#Just try to have them the same size ish

[leronboi]

Uhhh I forgor I drew this a while ago... It's just more gem au stuff cuzzz size differencesss ggrrrrr grrr. Idk I thought Justin would be oblivious to other gems cuz of his position being a diamond but try his best to show affection or something haha

[batbetbitbotbut]

Low space & low budget weaving

Want to weave but don't have space for a loom? Have a few sticks and yarns but no DIY skills? Come, be tempted anyway. Weaving is a whole family of crafts, some of which don't require a loom at all.

Small-ish looms like box looms (as basic as yarn wrapped around a cardboard grocery tray), inkle looms, and rigid heddle looms exist, but I'm assuming every possible space for a box in your life is already filled. In this post we're going even smaller and cheaper. As far as possible, everything either is flat enough to stow behind/under furniture or rolls up safely into a bundle of just sticks and yarn.

Many of these crafts have some crossover - the same setup can be used for multiple styles of weaving. Most of them can be improvised at home depending on what you have on hand, or if you need to buy something there is not a huge gulf between homemade vs professional equipment. Alas I am not skilled in any of these and my descriptions will not be wholly accurate; corrections and additions welcome! If you need help, I'd only be able to tell you to seek out books and tutorials yourself, ask other weavers, and just try stuff out.

All photos included with permission. My thanks to the people allowing me to use their projects! I saw so many gorgeous and skillful projects when assembling this and I wish I could have included them all.

Fingerweaving

Projects by @kitteniestkitten (here) and @wefty-weaver (here)

Culture - I am aware of this as a Native American technique, I don't know its history with any more specific nation.

Fabric - "Warp faced" cloth of any width, insofar as warp and weft have meaning for this craft as the weaving is on a diagonal. Often used for sashes or blankets.

Method - There is no loom! A couple sticks hold the yarns to begin with, but then it is all freehand. Starting at one corner, you use your fingers to weave a strand through the other strands, and... that's it. Very simple beginnings work up to very complex patterns that no loom is capable of. The whole project can be rolled up when not active.

Backstrap loom

Projects by @calendae-creations (here) and @weavingforlooms (here)

Culture - I am most aware of this from the Andes but I think it is much more widespread than that.

Fabric - Warp faced or balanced fabric of any width up to your own reach, suitable for blankets and clothes and many other things.

Method - You are the loom! Several horizontal rods hold and manipulate the warp threads but your body provides the tension, with the other end hooked to some furniture or around your own feet. When not in use, you can roll up all the equipment into a small bundle of yarn and rods. You can also use a backstrap loom setup for other methods like tablet weaving.

Warp weighted loom

Projects by @shadowcreepling (here) and @doctormead (here)

Culture - used by ancient Greeks among many many others.

Fabric - any kind of fabric at any size. Shadowcreepling is using a warp weighted loom for a tablet-woven band, Doctormead is probably using heddle rods to make a wider piece of cloth.

Method - the warp threads are held by a bar at the top and tensioned with weights on one end that hang down towards the floor, then the weft is woven into them with any method such as tablets, heddle rods, or by hand (if you have a lot of patience) and beaten into firm fabric at the top or bottom of the loom. Warp weighted looms can be very big, but they are simple and can also be very small and taken apart when not actively weaving.

Tablet weaving / card weaving

Projects by @damage-ko (here) and @foxease (here, hardware from CellesKit on Etsy)

Culture - found as far apart as textiles (geographically and temporally) from Byzantine Egypt and the Vikings

Fabric - a warp faced fabric with patterns made by twining warp threads around each other, usually used for strong narrow bands like collars, belts, and shoelaces.

Method - the cards hold open the shed so you can pass the weft through, then rotate the cards to advance the pattern. Many people make their own with cardboard or playing cards, or you can buy some. The rest of the weaving setup can be improvised with a backstrap (or just a shower curtain hook clipped to your trousers), a cardboard box loom, or warp weights.

Rigid heddle band weaving

Projects by @pisaracraft (here) and @crookedtines (here)

Culture - small rigid heddles like the first project have been found in Roman archaeological sites across Europe. The larger rigid heddle in the second project is being used for "baltic pickup" style designs on the band.

Fabric - can be warp faced or a balanced weave, size limited by the size of your heddle.

Method - you provide tension with any setup you please such as an inkle loom, backstrap, or warp weights. The heddle creates sheds so that you can pass weft yarn through the warp easily. Infinitely many "pick-up patterns" let you weave patterns and even words into the cloth.

Pin loom / potholder loom

Projects by @pardalote (here) and @weavingmyheartout (here)

Fabric - a small square (or rectangle or triangle) of balanced weaving, which can be used alone or patched together into larger fabrics. Pin looms are finer and suitable for many knitting/crochet yarns, potholer looms are chunkier and designed for big elastics, but the method is similar.

Method - wind yarn lengthways around one set of pins and then pull yarn widthways through these strands with a hook. Or, work at 45 degrees in continuous strand weaving! Lots of room to experiment with colour and texture. You can improvise a pin loom by cutting notches in a square of sturdy cardboard.

Needle weaving / stick weaving / peg loom

Projects by @thaylepo (here) and @pastelispunx (here)

Fabric - weft-faced fabric and rugs of any size.

Method - thread long thin warp threads through the pegs, then wind a thick weft (eg heavier yarn, sheep fleece, or long scraps of fabric) around the pegs. Push the weft down along the pegs as they fill up, so that it slides off onto the warp. The pegs can be secured in a base to make a peg loom for large projects, or just handled freely. I believe these evolved as separate crafts and the nuances are different, but the overall method is similar.

Frame loom / tapestry loom

Projects by @squeakygeeky (here) and @battlestar-gasmacktica (here)

Fabric - weft-faced or balanced fabric ideal for wall hangings and upholstery, size limited to the frame being used.

Method - (usually) thinner warp threads are wound round a frame, such as heavy cardboard with notches cut in the end, a picture frame, or a small and flat purpose-made loom. Thicker weft threads are woven in by hand using needles or just small lengths of yarn. Some people make lifelike images, others make more ordinary fabrics or geometric patterns.

Bobbin lace

Projects by @crochetpiece (here) and @noxx-notions (here)

Culture - began in renaissance Italy and spread throughout Europe, often as a cottage industry.

Fabric - balanced fabric usually made of very thin threads in freeform shapes. It's not usually considered "weaving" but the basic cloth stitch is definitely a woven fabric!

Method - each thread is wound onto a bobbin (e.g. a clothespeg) and then bobbins are crossed over each other to weave threads together. The lace is pinned to a cushion to hold everything in place while the design grows.

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ adore me, mark your territory !!

ᝰ.ᐟ after having to endure locker room conversation since his blue lock days all the way up to his pro days, yukimiya realizes that if he wants to show you just how serious he is about his thoughts on his relationship with you, he needs to make his mark on you. ( fem!reader )

pairing kenyu yukimiya x reader word count 3.6k content contains corruption kink/innocence kink, loss of virginity (both you and yukki), first time, creampie, breeding kink, slightly manipulative!yukki, you two attended the same private catholic high school, mentions of purity culture, coercion, very naive reader, talks of marriage, dark(ish) content kinktober masterlist

To love someone is to know them. 

You love Kenyu Yukimiya with all your heart; you know his hopes and his dreams, his fears and the tiny voice in his head that serves to either goad or encourage him. The two of you grew up together, attending all the same Catholic private schools up ‘til he went pro fresh out of high school graduation, and you decided to attend a tiny, private all girls university. 

You know that he’s kind and funny, much more outgoing and adventurous than you. You know that he can be gentle, and that he chooses to always be gentle with you. You know that he loves you just as much as you love him. 

But while distance makes the heart grow fonder, perhaps it’s the distance that has caused this newfound unfamiliarity between the two of you.

“Kenny, I don’t… I don’t understand.” You’re lying down on your painfully small twin-sized mattress in your dorm room. Kenyu’s on top of you, his body hovering over your own. He gives you that familiar, comforting smile of his as he asks you gently (your Kenyu’s always so gentle with you), 

“We love each other, don’t we?” 

“Of course we do.” You say softly. Your arms are by your side, and you’re playing with the frills on the oversized comforter of your bed. Your whole entire room still screams girl. Yukimiya finds it endearing; he finds everything about you so damn endearing. Your floral quilts, and the stuffed animals he’s won for you from claw machines and unfairly rigged carnival games. Your fluffy comforter, and the way you always love to wear dresses, even when it’s just to attend a lecture. 

And your unwavering innocence. 

Everyone knows that Catholic private schools aren’t as pristine as the parents of the students like to claim it is, but you’re the only one who remained devout. The only one who genuinely stayed true to the lessons taught. You didn’t drink, you didn’t smoke, you didn’t sneak out. The only parties you attended were birthday parties chaperoned by a trusted adult and held in the early afternoon. You always followed the dress code and never tried to get away with folding the waistband of your school-issued skirt to make it shorter, like some of the other girls did. Hell, Kenyu had to literally ask your father for permission to date you before he asked you out. 

And while Kenyu’s always been on his best behavior, it’s not like he’s unaware of the world. He’s not naive like you. And that’s okay. One of you has to know enough to lead the other; Yukimiya’s more than happy that he’s the one taking on that role. 

The thing is, Kenyu truly does love you. It’s why he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to force you to go further than what you think you’re capable of, than what you think you’re allowed to go. He ignores the hard on he gets every time you two make out, the way your hips sometimes move on their own, grinding against him with no thought to strip out of your clothes and let him finish. You’ve been together since the first year of high school, and now you’re in college, and he’s playing professional soccer, and he loves you, and he still hasn’t even seen your pussy. Honestly, his closest friends tell him he must be a saint. 

But the talks in the locker room, the snide comments from his least favorite teammates, the jokes and the teasing and the mocking, condescending tones — gotta protect Yukki’s ears, can’t let him Mr. Private School hear this, as if he’d even know what we’re talking about; damn virgin — all of it is chipping away at his pacifist, mild-mannered demeanor, revealing the feral, greedy egoist that lies underneath. 

You had been so excited to hear your beloved boyfriend was flying down to your college town this weekend, just to see you! Your roommate’s out on a holiday with her parents, leaving the dorm room all to yourselves. In your cute mind, this just means more room for the two of you to hang out.

For Yukimiya, it means he has no more obstacles to get in the way of him fucking you for the first time. 

“And you know what two people who love each other do, right?” He’s still using the same pacifying, soothing tone he always uses when he’s trying to calm you down. When you skinned your knees and cried from the sting of the alcohol wipes used to clean the cuts, he had used this voice on you. When you cried at the airport because he was leaving the country to meet the team who paid an exorbitant amount to have him on their starting lineup, he had used this voice on you. Right now, you can’t understand why he’s using this voice on you. You’re not hurt; just confused. 

“Kenyu, wh-what are you talking about?” 

“I’m talking about making love, [Name].” One large palm is rubbing up and down the smooth skin of your thigh. The movement causes the thin fabric of your sundress to rise up. Yukimiya’s never touched you down there before. You don’t know why his touch feels so good, but you do understand what he’s talking about now. 

“But Kenny—” Your voice is reduced to nothing more than a nervous whisper, almost as if you’re scared someone is listening in. “—we can’t. That’s for married couples.” 

Well, if it’s any consolation, Yukimiya’s always planned on marrying you. 

He kisses your forehead, his hand never relenting from its position on your thigh. Your dress remains lifted up at an angle on one side. He can see part of your cotton panties; plain and white. If he moves his fingers up a few more centimeters, he could tug at the waistband of them. 

“I know, sweetheart. But I’ve been thinking…” His hand travels from up your thigh to rest on your hip. The one side of your dress is now all the way up, and his thumb rests on the thin waistband of your panties, rubbing reassuring circles to get you to remain calm underneath him. “We’ll get married soon, anyway, right? I love you so much that I need an outlet to show you just how much I love you.” 

“Married? Soon?” Your eyes widen. You find yourself daydreaming about marrying Yukimiya, starting a family. Yukimiya’s smile stretches wide across his handsome face. His sweet girl, he knew you’d be putty in his hands after he mentioned that. 

“Of course.” He kisses you on your lips sweetly, his hand never leaving your hip. “And I want to give you all the love a husband has for his wife. Won’t you let me, [Name]?” 

Kenyu’s always been handsome. You have a collection of all his professional photoshoots, and you know that he has a bunch of fangirls from just his looks alone. It’s so unfair of him, really, to give you that imploring look of his. You can’t say no to Yukimiya, and you think you never want to.

And so you do let him. 

Kenyu’s quick. With the speed he normally reserves for on the field, Kenyu’s mouth meets your at the same time his other hand grips your neglected hip. Now both of his hands are bunching up the fabric of your dress, pulling the skirt up to reveal your simple, plain panties. 

“Mmph.” You moan into the kiss. This is a bit different than what you two normally engage in; somehow, everything feels a lot heavier, headier. You can’t seem to think straight. All you can focus on is chasing after his lips, matching his hungry pace. 

The heat radiating off the two of you is enough for Kenyu to separate from you momentarily. The lens of his glasses are fogged up, and he grins at you, satisfied at the progress you’re making, before taking his glasses off and setting them neatly on your nightstand. 

And then he’s back to kissing you passionately again. You’re lost in the pleasure of his kisses, unknowingly bucking your hips up, not knowing why your body is craving friction, for some attention, down there. Your hands reach up to grip the front of Kenyu’s shirt, tugging at him, trying to bring him closer. You’re getting desperate, and he finds it so cute. 

“Lift your arms up for me, sweetheart.” He mumbles against your lips, and your head’s too hazy for you to properly register his request. He repeats it, still as gentle as ever with you, and this time, you manage to comply. 

“Fuck.” You don’t hear Kenyu curse often; he says it’s impolite to do so in front of his girl. He breathes out the word, and you feel shy all of a sudden as his eyes roam over your body. He tossed your dress to the side unceremoniously, and because the dress itself had padding, you decided not to wear a bra. You’re laying on your bed, nothing to protect your modesty besides your cotton panties. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. The only girl I see.” He praises you, and you don’t feel too shy anymore. 

“K-Kenyu—” You look up at him, all doe-eyed and sweet. You’re pressing your thighs together, drawing his attention to the plush of your thighs, the way hiding in between your legs is your special place that only Kenyu will be allowed to see, to touch, to taste, to love. “What do we do now?” 

He leans down, whispering in your ear in his familiar, kind voice, “Now, you lay down, and let me show you how much I love you.” 

You love Kenyu so much, you think it should be impossible for your heart to have so much room for him. You know Kenyu must feel the same way, but never before has his love for you ever felt so overwhelming. Kenyu pries your thighs apart, forcing you to open your legs for him, but you didn’t know showering you in his love meant that he was going to take his fingers and rub against the mound in your underwear. 

“W-wait, Kenny!” You yelp, trying to shut your legs, but he’s too big, too strong. He blocks the movement, keeps you nice and spread for him. “I—” You don’t know what to tell him, and you don’t know how to explain why there’s a tiny puddle gathering in the thin fabric of your panties. Sometimes, you feel funny and this starts to happen, usually after a long makeout session with your boyfriend. 

“You’re so wet for me, [Name].” He almost sounds in awe, staring down at your covered pussy almost as if in a trance. The pace he’s using is rather slow; he’s content, for now, with just stroking his fingers up and down your covered slit, fascinated with the way he can watch you slowly drench through the cotton. The wet spot only continues to grow; he bets he can get his fingers damp with your arousal soon, and he wouldn’t even have to take your panties off to do so. “Do you always get this wet for me?” 

You want to cry, and you can even feel the tears welling up in your eyes. He looks up, instantly stopping his ministrations, his concern written all over his expression. “Hey, hey.” He shushes you, peppering kisses all over your face. He’s not stroking you anymore, but his large hand is cupping your pussy, the heat of his hand encasing your special place. You’re practically throbbing against him, your cunt aching and hungry for his touch. He just has to get you to open up for him, to understand. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to get wet right here for me, you know that?” 

You sniffle, unsure if he’s just placating you. “Really?”

“Really.” His smile is so gentle, his tone so soothing and reassuring. He’s back to grazing his knuckles across your cunt, enjoying the way the fabric keeps on getting damper. “It means your body is happy, and it lets me know that you love me as much as I love you.” 

His other starts to tug at your waistband, dragging down your panties until he’s pulling them right off. His breath catches in his throat as he looks down and stares at your pussy for the first time. Your folds are glistening, your little clit peeking out at him, begging for him to suck on, to rub against. 

“Cute.” He tells you, tracing a finger curiously against your slit, the tip of his index finger so close to entering your clenching, unbreached hole. “I’m going to make you feel really good now, okay, [Name]? Tell me, have you ever played with yourself down here?” 

“Wha-?” You’re confused, appropriately so. The boys and girls were separated during sex education, but you remember your teacher drilling it into your heads that under no circumstances should a young girl ever touch herself. You had been confused at the time, confused as to why anyone would ever. You’ve been taught that only your husband should ever touch you right there. But Yukimiya loves you, and he’s going to be your husband, and now you’re starting to think you know why girls may want to touch themselves. You’ve felt this heat in between your thighs before, this mysterious hunger for something, but now you’re feeling it tenfold. You shake your head, too choked up to speak. 

“No? Not even like this?” You don’t expect Kenyu to insert his finger. The intrusion is foreign, but not entirely unwelcome. Your walls instinctively clench around his digit, and he has to remind himself to breathe, to remain collected, to take things slow so you can enjoy yourself properly. “You’re clamping down on just one finger.” He breathes out, curling his finger, moving it against your walls. He brushes against a spongy spot inside of you, one that has you jerking up, a shocked, pleasured moan escaping from your parted lips. “That feel good?” He asks, before adding a second finger, both of them bumping against that same sweet spot. 

Your legs feel like jelly, and you nod weakly. It does feel good. Too good. So overwhelmingly good that a foreign, euphoric sensation is taking over you. You can’t seem to control your body, and you can’t stop the flow of cute, pleasured mewls flowing from your mouth, and you manage to scream out a warning to Yuki. “S-something is—” 

A clear stream of liquid spurts out of you, splashes onto him, soaks your cute comforter. 

