#a mess of a drabble

[ruinix]

Quinn, eating your pussy at his own pace, for hours.

Hello, lovely. I didn't expect to receive another ask for another drabble. I am not ready (actually panicked when i received this). Anyways, I may have gotten overboard with the details before what you requested. Once more asking you to put the bar down🧎🏻‍♀️because.... i'm crying 😭😭😭

Treat

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Lots of kisses, Oral (fem receiving...as requested), Q just wanna eat you up--🙂‍↔️🙂‍↕️

Count: 1,499 words | Masterlist

You’re a treat. A fucking delicious one. Every time Quinn looks at you, his mouth instantly waters.

He always makes sure that you’re not doing anything that could be dangerous like chopping vegetables, cooking, or hopping over the counters to reach the highest cabinets. He will never endanger you. Though, work calls, phone calls with your friends or family, watching TV, watering plants, on your way out for errands, walking around the house because of boredom…those things aren’t dangerous. Important, sure but those can wait, right? You just look so delectable. Like a treat that’s just for him.

Quinn is sane enough to be wary, yet he could barely control himself when he pulls you for a kiss, pushing you against the nearest surface—the wall adjacent to your home office. He must kiss you and taste you mixed with your flavored lip balms. It's vanilla. Fuck. His. Life.

It would always be, “Oh, Quinn. I need to answer this call.” “Quinn. Sweetheart, I’m busy.” “Quinn, I need to go out.” “Quinn, we need to finish doing the laundry.” “Quinn, I need to do the dishes.”

Right now, it's, "I'm waiting for a call, Quinn."

Bla-fucking-bla. Everything can wait.

Quinn needs you. He’s always so fucking busy with hockey—practice, media, the games. He wants to be with you and taste you whenever chance he gets. And it’s now, now, and always now. It doesn't matter if he has an optional skate that he must prepare for. It doesn't fucking matter.

So, he kisses you deeper, holding your cheeks after he turns off your phone, relishing on your taste, making sure to deepen the kiss so both of you forget when one starts and one ends.

Do you know he could still taste the gum you chewed on an hour ago? Do you know he could still taste the caramel lollipop you were sucking on just now? God, he wants to taste everything mixed with you. You’re his favorite flavor. He wants something more. By the way you’re panting and grinding against his thigh, you want it too.

He’s getting drunk on your tongue, your taste, your touch that he could barely lead you to your bed. When you two part, a string of saliva connects you. Your eyes are half-lidded, pupils blown. Your lips are red and swollen. Your hair is fanned out beneath you like a halo. He nearly shudders when your hands find his cheeks.

“Can I?” he asks, while your thumb traces along his lower lip.

“Yes,” you would reply without hesitation, already knowing what he’s craving.

That’s all he needs. He’s kissing you again. Your lips. Your chin. Your cheek. Your jaw. Your earlobe. Your neck, taking his time to suck the fading kiss marks. Your collarbones. He almost tears your shirt open—too many buttons, fuck he just wants to touch you—but he knows better. For every inch of skin he exposes, he kisses and licks.

So divine. You smell like him. Fuck, you used his body wash again.

This is unfair. He feels like he’s losing and falling into your trap. Quinn wants that though. He wants to be trapped with you and nothing else. He wants it so fucking badly.

He could feel your silent chuckle, could feel the scrape of your nails on his scalp. You’re laughing at him, so he pulled down your bra. His lips find your nipple. He sucks, turning your laughter into tiny gasps. That’s it. He can’t have you laugh at him. Not right now.

He takes his time teasing your pretty nipples, licking and sucking your breasts’ undersides from time to time. Relishing his smell on you. His sweet treat. You make him so fucking hard. He knows he’s leaking—pre-cum staining his gray sweatpants—for you. All for you.

Your whines and pleas only make him want to tease you more. Your hips keep pushing up, thighs squeezing around his torso. Your hands that were busy tugging at his hair are now pushing down on his shoulder. You need more. Quinn knows that, but the taste of sweat on your skin is making him hold onto you tighter, making him lick every bead of your skin. Just a few more taste of your skin.

You’re trembling now. The first time you tremble when he touched you, he panicked. But now, he understands your body like the back of his hand. It’s your anticipation, isn’t it? You want all his marks. You want him. You need him. He understands that. Oh, so well, because he feels the same.

“I love you,” he murmurs into your skin, his eyes flicking to yours.

Your cheeks are flushed as you bite your lips. Your eyes shine with tears. Your eyebrows drawn together. Sweat drips down from your temple. “I love you,” you whisper.

Quinn swore his heart skips a beat. His stomach flips. Hearing those three words always makes him fall for you harder.

He almost drops this, like he could just appease his craving by kissing you. He could be satisfied with that. However, the moment his fingers slip over your panties, feeling how soaked you are, he can’t just stop. He yearns for your pussy. So, he continues. He goes down and down and down, hands expertly removing your skirt—which looked heavenly on you, by the way.

Now you’re just left with nothing. Totally bare. You look so majestic. All spread out for him. He sees your quivering hole, your arousal oozes, almost dripping.  What a sight. A delicious sight.

Quinn just dives for it, tongue licking from entrance to clit, making you mewl. He can’t stop the moan that escapes him. You taste so divine. His favorite aphrodisiac. His elixir.

Lick after lick, he revels in your taste. Your arousal coats every swipe of his tongue. It’s making his head spin, his cock aching. Yet he’s only tasting. Just tasting. Nothing more. Nothing yet. He has time. He has to savor this.

Fuck, he’s so hard. So fucking hard that when he dipped his tongue in your quivering hole, he almost comes as your wall tightens. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He could feel it through his cock. It’s always like this. It’s like you’re fucking him when he only has his tongue in you.

Your taste. Your smell. Your wetness. Quinn needs all of it.

He grips the back of your thighs, making you rest them over his shoulders, as he feasts on your pussy, hips rutting into the bed. Everything feels so good for him. The feel of your thighs squeezing his head, threatening to asphyxiate him on nothing but your pussy. That's one way to die, isn't it? Quinn doesn't have any complaints. As long as he's tasting you. As long as your pussy clenches around his tongue. He could just die like that.

When his nose grazes your clit, he feels your pussy throb, squeezing so tightly. Yes. Fuck yes. You’re cumming around his tongue, your thighs quivering, your hands ruthlessly tugging on his hair, your hips grinding on his face. Quinn firmly held you, slurping and sucking your cum. Tastes so fucking good. He holds your hips down. He doubles his efforts, devouring everything you have given him.

“Quinn,” you pant, trying to push him off. “'m sensitive.”

He knows. He fucking knows. He shamelessly doesn’t care. More. He needs more. You can give him more.

Your curses for him to slow down stutters when he sucks around your clit, his fingers replacing his tongue. He could feel your surrender as you grind against him, back arching when he hooks his fingers to your sweet spot. Your whines get louder. So much louder because you’re coming again and Quinn is already there, tongue deep inside your pussy, taking everything. So exquisite.

He takes and takes until you come down from your high, panting and quivering, but Quinn still wants more. He fucking needs it. He wants your taste to last until the next day. He wants to feel you come again and again around his tongue. It’s not fucking enough.

“Quinn,” you say in a broken plea.

“One more, baby,” is all he says. “One more.”

You answer with a whimper, head nodding.

You both know he’s a liar.

It’s never ‘one more’. Never even when he gets you to come twice more. Even when he comes in his pants—cum making the gray dark which only makes him more feral. Even when you get overstimulated as well as his dribbling cock. Even when his phone rings for that fucking optional skate. Even when you two are dripping with sweat. Even when exhaustion takes hold of you.

He would just slow down, but never part from you like your pussy is the only thing keeping him alive. It fucking is.

Quinn would eat you out for hours. He could do it for days, but you would always slap him off you after two hours. But today, he’ll go for three.

