#this will actually get a small drabble later

[league-of-simps]

Sigh. Letting Tomura lay in your lap while you scratch his head for the first time. He's trying so hard to lay still but your fingers feel so nice and so different from his own that he can't help but to squirm.

He wouldn't have even agreed to this if a part of him didn't like seeing you beg him to let you do it.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

I’m the anon who sent you that ask about Sonic and Shadow’s relationship in the Chronic Sonic au. If your post saying you ignore long asks was directed at me, can you please just… post the latest version without answering? I would prefer to save it to my likes and maybe have other fans read my thoughts.

thank you

Well no, it wasn’t just directed at you, there are a couple long asks in my inbox (some of which are positive and very beloved and i cherish, Dopambles I’m looking at you <3). But you’ve sent your ask twice now and this one too so I’ll answer this one. I don’t really want to make this a big long thing, but I also don’t really wanna leave ya hanging when this seems so important to you so lets do this (everyone else can ignore this if ya want I’m going long-winded through everything.)

So, reasons i don’t like to respond to or even post long asks sometimes lets do this [cracks knuckles]

1. I don’t like posting things onto my blog that I haven’t checked over first. I struggle a lot in reading and comprehending long asks. I don’t know why, it’s weird, okay. Let’s leave it at that. I’m not gonna blindly post walls of texts to my blog without checking them over first, because I want to make sure I’m filtering asks so nothing harmful gets posted to my blog. You’d be surprised at how whack a lot of anons can get. Not to say your ask was whack, but I also am struggling to read it so it’s hard to say for sure! It’s not due to the nature of your ask, it is simply because my brain be like dat.

2. Sometimes, I just don’t like having to scroll through walls of texts that aren’t my own to get to my latest posts. I get a lot of asks as it is. I do love answering them, but when they get long, the amount of time it takes to scroll through em makes it hard to refer back to my previous posts and is just is not intuitive or fun when interacting with my own blog, which leads me to my next point

3. This is my space. My blog is by me for me. I choose to post and share to interact and have fun with other people but at the end of the day this blog is my space. I did not create it for anyone other than me. I welcome the people who find joy in my stories here, but this remains my space. If i was being paid for this it’d be different, I’d absolutely curate and change things to make it a better and easier experience for those that i charged to be here, but like… I’m not being paid for this? And to ask me to do what you want in my space so that you can have the experience you want is… i dunno it sounds a little entitled. (I’m not saying that you ARE entitled, only that it sounds like it to me personally.) Contacting me even after I expressed my difficulty in answering asks to try and convince me to post it for your sake is a little rude. I’m not a professional creator, I’m not a person with fans, I’m just a random dude trying to have a good time with other people on a dumpster-fire website. I’m not a creator trying to make sure everyone else is having a good time. This is what i do in my free time to relax and—

4. —being a moderator for other peoples hc’s and conversations is not personally relaxing to me. My blog is not a public confessions blog and I am not a public message board. I am honoured when people share their personal stories and how what I doodle has helped them feel seen and that things will be okay, but I’m not a place for other people to come say what they want to each other, I’m a person, not a message board. How other people use Tumblr is up to them, however, I am not going to change how I use tumblr so that you can have a better experience when it will make the experience worse for me.

5. If i answer asks, I don’t draw. And I like drawing. If I’m posting asks (even without answering them) and stressing about being the middle man in conversations that I will have to regulate to make sure conversations stay kind, that takes a lot of time and energy and I got so incredibly burnt out when i tried to do that. So i stopped. And I will not be starting up again simply so you can have a good time, because I will have a bad one. And this is my space to not have a bad time. If something stresses me out, I will not do it here, it is as simple as that. I have my whole irl to be stressed about.

These are some of the reasons I don’t like to post long asks. I have notified you that I struggle to read, I don’t understand why you continue pushing. I have amazing anon’s who send wonderful long asks who have been kind and considerate with me about my struggles reading and processing. They continue to send their wonderful asks and have assured me it’s okay if I never post them. I am confused as to why you cannot seem to respect my decision as well.

The final reason regarding my hesitance in posting your ask in particular is simply that your hc was not accurate to how I was aiming to portray the characters in the current timeline. You are more than welcome to hc and speculate, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that, but I cannot simply post it without answering it like you suggest because I would need to clarify that it’s not true. When I used to do that, people would start to misinterpret my au’s and it stressed me out. It takes hours for me to write up responses to things sometimes because I want to make sure I’m being kind and thoughtful and accurate. I am honoured that you shared something personal but what you wrote is simply not where the characters are at right now. It could be them in the future, but it is still early in the au so that kind of resentment hasn’t set in yet. Shadow is hurting because he’s taking the brunt of Sonic’s negativity but he is resigned to it because for him nothing else matters as long as Sonic stays alive, even if he has to be the person Sonic hates in all this and that is heavy. He’s angry at him when he does not take care of himself, but he is not resentful. Sonic struggles with being a burden on all of his friends, not just Shadow. The way you described the relationship was closer to how Tails and Sonic interact than Shadow and Sonic and even then, there’s more going on that I just don’t have the time or energy to really walk through. And besides, I want to save that energy to draw out things later.

As i shared with another commenter who asked something similar, I can absolutely DM you your ask back if you want to save it. However I don’t understand why you need me to post it to save it your likes if you simply want to save it. You have your own blog you can post it to. Why does it need to be on my blog? Why do I have to do extra work so you can have an easier time to do what you want? I am very grateful for your interaction and love of my comic, and I understand it’s frustrating when people make things harder for you to have a good time, but that’s exactly what you’re doing to me by asking me to change how I use tumblr to suit your wants instead of what is easiest for me. I am not a public service you pay for. I am a person, a full time student with family issues, struggling siblings that I’m trying to help, a person who is struggling myself. I have a limited amount of energy in a day, I get tired quickly. If i want to continue to find joy in drawing I have to set boundaries. You may not always know why someone does something, I guarantee there is more here that I will not share because it is personal. Sometimes you just have to be okay with not knowing, you have to be okay not understanding, and you have to be okay without an explanation that makes sense to you. All you need to do is understand that often times there is a reason people behave the way they do. It’s not a reflection on you or their opinion of you, it is simply many other factors at play that lead to such an outcome.

I sincerely hope this did not offend you, I am not angry with you, nor do I wish for any of this to be taken as scolding or upset you. If it has come across that way, I apologize. I am sorry I am not in a state to give you what you want, and I’m thankful for your patience with me in reading through this and I hope it is enough to at least paint a little bit of a picture as to why I will not be posting your ask. It’s unfortunate that I ended up spending hours addressing this anyway both to you and to another commenter—the very thing I wanted to avoid—but I value you as a person and did not want to leave you feeling negatively if I could change that. I hope this does not affect your enjoyment or experience with how you were having fun with my au, and if it does I am deeply regretful. However, I do have to set boundaries and make sure I’m doing okay or there would be no AU at all. Thanks for your understanding and I hope you have a day as kind as you are.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

prev next

Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”

[backtothefanfiction]

First Impressions | Joaquin Torres

Summary: the first time Sam introduces you to Joaquin

Warnings: flirting, fluff, playful banter

A/N: I fell in love with this man during Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Completely forgot about him until I watched the new Cap the other night. So here’s this little before going to sleep drabble. As you will quickly be able to tell I love the idea of a Carol Danvers niece reader given the whole air force thing. Hope people enjoy. May write some more in the future.

Joaquin was smitten the second you walked into his house. When Sam said he was headed over with “some new recruit” he hadn’t expected you. A roughed up baseball cap on top of your head, faded baseball jersey, baggy oversized jeans and sneakers, dripping from head to toe and almost shivering.

“What happened?” Joaquin asked Sam as you tentatively stepped through the sliding door, not wanting to drip too much on this strangers carpet.

“He dropped me in the lake.” Your voice blurted out, completely unamused, shooting daggers at the still newly appointed Captain America.

“Yeah, well, still better that than a 40ft drop onto hard ground.” Sam retorted.

“Or you could have just not dropped me at all?!” You stressed, hands raised in the air, still in complete disbelief over this turn of events. “That’s the last time I’m ever flying with you.” You muttered and you saw Joaquin let out a little chuckle over the situation.

That’s when you really took him in. The guy who Sam sung the praises of. His supposedly best recruit, not that he would actually tell him that.

“Come on, I’ll get you a towel.” Joaquin said, leading you upstairs and to the bathroom.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything I could change into, do you?” You asked him, as he handed you a couple towels.

“Umm, yeah, of course, I’ll just go find you something.”

You didn’t wait for him to return before you whipped off your clothes and immediately jumped in the shower to wash the murky lake water off of you. You were grateful that it was an old tub and shower curtain situation and not one of those see through glass cabinet shower situations, not that it didn’t stop Joaquin from blushing when he came back into the bathroom a few minutes later with some clothes in hand.

“Oh, sorry- I didn’t realise you were- I’ll just leave these- uh- yeah.” He rushed out before quickly shutting the door again.

He hesitated a moment as he stood with his back to the door, his brain fixated on the small glimpse he got of your naked back from behind the shower curtain. He could feel the flush in his cheeks. The smile that threatened his lips. He fought to hide it as he went back down to Sam in the kitchen.

“So who is she?” Joaquin asked as he grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and passed it to Sam before picking up his own previously discarded mug to finish.

“She’s a Danvers.” Sam said, as if the surname alone held a lot of weight, but Joaquin still didn’t bite. “As in Carol Danvers… Captain Marvel.” Sam said, walking him through it slowly until Joaquin’s face began to flicker with recognition. “Carol’s her aunt. Before she became Captain Marvel she was one heck of an Air Force Pilot. Kid saw what her aunt did and decided to pick up the mantle.”

“And she’s good?” Joaquin fished, a flame for the woman upstairs really taking hold as Sam kept adding more fuel to the fire.

“Yeah, she’s fucking great. Best female pilot I’ve ever seen.”

“So you looking to set her up with a pair of wings?” Joaquin asked, even though he had a hint of jealousy to his tone. He enjoyed being the only person other than Sam who had access to the now not so secret military wings, but he also couldn’t deny the new found need to go flying with you on a sunny afternoon and treat you to a picnic on the top of a mountain or something.

“We’ll see.” Sam said sceptically, but Joaquin knew from the way Sam had even brought you to meet him he thought you had what it takes.

“What are you two girls talking about?” You asked as you came striding back into the kitchen in a pair of Joaquin’s joggers and his old air force T-shirt. You were using a towel to squeeze out your hair and Joaquin couldn’t deny you looked right at home in his house, wearing his clothes.