“Fuck, you’re amazing.” Your walls are too sensitive now, but throughout the whole process, Yukimiya never stops thrusting his fingers in and out of your inexperienced cunt. His eyes are wide, but the gleam in them is sharp, hungry, calculating. “I didn’t even get a chance to mess with your cute little clit. You came just from penetration?” He finally removes his fingers, examining the way your juices are dripping off his digits. “You didn’t just cum, you squirted.”

You turn your head, trying to bury your face in a pillow so he can’t see the embarrassed and debauched expression on your face, but he takes his dry hand and forces you to continue looking up at him.

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart.” He coos, sucking at his fingers obscenely before releasing them from his mouth with a pop!. “It means you’re perfect and all ready for me.” 

Kenyu knows that his cock is the first cock you’ve ever seen, and he’ll make damn certain that it’s the only one you’ll be seeing for the rest of your life. There’s no frame of reference for you to use, but you don’t think that men should be so big. When he frees his dick, making a show of squeezing tightly at the base and pumping it, showing off to you, you swallow hard. 

He taps the head of his cock against your swollen, needy clit, teasing the both of you. He’s losing all sense of restraint, and even rubbing the underside of his cock against your glistening folds, trying to slick up his cock so it’ll be easier to glide into your soaked cunt, is enough to make him want to cum. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, sweetheart.” His voice sounds strained, the gentle tone hanging on by a thread. “We’ll be making love for the first time. Aren’t you excited?” 

You nod. Excited and nervous. His cock much larger than his fingers, and maybe he should have prepped you more, but you came so easily. He always knew you were perfect for him. Pleasure is so unknown to you, the tiniest taste of it is enough to take you out. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

He holds your hand and kisses you to distract you from the sting of his cock breaching your virgin cunt. You gasp into the kiss, pain registering in your mind first, but Yukimiya is quick to take your breath away, to swallow up any potential protests that might have come. He keeps on kissing you, his fingers intertwined with your own, and he’s pushing himself as deep as he can go. He only lets up from the kiss the second he’s buried to the hilt, and you greedily swallow up the oxygen you’ve been deprived of. 

The feeling of a hard cock inside of you is foreign, but your body clings to his length. Unlike his fingers, with its dexterous ministrations that had you keening and squirting when he brushed them against a special spot, his cock fills you up, stuffs you full. Your cunt is greedily sucking him in, and when he whispers that he’s going to really start moving now, it’s not just one spot that he’s hitting.

You’re not sure what’s happening to your body, but it feels like Yukimiya is wringing out pleasure from you from every angle inside of you. 

“Ah, fuck, you feel so good for me, sweetheart. Such a tight pussy, so wet, so warm.” The heat encasing his cock is nothing like he’s ever experienced before. The wet warmth of your pussy is so inviting, so intensely pleasurable, that Kenyu doesn’t think he’ll be able to last. Cumming so soon might be embarrassing, but it’s not. Not when it’s his sweet girl’s pussy that’s begging for his cum. 

You wail out his name, your legs reflexively encircling around his waist, locking him in, keeping him close to you as you cum again. This orgasm is practically ripped out from you, your cunt way too sensitive, the repeated battering of his cock drilling into your hole too much for your inexperienced mind and body to handle. 

“Kenyu, Kenyu, Kenyu!” When you say his name like that, it makes it hard for him to not immediately bust a load inside of you. Gone is the gentle expression from your boyfriend’s face; in its place is something feral, dark. 

When he pulls out, he sees your white cream coating his cock. When he thrusts back in, he hears the lewd squelch of your wet, overstuffed pussy. It’s enough to drive a man insane with lust.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He grunts out, and your head struggles to remain straight, to not loll to the side and let yourself be used. You look up at him, but your eyes are glassy and your mind seems to be in a far away place, so far gone, so fucked out. “We’re going to get married soon. So it’s okay if I get you pregnant right now, right?” His bare cock fucking your virgin pussy raw. He’s going crazy. “I’m gonna fill you up, get you all nice and bred for me. Make you my wife, make you a mommy.” 

The domestic daydream makes you tighten up around him, even though your body is too weak to cum again. That’s alright. He’ll just have to cum enough for the both of you. 

“Hang onto me, sweetheart.” And you do. Your legs are still wrapped around him, but you weakly raise your arms, holding him close to you. He starts pounding at your pussy, his unrivaled speed and strength turning you into mush. You have to dig your nails into the muscled skin of his back, feeling like you’re on the edge of a cliff, about to crash. 

“Fuck, I’m about to put a baby in you, love. My sweet girl, my sweet wife.” He kisses you, messy and sloppy, and he stills. The aggressive thrusts stop, and you realize why. 

There’s a new heat entering inside of you; hot spurts of his cum are pouring into you, and he only moves his hips a bit to plug you up further, to make sure none of his seed can trickle out of you. 

You’re about to lose consciousness, your brain fried from pleasure and exhaustion. All you do is weakly mumble out his name before the world goes black.

You think if this is what making love is, you love love.

“Holy shit, Yukki.” Isagi gapes at his shirtless teammate. 

Yukimiya glances up, about to pull his jersey over his head. “What?” 

“What the hell happened to you?” 

“Hm?” He asks, before turning to try to examine his back. Across the pale muscles are thin, red scratches, fading slightly from the time it’s been etched onto his skin by your nails. He smiles serenely, his mild-mannered attitude ever present. “Oh, this? My fiancee likes me close to her at all times.” 

[wholemeallbread]

⟢ CUTTTING FRUIT FOR YOU !

what bllk boys do when you ask them to cut/peel fruit.

⟢ including ... isagi yoichi, barou shoei, reo mikage, itoshi rin

⟢ notes ... fluff, mentions of knives, mentions of food, picky-ish reader (barou)

ISAGI YOICHI

makes it his life mission to make sure he does it as perfectly as he can.

he takes three minutes to cut his first slice. then, he spends decades trying to eyeball around the same size, and it ends up being so off.

overthinks it so much. he'll be cutting an apple into slices, and one of them comes out as a square. why? he thought you'd rather have bite sized pieces, and this one was "too big".

you can tell he's beating himself up in his head about it because he can't even look you in the eyes when he serves it to you.

please reassure him cutting fruits is not that serious </3

BAROU SHOEI

you don't have to ask, he's forcing you to eat them.

at least once a day he scolds you about your poor eating habits. you want something sweet? well, he'll give you something sweet. fruit.

if you're particularly reluctant, he'll cut things up in the most extravagant ways possible. even just one grape is too pretty to eat because how did he even make it rose shaped with such a massive knife?

he gives up.

when he serves you fruit, the slices are perfect. no blemishes, no odd cuts, all even sizes, picture perfect. you don't even need to inspect each slice because they're just that perfect.

REO MIKAGE

is already cutting fruit for you before you even ask.

it's almost instinct whenever the two of you end up having a conversation in the kitchen. he doesn't stop talking, just preparing a bowl of mixed fruits with all of your favourites at the same time. he's probably got his house stocked up with everything that you like.

if he knows you're eyeing a piece of fruit because you can't wait, he doesn't hesitate to hold up a chunk that he just cut, feeding it to you.

if you don't want it, he'll make you take it anyway. not only is it healthy and refreshing, but also hydrating; you need to eat some.

ITOSHI RIN

always gives you a funny look when you ask.

like he'll do it, but why him?

is suspiciously good at peeling oranges. he could be ripping the thing apart and it'll come out smooth with no piths sticking to it. that's true skill.

if he really wanted to, he could squeeze one with his bare hands and make juice. (copied from sae) he did it once in summer because you were dying for some "nice, fresh orange juice", and your eyes were basically begging him to do the thing.

honestly he'd rather just give you a bowl of small berries and grapes instead of going through the process of cutting fruit.

[teddybeartoji]

彡 FEEDING AS A FORM OF LOVE

☆. contains: 18+ MDNI; tiger hybrid!ryomen sukuna x housecat hybrid gn!reader x toji fushiguro; ???? they eat raw meat hehe, this is just very horny, dubcon-ish moments? tjkn, also. sukuna is down bad. wc: 2k

toji takes good care of the both of you. he goes out of his way to make sure that his cats are well fed. every morning he goes to the market to buy the best quality meat – the blonde haired butcher already knows him, he's ready for him. they exchange a few words over the cuts and wish each other well. they're friends.

back at home, his two cats wait for him. kuna's wet, rough tongue runs up and down alongside the side of your neck, your jaw, your chin. this is another part of your morning routine – he grooms and cleans you, gets you ready for toji. sure, he loves it when you do the same to you, but there's something addicting about the way you try to squirm away from his love.

the door clicks open, signaling that toji is finally home and you immediately try to look for him but kuna's grip on your middle is just too strong.

"ryo..." your tiny hands push at his broad chest and he's about to tell you to be quiet but his thoughts get interrupted by the smell of fresh meat. his body reacts all on its own, he can't help it. the irony, bloody scent enters his nostrils and he lets out a deep groan; the vibrations of it run through your own body and your thighs tighten around his waist subconsciously. a few feet away – toji taps his foot impatiently, mossy eyes sticking to the pair before him. he takes in the sight of sukuna towering over you, almost covering you fully with his massive body. he hates how hard the size difference makes him – you look fucking tiny next to kuna and you look even smaller when you're down on your knees between his thighs, when his heavy cock rests on your face.

(but toji wants to play with you, too. there's no way he'll ever just let him have you.)

at the sound of toji clearing his throat, sukuna pulls back with a smirk. you look disheveled and he wants to laugh – he was just trying to clean you up, wasn't he? silly kitty. he'll have to do it all over again later.

when he does finally let you swivel out from under him, you waste no time in running to toji. you nuzzle your face into his chest, his arms and back, as a way of letting him know that you missed him, despite the fact that he was gone only for an half an hour or so. he likes the attention; he sends kuna a tempting smirk while patting your head as the latter pushes himself to sit up on the couch.

toji's musk and the smell of the red meat, kuna's saliva on your neck, the tingling marks he left on your hips – it's all sending heat waves to your lower tummy. a different type of hunger. your fuzzy tail twirls around toji's bicep and he grumbles something under his breath. you don't hear it. you're busy closing your eyes and rubbing your face into his back muscles instead. a purr rumbles from your chest and toji's scarred lips stretch even wider; this is normal for them – to be squabbling over you, their little kitty.

(you love it.)

"c'mon, ya gotta eat, yeah?"

toji's voice is so soothing, so comforting; you want to sit on his lap forever. his eyes are soft when he looks at you, incredibly so, and that makes sukuna's ears tilt backward with a scoff. don't you know he looks at you the same way?

(kind of the same way anyway.)

kuna's tail finds yours and you inch closer to him as you make your way to the dinner table. you bump your head against his arm and he rasps out a "brat". you grin up at him and he thinks about eating you instead.

taking seats opposite of each other, you wait for toji to place the meals in front of you. the smell is intoxicating. your insides grumble and so do his, your teeth itch and so do his. his nose twitches at the sound of toji throwing the pieces onto the platter and then he can already see him approaching from the corner of his eye.

raw. bloody. awaiting.

it's almost the size of the damn platter – it's barely enough for him. he's big and he needs to eat big, but he'll complain about it later. sometime when toji's distracted by your pretty face, sometime when he can easily whisper into his ear, sometime when he's just about ready to say yes to everything. he's not as strong as he makes himself out to be.

kuna eyes the cut toji places in front of you. a small smile etches its way onto your lips and he can see the hunger in your eyes. but then he can't help but compare the two of you. your heights, the sizes of your meals. you're just a little cat, eating a portion that's a mere sliver out of his own. you're going to bite it, you're going to chew and you're going to look adorable.

a tug on his fuzzy tail snaps his out of his head. "stop starin'."

his ears tilt back again at the sight of toji's mocking smirk, but he holds back on the bark. he wants to eat already.

and so he does.

lunging at the platter, he grabs the piece of meat into his hands as if his meal is still alive, as if it's going to run away. his sharp claws sink into the soft flesh and you can't pull your eyes from him. you watch as he tears a chuck off of it, you watch him gnaw on it with his big teeth. his chin is covered in the liquid that seeps from the fresh meat, it trickles down his jaw and neck before disappearing under his open-collared shirt.

he always eats like this. messily.

always.

his teeth are so much bigger than yours are, and you're painfully aware of that when you lick the canines in your mouth. you're salivating. drool collects under your tongue as you stare and stare and stare. your breathing has picked up a little, your heart racing in your ribcage and you've started to lean forward a bit too. you don't even realize how he's pulling you in.

but toji...

toji can't stop looking at you.

he's leaning against the kitchen counter just a few feet away and his heart races the same way yours does. he couldn't care any less for kuna in this very moment, his eyes are fixated on the little kitty creeping toward the feral beast. he sees the little tilt of your head, the way your tail sways from side to side, the slight twitch of your ears as you listen to the man in front of you eat his heart out. toji is just as transfixed by the sight before him as you are.

(this is love.)

eyes blown wide, your lips part on instict when sukuna goes for another bite.

mouth still full, he splutters. "look at you, little kitty."

you blink up at him, unsure where he's going with this.

"is the piece too big for you and your measly, tiny teeth?"

he chews loudly just to push you even further, teasing eyes glued to your wide ones. "want toji to cut it up for you since you can't do it yourself?"

it's not like you're eating a meal like this for the first time - the difference being the fact that he can smell you right now. something is happening in that brain of yours, in the depths of your stomach and kuna desires to take you apart and take a proper look. are you really getting turned on by just watching him eat? do you like it? do you love it? are you pushing your thighs together right now? are you thinking about him devouring you like this?

surprise fades from your eyes and you furrow your brows instead. you're not scared of him, nor will you let him tease you like this. your teeth are not measly, you are not little! you can eat just like him and you will prove it to him!

his bloody grin stretches wider when he sees the fight in you build. he did half expect you to pout and sulk a little, but this is a million times better. he likes a challenge, he likes it when you scratch and hiss. his tail sways a bit faster at the thought, his eyes grow bigger.

sukuna knows that toji wants to see this as well. he knows he likes your snarky attitude as much as he does. he knows he's half hard in his pants right now.

he's about to mock you some more but when your tiny teeth pierce the raw flesh, his words get stuck in his throat. you're holding the cut just like he is, nails sinking into it just like his are. juice flows like water down your hands and forearms, your jaw and neck and something in him burns. your nose scrunches up in the cutest way as you continue to chomp down on the meat, pulling and tearing pieces after pieces from it.

he can see you struggling just a bit – your teeth still aren't sharp enough, big enough, to really be like him but he doesn't comment on it. you hold onto his gaze like it's life or death; he will watch you eat.

the grip toji has on the countertop is almost enough to break the damn thing. just like sukuna, he's mesmerized by the glorious sight before him – messy and borderline feral. they're watching their beloved housecat turn into a feral one in real time and it's the most erotic thing either of them have ever seen.

pinkish liquid coats the entirety of the lower half of your face, it keeps trickling down your arms – there's no end to it. it tastes so fucking good.

and then they hear it.

a purr.

at first toji thinks that it's sukuna but it's way to weak to be him, which means it's... coming from you.

their eyes on you feel almost overwhelming, the taste is divine and you feel fucking amazing. thighs clenching together and tail swaying low behind you, you hum as you swallow another piece.

the chair screeches against the floorboards and you don't even have the time to react, head hazy from everything that's going on, so the next thing you know, big hands grab your face and tilt it upward - kuna's tongue presses through your willing lips as he licks into your mouth. it's so big, it's so prickly, it feels weird. it feels... like heaven.

he can taste you and the meal you just had, he can taste your every want and desire. he scratches behind your ear with his nails and he feels you melt into him. his little cat.

he wants to go further but a strong shove against his shoulder stops him from doing so.

"move."

you can't even open your eyes properly before another pair of hands cradle your jaw and lean forward to close the distance between you. lips on lips, you feel his scar and the smile he gives you. your tongues dance together. dirty fingers paw at toji's lower stomach and he grumbles into your mouth. hungry.

more, more, more.

warmth engulfs toji's back and kuna's sharp claws trail over the waistband of toji's pants while he leaves sloppy, wet kisses on the nape of his neck. their hips are flush together and toji can feel kuna's raging boner pressing up against his ass.

but that doesn't matter right now.

sukunas fingers card through toji's dark, unruly hair as he drops down to the floor and kneels between your thighs without ever breaking the kiss. his hands glide from your cheeks to your neck, pulling you deeper into him with a swift motion. he's hungry, too.

he squeezes the tops of your thighs, and you whine into his mouth. so sensitive. he tugs on the waistband of your shorts, eager fingers dipping under the fabric in excitement—

it's his time to eat now.

+ thank you @lxnarphase for hyping me up i love you sm lunniee:333

[sknyuz]

I really like your works

If you are taking requests could you make one where you are bakus sister and dating baek jin secretly and then when he finds out all hell breaks loose but like w fluff and angst

#submission

still, i choose you | na baekjin

synopsis — the city’s colder now, but baekjin still looks at you like summer never ended. but when baku finds out, he’s ready to burn it all down.

pairing — baekjin x baku’s sister!reader

genre — alternate universe/non-canon, brother’s bestfriend, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, f2l, open ending-ish?

cw — violence && gang elements, protective older brother behavior (baku), mentions of past abandonment, angst, smoking (once, for the vibe)

wc — ~2.5k

note: this got wayyyy longer than i had anticipated... this originally at 1.2k words then before i realized it, i ended up with 1k+ more ToT this is another fic thats been in the drafts for a while that i couldnt get around to posting lol enjoy

masterlist | join the taglist | request a fic

you used to follow baekjin around like a second shadow.

back then, when things were simpler and summer days stretched too long to keep track, you, baekjin, and your brother were inseparable. a little trio of scraped knees and spare change joined to share a single serving of tteokbokki, and racing back home in your little uniforms, backpacks rattling with stationery. you always ended up at the park near your old apartment, the one with the broken jungle gym and weeds tall enough to hide in.

“let’s play house,” you’d announce, bossy even then.

baekjin would smile like he already knew his role. “i’ll be the dad.”

“i’m mom,” you’d grin, grabbing a stick and pretending it was a broom.

and baku would scowl, arms crossed. “why do i always have to be the dog?”

