#spoiler drabble

[suksatoru]

katsuki bakugo is, shockingly so, a bit of a romantic. if the matching gold bands adorning both of your fingers wasn't the first indicator, than maybe his love language (cooking, of all things) can prove this notion.

katsuki wears nothing but boxers and an apron in the kitchen for two reasons. one, he rolled out of bed at six am and hasn't stopped his rampage in the kitchen since. and two, he gets hot easily when he's cooking.

it's the morning of your anniversary. your first anniversary with katsuki after getting married. your husband is crafting an absolute masterpiece in the kitchen—the spatula his sword and the plate his shield. today, you're awoken by the sound of his gentle voice coaxing you awake.

"hey, open your eyes, wifey." katsuki mumbles, poking your cheek with his knuckle as he sets your breakfast tray down on your bedside table. he crawls onto the bed, pressing a teasingly hard kiss onto your forehead, prompting you to squirm in his grasp with a whine

"katsuki, you weigh a thousand pounds, please! you're gonna crush me you brute..." you whine into your pillow as he scoffs, maneuvering onto his side of the bed with a grin. he turns his lamp on, enveloping the room in a soft, golden glow.

"happy anniversary, baby." he murmurs as he gently pushes a strand of hair from your face. your eyes shoot open in an instant, and you stare at your husband owlishly before a sleepy grin overtakes your features.

"anniversary! that's today?" you giggle, and he grins smugly while moving to grab your hands, intertwining your fingers with his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles

"a full year already, huh?" he murmurs against your lips, prepared to kiss you before you turn your head away with a cheeky grin

"morning breath," you comment with an adorably scrunched nose that has katsuki scoffing. with a single palm, he grabs your face and presses the most obnoxious, and oddly loving, kiss right onto your soft lips.

you laugh into his mouth, and he grins sharply, pulling away before peppering a dozen more all over your face. katsuki's kisses were usually rough and passionate in their own manner—but right now, he's taking his time. savoring the feeling of your plush skin against his mouth as he holds you flush against him.

you smile underneath him, feeling like putty before you smell it—absolute heaven—lying just a few feet away.

"breakfast in bed..?! but you said you hate getting crumbs on the sheets!" you laugh, and katsuki rolls his eyes before sitting up. he grabs your tray, setting it down in front of you as he rolls his shoulders, the muscles underneath his apron rippling with the movement.

"i suppose i'll bend the rules just this once. only because we're married, or whatever."

"or whatever," you grin, bopping his nose as he scoffs

"and because i love you...i guess..."

considering how emotionally constipated your husband was, you'll take the win! you hand katsuki his spoon, and the two of you dig into the meal.

the majority of breakfast in bed consisted of katsuki begrudgingly being hand fed by you, a few quips here and there about which one of you would be getting the first gray hair, and basking in the morning glow of the rising sun with your lover.

[kamapon]

Book 7 episode 11

[mushgloomz]

joel miller with glasses

joel miller, who gives you a crooked half-smirk whenever you speak to him, looking over the rim of his glasses and muttering “ain’t i old enough to be your daddy, darlin’?”

joel miller, who absolutely pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose with a single index finger when they slip down - real old man style

joel miller, who chuckles to himself as you try his glasses on for the first time, squinting at you to get a better look before declaring “lookin’ real nice, sweetheart”

joel miller, who is constantly misplacing his glasses when he needs them most - you can tell when it happens even if you aren’t in the same room; the sound of him patting his jeans and the subsequent goddamnit giving you all the information you need as the sound echoes from his workshop

joel miller, who goes to remove his glasses when he kisses you for the first time before you ask him to keep them on

joel miller, who gets the faintest flush to his cheeks when he realises said kiss has caused his glasses to fog up around the bottom of the lenses. the same flush that deepens as you tenderly pluck them from his face and clean the glass with the hem of your tshirt

joel miller, who near goes into cardiac arrest when his glasses give him a crystal clear rendition of you settling between his legs under his work bench as your hands trail up his denim-clad thighs

joel miller, who is eternally grateful to the patrol group that found the abandoned opticians lab as he drinks in the sight of your soft lips wrapped around his cock - so grateful, that he keeps one hand on the back of your head to guide you, and the other on the hinge of his frames for fear of losing them (and the glorious sight before him)

joel miller, who insists on you riding him that very evening. who, for the first time, is a lot less ashamed of the maroon plastic framing his eyes as he keeps his glasses on during the act - “Christ, you’re a fuckin’ vision, baby” is all he can muster between groans, barely blinking behind the glass as he palms at the soft swell of your tits

joel miller, who’s glasses creak a little as he buries his face in the crook of your neck when he cums deep inside you; shuddered breaths making the lenses steam up yet again

joel miller, who wakes up in the morning, swats at his bedside table and soon realises that instead of being on the nightstand, his glasses are in your grasps, being meticulously cleaned with a scrap of material - the same man who falls a little more in love with you when you admit that you’ve been doing it every morning for him before he wakes up

that’s all

[sugugori]

I think Jason is the type of wedding guest to only look at you throughout the entire reception. And oh, if you’re a bridesmaid, you’re in trouble because he’s locked in on you everywhere you go. You in your pretty dress, hair styled perfectly- even when you cry at the exchanged “I do’s”, you look so pretty. And as the groom and bride are reciting their vows- and your eyes start to well up with tears, you turn your head in search for the pair of pretty bluegreen eyes to find them already watching you. This look he’s giving you, it almost knocks you off your feet- the intensity of it. You feel caught in his gaze. He looks absolutely gone, like he’s just realized something you haven’t yet. His eyes, usually so guarded, now full of awe and devotion as he mouths “I love you”. Meant for you and only you.

[bitterrfruit]

Simon forgets how strong he is

18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words

just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!

Simon forgets how to be gentle.

When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.

But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.

The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.

And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.

You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"

The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.

His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.

Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."

"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.

So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.

His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.

With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."

His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.

"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.

Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.

You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.

"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"

Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."

Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.

"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.

"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."

"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."

You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.

His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.

You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."

[tokoyamisstuff]

Random thought how good do you think each invincible variant would be at eating 😺 is there any of them who would be an actual munch

18+ explicit content

Sis, don't- it's not worth it...