“Lover boy here was grilling me about you.” Sam joked, taking in the way Joaquin looked at you.

“Was he now?” You asked feigning interest and playing up to the little bit in order to embarrass him, but as you sat across from him at the table and really took him in for the first time, you couldn’t deny he was handsome- and if the T-shirt he gave you had anything to say, you definitely had a lot in common to bond over.

“Uh- um- no- I-“ Joaquin began to stutter bashfully.

“It’s all cool dude,” you reassured. “I know he’s just messing. You really shouldn’t let him rile you up like that.”

Joaquin sighed before he leaned in closer to you, “How do you stay so calm around him?” He asked as if Sam wasn’t there and you had all the secrets.

“Eh, when you grew up being told about your badass aunt with actual super powers, some guy in a read white and blue bird costume is nothing.” You joked.

“Hey!” Sam pointed at you, “don’t you dare turn him against me or I’ll drop your ass in the lake again.”

“So you admit it! You did it on purpose.” You said, slamming your hand on the table animatedly.

“Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t. What are you gonna do about it?” He asked back, but you didn’t say anything more. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You rolled your eyes at him before fixing them on Joaquin instead as Sam’s phone began to ring. You both turned your eyes on him as he checked the caller ID. “I need to take this.” He said, before getting up and dismissing himself, stepping out the back door to take the call outside.

“Would you like coffee?” Joaquin asked to break up the silence the two of you were left in.

“Umm, yes, that would be great.” You said with a smile and he got up to pour you a cup full from the pot.

“It looks good on you.” He said as he came back over a moment later and handed you the mug.

“What, now?” You said confused.

“Uh, my shirt,” he said with a shrug, as he committed to the statement. “It looks good on you.”

You couldn’t help but blush slightly under his gaze. He was cute and confident and oddly endearing. “Thanks.” You smiled, as he sat himself back down. “I guess I’ll keep it then.” You joked.

“The only way you’re keeping that thing is if you were my girlfriend.” He replied, half as a joke, half as a way of informing you just how much that shirt meant to him.

“Well I guess you better ask me on a date then.” You smirked playfully as he took a sip of his coffee and he almost choked as he spat it back into his cup. But before he could say anymore, Sam came back through the sliding door.

“Alright lovebirds, you can stop having your meet cute moment now, we gotta go,” he said to Joaquin.

“And what about me?” You said indignantly, feeling a little put out.

“He’ll be back in time to take you out on a proper date later.” Sam retorted, marching back through the house to get his shit from where he’d left it by the front door.

“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” You asked, completely brushing over the rest of what he’d said. “I don’t even live anywhere near here!” You stressed. “You just brought me here and now you’re gonna up and leave me here!” You said indignantly.

Joaquin froze in the middle of the hallway next to you, looking from his mentor and back to you as he tried to keep up with what’s going on. He felt conflicted. “I mean, can’t she just come with us.” He offered. “I mean, you brought her out here because you wanted to see what she could do. So I say let her.”

Sam looked between the two of you slowly, before he conceded. “Uh, fine. But if anything happens with her it’s on your head.” He warned but you were both smiling.

“So, is this technically our first date?” You ribbed him as he began to usher you out the door so he could lock up.

“We’ll see. Depends if you like it or not.” He mused and you had to admit, his cheeky smile did make you swoon.

“And if I don’t?” You asked with a playful twinkle in your eye.

“Don’t worry,” he reassured you with just as equal playfulness and innuendo, “you will.”

[fireinmoonshot]

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: Joaquin will always insist on you wearing his jacket when you're cold... even if it means he's freezing. Warnings: I don't think there are any other than Joaquin being a little suggestive. Word Count: 779 A/N: Just a small one tonight! I had this idea today (also at work, what a surprise) and thought it'd be a cute one to post as a drabble rather than a full one shot. I have a bigger fic coming probably tomorrow night as well! 💗

The second Joaquin notices that you’re starting to shiver he’s shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. It’s cold outside, the middle of winter, and you’d both decided it’d be a great idea to come down and watch a soccer game – one of your friends kids were playing.

“Baby, I’m fine,” you say, trying to hand the jacket back to him. 

It leaves him in only a t-shirt – the man isn’t great at dressing for the weather sometimes – and you have two layers on. You can’t leave him without a coat, especially with the way the wind is blowing and getting icier by the second.

Joaquin insists, pushing the jacket into your arms. “I won’t have you standing around here freezing, angel. Will you just put it on? Or I’ll put it on you myself.”

With a sigh, you pull the jacket on, putting your arms through the sleeves. You have to admit, you love wearing Joaquin’s clothes. They’re always warm and always smell like him. It’s like being wrapped in a hug without actually touching him. You pull the collar up, protecting your neck a little from the breeze, and shove your hands into the pockets.

You continue watching the soccer game, cheering on your friends son whenever he scores a goal and trying your best not to get mad when a kid accidentally trips him over. Joaquin, still standing beside you, mutters a curse word under his breath – something in Spanish that you don’t hear properly.

There’s a particularly strong gust of wind that passes across the field and it’s only then that you notice Joaquin shivering beside you. His arms are crossed over his chest, his hands wedged underneath his armpits in a poor attempt to warm them up. You almost laugh at the sight of him. 

You start to pull the jacket off to give it back to him, already knowing that your two layers are going to be enough to keep you warm compared to your slowly freezing boyfriend, but Joaquin sees you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Ah, angel, what are you doing? Keep it on, it’s freezing out here,” he says, moving to stand in front of you and tug the jacket back up onto your shoulders. 

“You don’t say?” You smirk, raising your eyebrows at him. “You’re cold, Joaquin.”

“Nooo,” he drags out the word. “I’m fine, really. Not cold in the slightest.”

“I can see the goosebumps on your arms, Joaquin. You need this more than I do.” You reach up and grab one of his arms, feeling how cold his skin is. “Yeah, baby, you’re turning to ice.”

Joaquin shakes his head, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “I’d freeze to death if it meant keeping you warm.” 

“Well, as romantic as I know you meant to make that sound, the last thing I want is my boyfriend freezing to death while I’m standing here in his jacket,” you reply. You’re quicker to pull the jacket off this time and waste no time in thrusting it into his arms. “Put it on, Joaquin, or I will put it on you.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he pulls his jacket back on. “Damn, I love when you get bossy.” He moves to stand beside you, but only two seconds later steps a little further back so he’s behind you. “I’m still not gonna let you freeze.”

You smile to yourself as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you back into his chest. He hooks his hand onto his forearm to keep his arms steady and presses a kiss to the top of your head. This is clearly his attempt at keeping you warm despite you forcing him to wear his own jacket.

“I don’t know if the soccer moms are gonna approve of this PDA, baby,” you mutter, happily leaning back into his chest. Somehow, this is even warmer than wearing his jacket.

Joaquin snorts. “Angel, I just saw two parents have a celebratory make-out session when their son kicked a goal. I don’t think we’re gonna cause the soccer moms too much grief by me wrapping my arms around you,” he says. “Of course, we could always give them more of a show if you wanted…” He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek.

You’re quick to deliver a swift, yet soft, elbow backwards, right into his stomach. He grunts in pain. “Okay, didn’t know you were into that, but I can make it work.”

“Just watch the game, Joaquin,” you let out a laugh. “No one is getting a show.”

“Maybe not right now but…”

“Joaquin.”

“Fine…”

[sereia4skz]

HIIII

drabble, female reader, bf leeknow

prompt: "open wide." (they're cooking, except she's just sitting pretty on the counter and taste testing for leeknow lol)

1.5k Followers Event | open wide

pairing: minho x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: one sex joke from Ji

event masterlist: #1.5kStarsForYaya

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

You’re not really helping. Sure, you offered to help, but Minho took one look at your excited little grin, your swinging feet as you parked yourself on the kitchen counter, and just shook his head with a fond sigh.

So here you are, legs crossed, back leaning against the cupboard, watching your boyfriend work in the kitchen like he was born to be surrounded by flame and seasoning.

He moves like muscle memory, fluid and efficient, sleeves rolled up, jaw set in soft concentration. And he doesn’t complain when you keep sneaking fingers toward the cutting board, only slapping your hand away with the back of a wooden spoon. Gentle. Always gentle with you.

“Open wide.”

You blink up at him. Minho’s in front of you now, holding out a spoon with a small bite of sauce-laced something. He doesn’t wait for your answer, just guides it to your lips with a raised brow and a barely-there smirk.

You part your lips automatically, letting him feed it to you with that infuriating calm he always wears, as if this moment, like every other, is completely in his control.

It tastes amazing. You let out a hum of approval as you lick the corner of your lip. But then, just as you’re about to give him your actual feedback- 

“Damn, what else is she opening wide for?”

You nearly choke. Your head snaps toward the voice, of course it’s Jisung, halfway through a drink on the couch, grinning like the little gremlin he is. He’s not even looking at you, just laughing to himself like he’s the funniest man alive.

Minho sighs. Long-suffering. The way he does every time his friend opens his mouth.

“You wanna get fed next?” he calls without missing a beat, already turning back to the stove.

Jisung perks up like a dog at a treat. “Depends. You hand-feeding me too? Wanna feel those soft hands-”

“or I can feed you this knife,” Minho offers sweetly.

You snort, nearly sending yourself into another coughing fit. "Kinky~"

Minho returns to you a second later with a new bite, a little twinkle in his eyes like this is all a game. You don’t miss the way he nudges your knees apart with his hips, purely for space, you tell yourself, and lifts the next spoonful to your mouth.

“You gonna behave this time?” he murmurs, and you’re not even sure if he’s talking to you or to Jisung across the room.

Still, you nod obediently and open your mouth, letting him feed you again. You chew slowly, savoring it, eyes fluttering shut.

“Mmh,” you mumble. “It’s perfect.”

Minho’s gaze lingers a second longer than necessary before he nods, turns back around, and mutters, “Course it is.”

Behind you, Jisung’s still mumbling about how he wants his turn next.

"Ya! Stop grumbling, I'm already making you dinner!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

──── PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE . ↳ one shot // also part of the no doubt series !

✎ᝰ .ᐟ aka jake's love language is physical affection, words of affirmation...& mild desperation.

── sim jaeyun x f!reader ౨ৎ wc. 880 ⌗ comfort, fluff, skinship, slice of life!, kissing (making out?), they're deeply in love my honor </3 (also jake is literally just a freaking loser in this one it's actually almost sad but we love loser!jake in this household so .)