“because you bark the loudest,” baekjin teased, and you all laughed and played until the sun dipped low.

back then, baekjin still tried to protect you. even when his nose was bleeding or his eye already bruising, he’d shove you behind him with those tiny fists up like he was invincible. he gave you his sleeve to wipe your nose, even if his own was dripping. when kids teased you, he stood in front with shaky legs and that same proud tilt to his chin, like he dared them to try.

baku was the loud one—your shield and baekjin’s, yelling and swinging while baekjin threw himself in with blind punches and more heart than strength. the two of them were a mess of scraped knees and stubborn pride, and you were the kid sister they never let out of their sight.

and then, soon enough, baku couldn’t stand watching baekjin take hit after hit like that—so he taught him to fight. said he had to, if baekjin was gonna keep throwing himself at people twice his size. he refused to teach you, though, said it was "too dangerous" with a scrunched-up nose and crossed arms. but baekjin would sneak you little updates when it was just the two of you, whispering about the stances baku showed him or how he finally landed a clean hit. eventually, the two of them were unstoppable—baku loud and wild like a storm, and baekjin quiet but sharp, always backing him up without missing a beat. and you were still there, watching them grow into a force no one dared mess with.

until their momentum was stopped on the day that baekjin disappeared. one day he was walking home beside you, shoulder brushing yours, and the next, his desk was empty. like he’d been swallowed up by the world without a trace.

no explanation. no goodbye. just gone.

but somehow, you felt like your older brother knew more about baekjin’s sudden exit from your lives than he let on.

the next time you saw baekjin, it didn’t feel real at first. it felt more like a memory that hadn’t faded properly.

you saw him before he saw you—head low, hair longer than you remembered, standing across the street outside that run-down bowling alley where rumors always clung like smoke, grunts and cries of pain could be heard from inside. your heart stuttered. the world didn’t stop—but you did.

he looked different. older. meaner. like life had moved too fast for him to keep up.

but his eyes—when they finally lifted and locked with yours—were the same.

like no time had passed.

like you weren’t strangers again.

you didn’t speak the first time, you could only stare at the tall figure. and then, he looked away and broke the gaze you shared first, walking back inside like it hurt too much to hold.

you kept seeing him after that—in the background. behind buildings, in passing cars, once on the rooftop of the cram school across from your own, cigarette burning down to the filter, eyes fixed on nothing. it was like the city was trying to show you he still existed. still breathed.

and then came the underpass.

you hadn’t meant to take that route. it was just late, and you were tired, and it had been a long day. you thought you could handle it—you weren’t a kid anymore. you could fight. baku finally taught you. baekjin taught you, too, just by existing.

but those boys—the way they leered. the way they used baku’s suspension as leverage against you.

and then him.

he didn’t even raise his voice. just said “that’s enough,” and it was like gravity remembered what it was supposed to do. the boys scattered like dry leaves. and you—god, you didn’t even realize you were shaking, fists already up and your stance ready to throw them at the boys that surrounded you just a second ago, until he stepped closer, brow furrowed, voice low.

“y/n… you shouldn’t be here.”

you wanted to yell at him, hit him, maybe even hold him.

you did none of that.

you walked home in silence, his presence beside you heavy like a storm cloud. at your door, he paused—hands still buried in his hoodie, the lamplight softening his jaw.

“you grew up,” he murmured.

“you didn’t say goodbye,” you replied.

he winced like that hurt worse than any punch.

but when you hugged him tight and whispered “don’t disappear again,” the only thing baekjin could do was nod.

after that, it was slow, cautious. like learning to walk across glass barefoot.

he never touched you first or let his hand linger—except that one night it rained so hard the streets blurred into silver streaks, and you forgot your umbrella.

you were trying to wait it out under a bus stop, shivering, soaked halfway through—when he appeared beside you, quiet as ever. didn’t say anything, just pressed a black folding umbrella into your hand like it was obvious he’d been looking for you.

“you’ll get sick,” you said, blinking.

“i’ll be fine,” he replied, stepping back into the storm without waiting for a thank you.

and the way he looked at you before he left—like he couldn’t believe you were real, like this was some dream he didn’t want to wake from—that’s what really started it.

a glance turned into a habit.

a walk turned into a routine.

late nights turned into a secret.

one evening, you found him waiting on the rooftop of an old building near your school, knees drawn up, a book balanced across them. his hair windswept, and he was squinting against the wind to read.

you laughed. “you’re such a nerd.”

he looked up, brow raised. “you still let your heart do the stupid stuff first.”

“and you still act like you don’t have one,” you shot back, sitting beside him.

that night, he kissed you.

that was the first time baekjin kissed you, he said your name like it was the only thing holding him to this world.

you weren’t a kid anymore. and neither was he.

but neither of you were ready for baku to know. not after everything baekjin has been through and is tied to now. you knew it was dangerous, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

and after that—well, you stopped pretending there wasn’t something between you.

even if it meant keeping it from baku. even if it meant dodging questions, meeting in alleyways, changing contact names and never walking too close in daylight.

even if it meant lying.

because what you had with baekjin—it wasn’t just a childhood crush or some thrill in the shadows. it was real. and it felt like it was yours.

something worth protecting.

you thought you were careful.

you were careful.

no texting unless it was code. no eye contact when baekjin stopped by the café you worked part-time in after closing just to catch a glimpse of you. no lingering touches, no flinching when you saw each other when you would walk back home from your own cram schools. baku didn’t suspect a thing.

until he did.

you didn’t even know he’d seen baekjin’s text, didn’t know he’d followed you out that night. you thought it was just another quiet moment, the first few drops of rain starting to fall—baekjin waiting for you by the convenience store, back leaned against the wall, eyes flicking up like they always did when you arrived.

you smiled. he smiled back, barely there, soft and crooked, and only you got to see it.

and then he reached out, thumb brushing a raindrop from your cheek. his touch tender, familiar.

you didn’t even hear baku coming.

just the sharp sound of footsteps—fast, angry—and then crack.

baekjin’s head jerked to the side from the impact, the sound of the punch echoing off the concrete like thunder. he stumbled but didn’t fall, blood blooming at the corner of his mouth.

“baku!” you gasped, stepping forward in instinct.

but your brother’s hand was already on your arm.

“let go—!” you cried, trying to yank free, but he wasn’t listening.

his grip was tight—furious—and the next thing you knew, he was dragging you across the empty street, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt to speak.

“you’re coming home,” he snapped.

“baku—stop—” your voice caught in your throat as your shoes scraped against the asphalt. “you’re hurting me!”

he didn’t let go.

not because he wanted to hurt you—but because he didn’t know how else to stop you. everything in him was burning. you could feel it in his grip. his silence. the way his shoulders trembled with each step.

behind you, baekjin didn’t follow. he didn’t call after you. he just stood there as the rain started pouring heavier, watching.

you looked back only once.

he was holding his chest like it ached, blood smeared across his lip, eyes locked on you with something devastatingly soft.

but he didn’t move.

not even when you disappeared around the corner, your brother’s hand still wrapped around your wrist like a leash.

the walk home was silent—if silence could be loud, teeth-bared, vibrating with fury. baku didn’t look at you once. not when the rain soaked through your clothes, not when your breath hitched from trying not to cry. but the second the apartment door clicked shut behind you, something inside him snapped.

“what the fuck were you thinking?” he exploded, voice rough, cracked from holding it in too long. “are you out of your goddamn mind?”

you flinched. he didn’t notice. or maybe he did, but he was too far gone to stop.

“him? him?” he shouted, pacing now, hands raking through his hair like he needed something to tear. “after everything—after he left, after he ghosted both of us, after he joined them—you thought that was okay? to sneak around with baekjin?”

“baku—”

“don’t,” he snapped, pointing at you. “don’t even try. you don’t get to play stupid now.”

the apartment was too small for his anger. it filled every inch of it, clung to the walls like smoke. your father wasn’t around—was never around—but even if he had been, baku wouldn’t have cared. he was beyond reason, seeing red, heart pounding like it wanted to burst through his chest.

“he’s dangerous, y/n,” he shouted, voice breaking for real this time. “you think i don’t know what he’s capable of? you think this is some romance? it’s not—it’s not safe. it’s not right.”

his chest heaved, breath ragged. and when he looked at you—really looked—it wasn’t just rage in his eyes. it was fear. worry. the kind that ran deep, that made his voice crack not from anger, but from something more helpless. something more brotherly. out of love.

“you don’t know what you’re getting into,” he muttered, quieter now, but no less sharp.

you opened your mouth to speak—but he shut that down before you could.

his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t catch his breath. and when he looked at you, really looked, it wasn’t just fury etched into his face—it was fear. raw and rattling, buried beneath every word he couldn’t say right.

“baekjin isn’t the same kid we knew,”

your fingers tightened around your phone.

he noticed.

his eyes flicked down to it, then back up to you. and this time, his voice didn’t rise. it sank—low, tired, final.

“i’m not gonna force you,” he said. “but if you’re keeping him... if this is what you’re choosing—then choose. tonight.”

and then he turned, walked away, the air between you thick with everything he didn’t say.

and you just stood there—phone still in hand, your heart stuck in your throat—knowing, without him saying it, that whatever you chose tonight... would change everything.

not just with baekjin, but with your own brother.

and all you could do was stand there, dripping rain onto the floor, feeling like a kid again. like no matter how much you’d grown, you’d never be more than his little sister.

later that night, long after the door slammed behind you and baku locked himself in his room, you sat on your bed with your knees pulled tight to your chest. your phone buzzed once.

you stared at the message. your wrist still ached from how hard baku had pulled. but your heart ached more.

you didn’t answer right away.

but you opened your drawer, dug through old notebooks, and pulled out the umbrella—the same black one he gave you that night it rained.

you still hadn’t returned it.

your fingers brushed over the fabric, tracing the edges like they held answers.

you thought about the way he looked at you—always like he wasn’t sure you were real. like he didn’t believe he deserved to be near you but couldn’t stop coming back anyway.

you thought about the silence he kept between you, not because he didn’t care, but because he did too much.

you thought about how he never pushed. never asked for more than what you gave. never made promises he couldn’t keep—but still showed up when it mattered.

he was here now.

in his own quiet, stubborn way—he chose you.

and the thought of losing him again, of watching him disappear without fighting to keep him this time—it felt like a second heartbreak you weren’t sure you’d survive.

your thumb hovered over your screen.

a thousand ways to say i’m sorry, or this is too much, or i can’t.

but none of them were true.

so you typed back slowly, quietly.

you pressed send, watching the messages pile up, delivered. and for the first time all night, you breathed.

whatever came next—whatever fights, secrets, screaming matches waited—you weren’t gonna let baekjin fade away from your life.

not again.

you were willing to argue, to plead, to fight your brother if you had to—but you weren’t going to lose baekjin twice.

note: i edited this bc it wasnt proofread when i posted it lol, plz bare with me i fixed repeat paragraphs i forgot to edit 😭

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50 people on the taglist.. holy shit might need a pt 2 soon

[ruinix]

hi i’m just here to drop in and mention how bad Quinn wants to leave marks on your body. he doesn’t care where or how he just needs to see him on you at all times ya know?

Halloo, love, my lovely moot😚. I’m sorry it took me long. I blame my two braincells. They got distracted. [Also... i totally didnt try to repost this (i did, but it didnt happen...😭 sorry)] Here it is...ummm.... i think i have veered off in a different path. Sorry...🧎🏻‍♀️

One. Two. Three.

CW/TW: 18+ MDNI, Smut or smut(ish), Sloppy kisses and Marking, Slightest bit of choking, Quinn being a love sick fool 🙂‍↔️

Count: 1449 words | Masterlist | Taglist

One. Two. Three. Hmmm, that’s not right. Quinn swears he left you four marks on your neck…Why the fuck are you bundled up after all the hard work he did?

He could feel his irritation bubble up his throat, but he swallows it down—crossing his arms, eyebrows drawn—as he tracks your movement across the apartment. You’re doing miscellaneous cleaning, dusting here and there, dancing along with whatever music blasting in your headphones.

You look cute, really. Pretty and cozy in your matching sweatpants and your crewneck sweater. The colors are soft and makes your skin glow. The fit is oversized. You demanded that size when you got him to buy it—he bought five sets for you, because you rarely request something. You are even wearing your comfy and grippy socks. Adorable, really. Really—Fuck. What the fuck? Are you covering him—his marks—up? Didn’t you say you love them last night?

Before he could spiral, you finally notice him. Whatever complaints he has disintegrated to nothing. Your smile with the twinkle in your eyes takes his breath away. When you squeal and run towards him, his arms instantly drop, spreading to give in your hug. You smell like fresh laundry. Home. You smell like home. His home.

Quinn melts into your touch, head dipping where your neck and shoulders meet. His eyes dart from one mark after the other. Where is the other one?

 “Quinn, you’re home! How’s your day? How’s practice?” you ramble on, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

“All good. I had fun,” he murmurs, slightly parting from you. “How’s yours?”

You happily recount your day—cleaning, work, watching a show, taking a good and satisfying bath. Quinn guesses that this day is for a nonlinear storytelling, which he has no complaints about. He could get lost in your voice, that’s like the soft patters of rain, like the soft breeze in summer, like the rustle of leaves, like soft chirps of birds. Your voice is like every calming tune of nature. Soothing. Nurturing. That’s what you do to his soul.

Mix that with how firmly your arms are wrapped around his torso, hands slipping into his shirt. They smoothen over his muscles, tracing his spine, causing shivers to run down his fucking soul. Oh, the effect you have on him, but that doesn’t appease him as it usually does. Not one bit—fine, maybe just slightly—because where the fuck is it?

While you talk about a grocery list, Quinn carefully rubs your arms and your shoulders. When he thumbs the column of your neck, you instantly pause, shuddering, breaths picking up. You look at him with wide eyes. The blush staining your cheeks deepens. Cute.

Quinn slips his thumb into your collar and tugs. He almost gets distracted with the goosebumps on your skin. Almost. Because there it is. The fourth mark. It’s just hiding under the edge. Still red and purple, the same shade as the other three. Still so beautiful on your skin. So fucking beautiful.

“Quinn?” you call, confusion etched in your face. “Did I lose you?”

Lose him? Never. You will never lose him. You’re stuck with him. He will chase you no matter where you go, stand beside you, hold your hands every step of the way.

You know that, but you’re still pouting. As second ticks, your confusion turns into annoyance. Your eyebrows furrow. You’re such a brat sometimes. It makes him want to kiss you, so he does. Your arms hook over his nape. The way your lips instantly part sends blood rushing down his groin. You’re always so eager, parting your thighs for his leg to step between.

“You ignored me,” you murmur, nipping at his lip. “You can’t ignore me.”

Fuck. That feels good.

“Not ignoring you. I heard everything you said,” Quinn whispers back in between kisses. “You know that, brat.”

He feels your smile, hears your giggle. He’s so fucked. Even that turns him on. With how your eyes shine, you know you had him in a chokehold. Well, he can have you in a chokehold too. Literally. So, he gives your neck a squeeze. A small whimper comes out your lips.

“Quinn.”

Your name spills out from his lips as a response.

You moan like he’s already fucking you, grinding your clothed cunt over his thigh. He pushes it up, letting you take all the friction you want.

When he goes for another kiss, your lips are already parted, tongue out, waiting for his. You beautiful siren. Quinn can’t hold in his growl as he meets it.

The kiss is sloppy, messy, and hungry. Your spits mixing. Your tongues lashing. Your teeth bumping and nipping each other’s lips. So different from the first one just a while ago. So different, yet utterly the same—full of love, lust, and devotion. So fucking good.

Quinn grinds his hard-on against you, raising his thigh to help you chase your high, but he stops. Not yet. You can’t come just yet. Your whines fill his ears as he parts from you. Tears threaten to spill as you try, try, and fucking try to get him to kiss you again. To get him to let you ride his thigh again. To get him to fuck himself on you.

You have to wait.

“Maybe,” he mutters against your lips, almost laughing when your tongue darts out to gaud him for another kiss. Little seductress. Quinn impatiently tugs on your sweatshirt. “Maybe you should get rid of this, yeah?”

He nearly preens when you nod—desperately and utterly wrecked. His hands shake as he helps you pull it off.

Fuck. You’re just wearing an almost-sheer crop top underneath. Your nipples are already taut, begging for him to touch, to kiss, to suck. Your low neckline showcases your beautiful skin littered with different shades of kiss marks. Some are old. Some are new. All his.

Yet. Not. Enough.

Not when there are still lots of blank spaces of skin to mark. Not when many of them are already fading. Not when you can still hide them. He doubts it will ever be enough. He just needs him on you.

His kiss marks.

Different from cum and spit which you—or he, depending on your mood—wash away.

Different from the occasional fingerprint bruises he leaves on your hips and thighs from holding you so tightly as he fucked you until you couldn’t stop cumming, until he’s left with watery cum or with nothing because your sweet pussy already sucked him dry.

Different because it shows the whole world how he worshipped you, your skin, your being.

Different but they always come one after another. He can’t have you all marked up with your pussy unsatisfied, can he? No. That’s not possible. An offence that he would rather die than commit.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes, grazing his knuckles over your ribs. His other hand tenderly holds our hips, keeping them pressed against his, not letting you do anything else. “So pretty.”

He nearly chokes on those words. He relishes the feel of your hands on his shoulders, fingers casually tugging the tips of his hair—a demand for him to stop fucking around.

Well, can you blame him for taking his time? He just loves you so much.

Then, your little tugs turn more desperate, fingers wrapping around his locks. You tug on his hair like you want to rip it off, but you would ease and scratch his scalp effectively seducing him.

But first, he needs to remedy his problem. He grips your arms, holding them against the wall, as he partakes on your skin. The way you surrender—when he starts sucking and adding marks on your neck, even craning it to give him more access—almost made him fall to his knees. Oh, he is essentially on his knees, because you are his love, his law, his Goddess. He is always kneeling for you. His existence is nothing without you now. He can only beg that you always be with him—of course, he will ensure that.

But he can’t be on his knees right now. How can he reach your neck then? How can he hold you up when you are melting with every suck and lick and kiss then?

Later, he can be on his knees. Later, when he needs to mark up your belly, your hips, your thighs, the creases between them that leads to your pussy, and your beautiful fucking ass. Later.

Right now, he needs to mark up your neck to show everyone—honestly, just him, fuck everyone else—that you are his and his alone.

