excuse that he was telling you about the antioxidant properties of black tea is gonna be ineffective. because his hair is a little bit messy, his lips are bloated and rosy from your lipstick and his tie is completely twisted. and you're like nothing happened, besides your eyes sparkling in a different type of light, wrapped around the essence of his lotion and missing the heat of his body against yours. he deflects from his report to you with a slight frown and the blood rushes to his face when he sees you biting the inside of your cheek to try not to laugh.

it's not fair to leave him like this. but, anyway, he couldn't wait to take retribution on you once you're wrapped in the cover of night and the sheets that call his name beneath the wheeze.

[pegging-satan]

Out of all of them the most friend-shaped guy is, surprisingly, Sylus.

Due to the nature of his job, demanding he has to socialise with a lot of different kinds of people, thus allowing him to mould his personality into whatever he deems will get the job done at the moment. As a result he doesn’t really have a “default” personality, it totally depends on who he’s around. Therefore, making it so that he is very easy to hang out with. He just matches everyone’s vibe perfectly, thus making them feel safe and comfortable enough to let loose.

Which results in him becoming like a refuge for the cold, uptight Linkon doctor. He senses the vibe, and behaves accordingly. It’s kind of like getting a cat to like you, except this time the cat is 6’1 and speaks in a soft monotone. Zayne thought he’d be insufferable to be around, but he’s actually surprisingly chill, and doesn’t force his company upon him. Which piques his curiosity, and he can’t help but chase after the metaphorical feather on a stick.

Sylus approaches him with the same cautious attitude you’d approach a scared, feral cat; you could even call it a little bit of overkill, but crows are very smart creatures. And for all their cunning, cats are pretty dumb when there’s no danger lurking around. Then how could this kitty resist when this crow was dangling his irresistible, iridescent feathers in front of his eyes? To chase after it is instinctual.

That’s how a crow traps a cat.

Not so much a “trap” as it is a comfortable embrace, that he’s free to break free from any time, but he chooses not to. This crow wasn’t bad company after all.

[liseytopia]

i know the spider-verse hype is over but hear me out ..

another visit at your boyfriend's apartment meant another cleaning day for you and him, which obviously resulted in a helpless, whining hobie on the bed.

"babe, it's not even that hard. you just have to throw some shirts in a washing machine and press a few buttons," you laughed, shaking your head as you stared at hobie from the doorway of his bedroom after you'd designated him a small task to start. he was lying face down on his bed, groaning.

without lifting his head from the mattress adorned with misplaced and rumpled blankets and pillows, he replied, "still don' wanna."

hobie was never one for keeping his place clean. he was great at nearly everything else—he had surprisingly good hygiene, a charming personality and a pretty face, but cleaning.. wasn't his specialty. he wasn't trying to live like a slump, but sometimes he couldn't help it. fighting crime and dismantling systems of oppression didn't leave a whole lot of time or energy for something as minimal as cleaning a room—or at least, according to his protests.

you sighed, swiveling around to his in-unit mini laundry room, picking up a laundry basket, and walking back into hobie's bedroom. you began throwing various clothes lying about the room into the basket.

apparently he heard you cleaning up after him, and finally rotated his head off the bed, studying you picking up his clothes. "you don't have to do all 'tis," he murmured as you slowly deconstructed the pile of clothing.

"yeah, but you won't, so i will," you replied firmly, not making eye contact.

"awww, c'mon, love.. you don't gotta be like that," he drawled, rolling off the edge of the bed and standing up toward you. he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, the tall boy's head on top of yours. your stomach fluttered at the contact, his arms acting as a restraint to keep you from moving. it was obvious he had some sort of plan with this.

you whined in defeat, "hobie.."

"hm? what's that?" you heard him hum against your head, trying to act innocent. the rumble of his deep voice was sending vibrations throughout your body. "'m just tryna help."

"shut up, no you aren't," you grumbled, though your attempts at sounding annoyed only failed when you accidentally let a giggle slip out.

hobie hummed again. "see, i knew ya loved me," he smiled as he dragged you a couple feet back down to his bed. you collapsed on top of him on the mattress, the laundry basket and pile of clothes both long forgotten on floor.

you wrapped your arms up around his neck once he sat up, scooting back against the wall with you in his lap. he leaned forward to kiss you, his large hands holding you in place by your waist. you returned the kiss gently and slowly, resting your head down on his shoulder when you were finished.