↳ IMPORTANT NOTE .ᐟ ── this is part of my no doubt series ─ a sequel series of short drabbles that take place after the events of my fic no doubt, and show jake & reader's relationship throughout their first year together (& how jake wins her trust & love back hehe) ── THIS CAN BE READ AS A ONE-SHOT, however, there will be some easter eggs if you've read no doubt before!

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── EVERYONE . there's only two official parts left of this series...IM EMOTIONAL dont play with me rn ... can't believe we're almost at the end...but i do have a few requests for jakeyn in my inbox that i will definitely get to! so stay tuned for those hehe :D

Like always—it’s late.

Jake had begged you to watch Star Wars with him for movie night, and the result?

Here you are:

Three movies in.

One YouTube theory video later.

And freshly done giving a very dramatic, very passionate speech on why he absolutely does not need to make a PowerPoint explaining the lore to you.

Long story short: it’s stupidly late.

You’re stupidly tired.

And you’re 98% sure going to dream about baby Yoda and Kylo Ren at this point.

Oh, well. Whatever makes him happy, you guess.

The bedroom is quiet, save for the sound of your breathing trying to settle and the occasional shuffle Jake makes whenever he tugs you closer to him every time you shift in your spot. His arm wraps lazily around your waist, his legs tangled with your own under the ridiculous mountain of blankets you insist on sleeping with (and yet he never complains about), and his face is buried somewhere in your hair, his lips smushed warm against your temple.

It’s warm. It’s tight. It’s a little suffocating.

It’s perfect.

You let out a quiet sigh—soft, sleepy, content—your hand moving up to rest against Jake’s chest as you tuck your head further into the crook of his neck.

“Goodnight, pretty,” Jake whispers, voice low and soft, barely brushing your skin. His fingers comb through your hair absentmindedly, his familiar touch yet leaving a trail of goosebumps every time you feel him. “I love you.”

You smile.

You always do—especially when he says it like that.

Soft, cracked at the edges. Carrying all his emotions and spilling them into those three simple words for you—only for you.

“Mmm,” you hum, sleepily teasing, burrowing deeper into him without answering.

Jake pauses.

You feel his arms tighten around you. His head lifts. His breath hitches.

“Y/N,” he whines, so small and so broken you nearly start laughing into his shirt. “You can’t do that. You can’t not say it back. That’s so evil…you have to say it too.”

He’s fidgeting now, his hand frantically smoothing down your arm like it’ll somehow get the words out of you, “Baby, seriously—I’m not letting you fall asleep without hearing it. Please. Y/N.”

His voice is higher now. The sweet mix of desperation and affection. You swear he might cry.

Or make a PowerPoint.

You pull back just enough to look at him, a smirk on your face and his own expression too pitiful to ignore—eyes wide, pleading, his lips in a pout, and what you swear is a little spark of panic in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re so whipped, Jakey.”

Your fingers reach up to cup his face as you pull up slightly just to get a better look at him. His pout only deepens, and you let out another laugh.

“No, no, baby,” he insists, shaking his head as your thumb brushes his cheek. “I’m not joking. Say it. Just once. Please.”

And then his arms curl tighter around you again, as if holding on for his dear life. And it’s so Jake—the voice, the pout, the way he can’t stand the idea of not hearing you say it back, as if you haven’t said it a million times before.

So completely dorky. So utterly pathetic.

And it makes your heart thump a little harder.

You pretend to think for a second. And then—

“I love you, Jake.”

The words will always slip from your mouth as naturally as breathing.

Soft, warm, and entirely his.

His face instantly lights up, his eyes widening just a little, and you’d think you’d just given him the world (and frankly—you did).

And before you can even process—

Jake immediately pulls you into him, his lips crashing into yours with an intensity that’s almost too much for an easy goodnight kiss.

You giggle against his lips, grabbing onto his shirt for balance, but he’s not having it. He moves his hands to cup your face, desperately holding onto you like he’s going to open his eyes and watch you disappear in an instant.

“Say it again,” his pants, voice a little breathless now, already kissing you again. “Please, please, please—say it again.”

You let out another laugh, pulling back to see how he looks at you with those soft, lovestruck eyes, how his voice is so heartfelt, how he holds you like he can’t get enough of you.

“I love you,” you whisper again. Slow and soft—only meant for him.

He lets out a soft groan before his hand slips to the back of your neck as he kisses you again. Slower this time, more gently—as if savoring this moment.

“I’m so in love with you,” he mutters against your lips, his voice thick with emotion as he finally stops to rest his forehead against yours.

“You’re so dumb,” you whisper, smiling as you kiss him again, quick and so full of love.

“I’m not dumb,” he protests. Another kiss.

“Okay…you’re so whipped,” you tease again, your fingers brushing through his hair as he looks at you with that stupid, goofy smile that you can’t resist.

Jake grins, his eyes crinkling, his hand back to rubbing slow circles on your hip as he holds you impossibly close.

“That I am. And I’m never going to stop.”

<< past || no doubt m. list || next >>

tag list! (open ! // bolded couldn't be added!)

@bluxjun @ki2rins @why-did-i-just-do-this @favoritten @lovialymisc @xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaah @hinryh @ltfirecracker @lov4hoon @taeheexx @niyzu @chunkzdeluluwife @jakeflvrz @fangirl125reader @0429jw @dreamy-carat @yuons @thestarinstarbucks @miszes @llearlert @ppeachyttae @hoomin10 @teddybeartaetae @tanisha2060 @therealmrsbahng @beomgyu-bears @ikeulove @jiyeons-closet @youngheejay @wxnderingthoughts @fuevrois @soobundle1009 @isoobie @enhypenova @zoemeltigloos @lizdevorak @deluluscenarios @bloomiize @hasuyv @ijustwannareadstuff20 @veilstqr @dreamiestay @jakeyyyjakexoxo

[4sseong]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⋆ BEDROOM FOR GOOD GIRLS ONLY — lee donghyuck

exhibitionist-bf!haechan & fem!readerㅤ⭑ ⚝ . drabble — 492 wordsㅤㅤㅤlikes ; reblogs ; comments are appreciated ! requests & taglist open !

ㅤㅤsyn:the second this menace pulled the curtains aside just to slip in beside you, saying he just wants to see the clothes freshly pulled on you, there was more behind that already not so innocent statement and you felt it, but did you resist? absolutely no.ㅤㅤ୭౿ㅤㅤㅤwarnings:smut [mdni] , [public] fingering , dirty talk , slight degrading , pet names , squirting , getting caught , not proofread , sorry if missed anything & for the possible mistakes

ㅤ”so, so dumb for me, right, pretty? no thoughts, only my fingers, hm?” he cooed, the gentle facade fitting perfectly on him against the harsh tug on your throbbing clit, making your jolt up against the thin wall behind you. the curtain so often lifted with every single move outside by passersby, the faint rustling of his hands under your clothes not contained at all.

he let out a feigned gasp in surprise.

“careful, baby, don’t bump your head now..” the feigned care in his tone made you want to yell or even kick him, was through the roof.

how could he stay so calm, so silent, so composed, — so put together, while you were here, your juices drenching up your pushed aside panties, hot trickling down your thighs, and even wetting up the floor underneath you.

“stop— stop— they’re gonna hear—” squeezing your eyes shut with a silent moan slipping past your wobbling lips, the grin curling at the corner of his mouth while making a faint, sneering scoff, like it wasn’t his fault.

like all of this wasn’t his idea.

saying you’ll go out shopping, and the generous boyfriend he is, he helps you pick whatever really suits you.

except you should’ve known that if something can go wrong, it will go wrong eventually, after all, we’re talking about lee haechan.

“calm down, baby, you really wanna soak everything around you now?” the question mocked you, while two of his digits ruthlessly pumped in and out continuously, the small, sensitive spot abused over and over again.

your body jerked up with every prodding, your stomach twisting into another type of warmth, the coil tight and threatening to snap at any moment.

“h—hyuck— i think— wait i—” unintelligible babbles mixed with your strained moans before you finally exploded over his hand with a hot gush of wetness spraying out and dirty everything—mostly him and splashing to the ground.

a low, satisfied growl vibrated deep within his chest, eyes sternly fixated on his own little messy fountain; you. fingers slipped out with an obscene squelch, continuously landing gentle yet firm smack over your pussy as you trembled through you orgasm, still very much in a changing booth.

ears ringing, chest rising in uneven breaths, eyes half lidded from pleasure as haechan, hands already fixing your clothing hastily, muttering things about “being loud” and “staying inside too long” and “being caught,” which your foggy brain couldn’t even comprehend as sentences at the moment.

few moments later, you found yourself under the store’s white, blinding light yet again, but with crumpled up clothes, out of breath, and an uncomfortable state hiding under your panties.

the individual rushing in front of you and dragging you by your wrist decided you do not require new tops. a thorough pounding, actually.

and the lady you two bolt by, with their eyebrows sitting close, confused, lips in a thin line, probably — absolutely knew what happened.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble 1. two truths & a lie

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. the power goes out at gojo's house due to a storm, and he comes up with a way to pass the time in the dark. (note: for new readers, this drabble is for my long fic gojo x reader series “in holy matriphony”!! you can find the masterlist here)

ᰔ genre/tags. a little fluffy, a little sad, and a lil revealing.

ᰔ chapter. drabble #1

ᰔ words. 2.6k

a/n. hi my ihm lovelies!! welcome to this silly little drabble i wrote, i tried to keep it under 1k words i swear lol but alas i yap. much love to the anon who suggested a prompt where the power goes out at gojo’s house, i did change the prompt a little bit but i loooove this premise!! it's one of my favesss. i could picture this drabble taking place sometime when reader n gojo are pretty early on into their fake marriage arrangement and are kind of getting situated w one another! perhaps before chapter 4 or something :) hope you enjoyy. these drabbles are just for the vibes btw

nav. masterlist :: playlist

“Oh for fucks sake, please don’t tell me I didn’t charge these things,” you hear Gojo say in the pitch black darkness, along with the sound of his palm smacking against the metal of his fancy LED flashlights that he was so excited to bring out in the moment of truth against the power outtage of the storm that was pitter-pattering just outside the windows.

You’ve got your arms crossed, a frown on your face but it doesn’t matter because he can’t see it anyways, and wait impatiently for him to provide some sort of lighting inside the living room that wasn’t the dim opal of the distant streetlights blurred by the rain.

“I’m so happy I’ve found out sooner rather than later that I should not choose you as my zombie apocalypse partner,” you comment just to bruise his ego.

“What zombie apocalypse?” he asks while he shakes his flashlights as if that would magically make them work, entirely distracted by the action to the point where he sounds like he genuinely believes there’s some zombie apocalypse he wasn’t made aware of.