[ohmytyong]

‧₊ ̊🖇️✩ ☁️ ₊ ̊🎧⊹♡

thinking about musician boyfriend!mark who would find any excuse in the world to have you around in the studio with him every time he composed music

you are his muse; every single beat in the music, every single word in the lyrics, every single note he sings is inspired by you. sitting on his lap and playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he mixes the different components together in a song is definitely a bonus

he would take your recommendations in mind and make minor changes here and there just because you suggested it. he would try it out and find that most of the times you were right and he would praise you for having such a musical ear. you would say it's because you spend all this time with him

he would try to lace his songs with tiny parts of you with every chance he had. he would add a voice-mail of you sleepily confessing how much you love him in the beginning of one song, or he would put you inside the booth and make funny faces to make you giggle in the recorder to later add at the end of another song. you would call him such a cliché but he would wave you off

and to prove you wrong, he would sneak in the background of his guitar strumming your recorded soft moans and whimpers just to make you shy. and when you would playfully hit him while hiding your face in embarrassment, he would claim that it's all part of the artistry because all his art is nothing else but you

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 1

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic. 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing. 

[mercvry-glow]

Influencer!wifey hearing about a new trending show that takes place in a hospital's emergency department and deciding to do a quick small video on tiktok recording her and hubby (who is just barley off camera) reacting to it and having him confirm or criticize the supposed accuracy that ends up turning into a series of videos cause the people wanted more 🤭

“Do people actually watch this bullshit?” Jack had his arm thrown over your shoulders so that you could cuddle in close to him. It was one of those rare nights where he wasn’t working, and a close friend had recommended a new medical drama to watch.

They were certainly a touchy subject in the Abbot household.

You had already been banned from watching Grey’s Anatomy around him—less for the actual medical stuff, and more for the McSteamy comments.

It was something you teased him about endlessly, when you first got together. Greys was a show you grew up on, so of course you had to know how true to life it was.

“I may not be a surgeon,” he had told you one night after watching a few of the bigger arcs, “But I know damn well they should’ve been fired a long time ago… Bombs and plane crashes are one thing—illegal autopsies and cutting fuckin’ LVAD wires is another!”

“But Izzie loved him!”

“I’m not going to argue with you about this,”

“But what if it was me who needed the new heart?”

He could only scoff, “This hypothetical is bullshit, just like the show.”

After that you tried to stay clear of medical dramas, most of them were cruddy anyway. McKenzie swore up and down it was worth the watch though, and Jack would be the final say.

The two of you made it through the pilot and a few episodes after that. Jack hadn’t said much beyond a few comments here and there—hazel eyes glued to the big screen as he played with the ends of your hair.

It was actually Jacks idea to film the TikTok. He was all for education and if the show was solid he wanted people to know. Besides he’d been lacking on the mysterious husband thing lately, you both had been busy and there was just no time to be in any of your stuff like he usually was.

“So what’s the verdict Dr. Abbot?” You asked teasingly, phone pointed towards your face and half of his chest as the TV prompted you to click on the next episode.

“It’s not the worst thing- I’ll probably get a headache if keep hearing the words code and IV.”

You gave a small nod, “And what do you think of the characters?”

He let out a scoff, “look, I don’t know how other hospitals run—but if we had half the amount of people hooking up in our on call rooms, and it wasn’t being called out by the guys upstairs there’d be a massive problem.”

“Any other comments or concerns?”

“Yeah, why their scrub vending machines are dispensing Figs when they’re in a budget crisis?”

And while you didn’t really know what that meant, people in the comments ate it up. Just like the rest of the Jack content you posted.

[narumi-gens]

dreams aventurine x f!reader

18+ minors/blank/ageless blogs dni, 2.1 spoilers, pregnancy/parenthood

aventurine has never thought of himself as a man who dreams of the future, not beyond a certain point. but there's something about you that makes him doubt himself.

because when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, he can't help himself. he thinks about what would happen if he didn't pull out and cum across your ass, your tits, or your stomach, painting your skin in white spurts like he usually does. he thinks about what would happen if he buried himself deep enough for you to feel him in your throat and spilled himself inside of you for once.

what if he didn't climb off of you as soon as he caught his breath. he thinks about what it would be like if he instead stayed there even as he softened, cradled between your thighs, while your arms wrapped around his trembling form to hold him close, your fingers gently running through his sweaty strands, your touch alone doing more to calm his mind than an orgasm ever could.

there are times when he allows himself to imagine beyond even that, but only in his weakest moments when he decides to spend the night, always under the pretense of the late hour, or the bad weather, or how comfortable the bed he bought you is. it's a pretense that you see through, but never challenge him on as you know that doing so would make him leave.

it's only once he's sure that you're deep asleep and he can turn his unguarded gaze to your features in the dark that he dares to let his mind wander beyond the bounds he normally sets. he imagines your stomach swelling as the months pass, of your hand grabbing his to press his palm to your belly to feel the fluttering of new life from within.

he imagines a small bundle pressed to your bare chest, skin-to-skin. you're crying, but so is the newly born infant that you hold so dear. so is he. sometimes, the sunlight shines through the windows of the hospital room, and other times the rain is deafening against the glass.

likewise, sometimes when the baby in your arms opens their eyes to take in the world for the first time, their color mirrors yours. but more often than not, it's his own pink and blue irises looking back at him, promising a life of good luck.

he imagines the feeling of a small palm pressed flat against his own much bigger one, as a young, tiny voice stumbles over the words he tries to guide them through.

he pictures the smile on your face, both adoring and soft, as you watch with tear-filled eyes as he teaches your child the blessing of their people.

as long as you are alive, the blood of the avgin will never run dry.

no matter how many years have passed since he was taken from sigonia in chains, he'll never forget his sister's final words to him. but when he looks at you, when he's near you, when he's inside you, they feel like more than just a memory.

it feels like she's speaking to him across the years, to him now, trying to guide him towards this single future with you instead of any of the infinite other futures he bets everything on.

maybe, if he chose to listen to her, there could be another avgin for gaiathra to bless. maybe, if he ever chose to give in to his weakness, to your warmth, to your softness, to your love, the avgin wouldn't have to live and die with him.

[jesuistrestriste]

trainer!patrick + puppy!art + trainer!reader

you and patrick are a force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure. art knows it, and he knows that you two know just how much power you each have over him.

patrick is usually the ‘bad guy’ when it comes to punishments, always being the one to deal them out when he deems it necessary. he’s the one who’ll tie art’s hands behind his back and dutifully edge him until he’s wailing, and he’s the one who’ll bend art’s toned body over his lap to spank him while he apologizes for his mistakes.

you’re much more forgiving.

you and patrick actually happen to argue a lot over the so-called ‘best way’ to keep your guys’ plaything in line. your fellow trainer always advocates for harsher methods, and refuses to listen when you argue in favor of the gentler side of things.

but art’s soft. he’s clingy, he’s touch-starved, and he’s desperate for approval. he responds soo much better when you reward him for a lack of bad behavior, as opposed to patrick’s reversed methodology.

you kiss him all over when you come home and find that he hasn’t touched himself all day, and you let him hump your thigh—your leg clamped between his own—when he uses his manners to ask for it (“please”, “can i”, “thank you so much”, and the like).

so what happens when you and patrick corner him in bed after a day of ups and downs?

well..

it only makes sense that patrick’s fingers are down art’s throat; the blonde’s drool bubbling and dripping down his chin as he chokes on the intrusion. after all, he’d gotten mouthy with patrick on the courts earlier.

“what? you had such a big mouth this afternoon and now you can’t even take my fingers, mutt?” pat groans down to his friend, watching his watery blue eyes roll back as he whimpers around them, “what’s gonna happen when you take my cock in the next five minutes? open that fuckin’ throat.”

art’s trying with all his might to properly service patrick’s body, to prove to him that he can be good again, even if what art’s sucking on isn’t his meaty dick. the guilt is enough to melt his brain— he’s swallowing like he’s about to get a load pumped right into the back of his mouth.

you, on the other hand, are being unsurprisingly much sweeter. art had been much better with you in the early evening; helping to cook dinner for the three of you and buying a bottle of wine before he got home.

so youre holding a vibrator to his tip while your palm cradles and massages his balls. your balmy tongue sliding over the shell of his ear and then down to the thumping pulse buried in the side of his neck. he’s dribbling all over the toy, but he’s yet to fall over the precipice. you can tell that he’s holding back by the way his thighs shake while he’s sat up over the edge of the mattress, low moans and anguished whimpers coming out muffled due to his occupied mouth.