"i take it we ain't cleanin' today?" he questioned, a smile persistent on his lips as he gazed down at your body lazily attached to his.

you shook your head in response, your eyes closed and your face still buried in his neck. that was all the indication he needed to know you were convinced. hobie would live in that messy apartment for as long as he could.

⊹₊⟡⋆

[n0pr0mises]

𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗

𝚒 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍𝚊𝚢— 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚛𝚢/𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎.

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝟷𝟾+ 𝚗𝚜𝚏𝚠, 𝚏𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚋𝚍𝚜𝚖-𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎, 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 (𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐), 𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝 (𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏), 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚡𝚢 😔, 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍, 𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚎

All you did today was fight for every fucking thing, for respect from your coworkers, against criticism from your boss, with your family about what you were doing with your life, and now you can't stop.

Nanami recognizes that you need to be taken out of your own head and recentered. But you're stuck in fight mode, and you argue and push back the whole time bc even if you know it’s what you need, you just can’t let go.

And that just frustrates you more, almost to the point of tears, because you know that you are making everything harder for yourself and you're being downright mean to him, when he hasn't done anything except put himself in your path as an easy target.

Right now, he is part of the “everyone else” and you need him to force you not to fight anymore. you're home now, you're safe, you can let your guard down. but you just can't do that and you can't get those words out, so you just hope that he understands what you can't tell him.

And Nanami does understand. He always has a way of knowing.

He wondered, when you walked in and answered his greeting with a sigh and a hum. He had an inkling when you just shoved your belongings into a pile on the entryway bench. He was suspicious when you snarked at him for asking how your day was. and he was sure when you purposefully turned your head away from his kiss.

you have an unofficial routine when one of you gets home before the other. the first one home is who starts dinner and then helps the other begin their decompression from the outside world. sometimes it's light and soft. and sometimes it is not.

So he's rough with you. He grabs you, but he never throws you or pushes you. He holds you firmly, his movements sure and controlled. And as much as you back talk and push against him, he stays steady. the only thing that will let him know this isn't what you need, is that one word that you both know would stop all of this.

But you don't want that. you want him to make you let go, to give up your control, to stop worrying,

So instead, you try to pull away and he doesn't let you. he easily drags you to your shared bedroom and you complain the whole time. even as he undresses you, getting you to start letting the world fall away from you layer by layer. Your protests slow down, but haven't stopped, so he sits on the bed with you across his lap, bare ass easily within his grasp. He softly runs his hand up and down your bare back, giving you goosebumps, until you are a little less tense and your breathing has slowed. and then he smacks the flat of his palm across your ass and thighs.

You jolt and curse him, but he shushes you and holds your tighter. He tells you to count, because he knows that eventually you'll be too busy trying to keep track and forget why you're supposed to be mad.

You feel his cock harden underneath you, but he doesn't let you try to grind down against him. what he does do is lift your hips up just a bit, so your wet pussy is more exposed a delivers a harsh, stinging slap against it, causing you to let out a breathy cry.

His hand is a little bit wet now when he hits you, and it makes you feel some type of way knowing he's turning you into a perfect little mess for him.

By the time you've gotten to fifteen solid slaps to your ass and thighs, you're breathing heavy and kind of exhausted, lying flat and almost boneless across his lap. your eyes are a bit wet and the most prominent thought in your head is the sting in your backside and how you can feel the heat radiating from your own skin. and Kento is a master at providing a satisfying experience, not leaving any one area less red than another.

You shudder and jerk when he gently rubs his hand over your heated skin and he knows that you are almost there, but he needs to push you a little more. It's his job to look after you and he takes it very seriously.

So he helps you onto the floor with a small pillow under your knees (which he keeps beside the bed for this exact purpose). He arranges you how he likes and is satisfied that you are no longer pushing against his movements, but rather leaning into them.

Kento undoes his belt and pulls his painfully hard cock out. it's an angry red and the head is wet from all of the precum. Your mouth is already open, tongue eager for the weight of him on it. He rubs his thumb against your cheek before moving his hand to take a significant hold at the back of your head.

"Look at me," he says quietly, his voice steady and deep as always, lulling you even further into a tingling sense of calm. you tilt your head back as much as you're allowed so you can look up at him, eyes damp and mouth still open. the longer he admires you, you start to whine and he hushes you while guiding his thick length into your wet and ready mouth.

His head falls back, letting out his own shuddering groan and has to take a minute to just savor the feel of you around him. you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut and just holding him in your mouth. you're savoring the feel of him, how he fills your mouth, the solid weight of him against your tongue, anchoring you.

