#a quick Drabble

[bjlipss]

you’re swaying slightly in the doorway when nanami opens it, your coat half off your shoulders and your cheeks flushed a little too brightly.

“there you are,” he says gently, stepping forward to catch you just as you start to wobble toward him. “i was about to come get you.”

you blink up at him, eyes wide and a little dazed. then, suddenly, you grin.

“whoa,” you breathe, pressing your hand to his chest. “you’re… wow. you’re really handsome.”

nanami raises an eyebrow. “you’re drunk.”

“yeah,” you admit, nodding sagely. “drunk and lucky, apparently. do you—” you squint at him like you’re trying to see him better. “do you have a girlfriend?”

he lets out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh, and takes off your coat. “no. i have a wife.”

your eyes go comically wide. “you’re married?”

“yes,” he says, amused now, “to you.”

you stare up at him, stunned—and then your face just lights up.

“really? i married you? holy shit. i did so good.”

you throw your arms around his neck without warning, nearly knocking both of you off balance, but he catches you easily, holding you close as you giggle into his shoulder.

“you’re so warm,” you mumble. “and strong. and you smell nice.”

he hums, steadying you with one arm while slipping his shoes off with the other. “come on, sweetheart. let’s get you to bed.”

“bed with my husband,” you say dreamily as he scoops you up. “i have the best husband. i think i’m in love with you.”

he carries you down the hall, voice quiet and fond. “good. because i’m very in love with you.”

you’re already falling asleep when he tucks you in, but you still manage to whisper, “i’d marry you again. like. right now.”

and nanami just smiles, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“i’d say yes.” he whispers back.

[cherry-pop-elf]

Drink With Me

George Weasley x Reader

AN: For poor @im-trying-my-best-yall who needs some needed fluff

Sum: George has been acting pretty weird around you recently. He keeps trying to say something to you, but whenever he does he seems to switch topics right before he says it. You figured he’s just stressed about planning for WWW after school ends, but it’s getting annoying now. So you confront him

Warning: Short and Sweet

“Georgie! Hey, I gotta ask you something!”

There you hurried after him, to cut him off from heading to his next class. The rare times he and Fred weren’t glued to the hip. George took up new class that just wasn’t Fred’s speed. Was something about Baking if you recall correctly. Fred prepared to cook. Had to take the chance, while he’s alone, so no one could intercept you both.

“Hey shortie, what’s up?” He would ruffle at your hair, as you quickly fixed it. Those Weasleys and their string bean genes. Made him tower over you. Always left with a hurt neck if you talked to him too long. Hopefully this will be short.

“You’ve been trying to ask me something for the past few days, and I figured now that I caught you that you can tell me. So what’s up?” You asked him. Asking seemed to be what he feared the most out of you.

His wand was soon rubbing his neck, his freckles cheeks flushing, and his doe eyes darting. He just seemed to instantly clammer up. Just not seeming to be the confident ladies man he normally is. He is just a wet hand mess. What was going on?

“Oh yeah….That. Yeah uh….Um.”

Oh how his eyes were darting around. He was trying so hard to find an excuse to not Ben in this situation right now. To find something to make him shut up. To escape this pin. But no one was around. No one anywhere, not even Peeves to give mercy to the bastard in the Gryffindor Robes. He needed to face this head on.

“Was um. Just wondering if you wanted to hit up the Three Broomsticks together. That’s all.” He tried his best to act casual, and shrug. Made you all the more confused.

Why is this making him so flustered?

“Ok…..Werido. That sounds nice. We could hit it up sometime after class. Fred and Angelina should be-“

“Without them…..”

Oh…..Oh.

Just the two of you. No brother, no other friends. Just the two of you. Like a date. Like a normal date that normal couples do. Normal normal normal little dating. Just a date between two people. A date date.

“……I uh. Yeah, I think I can do that.” You swallowed, as this was starting to really register now. He wanted to ask you out on a date. Still, why was he so flustered over it? He’s asked out plenty of guys and gals before. Never sweat this much. Even Fred straight up called Angelina across the table to the Yule Ball, and that was the end of that. What made you different?

“You weren’t dared to do this, were you?”

He stared down at you with the most offended expression possible. As if you called him a blood traitor. Some kind of slur that would make Molly faint. He looked ready to smack you, but of course he wouldn’t. He never would lay a hand on you. Unless you asked.

“What?! The hell you mean ‘was this a dare-‘ bullshit? No! This isn’t some dare. What gave you an idea like that? Fred and I have standards. Pranks like that are not only overly simplistic, but there is no joke at the end of it. Who’s laughing? No one. Give me some respect-!”