“good boy, puppy… taking us so well, aren’t you? you know how much we love you, even if patrick gets mean sometimes,” you whisper against his skin, “don’t cry, baby, okay? i know it hurts, i know you wanna come… just hold out a bit longer…”

the tip of the buzzing wand glides down his shaft and then back up to meet his sticky frenulum. god, he can’t take much more..

patrick’s already stuffed his musky cock into art’s mouth in replacement, as promised, and is holding his head still as he bucks into his face. “shit, artie, fuck— angh-! suck me down, just like that, take it—“

art is getting drunk off of the sensations alone, but the conflicting ways of handling him and his body only muddle his thoughts further. he’s trying not to gag while patrick facefucks him, and he’s also trying not to climax while you lovingly torture his cockhead.

he can’t think, he can’t move, he can hardly breathe.

a growled voice breaks through his incoherence.

“here it comes, here it— c-comes-!”

and then patrick is burying his length so far down art’s throat that his flushed nose presses into pat’s bush, cumming down his tight throat with a strangled groan. every salty gush of spend is gulped down compulsively by the blonde as he whines. pat smacks his cheek twice: good. boy.

you tenderly mouth at art’s shoulder as he jerks and swallows all of the brunette’s release, and then you decide to show your puppy some mercy.

the flush in art’s cheeks is ruddy when his airway opens up after pat pulls out, and you’re rewarded with increasingly urgent gasps as you lower the vibe to push against his sack. your hand that cupped him there moves; your index finger sucked warmly by your own mouth before it goes down to slip inside his hole. you curl it upwards, teasing that spongy spot, and art’s gone.

the whole world falls right out from under his feet.

“finish for us, puppy.”

art’s hands fly out; one grasping for your wrist and the other for patrick’s hip. he needs you both, he can’t take how good it all feels.

his jaw slacks open and the filthiest, most pornographic moan shudders out of his frame as his back arches and his legs kick out. every contraction of his abdomen results in a lengthy splurt of his orgasm over your wrist and his tummy.

he’s panting, completely overwhelmed with the aftershocks once a good several utterly blissful moments pass, only to come back down to earth at the feeling of a strong hand stroking his hair and a more tender one petting his bicep.

he doesn’t remember much else from that night, but he wakes up the next morning to clean smelling skin and a mess of blankets over his body. you two are gone from the apartment, but you clearly let him sleep-in alone. had you two wiped him down? tucked him in? more than likely.

the only evidence he has that the night prior even happened is a hickey on his collarbone, a lingering heat in his gut, and a note on the dresser.

‘to our pretty boy: see you later tonight…

… be good.’

[starzgaze]

LOVESICK POTENTIAL: sung jinwoo

pairing: yandere!sjw/reader

UNFINISHED incoherent drabble brainrot on yandere!sjw hahaha... this is so unfinished but it fried my brain so badly all i can do is draw this out later because i cant write for long periods of time 😒 also english isn't my first language so this is really ERRR not good also no proofreading we die raw

tw: froth and nothing much

BEFORE THE DUNGEON EVENT:

This era of jinwoo was so cute he looked so squishy I'm biting my bedsheets. This time is the perfect moment where jinwoo gets his reasons on why he's a little cuckoo over [y.name].

Jinwoo always came home covered in bruises and maybe with a dent in his mental health. I mean not only you face life threatening monsters but you also face the words of your fellow hunters that consists of demeaning and degrading your whole existence does horriblewonders to Jinwoo's mental health! After when his mother came out of the picture by falling ill to the Eternal Slumber, Jinwoo had to face the expectations on becoming the breadwinner and help to keep his family a float.

Jinwoo doesn't have ambitions or anything during this time, not when he's too focused on trying to feed Jinah and pay the bills. He's a blank pitiful slate who's being driven by desperation and the promise he made to his mother to take care of his sister. He doesn't have anyone to turn to and he can't tell what he's experiencing to his sister because that'll make her worry for him! Jinwoo doesn't want his sister to flunk her studies because he made her worry for him... so he's basically alone.

Until you come in to the picture. [y.name] one of the few people who saw him as a person instead of some weak pitiful excuse of a hunter. It doesn't really matter how you meet Jinwoo, whether it be through connections, after a dungeon raid, or you randomly meeting him on the street, what matters is how you perceive him as a person and how you turn his miserable world upside down.

When [y.name] entered his life, it felt like a ball of light entered his dim world but not as if [y.name] was extremely energetic or what not. It was more like that [y.name] ignited something within Jinwoo. [y.name] would stop by and talk to Jinwoo, solidifying his self as a person. They would talk about ideals and goals and even encourage Jinwoo to maybe create his own when they found out that he didn't had any of his own. Jinwoo felt so warm inside whenever he'd spent time with [y.name]. He felt so inexplicably happy.

Jinwoo decided that [y.name] is his goal and the driving force of his ambitions.

Jinwoo limped a bit as he walked towards his small apartment he shared with his sister. It was what remained when his mother was sent to the hospital for falling ill. He groaned silently as he clenched his arm that was throbbing in pain. Even after being recently healed by Joohee, he could still feel the pain of his arm being battered to smithereens.

He wondered how many dungeon raids left till he'll perish by the hands of some low ranking monster.

The young man approached his door before suddenly being called out by a familiar voice. Jinwoo turned around and his bleak mood was changed into a more joyful one.

"Jinwoo! I caught 'ya this time!" [y.name] giggled as they skipped over to Jinwoo, a small mischievous smile plastered on their features. Jinwoo chuckled at [y.name]'s words as he admired [y.name]. He wondered what did he do in his life to meet [y.name]

Jinwoo hoped that the next dungeon raid isn't the one where he'll perish by the hands of a monster.

AFTER THE DUNGEON EVENT:

Jinwoo would probably avoid contacting [y.name]. After realizing he has a new opportunity to get stronger. His mental health before wasn't the best, he often thought he was pulling [y.name] back and has this mindset that he didn't deserve any of the kindness he was receiving from anyone especially from [y.name]

But now? he has now the chance to pay them all back by becoming stronger and become someone they can all rely on. So randomly... he'll just disappear from [y.name]'s life randomly. Jinwoo feels horrible but he isn't ready to face [y.name] again but he promises to himself that he'll meet his darling[y.name] soon.

Jinwoo would admire [y.name] from afar and sometimes do this just for the sake of answering to his personal question of: "I wonder how are they doing now?". Jinwoo is aware how much it hurts to [y.name] that he randomly disappeared from their life without a word especially how worried they were for him.

When Jinwoo finally deems he's prepared and worthy enough to face [y.name] he almost forgotten how different he looked when he last met [y.name]. Jinwoo almost scared [y.name] away when a devilishly handsome tall young man approached them with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Thankfully, [y.name] recognized the man from the slightly meek demeanor he showed.

Maybe after a few more meetups and catch ups, [y.name] would notice the many changes on Jinwoo's overall.. being? like aside from the fact he's now built like a sculpture made by the gods, he's more confident and charming?.. Jinwoo of course didn't miss the way how [y.name] would quiet down and stare at Jinwoo, taking note every little different detail on Jinwoo. This fed the hunter's ego and was proud how his hardwork paid off.

While [y.name] was admiring Jinwoo, they didn't notice how Jinwoo added a few of his shadows into [y.name]'s shadow. His love for [y.name] during their absence has doubled a thousand fold and the lengths he'd go for [y.name] is now boundless. Jinwoo's goal of achieving [y.name] might not be impossible anymore if he pushed himself a bit more just like what [y.name] says.