[sleepyangelkami]

BRO I NEEDDD MORE OF PERVERTED!!!! OMG LIKE YOUR MIND>>>>>

PERVERTED III c.grimes

 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.6K

CARL GRIMES X FEM!READER

 𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - after the perverted thoughts consume carl whole, he realises he needs to act on them and soon finds out that you need him to act on them just as badly.

 𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, heavy innocence kink, corruption kink, pervert!carl, fingering, dom!carl, sub!reader, size kink, pussy eating, cum eating, aged up characters, thigh riding-ish, manipulative carl, praise kink, petnames, use of y/n, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

series masterlist

after that night in your bedroom, carl was downright desperate.

he realised that he needed to act upon his thoughts before it drove him over the edge of insanity. but there you were, prancing around in your little skirts and dresses, ditzy as ever. how was he ever supposed to explain his need to you?

that was just it, he was going to have to show you.

carl had been your best friend for a long time. you could trust him with anything in the world and carl would know if you'd ever done anything. that was the beauty in it. your innocence was bliss.

you were so innocent to the corrupt minds around you, not a single notion of the horrid thoughts of others. not a clue in your mind of just what carl wanted to do to you. no what he needed to do to you.

he knew he was going to have to ease you into it.

the first time carl had let you feel anything was during a rainy night of alexandria. the clouds were dull and full, slapping down on the outside windows. rick and michonne were on yet another supply run, no surprise there, and you and carl had been put in charge of taking care of judith.

it wasn't until she had been laid down asleep in bed that carl began to shift his mind back to you.

the clouds dulled until they were long gone. the night sky had settled in.

the tv displaying pretty images illuminated the room as you sat on carl's lap. when he'd asked if you'd like to sit there, it came as no surprise. you'd sat on carl's lap tonnes of times. whether it was just you two alone, sitting on the bed or perhaps you were in public, choosing to sit on his thigh rather than the bench occupied by the others.

however, what you didn't know was carl had much more in store for you than just watching the stupid movie that was playing.

you were engrossed in the flashing pictures, watching as each changed to another. you were the type of person to pay all your attention to one thing at a time, finding it hard to focus on more than one.

that was when your attention shifted.

it was a mere, 'innocent', bounce of carl's knee.

he did it as some sort of a test. he'd waited until you were so interested in the movie to do it. your two thighs had splayed at either side of his own. he'd waited until your cunt was snug on the jeans of his leg to rub it gently against you.

and by the sudden breath that left your lips, he deemed that you were almost as satisfied as he was.

nevertheless, you shook the feeling. you assumed the boy beneath you was merely trying to get comfortable so you tried to do the same, writhing yourself in the slightest.

that was when the smallest of whimpers left your mouth. with wide eyes, you clamped your mouth shut, hoping carl hadn't heard. "you okay?" he spoke softly in your ear, alerting you that he had heard.

only, you weren't trying to do anything wrong. like i said, you'd sat on carl's lap tonnes of times. but this time seemed... different. you were suddenly hyper aware of your skirt that was riding up ever so slightly and the way that fixing your position on his leg felt... good?

being in an apocalypse and all, you never really got too much education on... down there.

that was what carl was for, you supposed. he was basically your teacher in everything, any question you had went directly to him.

but what you did know was that parts like that were private and not to be shared. which is why you merely let out a small 'mhm' to indicate that you were, in fact, okay.

"alright." he mumbled back, his voice low as if not to disturb the serenity of the room.

you let a breath out, relaxing once more onto his leg.

carl knew he could have stopped there, letting you be all confused for the rest of the evening on just what that feeling you had was. but he didn't know how much you'd taken in, he needed to make sure that the feeling you felt was going to stick.

which was why he waited mere seconds before bouncing his leg again, like a kid in class riddled with ADHD.

you'd seen carl bouncing his leg like a maniac many times before. he'd do it under a table when he was nervous or angry or anything really. he often cracked his knuckles even when there was no air left to crack and shook his legs like there was no tomorrow. carl was always moving.

so how could you tell him to stop?

what would you even say?

did you even want him to stop?

there was an odd feeling in your stomach as he continued to bounce his leg up and down, hitting smoothly against your covered area. your breathing picked up but you did everything in your will to steady it.

some called carl grimes an ADD nightmare, this was a normal thing for him.

why was it suddenly not so normal for you?

perhaps it was the way his chin gently rested on your shoulder, gentle breath hitting against your neck or the way his hands soothed around your waist, his own calloused hands against your gentle skin where your satin dress lay on top.

the skirt of your dress bounced with every bounce of his leg too, exposing more of your thighs with each steady movement.

he was calculating and gentle, as if he knew you were becoming dizzy.

your throat itched too. you couldn't fathom why though you had a feeling it was a noise trying to crawl out.

you couldn't so much as stop yourself before your hands outstretched onto his thigh, stopping his movements.

he did so with the slightest smirk on his lips, knowing he'd gotten you exactly where you wanted. the way your thighs gently shook around him, you wouldn't so much as turn around. oh yes, you'd definitely felt it.

before he could question you in that gentle, condescending tone, the front door could be heard unlocking.

"gotta get my jacket." was the mumble that fell from your mouth as you helped yourself off of the boy's leg, grasping the pretty coat that sat on the other couch, where you'd originally been sitting. carl got up too, glancing down to his thigh. it was a wonder that there wasn't a large wet splotch on his jeans.

shortly after, rick and michonne entered the house, looking tired as ever. they asked a couple questions about judith, making sure you'd both been taking care of her right before they found themselves stating that they were heading up to bed.

carl gave somewhat of a disgusted look to the way they were looking at eachother. he din't even want to imagine what they'd be getting up to the minute they stepped into the bedroom.

"you sure you don't wanna stay the night?" he questioned, walking you to the front door of his home. you didn't live too far away which was the only reason he was letting you walk out in the dark alone. with his luck, he'd see you getting settled into your house while he still stood at the door.

you looked up at him with slightly wide eyes, you looked a little dazed. your hands were holding eachother behind your back, ignoring the feeling throbbing through your cunt. how had he done something so simple and left you feeling like this? "mhm." you hummed.

he gave you a look. "and you're positive you're okay?" tilting his head. "you seem a little off." he knew exactly why you were off.

but you weren't going to let anything on. "no, i'm okay." nodding your head, trying to convince both him and yourself.

"you know you can talk to me about anything, right baby?" he stepped forward, his words a little quieter as he spoke to you. his eyes flickered down to your bottom lip between your top teeth. "anything at all..."

you looked like you were contemplating, unsure if it was exactly appropriate to share with anyone even if it was just your best friend.

though your eyes quickly turned back to rick who was now standing in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water. "I'm okay." you quickly quipped.

rick turned around, swallowing the water. "you off, y/n?" you nodded, swallowing thickly. "right, night then, and thanks again for watching judith."

"anytime." you mumbled back, eyes flickering up to carl. "g'night, carl."

"night, angel." and so, you left.

the sky rose just as soon as it had gone down. carl hadn't steadied his movements since. hours passed, merging into days and carl was getting braver by the second. he couldn't help it, you were like putty, just so easy to mold.

by the time the saturday sleepover rolled around again, the boy was near ecstatic.

he'd gotten you exactly where he wanted in many ways, with little fluttering touches and words whispered gently, that could have been taken in any way. but he must say, his favourite place to have you was sat atop his thigh, gently bumping against it as he shook it from the ground.

he did it again now, maggie and glenn were long gone on yet another supply run, stocking up on the foods. they wouldn't be home until the next morning, possibly the morning after that.

but there simply wasn't anything else carl could think about other than the girl sat perched on his thigh. your hands were near your stomach, fiddling with themseleves, pulling on your fingers gently, contemplating.

carl didn't stop the bounce of his knee, moving it so accurately that you could feel a pool forming in your panties. you'd never felt like this before. and you were sure that carl knew this too.

this was the longest he'd ever done it, he should have stopped ages ago, knowing he didn't wish to push you too far. however, your little shaky breaths had his head spinning, he couldn't stop, not now.

you were contemplating asking him to stop. something about his shaking leg beneath you had you feeling awfully funny. but you couldn't decipher if it was a good feeling or not. besides, you couldn't understand why it was that his moving leg had your head feeling dizzy.

"carl?" your mouth got the better of you. it was supposed to come out as a steady question, voice stable, however, it came out more breathless than you'd intended, a slight whine to the back of your throat.

carl's hands had gently been resting against your waist. "hm?" he took the hint to stop, though.

beneath you, his leg froze.

your mind went sort of fuzzy then, that was when you realised it had, in fact, been a good feeling. your mind raced back to moments ago when the wet patch was forming on your satin panties. you couldn't even register what was going on before you slid yourself against his leg, not once, not even twice.

"sweetheart?" his voice was soft, calculated. it had you realising what you were doing, but still, your aching cunt dragged across his jeaned leg. "what're you doing? hm?"

a breath fell from your lips. you gently willed yourself to stop your movements before turning your face to the boy. you had pinched brows, lips bitten, desperation written all over your face. "carl, i―" the words left had you frowning.

carl merely rubbed his fingers against your waist. "somethin' wrong?" he questioned softly. "'s just me, you can tell me, baby."

and suddenly, it was your last straw.

but carl had already known that.

he'd moved his hands so gently around you for the past week, bounced you against his thigh every chance he got and whispered meak things to you, calling you such pretty names. he knew sooner or later you were bound to snap.

"you..." you let out a sigh, eyes avoiding the boy. "you can't laugh."

without a second thought, carl's fingers hooked themselves beneath your chin, angling your face up and forcing you to look at him. "'m not gonna laugh at you, angel." and his comforting features looked as though they were telling nothing but the truth. "jus' tell me what's going on."

you sighed, trying to avert your eyes. "everytime you bounce your leg... it feels funny." you tried to keep your voice as low as possible, throat closing and your cheeks heating up. it was hard trying to keep your composure in font of him, especially when talking about such a private thing.

"yeah?" seemingly unfazed by what you'd told him. "where's it feel funny?" again, your cheeks heated up, only this time you were sure that you were as red as a tomato. "baby, i can't help you if you don't tell me."

and you were sure you needed his help. after all, he was the only one that had made you feel so... worked up. instead of uttering a word, you practically whined before pushing your head into his shirt covered chest. you grasped his hand, sucking in as you guided it downwards.

carl couldn't help but smirk as you moved his hand to cup your shorts-covered cunt. you whimpered at the touch of his hand, quickly moving your own away, as if scared you were going to mess something up.

carl placed his palm against the pale shorts, his thumb moving up towards your clit and gently drawing circles. you whined loudly. "here's where it feels funny, huh?" you nodded your head quickly, breaths falling ragged as his gentle, tight circles moved against your clit. "y'gonna answer me?"

"y-yes." coming out as more of a moan rather than an answer. you were suddenly thankful that maggie and glenn were nowhere to be found in the house.

there was a sudden smile splayed on his lips. "good girl." he mumbled, sending electric shocks through your body and right down to your aching pussy. you couldn't understand how two simple words were enough to have you rutting your hips against the boys hands.

though instantly, your face heated again. embarrassment flooded you as you realised what was happening, stinging tears finding it's way to your eyes. "carl." you spluttered out, whimpering as you did so. carl merely shushed you, his free hand coming down to land on the back of your hair, holding your head close to it's place on his chest.

"wh's wrong, baby?" he waited for a response, all you could give him was a second whimper. "want me to stop?"

"no!" was your much too enthusiastic response that had his lips curving upwards. so you did want it as much as he did. "no, please don't stop."

"then tell me what you want." you shied away, cheeks evidently rosy and pink. but you didn't utter a word, much too sheepish.

suddenly, the feeling he was giving to your clit completely stopped. his hand still hung low but they didn't touch you. the whine you let out had your eyes turning glassy. he reminded you that he'd asked you to tell him what you wanted. but you could barely hear his voice now, mind too clouded with the previous pleasure. "f-felt..." your own hand attempted to replace his, rubbing at your covered cunt but it didn't give you the pleasure his had.

you felt his hand reach up and snap your wrist between his fingers, stopping your movements. "you wanna feel good, huh?" you nodded your head, tears stinging. "then the only hands that get to touch you are mine, understood?" you nodded before he squeezed on your wrist, not hard enough to hurt. "understood?"

"yes." was the breathless word as his fingers let go of your wrist.

"now, tell me what you want." almost instantly, his stern voice had disappeared and turned into one of softness again. it was almost scary how quickly he could turn from one demeanour to another. but you were much too hazy now to question anything.

you breathed heavily, cheeks warm. but carl just waited, his eyes looking at you full of admiration, a stark contrast to the stern look he'd had before. "i want..." he waited, not rushing you, patiently. "want you to make me feel good." your voice was so quiet, so small and you were looking anywhere but his face. you thought it was somewhat awkward in a sense, more scary really. he'd shrug it off for your natural shyness that simply never went away.

"see?" his voice gentle and loving. "wasn't hard, was it?" you shook your head no despite it being the hardest thing you'd done all year. "now get onto your back, angel." you did what he said, not wishing to disappoint him. he followed by climbing on top of you, watching your doe eyes slightly widen.

a breath.

he was so close, lips practically brushing against your own. you'd known carl a very long time but you were sure this was the closest he'd ever been. "'m gonna kiss you, okay?" you nodded, slightly unsure. you'd never been kissed before and you had no idea that it related to the feeling that you'd felt earlier. "it'll all make sense in a second, sweetheart." he mumbled, hands on your waist. "just... relax."

and suddenly, his lips were on yours.

his lips were even softer than they looked. and if that was what you thought of his lips, you could only imagine what he thought of yours. he kissed you gently, open mouthed kissing with his tongue slipping past yours.

now you understood.

it definitely related to the feeling.

as he was kissing you, you had the sudden urge to roll your hips upwards, into his own. carl had this way of making you feel so comfortable that you didn't have to worry the outcome. so you did. rolling your hips gently yet desperately.

you felt him let out a harsher breath into your mouth. his lips moved from your mouth. you felt him press a kiss to the corner of your lips, then to your chin and down to your neck. the feeling of him sucking against the supple skin had a whimper falling from your lips, then another and a long stretched whine.

his lips moved away and his tongue soothed down the hurt skin.

you supposed, you knew what sex was. it was an intimate form of love on your partner. was that what you and carl were going to do? sex? carl wasn't your boyfriend but he was the only one in the entire world you'd felt such a connection to. you supposed, if anyone was to have sex with you, it may as well be carl grimes.

"sweetheart." he breathed against your neck. "keep making sounds like that 'n i won't be able to last." to last? for what?

you didn't even care what he was saying, just the sound of his voice was enough to have you reeling. "carl, please just..."

"shh." he hushed you, practically cooing. "s'needy." before his hands moved back down towards your shorts. "can i take this off?" though he wasn't just grasping the band of your shorts but of your panties too. however, you couldn't seem to care. nodding enthusiastically before helping him guide the material off your body.

carl's breath hitched in his throat. he'd seen you before, he'd seen you when you were sleeping and he plunged a finger inside you, tasted you even. even so, it was like seeing you for the first time all over again.

he could see you red as a tomato above him, covering your face. you'd known carl forever, but something about being nude with him over you on your couch seemed like something a best friend shouldn't do. carl didn't allow the shyness to continue, peppering gentle kisses across the skin of your face. "hey, hey." gently removing your hands. "you're beautiful."

your hands suddenly pawed at the end of his shirt. if you were going to be bare, he should too, right? "can you..?"

"wan't me to take of my shirt, baby?" you only nodded, pressing your lips together. he nodded himself before placing his hands at the end of his shirt, bringing it up and above his head, tossing it off the couch. "your turn." he mumbled, pressing kisses to your neck before grasping the bottom of your own shirt. you allowed him to pull it over your own head.

it was no surprise that there was no bra found underneath, your perky tits bouncing gently. he moved his lips downwards, sucking on one and grasping the other between his fingers, flicking over your pretty nipple. you whined, back arching off the couch and hands finding his hair, tugging at the strands.

his lips popped over your nipple, letting go with a string of spit attatching the two of you. he pushed his large hand onto your chest, thumb at one end of your tits and other fingers at the other, pushing them together. you were so small compared to him, it had his own mind reeling. "so fucking pretty."

"carl." there was desperation in his eyes. the amount of times you had uttered his name would have made anyone think you were reciting it as if he were god himself. "need you." you didn't even know what you meant yourself. all you did know was that you needed him, in whatever way possible.

"i know, pretty girl." his fingers traced your cheek, cupping it ever so softly. "'m gonna touch you, okay?"

nervously, you found yourself nodding. you knew by him touching you, the ache would go away. how you knew that, you were unsure. perhaps it was because you put so much trust in carl to do what was right.

you expected the soft flutter of his long fingers, the gentle tracing of the pads against your skin. what you hadn't been expecting was the mouth that suddenly landed on your core.

as if on cue, your back arched against the couch once more. a moan of both surprise and pleasure fell from your lips. you felt the vibrations of a chuckle throughout your body, from him. he'd been waiting for this moment for too long to let it slip from his fingers.

the foreign feeling of a face between your thighs had you writhing. you allowed his tongue to explore your cunt, whining and whimpering while your hands clung to his hair, overcome with a foreign pleasure.

never, had you felt this good in your entire life.

an eerie sense was embedded right in your stomach, telling you that this was all wrong. the feelings you felt and the way his hands moved against your body, it had to be wrong. but the pleasure of his tongue lapping against your cunt told you that no matter how hard he tried, nothing carl could do would ever be wrong.

you felt him insert a finger into your hole and you were sure you'd lost it.

"carl!" you moaned out, unsure what words to use. "carl―nughhh!" no words could grasp your tongue signifying how good it felt.

your wetness seeped onto his tongue, decorating it with your pretty juices, and his finger had a rim of white surrounding it, belonging to you. his face moved up from your pussy, glancing to your own face. your head was thrown back, eyes shut and reflection twisted. "i know, baby." pumping his finger in and out of you in quick motions. "feels good, huh?"

you nodded your head, babbling incoherently despite the fact that carl couldn't make out a single word you said. he nodded with a smirk, anyway.

this was so much better now that you were awake.