He gave you a hip bump, and it made you laugh. Helped you feel a little better over the whole situation. Maybe you were different for other reasons. Maybe he was bashful because you two had been friends for so long. It is pretty awkward to ask a friend out. If they say no, well….You can’t really take back what you said.

“Ok ok, I’m sorry Mr. Weasley. I shall never question your pranking methods again. Now hurry to class, before you get detention. If you get detention we can’t grab butter beers. Go on and get-!” You hip bumped him right back, and he gave that cute crooked smile. One that showed there was no worries to ever hold. That he’s all laughter.

“Alright I’m gone! All gone! Poof!” And down the hallway he went. Vanishing around the corner, as you now were dancing a squealing. Flapping away at your robes in total utter glee.

George Weasley asked you out.

Had you stimming like crazy, unaware that a certain red head had his own stimming session all the same. Flapping his hands to try and calm down. So damn happy you said yes.

[mynameisjag]

Because wow, it's...it is a hell of a day huh?

Anyway, to fight against the stress that is taking over my life, have a small drabble to make me and maybe you feel a little better.

It wasn’t that unusual for Logan to go missing, from a few days to a few months, one time disappearing only to appear on the news fighting along with the Avengers for some reason.

He was on another trip, it seemed to be running longer than usual but Charles had assured everyone it was fine, the Wolverine would make his way home soon.

His arrival was unexpected, especially to Storm as the man seemed to have appeared in her room without her noticing.

“Logan?”, the man in question just stared at her with half lidded eyes, he looked…well…he looked tired, “are you okay?”

“Ro?”, it seemed he finally came to realize where he was as he glanced around the room, taking a deep breath, letting her scent ground him before he shook his head, “right the mansion,” he squinted at her again, “I need you to do something for me.”

Strange…

He unzipped his jacket, a favorite brown leather that was thrown over a torn up battle suit, underneath it was a sling where he was carrying something he wanted to keep safe.

Which means he was probably about to hand her something very important to him and she was proven correct as he took a bundle out and gently passed it over to her.

Gentle, he was so gentle with his handling as he handed it over, she was just as gentle taking it from him.

“Imagonnarestnow.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bed,” with that he turned to her bed, walked over to it and preceded to pass out on it.

Ororo just smiled indulgently, glad her friend trusted her with resting in her presence as the man tended not to sleep given his abilities and tendency to have nightmares.

She found herself blinking down at what he had laid within her arms as she felt something move...

The bundle wiggled…

The bundle let out a tiny squeak.

The bundle was alive.

Unwrapping just abit…she found herself grinning, “Oh, I have been blessed today!”

[annastrxng]

your writing of Anna is the most captivating rendition i have ever seen. could you give me a dribble of Anna and Hewlett moment.

Oh, thank you!!! I am so glad you enjoy reading my things. I just want to thank you first off, for taking your time to read and comment on my work. Honestly, I stay because of kind people like you. <3

As Lovers Do

The gazes that meet across the crowded room are equally as listless in nature. There beyond the bustle, above the endless trivial chatter, is birthed a new chord of tension.

His is the first glance to avert; though the eternal longing etched within their fathoms refuses to be so easily satiated.

Edmund's lips purse in the form of a firm frown. Anna Strong, his greatest treasure, and the source of his defeat, had SEEN him. The dour expression she bore engendered nothing but sympathy. Sympathy from a heart he felt had long bled dry. And yet, he has nothing he wishes to express to her. Nothing noteworthy nor healing. His jaw moodily screws shut.

Anna's calloused fingers glide down her bodice, willing the subtle sheen of sweat to vaporize. He looks well, for all that time spent agonizing over his safety. She opens her mouth to speak, to broach the gaping distance gathering, despite their physical proximity. But what words could genuinely express the shallowed utterances of a heart long ignored? What lexicon could there be to translate an apology worthy of him?

Hewlett's staggered steps, nearly half-graceless, manage to dodge a protruding chair shoved out in their path. Now, he finds his only exit from the tormented room barricaded by a bubbly-over indulgent man. An awaiting arm is slung about his broad shoulders.

"What is your hurry this fine day?!!!" Rivington heedlessly needled. "Surely, you can't be vested in work when there is such lovely company to be had." He buoyantly expresses, willing Hewlett to follow his lead back towards a bewildered looking brunette.

Oh, how far did fifteen feet seem when it is not assessable as a hurried route for departure. Anna shifts her weight, barely avoiding a tipsy officer who likened her to a downcast angel. His mutterings of meeting him upstairs heralded a stern glower, for features that had been rendered so soft and comely. It is in dodging this member of the King's wayward guard, that she is intercepted by Hewlett and Rivington.