He pulls your hair gently so your open your eyes again, asking, "ready?"

You hum again and hollow your cheeks in a brief suck, indicating he can start at any time.

"Good girl." he praises while he starts to pull his cock out to angle your head and more easily fuck all the way into your throat. you immediately choke as he pushes it just enough into your tight throat. you easily accustom to his thrusts and relax further into his hold, the steady in and out of his tip into the tight heat of your throat lulling you into a sense of comfort.

And finally, you can't think of anything at all.

You've never felt safer or more at peace than when you're on your knees in your bedroom, Kento's steady hand gripping your hair just enough to sting, fucking his cock into your throat with shallow, grinding thrusts.

"I've got you, darling. just let me take care of you."

[aviiarie]

making sis!silverwolf do your dailies because you're AWAY from HOME and you absolutely CANNOT lose your streak!!!

cws & notes: no warnings! fluff, 500+ words. that's so weird, i thought you said aventurine... crazy! hope you like this anyway <333

AVENTURINE couldn't say he expected that the first message he would receive from you since you left for your trip to be SOS HELP ME PLZ, but you lived to surprise him.

The moment he opened his phone to read what you'd sent, he choked on his drink. The words made his heart stop, a chill running down his spine, as all of the possible things that could go wrong flashed through his head. What if you were lost? What if you were hurt? What if something happened and he wasn't there to help you—

You, 11:12pm: forgot to do my dailies :(

Ah. Makes sense.

Aventurine, 11:13pm: You mean for that gacha game of yours? Should we have a talk about your gambling addiction?

You, 11:14pm: you're one to talk!! it's not an addiction i just CANT LOSE MY STREAK

Aventurine rolled his eyes, a slight smile gracing his features. You truly never changed, always obsessed with your video games. It was almost comforting how predictable you were; you were the one constant in his life, always there in the background no matter what.

There was refreshing about it, knowing that there was one thing—one person he would never lose. As long as he lived, you would be family. And that was all that mattered.

Aventurine, 11:13pm: Haha. Of course. I'll do your dailies.

Aventurine closed his phone, sliding it into his back pocket and walking over to your room. It was right at the end of his apartment, a 'guest' room that had long since been claimed as your own. He pushed open the door, unlocked as it always was, and peered around the entrance, looking for your tablet.

He spotted it tossed onto the top of your sheets, and quickly snatched it up. Retreating from your room, he closed the door behind himself and settled on his couch, opening your game. The start menu popped up, and he clicked the Ready button on his screen. It loaded for a moment, before he spawned into the world.

It wasn't too difficult to work out how to navigate the game; he'd watched you play enough times to get a hang of it easily, but what caught his attention was not the gameplay itself, but the mechanism that had enticed you to download it in the first place.

The gacha, a simple, yet convoluted feature that seemed determined to drain your funds with little to no reward. You had ranted about it on numerous occasions, complaining about how you wasted all of your resources on the current banner without even getting the character you were striving for.

Aventurine eyed the amount of currency listed at the top of the screen, just shy of the amount for a ten pull. It wouldn't take long to grind enough materials to make that amount, and he had a whole evening to waste. An idea crept into his head at the though.

Surely you wouldn't mind if he did a few pulls...

It was about an hour later that he logged off the game, successfully completing his goals. He replaced the tablet in your room, shutting the door with a click, and a grin.

Aventurine, 12:23am: Done. Got that character you were pulling for too. You're welcome.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai

[bluejeanstrash]

tags: boyfriend! seungcheol x reader, pure comfort fluff, crying, mentions of prolonged spells of sadness, reader is going through a hard time and seungcheol provides comfort, that’s about it | wc: 603

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

‘seungcheoooool’ you whine, staggering your steps while walking up to your boyfriend. his arms immediately open wide, waiting to receive you with a big hug.

‘cheollie, i’m sad’

‘that’s it. who do i need to fight?’ he puts his most menacing face on, only to look extremely adorable in his efforts.

you giggle, ‘me. you need to fight me because it's my brain that’s making me sad without any reason'

‘listen if i need to fight you, i’ll fight you man’ he balls his fists up, giving you a playful little punch on your cheek, accompanying it with a silly ‘psch’ sound effect.

‘but no, tell me, what’s wrong, baby?’ he asks in pout ‘my precious little bae-bee’

‘i don’t know’ you sigh, sinking back into his arms ‘i just feel…sad?’ he rubs your back in soothing circles, swaying you gently from side to side.