"uh huh?" he was practically testing you, your moans coming out strangled and harsh. "yeah, told you i'd fix it, huh?"

and boy, did he fix it.

the sensation grew and you began to get a sudden knotted feeling in your stomach. it was foreign, new and strange. but despite that, you were sure you'd felt it before. perhaps in a dream? one of which carl had remembered all too well.

a sudden panicked state came over you. "carl" you babbled out, a hint of worry in your voice.

carl placed his free hand on your thigh, gently rubbing against it and shushing you. "shh, shh, you can take it." his mouth travelling back to where you needed him the most.

you couldn't even give him a warning.

the orgasm fell over you before you could even register what was happening. your back practically lept from the couch, good thing carl's hand had been keeping your stomach steady against the material. mewls fell from your lips, shameful mewls that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

your legs shook from around his head, his name falling from your red and swollen lips like a prayer, fingers tight around his little curls.

finally, his head reappeared from it's place between your thighs, a grin on his face.

your eyes were low, sort of red. and he swore it was the prettiest sight he'd ever seen.

"feel good, huh?" pride on his smug face. he came up to meet your own by the arm of the couch, hand moving your hair past your ear.

you had this sinking, gnawing feeling as you glanced up at him. "but... what about you?" thinking that surely couldn't have made him feel good. you'd never experienced pleasure like that before, you were sure everyone in the world should get to experience it at least once.

"don't worry about me, sweet girl." peppering gentle kisses to the nape of your neck. "next time." he spoke despite his hand moving against his dick, straightening it out after his own cum leaked through his jeans.

he came in his pants because of you. again.

main masterlist/carl's masterlist

[shaiyasstuff]

so hawoo, i saw your writings and i lurv it QuQ and I saw you accept requests for a tiny bit?

if ish okay, i had an HC idea in mind QuQ so sometimes, just sometimes, when we are travelling with someone, particularly a close family, we might get... into a certain disagreement and sometimes argument yea?

so let's say each of the LADS boys and you had an argument while in a holiday, how would both make up? QuQ what will each men do?

it's totally okay to make it either headcannon style or story? whichever you're okay with ✨ and if it's too many, you can just write mr. crow and mr. apple-sunshine since i like them both ><

ps: this is random but... since i read that other request that involves size difference... 😳 i mean i likey >< and being a 5‘3 (i think? since i use cm and foot measures are so confusing @u@) plus being a sylus girlie (and a bit of caleb girlie) well, you know i'm almost a whole foot away from both these men QAQ)

sorry for writing a lot in the ask section QwQ thank chu for taking the time to read all these and i hope you're having the nicest holiday ✨( ´∀｀)

Aww thank you!! Don’t apologise for anything sweetie. Here, you ask and I deliver, no apologies needed🥹🫶🏻 unfortunately I do not write for Caleb because I can’t really get a grasp on his character yet. Perhaps in the future, I’ll do a rewrite of this just for you (or maybe ehem @blessdunrest can help)

Here is how the LADS boys would try to make up after an argument during your holiday getaways.

(I will leave the circumstances of the argument up to you, I wrote the scenes to be set after the argument itself, focusing more on how they would make it up to you, enjoy!)

Zayne

The guest room is quiet when you return. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles after something sharp, something unresolved. Your bag’s still unpacked by the door.

The sun has long dipped beneath the line of trees beyond the window, casting the room in a low amber glow that pools in corners and slips across the floor.

You sigh and start to change out of the clothes from earlier—still rumpled from walking too far and talking too little.

And then you see it.

A cup. Your favorite warm drink, placed neatly on the nightstand. The steam has thinned, like it’s been sitting a while, but the effort is unmistakably him. No note. No explanation. Just the smallest bridge, laid gently between you.

You don’t touch it. Not yet.

Outside, the wind stirs the branches. You catch a glimpse of him through the glass door—on the balcony. Hands in his coat pockets.

The same coat he wore when the two of you first arrived, when he offered you the window seat on the train without saying a word.

You open the door quietly. Step out.

He doesn’t turn to you. Just keeps his eyes on the horizon where the last of the light fades.

“I was wrong,” he says after a long silence. “About what I said earlier.”

The words come slowly. Like it costs him to admit them, but he does it anyway. For you.

“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” he continues.

“Sometimes I… I think too much. I try to stay in control of everything, and I forget that I’m not the only one in this.”

You watch him carefully, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curl in his coat pocket like he’s holding something in—something heavy.

“I don’t want this to ruin the time we have here,” he says softly.

“I don’t want you to remember this trip as the one where I hurt you.”

Finally, he turns his head, eyes meeting yours. In them, something raw flickers. Quiet remorse. That particular tenderness he never shows to anyone else.

“I’m not great at fixing things,” he adds. “But I want to try. With you.”

He hesitates—then offers a small, almost shy suggestion.

“Maybe tomorrow we could start fresh. Just the two of us. Somewhere quiet. You can pick.”

And for a long moment, he holds your gaze. Like he’s hoping you’ll say yes. Like it matters more than he can put into words.

Sylus

You don’t slam the door when you come in, but the silence that follows is louder than anything you could’ve said.

The villa is dim—just the flicker of one dying candle on the table, shadows curling along the walls. Rain taps against the tall glass windows, steady and unrelenting. The storm outside hasn’t let up, and neither has the one still simmering in your chest.

You expect him to be gone. Or brooding somewhere far away, like he always does when things fall apart.

But he’s there.

Sitting in the armchair by the fire, shirt half-unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, a glass of something amber untouched in his hand.

He doesn’t look up when you enter. Just speaks, voice low and smooth like velvet dragged over broken glass.

“You’re late.”

You don’t answer. You’re not in the mood for his games.

His head turns slightly, just enough for you to catch the glint in his crimson eyes. “I didn’t realize sulking in the rain was part of our itinerary.”

That earns a glare from you, sharp enough to slice through steel. But he doesn’t flinch. He never does.

“You’re infuriating,” you mutter.

He stands.

Slowly. Deliberately. As if the weight of everything unsaid finally pushed him to move.

“I know,” he says, walking toward you with that infuriating calm. “And yet, you love me anyway.”

You want to push him away. Shove him back into that fire and let him burn with every careless word he said earlier.

But then he’s right in front of you. Taller. Warmer. More real than ever.

“I’m not good at being soft,” he says. “I say the wrong things, I let pride get in the way, and when it comes to you—”

He stops, jaw tightening. “You terrify me. You make me forget the edge I built my world on.”

He brings your hand to his chest, where his heart beats too fast.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness,” he murmurs. “That would mean pretending I didn’t mean what I said.”

You stiffen.

“But I didn’t mean to hurt you. There’s a difference.”

And then, softer, almost vulnerable beneath all that bravado.

“I missed you the second you left the room.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against your temple, breath trembling just enough to betray him.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispers. “Breakfast in bed. An apology written in kisses. You name it, it’s yours.”

And then, with a crooked smirk, “I draw the line at begging, though. Even I have limits.”

Rafayel

You storm out before either of you can say something unforgivable.

The screen door slams behind you, wind tangling your hair as you make your way down the gravel path, past the rows of tall pines lining the edge of the lake.

The sky is still pale with late afternoon light, but your chest is a storm all its own—loud, spiraling, tight.

Rafayel had laughed.

Laughed, while you were trying to talk about something that mattered.

And maybe it wasn’t malicious. Maybe he was trying to ease the tension, deflect like he always did when things got too raw. But it hurt.

You find a quiet patch of rocks by the water’s edge and sit, hugging your knees, breathing hard.

You’re not sure how long you’re out there when you hear footsteps. Fast. Uneven.

“There you are,” Rafayel breathes, slightly out of breath, like he’d been running. “You can’t just vanish after a fight—my heart’s not built for this kind of cardio.”

You look away.

He exhales, kneels beside you, and gently places something warm-wrapped in a towel on your lap.

“…Is this a bribe?” you mutter.

“A peace offering,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “Handmade. Still warm. Possibly edible.”

You raise a brow, suspicious. “Did you poison it?”

He gasps, wounded. “I slaved over a tiny stove in a tiny kitchen with even tinier pots—for you. There’s rosemary in there. Do you know how much I hate rosemary?”

You don’t reply. But your fingers tighten slightly around the towel. The warmth seeps into your skin.

Rafayel sobers, voice quieter now.

“I shouldn’t have laughed,” he says, and his usual lilt softens into something tender. “I panic when things get serious. Especially when I care too much.”

You glance at him. His expression is still boyish, teasing—but his eyes give him away. Bright, worried, sincere.

“I thought I had time to figure out how to be good at this,” he says. “Turns out, I really, really don’t want to waste any of it.”

You stare at the food, then at him. He nudges you with his shoulder, coaxing.

“One bite,” he says. “If you hate it, I’ll let you throw me into the lake.”

A pause.

“…Twice.”

You crack a small, reluctant smile.

And just like that, the storm begins to clear.

Xavier

You lie in bed facing the wall, stiff beneath the sheets, arms curled tightly to your chest.

The argument still burns behind your eyes, echoes of sharp words and colder silences stretching across the room like invisible scars.

You hadn’t meant for it to get so heated.

But Xavier—stoic, unreadable Xavier—had shut down when it mattered most. Again.

And he hadn’t followed you when you left the table.

Not then.

But now you hear the quiet sound of the bedroom door opening. His footsteps. Hesitant. Careful.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just slips under the blankets on his side of the bed, slow and deliberate, the way he does everything. The silence tightens around you like a second skin.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep, to forget, to not care.

And then—you feel it.

His arm curling around your waist. Tentative at first, then firmer when you try to squirm away.

“Xavier,” you say, low and angry, “don’t.”

He doesn’t let go.

You twist slightly to glare at him over your shoulder, but he’s already there, face inches from yours, eyes unreadable in the dark.

“I’m not letting you fall asleep like this,” he says quietly. “Not again.”

Your throat tightens. “You’re the one who—”

“I know.”

The two words drop heavy between you, flat and final.

He exhales slowly, forehead pressing gently to the back of your shoulder. You can feel the way his hand rests against your stomach now—hesitant, as if unsure he has the right. But he keeps it there anyway.

“I didn’t know how to say the right thing,” he murmurs. “I always think too long and speak too late.”

You don’t answer.

“I was wrong,” he says finally. “And I… I’m sorry.”

The words sound strange coming from him. Like he’s still learning how to shape them, how to offer them without flinching.

But he means them. You can feel it in the way he’s holding you now—not loose, not gentle, but like something anchoring. Something meant to keep you here.

Stillness settles over the room.

And then, quieter, “I don’t want to lose you. Even if I don’t always know how to say it.”

You don’t turn around.

But your hand slides over his, lacing your fingers with his beneath the covers.

And he holds on like it’s the only thing that makes sense in the world.

[p0orbaby]

In the Wake of a Hurricane

summary: your hormones are driving you both increasingly insane

warnings: pregnancy stuff, suggestive ish, leah being a saint

a/n: request

word count: 1.6k

-

Leah has started to develop this twitch in her right eye. It comes and goes, like her patience. It’s not a permanent fixture, yet, but you suspect if she survives the next few weeks without needing a psychiatric evaluation, it’ll be nothing short of a miracle.

You're sitting on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket that could double as a small tent. Leah’s across the room, keeping her distance. She’s reading, or pretending to read, one of those pregnancy books that’s the size of a dictionary but probably less useful. It’s full of terms like Braxton Hicks and perineal massage, which you’re pretty sure are just euphemisms for you’re going to suffer, and there’s no escape.

You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, silently stewing. She hasn’t noticed yet, which only makes you more annoyed.

“Leah,” you finally snap, like it’s her fault you’ve suddenly decided she’s the most irritating person on the planet.

She looks up, all innocent blue eyes and confused frown. “Yeah?”

“Why are you all the way over there?” you demand, even though five minutes ago, you’d told her to stop hovering because she was “being clingy.”

She hesitates, like she’s weighing her options. You can practically see the gears turning in her head, trying to figure out which answer will result in the least amount of yelling.

“You said you needed space,” she says carefully, like she’s explaining to a particularly volatile bomb why it shouldn’t go off.

“That was ages ago,” you huff, even though it was more like twenty minutes. “Now I want to be held”

She blinks, clearly surprised by the sudden shift. But she’s up and moving toward you before you can throw a fit about how slow she’s being. When she finally sits down next to you, you immediately nestle into her side, nuzzling your head into the crook of her neck. You sigh dramatically, like you’ve just found the meaning of life in her collarbone.

Leah relaxes, thinking she’s successfully navigated another hormonal minefield. Poor thing. She’s so blissfully unaware of what’s coming next.

Her arm wraps around you, and you’re content for all of thirty seconds before something in you flips, like a switch being flicked by a very cruel god. Suddenly, the feel of her skin against yours is unbearable. It’s like you’re being hugged by a furnace. You’re about three seconds away from ripping off all your clothes and throwing them out the window, which is probably not the most rational response, but hey, pregnancy.

“Ugh, get off,” you groan, pushing her away like she’s made of cactus.

Leah pulls back immediately, her eyes wide with confusion. “What’s wrong?”

“Too hot,” you mutter, flapping your hand at her like a cat that’s just had a bath. “Go away”

She hesitates, her hands hovering in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with them. You’d feel bad if you weren’t so irritated by the fact that she exists in the same room as you.

Leah stands up, clearly unsure of what the hell just happened. You’re in a huff, staring daggers at the TV because it’s easier than admitting that you’re not actually mad at her—you’re mad at your body, which seems to have its own agenda these days.

“I’ll, uh, go check on the washing,” Leah mutters, retreating to the relative safety of the utility room. You watch her go with a blend of annoyance and something that feels suspiciously like guilt.

When she’s gone, you sit there for a moment, glaring at the blanket like it’s personally offended you. Then, like a switch flipping back the other way, you realise you miss her.

A lot.

You want her back. Right now.

“Leah!” you call, your voice bouncing off the walls.

She pokes her head back into the room, looking like a cautious meerkat. “Yeah?”

“Come back,” you say, trying to sound casual, like you didn’t just shove her away like she was a sweaty footballer who’d lost a match.

She walks back in, taking tentative steps like she’s entering the lion’s den. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you snap, though you’re really not. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

Leah looks at you, then at the sofa, probably trying to figure out the safest place to sit. You feel a pang of guilt because, honestly, you’re being a bit of a nightmare. But it’s not your fault. It’s the hormones. Or maybe it’s the baby. Yeah, let’s blame the baby.

She sits down next to you, but this time she doesn’t immediately try to touch you. Smart move.

You stare at her, trying to decide what you want. It’s a simple question, but lately, it feels like every answer is wrapped in layers of confusing emotions and unpredictable desires. Do you want to be touched, or do you want to punch something? Or maybe both?

“Can you, um... maybe... rub my back?” you ask, trying to sound as innocent as possible, which isn’t easy considering you’ve just done a complete 180 in the span of three minutes.

Leah stares at you for a second, clearly wondering if this is a trap. But then she nods and starts rubbing your back, gently, like she’s afraid of setting you off again. You sigh, melting into the touch, the irritation quickly replaced by something much warmer.

“That’s nice,” you murmur, your mood lifting almost instantly. Leah’s hands are magic, soothing the tension in your muscles. You close your eyes, practically purring under her touch. It’s heaven.

But, of course, your body has other plans. As soon as you start to relax, your brain—helped by the wonderful cocktail of pregnancy hormones—decides to take a sharp left turn into horny territory. Because why not?

Suddenly, Leah’s hands on your back feel less like a comforting gesture and more like a teaser for the latest blockbuster. Your skin tingles, your mind goes from zero to sixty, and now you’re wondering why she’s still rubbing your back when there are other, much more interesting places she could be touching.

You shift, turning to face her, eyes heavy-lidded and lips curving into a mischievous smile. Leah’s still rubbing your back, completely oblivious to the fact that you’ve mentally jumped from cuddly to carnal.

“Hey,” you say, your voice dropping into a lower register. Leah freezes, her hand stilling as she catches the change in your tone.

“What’s up?” she asks, clearly unsure whether she should be worried or excited.

“You’re really good at that,” you purr, leaning closer, letting your hand trail up her thigh. Leah swallows hard, her eyes flickering with confusion and interest.

“I, uh, thanks?” she says, her voice cracking just a little.

You smirk, enjoying the way she’s trying to keep up with the sudden shift in your mood. “You know what else would feel really good?”

Leah stares at you like a deer caught in the headlights of your hormones. “What?”

“Kissing me,” you say simply, giving her your best come-hither look. It’s not your finest work, but considering the circumstances, you think it’s pretty damn effective.

Leah blinks, clearly trying to process the fact that you’ve gone from not wanting to be touched to wanting to be thoroughly touched in about sixty seconds flat. But bless her, she’s a fast learner.

She leans in, pressing her lips to yours, and for a moment, everything is perfect. You’re lost in the kiss, your frustration melting away as your hormones do their job, flooding your system with endorphins.

But then, because the universe has a wicked sense of humor, something feels... wrong. The heat that was so welcome a second ago suddenly feels overwhelming. The tingling sensation turns irritating, and now you’re acutely aware of the fact that your skin is too tight, your clothes are too constricting, and you’re not sure if you want to keep kissing Leah or throw her out of the window.

You pull back, your mood crashing faster than a toddler on a sugar high. Leah looks at you, concern etched into her features, her lips still tingling from the kiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, like she’s bracing for impact.

You huff, frustrated with yourself more than anything. “I don’t know. I just—” You throw your hands up, exasperated. “Everything feels weird!”

Leah looks at you, trying to figure out the best course of action. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No!” you snap, then immediately soften. “Maybe? I don’t know”

She stares at you for a moment, then does something that surprises you: she laughs. Not a mocking laugh, but a warm, affectionate chuckle that’s so disarming it actually makes you smile, despite everything.

“What’s so funny?” you grumble, even though you’re starting to feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

“You,” she says, shaking her head, her smile only growing. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

You want to argue, but instead, you just sigh. “I know. I’m a mess”

“Yeah, but you’re my mess,” Leah says, pulling you back into a hug. This time, it feels just right, like maybe, just maybe, the storm of hormones has passed for now.

You lean into her, letting the comfort of her embrace wash over you. “Thanks for putting up with me”

“Always,” she replies, kissing the top of your head. “Even if you do change your mind every five minutes”

“Every three,” you correct, snuggling deeper into her side.

Leah laughs again, the sound vibrating through you and chasing away the last remnants of your irritation. You know you’ll probably be back to snapping at her in another hour, but for now, you’re content.