"Major..." A soft powdery voice cracks. All the familiarity she wished to burry floods between the single title's seams. Doleful, rather than intrepid, her eyes scale upwards to behold him between elongated lashes.

She swallows, trying to ignore the tenuous thrum inside of her chest. "I am--" She starts, half wincing as she attempts to string together something remarkably close to intelligent. "I am -- pleased to find you in good health." Cheeks singe red with embarrassment. He deserved far better than a greeting so impersonal.

"Anna-" In a graceless flit of his heart, he forgets himself. "It seems life away from Setauket agrees with you." His own voice is fatigued with a degree of gravel lodged within.

Rivington's astonished glance slips between the two. "YOU KNOW EACH OTHER?" The insatiable gossip is rather pleased with the development. "Lovers?!!" He presumes, only to be nailed twice with exasperated expressions.

A titter of laughter ambles over his lips. "Ah, so you were lovers!!!" And now prying, Rivington seeks out an explanation. His entreating eyes stay affixed as if he were a vulture eyeing his pray. "Let us get some drinks, so we can speak!!!"

Anna's face blanches. "I--" She chokes on her own excuses. Her brows sharply colliding over the bridge of her nose. Usually, she had at least three prepared for every occasion but this, this had taken her so far off guard, recovery seemed nearly impossible.

Hewlett manages to pick up the slack where Anna had failed. "We-- have-- some business to conduct in private." Sensing Rivington's hesitation to let matters be, he casually tacks on. He tries to strain all the begrudging bitterness from his voice. "As lovers often do."

[disenchanted-youth]

Was it really necessary?

With the searing heat on his knuckle, he found himself asking that question over and over again. ‘Was it really necessary?’

‘Probably not.’ 'He deserved it' 'He started it'

The answers kept changing every single time.

He held back a sigh and took in the sights of the warm glow from the streetlights as the car steadily moved through the traffic. He didn't need the doctor to worry, or for him to hear the loud trace of anxiety in Tharn's thoughts when mentioning Phaya. The mere thought of it was something he wanted to avoid. Phaya lingered in his mind, permeating every thought and breath, even his very soul. He was terrified.

‘Stop thinking about him. You'll just hurt him more if you keep thinking about him.’

Tharn had a horrible thought of Phaya leaving him, the image of his mangled body trapped inside a twisted car flashing through his mind. Not a vision, only an unsettling fear creeping in, making his palms sweat. The fear of not being able to stop it in time. With a deep sigh, he crossed his arms tightly, creating a barrier around himself.

“Tharn? Are you worried about your friend?”

“Phaya?” Tharn shook his head, barely perceptible. “No, I'm considering how to break through to him and bring an end to all of this.”

“All this? Would you like me to speak to him on your behalf?”

Tharn almost smiled at that. Whenever he needed someone to lean on, the good doctor was always there, providing unwavering support. “No, thank you. I’ll deal with him.”

“You know Tharn, you’ll always have me.”

Tharn felt a sense of relief wash over him as he heard those words, knowing he would never be alone. “Yes.” He finally smiled.

[theorphicangel]

cat kuna who sits in your suitcase when you're packing for a trip. he's stubborn and he won't move.

he's not...sad. just a little distraught that you're leaving and you didn't tell him in advance. (you did tell him but he was too busy scoffing down that tuna fish to listen to you)

your eyes meet his little red ones and by the rapid movements of his tail you can tell that he's getting a little agitated. your maine coon takes half of your suitcase space and every time you try and place your clothes down he either hisses or attempts to swat at you.

'i'm just leaving for a day or two kuna. nothing more, nothing less.'

'meow.'

'don't give me that attitude, someone will be looking after you.'

silence hits the room. sukuna's tail stops.

'yes, it's gojo. our neighbour who pays for your vet check ups and your monthly food bill from that expensive, luxury cat food company, be grateful.'

grateful? grateful his ass. he'd rather eat nothing but dry corn than eat another dish paid by your neighbour who always loves to come over for a quick chat. and best believe sukuna has given him all the scratches and bites in the world but that white haired freak keeps coming back.

like fleas.

'kuna if you're going to act this way I might as well not even go. you're being a pain in the ass and you know it....'

he gives no response, deciding to lick at his paw whilst remaining in your suitcase.

'but I guess that's what you want huh.'