Other variants under the cut!

Omnivincible is more skilled than most of them. I just feel like he's got a mature approach and wouldn't just mindlessly delve in like some horny teenager.

He'd take his sweet time, enjoying himself without necessarily wanting something in return. In general he takes great pride in causing you pleasure. Is also pretty creative. After all his strenght allows him to eat you out in positions you didn't even know were possible.

Thought you can only come once at a time? He'll prove you otherwise.

Movincihawk constantly brags about his 'superior technique' but at the bottom line he's not all that good at it, sorry.

It's not like he isn't skilled, but he's pretty selfish and impatient. Any kind of foreplay is not a priority for him in general, he likes to go straight to the point.

Fucks pretty well to make up for it though.

Sinister Mark acts like he's doing you a favor, but with how eager he buries himself between your legs it's evident to say he enjoys this as much - if not even more than - you.

This man pins your thighs apart and eats you out like a man starving. Your taste drives him fucking crazy, so yes it could happen that he bites down harder than he intended to.

Likes to eat you out on your period. No I will not elaborate.

Striped/Target Invincible is super vocal during the whole thing. His grunts and groans vibrate against your folds, he doesn't even notice the effect you have on him.

Hope you're ready for the whole range of dirty talk, mostly degrading but occasionally throwing in words of acknowledgement. Tells you how this is your place - beneath him, completely at his mercy.

Uses his fingers better than his tongue, but is fairly good at both. The combination will send you straight to heaven.

No Goggles Invincible is probably the biggest tease on the entire planet.

This man will push you to your absolute limits, reducing you to a whining, moaning, begging puddle of lust. But he's got no mercy, prolonging your sweet torture for as long as he can - you're only allowed to cum if he says you're done.

With him the thin line between pain and pleasure is blurred into a mixture of pure overstimulation, but goddamn it's worth it.

Viltrumite Mark isn't familiar with earth's customs of intimacy. In their culture, canonically, they solely have sex for procreation. Though we never saw Debbie complaining about Nolan either, so I'm confident he can learn.

Gets the hang of it pretty fast, and quickly grows insateable with this new form of closeness he never got to experience before. He's an absolute mess, almost breaking the bedframe as he pathetically humps the mattress, wanting more more more of you.

Needs lots of cuddles and to be told he did a good job afterwards, pretty please.

Prisoner Mark was in solitary confinement for over a year - prepare to be destroyed. R.I.P.

He'll dive in between your legs and won't leave this place until he's got his fill of you, which could take him a while so get cozy.

Not an inch of your body is left untouched, as if he intents to memorize every detail, just in case you'd slip from his grasp once again.

Be prepared to cum until your body gives up. Man's got to make up for the time he spent away from you.

Unmasked Mark is very gentle, almost cautious in his efforts as if you were a fragile flower one needed to properly care for or it'd wither. He still can't fully believe you're here with him, so he's extra anxious about doing something wrong.

You'll slowly and sensually be guided towards your orgasm, his eyes never leaving yours as he reverently observes your every reaction.

Expect some premium aftercare!

Fully Masked Invincible knows you inside and out, has memorized all the weak spots that make you sing for him. He is completely and utterly devoted to your pleasure, maybe even a little too eager in his efforts since he tends to forget himself in the process.

To him your body is a temple meant for worship, so you'd relentlessly get showered in praise and compliments while he explores your body.

Will initiate at every given opportunity, but never pushes it. He just wants to make you happy, really!

[motthe]

Maybe some Young! Silco fic? (Or anything that you wanna do) I already loved his older version but his Young self in The last episodes got my heart in a grip 😭💖💖 He looks so full of dreams and maybe a little silly. Maybe with a energetic/chaotic significant other!

young!silco also has me in a death grip don't worry. hope you enjoy this!!

warnings: fem!reader, violence, sexual innuendos, secondhand embarrassment for drunk rambling

“It’s doable!”

“Doable and survivable are two very different things.”

Vander knocked his head against the metal backing of his mining gloves repeatedly, aching for the two of you to come to a compromise. The light of the fungi matched the tink tink tink of his patience running thin.

Crunching footsteps had him pausing, one eye opening to find Felicia pushing her helmet up higher on her head as she stared at you and Silco just beyond, still very much squabbling. She leaned on her hip, one hand rising to rest on it as she smiled down at Vander’s hunched form.

“Are they still arguing about the gap?” she whispered.

He groaned quietly instead of answering. It was all she needed.

“I can make it!” you protested, arms gesturing to the other side of the ravine. “I’ve jumped buildings twice the distance.”

“When you’re jumping buildings you can see the ground,” Silco argued, pointing to the darkness below. “We don’t know how long a fall that is, you absolute lunatic.”

“You’ve gotta hand it to her,” Felicia chuckled, taking up camp next to Vander. “No one else would even think of jumping across.”

“She’s an adrenaline junkie,” Vander muttered. “Jumping off shit is all she thinks about.”

“Would you—just let me—damn it, Sil!”

The shuffle of boots and clothes had both of their heads turning, watching with equally amused expressions as Silco passed by with you being half carried half dragged away from the ravine. Silco didn’t pay them a glance as he went. You kept stretching back the way you came, struggling but not truly putting all your energy into it. Felicia could tell. You loved being his center of attention for as long as possible, even if it kept you away from your wild pastimes. 

The sound of a horn echoed through the caves, sending the fungi white with the sound. The work day was finished. 

“Back to the last drop, then?” Felicia hummed, standing and offering a hand to the big man. He accepted it with a soft grin, following her out. The two of them watched Silco far ahead, who was now fully carrying you in your grieved state. You kept muttering you could have made it.

“Think they’ll ever get together?” she hummed, nudging Vander.

“Wish they would,” he sighed. “It was annoying years ago, now its just pitiful.”

She laughed, waving a hand at you when you pulled your head up from Silco’s shoulder to eye them. “Well, she’ll never do it. She’s convinced herself he’s too focused on our cause to ever settle down.”