[voxslays]

CLOSE TO YOU — THE SALESMAN

PART FOUR — NOT SPECIAL PAIRINGS: The Salesman (Gong Yoo) x Reader. WARNINGS: Mentions of kidnapping (sort of), Reader is mentioned to be a foreigner (not stated from where), not proofread, possibly OOC... A/N: Damn im writing these quickly. I’m trying to pace it well, but I think I’m failing in that department lol…but, I also plan to have no more than thirty(ish) parts/chapters.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

“Just great.”

Now you were stuck by yourself, in this mangy pink motel room with someone who played Ddakji and sent innocent people to their deaths for a living. Lovely. “So what’s your name?” You ask, ‘gently’ prodding. The recruiter chuckles. “Why don’t we play a game, and if you win, you can find out.” He smirks. You give him a small, fake smile. “And if I lose?”

“You are in debt to me.” He smiles. You laugh out loud. You couldn’t help yourself. Just who did this guy think he is? “You’re funny.” You say through a fit of giggles, the silence around you deafening. The enigmatic salesman studying you in an unnerving way. “Why don’t we play a different game?” You ask, gently cupping his face. The salesman lets out a small hum, telling you to continue.

“How about you tell me where the island is, and I don’t kill you.” You smirk. “Nice try miss.” Your smile instantly drops. “But I don’t give anything out for free.” You scream in frustration. “Why won’t you just cooperate!?” The ravenette lifts up the sleeve on his unshackled hand, revealing a watch. “It hasn’t even been five minutes since your friends left, and you’re already this worked up?”

“Listen here, asshole.” You utter lowly, lunging forward to grab his perfectly ironed, white collar. “Your ‘organization’ has probably already replaced you—so why are you still so loyal to them?” The salesman glares (the first time you’ve seen him do anything but smile), as you continue on, letting him go. “You’re pathetic.” You spit.

“And your friends? They left you here because you’re too weak to help them.” He pauses, his eyes sizing you up. “You may not be the same trash that Gi-hun once was—but you’re not much better.” He chides, his voice filled with a cunning malice.

“You’re weak.”

…

Was fighting with this moron even worth it? He knew how to exploit your feelings, didn’t he? He was doing it right now. Maybe it would be best to just leave him be and come back in the morning. Maybe then, you could start fresh, your emotions out of the way. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” You breathe out, stepping away from the bathtub. You turn towards the stained glass door, before he called out to you one last time.

“Before you go, miss, I’ll have you admit one thing.” You didn’t bother to turn, your hand still placed firmly on the cool metal handle. “You’re just like everyone else. You’re not special.” You quickly open the glass door, stepping outside—before slamming it harshly, the pressure enough to slightly crack the glass. Good thing Gi-hun owned the motel. He wouldn’t be mad at you. Would he?

You pushed your intrusive thoughts to the back of your mind as you step out of the room, walking down the long hall to room ‘220’. You pull out the bronze key. It had a heart engraved into the center of the handle. You pushed it into the lock and easily pulled open the door. Walking in, you lazily tossed yourself onto the bed, not even bothering to change out of your day clothes.

As you tuck yourself into bed that night, you can’t help but remember the salesman’s words. YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL, YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL. Was that really true? You had always strived to be a good person, helping out your community. You had gotten good grades in school, attending university like your parents wanted…yet…maybe what he said was true.

Maybe you weren’t special.

TAGLIST: @scuzmunkie @iloveinhodaeho @devilishdelirium @muchwita @ang3lgvts

[tarithenurse]

The switch

Fandom: MCU. Pairing/starring: Steve Rogers x fem!reader. Word count: 2969. Content: Body swap, ethics I guess (or lack of it because) smut (fingering, mini-handjob-ish, P in V). A/N: As per usual please like, comment, reblog. Here’s my TAGLIST and my MASTERLIST for more.

The switch

Something went wrong. Some trigger or something had been set off the moment you and Steve entered the small side room to check it out: the door had slid shut and locked, the countdown begun. Then the light had flashed once so brightly you had to shield your eyes, unable to cover your ears then for the horribly whining sound that knocked you to your knees as if it had a physical power more than blasting your eardrums.

Blinking and not seeing anything, you call out for Steve. Your voice is warped and you figure that it’s the noise that’s done a number to your hearing...but everything feels wrong. More so when you blink again and your vision comes back, showing you most of your arms and both your hands.

Not me!

“Steve?!” you call again, painfully aware that it’s not your voice you hear.

“What...?” is the answer. In your voice.

And there you are, looking down at yourself in confusion and horror before meeting your gaze – meeting Steve’s gaze that is now you.

You feel stronger than normal when you get to your feet. Taller too from this point of view.

Reaching down to pull yourself up or rather pull Steve up, you’re baffled by how easy it is to pull him (You? Her? Them?) to the feet.

“What the fuck happened?” you ask.

“We...switched?” Steve has a hard time accepting the facts too.

You nod. “Well...we need to undo it, then.”

You both look around for a way to trigger the event again but all you had done was enter the place. Just then, an explosion rocks the building, reminding you both of the timed detonators you’d been planting everywhere.

“Banner and Stark with have to fix it,” Steve decides, “we’re out of time.”

---

It is surprisingly easy to convince everyone in the Tower of what has happened despite how impossible the whole thing sounds – mainly because the way each of you with your mannerisms just doesn’t match the body you have. You don’t normally speak so confidently, taking charge and giving orders. And Steve, he doesn’t normally desperately try to sit cross legged (which you might have to give up on because it’s squishing something) or withdraw to the corner of the room to avoid people looking at you. Him.

Either way: Banner is more than intrigued, promising to do what he can. Stark seems to be plotting something but whether it is a series of bad puns or something useful is yet to be determined.

“We’ll get right to it,” the inventor promises, patting Banner on the shoulder, “go get washed and stuff, you look like shit after the building almost falling down on you.”

Covered in dust and sweat, you would normally be the first to run off and relax in the luxurious shower...but this time? You look down over yourself (or rather, Steve’s body) and then meet his/yours gaze that’s filled with concern because how is this going to work out?

The others have left the room already, leaving you and Steve alone to figure out the conundrum.

“How...? But...?” Steve is stammering.

You’ve never heard him that hard pressed before but the effect is somewhat softened because it’s your voice and your body doing it. And because you feel the same trepidation.

It’s not like you haven’t looked at Steve: he’s hot and there’s no reason to deny it. But the idea of having to undress as him and lather the body in soap and – it threatens to become too much so you push the thought aside.

Instead you look to the floor. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” he breathes out. “But I would feel better if you were there?”

Head snapping up, you scrutinize your own face for any signs that it’s true and finding none of your usual tells of lying at least.

“Oh okay,” you mumble with Steve’s voice.

Walking side by side, you’re struck by the size difference. You’ve never considered yourself short but maybe you should have.

Steve-you glances up at you and sends a comforting smile. It’ll be alright. Somehow.

You go to your room first to gather some clean clothes. Seeing his big hands rummage through your underwear is strange, and sends a pulse of something you’re not familiar with into your groin at the idea of him knowing what you’ll be wearing under your clothes.

Then again: it’s nothing compared to the fact that he’ll be seeing you naked in a moment!

Then you shift to his room, feeling severely out of place. It’s perfectly neat, the bed made with military precision and not a single thing out of place except on the desk which is littered with sketchbooks and pencils – you cast a glance at it and are surprised to find sketches of everyone of the team...but mostly of you.

Stepping over, you pick up one of them. It’s you, deeply engrossed in a book and sitting in the corner of the couch with your feet tugged under you. It’s really good even if it’s just loose pencil strokes and sort of messy. Another is a study of your face, teeth digging into your bottom lip as if you’re thinking or trying to remember something.

“You weren’t meant to see them,” your voice apologizes and you turn to Steve-you who’s wringing the hands awkwardly.

“They’re good. Really good,” you assure him.

Putting the drawings back, you refocus on the task at hand and start investigating the suit you find yourself wearing. There are a lot more zippers and buckles than you at realized at first glance, confusing you as to where to start so you’re happy when Steve-you steps up and silently begins to help you out.

It feels good with the cool air on your skin, as the outer layer is discarded and you’re left with a tight t-shirt and boxers. And socks. Seeing as that’s the easiest place to start, you remove them and then the t-shirt.

You try to look at anything except yourself or rather Steve’s body. You also don’t want to look at yourself, afraid of seeing how uncomfortable Steve must be. Unfortunately that means you’re looking around the room, spotting the reflection of the scene in the large mirror on the wardrobe.

Fuck. Steve is hot.

Something warm coils into your belly but then radiates lower and becomes a throb you hadn’t expected. Screwing your eyes shut, you realize that the shower will be a serious problem and that maybe it had been better if you’d each dealt with it on your own.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

You nod, maybe a bit frantically. “Yeah, sure.”

Turning to face him-you, you see he is unzipping the suit after having taken the boots off. He makes a point out of keeping eye contact which makes the movements a bit fumbling.

“Let me help,” you offer, stepping closer.

It’s strange to see Steve’s hand pulling the sports bra over your head. It’s even weirder (and more troublesome) as you kneel to drag down the undies. You can feel the cheeks you currently have blushing and you feel that odd throb in your groin again when your usual feet step out of the underwear so you can lay it aside with the dirty stuff.

“You too,” Steve-you reminds you.

He still hasn’t sneaked a glance at the body he possesses and you are grateful for that. But when you push down the boxers, it’s like something is in the way and both of you glance down just as the elastic fabric lets go of what turns out to be more than a half-hard cock.

“I’m so sorry!” you sputter, eyes wide with horror and shame as you look at the owner of the erection.

“It-it happens,” he waves you off, unsure where to look to himself. “Let’s just...”

You follow the smaller figure, for the first time noticing the sway of the hips, into the bathroom where Steve-you turns on the water. Errant droplets fall on the breasts, making the nipples pucker and you see the twitch in the hands as though they want to wipe the cold away but stop just in time.

“It’s okay,” you mumble, voice raspy and low which sounds way too good for you, sending a new throbbing through you.

“It’s just...not how I imaged it.”

“What?”

Steve shrugs with your shoulders as if trying to hide. “Seeing you naked for the first time...”

It takes a few seconds for the words to sink in. The meaning behind them.

“You have...oh,” you whisper, suddenly a lot more relaxed because you had thought it was only you.

“Sorry, I know you don’t think of me that way but I -”

He never gets further because you turn Steve-you around, grabbing the familiar face and planting a kiss on the lips. A sharp intake of breath. Small hands find your shoulders, your neck, drawing you closer.

And then it happens: just for a split second, you’re back in your own body. It doesn’t hold but it’s enough to become aware of how Steve tastes, how his lips feel on your own. Both of you break off, gasping and looking at each other with wide eyes. Could this be the way to get back to normal?

“Did you?” you gasp.

“Yes!”

Lips meet again. Hasty, messy and with teeth clicking against each other until you both slow down a bit. You got lost in the feeling of it and allow the large hands to slide down your actual back, feeling the goosebumps spread in waves from the fingertips.

Again. A split second or maybe two this time. You in your own body pressed against Steve, his cock twitching against your abdomen. And you feel the heavy need in your core, spurring you on even if you’re back where you belong.

But then you’re not. Once more you’re in Steve’s body, dizzy and frustrated in more than one way.

Maybe that’s why you don’t object when he-you pull you under the water and reaches down to grab the throbbing shaft. You can’t help it – neither the groan you let free nor looking at what is happening.

Pulling down towards the base slowly, the hand looks so small around the cock. It’s mushroomy tip is red and angry, sensitive to the water that’s falling. Going back up, the thumb brushes the downside of the cock-head gently but insistently, making your knees buckle as it sends a pulse of something intense through your body.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

“Want me to stop?”

“No! I mean...no...it’s just...” you try to find the right word. “Intense? Different?”

A smile, sweet but not innocent as you would have expected from Steve even in your body.

“There’s...I always wondered...” he begins but then lets the sentence hang.

You understand him anyways: how does it feel for the other? Now is your chance to find out.

Reaching past, you grab the shampoo and gentle start to wash his or technically your hair the way you normally like it. Rubbing the scalp until you hear a little moan as Steve stands there with closed eyes and hands resting on your now broad chest.

After rinsing it out, you take the soap and lather up the body, feeling the curves in a whole new way and paying special attention to the spots you know are sensitive, causing Steve to whimper softly as you roll the nipples between your fingers for instance.

But where he’s been purring with delight all the time, he falls silent when your fingers reach the V of your thighs, pushing in between the folds to wash there. You can feel a slipperiness that’s different from the water and the soap. Making sure to spread it to the sensitive nub, you circle the clit carefully, allowing Steve to really feel what it’s like. His hands curl into fists on your chest and he lets out a shivering breath.

Slowly, you speed up, rubbing tight circles that match the breathing that speeds up, breasts heaving and eyelashes fluttering.

“I...I can’t...it’s...” he mewls with your voice.

Taking a moment to turn the smaller body in your embrace, a strong arm around the waist for support. You gently slip a finger into the core to gather the abundant slick. It makes Steve’s breath hitch and you can’t help but wonder if you do that too normally.

“Just feel it,” you murmur into an ear as you switch between pumping into the fluttering core and rubbing circles on the clit, “it’s okay...I want you to know.”

He comes with a strangled moan. Legs giving after as pleasure surges through the body and you’re happy you’re strong enough now to hold the weight for you both.

In a flash, you’re in your own body, overwhelmed by the intensity of the orgasm that still is rolling through you.

“Steve!” you cry out. His finger is still on your clit, just pressing but not moving – it’s your body that’s shivering on the digit, creating a minimal friction. “It worked it -”

And then you’re back. Out of breath and hovering over yourself. Steve can’t help but moan as the aftershock hits him.

It’s tempting to continue, to power on in the hope that it will make the switch back permanent, but Steve’s a wreck and you decide to be nice because you would have wanted that for yourself. So you rinse the soap away and help him-you refind the balance.

Then you wash yourself, now less worried about the nudity, and eventually exit the shower where Steve is waiting for you.

Barely towelled dry, you can’t keep your hands and lips to yourselves and it because a messily tangled trip to the bed where you allow Steve-you to push you down before crawling onto you.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” you say, voice raspy with need.

“Don’t stop.”

That’s all you need to hear and you tumble you and Steve over so you’re on top, hips slotted between the plush thighs. You still have a boner, and now you watch as nimble hands guide the head of it to the entrance, sliding it back and forth to spread the juices and make the slide easier. You’re not even pushing in and already it feels good.

“Will it hurt?” Steve suddenly asks, big eyes full of worry.

“It’s a...” you glance down. Yeah. It’s big. But you’ll be careful. “I’ll go slow and you just stop me if it’s too much.”

“Alright. You too.”

Pushing in with your hips you don’t get far before your brain short circuits and you decide it’s the best thing you’ve ever felt in this body. Tight and warm and soft. You’re holding your breath and now you have to let go of it, a ragged gasp that’s echoed from Steve.

“So good,” he mewls.

“Yeah,” you agree.

Pushing in inch by inch, you take your pauses to allow both of you to get used to the feeling but there’s an urge inside you to just...thrust. Pulling back a bit, you test it out. And then again just for good measure. Okay no, this is the best you’ve ever felt in this body as you thrust in and out slowly, sheathing the cock fully and making your body beneath you tense up so prettily. Steve’s holding on to your shoulders for dear life, legs wrapped around your waist.

“Fuck,” you groan.

Something is dragging along your cock, bumps or ridges under the silken smoothness. It feels so good. You can feel something tightening inside you and you instinctively know you won’t last long – too overwhelmed by all the sensations.

“Touch yourself like I did in the shower,” you gasp.

Snaking a hand between your bodies, Steve-you does as you say and is soon out of breath, whining and moaning and begging so prettily for something. Anything. You know that feeling and you’re sharing it with him now, wanting so badly to cum.

“Just a bit more,” you promise, upping the pace.

There’s a flash where everything is different: you lying under Steve who shakes his head at the change. He’s so deep inside you, you can feel his cock kissing your cervix. And you’re right there, right on the edge.

It all changes back but now it’s like a part of you is being sucked inside of your groin and you can’t keep the rhythm going instead you just ram into the sweet wetness that’s gripping your cock so tight until suddenly it all explodes and your soul is being shot out through your dick that you press so deep you can. You can’t see anything, can’t think. Just feel the pleasure as it rocks your body white hot.

“Fuck,” you groan but it’s your own voice and it’s your cunt pulsing around Steve’s cock. It’s you who’s clawing onto he’s shoulders.

Steve isn’t saying anything. As you peel your eyes open you can see that he’s got his eyes screwed shut and lips digging into the plush of his bottom lip. But he is himself and you are you.

For a moment you just lie there, letting the waves of the orgasm and aftershock roll through you while you wait for the inevitable to happen...but you remain yourself and Steve opens his eyes to look at you, smiling shyly.

“That was...damn!” he admits.

“Yeah.”

Reaching up to kiss him, you’re happy that he reciprocates without hesitation.

But he’s frowning when he pulls back a moment after. “How are we going to explain this to Bruce and Stark?” he asks.

“We’ll just say it went back to normal on its own?”

“And us?” You can see the concern in his pretty blue eyes.

You swallow. “I don’t want normal anymore, please.”

“Me neither.”

[satorusluver]

Gojo x short!reader headcanons

Word count: 1,180 ish

Warnings: smut (minors DNI), SIZE KINK, slight praise kink, creampie, oral (f receiving), fluff, afab reader, she/her pronouns. Also the reader is described as curvy like one time.

-Gojo Satoru doesn't actually see you in a romantic or sexual way at first. Not that he finds you unattractive, he's just never dated anyone that much shorter than him before or really even thought about it. He's never really considered himself someone who's into big size differences (which is kind of ironic because he's so much bigger than almost everyone lol). He thinks you're cute though. He also definitely likes the way you literally look up to him. Itty bitty thing, you don't even come up to his shoulder.

-He teases you relentlessly about your height, calls you shorty, shortstack, vertically challenged, you name it. He ruffles your hair and does that thing where he uses your head as an arm rest just to see the annoyed look on your face. The more he does stuff like this over time the more flirtatious it becomes even if that wasn't his original intention. Eventually it ends up being his way of blatantly trying to flirt with you although you might not realize this at first 'cause he just has a flirty personality in general.