[spurbleu]

jus been thinking about a reader who isn’t used to spending much money/grew up cheaper who is dating price.

because he’s absolutely the type to spoil you, and you are just baffled because £2,000 for a necklace is ridiculous. you only like it, not love it. and ‘sides, he shouldn’t be spending that much on a piece of jewelry.

but it made you stutter your steps when you saw it in the window. made you pause before answering him when he asked, “y’like that dove?” half-mindedly responding “mhm…” it all only solidified his assumption you were smitten.

course, when he started towards to the door your hands found fluttering purchase on his shirt, shaking your head, hissing,

“absolutely not. way to expensive.”

“nothing is too expensive if it’s f-“

“John.”

you could find one just like it at a flea market, a reassurance that didn’t seem to do much for John, but you were unbothered. you had a good eye for those things. so it was forgotten.

until, you’re bidding a sappy goodbye at the airport before his flight, and he slips something into your back pocket, taps your bum and winks.

“keep it safe.”

you leave your fury with it in your back pocket until you get home, ripping the box open to reveal, sneaky bastard, the necklace.

[sunsburns]

guess

smut 18+, age gap, fem reader, underwear fixation

logan howlett loves to swear up and down that he’s too old to mess around with a pretty young thing like you. you’re out of his league in everything you do, from the way you can get up early in the morning and stay out late at night, stumbling back into your apartment in a fit of giggles, humming the last song that played at the club you were returning from.

he acts like he doesn’t notice, and he acts like you don’t exist. but the moment you bumped into him in the laundry room it’s been hard to ignore you.

it was wade who’d introduced the two of you to each other when he was giving logan the grand tour of the apartment complex, and they’d run into you while you were unloading a drier, tossing your clothes into a basket.

you in your tiny shorts and tight tank top, one earbud in and the other dangling by your chest. he tried hard not to stare, especially when you slowly straightened yourself up, holding your basket of clothes to your side, hair messy and sticking to your face a little bit.

it was hot in the laundry room, hell, the whole fucking building felt like a furnace now that the a.c. refused to work in the peak of summer.

but there you were, wide smile and open arms when wade shoved logan in your direction. you didn’t take it personally when he merely grunted at you, a slight nod to his head as a greeting. to logan’s surprise, your lips curled as you looked up at him, and you stared up at him like he was some kind of tree you wanted to climb.

no shame about it either.

logan’s eyes were drawn to your basket as wade spoke, retelling the whole story of how the two of you became ‘neighbour besties’, as he had put it. how you helped wade keep up with the ‘youngsters’, as he called them.

no, logan was too busy staring at a lacy black pair of panties sitting at the top of your basket. pretty little thing, pretty little bows to adorn it.

he slowly tore his eyes away from them and looked at you, then down to your hips where he could see your bright pink underwear, peaking out from the denim.

and maybe, in a dream or two, he imagined what those cute pink ones looked like in full. how it would be like to push you against your door before you could even unlock it, unbutton your shorts and dig his hands into them just to feel the soft fabric of your pretty pink underwear, soiled and ruined from how wet you were with want.

but for now, he’d have to do with the black lacy ones, he almost didn't want to take them off. running his hands over the fabric, grinning when your back arches against the bed, a little desperate, way too needy.

you’ve soaked them, all ruined just from him touching you, from the way his teeth teased you, pulling at the bows, running his nose over your clothed pussy.

logan hooked his fingers over the fabric at the center, pulling it to the side, tongue poking into your cunt, drawing out a whine from you. with an open mouth, he pulled back to see your slick, coated lips with a satisfied grunt.

logan pulled them back just to stare. fuck, they were so pretty. you were so pretty just sitting under him, in nothing but those pretty panties. yeah, logan might be old, but he can keep up for a night.

[seumyo]

will bakugou choose seoul, korea or your wedding anniversary?

Bakugou had turned the damn house upside down three times.

“Where the hell is it?” He hissed under his breath, storming through the hallway closet for the third time in two days. He’d torn apart the shoe rack, the document folders, and even flipped through the cookbooks in the kitchen, just in case he’d used it as a bookmark. No dice. The damn passport was still missing.

His hair was sticking up more than usual—half from stress, half from the static of the hoodie he’d thrown on that morning in frustration. They were supposed to leave for Korea in three days. Three. It was the biggest pro-hero conference he’d ever been invited to—panel talks, interviews, awards. Best Jeanist, Lemillion, and even Halfie had their confirmations sent in already.

And what did he have?

An expired copy of his license (he got a new one; the expired one’s just in his drawer), a half-crushed protein bar, and a very pouty, very pregnant wife in the living room.

You had your feet up on the couch, ankles slightly swollen beneath the oversized hoodie you’d stolen from his wardrobe. You were scrolling on your phone with one hand, the other resting on your baby bump, lazily tracing circles. When Bakugou stomped past, you looked up with the slow blink of a cat.