“Some days I think the same thing,” Vander said, introspective when she glanced up at him, “others, I catch him looking at her. He doesn’t open up, barely does around us, but…”

“Disappears around her, yeah?” She smiled at him and he mirrored her, nodding.

Later that night, the Last Drop was bustling with the newest record added to the box. You’re dancing over chairs, running across the edge of the pool tables as people chant your name. Someone tossed a mug through the air and you caught it, swallowing the contents down and cheering with the rest before continuing on with dancing. 

Silco watched from his bar seat. He had cruel timing, turning his eyes back to his notebook when you pulled yourself away from the crowd to glance at him. To you, he was lost in his own world, but really he fell into yours quite easily. You were distracting. He perked up at the sound of your voice without meaning to, knew the outline of your body in his periphery. Abrasive and chaotic. You’re too much, too loud.

Too perfect for someone as withdrawn and stiff as him.

“Oh, heaven help me,” Vander grumbled, both hands on the bar as he stared at the scene. Silco paused to raise an eyebrow at him. “She just downed three shots in one.”

“How many does that make it now?” he questioned.

“Eight.”

Both of their heads dropped, knowing how the night would be going.

“All right, I give!” Felcia slammed a hand on the bar as she walked up, panting. “I can’t keep up with her. Gods. Where does she get the energy?”

Vander passed her a drink as Silco shrugged, music blaring all around them. Felicia scowled when she noticed his journal. 

“Oh, c’mon, Silco. Let loose for a bit!” she shouted over the din of the bar, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If I did that, nothing would ever get done around here,” he returned, smirking as she rolled her eyes. 

The counter shook under them, the second bang of Vander’s fist sending both of them on high alert. Two meant trouble. 

Felicia spun around, Silco turned in his seat. There by the record player you were backed against the wall by a man, one arm caging you in while his fingers pinched your chin. The cold look in your eyes had a shiver streaking down Silco's spine. You were a storm like this and he’d been lost to it for years. 

The man said something that made you scoff, batting his hand away and sliding to get out from under him. As his hand grabbed your upper arm Silco realized he was no longer sitting. Even across the room he could read your lips.

“Last chance. Beat it,” you warned.

The man laughed and tugged you closer, it sent your knee right between his legs. When he bent over, Silco heard the crack as your fist met the man’s jaw. He hit the ground, dead weight. 

Fuck, he thought, hands curling into fists at his side. You were perfect.

You stumbled back a few steps. It seemed those shots had soaked in. You were cradling your hand as yells broke out, slow to turn as a couple of goons stood from a table nearby.

“Great,” Felicia puffed, pushing off the bar, “he had lackeys.”

Vander shouted as they ran at you, Silco was halfway to you when you dodged the first swing, putting you straight into the path of another. Your back hit the record player, a scratch disrupting the music. The entire bar turned, regulars rushing forward without second thought and jumping the goons. 

Silco went straight to you, mindful of the chair Felicia was brandishing overhead as she flew into the meat of the fight. 

“Let me see,” he said, sliding a hand under your jaw and tilting your head back. You were hunching, still holding that hand of yours to your chest. 

“Hey, Sil,” you slurred, grinning and wincing. Your lower lip was busted, the right side of your face already beginning to swell from the jaw up. “Can you believe that guy? Down in one hit, hah!”

“Still have all your teeth?” he asked, wiping the blood trailing from the corner of your mouth. 

“What? You want me to open wide for you?”

He ticked a brow, scowling through the heat that flashed through his stomach. 

“Come on, let’s get ice on that,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around you. You hummed happily, falling into his side. Even as drunk as you were, your feet barely stumbled as he led you to the basement door. He nodded to Vander who already had the same idea, coming around the back of the bar to pass him an ice pack and a clean rag. He thanked him.

“Take care of her,” Vander said, rubbing a hand over your back. You tossed the big man a smile before he returned to his station.

“Keep that on there,” Silco said to you, heart aching as you hissed at the touch of it. 

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, hand brushing his. He made sure you kept it pressed to your cheek before opening the door and helping you in first, careful of the stairs as he closed it behind him. The sounds of fighting and the skipping music was muffled as he led you into the bowels of the Last Drop, setting you down gently on the couch.

He reached for your hand, frowning when you turned away from him. 

“Let me see,” he said.

“It’s fine,” you grumbled, curling into the couch.

“I’d like to see that for myself,” he pushed, fingers gentle as they smoothed over your wrist. Your furrowed brow relaxed a bit, watery eyes trailing to him. “Let me see,” he asked again, softer.

You sighed, the weight of your arm settling into his palm as he moved to sit next to you. You hand shook in both of his, the skin of your knuckles ripped open and gushing red. When he attempted to move your pointer and middle fingers you whimpered, head falling into his shoulder.

He apologized, pulling one hand away to reach into his jacket. “It’s sprained. I’ll need to wrap it.”

“Sweet Sil,” you sighed, your good cheek rubbing against his shoulder as you brought your knees up, “always prepared for the worst.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t constantly getting into trouble,” he hummed, pulling out a roll of bandages and beginning his work. You curled into him as he cleaned you up, tensing when he secured your bruised digits. As he tied the bandages off around your wrist, he sighed, holding your hand in his, thumb running over your skin. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffed.

He turned his head, a breath punched from his lungs as he saw tears slipping down your cheeks. The ice pack laid abandoned in your lap. 

“What are you apologizing for?” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I always make a mess,” you whispered, little gasps slipping. Each one was a bullet to his chest. He couldn’t stand seeing you cry. “I always annoy you.”

“No,” he murmured, arms stretching over you to pull you into his lap, “no, you don’t annoy me, pet.”

“Yes, I do,” you sobbed. “I get into t-trouble when I-when I just want you to look at me.”

Oh, Gods help him. He knew this was the alcohol talking but the hopeful flame in his heart was burning into a torch. He needed to calm you down and get you to bed. 

“I’m looking,” he said, lips grazing your forehead as he rubbed your back. “You don’t have to try so hard. I’m always looking.”

You sniffed and he grabbed the bloody rag, nudging the cleanest corner towards you to blow your nose. He chuckled when you groaned, curling deeper into his chest.

“Too drunk for this,” you mumbled. “Stupid shots.”