You roll your eyes to display your annoyance. But again, doesn’t matter, since he’s not privy to it in the dark. 

There’s a bright flash of lightning, illuminating the house briefly, where you see a snapshot of Gojo standing in front of you in his long sleeve and plaid cotton pants, the image of a man who was just seconds away from getting some shuteye before he heard you scream from the bathroom because the lights went out while you were showering. And then there’s the growl of low thunder somewhere in the distance.

You’re shivering as your still-damp hair brushes against the nape of your neck. It had barely been a week since you formally started living with Gojo in this little fake marriage arrangement, and to say it was an adjustment of different personalities was an understatement. With a heavy sigh, you take a blind step forward towards what you believe is the direction of the kitchen.

“Let’s just grab some candles—”

Unfortunately for you, the hem of your floor-length gown gets caught on the corner of the loveseat, and you’re tripping over your own feet with a small gasp leaving your lips, bracing for the impact of the floor but you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist, keeping you from—…ah, it appears you were actually about to plop headfirst onto the glass of the coffee table.

“Oh shit—” Gojo huffs, and you feel the warmth of his chest against your back as he pulls you towards him to stabilize you, and the contact makes your breath hitch. 

“S-Satoru, let go of me,” you say, scrambling in his hold like an anxiously avoidant cat.

He lets go of you, and you stand up straight and turn to face him, at least you think you’re facing him, and say with genuine curiosity, “how did you know what my exact physical coordinates were so you could grab me before I split my skull open??”

There’s a second of a pause like he’s questioning his own reflexes too. “I don’t know…I just… knew?”

You blink at him wide-eyed, and then jump a little from the loud crack of thunder that rattles the windows.

With the minimal lighting provided by Gojo’s phone screen, a commodity you both seek to preserve because he’s on 2% and your phone has long since died since it was already only on 7% before you had even hopped in the shower, you both make it to the kitchen and Gojo fishes out some wick candles in the back of his cupboards, some really waxy bright pink ones that Juno apparently made in school and then gifted to him.

“Alright, here,” he says, handing you a lighted candle placed in a candle holder, and you carefully wrap your index finger around the handle. “And can you just stay still real quick for me?”

“Huh?” you blink at him.

He lifts his phone up and snaps a photo of you with flash, then looks down at the screen with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Sweet.” And then his smile drops. “Oh shit. Phone’s dead.”

“Satoru.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You did not just use up the battery of our last source of communication to the outside world just to take a picture.”

“But you just look so much like Ebeneezer Scrooge right now, it’s so uncanny—”

You gasp, glancing down at your attire, and then at the candle in your hand. “Give me that—” You grit through your teeth to try and grab his phone from him to delete the picture, even though you know you can’t, both because his phone’s dead but also he’s easily tall enough to hold it well out of your reach as you just hear him laugh to himself while you’re cursing out his whole ancestry in your head.

The night ticks on as you two light a few more candles to illuminate the downstairs area at least. The storm outside the windows only seems to pick up in severity, with whistling winds harassing the glass of the windows, along with the harsh downpour of rain that almost seems neverending.

“You know, we can cuddle if you’re scared,” Gojo teases as he brushes past you to grab another candle.

You roll your eyes at him, and this time he can see it. “I’m not scared of a stupid little storm, Sato—”

A loud boom of thunder reverberates before you can finish your sentence, rattling the windows and the walls, and you yelp as you jump in your skin.

You stiffly glance up at Gojo and see him with a quirked brow and a grin on his face, and you let out a puff of air in annoyance.

He walks towards you. “Just know that the offer always stands.” And then he’s shuffling his feet towards the coffee table in the living room. You watch him as he sits down criss-cross on the floor in front of it, setting down his lukewarm cup of coffee before he takes a sip from it and glances towards the window.

You sigh and make your way over there too, and sit down neatly across from him, smoothing over the fabric of your nightgown with an anxious feeling in your bones.

“So,” he says, his face warmly illuminated in shadows by the minimal candle light, “how should we pass the time?”

“I’d prefer any option that involves not having to talk to you.”

He places his palms on the floor and slides them behind him before leaning back onto them. “Charades then?”

“Oh my god, you really never get the hint, do you?”

“What hint?”

“I. Don’t. Like. You.”

“Oh come on. You don’t even know me.”

Your eyes blink wide at that. “What do you mean?”

“The reason you don’t like me is because you’ve never made an effort to get to know me, y/n.”

“I find it awfully pretentious of you to assume that I would like you just on the basis of getting ‘to know’ you better.”

He tilts his head at that. “Yeah? Isn’t that how things usually work? You know, you find out the person sitting across from you is also just as human as you are because you find out that their favorite color is mustard and that they broke a bone or two in middle school.”

“Please don’t tell me that your favorite color is mustard.”

“No, it’s green. But I did fracture my distal radius in the eight grade.” His brow furrows slightly, as if some thought passes his mind, and then he sits up straight. “I’ve got it, let’s play two truths and a lie.” He says it like he’s just discovered the solution to a problem that you didn’t even know existed.

“I haven’t played that since I was in high school.”

“Me neither," he says, “that’s what makes it fun. So much more material to cover now.”

Your lip tips upward in a small pout, and your shoulders sulk. You’re not really sure if you have that much material to cover. The past six or so years, you’ve just been spending taking care of your mom. You imagine for someone who lives a life as normal as Gojo’s, he must’ve spent the past six years collecting life experiences, or crossing things off of bucket lists. Stuff that makes for interesting conversation. You usually run a blank on stuff like that when anyone asks you, so what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?

“I’ll go first,” he offers, “alright.” He holds his thumb out of his fist, “I’ve never had braces,” he holds his index finger out, “never had a cavity,” he holds his middle finger out, “and my dentist got arrested for extortion a couple months ago.”

You blink at him. “…why are they all related to dentistry?”

“Huh?” He furrows his brow at you. “Aren’t they supposed to have a theme or something?”

“Whaaaatt?? That’s how you played growing up?”

“Yeah.”

Your interest is piqued, and you lean forward. “That’s interesting.” 

You squint your eyes at him. His teeth are too perfect to have not had braces…but also, no cavities? With the amount of sugar he eats? Bullshit…somehow his dentist getting arrested was the least surprising thing.

“I’m gonna say,” you start, “that you’ve had braces.”

He shakes his head. “Vandalism. He got arrested for vandalism.”

“No cavities?! How?!”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Just never had one.”

You sigh, and perch your elbow on the table before dropping your chin onto your palm as you look at him. 

“Alright, your turn,” he says, grabbing the handle of his coffee mug to take a sip, throughout which he doesn’t break eye contact with you.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth briefly. “Um. I’ve…never been skydiving. Keanu Reeves follows me on Twitter. And…” You think to yourself. “I’ve thought about murdering you many times.”

He pokes his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m gonna hope it’s that last one.”

“I would never experience another sad emotion in my life if Keanu Reeves actually followed me on anything, so.”

“You’ve thought about murdering me?? y/n.” He deadpans your name, as if to scold.

You shrug. “You annoy me sometimes.”

“Have I always annoyed you?”

“It’s your turn, Satoru.”

He frowns, and lets out a deep exhale as he scratches the back of his neck as if he’s struggling to let the topic go, but then he sighs. “Uh.” His voice sounds deeper with a bit more of a drag. “I, uh, I once owned a pet tarantula…I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket, and…I’ve never broken a bone.”

“It’s that last one.”

“Yeah. Damn, pretty good.”

“Satoru, you literally just told me you broke your distal radius in eighth grade.”

“Did I? Oh.”

You narrow your gaze at him, and study his distant expression. He seems awfully distracted, ever since you confessed that you find him pretty annoying. And there’s a part of you that feels a little bad about it.

“Okay, my turn,” you say, and you breathe in deep, “I…was voted prom queen twice in high school. I once won a county-wide speed-reading contest. And—” You lick your lips briefly. “And you haven’t always annoyed me.”

“Okay. This time, I really hope it’s not that last one.”

You nod, a small smile on your face. “It wasn’t county-wide. It was state-wide.”

He grins, leaning forward. “That’s really cool.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder. “What can I say. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish never stood a chance.”

He’s looking at you intently now, whereas you would’ve otherwise expected some sort of laugh from him at your faux cockiness, instead he just looks like he’s deep in thought once again. And then he’s leaning back into a neutral spine, that tongue poking to the inside of his cheek again boyishly. Cute, you think to yourself. You both were grown adults, but it felt like you were at a high school camping retreat and managed to sneak away some alone time with that boy in your grade that teases you at the top of every homeroom who you swear you despise but secretly giggle about when you’re scribbling in your diary during lunch period.

“Your turn,” you say, somewhat impatiently, because you find yourself wanting to know more. 

“Okay,” he says, “my favorite color’s mustard, I’ve got blue eyes, and you remember around the time we first met and I asked you if you wanted to come with me to that wine tasting event my brokerage firm was hosting?”

You blink at him, and slowly nod.

“Well, that was supposed to be a date,” he says, “I was asking you out.”

Your eyes grow wide, mouth slightly agape as you stare at him. 

“But, uh, I guess I should’ve been more direct, considering you brought three of our other neighbors with you.” He leans backwards onto his palms again. “I mean, of course, it was also before I knew you had a boyfriend.” He swipes the back of his hand underneath his chin. “And before I realized I probably shouldn’t be asking my neighbor out on a date in my first week of moving to a completely different state.” His shoulders drop slightly, and the flicker of the flame in between the two of you reflects off of his eyes. “But, I don’t know. I just remember thinking how interesting you were. And fun to talk to. I couldn’t help myself.” 

You feel your cheeks warm, and your heart is beating fast. So fast. Not attributed to the rain or the storm, but to the confession. And perhaps some of it was melancholy, this odd feeling that wafts through you, that wonders, how different would things be if you weren’t still with Choso when Gojo moved in next door. Or how different things would be if you were a little better at reading social cues, or not abusing the rules of a plus one to a social event. Or how different things would be if you were the happier version of yourself, a version that went extinct exactly five years ago when a small mass was found in your mother’s lungs.

You swallow hard. “You’re right,” you say, “you should’ve been more direct.” 

“You were seeing someone, y/n.” It was sound reasoning, sure. The fact that even if he had been more direct, it wouldn’t change the fact that you would’ve had to politely decline.

But your gaze shifts down towards the surface of the coffee table, to the melting candle of hot pink wax, and you repeat yourself—

“You should’ve been more direct.”