-He thinks it must be annoying to be so short. How do you see over things?? (spoiler alert: you don't) How do you reach things??? Speaking of, he will purposefully move things out of your reach to watch you jump up to get them. He thinks it's hilarious (and also maybe he likes the way it makes your boobs bounce). After awhile he will offer to be your tall knight in shining armour and get it for you. But you always say no, you've been short your whole life and you can do it yourself.

-He appreciates that independent element of you, but at the same time, sometimes he gets annoyed when you break out the stepstool and actually do get it yourself so he will hide it from you just so you have to relent and accept his help. Petty? Yes. Effective? Also yes.

-He'll also sometimes refuse to bend down to let you kiss him just to see you do a cute lil jump to try to reach him. He never refuses for very long though because he just can't resist his cute lil girlfriend and her adorable pouty face. Then he bends down and squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker and tells you that you're too cute for your own good before finally giving you that kiss you wanted, and then a couple more to make up for him messing with you.

-He will offer to let you sit on his shoulders so you can see in crowds. No, you're not too heavy. He's the strongest, remember? No, this isn't about jujutsu, but the fact still stands. And it's definitely not an excuse to feel your thighs around his head, or anything like that...

But when you guys do get intimate, oh boy.

-He never really thought about it before, but now he's kind of starting to like the way you guys are physically opposites - he's tall, lanky, and hard; you're short, curvy and soft. Even your hands, your legs, you're just so tiny compared to him and he doesn't know why that excites him so much now, but it does. He could really just pick you up and toss you onto the bed like a ragdoll. He won't though...unless you want him to?

Oh, you do want him to? Say no more, princess.

-In which case, he will toss you onto the bed and push those pretty thighs of yours apart so he can feel them around his head properly this time. And no, he won't stop eating you out until you beg him to, his tongue lapping hungrily at your clit and occasionally murmuring whatever thoughts fill his pussydrunk head about how good you taste and how much he wants you to cum on his tongue.

-He loves missionary but knows your head would literally be against his chest if he leaned over you too much during it so he usually sits up so he can get a good look at your face while he's pounding you. He loves loves loves holding your hand in his while he's doing it too, loves how his huge hand engulfs yours and how your tiny fingers grip his for dear life when he makes your eyes roll back in your head. He quickly becomes obsessed with how you look under him, your legs folded against your chest and your eyes glazed over with pleasure.

-He also loves to have you sit on his lap on a chair or couch, straddling him so he can run his hands along your waist as you slowly sink down onto his cock. He loves the way you curl up against him, your head resting against his shoulder. Your hand holds the back of his neck, your fingers gently combing through the short hair of his undercut as you whimper softly from the feeling of him stretching out your walls inch by inch. It's one of the few times he doesn't pound you, just wanting to take it slow and savor making love with you. So he wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you close, pressing your chest flush against his as he thrusts up into you gently but deeply, allowing you to feel every single inch of him slowly moving in and out of you.

-Other times he'll have you ride him like that, only to end up gripping the fat of your ass with those big hands of his to move your hips up and down on him, keeping you moving after your legs have already begun to give out. You can't bring yourself to complain even when you start to feel that burning in your thighs when his fat cock is hitting all of your sweet spots and you've lost count of how many times you've cum. And all the while he's moving you up and down, he'll whisper filthy things in your ear with that classic Satoru smirk tugging at his pretty pink lips from the sight of you so fucked out on his cock:

"Such a good little fuckdoll f'me. Gonna let me use this pretty body however I want, yeah? That's my baby, good fucking girl." ❤️

-Satoru says he was never into really short girls before you, but now the sight of you in his shirts and how they hang down to your plush thighs has his dick getting so hard so fast. Wear them without underwear and if he notices you will not be leaving the house that day (or be able to walk straight for days). He'll have you leave the shirt on while he's fucking you too, he'll just lift it up to get a look at the way your tits bounce when his hips snap against yours.

-He really does think you're the most beautiful woman in the world, and you're all Satoru's, and that thought alone has him painting your walls white and groaning a "love you s'much" against your lips as he fucks yet another load of thick cum into your already overfilled cunt.

[kenthegoose]

[MSG THREAD CONTACT: SUGURU GETO:]

[K. Nanami]: When You Fall In Love With Your New Coworker But She is Divorced.

[S. Geto]: Not That Big Of A Deal Nanami. Just Take Your Time.

[Divorced!Reader x Kento Nanami]

[Warnings: Angst, then fluff then smut at the end. Mentions of squirting, unprotected sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, size difference/kink, blood, mortal wounds, violence.]

[AU in which suguru never defected lmaooo, anyway reader is around 5"2-ish that is all. Enjoy yall.]

Nanami, who, upon meeting you on your first day of being a teacher at Jujustu Tech, as well as an active sorcerer in Japan, asks you your name while holding your smaller, daintier hand when you shake his. When you confidently, yet exhausted at the same time, respond with your name and a distinct look in your eyes, he recognizes something.

Nanami, who realizes on your first day, you are divorced. Only a year, his junior, you stand with your hand held firmly in his, with a firm smile on your face. You're exhausted, sure, but you're here. You don't care that you may have had a mistake or two in the past with your relationships. You learned and lived from them. It was all in the way you stood firmly in the black dress that clung to you at the mid thigh. The dress covered your neck in a turtleneck fashion, and your arms were covered until the elbow. Atop you wear a shawl with your favorite color. The way you accessorize the outfit with earings that match the clasps on your shawl, and you wear pantyhose and black heals to match. He absolutely lusts after you, especially considering how small you are compared to him!

Nanami, who takes it slow, trying to get to know you throw passing talks in the hallways, or in meetings before they started or after ending too, and on the rare occasion he got it, missions with you.

Nanami, who on the rare occasion you get assigned to be with him. With you at his side, on a mission, his objective becomes to protect you. Then, the mission. He always prioritized you. He often became irritated when you dismissed his concern for the mission. Citing, no demanding you prioritize your safety too.

Nanami, who loses it, when one day you ignore his protests again. The nightmare he never wanted to happen, happens. Your mission had become more frequent, as you proved your worth here. Effective most with Kento. So now he has more knowledge of your past. He knows about your quirks. How your nose crinkles up when you turn your head to look at a curse in disgust. The way your keys were rusty and a bit too sharp, always knocking your knuckles or fingers on them as your fingers tumble to try and find your car key. Or your key to the School. Or your office. He knows why you divorced now. As you had now known him for a few months, deeming him gentlemanly.

Nanami, who when you become immobilized on this mission, as you gasp for air, clothing at a very serious wound, loses it. Not just on the spirit that inflicted this upon you but also on himself. Because he can't be mad at you, he saw how your face twisted in horror and recognition as you attempted to heal enough so you weren't mortally wounded and mutilated. It worked, but it took what little energy, focus, and consciousness remained in your tiny body, right out of it.

Nanami, who watches over you as you recover. When you're released, he is there, helping you. You can see the bags under his eyes from the little rest he gets, always stopping by in his spare moments if he isn't teaching or sleeping. You manage to get him to eat with you. Your smile is what forces him to get up to will to eat, even though the guilt gnawing at his consciousness is overwhelming.

Nanami, who when you finally return to work, with a much more relaxed mission schedule for the foreseeable future, relaxes a bit. However, you don't clock in. In fact you soley walk to him and him alone. Your hand stops his as he is infact supposed to clock in.

Nanami, who looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, his entire body overflows with confusion at you. You stare at him, and instead, you turn, tugging his wrist, so he stumbles, walking after you. You begin sternly speaking.

"Kento, you need rest! You have enough PTO to cover it! Just let the superiors know. They will allow it. Look at you. You look terrible! Just...let me look after you like you watched over me!" You look behind your shoulder briefly meeting his eye, sorrowful. Pleading.

Nanami, who can not say no to you. Because he knows he has fallen in love with you. So when his gaze softens and he begins to match your pace toward his car, you pluck his keys and pointedly look at him just as he is about to protest about you driving him.

"You've barely slept, Kento! You're mad if you'd think I'd let you endanger our lives when you're this exhausted! Just relax!" You chide. You really do feel concern for him. He can tell you're not trying to be cruel. So he does. He slumps into his passenger side door. He doesn't even realize after he has given you direction. He's closed the door, buckled himself in, and leaned back, that he fell asleep immediately when you sat behind his wheel. Comforting him, knowing you prioritized your own safety, and his by extension before all else now. He trusts you.

Nanami, who wakes up to you gently shaking him while standing beside his door, the passenger side wide open. His face is hit with a freezing gust of wind that wakes him as you softly call his name. He blearily blinks at you, and you grab his hands in yours to guide him out his car to his home. You have his keys and let the pair of you inside his home. There, you usher him to bed, and he finally takes off his belt and socks and climbs into bed. However, you don't account for him tugging you down with him when you try to pull away when he is lying down. Now he is curled into you, his face buried in your neck. Steadily breathing you in, before he horsely, and borderline on sleep begs you.

"Please....stay...with me,....I need you here. By my side just for today. You have accrued enough past your probationary period. I did the math." He bluntly states at the end. Making you giggle. Your hands come to hold him close. Rubbing circles into his back, you softly reply.

"Alright, Kento. I'm here. I wont leave you. I'll stay as long as you need me to okay?" And he rumbles, contented with your answer. Not long after you tell he is sleeping, do you find yourself falling asleep, cradled in his arms, just as tightly as you cradle him. You trust him. So you find yourself falling asleep together with him.

Nanami, who when you're finally his, sleeping in his bed with him, right beside him can't help but look at the way your tits are spilling out of your bra, unable to sit correctly, due to your shifting mid sleep. The way your plush lips are slightly parted and you breathe slightly heavily. Your lips are connected by a thing shiny strand of saliva.

Nanami, who notices, against his thigh, between your legs, is a warm wet patch. He can feel your hips thrusting up against his thigh, and he can feel the dizzying rush of arousal flood his head, and then his cock. It strains against the fabric of his pant leg, and you whimpering softly and gasping, while humping his leg in his sleep, went straight to his dick.

Nanami, who's stills your hips and leans into your ear to whisper into it, sweet encouraging words to wake you. Promising the best orgasms for his hardworking princess, via anyway possible, he could think of. Which doesn't take long to wake you. Having become a delicate sleeper in your twenties. You whine up at him, seeking the very same pleasures in you, half awake state. He mumbles a serious of consenting questions that you nod and beg and plead yes to.

Nanami, who can never hold it together when it comes to you. Nanami will spend hours stealing orgasm after orgasm from you until your juices are stripping down his chin while you lay on your back. It is so messy it drips down to make a mess of Nanami's collar. He will have you screaming as you squirt all over his face, and then have you bent face down, ass up into the most back breaking arches while he pummels his too big cock into your tiny pussy.

Nanami, who knows he is so massive for you, but your cunny is so slobbery and wet by now, he hardly has any problem when he slam all of his cock into you roughly. The resounding slap! Of his hips into your ass, and force from it makes you jerk forward.

Nanami, who is so massive, even though your pussy is positively, whorishly wet, makes you squeal on his cock as he forces himself all the rest of the way in, bottoming out, when you whimper out, 'Is ....is it in y-yet?' Because the way your tiny pussy is hugging his dick was too much.

Nanami, who watches as your legs kick, and your eyes roll back into your skull, as for a moment your body is forced to adjust to the forcefulness of being stuffed to the brim with Nanami's cock. When he begins to fuck you again, you can feel his cock head sharply hitting your cervix. You're fucked dumb on his cock then. Spending hours like that, while he pummels his thick, filling cum into your puffy cunt.

Nanami, who after spending all afternoon, ruining your pretty dainty pussy, Nanami bathes you, and takes care of you. Making sure you're fed with a home cooked meal and rehydrated. He'll spend all night with you until you both sre cuddling again in, new clean sheets and clean pajamas from Kento's pajama drawer. a shirt was good enough for you, draping over you like a dress.

Nanami, who now gets to cuddle up to you as long as he can and is glad for it. He sleeps easier knowing you're by his side, safe and sound.

[sirxaibs]

Keigo Takami / Hawks X Reader (eventually various X reader but that’s if I decide to continue with the burst of inspiration)

If this isn’t that meaty for you…. THEY JUST MET LET THEM COOK

Summary: Small light banter for a first meeting between freshly debuted Hawks and an Isekai’d reader.

Basically after reading copious amounts of amazingly talented stories by amazingly talented writers. “DEPOLLUTE ME, GENTLE ANGEL” by @fallen-w1ngs and Changing History by SummerBlack on Quotev. With “depollute me” the author humanizes the pro hero from being just a symbol. Meanwhile with “Changing History” the author introduces an emotion more attuned to feeling real and how life isn’t just a cycle that is predetermined. So my dynamic of choice was you as the reader have already been thrown in this world for the first 18 years of your life. If you were put in this world why not do the expected? Become a hero. But if all things are fake why take anything seriously?

If you couldn’t gather from that, the reader and hawks will grow and learn that they have the ability to matter and deserve to feel like they belong. I don’t have a very serious style of writing but I do try! Maybe not my best but key emphasis on try! Today we delve into YOU! YOUR CHARACTER!

This was all made on my notes app while on vacation 😺

Word count: 4280 ish, (idk through editing I added some things)

A blur of red and gold emerged first, feathers catching the sunlight just before their owner stepped forward with an easy, lopsided grin. Hawks, the newly minted Pro, looked entirely unbothered by the attention, despite the sudden chorus of excited shouts.

“Hawks! Can you sign this?”

“Dude, your debut fight was insane!”

“Picture, please?”

He laughed, ruffling his windswept hair as he glanced over the eager faces.

“Man, you guys really know how to make a guy feel welcome,” he said, grabbing the nearest pen. “Alright, line up nice and neat, yeah? I’ve got places to be, but I can’t just leave my awesome fans hanging.”

As he signed posters, notebooks, and even the occasional wing-shaped keychain, Hawks kept that signature smirk in place. He’d always known he’d make it this far—but seeing the real, tangible proof of it in the form of starstruck faces and excited voices?

Yeah, this was pretty damn cool.

As the crowd died down, Originally just going to walk away you thought about when would even be the next time you’d see him. Unfortunately since being thrown into this world, the whole concept of canon magnets for main characters was not even a concept in your life.

“You know, if you’re acting like this right out of the gate, I can’t even imagine how inflated your ego will get once you’re officially ranked among the top heroes.”

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I have no idea where you’re getting that impression.” You almost felt bad for taking away his moment. The disheveled blonde looked like he might’ve been having a sincere, heartfelt moment.

“It’s always the pretty boys with the massive egos,” you sighed dramatically, looking away. Seeing Hawks in all his glory had to come with a little entertainment, right?

He took a step back, eyeing your UA uniform as if sizing you up.

“Maybe the hostility’s coming from jealousy?”

“It’s the Icarus trope for me” you mutter

“Sorry?”

You laughed lightly, rolling your eyes. “Oh nothing! You sure would think that.”

To be honest, you hadn’t meant to bump into him. You were just on your way home from school, with nothing more in mind than a nice nap. Being a third-year at UA in the most boring era of this universe really didn’t leave you with much to look forward to.

“I mean, looks like we’re heading in the same direction,” he said, curiosity creeping into his tone as he took another sip from his drink.

“You’re not wrong, but the flashy vibe you’re giving off? It’s almost alarming.”

He gave you a distraught look.

“Imagine this, I’m getting saved by—wait, what’s your name again?” Oh, it wouldn’t be impossible for actually knowing him. Sure, he had only debuted a few months ago and the crowd that just left that chanted his name every two seconds would be a sign for his name, but you couldn’t help it. In your past life, the sheer amount of content of the show you consumed meant you had to know him but better safe than sorry.

“Hawks,” he replied, deadpan, amusement flickering in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. In response he raised his brow

It probably looked like you were laughing at him, which, in a way, you kind of were. You remembered the draft photos of when his character was first being developed—back when they considered giving him an actual hawk head. The thought alone made you smile.

“Pro hero Hawks saves me, and the sheer massiveness of his ego completely blindsides me. I’m struck by how conventionally hot he is, and then I die in your arms. Yeah, not a good look for you.”

You sighed inwardly. All in all, you were probably born in the worst generation in the My Hero universe. You couldn’t even be part of the middle generation where you could’ve had the chance to work as a teacher with Aizawa and the rest of the crew. It was a possibility, sure, but it felt so far out of reach. And the idea of being around Present Mic—preferably with his hair down and you age-appropriate for him? That would’ve been a dream.

But here you were, a few years older than the main cast. Actually, you were the same age as Keigo. As much as you loved his character, he didn’t really become important until the fifth season. Which meant you had little to no relevance to the plot or any of the major characters. You couldn’t help but feel like you were stuck in some lame generation, unable to make an impact.

Why couldn’t any isekai story go right? You really felt like you’d lost the genetic lottery over and over again. You couldn’t have been born just a few years younger, so you could’ve at least had the chance to be around your other favorite sunshine-blonde character, Mirio. Not being his age had probably made you feel like you’d lost years of your life unknowingly.

“Maamaa, we just met, and you’ve already got a grudge against me?” He teased, giving you a playful frown.

Immediately it springs in your head that you’ve probably come off as a total asshole. Screw the curse of having an outside point of view. The fact of knowing none of this was real maybe gave a bad look on the outside.

You suddenly felt a wave of regret hit you, realizing how your words had come across. His playful tone, the teasing frown—everything made it clear he wasn’t offended, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had crossed a line. You opened your mouth, but your thoughts were tangled, and it took a moment to collect your words.

“Ah, look, I—” You hesitated, eyes darting away, feeling heat rising in your cheeks. “I didn’t mean to sound like that. It’s just… I don’t know, sometimes I get carried away, and—” You mentally cursed yourself for being so awkward. You hated how easily you could go from sarcastic to genuinely sorry in a second.

Hawks gave you an odd look, the smirk still there, though softer. “Hey, no worries. I get it.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal, but you could tell something about his tone had changed slightly. Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood too, like you were.

“No, I’m serious,” you quickly added, glancing up at him, feeling the need to apologize properly. “It’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been here long enough to see how people get caught up in all the… hero stuff. And I didn’t want to be another person acting all starry-eyed over you just because you’re a pro hero, you know?” God you sounded pathetic. Maybe if you prayed to all might really hard it would go away.