“Stupid shots, indeed,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Let's get you some water and go to bed.”

You whined, hiding your face in his neck. “Wanna stay here. M’warm.”

He sighed, settling into the couch. Eventually you would nod off. He’d carry you into bed, then.

“Hair’s nice.”

“What?” he chuckled, trying to look down at you, but it was impossible with you smushed up against him.

“Your hair,” you said, lips moving against his neck. “I like it when it’s bun. Hair frames your face nice. S’handsome.”

You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, he thought, holding back his laughter. You were never going to live this down and he wasn’t nearly nice enough to not tease you about this for the rest of your life. 

“Face hurts,” you sighed. He rubbed your calf, shushing you.

“Sleep, pet,” he murmured against your forehead. 

“You’ll stay?” you asked.

“I’ll stay,” he promised.

[kingkaisen]

TW: death & angst

—

“I have . . . a wife.”

Kento Nanami’s last words were painful to utter — both from the serious injuries he sustained and from holding back tears that threatened to fall down his cheeks.

He didn’t mind dying, as he was exhausted. Beyond tired.

But he would never see you again, and he would never get a chance to say goodbye.

He couldn’t think about that right now, though.

If he did, he would cry.

And with Mahito’s chilling hand pressed against his bare back, he didn’t know how much time he had left to speak to his traumatized student.

“I have a wife, Itadori. I love her so, so much.” Nanami smiled sadly — as much as he could with his half-burned face. “Her name is Y/N. F/N L/N. Find her and my daughter. Tell them I love them, okay? Say it over and over again . . . so they won’t forget it. Make sure they aren’t too sad. Keep them safe. Y/N . . . she oversleeps a lot and forgets to take her medicine. She’s very clumsy too, so just . . . watch over her for me. She won’t buy her favorite snacks unless she thinks I’ll eat them with her, so try to share them with her when I’m gone. She hates watching her favorite shows alone . . . and going to the mechanic . . . she hates being alone, Itadori. Please don’t leave her alone. My kid’s young — she won’t remember me in a few years — so when you tell her about me, just tell her that daddy loves her, okay?”

“I-“

“Itadori,” Nanami interrupted sternly, yet tiredly. His grin softened. He imagined the beautiful faces of his wife and daughter one last time. “You’ve got it from here.”

As Nanami exploded from Mahito’s horrific technique, he died with the hope that someday, he would see you and his sweet girl again.

That someday, he might.

And he will be waiting.

[mensahbots]

couldn't help but gif some shots from this episode 6 preview clip!

[tojis-girl]

player 141! satoru who sees you with a small group, your in a little corner with only a few friends - well they are barely friends, just people you stook by to have someone.

player 141! satoru who thinks your utterly gorgeous but by the way you looked at the his group, he could tell you did not like them.

player 141! satoru who chooses 'o', to stay for another game, hust to see your pretty face again. he doesn't care about the money that much, he just wants to see you!!

player 141! satoru who randomly gets paired with you when your team pushes you out when your playing 'mingle'.

eyes are watering as you realize your probably going yo die right now. but luckily some guy grabs you and pulls you into a room with another guy.

player 141! satoru who takes an exhale before talking, "sorry for grabbin' you."

tears flow as you sniffle slightly, telling him its okay and thank you for saving your life!

player 141! satoru who tells you to stick with him because your group were a bunch of arseholes. practically begging you whilst his friend stood against the wall, looking at the begging man.

he keeps you safe whilst hell breaks out, everyone's fighting and some people are even killed! but he takes you with his group into a corner and he wraps his arms around you as your worried eyes scatter around in the dark.

flinching at the slightest noise, he could tell you were scared.

"Wont let anythin' happen to you, don't even worry bout it,"

[yanderedrabbles]

Nice Guy Yanderes

Beware the nice guys. The sweet boys with sweet smiles who always say exactly what you want to hear.

A beast will always be a beast, no matter how well it hides it's nature. It will always be filled with lust and all too capable of violence.

It doesn't matter if he stands in front of a packed lecture hall and gives a moving speech about feminism. At the end of the day, he wants the exact same thing as the sexist and the misogynist. He wants you on your knees.

It's almost kinder when a man is a bastard. When he's mean and lustful. At least he's showing you his true colours. At least you know to keep your hackles up and never turn your back on him.

It's so much worse when a man pretends to be nice. When he sees your friendship, your trust, as just another way to get you into bed.

And that "niceness" extends to all the depraved things he does to you. All fake concern and even faker sincerity.

Asking "Does it hurt real bad, sweetheart?" when he's balls deep in your virgin ass and you're clawing at the sheets trying to get away from him. Kissing you after he fucks you raw like that will make it all better. He's the kind to spout all manner of high minded ideals - he's protecting you, he loves you, he's doing this for your own good. Maybe it's worse because he really believes all that bullshit. Really believes he's keeping you safe, as though he isn't the monster you need protecting from.

It's easier when your tormentor is honest about his reasons for taking you. It somehow hurts less when all he wants is a warm body to fuck. At least you aren't burdened by his faux guilt, his teary eyed false promise to let you go as soon as he's done with you.

If you were to get stuck with a yandere, you'd better hope and pray that he's a bastard. That he won't wipe away your tears as though that makes up for causing them.

[dumbass-hyperfixations]

The text comes at 9:07.

Eddie: Happy birthday, Hen! Hope you have a good one :)

Hen smiles down at her phone as she sets down her bag in the locker room. Someone really ought to teach that man how to use emojis (seriously, is he secretly 50?), but the text warms her heart too much to be bothered by it. At least someone remembered, even from another state. She’ll take the typed out smiley emoticon as a win.

Hen: Thanks Eddie 🥳 how are you doing?

Eddie: Almost done fixing up my house and making small breakthroughs with Chris every day. But I’m sure Buck’s keeping you all updated. How about you? Any big plans today?

Hen: I’m sure it’s going great, we’re all rooting for you ❤️ and yes, Buck’s giving us all the updates, hasn’t shut up about you since you left 😂

Hen: No big plans today, though. Shift, then takeout for dinner.