After meeting up with Jinwoo, [y.name] bid the hunter goodbye as they exited the cafe. [y.name] was pleasantly joyful that Jinwoo didn't forgotten about them and met up with them again after a few years but this still didn't made [y.name] pissed off over the fact he basically ghosted them for a few years too!

[y.name] walked down the cold street that was dimly lit up by the lamp posts around the area. They shivered a bit as they tried to warm up their hands by shoving one of them in their trenchcoat's pocket. [y.name] was on their phone when they suddenly bumped into a man by accident.

"ow.. oh? I'm sorry I didn't notice you there I'm really sorr—" [y.name] stammered out as they bowed their head in apology but then they felt a hand pushing them hard enough to be stumble back into a lamp pole, hitting their back pretty hard. The man reached out to [y.name]'s trenchcoat's pocket and pulling out their purse then he ran away with their purse in hand.

"agh! what the- my purse?!" [y.name] yelled as they rubbed their back to ease the throbbing pain as they tried to run after the robber.

Unfortunately for [y.name] he was fast on his feet and after for a while they lost him. [y.name] panted as they decided to not give up yet and looked around the now lightless and eerie street, it seems like the robber ran into a more abandoned side of the city.

[y.name] roamed around the street and would peak occasionally inside of alleyways hoping to catch the man but much to their dismay, they haven't seen any glimpses or hints. They mindlessly walked around, slowly losing hope until they heard a quick shriek then a hard thump from a nearby alleyway. A cold sweat went down their neck as they froze in place... Did something happen?

[y.name]'s eyes narrowed down on the alleyway where they assumed the sound originated from. They contemplated for a bit whether they should check it out before they decided to see what it was, clinging on the possibility it might be their purse. [y.name] slowly peeked their head in the alleyway and immediately gasped at the sight.

The man who stole their purse on floor, wriggling in pain before a dark figure. Froth was coming out of his mouth as dark inky shadows circled around his throat. His ankles looked twisted but in a very unnatural degree that it looked grotesque.[y.name]'s eyes shakily looked at the soon to be a corpse then up to the figure who was holding their purse. They blinked blankly at the figure.. [y.name] recognized him?!

"Jin..woo?..." [y.name] murmured underneath their breath as the figure looked up to see [y.name] who was pretty shaken up. The light finally hits the figure's and it revealed it was indeed Jinwoo... but he had this soulless glint in his eyes that suddenly brighten up at the sight of [y.name]

"ah. [y.name]" He called out as he walked past the struggling man and approached [y.name] who took a step back away from Jinwoo. This made his heart wrench.

"don't. don't move away. it's dangerous at this time, you shouldn't be alone" Jinwoo continued as he was finally in front of a terrified [y.name]

"you shouldve accepted my offer walking you home"

[dandelionjack]

the ninth doctor trusted rose enough to believe she would stay with him after his face changed. and twelve took some convincing but towards the end of deep breath accepted that clara would stay by his side no matter how old he looked. but thirteen was so used to losing people. her previous self had loved clara and lost her, he had looked after bill and failed to save her, he had tried to redeem missy and (to his knowledge) lost that cause too. no wonder she wouldn’t trust yaz to stay for her fourteenth face. no wonder she believed she ‘had to do this next part alone’. she had grown quietly distant with the new knowledge that she was no longer even an ordinary gallifreyan, not something of this universe, but outside of it, alien even to the aliens. isolated and inaccessible, standing on an invisible pedestal her ancestors placed her on — a pedestal that more resembled a cage. glass walls on all sides like the forced regeneration chamber. thin glass wall between her and yaz now, transparent but too solid to break through. harder than azbantium when there’s no solid footing to stand on.

of course yaz would run when she saw her new self. of course she would leave. companions would never stay now, they would never fully understand. when thirteen said that she would need to do ‘this next part’ alone, by ‘next part’ she meant ‘the rest of her (potentially eternal) life’. it’s the classic gambit: push the one you love away before they get the chance to reject you. because they always will, now. either that or they die in horrible circumstances. better to flee like you’ve always done.

this is why the bigeneration was a narrative necessity, why the giggle was the perfect vision of a positive finale. the original version of the doctor gets to settle down with people that he won’t lose. people that he won’t turn away from. people whose hearts he won’t inevitably break. he’s sitting there in the back yard and he’s not going anywhere…

…yet somewhere out there in sheffield lives a police officer named yazmin khan. she’s not all sunshine and rainbows — all cops are bastards, after all. sometimes she takes her nameless rage out on a shoplifting suspect. sometimes she hands a parking ticket to a kid that didn’t deserve it. and sometimes she does genuine good for the community, sometimes she goes to the club and dances with strangers, sometimes she sits on the sofa and watches a documentary about space exploration and laughs at the painful inaccuracies. and many miles south, the doctor spends time with his family, but he’ll never get the courage to visit her. because she’d want to run away with him again. and he could never give her that, not anymore. anything but running.

yazmin khan loved the universe in the eyes of her doctor. oh, that doctor in the garden? the stay-at-home-doctor? he’s brilliant, but he would never be enough for her. his presence would never replace the cosmic vistas and myriads of stars thirteen gave her. and she’s never coming back

[generalsdiary]

drunk alhaitham who yaps about the improvements the sumeru education system should make & kaveh, also drunk, attentively listening- the literal most beautiful man in whole of sumeru, with sparkly red eyes, messy blond hair, and a soft blush across his cheeks, with his full attention on the autistic scribe. flustering alhaitham to the point he stops mid sentence, averting his eyes, "oh fuck."

[teastainedprose]

Homelander x fem!reader

First time Homelander cums by dry humping with clothes on

It's you. It's you, it's you. It'syou, itsyouitsyouitsyou. He finally has you in his arms, your mouth against his own and he can taste you and your scent is overloading his senses and the sounds you're making and and-

And it's all Homelander can do to keep from devouring you. He's been so good, waiting for what feels like years even if Homelander has only known you for a month at max. It's been torture, behaving and keeping his hands off as to not spook you. You're so skittish, always on high alert around him but now?

Something finally snapped within you. You'd pounced him. He's over the moon because of that. Now you're all his and Homelander refuses to let you out of his hold.

This close, your scent fills his nostrils as he inhales deeply. It's euphoric, your smell paired with how yielding and willing you are in his arms. The needy noises he coaxes from you makes his cock twitch, craving the sensation of being buried in you. In the warm, wetness that he knows will undo him. Even the thought of that sets him aflame.

Homelander moans against your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as he's intent on tasting every crevice within your mouth. He can't get enough, will never get enough and Homelander knows he's lost. Lost into the sensation of you grinding down on his lap, just as desperate as he is.

A whine escapes Homelander as you work yourself off atop him, the friction just enough to send jolts of pleasure through him. He knows pre-cum is smearing the cup within his suit, staining the red briefs and making a mess of everything. It's a mess that should be smeared on your inner thigh as you continue to ride him.

It's delicious and a little embarrassing, the two of you pawing at each other like teenagers as you continue to kiss. Your hands are raking through his hair, clawing at the front of his suit while he keeps a vice grip on your thighs, kneading the supple flesh there as he encourages the rock of your hips against him. Homelander can't even bring himself to try and strip you because the desperate pleasure of it's too much and he can feel himself racing closer to that edge.

-and he should stop, stop you and relish in this moment with you because you two have all the time in the world and you're something that should be savored. Yet Homelander can't stop himself nor the building pleasure and it happens before he even realizes himself.

Homelander groans, hips twitching under you as he spends himself in his pants. Now that mess is far worse because you grind yourself down on his still hard cock as it twitches.

He opens his eyes, heat vision burning there as he stares up at you because you have to know what just happened.

"M'sorry, I-" he starts as you tap your finger against his lips to silence him.

You're as smug as can be, hips rolling as you grin down at him. That pulls another groan out of Homelander, his eyes almost fluttering shut.

You don't look the least bit sorry as you dip your head down to catch his lips again.