“Still lost?” you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement. Even laughed under your breath.

The audacity, he thinks, though it wasn’t frustration. He could never be mad at you.

Because he knows you’ll get mad at him, too.

Bakugou didn’t answer. He grunted instead, pulling out another drawer in the cabinet near the TV.

“Maybe it grew legs and walked off,” you teased. “Or maybe your big fat ego swallowed it.”

He shot you a look. “Not helping.”

You hummed. “Not trying to.”

Your pout had gotten more dramatic since hitting six months. Bakugou noticed it more these days, how you’d stare down your food like it personally offended you, or how you’d sigh theatrically every time the topic of even him leaving the house came up. At first, you’d been supportive—even joked that you’d video call him during the conference and heckle him from the screen. But once you found out the biggest day of the event landed on your wedding anniversary, the whole game changed.

Suddenly he feels like he’s on house arrest.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” you murmured, taking a sip of the juice he made you this morning. “Maybe you’re meant to stay home this time.”

Bakugou scoffed. As if.

“Ain’t no damn sign. It’s just misplacin’ shit.”

“You don’t have to go,” you said again. “You could stay. Cuddle me. Eat cake. Listen to me cry about clouds.”

“You said I could go if I find my passport,” he pouts, brows furrowed, and his lips jutted slightly.

“I did, and don’t be mad,” you replied. “I want you to go. Really. You’ve worked so hard.”

“Then why do you look like you wanna punch me in the throat?”

You blinked at him. “Because it’s our anniversary and I’m hormonal. Sue me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“So I hope you don’t find it.”

That was the end of that conversation.

-

The night before their anniversary came sooner than expected.

Bakugou had made a reservation at one of the nicest rooftop restaurants in the city. Private booth, soft fairy lights, cityscape twinkling behind them. The host even laid a small bouquet of lavender on the table when he told them it was for a special occasion. He hadn’t told you where you were going, only grunted, “Wear that dress you like—that comfy one. You know the one.”

He hadn’t mentioned anything new about the passport ordeal. You, who figured he’d either given up or accepted fate, were mostly content to enjoy the evening.

You looked like a dream, so his focus was entirely on you. Someone who he somehow managed to have (maybe his bond with his guardian angels came in clutch and even contacted Cupid himself to arrange an arrow for you two).

You waddled into the restaurant, cheeks a little fuller, eyes glowing. He still looked at you like he couldn’t believe he got so lucky. He thinks it makes you shy, how intense his gaze got, even after everything—the morning sickness, the mood swings, the late-night hospital runs due to paranoia.

“You okay?” he asked, placing a hand on your lower back as you walked in.

“Mm,” you hummed, leaning into his touch. You could barely hide your smile at this point. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t even deny it. “I am? So what? Can’t a man just appreciate his wife?”

Dinner went well, for the most part.

You had one hand on your belly, the other wrapped around his fingers on the table. You were halfway through your chocolate mousse when Bakugou reached into his jacket pocket and slid something across the table.

“No,” you said slowly, setting your spoon down. “You didn’t.”

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t look smug at all, more like... hopeful.

Your brows furrowed. You reached for the passport, flipping it open.

There it was. His damn passport. Found. Intact. Stamped. His most recent picture was taken only a few months ago.

Yoh stared at it. Then at you. Then back at it again.

“…You found it?”

“Yup.”

“Where was it?”

He cleared his throat, gaze shifting to the side.

“…Behind the dresser in the guest room. Stuffed in that red envelope labeled ‘Important Shit,’ which you labeled in your handwriting, by the way.”

You paused. Your cheeks puffed again as your lips turned downward in the softest pout he’d ever seen. You looked down at your half-eaten dessert, spoon idle.

“You’re really gonna go?”

“I want to,” he admitted. “But I don’t wanna leave you pissed off and lonely, either.”

You didn’t say anything at first. Just poked at your mousse with your spoon. Your lashes were low, and he could tell you were struggling. Not angry, just…sad.

Finally, you said, “It’s just one. It’s just one anniversary. We’ll have dozens more, right?”

“We will. We’ll have centuries more.”

“…And you’ll video call me. Every day.”

“Morning and night.”

“And text me when you land. And when you eat. And when you leave the venue. And—”

Bakugou reached across the table and tugged gently at your hand. His hands are rough against yours, but they’re filled with sincerity and utmost love that a man could give to his wife.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

His voice softened.

“Seriously, d’ya think I’d leave you without a plan?”

You blinked.