The whirring of the fridge comes to life first, then the beep of the microwave, before the entire house illuminates with light so suddenly it almost makes you jump from the shift in ambience. You look at a now fully-lit Gojo, who’s staring at you with questioning eyes, like he’s still left in the trance of the darkness from a few moments ago rather than accepting the fact that there is now light. And you clear your throat as you stand up onto your feet.

“Lovely.” You clap your hands together. “I can go back to…whatever the hell I was doing before the power went out,” you say. And whatever person you were before the power went out, too.

You shuffle your feet towards the stairs, but then Gojo says, “wait.”

“Hm?”

“So…just for my peace of mind…you don’t still think about murdering me, right?” he says.

You blink at him. “Mm. We’re done playing here, Satoru. We’ll have to save it for the next time the power goes out.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of drabble 1. ‘two truths & a lie’]

a/n. tysm for reading! and once again ty to the anon who suggested this prompt!! :'') and tysm to everyone who sent drabble prompts in they're so cute and i can't wait to write them!! i did mention this briefly but i will save some of them for later when ihm couple are officially together since i think the prompts will be super cuuuter that way lol i feel like i'm writing w my hands tied behind my back for drabbles because ihm couple aren't officially together yettt 🤣..... and i have no one to blame for that except myself 😞😞 anywho, i plan to release some more drabbles this week for ihm. i know i said i'd take a break from writing but i was just itching to write something, but i also didn't want to dive into s2 for ihm just yet because i def need a lil break from the main storyline, so i thought i'd do some drabbles. these are pretty low stakes n easy to write n i have a lot of fun w them. i remember i enjoyed writing the kickoff drabbles so i wanted to write some for ihm now that s1 is over :) i wasn't sure if my main ihm taglist wanted to be tagged in drabbles too but if you'd like to be tagged in drabbles as well feel free to comment under this post :') i'll tag you for the next ones! sm lovee <3

☾·̩͙꙳ masterlist :: playlist :: ao3 link

[yeyinde]

(sighs dreamily) i loooove the way you write fucked up and gross simon. the size kink and somno drabbles have been living rent free in my mind for almost two weeks now. the recent stalker piece was also so deliciously terrifying, i actually had a dream/nightmare today that was a mixture of stalker!ghost and not-dog!soap 😭

are you planning on writing any more for either of those?

ahhh thank you!!!! this had me wondering how i could maybe blend the two and this happened.

stalking. HEAVILY implied noncon somno. size difference.

Simon decides your dog, your baby, needs a man in the house. and since you like to call yourself his 'mama,’ then it’s only right that he becomes the daddy both of you need.

Your dog does not like strangers.

He's a rescue and the sort of life he lived until now, until you, is mostly a mystery. You found him on a rainy day, panting under your awning - a gnarled mess of matted fur glued to bone. Too skinny to survive another winter. You took him in right away and gained his trust. His love. But whatever he had left to spare (lots, it seems) is strictly reserved for you. Everyone else is a threat, a worry. Even the vets he's known since you found him all those years ago still get the same wary glances, the same growls then they lean in too close to whisper something in your ear.

He's just—special. The sweetest thing ever when it's just you. Your baby. People joke—slightly nervous—that he treats you like his mother. Following you closely with his big, glossy eyes tilted up to stare at you. Loving. Cuddly. Rests his big head on your lap at night with a great, big sigh. Tired from a long, hard day of protecting his house from squirrels and the stray delivery driver.

But when it comes to others—anyone, really—he’s aggressive. Territorial. All the vets and trainers say that it's his breed. That he just needs to be trained. Exposure therapy. Behavioural. And it works for all of two weeks before he's back to his stubborn self. Snapping at anyone who gets too close to you.

You post warnings on your fence. Your front door. Take precautions when you walk him. Warn anyone who gets close that he doesn't like anyone. Full stop. No exceptions. And it works. Helps ease the stress. He still goes to therapy. To training lessons. But he's smart enough to trick them into thinking he's learning.

And it's fine. People can't get too close to you. To his house. His territory.

Or so you thought.

But he's been acting strange lately.

You caught him barking at something through the fence a few months ago; spittle flying from his muzzle as his lips peeled back, snarling and vicious. If the fence wasn't reinforced, you think he would have broken it down to get at whatever was behind it.

It continued like this for a few days. Each time you went to check and see what was there, all you find is littered cigarettes. The teenage son of your neighbour, you think. He likes to hide in the dense woods so his parents can't find him. You'll talk to him about it later. Ask if he can do it a little further away from the fence so he isn’t disturbing Baby. 

As the days grow, his growls and snarls diminish before stopping outright. In the interim, your unease grows.

It's small—at first. 

He wants to be outside more. Always whining at the back door, scratching at it with his paw. When you let him out, he runs right to that spot by the fence. Sits down, and just stares. When you go out to look, there's nothing there. Just a dark, sprawling coppice. Cigarettes on the ground. But something catches his attention. Keeps it. Holds it.

He leads you to that spot sometimes, too. Nudges you with his big, furry head to your thighs. Shepherding you to the fence, and then sits back, clearly preening. Proud.

"You're mama’s silly boy, aren't you?" you coo, scratching his ears. It must be the neighbour. Maybe a stray deer wandered by. You catch a flash through the tree line. Twin puddles of black peering through the tangled weeds. Your dog perks up, looking towards it. A deer, you think. A stray buck. You huff, patting his head. "Made a new friend, huh?"

But you can't shake the feeling that something else is out there. That something is staring at you.

Nothing, you tell yourself, fighting off a shiver. It's fine. Fine. He sneaks off at night sometimes. You hear him playing in the hallway. Wandering around the house. The tack-tack-tack of his nails against the hardwood as he walks back to your bedroom lulls you back to sleep. You feel the bed dip. Something warm against your back. You sigh, melting into the sheets—

There's nothing to worry about.

He'll protect you.

But the next morning, you find him locked outside. The patio door shut. The deck is dried from the sun, but his fur is wet. It rained last night. You drifted in and out to the patter of it on your window. The soothing weight of his body curling around you—

He must have gotten out in the morning. Rolled around in the grass. But when you put him in the tub later to scrub the rainwater off of his cost, his belly is dry.

It's nothing. He was in bed with you last night. It's fine. Fine. Everything is easy to explain away as coincidence. Nothing usual. The feeling of being watched. The missing food from your fridge. The creaks of the old house at night. Things shifting around—keys missing only to turn up somewhere else. Rodents chewing through your landline. 

The panties you shed, tossing into a corner before getting into the shower going missing—

They’re just—lost in the wash. You must have thrown the leftover food away when you cleaned earlier and forgot. The lingering scent of cigarettes. Smoke in your bed. The cloying scent of loam, humus. Fresh dirt. The stains on your bed. The strange smear in the gusset of your panties when you peel them apart.

Something thick, firm between your thighs—

Fine. You tell yourself. Everything is fine. At best, it's a gas leak. At worst—well.

Baby will protect you. 

Always. 

But the next day, he brings his favourite toy to the back door, asking to be let out, and this isn't—

It's not normal.

He's possessive over his toys. Keeps them on his daybed and refuses to let anyone touch them. Only you. He doesn't bring the. Outside, either.

But when you peer outside a few minutes later, the toy is lying by that spot near the fence. He's sitting down, tail wagging. Happy. Excited. It continues like this for the next few days. He brings his toys to the fence, coming in later, licking his lips. When you brush his teeth at night, you smell something gamey on his breath. Meaty. 

Getting out of bed a few hours later and playing in the hallway. Going to sleep with you at night, but somehow getting out in the early hours of the morning, waiting for you on the patio when you remember the huff of his breath over your neck less than an hour ago—

No. You're just—

Getting the time wrong. It's fine. He'll protect you. He doesn't like anyone but you.

You hear footsteps in the hallway at night next to the click-clack of his nails. When you jump out of bed to check, it's just him. Sitting by the back door, head craned over his shoulder when he heard you coming. His favourite toy is sitting on the ground in front of him. You fight a shiver. The feeling of eyes burning into you churns your stomach.

"I'm going crazy, sweetheart," you coo, but feel the threads of your sanity begin to snap one by one. "But you'll keep me safe, right?"

His tail wags. You pretend not to notice the gap in the patio door. Opened just a crack. You shut it, forcibly telling yourself to remember to close it next time and fight the memories of locking it before settling on the couch to watch old re-runs. You drag him back to bed, burrowing your head into his fur, listening to the thud-thud-thud of his heart in your ear. 

When you dream that night, it's of a big, scarred hand making its way between your thighs. A rasping, masculine voice in your ear commanding you to be good—

You wake up with your thighs sticky, wet. Your cunt pulsing. There's an ache there; a sting. It twinges when you move, tapering into a sore throb as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, woken up by the strange dream—fingers between your thighs, a head resting on your belly, calling you a good girl—and a noise.

A low murmur comes from the living room. You wince with the first several steps, forcing yourself to ignore the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs. The wetness that drips down your leg, some of it already dried, sticking to your skin. It’s fine. You just had a—

A wet dream.

—everything is fine. Fine. Your heart lurches. Lodges in your throat. Each beat feels like a fist against your tissue trying to break down the prison of your flesh to flee. 

You slowly inch toward the hallway, the sound, making excuses for the fear that curdles in your belly. The itch in the back of your head that calls you stupid. Demands you go back to bed. To sleep. You’ll wake up in the morning to Baby slobbering over your chest, drooling as the time ticks away in a slow crawl towards his usual breakfast. 

It’s tempting. The sleep congealing in the corners of your eyes, weighing heavy—molasses-thick—over your sense of awareness: cobwebbed in that strange, uncanny realm of sleep and wakefulness; hypnagogia turning shadows on the walls into human shapes. The whisper of wind into the brassy drawl of a voice. 

Through it all, the prickle rears. Says something isn't right. Hasn't been right for a while now. It's fine. Everything is—

It doesn't make sense at first. Your brain tries to wrap around the images your eyes feed it. Untangling the dizzying sense of confusion that runs along your hindbrain like a jagged knife; grazing tissue, scraping over nerves. The picture comes together quickly. There's no misinterpreting the shapes.

A man is lounging on your couch. Legs kicked up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The remote is held in one hand as he lazily flicks through the channels on your television screen. The picture of ease. So relaxed, so comfortable in your space, that you begin to feel a little bit like an intruder. A voyeur peering between the curtains.

This feeling is reinforced when you peel your eyes away from the horrifying mask on the man's face—a black balaclava—and find your dog lounging beside him. Resting with his head over this stranger's thick thighs. His head perks up when you approach, tail wagging, but he doesn't get up from his spot. Content to bask in the half-hearted attention the man doles, a hand buried in his fur. Dragging over his ears. Down his back. Monotonous flicks of his thick wrist, nearly the same width as the barrel of a baseball bat.