[flamingpudding]

The Ghost King is my Uncle Drabbles #2

A/N: Some more linked to a prompt week writing I did

>>Masterpost

Original this builds on: Link

Rowdy Cousin

Batman swore internally, from the outside he stoically sat in his chair and did nothing to indicate the absolute chaos that was going on in his mind. The Meeting rooms light flickered and the speakers once more started up loudly blaring a song all over the Watchtower. He was pretty sure one of his sons had told him once that playing that song was a meme.

"Someone do something about that kid! He is Rickrolling us!" Green Lantern screamed above the music.

"Constantine is already trying to do something." Superman's hands covering his sensitive ears as the music must sound to him even louder.

Batman very much only looped one thought in his head. -It's only for world ending purpose, I cannot use it right now.-

He had a responsibility to uphold, he was the patriarch of the earth branch family. This was not something that required him to use that. No he would not use it. He refused. This was not a world ending matter. Surely Constantine or anyone else of the Justice League Dark would solve this problem any second now.

The screens flicker and Batman did anything he could in his mind to not let his eye twitch even if no one would be able to see it. Cat videos were playing where second earlier statistics and observatory programs had been running.

No he would not, they could handle this problem no need to involve family.

The music stopped and some of his hero colleagues let out a relieved sigh only for a familiar laugh to echo through the watchtower and a new song starting to play. One that apparently counts all 100 dumb ways to die.

"Why is Klarion even targeting the watchtower like this?!" The Flash shouted over the lyrics before turning to him.

"Did one of your kids piss him off or something?!"

"No." At least not as far as he knew, though considering the recent discovery as well as the surprise visits his uncle had done lately he might have a guess why the witch boy was targeting them right now. Didn't mean he would elaborate this reason to the other heroes present.

Before Wonder Woman could comment John Constantine stormed in the room and slammed his hands down onto the table staring right at Batman with blood shot eyes. "Call him."

"Who?"

"Don't play fucking dumb bats. You know who I mean. This is not the witch brat alone. There is another entity and if you don't want the fucking watchtower crashing into earth you call him right now."

"Bats, he is not talking about who I think he is?" Superman carefully asked while the other heroes looked at him just as questionable.

He held his staring contest with Constantine a little longer before he grunted and reached into his utility belt pulling out a small bat-shaped pendant. A personalized upgraded calling card, his uncle had gifted to him as well as each of his children and extended family members.

This was not how he imagined a meeting in regards to his new discoveries and a possible sure fire contingency plan against world ending emergencies would go. He rubbed his thumb against the engraving waiting for a short moment for it to pulse, before tapping the pendant three times, paused and tapped it two more times. This was a non-emergency call, even if his colleagues might disagree.

He still thought they could very well handle this situation without the help of his uncle.

"BABY BAT, YOU CALLED THIS IS THE FIRST TIME YOU DID!"

The present heroes watched in stunned fashion how a white haired, 20 years old man stepped out of a green portal and instantly zoomed across the room to hug THE Batman around his head rubbing his cheek against the bat's cowl mindful of the pointy parts.

And Batman was letting the man do that only looking resigned.

"We agreed that I would only call on you with this pendant for emergencies."

The white haired man only hummed before his head turned sharply and green glowing eyes narrowed at Constantine, who visibly paled and took a step back standing straight and looking very much like he regretted what he had asked Batman to do. "Trading game is not being rude to you is he?"

The bat only grunted and the white haired man finally let go of him, humming as he took in his surroundings, eyes glinting in mischievously as he saw the flickering lights, animal videos on screen and heard the blaring music over the speaker. "When I okey-ed Klarion to go playing with his cousins I didn't think he would seek you two out. He had been talking about his older cousins starting another game of 'who's the better demon lord' in different dimensions. I thought he was joining their bet."

Wait did he say two? Batman grunted and the white haired guy chuckled. "I will be back in a second."

Not even the Flash could react as fast as the white haired man disappeared and reappeared with Klarion next to him. Clearly pulling on the witch boy's ear like a father would when their child had been naughty. The flickering lights and blaring of music over the speakers had stopped.

"Ow DAD what in the name of chaos are you doing here."

"Your Cousin called me. You are disturbing his work and risking them crashing into earth with Technus' help."

"YOU SNITCHED TO MY DAD?!"

"Hn."

"Technus get out of their network or I will lock you up on a Medieval Island for three decades."

As if the present heroes weren't confused enough a face appeared on one of the screens. Glaring at the white haired man. "You wouldn't dare."

"Watch me, if you stay in there any longer. I will also dig out the old thermos and soup you additionally for a decade or more."

The face on screen grumbled and the heroes nearly flinched back as a ghostly, green skinned man came out of it, looking every bit frustrated and annoyed. "I was just getting a good look at this modern technology, you have banned me from any big shot Industries…"

"We had that discussion 100 years ago, Technus. Back to the Ghost Zone." The white haired man commanded by opening a portal next to them with the wave of his hand and surprisingly, the green skinned guy listened.

"Sorry about this Baby Bat and Little Demi. Klarion will be grounded for a bit and re-educated in how to bond without risking potentially killing any bystanders. Oh and remember I will come by later for Baby Ghost to get his checkup with Frostbite!"

"Dad, please no grounding! Anything but that!"

"I am sure your Grandpa will be happy to have your help during your grounding."

"Dad! NO! I don't want to keep time in order! I live for chaos not order!"

The man was just smiling and completely ignoring Klarion's complains as he turned towards Batman and Wonder Woman, for reasons the hero's didn't understand.

"Well we will be on our way then Baby Bat, Little Demi!"

Batman grunted and the white haired man chuckled, leaving through the portal and dragging along a whining Klarion, who apparently was that man's son.

Just before the portal closed, the man stuck his head back out looking towards Wonder Woman with a mischievous smile. "Oh before I forget! Pops Clockwork sents his regards Little Demi . He doesn't want me saying this, but he is glad about the path you choose. Says you're set on a pretty good timeline!"

The head disappeared into the portal again and it finally closed. Wonder Woman was left blinking at the empty space, her mouth slightly open with the silent question of "What?"

"Bats, who was that?" The Flash was the first to break the silence that had followed as eyes turned to the dark knight.

"His Uncle." / "The Ghost King."

Superman and Constantine spoke at the same time. The JLD member flinched back as he looked at the glowering bat. Muttering something the man took his leave or rather escaped the room as quickly as possible as Batman kept glaring. Meanwhile Wonder Woman was slowly having a crisis of her own as suddenly family relations that had been hinted to her through Pandora made sense. "Clockwork... no, Titan Cronus? The Ghost King... Uncle Daniel?"

Chaos broke among the present heroes.

"WHAT UNCLE?!"

[huntingrays]

there’s so many revival jason ideas that i love so much, but the one i’m most obsessed with is where jason “comes back” because his life is now connected to leo’s

basically the “life force” or whatever you want to call that’s weaker gets connected to the one that’s stronger. the usual idea i have for this is that leo gets some item that can do this and after a little oopsie, jason is back

and because jason is still technically dead, he can’t die. he get get tired and fatigued if he doesn’t eat or looses blood, but he can’t die. someone could rip out his heart and he’d still be alive, or rather “alive”. he can only die if leo dies

for the most part, it’s an acceptable situation for the both of them. however, there is one issue

jason doesn’t see any problem with it. he already protects leo with his life. now, he can do it and actually be protecting his life. but now things are different. he can’t die. he can throw himself into dangerous situations and come out alive. he can do risky moves that he’d normally never think of doing. he’s not risking anything. he can come out alive. he’s now even more of a weapon than he was before

for the most part, leo also has no problem with it. he finally has jason back. he knows that he’ll never be without him again. also, he has more respect for his life, knowing that it’s not just his own, but also jason’s. it’s a little nerve wracking when in fights with monsters, but he knows he has people around to help him out. but… then there’s jason’s new recklessness. jason already had little regard for his own life. now, he has even less regard for his safety. it causes leo great distress. sure, jason can’t die, but he can still get hurt. he can still be in pain. what if something happened to him? what if he was hurt so badly that he can’t call for help? what if he’s laying there feeling that pain for hours? he loves jason so much. it hurts him to see the man he loves have so little regard for his well being. it hurts him to see him get hurt time and time again

[abusivelittlebunny]

I want you to know I read your blog like the morning papers. I read your filthy tags and sip my tea while doing so. An excellent morning read.