“I’m leavin’ you flowers and your cake. I told Kirishima to drop off that spa basket thing you said you wanted last month. And your mom’s stayin’ over the night of. I made sure. I even stocked the fridge.”

Your mouth parted slightly, tilting your head to the side. “You…did all that?”

“Yeah.” He looked almost bashful now, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t want you to think I forgot. Even if I ain’t here physically. I’m still here.”

Your eyes shimmered just a bit. A good sign, Bakugou notes.

Then you smiled—soft and tired and affectionate.

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Tch. Don’t cry. I’ll look like an asshole.”

You laughed then, nose crinkling. “You are an asshole. But a sweet one.”

“Yeah, you love me.”

“I do.”

You two didn’t talk about the passport again that night. Not after that.

Instead, you finished dessert. Slowly. Your hand stayed in his the whole time.

When you walked out of the restaurant, he kept his arm around your shoulders, guiding you carefully down the steps like you were made of glass. You leaned into him, soft and warm, your belly pressing into his side.

And when they got home, you told him, “Let’s open the anniversary cake early.”

He didn’t say no. Not when you looked that happy. It doesn’t matter that he’s already full from the chocolate mousse you two had earlier.

When night finally settled, and Bakugou’s wiping the excess frosting off the corners of your lips with a napkin, he hears you say, “Come home soon, okay?”

He nodded, then softly kissed the crown of your head.

“Always.”

Always come home to you.

-

The morning of Bakugou’s flight started earlier than usual.

He had been up before the alarm even went off, brushing his teeth with the kind of intensity that only came from years of military-grade discipline… or nerves (also because he wants all bad germs on his mouth to die). Not that he’d ever admit to the latter. He stood in front of the mirror, towel slung low on his hips, steam curling from the hot shower as he stared at his reflection.

This was it. The day he was supposed to fly out to Korea.

Except—he wasn’t going.

Not really.

He’d made his decision last night, somewhere between the weight of your hug and the feel of your heartbeat against his body when you fell asleep on his chest. The moment you started snoring softly, your nose slightly buried in his shirt, he realized there was no way in hell he was getting on that plane.

Not this time.

But you didn’t need to know that just yet.

Because if there was one thing Bakugou knew about his wife, it was that you’d throw a fit if he skipped a life-changing professional opportunity just to spend your anniversary folding baby laundry and rubbing your swollen ankles. Plus, he knew you’d never allow him to stay. And if you knew he was lying about leaving, you’d huff and puff until he actually made him go.

So, he planned ahead. Like a goddamn mastermind.

By the time you woke up—slightly groggy with pillow lines on your cheek—he had already “packed.” His suitcase was zipped shut and positioned neatly by the door. His travel duffle bag sat upright next to it. His travel documents were tucked inside an envelope labeled “Do Not Open Unless Emergency.” (Totally blank inside.)

You blinked at him sleepily, rubbing your eyes as you waddled into the living room in his oversized T-shirt. One of the many shirts he was sure was missing from his closet.

“You already packed?” you murmured, voice small and pouty.

He turned from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand. Acting too nonchalant to not give anything away.

“Yeah,” he said. “Didn’t wanna rush.”

You crossed your arms over your bump. “It’s only a three-hour flight, Katsuki. Not an expedition to the Arctic.”

“Still gotta prep,” he said, biting back a grin.

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously, but the smell of something sweet distracted you. Bingo.

He stepped aside, revealing a neatly arranged dessert box sitting on the counter. Inside: four of your favorites—strawberry shortcake with extra whipped cream, a slice of creamy Basque burnt cheesecake, a generous portion of tiramisu, and your current obsession: mango sticky rice.

“You bought me desserts?” you awed.

“I bought you a stack,” he corrected. “Don’t think I don’t know you get all sad and start craving sugar when I leave.”

You scoffed. “I do not.”

“You do,” he said, crossing his arms smugly. “You pouted so hard last time I left, I came back to find the fridge empty and you passed out with a half-eaten ice cream tub on the couch.”

“That was one time!”

“And I’m not takin’ chances.”

He bent forward, pressed a kiss to your cheek, then to your rounded belly. “Eat well. Don’t lift anything heavy. Text me when you’re sleepy. I’ll land by lunch. Kirishima’s already on the way, but it’ll take a while because of traffic since the bridge is getting repaired.”

“You’re acting suspicious,” you said, frowning as you clung to his shirt. “You never say goodbye this… nicely.”

“That’s rude,” he muttered. “I’m always nice.”

“No, you’re normally grumpy and say something like, ‘Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.’”

He smirked. You weren’t wrong entirely.