And that just trembles down your spine in the worst way.

He's the same height as you are sitting down. Takes up two cushions on the couch with his absurd bulk. Massive, you think. And then it all rushes through you. The knife slips into your cognisance.

There's a man in your house. Petting your dog,

your dog who tries to bite the same vet he's had for years. Who trusts, who likes, no one but you—

You make a noise. Something strangled in the back of your throat. Muffed, unable to escape through the clot of your heart getting there first. It tangles around your pericardium and is too late to take back. To swallow down. 

It doesn’t matter, though. 

The man has been watching from the beginning. 

Dark eyes (a dark, black flash between the leaves—) drill into you. Staring. That familiar, unease feeling is back again, creeping up your spine. It's been him the whole time, you know. The thing behind the fence. Must be. The same brand of cigarettes you found on the opposite side is sitting on your coffee table, right beside his feet.

His chest expands with his inhale. You smell stale smoke. Something wild. The scent of the forest after a summer's rain shower.

"Finally up, are you? Thought you were gonna sleep all day." His voice is deep. Brassy. The growling roll of an approaching thundercloud. You shiver. Jerk back, but—

Baby growls.

He's never done that before. Never barked. Never snarled. Never nipped.

But right now, his teeth peel back, muzzle wrinkling as he lifts his lips. And you know it's playful. Seen this look on his face when you throw the ball across the yard. It's just him being his silly self. He won't attack you. Won't maul you. 

The man lifts his hand and your dog limbers up. Shakes. He jumps off the couch and trots toward you. Nothing is threatening in the way he moves. It's the same lumbering gait, the same happy wag to his tail, but he moves himself around you. Stands between you and the only escape.

"Baby—?"

"Taught 'im a few tricks," the man drawls conversationally—like he wasn't a stranger in your house. "Got a good boy on your 'ands. Jus' needed a bit o'trainin'—”

He snaps his fingers and Baby moves. Bumps his head into the back of your thighs. Pushing you. Nudging you toward the man. It’s so horrifying familiar that you find yourself moving without a thought. Following along. 

"He jus' needed a man in the house, didn't he? A father figure—" 

You're going to be sick. Think you would have been already if your heart wasn't lodged tight in your throat, keeping everything down. 

The man lifts his hand. Curls his fingers. 

"C'mon, mommy," he taunts, voice a derisive roll. "Come sit on Daddy's lap. It's movie night tonight."

Baby pushes you forward happily, tail wagging, wagging—

Happier than you’ve ever seen him as this stranger reaches out, grabbing your waist and hauling you onto his lap. You think about fighting immediately, struggling to get out of his hold, but he moves back and the unmistakable, blunt press of a gun sends shivers rolling down your spine. You still instantly. Back drawing tight. Fear is a wet, hot pulse behind your ribs. 

“Don’t fight it, birdie—” You feel the warm, damp press of his mask against the shell of your ear. The ridges of his lips move beneath the fabric as he speaks. 

You hear him inhale, drawing in the scent of your shampoo—your fear: an oily thick miasma pooling behind your ears, against your nape—and feel tears pool against your lashline when a surge of familiarity wells up at the solid, firm weight of his chest against your spine. His thigh slips between yours, spreading them wide over the arch of his muscle. Limp, dizzy, you fall back into his chest when he pulls you in, slotting a burly arm over your ribcage. Locked in tight. A shackle. 

“Ain’t go’ nothin’ t’worry about,” he continues, hips shifting. Moving. And—

It’s a not gun. You know it isn’t. When you whimper, it throbs—

There’s the echo of a groan in his voice when he huffs, lips pursing into a kiss. “Nothin’ at all. C’mon, Baby—” 

And Baby obeys eagerly, jumping up on the couch beside him. His snout is warm, wet, when he presses it to your arm, sniffing. Please, you think, staring into his eyes as tears swell, pooling down your cheeks. Please—

But the man lifts his arm, and Baby circles the cushion before falling against his side with a deep, content sigh. Hope is snuffed out of your chest in an instant. The man’s hand falls to his head, rubbing his skull affectionately. 

“Good boy.” Baby perks. His happiness is a palpable thing that swells around you as he melts, eyes slipping closed. “Gonna be a good boy while mum an’ dad spend some time together, ain't you, boy?”

His arm tightens around your waist. Chin notches over your shoulder as he shifts back, legs kicking out to spread your thighs further apart.

"Now," he drawls, hand sliding down to the mess between your thighs. You shiver against him, toying with the idea of running, fleeing—but he must know. Senses it, maybe. He lifts his hips, pressing the gun into your spine. A threat. A warning. But with the way he swallows you up—broad chest closing in on you, trapping you on all sides—you know it's futile.

He has you.

Your submission makes him purr.

"Baby's sleepin', so now let daddy take care'o mommy—"

[moonlight-prose]

taste me on your tongue

a/n: guess who's gonna go see deadpool and wolverine again. last night i was battling a migraine, but at around midnight it finally fucking disappeared. so i wrote a small drabble that i'd been dreaming about to make myself feel better. it's short and spicy and i'm actually obsessed with it.

summary: the taste of him became an addiction you couldn't ignore. especially when he was adamant on sharing it in multiple ways.

word count: 0.8k+

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: semi-explicit, shotgunning, cigar taste, make out sessions, dry humping, his hand makes a pretty necklace, good girl usage, logan is messy with it.

His grip is loose on your neck—fingers splayed across soft skin he'd bite later. Heavy enough to keep you in place, remind you what he wanted, but with enough leeway for you to move. To slide into his lap with ease—hands braced on his leather clad shoulders. A smile painted across your heavenly face; one he tried to burn behind his eyelids in the hopes of replacing his nightmares with visions of you instead.

The cigar was set between his teeth, smoke curling past his lips that mumbled your name. He half expected you to remove it—toss it into the ash tray and leave it to smolder for the rest of the night. You surprised him by pressing your lips to the corner of his mouth. A pleased sigh escaped you when he pulled you closer—the evident bulge on his jeans gave enough information about what he wanted.

"Ain't you pretty tonight," he said, thumb running along your collarbone. "Get all dolled up for me baby?"

You nodded. "I wanted to meet you at the door."

"Mm." Whatever plans the two of you set flew out the front fucking window the second he saw you prancing towards him—a soft smile on your face and hearts practically reflecting in your eyes. "Prettiest fuckin' thing I've ever seen."

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip, hips shifting over his with a whine. And Logan felt his body beg him to move this along. To strip you of your clothes and drop them to the ground. He merely spread his thighs a bit wider, forcing your legs to stretch over his hips—your fingers a sharp dig through the layers he wore.

"I missed you today."

"Yeah?"

What he wouldn't give to see that look in your eyes every fucking morning. Soft enough to break his already damaged heart. Yet filled with enough love to put it back together.

"This place is empty without you Logan."

There'd never be anything sweeter than knowing he held a spot in your life. Days without him left you longing for his touch—his voice whispering in your ears. Logan felt like an anchor. A reminder that you belonged right there with him; you weren't lost in your place in the world when he existed to find you. Although whether you knew it or not—Logan felt the exact same about you.

"'M gonna try somethin'," he said, voice hoarse as he pictured what would come after this. "Hold still for me bub."

His calloused palm slid up your throat until he gripped your chin tight enough for your lips to part. Heat pooled in your stomach when he tugged you closer—his nose barely nudging against your cheek. You thought he'd kiss you like this. Still puffing on a cigar and lips tinged with the taste of it.

You almost wished he had.

The sight of his lips closing around the end, sucking in a mouthful of smoke, before he pulled it free caused your stomach to drop—the throbbing in between your legs suddenly unbearable. You wouldn't have been able to ignore it if you tried. And thankfully Logan was always adamant on giving your body the attention it needed.

The attention he claimed you deserved.

Pushing your cheeks together, he brushed his lips over yours in a kiss. A whimper climbed its way up your throat and nearly broke free. If it weren't for the smoke he blew into your open mouth—the taste of his cigar now a part of your sharp intake of breath.

"That's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned.

Giving you no chance to respond, his lips clashed against yours in a messy kiss. The smoke that remained now escaping between the two of you—disappearing into the air within seconds. His tongue licked across your teeth, spit a wet smear along your bottom lip. For the brief second he pulled away, shifting to cup the back of your neck, a string of saliva left the both of you connected.

You took it all. Each rough grunt and deep lick he gave you. And you met him with soft sighs and moans of your own.

"Can I have another?" you asked against his cheek, hips starting a slow grind against his lap.

Logan's whole body jolted at the sound—his breath, a hot pant against the skin of your neck. He was lucky he didn't finish in his pants at your question. Yet before he could give you a straight answer, he was shoving the cigar back in his mouth—pulling in another long drag to gather as much smoke as possible.

How could he deny you something so sinful? When you asked like an angel.

"C'mere," he muttered around a mouthful of smoke. Careful to keep it from escaping.

You smiled, fingers tangling into his hair, and met him halfway for the kiss. Logan felt a piece of himself settle deep into your chest—forever now a part of you.

don't look at me okay. i just want him to blow smoke in my mouth.

[hyhkai]

camboy! | c.yj.

[ 🎥 ] — after yeonjun's rise in the porn industry, an interview was something he agreed to for fun. however, after he saw you, the interviewer, he wished it was a fake interview where he gets to fuck you.

cw : pornstar!yeonjun. unedited word vomit fictional magazine company that apparently also exists in real life.

a/n ; i apologize for my sins i swear I'll change 🙏🏼 and this is a drabble, not a fic! i might turn it into one over time ♡

after you reached out to him a few weeks ago with greetings and compliments, and asking can I interview you some time? I'd like to know what it's like to be a person who earns through the adult industry, and with your fame, I know that you're just the right person., his first, honest reaction was to laugh. i mean, seriously?

he was laughing at the irony of the fact that he was being interviewed. i mean, who was willing enough to take out time of their busy, hectic schedule to interview a man who earns bread by having a dildo inside of him? he had to know. he wanted to know what this person was like.

he did think that this could be completely false and you could be a potential threat, trying to lure him into your little cage with cheese like he's a fucking rat, capture him and do bad things to him like he'd heard with various nefarious acts of people against people with 'easy' fame.

"can I get proof that you're actually an interviewer?"

to which he immediately got a response with a photo of a xerox copy of your identification document, namely at a popular company called mode de vie. he could see the black and white ink that framed the photo stuck on the top right corner, and he knew that he had to see that fucking face in real life. if that's how you look in a awfully captured picture, so captivating, bold, and confidence outlining your eyes in the form of sharp eyeliner, he had to see that face in front of him, asking him questions about his body count or something else he doesn't give two shits about.

he'd said sure to your offer almost immediately now that he saw that it was a real interviewer after him. and now that it was time, he drove to the place where you both agreed to be at — a café which was relatively close to his house and your office.