Funny that because I also am sipping on my coffee as I scroll through content and reblog with my nasty input. Cheers for a horny breakfast ☕ idk what you're interested in most particularly but here you go anon

Continuing the previous ficlet...

Warning for A/B/O & mpreg

"I gotta pay you back somehow," Charles chuckled into the phone instead of starting with a normal 'Hi' or 'Good morning'; Max preferred things straight to the point, Charles knew by now.

"Read the news. It worked that well, huh?" Max snorted, audibly sipping on something; he must be struggling with the no caffeine for the baby rule.

"He was," Charles bit his lip to suppress his giggle, rolling around on his king sized bed like a smitten teenager, his bruised body aching all over in the most delicious way possible, "just wonderful last night. God, he hasn't fucked me this rough since Vegas."

"Hm, you're a freak as per usual," he could hear Max's eyeroll through the phone almost. "Hope you're not planning on waltzing around today showing off a blackeye and a busted lip."

"He knows better than to leave such obvious marks. Well, for now at least." Charles traced the prints left on his pale thighs; galaxies of pink and purple from the belt and Carlos' strong hands. His lips curled into a too wide Cheshire cat grin. "No guarantee what he will do when he finds out the little surprise I have in store for him."

Max was quiet for a minute, but Charles could hear him shift and sigh, the weight of his babybump making it harder to get up from a sitting position. "Please tell me you didn't do something petty like key his car or take videos of last night with him beating the shit out of you for blackmail purposes. I can see a lot of speculations already about the belt; you better stay indoors if you don't want your soon to be husband to get publicly stoned by your fans."

Charles' hand caressed up from his thigh to his belly, rubbing gentle circles into his skin while he listened to Max. Instead of answering directly he hummed a coy question of his own.

"I really liked that little onesie you got from Checo. The baby blue one with the white stripes and cats. What brand was it?"

A pause and then Max spoke carefully, "I'm not sure I got a ton of baby clothes and stuff gifted to me in the last few weeks, I gotta check. Why?"

"Do you already know what you got? If the baby is a girl or a boy I mean."

"Charles, what are you on?" Max sounded irritated now, and Charles could hear him open up the fridge, no doubt looking for a sweet treat to make his overly hormonal mind calm down. Charles gifted him a whole freezerful of ice cream when Max first broke the news to the press; Max at first rolled his eyes at it but now he was munching on Charles' gift every day, his hips and tits growing even more plush as he entered the seventh month. "You know my stupid fucking gender reveal thing is not due until a month, you got fucking invited to it."

"I know, I know, just wondering. You can really tell the gender of the baby early these days. I admire that patience of yours." Charles traced his teeth with his tongue, unable to keep the grin from showing in his voice. "I couldn't wait to learn mine was a boy."

A clatter, a bang, and utter silence followed on the line. Charles hasn't told anyone yet, only received the news two days ago himself by his doctor doing the ultrasound. A strong healthy boy has been growing in Charles for the last twelve weeks.

"I just wanted to know, you know, that onesie was so cute I really envy the-,"

"Charles." Max cut his giggly rambling off with a strained voice, clearly trying to compose himself from the shock. "Don't tell me you-, you have to be kidding, mate."

"I told you, didn't I? One way or another, Carlos would have no other choice but me." Charles rolled out of bed and watched himself twirl in the wall length mirror. His belly was still completely flat, he was barely in the third month after all but he pushed his hips out and imagined how it will look stretching with his baby. He knew he could pull off a stylish pregnancy look, not get so soft and careless about it like Max. "He was always going to be the father of my children, and his transfer to Williams was just an unforseen bump in the road but nothing that could take his role away from me as my future husband."

"Does he-, oh my fucking God, Charles, how did you... Charles. What did you do?" Max wanted to sound stern but his voice was shaking a bit.

It was sweet of him to be concerned for his friend's career, he knew he'd be due in the middle of racing season, making him unable to compete. Max has already confirmed he'd compete in the second half of the season, basically robbing himself of another championship, but he told Charles how he didn't plan for his pregnancy at all either. He still didn't say who the father was, and Charles doubted he knew really.

Between Daniel, Checo, Fernando, Horner, and whoever else has found their way between Max's thick thighs, the babydaddy would remain a mystery, Charles mused.

Not that he was overly judgemental or Max giving up his cunt to any alpha that was into his bossy bratty omega ways, he admired it a bit actually for enjoying sex in such a carefree manner after he got enough championships under his belt that his daddy could no longer monitor his every waking move.

Besides, it meant he was in no danger of losing Carlos to him, since Max indulged in so many options. At first he was madly jealous, knowing Carlos had a very intimate history with Max, had proposed to him before too before Max's father shot the entire thing down. But Max reassured him they were just young and dumb, and Carlos left Redbull on his own volition not because Jos forbid him from ever seeing his son again.

They remained good although more distant friends, that's all. Just how Charles preferred it. So of course he'd be concerned and know that Carlos had zero clue about the baby.

"I stopped taking birth control about seven months ago, you remember? I got a doctor to sign off on it for performance's sake. So Carlos had to switch to condoms, and well-,"

"Don't tell me you fucking fished the condoms out of the bin, I swear-," Max groaned on the other line and Charles gave an offended squeak.

"Excuse you, I'd never do something so low, come on," Charles scoffed and waltzed over to his own kitchen for a sweet treat for himself, enjoying the soreness of his body with every step. "I just took a needle and pierced through the whole batch."

Max choked on the other side. He was coughing violently on his ice cream as Charles rattled on.

"I know, I know, it seems a bit much, but you know we were gonna have babies anyway, he knew I wanted some from the beginning, this is just a pleasant early surprise for him, you know? Just because he's in Williams now I can't let him think of other omegas as potential endgame, maybe even kick up our engagement." Charles scoffed opening a caramel fudge flavored tub. "Besides, you don't know how annoying it was, waiting for the birth control's effect to clear out of my system. He was giving it to me raw without knowing and I didn't get pregnant for weeks, it was fucking awful, not seeing the two lines. You never took birth control, did you? I know your dad was very strict on eliminating any performance reducing stuff."

Max was still wheezing softly, not saying a word. Charles felt a pang of irritation, thinking Max was judging him for what he has done. As if he had some moral highground, jumping from knot to knot for his satisfaction, not knowing who his babydaddy might be.

"Listen, I know you don't exactly approve, but still, we're friends aren't we? You're like my best friend, Maxy, you know I didn't do it maliciously. Carlos loves me. He will be delighted, I know. A bit mad at first, if he realizes the truth though, so please. Don't tell him, okay? This has to stay between us."

Max was quiet for a minute, then two before letting out a shaky sigh. "When will you tell him?"

"Not sure. Maybe after the wedding? But if he keeps pushing out the date I gotta tell him sooner. But I want it to be a public reveal. Make sure the fans see how happy and surprised he is; so they can see the wedding isn't happening because he knocked me up. I don't want them to think I forced his hand."

Max was silent on the other end of the line and Charles itched to know what he was thinking about. Sure, him and Carlos have been friends since childhood but their teen romance ended long ago, surely Max couldn't be jealous. He spent more time with Charles after all, barely ever interacting publicly with Carlos.

"Max, stop fucking judging me. You should be happy for me." Charles seethed on top of his kitchen counter, eyeing the clock. Carlos has been gone since before he woke up, but he should be back for dinner. He swallowed and took a gentler tone, "You know how much I wanted this. And now we'll be pushing our strollers side by side, and have little play dates with our kids together, go shopping, select kindergartens and everything. You won't be alone in raising your kid."

He hoped he didn't come across as too pitying, but still, Charles was the one between the two of them with a definite babydaddy.