“Well, maybe I don’t wanna come back to find out you’ve cried over an empty dessert box.”

Your lip wobbled, and he kissed you again—softly this time, with an extra squeeze to your waist.

“I’ll be back before you know it. It’s just for two nights.”

-

He left around nine. Or at least, pretended to.

Instead of heading to the airport, he drove straight to his agency, parked in the underground garage, and holed up in his office. There was a bottle of juice in the mini fridge, emergency snacks in the bottom drawer, and an absurd number of congratulatory emails flooding his inbox that he ignored.

The hours ticked by slowly.

He checked his phone a dozen times. No calls. No texts. Just one blurry photo from you of the dessert box with the caption: You’re lucky I’m in a sugar coma right now. Or I’d be mad you left without triple kissing me goodbye.

He snorted.

Around lunchtime, he got restless. Then irritated.

Then, at exactly 1:00 P.M., he got in the car and drove home.

No warning.

No heads-up.

He half-expected you to be lounging in the living room, watching drama reruns and fanning yourself while complaining about heartburn. But when he pulled up the driveway and unlocked the front door—

The house was suspiciously quiet.

His brows pulled together.

“[Name]?” he called out, stepping in.

Nothing.

He frowned and shut the door behind him, stepping out of his boots. He heard a thud from the back hallway. Then a low grunt. A shuffle.

His eyes narrowed.

Then he heard you muttering.

“Come on, come on, I’m not that heavy—”

He rounded the corner—and stopped cold.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway. Sweaty. Red-faced. Holding a large box half your size with both hands, your bump barely giving you enough room to balance it. Your lip was caught between your teeth as you struggled to carry what was definitely one of the boxes he had explicitly labeled: Do Not Touch.

“…What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You screamed.

You literally screamed—jumping nearly out of your skin, eyes wide like you saw a ghost.

Or a burglar.

Or both, at this point.

“—Katsuki! I thought you were in Korea—what the hell—”

“Put the box down.”

“You can’t just walk in like that, I thought—I—”

“Put it down, [Name].”

You dropped it with a loud thunk, wobbling backward and grabbing your shoulders.

“Oh my god, I thought you were a home invader! I was ready to throw a candle at you—why are you back?!”

Bakugou marched toward you, still wide-eyed with a mixture of rage and pure panic. He can’t believe this at all. “More importantly, why the fuck are you lifting boxes?!”

“I was bored!”

“Bored? So you decided to tear a disc and pop a blood vessel?!”

“I didn’t tear anything! And it wasn’t heavy; it’s mostly baby blankets!”

He crouched down instantly to pick it up—still heavy, despite your excuses—and carried it to the nursery, grumbling the entire way. “Goddamn woman’s gonna give me a stroke,” he muttered, though there was never any heat in his words.

You waddled after him, still stunned.

“Wait. Why are you here?!”

“I never left.”

“You… what?”

“I stayed at the agency. Figured I’d come back after you thought I was gone. Catch you red-handed.”

“You liar!”

He turned toward you, his frustration subsiding.

“You’re not even a good liar! You went full fake goodbye mode this morning! You even left me mango sticky rice!”

“Yeah. ‘Cause I knew you’d snoop around and start being reckless the second you thought no one was watching.”

Your cheeks puffed up again. That damn pout.

“I was just nesting,” you mumbled.

“Nesting doesn’t involve deadlifting half a closet,” he shot back. “You promised you’d take it easy.”

“…I thought you were in Korea.”

“Yeah, well, again, surprise.”

You blinked up at him again, eyes soft now, overwhelmed. “…You really stayed just for me?”

When he sets the boxes down, he exhaled and cupped your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye. “You really thought I’d leave you alone on our anniversary? Pregnant? Carrying boxes? Eating dessert by yourself? What do you take me for? A shitty husband?”

You hit his chest weakly.

“You’re so unfair,” you muttered.

“I know,” he grinned. “And I love you.”

You melted then. Completely.

Wrapping your arms around him, your bump pressing into his stomach, you buried your face in his chest and whispered: “I love you too, you dramatic maniac.”

That night, there was no flight. No press. No conference.

Just takeout on the couch, your feet in his lap, mango sticky rice on your plate, and his hand splayed across your belly like a homecoming gift.

Bakugou may have missed a headline.

But he made the right choice.

And that mattered more.

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[leighsartworks216]

Sylus waking up with you in his arms and greedily curling even further around you, holding you as close to him as possible, when his hand touches something wet and warm. It's by your legs, on the covers, so his first thought is that you're on your period. But... wait, didn't you have it a couple weeks ago???