"I'm glad you came!" you said as you shook his hand that would eventually get sweaty from just sitting opposite to you. what the fuck? he seriously considered telling you to quit this stupid, serious job and just join him in his public sex life. you were stunning.

now that he saw your hair open, framing your face, and that fucking sharp-ass eyeliner, he was mad that he didn't dress up nicely and instead came in a hoodie. who wants to miss a chance of getting a baddie?

he thanked the lords he'd long forgotten when you told him this is just an audio based interview which will later be turned into a text format.

while you continued asking him questions about everything, from "fuck-a-fan" to "how did your mother find out?", he'd needed to ask you to repeat your questions several times. his eyes kept drifting down, down to your chest.

'why the fuck are you wearing a top so low-cut? is it to provoke me or something?' he'd think. he legitimately wants to put his hand on the table, pushing himself towards you and grabbing one of your tits. it's pissing him off he can't.

okay, so maybe he was a pervert like one of his friends liked to say. but it wasn't his fault when you were asking him questions about his sex life while looking at him with those eyes that were possibly tearing his clothes off.

in his world, that is.

'do you want to fuck me too, or am I trippin'?'

he knew he had to keep his filthy hands, his filthy thoughts, to himself. c'mon, it's a fucking interview, yeonjun. grow up. you've had plenty of girls and guys to fuck in your life. from small and petite, to taller than you. from fucking someone to getting fucked. you've done it all. why are you so captivated by this woman?

maybe it was the way you had your makeup done that had him wishing he could see it smeared all over with a new makeup product; his cum, or maybe it was your tits that were practically begging to be the thing he shoves his face in tonight. but no, it was the way you carried yourself.

there was this... this aura, this radiation of confidence that was magnetic enough for him to be pulled to you.

under the table, he was practically going to rub one out. he kept adjusting his pants, kept palming his dick that was straining against his pants and standing up against his thoughts of not fucking you ever.

ugh, just how fucking good you'd look on his bed, and he swears he could go above his rounds per fucking streak of 4 with you; from classic missionary to the amazon position, from sixty-nine to his foot on your face while he fucked your ass from the back. fuck, he'd even let you peg him, something he's always refused to do.

just how good you'd look while sliding your strap-on inside of him, his eyes going wide, as well as your smile at the sight of his pretty face. he thinks you'd like some crazy songs playing in the background, similar to the vibe of playboi carti.

fuck, he'd hold onto your tits for support, comfort, for just the fucks of it no matter who is topping.

"um, excuse me?" you asked when he spaced out in the middle.

"yeah?" he said, looking up from the table where both of your milkshakes resided.

"thank you for the interview. i appreciate it a lot!" you said, smiling at him, completely unaware of the junk he had in his brain about you. you put out your hand for a friendly yet professional handshake.

"oh, yeah, of course." he muttered out, responding to your hand with his that was definitely sweaty.

as you closed your notepad and stopped the recording, he looked up at your face finally.

"can I ask you a question too?"

"oh, yes, of course." you said, looking up at him with a face of genuine curiosity. maybe it would be something like —

"when will this be posted?"

"where can I read it?"

"will there be a hardcopy?"

"would you ever fuck me if you could?"

and suddenly, this was the first time you regretted not recording the aftermath of an interview.

[sakachichi]

Drabble!Choso

Thinking about you and Choso having a faceless onlyfans account that unexpectedly blew up lol. Originally it started as a joke, or like a test, to see if the money you make on there is worth it — times are desperate right now, moneys tight, any income is better than no income. It was a random Wednesday night, the two of you were sitting on the couch, talking about how expensive everything was these days — and as a joke you said, “we might have to make a OF, cuz from the looks of the world…” and the way he snapped his head towards you was shocking, you flinched, “I heard you actually make good money there.” He added, nodding and raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’re that desperate.”

Right?

Wrong!

A whole month later you guys are making thousands of dollars! It started off as just the OF account, then a twitter account, and then people started reposting your stuff, and then an instagram page was created. It went very fast, and you guys were financially stable for the rest of your lives. And it all started with one video — out of the several ones you’ve posted. You two had just came back from dinner, Choso was clinging to you more than usual, following you all over the house as you got ready for bed. You were washing your hands in the sink and he trapped you in between his arms, his breath fanning your neck as he breathed you in, taking in all your sweet perfume. “You smell so good, are you wearing the new one I just got you?” You nod smiling at him through the mirror, his hands creep down your thighs and under your lacy nightgown — fingers dancing around the fabric of your panties.

You smirk as you roll your eyes, knowing what he wants. Later he has you riding his dick, digging his face in between your tits — not getting enough of your perfume, leaving behind small kisses. Your fingers thread through his long black hair, head thrown back as he keeps digging sooooo deep inside you. Out of nowhere he hands you his phone on a tripod, already recording, “here — put this behind you, doll.” He says, watching you as you turn to angle the camera perfectly. His arms wrap around you as he pulls you down to lay flush onto him, lips connecting with yours as he starts to thrust up into you. That nasty creamy squelch of your pussy colliding with his swollen balls fills the room in a beautiful symphony with your moans, giving the camera a lewd angle of your bodies. And when he cums he doesn’t stop thrusting, pushing his sweet seed deeper and deeper each time.

“Baby I-I don’t think I-“ you whisper into his ear, “give the people a show, c’mon, I know you can last longer~” Choso coos, caressing your hair back, looking into your dilated eyes. Moments later he peeks just enough over your shoulder to get a view of the camera, watching as he places a hand on your ass to spread you a little wider — the sight making him whimper. “I feel you, you’re close, cum for me doll.” And you do, it’s like he put a spell on you, making cum soooo hard. But he still doesn’t stop! It amazes you how much stamina this man has, both hands now spreading your cheeks apart, he has you jumping on his cock while he’s still thrusting his hips. “Ch-Baby! Fuckkk~” you gasp, feeling your essence gush from your cunt, you giggle as you watch Choso’s eyes widen.

The next morning Choso edits and posts the video, hours later you guys are trending on OF. Desperate times call for desperate measures ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

[kissandtellus]

вιтє тнє нαη∂ тнαт ƒєє∂ѕ

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐏𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞.

𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙎𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙙𝙪𝙗𝙘𝙤𝙣, 𝙥𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮(?), 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙮

18+

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •🍓•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

Caleb remembers how the woman in front of him would scrape her knees and come crying. Of course he’d be the best big brother and patch her up, with a bandaid and a quick kiss on the forehead.

But this, oh this was so much better.

Now she waited on her knees for him to get home from work. The distinct sound of Caleb unbuttons his Colonel uniform and peeling back the fabric had his girl running from the bedroom.

The collar with the bell was a great idea.

He’d remember to pat himself on the back for that one.

The bright eyed girl stared up at him. Jesus, if she had an actual tail she’d break a hip from how eager she was.

“Were you a good girl, Pipsqueak? No tearing up my shoes this time I hope?” He chastised.

She learned her lesson after 10 minutes of a riding crop.

She clung to his pants with the cutest pout known to man.

“Caleb~! You were gone for so loooong!” She whimpered, rubbing her face against his crotch. “Did ya get me a treat this time? Did ya?!”

What kind of owner would he be if he didn’t bring home his puppy a treat for being so well behaved?

30 minutes later after a much needed shower, Caleb was watching his length disappear between those same pouty lips. He didn’t know if there was a heaven. Hell he probably wasn’t even going if there was.

But if there was, this would be the loop he’d wish for over and over again.

“Good girl Pip- aht! No biting, angel. That’s a good girl…” he cooed, running his fingers through her hair, strands sticking to her cheeks and throat as drool dripped down.

Each small thrust made the bell around her throat tinkle with each thrust into her throat.

Yeah, the bell was a good choice.

This was such a short and sweet Drabble but my inbox is open for request! Thank you for the read, mwah<3

[depravitycentral]

Short drabble because I was feeling oddly inspired

Tw: stalking, harassment, yucky online sexual harassment, slutshaming, allusions to assault, non-con photography, yucky yucky yucky and sort of incel-y

you’re so pretty

               The comment interrupts your endless scrolling, the notification popping up from the top of your screen giving you pause. Your thumb hovers over the notification, tapping quickly and letting your most recent post fill the screen.

               It’s nothing too terribly fancy – just a post detailing a hang-out at the park with your friends from last weekend. There’s some pretty photos of the autumn leaves and a photo of you smiling and sitting on the swing set – one that’s nearly too small for you now that you’re far from being a child. There’s another photo of you and your friend Erica on a picnic blanket, holding up the rather disastrous sandwich you’d cobbled together with the grossly limiting picnic supplies she’d packed.

               You look pretty, you agree – you’re smiling big, the photo having been taken mid-laugh when your friend cracked a truly terrible joke. You’d felt good posting it, but the comment still makes you feel flattered, a warm feeling settling in your chest that makes you eagerly click on the user’s name.

               You don’t follow him, and he’s not following you. He’s following no one, in fact.

               Furrowing a brow, you shrug. Maybe it’s a bot, or maybe someone you actually do know in real life but just aren’t connected with on social media. The profile doesn’t have the user’s name, just a simple imtired123 and no profile photo. Probably a bot.

               Sighing, you close out of the app, pressing the power button and hoisting yourself to your feet. You’re nearly late for work, anyways – your phone gets discarded into your purse and soon you’re out the front door, pulling your light jacket around yourself tighter in the crisp, cool autumn air.

               nice

               It’s a few weeks later when the next comment comes. Just like last time, it’s on a relatively nondescript post – one you’d made even before the autumn park photoshoot. It’s a photo of your pet, with some cute stickers and editing surrounding the animal’s face. It’s endearing, you think, but certainly not a masterpiece. The other photo in the post is a selfie of you and your pet, pressing a kiss to their cheek. Again, endearing – but nothing particularly groundbreaking.

               It’s the same mystery account, and although it’s strikes you as odd that there’s so much space between the comments, you once again write it off as a bot. This comment’s less fun, though, so you’re quick to just shrug. Besides, your friend’s due to your apartment any minute now – and she gets crabby when you make her wait.

               wear more blue

               You roll over in bed, the buzzing noise from your phone making your eyes squint open. The alarm clock on your nightstand reads three in the morning, and you groan. Blearily, you check the notification, and only groan at the sight of the semi-familiar username commenting on a photo of you in a red shirt for a silly Halloween costume.