Eddie: Not even cake? You’re breaking my heart :(

Hen sighs. She’s breaking her own heart over this silly little thing. She feels ridiculous, being so excited and then so disappointed over such a small thing. She scoffs as she kicks off her shoes and shakes off her jacket before answering Eddie.

Hen: I guess I’m just not in the mood this year. Maybe Karen and I will get dinner over the weekend.

Eddie: Oh, Buck and I tried this great Italian place the night before my last shift at the 118! You should ask him for details, their spaghetti bolognese was amazing :D

Well, definitely not doing that. Not while Buck and the rest of the 118 are being excited over a different H.E.N. in their lives right now. Another thing she’s ridiculously jealous of today: firefighting gadgets. And the way Eddie isn’t able to keep Buck out of their conversation even for a second. She bets Buck never forgets his birthday.

Hen: Thanks, I appreciate the tip 🤗

Eddie: Anytime. Hope you have a great day :)

Yeah, Hen thinks. Against all odds, she hopes so, too.

***

Another text comes around at 14:32, while Hen is taking a break on the roof after that call for Archie, the self-proclaimed invisible man.

Eddie: Hey, just got off the phone with Buck. I’m sorry those dummies forgot your birthday :(

Despite it all, Hen chuckles.

Hen: Don’t be acting like you didn’t remember just because of the Facebook alert. I know you well, Diaz 😉

Eddie: Guilty. Still sent the text though!

Eddie: And I know it sucks, but just remember that they still love you. We all do. Probably gonna be making it up to you for a week. I’ll bet you 10 bucks Chim’s gonna send you balloons. Maybe even a serenading mariachi band.

She snorts into her phone.

Hen: Oh god, I hope not. Haven’t I suffered enough?

Eddie: True. You can always guilt-trip Buck into doing yard work for you, though. He’s pretty handy with that. Kind of wish he was here now, helping me around the house.

Yeah, she bets he does. God, those two are so sickeningly codependent. She’s gonna have to hold an intervention one of these days.

Hen: He’s been giving me THE WORST puppy eyes since they realized they forgot. Could probably make him wash the cars too.

Eddie: Yeah, saw ‘em. He called me all sad, asking about your favourite pie. If you don’t talk to him soon, your house is going to look like a bakery display for a week.

Hen: Thanks for the tip. I DO NOT need my kids on a sugar high after all of this 😂

Eddie: At least they remembered, right? And Karen?

Hen: LOL. Mara dressed up real cute. Not for mama though, for picture day 💔 and Karen at least noticed my (very very nice) birthday outfit, but didn’t connect the dots.

Eddie: Ouch

Hen: Yup. I guess she forgot because of the kids’ schedules. Still hurts, though. There’s usually not a thing missing from her trusty planner.

Eddie: I guess she figured she’ll remember. You guys have celebrated how many thousand birthdays together now? She probably just got too confident in her ability to remember everything she loves about you.

She tries to scoff, but it comes out a little wet. Of course, he’s right. And Karen’s gonna feel so bad when she realizes.

Hen: Damn you for being right.

Hen: I’m gonna be angry with you about that, because you and Athena are the only two people I can’t be mad about missing my birthday.

Eddie: Hahaha sure, if it makes you feel better! Gotta go now, getting ready for work.

Hen: I still can’t believe I’m gonna walk back down to the loft and not see you on shift with us 😔 your talents are being wasted in that Uber

Eddie: Don’t I know it :( take care, Hen. And make Buck your gardener! I’ll be expecting pics.

Hen: 🤔🤔 starting to think gardener Buck is more of a gift for you than it is for me…

What can she say, even in her desperate sorrows, she loves making fun of the whole BuckandEddie thing, no matter how platonic it might be.

The answer is immediate.

Eddie: I’ve gotten tired of all the cooking/baking photos Maddie keeps sending me. He needs new hobbies.

Hen: How many of those do you have?????

Eddie: So many.

Eddie: Save them all, though. I like seeing him happy.

Eddie: He is happy, right? Not just putting a brave face for me every time I call?

Well. She can’t even make fun of that.

Hen: Ever seen those videos of amputated dogs that are learning to move around with prosthetics?

Eddie: Yeah?

Hen: Looks kind of like that. Happy, but still getting used to those wheels instead of legs ❤️

Hen: (The amputated legs are you. And the wheels are all those six thousand two hundred and twenty-two FaceTime calls you’re having on and off shift.)

Eddie: Yeah, I got that. It’s the same for me, really.

Eddie: Really gotta go now. Let me know if Chim sends you balloons!

***

At 21:20, Hen’s the one to send the text.

Hen: [image attached]

Hen: I actually got those fucking balloons. Are you psychic?

Hen: Also featuring chocolates from Bobby.

Eddie: Ha! Not psychic, he’s just predictable.

Hen: LOL, that he is. The worst part is that I actually kind of love them.

Eddie: Not seeing 10 different pies on the table, though. Master baker crisis averted?

Hen: Not yet, but he acted like an awkward butler around me for the rest of the shift. Needed some time to cool off, but I’ll ask him tomorrow.

She sets the phone down and opens the basket of chocolates. There’s a note inside with yet another apology, a birthday wish, and a promise of homemade dinner on their next 48 off. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved, I am loved. She thinks the words on a loop in her head, intending on doing so until she believes then again. God, today sucks.

Her phone pings again, Eddie’s contact illuminated on the screen.

Eddie: I just realized. We have never texted as much as we did today.

Surprised, Hen snorts out a laugh.

Hen: That can’t be right. We’ve known each other for well over 7 years now.

Eddie: I’m serious! Check our previous messages.

And Hen does. The last text before today was a few months ago, when she wished him a happy birthday during their 96 off, to which he responded with a simple thank you. Before that, a bunch of school-related email screenshots and links, mixed in with some carpool-themed “I’ll be there in 15!”s and some Denny and Chris sleepover related negotiations. Each short text thread at least a few days, if not weeks apart. Wow.

Hen: LOL, are we even friends 😂

Eddie: Right?! Like, I know we are, but we have absolutely no way of proving it.

Hen: I’m blaming it on the twelve hundred groupchats the Buckleys have created over the years.

Eddie: Seconded! Why do we need one for every get-together? The original groupchat is fine.