‘mmhm, i know what you mean. how can i make it better, my love?’ you shake your head, rubbing it into his chest ‘i don’t think you can’

‘not you’ you clarify so as not to make him overthink which you’re sure he’s already started doing. you’re right.

‘as in nothing can. i’m just sad. have been for the last couple of weeks. i don’t know, i just feel so…tired’ he knows he’s not supposed to take your words personally, but it hurts him. not only does he feel awful that you waited this long to confide in him, he also feels like a massive failure for not noticing anything was wrong in the first place.

he hugs you tighter, resting his chin on top of your head. he’s a little lost honestly, unable to understand how to fix this, or what even needs fixing. he’s always been able to do something to take the pain away, but for the first time he doesn’t have an answer and he hates it.

it’s not like you were hiding it from him all this time; you thought the feeling would go away like it usually did but it stayed for a week, and then like a bad guest it stayed for another one, plus one more, and after that it felt too heavy a burden to share.

‘it’s been going on for so long, and i don’t know w-what to do a-anymore’ your voice shakes, dangerously close to breaking. you think you’ve successfully swallowed that lump in your throat but then seungcheol strokes your hair so gently, so lovingly, so affectionately, you immediately burst into tears.

‘hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?’ he pulls back and grabs your face with both hands, his face falling when he sees yours ‘oh baby’ your tear-filled eyes, those big wet drops rolling down your soft cheeks, and your wobbly chin — they all make his heart hurt. he’s so worried but he doesn’t let it show, calmly wiping your tears away.

‘it’s okay, it’ll be okay, i’m right here, yeah? i’m right here’ his eyes are big and hopeful. you nod twice, inhaling in sudden sharp breaths.

‘come here’ he holds you as tight as he can without hurting you, cradling your head protectively in his hands ‘i’m so sorry i don’t know how to fix this but we’ll figure it out together, okay? it’ll be okay’

you nod, continuing to sob against his chest, and he lets you, telling you to let it all out, cry as much as you want for as long as you need.

that’s all he can think of to do, and if he needs to hold you forever to make it even a little better, he gladly will.

[frankieburieshisdead]

𝕽𝖊𝖉𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖝 𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

cw: NSFW, praise kink, minors DNI

You sighed, gripping the back of your head with one hand and Jason's chest with the other. Tonight was slow. He had stumbled into your apartment, half dead wearing the case he had been working on for almost a month now. You had convinced him to pull Dick in, who subsequently pulled Tim in, who pulled Steph in, so on and so forth. The case was wrapped up a couple days later. This one exhausted him more than any other you'd seen. A string of children pulled out of the narrows to run heroin across to star city. As soon as you got the details of the case you knew you would loose him to it. At least for a while. Now he's back, and under you, inside you, and you plan to keep him that way for as long as he'll let you.

It's never like this with Jason. He has this frenetic energy when the two of you are together. This raw thing that men generate from years of repression, years of stuffing men's health magazines under their mattresses and looking the other way in locker rooms. It's being pressed against bathroom walls, bent over desks and fooling around under them. It's rough, fast, good.

This was not that. You had stripped Jason slowly. Pulling his jeans down to nuzzle at his underwear. Brought him to a hard standing with light kisses up and down his torso. The two of you were tucked in the padded reading nook in the lounge, propped up by Jason's leg and you weren't so much riding as rocking gently. You were practically cradled in his pelvis, panting as you let him grind into you.

You didn't even mean to say it, you just felt so good, it was falling out of your mouth before you could catch it:

"God you're good, such a good boy."

Your hands were cradling his face now, so you got a perfect view when his eye's rolled back into his head and bucked into you, whimpering like a puppy.

Oh. Oh.

"Good. So good. You're perfect Jason. You're my good boy aren't you?"

Jason was unraveling under you. His hands were clutching at your waist, gripping and letting go, digging and massaging into the dip of your waist. His face was scrunched up, mouth gasping like he was trying to cut off the moans with his throat. He was close. You could feel him throbbing inside of you. Pulsing. You levered yourself against his chest, bouncing properly for the first time since the two of you started. He practically screamed, muzzling himself against his shoulder like he was covering a sob.

"Oh Jay it's okay. I'm here baby and you're good. You're good Jay."

He shook apart. Shoulders and waist convulsing. Tears streamed down his face, dipping into his open mouth and down into the dip of his collar bone. He was beautiful. You felt warm spurts go off inside you, and you tipped your head back as the pressure brought you over the edge as well.