"I know you've been having a tough time fitting in in Monaco since you moved here but I can help you with everything now while we're taking a break for our babies. It will be fun, I promise! It will be almost like they're siblings!"

Max was somehow even more silent on the other end of the line and Charles bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Max would come around, he just needed to settle his thoughts about the matter.

Charles felt a little insensitive; he didn't think about it until now but their wedding with Carlos would happen soon after Max's gender reveal party. And if he told the media about his own pregnancy right around the time Max gave birth, he'd overshadow him again. But maybe that was a good thing, Charles reassured himself. Max hated the headlines speculating about the father of his child.

"It will all work out, I promise. This will just strengthen our friendship and you won't even notice not having the father around, me and Carlos will be with you always! It will be so fun to raise them together and share their cute little clothes and-"

"I gotta go." Max hastily said, and Chsrles could hear the door of Max's bathroom open in the distance before he hung up.

Oh.

Charles mused to himself that maybe Max isn't as lonely as he thought. Of course all the alphas he was with would've been happy to step up as the father of his kid, but Charles didn't think Max was pulling towards anyone in particular in that regard.

Anyway, he was happy to know Max wasn't alone now. Maybe they could go out together baby clothes shopping once Max is calmer, just Charles, Carlos, Max, and his chosen alpha.

"Who was that?"

Max swallowed thickly and dropped his phone onto the counter, scoffing without answering the question, taking his ice cream as he walked back to the bedroom.

"Are you angry at me now?"

Max again didn't answer, just stood in front of the balcony and let the gentle late afternoon breeze wash over him.

A sigh behind him and then the tap-tap of wet footsteps approaching before a strong, tan, hairy pair of arms wrapped around him. Max grimaced at the feeling of cold moisture against his still warm body as he got enveloped in a gentle hug from behind.

"Not at you." Max finally sighed as he adoring kisses were pressed into the side of his neck, the stubble tickling his tender skin when his face was turned manually so he could receive some more kisses on his plump pouting mouth.

"Was that Daniel again? Or Horner? God, that pestering idiot won't let you breathe for a second." Max's robe was easily pulled down his shoulders as kisses rained down on him. They fucked three rounds already but that didn't seem enough to satisfy the alpha. "If the baby really is his, he'll make your life even more miserable."

"No." Max simply said, swallowing before putting hid treat on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I won't let him annoy you any longer-,"

"No, I mean the baby is not his." Max sighed, pushing the strong alpha body off of himself and moving back onto the bed. The alpha scoffed but followed, his mouth glued to Max's soft skin he loved so much; he's been more eager since the pregnancy started to show, instinctively attracted to the fertile omega beneath him. Max had a hard time peeling the man off of him now that he could fuck him raw as much as he wanted. Little did he know.

"You weren't so sure until now. If he does end up being-,"

"Horner is not the one walking around with busted condoms." Max snapped, eyes welling up with tears as he watched the alpha's brows furrow above him. "It's you, Carlos."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 4

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn’t all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Bucky coughs. You hear him through the wall. Your earbuds are still in your pocket. The smell of coffee pervades the apartment. 

The door opens as you unload the dishwasher. He emerges with a cloud of steam from the shower, along with the smell of his soap. His hair is damp and messy, his beard shining with moisture as his eyelids slit. 

"Doll," he stops on the other side of the counter as you keep your attention on the dishes. You are aware that he was only a towel around his waist, that realisation making the plate clack loudly as you put it away. "Can ya close the curtains for me?" 

"Sure," you agree and leave the dishwasher open.  

He lumbers to the couch and sits. You glimpse him as you tug on the cords to draw the curtains. You quickly hide around the corner as you return to the kitchen. 

He groans as you try not to clink the porcelain too loudly. You feel bad for him. You can tell just by looking at him how much he hurts. You've always had a bleeding heart. 

You roll the rack back into the dishwasher and close the door. You grab your phone and chew your lip. He would probably prefer to be left alone. Still, you can't see how trying to help is bad. 

You approach him as the results load on your phone. You hover behind him as you scroll. His breath startles you as he heaves. 

"Need something?" He asks without looking back. 

"Erm," you wince and shuffle around the couch. You hold out your phone. He narrows his eyes at the screen and scowls. "For your head?" 

He watches the video and shrugs. The gesture catches your attention for a split second. His right arm is just as thick as the metal one, muscle taut and bulging. His chest looks softer under a mat of dark hair and his stomach overhangs the towel just a little. 

"Too much work," he grumbles and his eyebrows twitch with the effort it takes to speak. He touches his forehead and growls.  

You lower the phone, "sorry." 

"...unless," he drops his hand and looks at you, agony sewn into his expression. "You could..." he looks at your hands. "Doll?" 

You glance down at your hands, clutching your phone tighter. You watch the video of the 'scalp massage', fingers kneading into thick strands. You bring the screen closer.  

"I can try," you say at last. 

Your gaze meets his again and he nods. He bends forward and hangs his head. He grips the cushions as his hair falls over his face.  

You rewind the video and set the phone beside him so you can see it. You rub your palms together anxiously. You raise them and hesitate above his head. 

"Will you let me know if it hurts?" You ask. 

He laughs then groans. "Sure, doll." 

You touch his hair lightly then weave through his locks until you meet his scalp. You press your fingertips in and swirl them like the video. He grumbles again and you stop.  

"Keep going," he rasps. 

He leans into your touch. You firmly knead his head as you stare at his wet hair. A few strands of silver thread through the dark tangle. Another droning noise rises from him. 

His breath deepens enough for you to hear it. You move your hands around his head as he leans into you, more and more. You hope he feels better even as your anxiety peaks with his snarls. 

Is this okay? You probably shouldn't have done this. Even if he is in pain. You could be fired for unprofessional behaviour.  

As you curl your fingertips against his scalp, he moans. You yelp as suddenly he reaches to clamp down on your wrists. He stills you but doesn't shove you away. 

"I'm sorry," you squeak as he lifts his head. 

He keeps hold of you as he looks at you. His face is tense, jaw squared, eyes foggy, a vein coursing in his forehead. His grips tightens dangerously as you whimper. He looks... feral. 

"I'm sorry," you apologise again. 

He growls. Like an animal. He stands as his thumbs run up and down the insides of your wrists. You gape at him in horror. You're in trouble. 

You say sorry again and again and again as he walks you backwards. He turns you around the couch and continues around to the foot of the spiral staircase. You wriggle and whine as you as good as dangle from his grasp.  

He jars you suddenly, pulling you against him. He lets you go as you crash against his stomach. You shakily press your palms to him but can't get away. 

You look up at him, "Bucky," you quaver, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

"No," he breathes and grabs you by the waist, "I'm sorry if I hurt you." 

Before you can process his words, he hauls you up and over his shoulder. He turns to the stairs and hooks his arm around you to keep you steady. His other hand slides up the railing as climbs the steps. 

You squeak and lightly brush his back, "Bucky?" 

He doesn't stop. The ascent makes you even dizzier as you hang over his shoulder. You don't understand what's happening. What is he doing? 

He angles you through the hatch and up into the loft. That's against the rules too. You're not supposed to be up there. 

"Please, I'm sorry..." 

He carries you across the room and bends to put you down. He sits you on the foot of the bed and you quiver as he stands straight. His hands go to the front of the towel, slack around his hips. You peer up at him. 

"What did I do?" You eke out. 

He puffs through his nose and pulls the towel free. He bends and cradles your head. His nose touches yours and he snarls. He urges you back until you're flat and you tremble at his mercy. 

"Something," he growls. 

[setmeatopthepyre]

Expose

[@118dailydrabble day 48] [part of antarct-fic | bucktommy | 118 words]

unknown#: I know that per the geneva convention of breakups we are sworn enemies etc etc but since our dear friend tommy has decided to fuck off to the icy buttcrack of the world he has waived that right unknown#: buckley do you have any clue where tommy went exactly? he just said 'to antarctica' and then turned off his phone. how do we contact him

Buck: who is this?

unknown#: tommy's friends (this is marc) unknown#: we were rooting for you btw sorry he's such a dumbass

Buck: how did you get my number??

unknown#: we cannot expose our secrets

Buck: boarding g2g

unknown#: boarding? unknown#: buckley?? unknown#: boarding a plane???? unknown#: YEAH BOY GO GET HIM!!