“Mama?” Hen looks up to see Mara standing in the doorway, looking a little unsure of herself.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Mom’s calling you for dinner,” Mara says. “Or, she’s asking if you feel like joining us.”

Hen sighs and stands up. To her surprise, the weight of her chest is lifted somewhat. She didn’t even notice that she calmed down and switched her mood during their chat.

“Of course, I’m coming,” she says and hugs Mara again for good measure before they head to the kitchen. Just to let her know nothing is wrong, that she’s not mad at her. Or anyone, in fact. This stuff happens. I am loved, I am loved, I am loved.

After dinner, she sends Eddie the picture of the cake Mara and Denny brought her.

Hen: [image attached]

Hen: Got the cake after all ❤️🎂

Hen: Thanks for today ❤️

Eddie: Looks good! And, anytime :D

[hanasnx]

“ I CAN FEEL IT, CAN YOU FEEL IT, THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THE AIR ” — rafe cameron.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: kinktober; takes place in obx s4 e1 but there’s a slight change; also happy birthday @princessbrunette :) i wrote this for you in mind; and based off of the scene in f&f where dom picks letty up calling her his trophy. WARNINGS: spoiler warning for obx season 4 episode 1 ノ non canon compliant: i made rafe win the race ノ size difference ノ established relationship ノ objectification ノ impact play: ass smack ノ mild exhibitionism bcos of pda ノ praise ノ sexual content: p in v stuff ノ dirty talk.

Your feet sink into the sand as you traipse alongside RAFE CAMERON to his station in the race. His large hand envelopes yours, keeping you balanced as he leads you to his bike. The roar of revving fills your ears, loud enough for your boyfriend to have to lean down to your level to speak to you, walking you through the process and your role here. You’ve never been a flag girl before, but he told you she needs to be a “hot piece of ass” and he wants these boys heads still spinning when he wins the race. As a distraction, you were the only girl he wanted for the job.

“… and all you gotta do, baby, is make sure those guys are lookin’ at you. Show off a little something—just this once, I don’t care.” he explains, and you nod your head while brushing your hair out of your face from the wind. The two of you stand aside his bike and he mounts it, swinging a long leg over it. It creaks from his weight, and you roll your tongue between your lips. Without sunglasses, his gaze is narrowed, meeting yours in the light as he tugs you closer to him. “You look good. Prettiest girl on Figure Eight.” he assures you, the corner of his lips quirked as he checks you out. The tiniest booty shorts you could find and a stringy bikini top, you looked good enough to eat. If Rafe wasn’t so concerned with crossing the finish line while these cucks were still drooling over you, he’d be a little jealous they get such a treat. “Man, you are eye candy. Give me a twirl, c’mon.”

It eases your nerves, grinning bashfully to yourself as he raises your hand over your head, twisting on your toes to show him your outfit. He bites his lower lip hard at the sight of the underside of your ass hanging out of your shorts, and he can’t help but give you a tap. You whirl around from the swat, and catch his eyes flash up.

“Mm, baby.” he exclaims, talking about you like you’re dessert and he’s got a sweet tooth. He doesn’t give you a chance to scold him for smacking your ass around all these people, “C’mere,” he murmurs, yanking you to him until your body is draped over him on his bike. Your manicured nails brace on his chest while he steals a kiss, humming in surprise at him when he tilts his head to deepen it. Takes advantage of your parted lips to slide his tongue along yours in a proper good-luck-kiss, which only makes for a string of spit to connect the two of you when you part. You breathe hard, chest rising and falling from thrill as you search his expression. There’s a glow of love-sickness in his eyes.

You try to milk more attention. “I don’t know if I can…” you begin, alluding to how shy you’re gonna be in front of all these people.

“Oh, don’t start that shit, you’re gonna be fine.” he dismisses, seeing right through you and shrugging you off him so you get it’s time to stop being clingy. “Go get ‘em, tiger.” He plucks his helmet up, and rounds his body to place it on his head while you reluctantly leave him.

When it’s time to start the race, you hold up two bandanas—donated by some guys trying to buy you drinks—and Rafe scoffs to himself, patting himself on the back for being such a genius. “Who wouldn’t be lookin’ at you?” he thinks, while he revs his bike. You even give the crowd a little shake, your girls strapped in your bikini top swinging teasingly right before you set them off with the bow of your bandanas and the low dip of your arch. Rafe could’ve sworn one guy glanced over his shoulder to check out your ass bent over because he lost control of his steering for a second after. The race was on, and you did your job exactly how your boyfriend wanted you to.

Some kook with too much time on his hands made his way through the crowd to invite himself into your atmosphere, watching you as you eagerly await Rafe’s return and your signal to drop the flags for the winner.

A voice too close to your ear alerts you, resulting in a minute jolt of your body when he speaks. “What are you doing after this?”

Brows furrow as you glance over your shoulder at him, “Oh, uh, I dunno right now.” you reply, but you’re not showing interest. It would depend on Rafe’s victory. You refocus, keeping an eye on the horizon and the roaring metal of competitive bikes. Rejoining the crowd’s enthusiasm, you react with them when someone wipes out.

“Me and the boys were gonna head to a kegger in the boneyard. You should come.” he tells you. Again, too close for your liking. He’s not particularly bad-looking, or grabby, but you don’t like how he’s standing right next to you and stooping to speak in your ear.

You face him again to respond, but the race takes your attention away, shutting your mouth to whirl around just in time to see Rafe drive back into view, sand kicking up behind his wheel.

After a close call, he wins, and when it’s safe, the adoring crowd cheers as it floods the scene to congratulate the riders. You’re one of them, beelining to Rafe without a second thought. He’s discarded his helmet, tossing it haphazardly to the sand as he meets you.

“Ah, there’s my trophy.” he says, hands clamping onto your waist to lift you from the ground. You squeal with delight, bracing on his shoulders and kicking your feet up. Slowly he lowers you until you can wrap your arms around his neck. He’s hot and sweaty, and smells like it too, inhaling his scent deeply as you embrace him and he spins you around. You’ve completely forgotten about that kook you left behind.