You collapsed against him, keeping your nose tucked against his, breathing him in. His arms slowly wrapped around you, compressing your bodies together and letting him bulk swallow you.

"Can I... um, can I stay inside you." He sounded embarrassed to ask, like it was a naughtier than what you'd just done.

"Mmyeah Jay." You adjusted him under you so could cradle his head against your neck. "Tired?"

It was partly rhetorical. You could feel him nodding off against your shoulder, head tipping back so you could get a peak at that cute white streak. You fell asleep with him inside you, burying himself as deep as he would go and squeezing you like he thought you'd disappear in his sleep. He really was perfect.

END

[6okuto-moved]

gn!reader | iwaizumi will do a lot of things if you ask, but he's always a little awkward and embarrassed about taking photos of himself. what angle does he use, why's the lighting so bad, this is his "no one will see me" t-shirt, does his smile look forced, etc, etc., which means you only ask every once and a while, mostly as a joke, and never mind when he brushes it off with a laugh.

so when you open your messages to see an unprompted selfie of him, blurry, sitting in dim light, cheeks flushed and biting his lip to stop a grin, shocked is one word you can use to describe yourself. apparently drunk hajime is different from sober hajime, and confident enough to send a second, third photo capturing his night out with his old teammates at karaoke.

and you're not sure if it was their idea or his, but you really can't bring yourself to complain when he accidentally sends a video instead of a photo that perfectly frames his slightly unbuttoned top, messy hair that he runs his fingers through (he's brought up needing a haircut every week for the past month, but keeps pushing off setting an appointment), and raspy laugh as he tells someone off screen to shut up and sing already before turning to you with a smile.

"oh, shit, it's a video."

"pft, are you really that drunk?"

"hiii," someone—you think tooru—singsongs your name.

another complains, his voice muffled by your boyfriend moving the camera, "ugh, can you move over?"

"hi babe." hajime's low, slurred voice brings your attention back to him. "i got 94 on m'last song, jus' so y'know.

"let it go! that was all luck—"

"shut up, it's not my fault y'got 67 and sound like a dying bird. ugh," he seems to lose his train of thought and sniffles. "uh...don't worry, issei's driving m'back. i'll tell you 'bout it when i get home. see you soon, alright? love you."

the video ends, cutting off the beginning of a voice crack and off-pitch note, and the responding cackle that momentarily fills the quiet of your living room.

it's not a hard decision to save everything he's sent to your phone. the real hard decision will be tomorrow, you think, when you have to decide between teasing him to death or helping with his hangover. but then you get another notification—another text from him that reads "Cany ou tell them i'm not gonna sing adell" and you smile.

you can probably do both.

(he does end up singing, but so does everyone else. the video you get is way too loud, and way too close to the microphone, and the phone falls to the floor at some point, but it's saved to your gallery anyway. he makes you promise not to play it the next morning because it's "so headache inducing he could explode.")

[haydenthewitch]

okay so. can you imagine

the 118 gets called to a spirtual spot due to some cristal-ball mayhap (it was left in line of direct sunlight and it set a bunch of curtains on fire.) Luckly no one was hurt, and the sprinkler system is up to date, so the shop doesn't even have major fire damage to it either. While there, tho, Buck ends up in the possession of a rabit's foot. And suddenly he's having a streak of AMZAING INCREDIBLE LUCK.

"It's not a thing!" eddie insists.

"You can't argue with facts!" buck tells him. "And the fact is, i've been having a statistical improbible bought of luck today, AFTER i got the rabbit's foot. Should i go to vegas this weekend?"

in a cosmicaly comedic twist of events, their next call is to the office building of a private jet's comapny. and buck pulled some crazy stunt, saved the ceo, and now he's being offered two free round trip tickets to anywhere in the country.

so buck packs a bag for vegas. and he tries to invite maddie, but she's WAY too pregnant for all that. So instead he guilty asks if she'd mind taking chris for the weekend so eddie and him could get away. ("yes, but only if you ask him out at somepoint durring your trip." "MADDIE!" "WHAT? i'm getting impaient, buck.")

So he manges to convince eddie to get on the plane with him, and watch him gamble the weekend away ("for sceince, eddie. to prove that i actualy do have a bunch of luck!") and for the first day they have a BUNCH of fun. Buck doesn't actualy gamble more than $50 at any table or slot, Becuse he's not stupid and he knows how these things work. He does lose close to $200, But he wins it all back (And then some!)