Hawks studied you for a second, then nodded slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I get it. You don’t want to be one of those people who just worship the ground we fly on, huh?”

You sighed, relieved that he understood, but still uneasy. “Yeah... fly on. It’s just… this world, this universe… It’s all so… strange. I mean, I know you’re a big deal, and I respect that. But sometimes it’s hard to take things seriously when everything feels like it’s set in stone. To be so ‘MUCH’ all the time. Anyways I’m literally doing exactly what yours doing for a career so don’t take my words to heart. Heroes are kind of just people that help people and I’m like one or those people and by no means-” You paused, biting your lip.

There was an odd moment of silence before Hawks chuckled, and for a moment, you thought you might’ve said something ridiculous.

“You’re fine.” His tone was soft, genuine this time, as he took another step back, giving you space. “You’re not the first person to think I’m all ‘ego and feathers,’ but not everyone’s as honest about it as you are. So, props for that, I guess.” He tilted his head, his usual cocky grin returning, though it seemed more self-aware now. “But hey, if it helps, I do my best to keep my ego in check. It’s not as big as it looks.”

You blinked, unsure how to respond, but the words that came out were almost reflexive. “Well, you’re doing a pretty good job of hiding it, I guess. You’re going to be one of the top ten. I know it.”

Hawks laughed softly, the sound surprisingly genuine, and you found yourself relaxing a little. Maybe you hadn’t totally messed everything up. “You’re so sure about that? Well then fair enough. Just don’t expect me to give up my flashy style anytime soon. It’s a package deal.” He says that as if he doesn’t get In the top ten within a few months.

You could tell he wasn’t taking offense anymore, but you still felt like you needed to clear the air. “I mean, you’re doing your thing. I just—” You faltered, trying to find the right words, feeling like you were digging yourself into a hole. “I just didn’t want to be some random person making snide comments. You’re a pro hero, and I respect that.”

His eyes softened again, and there was an odd sincerity in his gaze. “Thanks. That means more than you know. You look about the same age as me so as you’re a pro as well, wouldn’t you know it you’ll be up there at the top, maybe we’ll have a hero rivalry” he smirks

“Ah yes the trials and tribulations of endeavour and all might persist in the bodies of 18 year old aspiring heroes” you pause for a moment thinking about it. You know that’s not too far from the original source material

“Well I’m not exactly a pro just yet, give me a few months and I’ll be there”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the awkwardness between you two slowly evaporating. It was strange, how you’d gone from a sarcastic comment to a brief but genuine moment of understanding. And yet, in a world where everything seemed so scripted, the fact that this had played out in such a way felt a little… surreal.

After a beat, Hawks stretched, giving you a wink. “Well, I should probably get going. Hero stuff, you know?” He shrugged, turning on his heel. “But hey, if you ever need a hand or just wanna throw some more sarcastic remarks my way, I’m not hard to find.”

You managed a small, half-smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He flashed you one last grin before taking off, his wings spreading wide as he took to the sky, disappearing into the distance. You watched him go, still feeling that odd mixture of guilt and amusement bubbling in your chest.

Shaking your head, you turned and continued on your way home, feeling slightly lighter, despite the awkwardness. At least you hadn’t ruined everything completely. But, then again, in a world like this, there was always something new to look forward to. Maybe you’d even see Hawks again and maybe next time, you’d be a little better at handling it.

Or, you’d at least try to be.

In this world, reports of people with superpowers started popping up everywhere. No one really knew what was causing these Quirks. And before long, the supernatural became the new normal. Dreams became reality, and the world turned into a superhuman society, with 80% of the population possessing some sort of strange ability.

Blah, blah, blah. The world might sound impressive at first, but being dropped into a world where you know everyone’s futures? That kind of ruins the excitement. Save the fun stuff for when Izuku is supposed to take over

You’d think living in a world of superheroes would be a dream come true, but it felt more like playing a life simulator with a DLC attached.

‘Actually if any one had heard that thought, please smite me dead on the spot’

Maybe when you finally met Shigaraki, you two could bond over how lame your lives were.

————

The moment Hawks took off, disappearing into the sky with all the grace and flair of a man who knew exactly how cool he was, you were left standing there, alone in the middle of a busy street. You blinked a few times, processing the bizarre encounter, like a glitch in the matrix where you’d just met one of the to be top heroes, and somehow managed to be the awkward, sarcastic mess you were known for.

Oh god, you thought, did I just make myself look like an idiot?

The awkwardness of the moment hit you all at once, like a ton of bricks. Your brain replayed every word you’d said, every overly dramatic sigh, and every time you’d made some weird comment about his ego. I probably just ruined any chance of ever having a normal conversation with him ever again, you thought with a groan.

But, hey, at least you’d gotten one thing right: you had no idea how to not embarrass yourself in front of a pro hero. Progress, right?

Your feet shuffled along the sidewalk, your eyes fixed on the ground, just in case anyone noticed how ridiculously flustered you were. You didn’t even know where you were going at this point, your legs had basically decided to take you home, but your brain was still stuck on the fact that you’d just made a snide remark to one of the most famous people in the world. That was bound to come back to haunt you, right?

In the midst of your spiraling, a thought hit you like a slap to the face: What if he tells people?

No, no, no, no. Hawks wasn’t the type to hold grudges. He’d probably just chuckle about it with his equally cool friends and forget about it. Right?

… what if he tells Mirko. All you feel is dread

But still, the mental image of him, sitting around with his hero buddies, casually telling them about the weird girl who got all awkward and snarky when she met him, was enough to make you want to curl up in a hole and disappear for the next decade. I’m never leaving my house again, you thought, hands buried in your pockets. It’s safer this way.

As you trudged home, you passed by the same old buildings, the same street vendors, the same couple having a heated debate about the proper way to cook curry (which, honestly, you were kind of invested in now). It was the same old world. But now, you couldn’t help but feel like you were living in some kind of sitcom where you were the awkward side character. This is what I get for getting tossed into this universe, you thought, rolling your eyes at the universe itself. And why am I still here? Shouldn’t I be a sidekick by now?

You eventually reached your apartment building, doing your best to ignore the fact that you’d just been face-to-face with Hawks and didn’t manage to do anything remotely cool or competent. The elevator ride felt longer than it should’ve. It was like the universe itself was giving you a moment to reflect on your life choices. By the time you reached your door, you felt like you needed to apologize to the doorframe for even existing.

With a dramatic sigh, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch. You stared at the ceiling, wondering if you should’ve just said something normal like, “Hey, cool wings.” That’s it. Cool wings… nope absolutely not, move on, but no, you had to act like a nervous wreck who couldn’t even handle basic social interaction. Congratulations, you’re a disaster.

But as your mind started spiraling into self-loathing, you couldn’t help but chuckle a little. The whole situation had been so ridiculous, so out of place, that it was actually kind of funny. You’d just had a conversation with Hawks granted, it was a weird, awkward, almost cringeworthy conversation but still, a conversation! That was more than most people could say.

“Maybe I should just call it a day. Hide under the covers and pretend nothing happened.”

You threw your arms dramatically across your face as if the weight of your shame was too much to bear, but in the back of your mind, a tiny thought crept in: Hey, if I run into him again, maybe I won’t make a fool of myself next time.

Then again, you thought with a grin, Probably not.

At least tomorrow’s a new day, right? You could try to be normal then probably. Or at the very least, you could give yourself a good pep talk, like, “You got this, champ. Try not to make an idiot of yourself this time.”

As you lay there, wallowing in your embarrassment, you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Because, in the end, this was just another bizarre chapter in your weird, barely-coherent life in the world of heroes. Maybe next time, you’d at least try to make a good first impression. Or maybe, just maybe, you’d accidentally land on your feet and make it out of another embarrassing moment unscathed.

Who knew? Anything was possible in this crazy universe. Well, except you being smooth. That was clearly out of the question.

————

The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and as your classmates hurriedly packed their bags and ran out the door, you sat there, contemplating your life choices. Graduation was right around the corner, and while everyone else was excited about the future, you were just kind of… existing.

You were in your third year at UA, the very school that trained the next generation of Pro Heroes. But here you were, staring at your desk like it owed you money, with no idea what you were supposed to do next.

Let’s be real, everyone else had a purpose. Izuku? He was going to be the greatest hero of all time. All Might? He was the symbol of peace, the beacon of hope, and probably the only guy who could do a cartwheel and not look like a dad on a trampoline. Even Bakugo had a clear goal in mind: to be the best, which, considering his attitude, was more like a “do it or I’ll yell at you until you cry” kind of vibe.

But you? You were just here. You weren’t supposed to be in this world. Seriously, how did you even get here? One minute you were living your normal life, and the next you’re dropped into the middle of a world full of heroes, quirks, and crazy villains, but there’s no manual for how to fit in. It was like being cast in the world’s weirdest TV show and being told, “Yeah, just figure it out, you’ll be fine.”

And you were so fine. So fine, in fact, that you didn’t even know what the point of it all was. You had no grand dreams of becoming the next All Might or Deku. You weren’t even sure what your quirk was half the time, maybe you had an ability to be totally average? If so, congratulations, you were really nailing it.

“Look, you’re fine, you’re fine,” you muttered to yourself, giving the window a dramatic look. “You’ll graduate, become a hero, maybe stand by the snacks table at hero events, get a cool costume, the usual.”

You sighed, staring at the city below. Your classmates had their lives all planned out, while you had absolutely no clue what was happening. “Like, how do you even become a hero if you’re not, like, destined for greatness?” You asked, though you were fully aware the universe wasn’t going to answer. Or if it did, it would probably just laugh and say, “Sorry, you’re just here for filler content.”

You turned to the empty classroom, contemplating your entire existence for a moment. “Man, is this what it’s like to be a side character? ’Cause I really didn’t sign up for this. I was just trying to live my best life, and suddenly I’m here, trying to figure out if I should be saving kittens from trees or passing out flyers for charity events.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. “Who knows, maybe I’ll be that hero, the one who’s really good at handing out pamphlets at superhero conventions. You know, hero stuff. The job that’s always available but no one really talks about.”

You let out a half-hearted groan. “Ugh, I’m like a glorified intern in the superhero world. ‘Oh, sorry, your quirk is literally just being chill? Guess you’ll be a sidekick to the sidekicks!’”

But then it hit you: maybe that’s fine. Not every hero needs to be the big shot. Maybe your purpose was to just… exist. No huge fanfare, no dramatic showdowns with villains, just a random person who shows up at the right time to, like, hand out snacks or prevent a minor inconvenience. You could totally be that person! There’s a whole squad of heroes out there who are doing important stuff without anyone caring about them.

You snapped your fingers. “Wait a minute. Maybe this is my calling! I’ll be ‘The Human Buffer’. I’ll help all the heroes hand out protein bars, hold their coats while they go into battle, be that one person who’s just there to make sure they look good in their hero pose. Yeah, I could be that hero!”

You stood up, grabbed your bag, and strutted out of the classroom with newfound confidence. You might not have a big, world-saving destiny, but you would be the hero who was always there with the perfect snack after a long day of saving people. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a role that needed to be filled, and by golly, you were going to do it.

“Alright, world,” you said dramatically as you walked down the hallway. “You don’t need me to save the day, but I’ll be here when you need someone to tell you where the bathroom is during a fight. Hero work!”

As you passed your classmates, all talking about their big future plans, you couldn’t help but laugh. Maybe you weren’t meant to be the hero everyone else was, but you were still going to make your mark. Whether they needed an emotional support snack or someone to bring them a towel after they worked up a sweat, you’d be there.

And hey, you’d probably get a cool title too: The Most Average, Most Helpful Hero.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like the idea of being a hero. Who wouldn’t want to swoop in and save the day, right? But the thing was, you didn’t belong here. You didn’t have that spark that made someone destined to be a hero. You weren’t meant to exist in this world. You were more like an accidental extra, someone who wasn’t supposed to show up on the hero timeline but somehow did. And now you were just… waiting for your scene to end.

It wasn’t that you didn’t respect heroes, of course, you did! But watching everyone around you with their grand dreams and bright futures made you feel a bit like the odd one out. Even if you’re living in a year with just side characters. They had their roles, their destinies. Meanwhile, you were stuck in a universe where things were already set in stone. It was like showing up to a concert that was already halfway over and realizing you’re just gonna have to sit in the nosebleeds for the rest of the show.

Keigo had mentioned once that it was important for heroes to ease the worries of the people. Isn’t it paradoxical that his future words are the ones giving you a path. That they had to be more than just strong, they had to make people feel safe. And you’d never had any doubts about that philosophy. But how could you be that person when you didn’t even feel like you were supposed to be here in the first place? It felt like playing a game you didn’t know the rules to, in a world that wasn’t yours.

Sure, you were about to graduate from UA and technically become a Pro Hero, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were sort of stepping into a role that didn’t really have anything to do with you. You had no grand dreams of fighting side-by-side with All Might in his final battle. There were so any many risks and what if a simple butterfly effect made the villains win by you being here. Honestly, you’d probably end up being the hero who handed out flyers for charity events or stood at the front of the line for photos to be safe. Was that the kind of hero you wanted to be?

“Well, I guess I’ll be a hero of some kind,” you muttered, though it was more out of obligation than excitement. “But what does it even mean if I don’t have some grand purpose in all this?”

A little chuckle escaped your lips. This was ridiculous. Here you were, stressing over your place in a world that was literally made up. You were a character in a story that already had its plot laid out, and yet you were still acting like you had to be a main character. It was all just so absurd.

But you didn’t want to be that person someone who just complained about fate and waited for something to happen. You could still make a difference in small ways, right? Maybe not as the next All Might or Deku, but as someone who showed up when it mattered, who helped out in their own way. The world was full of side characters doing small but important things, why couldn’t you be one of them?

With a grin, you stood up and grabbed your bag, heading out of the classroom to join the rest of your classmates. Maybe you weren’t the protagonist of this story, but hey, you could still make your mark on it. A little self-awareness never hurt anyone, right? Besides, in a world full of heroes, sometimes it was enough just to be one even if you were doing it a little differently than everyone else.

[specialagentlokitty]

Bobby Nash x reader - who you really are

Also, how about an Avatar/Water bender ish-like character where she interns/volunteers at the 118 and no one knows who she is- an avenger, intern at Stark etc- until something happens and she reveals who she is, but only cos she had to!! - @casserole-from-dads-asserole 💜

A/N: for anyone reading some changes were made through DM’s which is why it’s not like the request above

The 118 were your favourite part of working, you loved them like family, albeit an annoying family you loved them non the less.

But you didn’t love anybody more than Bobby, so when you heard he was in danger, you didn’t hesitate to go straight to the location.

Your heart was racing and you were panicking.

Bobby was like your father, you loved the man to death. He’s taught you so much, he’s always supported you, he’s all ways been there for you and never left your side.

You needed him by your side, and you were ready to let anything happen to him, even if it meant doing whatever it took to ensure his safety.

So when you arrived at the building he was supposedly in, you ran inside, shouting out his name desperately.

“Bobby?!”

You run through the building, checking each and every room as you go through, throwing open doors and shoving things out of your way.

You weren’t even on shift, you just happened to have heard the news on the police scanner as you were passing a few officers doing a routine traffic stop.

“Bobby?!” You shout again.

You pause for a moment, listening for any response, any sign he was there or he was okay.

When you didn’t get anything back you began to run again, making your way through the building while shouting his name.

As you turned down a hallway you heard a noise behind you and spun around, running in that direction.

“Bobby where are you?!”

You heard the noise again, a little to your right, so you barged through the door to find Bobby tied to a chair with duct tape on his mouth.

His eyes widened when he saw you, and he immediately started to shake his head and try shout at you.

Running over, you gently grab his jaw to hold his face still as you take the tape off.

“Sorry…”

Letting the tape fall to the ground, you grab his face between your hands and study it, checking him over for any injuries.

“You need to go!” He rushed out.

“Not without you!”

“(Y/N) go! The place is going to go up in flames! Get out of here!”

“Not without you Bobby! We still need you!”

Getting behind the chair, you work on trying to untie him as fast as you can.

It wasn’t often Bobby got panicked, so when he was panicked you knew there was a good reason behind it.

Your fingers shook and fumbled as you tried to untie him, a string of curses leaving your mouth that would definitely get you in trouble with Bobby later on.

That’s when you heard it, a small spark.

The sound of something catching fire and flames roaring all around, and while Bobby shouted your name in desperation you shouted his back.

You didn’t think about what you were doing, you just acted.

Getting up, you stood in front of him, bringing your hands out in front of you to practice the same routine you were so familiar with.

You move automatically, not having a second to process what you were doing while Bobby was sat there staring at you in pure shock, speechless.

You manipulated the air around you both, creating a vortex, almost like a safety bubbly to keep the pair of you safe from the raging flames.

The flames rose with the air, but never entered the vortex.

You work desperately to keep this up as the flames grew in size and strength, and when you had built up enough momentum you threw your hands to both sides of you.

Air surged all around the room, forcing the flames out and away, most of them immediately being extinguished.

Slowly you lowered your hands and turned to Bobby, kneeling behind him again as you finally managed to untie him with shaking hands.

He was still processing what he just saw you do as you led him out of the building, taking him a safe distance away to sit him down as sirens could be heard in the distance approaching.

“What…?” He whispered.

Bobby looked to the building then back at you, not entirely sure what he saw was real.

He could see the look on your face.

Uncertainty, sadness, and a hint of fear, and that seemed to snap him out of his shock.

“(Y/N)…”

He reached out, gently tugging you to sit in front of him, and he began to look you over to make sure that you weren’t hurt in any way, his parental instinct taking over.

He checked your face, then your clothes to make sure you didn’t catch any sparks, then he finally looked at you again.

“How did…? What…?”

He couldn’t complete a full sentence, he just kept trialing off but you knew exactly what he was trying to ask.

You just didn’t know what to tell him, and thankfully you didn’t have to answer his questions yes as the rest of the 118 arrived with Athena.

Standing up, you pat his head a few times before slowly backing away to let the others get to him, and while they fussed over him you quietly let the scene.

You knew you were going to have to tell him exactly what happened, exactly what you were one day, but right now you could buy yourself some more time by leaving.

Though Athena watched you go, a small frown on her face.

She was going to chase after you later, once she found out who was responsible for this