“Did so good, precious, did exactly what I told you to.” Rafe murmurs against your lips, whipping his bike jacket off behind him while you lead him by his jaw deeper into his place.

“Mhm, had to give them a show. Like you said.” you exhale, nodding fervently as you press yourself to him, desperate for some friction.

“Didn’t I say you’d be fine? Huh? What’d I say?” he goads, and stoops, signaling you to jump into his arms. He catches your legs, securing them around his waist before his hand cups your backside and his other pins you to him by the back of your neck.

“I did so good!” you reply, a little perkier than you’d meant to. It breaks him out into a grin against you, and he snickers through his nose. Bringing you to his bedroom, he settles your back onto the bed.

Lips locked, and bodies tangling together, he struggles to find a spare second to keep talking, “Gonna give me my prize? You gonna put out for the winner?” His hips surge, and a familiar hard outline sweeps across the crotch of your denim.

You nod, poking your tongue out in concentration as you help him to undress fully, and you wiggle out of your booty shorts. The peek of your tongue doesn’t go unnoticed, and Rafe’s lips overlays yours, sucking on the pink tip there toyingly. You relax into it, untensing them to melt into a real kiss as the tip of something else nudges against your sex. Already wet and aching from all the teasing today, you go limp at the promise of what’s to come. Bulging mushroom head lazily thumbing in and out of your slit makes your head throw back and jerk. “Rafe…” you whine. Sodden lips mouth at your cheek and jaw, working their way down to make out with your neck as his hips shallowly rut.

Ringed fingers clutch your face, tucking your chin in the web of his index and thumb. It faces you to him, and you look up at him with doe eyes and pretty brows in an upturn. He wants to watch your reactions as he pushes in deeper and deeper, finally sheathing as you cry out. It’s a stingy stretch, and he can see your want for it in the roll of your eyes and the flinch of your delicate expression. “Yeah, baby, gimme that trophy. That’s right.”

[bumblebecc]

the time that frank thinks mel is dating someone else and nearly loses his mind

Whitaker and Santos get into a huge blowup fight 10 months after PittFest. It’s ugly. Whitaker has been hired on as an intern for the ED and is finally making money for once, but Santos doesn’t want to admit she feels bad for Huckleberry, so she won’t accept rent from him—

And Whitaker storms out in the middle of the night and spam texts Mel about the whole thing (they’re kinda friends now, bonding over their mutual love and hatred of Star Wars and sharing breakroom snacks). Becca’s recently moved in full time with her care center, so Mel happily offers Dennis a place to crash for awhile in her spare room—she doesn’t make a fuss when Whitaker insists on contributing to the grocery fund. Instead she just slips the same hundred dollar bill back into his wallet without him noticing.

It’s two weeks of this before Frank overhears Dennis asking Mel when she’s headed back home, he’ll meet her at their bus stop, their bus stop, and realizes THE TWITCHY NEW INTERN IS LIVING WITH MEL.

Langdon’s Mel.

And she didn’t tell him. Not when they got dinner last week. Or on their phone call the night before. His mind scrambles. Why wouldn’t she tell him? He’s not bothered. No. Why would he be bothered? It’s not like he’s in love with Mel or anything. It’s not like he’s jealous.

It’s not like he only feels like he can breathe when Mel, golden and kind and all things good, enters the room.

Or as if when she cries, nose going pink, big eyes wet with tears, his heart feels like it’ll implode in on itself until she smiles again.

Or every time he scoots past her in Trauma One, his nose fills with the scent of her shampoo — strawberry hibiscus — and he feels the closest thing to euphoria since he kicked the benzos.

Or when Mel off-handedly offers to babysit his kids if he and Abby ever have plans, he imagines her holding his daughter on her hip, smiling softly. He has to sit down for five minutes before he can get back to work.

(He strategically informs Princess after that conversation that he’s very divorced. Like the most divorced a man can get. Has been since he got out of rehab. He sadly asks for her discretion and she agrees eagerly.)

(The whole ED knows by the end of the hour.)

(Mel sadly gives him a warm sweet-smelling hug in the breakroom once she hears the news. “I’m so sorry, Langdon,” she says in her small voice. Frank feels like the hugest pervert in the world because all he can think is that his divorce lawyer was worth every penny if all he gets is Mel’s arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest).

He reassures himself: it’s not like Whitaker and Mel are a thing. She probably just feels bad about Whitaker having to live with Santos. Yeah. Who wouldn’t feel bad for the poor shmuck?

And then he sees Mel pat Whitaker’s arm gently in sympathy when Robby gives him a problem patient (vomit, irritability, a recipe for disaster). And he no longer feels bad for Whitaker, actually the opposite, he wants to strangle him where he stands.

But he can’t do that, because Mel would be very upset with him.

So when he finds her on the roof after a her shift humming to herself and her face brightens with a smile, he can’t hold it back — “Are you and that kid dating?”

And Mel has to recalibrate, brow furrowing, fair eyebrows scrunching like when she’s confronted with a social cue she doesn’t entirely understand. She’s sitting criss-crossed, looking up at him, vulnerable and soft and small from this angle.

“Who? Dennis?”

And oh fuck, they are dating, she calls him by his FIRST NAME, and she’s never once called him Frank and…

He is fucking in love with her.

“No,” she says. His world stops imploding in an instant. She doesn’t even seem offended. She merely blinks. “Dennis and Trinity are in a fight. I’m letting him crash in Becca’s old room until they make up.”

“Oh. That is… very generous of you, Mel,” says Langdon stiltedly, a rush of relief running through him so quickly, he feels dizzy.

“Yeah. And actually, it’s nice having another person in the house since Becca left,” says Mel wistfully. “She hasn’t wanted to come back since she’s so used to her routine at the center.”

She’s told him about this over ramen cups in her warm, colorful kitchen. Deep green curtains, an amber lamp washing her in red and gold light. Her eyes, misty and lonely. Her chin in the curve of her palm.

He has to stop himself from telling her to kick Whitaker out and he could move in instead. Because that would be crazy and irrational and impulsive.

Fuck it. “I don’t like him living with you, Mel.”

Her eyes widen. “Um. Why? Whitaker’s a perfectly reasonable roommate. He does his dishes and is very neat for a man.”