"See, eddie! i'm winning even when the machines are rigged! that has to be luck!! i made a net profit in vegas! it has to be lucky!!"

so anyways, they go back to their fancy hotel room (paid in full by the time of their arvial thank's to buck's INCREDIBLE save at the fancy privte jet company) they are wiped out, and they plan to both take a good nap when...

"Oh." Buck says. "There's only one bed."

"So?" eddie says. "That thing looks like a hiwaian king +!! there is plenty of room for the both of us, buck."

(Is this part of the rabbit foot's luck?)

so they climb into bed together (climb into bed! together!!!) and take a nap.

By six pm they are back out on the town, and boy is vegas after 6 pm WAYYY diffrebt than vegas in the full sunlight. They go out to this SUPER COOL (most likely tourist trap) resturant on the vegas strip, and the bill has to be MIGHTY but buck doesn't get to see the number before eddie snatches it up to pay.

("eds, let me pay. vegas was my idea, come on." "Buck, no. i've got some fun money stashed away. plus, you got us private flights and a room for free with your herotics. i'm paying tonight." buck is blushing so much he can't come up with a proper counter argument.)

Buck sees a poker lounge, and he insists that they go in. Thay have fun, and by the time buck has played two games of poker, they are both plesantly buzzed and gigling up a storm. eddie, of course, didn't play. he much prefers watching buck play, watching him work his charm and read pepole like open books. His boy is sooo good at that, fuck.

and then. someone is talking to buck. pepole have been talking to buck all night, and it felt. fine, normal, okay, fun even. this chick... does not feel like any of those. good lord. she's fucking flirting with buck right in front of eddie's goddamn salad. he instantly gets hot under his collar.

and it's kinda petulant, more than it's anger. anger is too scary of a word... he doesn't feel anger, not his hands curling into fists or hot short clipped thoughts. Yes, it does feel petculant, like a child who doesn't like to share. Couldn't this lady see that buck was clearly his?? couldn't she see how eddie felt too, how eddie was, quite simmalarly, clearly buck's? they were practicaly married, couldn't she see the wedding band mark branded into his soul??

fuck. maybe eddie was drunker than he thought.

buck is taken aback when eddie leans over to him, and says right into his ear. "You know, there is one more vegas thing to try."

"What's that?" He asks, trying to pointidly ignore amy (the lady who was clearly flirting with buck even though he only wabted eddie) and her attempt to lean closed to hear this cobversation.

"Vegas wedding. you and what's her face could totaly go get married right now, if you wanted." eddie says and... oh my god. eddie is jellous.

"Nah," buck says. trying to remain casual about the whole thing. "I'd rather get married to you. Make this whole 'necular fam' thing we got going on in Cali' offical."

and eddie... fucking glows at that.

"Hey!" the dealer snaps. "Do you want to be delt in for the next hand or not?"

"No." eddie tells him. "We've got a wedding to plan."

when they show up to their next sceduled 24 hr shift, they can't stop looking at each other and giggling. hen and chim clock the energy hard, but they decide to ignore it for the first half of the shift. that is until...

"How did vegas go? any elvis weddings?" ravi asks.

Buck freezes in place, but eddie doesn't even look up from his phone as he says: "Oh, elvis wasn't there."

Hen IMMEDATLY sits straight up on the couch. "Who Got Married????" She asks, a hint of urgent hilarity on her voice. Buck puts his head in his hands, blushing wildly becuse. good god, he's never going to live this down. "Buck!! WHO GOT MARRIED??"

"Yeah, Buck! who got married??" eddie says, mocking hen but ALSO teasing buck. The little shit. So, to get back at him.

"You know, you aren't being a very good husband right now, eddie buckly-diaz."

10 long seconds of silence, and then all HELL breaks loose in the firehouse. but you know what? it was fucking worth it to see eddie blush all pretty like that.

("Did you tell maddie yet?" Chim asks immedatly, and buck swears. "no, fuck, i havent." chim just grimaces, and says "that is NOT a secret i'm keeping from my wife. you better text her now if you want her to hear it from you." Buck groans, becuse fuck. chim is so right. this leads to:

Buck: eddie and i got married in vegas

maddie: what

maddie: the

maddie: fuck

maddie: this is NOT WHAT I MENT when i said you should ask him out, evan buckley.

buck: it's buckely-diaz actualy

buck: and it's still unclear if we're together

maddie: buck. EXPLAIN

Buck: Oh my god what's that sound it's the bell haha gtg maddie ily

maddie: I HATE YOU )