[luckyartdrawer]

(Bitter) Sweet! Art & Drabble

For @divinit3a Café Lunch Rush prompt list! There's still plenty of time before the first prompt is due (Jan 12th), and there's 2 other prompts as well for the month! Definitely check it out lovelies! <3

Drabble name: Instability Of The Heart Contents: Sun x reader, Heavy Pinning, Bitter Sweetness Chosen Words: Clouds, Opals, Celebration, Star-crossed, Letting Go, Hope, Candle Word Count: 1,625

AO3 version now available!

(Close Ups are also at the bottom <3)

It’s been a whole year…

Unsure how to approach the festivities now, Sun decided to find a quiet spot instead, spending all morning setting things up to participate in his own way. He couldn't not join in, but it just wouldn't be right to go back into the thick of it either.

The not-too-far-off town square, only a mile below his expanse of cloud, is alive in the lieu of celebration. The live orchestra plays the same casual songs, their passion dying the expanse of clouds they rest upon pink with their infectious energy, and the music drifts up clear as day to his ears despite the distance. The community brightens at each strum of a chord, chatter so lively that they create lyrics to their own song. They all are so alight that even once the sun sets, not even a single candle will be necessary to keep the festival bathed in a warm glow.

Sun sighed as he looked towards his namesake, feeling both relief and dread seeing it only moved a little since he last checked, located slightly past the center of the sky above him. Any moment now the square should clear its center and engage in its Hearthwarming Dance.

A spark crackles in his chest, sending longing pangs to his heart and head. It swirls through the burning magma and dips through every ligament, the tips of his fingers and toes buzzing with the itch to do something.

He turns to his partner, waiting for the first note of the new song to swell before grabbing their soft hand and whispering,

“May I have this dance?”

Without his usual banter, Sun embraces them and sways to the familiar beat without hesitation.

Upon closing his eyes, he is suddenly not dancing on a patchy field of clouds, but rather upon a lively opal plaza shimmering in the warm sunlight; the polished stone reflecting all those lovely pink clouds to create a mosaic, speckled with a rainbow of beautiful color.

Yet, the way you shined changed everything. It had completely ruined his view of beauty.

Your smile glistened through the sheer cloud of stardust that orbits around your form. Your eyes were as hypnotic as the ring of light you absorb, blindingly white before turning into a pitch black that's impossible for him to comprehend. He could barely even remember what you wore that day, too busy memorizing your face.

You were a star that had gone supernova, a rarity unseen for the last 3 centuries, let alone for a star of your kind.

Even the thought of your imagery causes him to inhale sharply. He clutches at his partner tightly, mindless of the give as he steps around in a traditional dance.

You were so scared when the change happened all those months ago...

Sun had found you holed up in your dark room, begging him to not look at you. He had initially come over to barge down your door for being an hour late to meet him, only to find your home was unlocked. It wasn't too unusual, so he welcomed himself inside, used to doing so after years of friendship.

His bitterness over how you kept him waiting for so long evaporated at finding your tearful state, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for your usual wear and voice.

He's still ashamed to say that he was enraptured by you despite the state you were in.

You were a glimmering dwarf star before, enchanting enough as is, and yet somehow you turned into something even more bewitching, compounding his years of desire into something even stronger. It felt right. Not to see you sad, but to see you in that form. Everything about it felt like you. The pull was indescribable in every step he took, the very essence of you invading his senses.

As soon as he recounts reassuring you, drying your tears, and pulling you into a hug; he snaps back to having you in his arms in the light of day, grasping his right hand and prancing with ease across the square, expertly avoiding other participants.

The magnetic pull is intense, the need to somehow get closer and closer was nearly impossible to ignore. He wanted to run away from such a force, yet he only clutched your hand tighter as he spun you, pulling your back into his chest and locking you there for a beat too long.

He was so afraid that you could read his every move, regardless of knowing your sheer obliviousness to his desires.

You always playfully indulged his yearly insistence of being your dance partner, yet nothing had come of it from either side. But this time, his gaze was constantly locked with yours, unable to break contact. His possessive grip had ensnared you, barely leaving even an inch between you. He couldn't help but pause, disregarding the mass of bodies moving around him, wanting to hold you forever.

How could it not be obvious?

Regardless, he knew it was inevitable he'd spill out his soul to you soon, barely able to restrain his lips from colliding into yours at that very moment.

He hoped, he prayed, he begged like a mantra to the celestial mother that you'd feel the same. That this magnetism isn't so one sided. That restraint would one day be unnecessary and he'd finally be able to drink in the flavor of your kiss.

Only mere seconds had passed when he released you from his hold, continuing the dance as if nothing happened. Perhaps to you, nothing did happen.

Would that explain what had happened?

He spent that whole day with you, following you to vendors with traditional carbon foods and indulging in your proximity as you'd graze hands and bump shoulders on occasion, finally left comfortably alone as the town's people were accustomed to your new appearance by then.

He was more than happy to scoop you up the moment you said you were getting tired and overwhelmed. You insisted that you didn't want the fun to end, but he could tell by the sound of your voice that you at least needed a change of pace.

The sun was setting when he leapt up stray puffs of clouds to the field above the plaza. He pranced in circles, leaping gaps to the dying beats of music, and teasing about dropping you through them when you didn't believe he could cross. Your rivers of laughter only fueled his audacity, as he never wanted to hear them end. Inevitably, his foot barely slipped off the edge of one of his more daring jumps, causing the two of you to fall forward and collide with the cloud beneath you.

Despite the grunt the two of you made at the impact, you were quick to laugh at Sun’s failure, teasing him about his cockiness biting him in the behind.

But Sun couldn't ignore the press of his body on top of yours, the echoing melody of your voice ensnaring his throat, refusing to allow him to even draw breath, let alone words. His mind fogged over, the only reprieve to his pinning troubles all pointed towards you, and he desperately needed that relief.

Your lips were more delicious than he could have ever dreamed of, your endearing expression was wide eyed and glowing.

Glowing so much that he actually had to close his eyes for a moment to recuperate, despite how much he wanted to savor your appearance.

And then with a fluttering blink, he's back in the present, kneeling down in the same position over some sad facimally of you. The cloud he molded this morning was mangled already from his delusions, but due to his fall it had melded into the cloud below it, its pink color feeling more taunting than sweet.

Sun looked down at his hand to find a tiny piece of said cloud still in it, a tear welling up in his eye.

It was too fitting.

In that original moment, it was as if you dissolved right in his arms after that kiss, but he refuses to believe anything bad happened. He searched your home, your favorite places, and even contacted your friends and family. No one knew where you were.

Some believed you to be dead after he finally admitted what happened between the two of you.

He vehemently denied that possibility, despite the plausibility. You were barely older than he was, still spry with centuries of life ahead of you. You couldn't just die from a kiss…

The only spark of hope he was given was when he questioned one of the elder Neutron stars, one of whom recalled personally knowing a singular supernova; one who had been taken suddenly to a world beyond the sky to contain their unstable make up. They had returned only once to explain their departure, before saying goodbye for their next one shortly after.

Sun brought the small puff of cloud to his lips – it should have been your hand.

He couldn't repress the tear that escaped him.

It's been a year since your disappearance. He still hasn't given up on his star-crossed lover, if he may even call you that. Your sudden departure left him wanting, stagnant, unsure of so many things.

If you reciprocated, wouldn't you have come back to him by now..?

Overtime, many have caught onto his depressed demeanor and advised him that it's best to learn to let go.

Preaching that waiting is fruitless.

Denouncing the Neutron’s tall tale of some magical plain snatching you away.

Scolding Sun for ruining his life over some runaway star.

However, he cannot help it; you own all the hope he has left. As he is unfortunately, completely, woefully in love with you.

Close Ups!