“No, it’s not that.” Langdon feels like he’s on the edge of a steep precipice, like how he feels looking over the edge of the hospital roof, like the rush of adrenaline after a tense save. “Because I want to be the one to keep you company. To come home with you after a long day. I want to take care of you. If you’ll let me.”

Mel’s mouth opens and shut. She’s shocked. He knows the minute details of her face, the flutter of her pale eyelashes, the tense curve of her mouth. “I… I don’t…”

“I’m in love with you, Mel,” he says, and keeps talking, even though his ego is blistering to admit, “and I’m actually going kind of crazy from jealousy over here. Like behavioral room type crazy. I keep imagining that you and him are…”

“No!” Mel is suddenly on her feet. She looks like she’s glowing. In the distance, there are the wail of car horns and the sounds of the city. The flare of ambulance lights. But all Langdon can do is stare at Mel King. The rest of the world doesn’t really exist. “You’re serious, right? This isn’t, um, a joke or—”

“I would never do that to you, Mel.”

Mel takes a shaky breath. “Oh. I know that.”

“It’s okay if all you want is a friend,” says Langdon, even though that would be excruciating. “Tell me to kick rocks, if you want. I just couldn’t keep it inside for any longer. I couldn’t go a day without letting you know that you’re loved.”

He wants to say more, but he can’t. Because Mel is kissing him.

Her arms are around his neck. Her lips hot on his. It’s awkward and clumsy, because he’s taller than her and she’s on her tip toes, and he hasn’t kissed anyone in a very long time, but then he slides his arms around her waist and yeah. She makes a noise, a sweet noise deep in her throat, and he chases that sound, deepens the kiss, and he forgets about Whitaker, about the ER, about the long hot shower he was looking forward to after work, because Mel is in his arms, her braid loosening under his hands, and she tastes like mint gum and Diet Coke and love.

When they separate, her mouth is flushed and her eyes are glossy. A wisp of honey gold hair brushes her cheek. “Hello,” she says.

“Hello,” he whispers back.

“Let’s go on a date soon?” she asks, because she’s the smartest person he knows.

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” he says and then nothing else for a long time, his mouth occupied with far more important things.

(And if, the morning after their kiss, he drags Santos and Whitaker into an empty patient room and watches as they argue and bluster and finally agree to move back in together because maybe you’re an alright roommate, Huckleberry, and okay, yeah, I miss my bed—but you need to let me at least buy the groceries, then that’s nobody’s business but his).

[justporo]

So you'll see tomorrow

A/N: Seeing a beautiful piece of artwork by @velnna and listening to Half life by Livingston I got a very angsty idea for a drabble (so be warned, it's sad). This idea came to me first a while back listening to Just a Man (you know from *that* BG3 edit). @velnna as always thanks for letting me play with your son - and sorry I hurt him... Also thank you to Dad on Maf's discord server for the inspo for the final line.

Warnings: implied character death (but this is just an alternate timeline ok??), self sacrifice

~~~

So this was it.

This is how they would all die.

There was no way they would defeat the Netherbrain. All their endeavours that led them here, all for naught. Unless…

Staeve saw it in his eyes first. How their expression changed from swimming and hopeless to hardened and determined. Astarion’s brows drew together - the crease they created between them as sharp as his daggers he lifted up once more.

“Staeve.”

He had never heard his voice like this. The tone as sharp as a knife and hard as rock.

It scared him.

“I’m going to create an opening for you. Be ready.”

Fear dug its claws into Staeve’s throat, choking him, as he began to realise what was about to happen.

“No,” the half-drow whispered, weakly grabbing for his lover’s wrists with all of his remaining strength.

“Astarion, no! You can’t do this!”

Panic gave Staeve new power. Helped him to forcefully turn Astarion around to him. Helped him make his love stare into his eyes as he screamed at him again. And again.

He shook him, even making the daggers drop from his pale, blood-speckled fingers.

Staeve kept screaming, feeling his voice become hoarse, hot streams of tears washing away the grime and gore as they made their way down his face.

But as he kept throwing everything at Astarion he noticed ruby eyes remaining hard and unfaltering. The decision had been made.

The last of his strength went with his last drop of hope as Staeve’s hands fell weakly from Astarion’s. His legs gave up, knees hit the ground hard.

And only then did Astarion shift, taking a final step back before making the run-up.

He dropped down in front of Staeve who could only stare up at him anymore.

“Let me do this one thing right, Staeve,” he whispered solemnly, cupping his love’s face. “Just this once let me make things right.”

Staeve’s vision was blurred, his head swimming. But he still clearly saw the warmth in Astarion’s eyes as he leaned his forehead to Staeve’s.

Astarion’s hand wandered to the nape of his neck as he pressed his eyes closed. “Promise me, you’ll live for me, Staeve. To the fullest.” When the vampire opened his eyes again, Staeve was sure there were tears in Astarion’s eyes as well.

There was nothing in Staeve to do or say. He wasn’t in control of anything anymore it felt like. Not even his own body as he solely kept listening to Astarion’s final words.

“And promise me,” the vampire continued, voice breaking, “sometimes - when you sit in the sun - you’ll think of me, Staeve. Promise me.”

Astarion only waited only long enough for Staeve to weakly nod, seemingly the only thing he was still capable of.

Then he crushed his mouth to his lover’s, the motion so forceful their teeth crashed together.

Desperation had them kiss so hard it hurt, that it felt like perishing already. Astarion’s hand on Staeve’s neck pressed down so hard it felt like bones might crush. A single last breath was passed between them as their lips moved against each other as they tried to make this the most vivid moment they had ever experienced.

One so he could never possibly forget this final kiss - how it had felt.

The other so he would go to his end, with the taste of his lover on his lips.

When a small eternity ended and Astarion broke away he grabbed Staeve’s face a final time.

“I know in another life, I would have loved you forever,” Astarion uttered with a smile.

Then he let go, Staeve almost toppling over, suddenly void of anything still lifting him up.

Astarion grabbed his daggers, turned around with a last glance and a smirk - and then he leapt.

[tokoyamisstuff]

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]