               Weirdo, you grumble, unceremoniously shoving your phone back onto the nightstand with Do Not Disturb mode on. Maybe if you’re quick enough, you can get back to the dream you were having.

               you make me so hard

               It comes in the middle of brunch with your two closest friends. You don’t hear it at first, but the second time your phone buzzes you unconsciously reach for it. Your face sours up immediately, and Chelsea to your right notices.

               “Everything okay?” She asks, wiping some ketchup from her eggs from the corner of her lips.

               “Yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine, just some creep.” You respond, clicking on the account again. It’s the same user – still with zero followers, you see, and only following a single account. You’re about to click on the following list, but the waiter’s sudden appearance stops you.

               “Anything I can get you ladies?” He asks, sending a small smile Erica’s way, to which she only flushes and clears her throat.

               Chelsea grins. “We’re good,” she gestures to the two of you, “but Erica here has been saying how bad she wants to try your sweet cream. For her coffee. Could you get one for her, please?”

               Chelsea’s words make Erica gasp, the waiter laugh, and your own snort fill the air. Erica’s indignant as the waiter winks and turns on his heel, and your phone lay forgotten in your purse as Chelsea defends herself from the onslaught of half-hearted slaps.

               you’re mine

               You’re starting to get tired of this. It’s been a week or so since the brunch incident, and the stranger’s comments are starting to feel a little too targeted to simply be a bot. You’re curled up on your couch, TV playing some mindless sitcom while the moon shines outside the apartment window, when you click back into the stranger’s account.

               The comment had been left on a story you’d posted earlier in the day showing a short video of the scenery outside the train you commute to work on. The sunlight had been hitting the city skyscrapers in a pretty way, and you’d wanted to take a snapshot of the moment.

               You’re mine… It makes your toes curl, unease settling in the pit of your stomach. A strange thing to comment, really, and with only the smallest moment of hesitation, you firmly press down on the block button. Closing out of the app, you place your phone on the other end of the couch, focusing in on the familiar jangle of the television show’s theme song. Bot or not, the shenanigans would stop.

               greedy attention whore

               The post is of your baby cousins. They’re young – four and six, to be exact, and the photos are just the aftermath of them eating chocolate cake for a birthday party. There’s frosting smeared across their cheeks and down the front of the pretty white dresses they’re wearing. It’s sweet, it’s innocent, it’s normal – even if the comment isn’t.

               You swallow, pressing on the account’s profile. The little icon pops up reading ‘new’ below the imageless profile photo, no description present. The account’s entitled imtired132 this time, and you grit your teeth. This can’t be a bot, you’re sure – it’s too specific and frankly too hurtful. You don’t know this person, but you’re starting to wish you never will.

               You block them again, rushing to delete the comment on the post for fear your cousin will see and worry.

               show me your tits

               Three days later. You block them again.

               your justt a dumb whor

               A day after that, with grammar so bad you almost don’t bother to decipher it.

               why are you ignoring me

               One week later, on the same post as the last time.

               just came to the thought of you, want to see

               Commented at four in the morning, then deleted, then reposted.

               you’re so pretty it makes me want to die

               Ten days later, with a separate comment only containing a pink heart.

               fucking slut

               It comes at a really bad time – there’s never really a good time, you suppose, but being stuck in the sketchy, dirty bathroom of a club with tears running down your cheeks alongside your mascara certainly isn’t a good time. The dress you’re wearing feels too tight and suddenly too short, and you wipe at your eye as you look at the comment.

               You’re at a fucking wedding in this post. It’s nearly six years old – your cousin’s wedding, as a matter of fact. The one whose kids you’d watched for the birthday party, the one who had her bridesmaids dress in rather modest navy pantsuits to match the aesthetic of the event. Slut. In your full-coverage outfit? The only skin showing is your hands, neck and face. Your hands are trembling as you sniffle, not even bothering to check the account’s details before clicking on the profile and selecting the direct message option.

               What the fuck is your problem? Leave me alone. Your message and short and simple, and you don’t read it over for grammatical correctness. You’re not sure that you could, given how thick your tears have become, the night’s events paired with the comment only making you feel worse. It’d sucked that your longtime crush – a friend of Chelsea’s, one that she’d been dying to set you up with – had ignored you all night, and to top it all off just left with another girl. It’s demoralizing, and the alcohol in your system has left you feeling bold and emotional.

               Your comments are creepy, and there has to be a better way to spend your time. You send the text, block the account, and shove your phone into your purse. Chelsea knocks on the stall door again, worry evident in her tone, but you can only sniffle harder.

               The next morning you wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Your head hurts, the room is too bright, and your limbs feel heavy. The hangover is bad, and it’s not until late in the day you gather the courage to look at the bright, hypnotizing screen of your phone.

               There’s fourteen unread direct messages on Instagram.

no better way to spend my time, always about you

don’t cry          

crying just makes you hotter

would you cry for me, if i asked you to

if you cry 4 me i’ll nut 4 you

do you want that. i want you to want that

you’re so dirty

i knew it just from looking at u

An hour pause, then the rest.

i love you

i love you

i love you

i love you

i love you

i love you

               You’re shaking by the time you finish reading, any trace of a headache gone as you swallow. This person is fucking insane – this is demented. You’ve blocked him how many times? How many times has he created a new account just to harass you?

               You drop your phone onto your mattress, unable to move. It’s only the insistent buzz of an incoming call notification that brings you out of your reverie. A quick look at the caller ID shows an unknown number, and immediately you’re out of your bed, leaving the room and trying to ignore the sound of your ringtone.

               It’s a good, long twenty minutes before you build up the nerve to listen to the voicemail the number left. It’s five minutes long, and it’s mostly heavy breathing. You think you hear something clicking and rhythmic in the background, but you can’t bring yourself to admit what it is. There’s a loud gasp, then ten seconds of silence, and then very quietly: check your messages.

               There’s three of them.

               don’t ignore me. why are you ignoring me? i hate it when you ignore me.

               so beautiful

               Attachment: 1 Image

               The photo’s dark, but one glance is enough to show you that it’s you in the photo, fast asleep and entirely unaware of the pale, bloody hand resting on your hip in the photograph’s corner.

               The vomit comes before you can help it. You’re shaking again, nearly hyperventilating as you grab your purse and run to the door of your apartment, fingers trembling so badly you can hardly type in the location of the nearest police station. It’s only a ten minute walk, and as you grasp onto the door handle and swing the door backwards, you yelp at the sight of a man in your doorway.

               You’ve never seen him before, but there’s something in his eyes that makes your throat dry up, tears prickling at your eyes, a small, warbled little no falling from your lips.

               “Hello beautiful,” he starts, one hand coming up to your doorframe. Fingers wrap slowly around the wooden frame, holding tight as he takes a single step towards you. “Ah-ah-ah, not so fast.”

               You’re frozen, so shocked and terrified that you can’t will yourself to move, to take action, to do anything even as he steps closer and closer.

               “Y’know, you’re much prettier in real life.”

               The door slams shut behind him.

(This was not written for anyone in particular, but now after re-reading this is strongly feeling like Gyutaro, Shalnark, or maybe some flavor of Atsumu.)

[zepskies]

A SIMPLE TOUCH

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Reader

Summary: Annie still has reservations about Ben, and you dating him for that matter…until she sees it.

AN: Surprise drabble! Dipping back into the BMD-verse for a sec. Chronologically, it's set sometime after In the Dark.

Prompt from @lifeonawhim: The reader is physically affectionate. (BMD) Ben sees this, tries to give her that comfort, and it just surprises everyone—how Ben is a source of comfort for her, even though he’s quite literally the strongest man.

Originally posted on Patreon: 1/01/25

Word Count: 600

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

Break Me Down Masterlist

Annie was loyal to a fault. For that reason, she was still skeptical about Soldier Boy—about Ben, even after Vought Tower collapsed.

You might’ve been living with him now, but that didn’t mean he was safe, or even a good enough man for you.

She watched you closely in concern while the team filed onto the small private plane. It was set to take you all from northern Pennsylvania back down to New York. You weren’t injured, but in a way, you were still walking wounded.

The rogue supe that the Supe Affairs team was called in to catch had destroyed an office building. You, M.M., and Frenchie had saved a handful of people while Ben and the rest of the team handled the supe. But a young woman slipped right through your fingers off a balcony, falling to the pavement from three stories high.

You still remembered the look of shock cross her face. It was frozen there, even after her body lay prone on the cement. Her blue eyes, perfect mirrors of didn’t see that coming.

That was the picture you couldn’t get out of your head.

Now, you were moving slow, your face tired and drawn. Annie was about to ask if you were okay, even though she knew the answer full well.

Ben reached out his hand to you first. He was ahead of you in the aisle, having put his carry-on bag and yours in the overhead bin. You looked at his hand, and then up at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said, his voice deep and steady. It steadied you, along with his hand around yours. He guided you not into the seat next to him, but onto his lap. By now he’d changed out of his suit, leaving him in jeans and a dark gray sweater you picked out for him, rolled up to his elbows.

Annie sat with Hughie across the aisle, but she had you and Ben in the corner of her eye. She marveled at the way he was holding you, seeming to know you needed the contact. With a sigh, you allowed yourself to lay against his chest while his warm hand ran up and down your back. A simple touch was all you needed to relax in his arms.

“Don’t mind me. Just gonna sleep for about ten years,” you murmured against his chest. You laid a hand over his heart, silently thanking him as your fingers drifted back and forth.

Ben’s lips quirked upwards. “Just try not to drool on me. New shirt, you know.”

Despite yourself, that managed to make you smile, huffing a laugh. You shoved his shoulder in retaliation. “I don’t drool.”

He knew for a fact that you did, but he just smirked. He sunk his fingers into your hair and inhaled the familiar floral scent of your shampoo.

“Get some shut-eye,” he rumbled. “We’ll be home soon.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, encouraging you to rest. So you did. Your eyes closed on you after you let go of a deep, even breath.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a nothing moment. This was a man who had crumbled two skyscrapers and scarred Hughie for life. (He’d never be able to listen to Air Supply again, pretty much for as long as he lived.)

And yet, maybe it meant Annie could stop worrying so much about your judgment where Ben was concerned.

Only much later, she would realize that this was the moment she actually started to trust him.

AN: I want to get back into BMD world for a longer visit, hopefully soon. 💚💚

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Next in line, we have a fun, fluffy, angsty, smutty, 3-part Christmas special, Love Actually:

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system. At least, you hope you can, before he meets the rest of your dysfunctional family on Christmas Day.

▶️ Next Story: Love Actually

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