You're woken up by him roughly pulling himself away and throwing the covers off of you, turning you onto your back so he can find the source. It's hard to miss the big spot of red soaking through your shirt.

He hadn't thought to check you over, honestly. Yes, you got back from a mission and practically passed out the second you laid down, but he didn't think you got hit at all. Pissed because you didn't say anything. Pissed because you wrote off your heal so easily. Pissed because he didn't notice.

And you're left watching through a daze as he treats you. His brow is furrowed. His movements are rougher than usual, but he eases up when you wince. He staunchly refuses to meet your eyes.

But the worst part is the silence. He doesn't say anything. His teeth are clenched, jaw twitching with every stitch and bloody gauze. You try to get him to speak, but he bites his tongue. Nothing he says right now will help; it would only do more damage. So he stays silent.

Once the bandage is secure around you, he lifts you up and sets you back down on the couch to deal with the bloody sheets, but not without tossing a fresh shirt onto the arm of the couch.

You're in near tears. The guilt and ache in your heart extends to every cell in your body, all-consuming and painful. He's midway through pulling off the extensive silk sheets when you wrap your arms around him from behind, hugging him tightly, face pressed into his back, begging him to please just say anything.

The room is still. His heartbeat is erratic as ever, but it seems to stutter and jostle more right now. His breaths are deep and heavy.

He woke up, holding his love, with your blood staining his hand. It scared him to his core. Instilled so much fear into his system, he doesn't know how to cope. He can't get the words out right now, not in the calm way he needs to, but he doesn't shove you away. He relishes the contact, truly. The feeling of your breath heating up his shirt as you cling to him. The way your hands clutch at the fabric over his abs. The squeeze of your arms around his sides.

He's still so pissed. He can't- he doesn't want to hurt you, even if he was a bit harsher than strictly necessary when tending your injury.

So he places his hand over yours. You slip one out to rest over his, holding onto it like a lifeline. And he stays there.

The blood is starting to soak into the mattress. The silk is all but completely ruined. Your shirt is still stained, transferring to his own clothes in the hug.

But you're alive.

You're alive.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

unashamed

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, tit play, protected (woo!) sex, mentions of semi public sex

you flop down on the sunbed next to rafe, propping your head on your hand as you stare at him. 

you start at his chest before dropping lower to the swimsuit that's tantalizingly low on his hips. it's a chore to drag your eyes away, up to his face.

you admire his cheekbones first, slightly shining in the bright sun before you move to his lips, pink and pouty, the bottom one just waiting to be kissed.

you follow the slope of his nose up to where sunglasses cover his eyes, reflecting the gentle lapping of the water.

“you know im not asleep under these shades right?” rafe says.

“oh, ive grown long past being ashamed of admiring you.” you giggle, sitting up in your lounge chair, pressing your breasts together with your arms, knowing it'll entice rafe away from his relaxation. 

“don't you think you need to get out of the sun for a bit? you're looking hot.” 

“you drive me crazy.” rafe removes his sunglasses and tossed them to the sand, a smirk stretching across his face.

“come on.” he stands up swiftly, like he can't wait a moment longer, extending his hand down to yours, which you eagerly take.

rafe practically pulls you inside and up to his bedroom, your bodies immediately melding into one the moment the door locks shut.

“i want you so bad.” you whimper against rafes lip, not giving him time to respond as you kiss and suck at his bottom lip, running your tongue across it, desperate to taste more of him.

“yeah, baby.” rafe chuckles, pushing your hips back, forcing you away from him. “you make it real obvious.”

you just smile as you lie back on the bed. none of rafes quips affect you anymore, and the combination of the perfect weather outside and rafe climbing onto the bed on top of you makes a smile stretch to your cheeks. nothing could ruin this moment.

rafe kisses your lips, but pulls away before you can deepen it, mouth coming to your neck, gliding down your chest to the swell of your breast.

you know rafe likes to do it himself, but you have no patience, arching your back and pulling the ties of your swimsuit apart so the cups fall away from your chest.

rafe tsks, his displeasure only evident for a second as he mouth latches around your nipple.

you let out a moan, hands coming to his hair, needing the physical connection to him as he tongues and plays with your chest before switching to the other nipple, long strokes of his tongue coaxing it to peak hardness.

rafe moves back up to your lips, letting you kiss him and hold his face as he rearranges your body so his hips can slot in-between yours.

you instantly begin to grind against him, feeling the hard length concealed beneath his swimsuit bottoms.

“just insatiable.” rafe laughs, moving away from you only for a moment to grab a condom from where a whole pack is thrown on the nightstand, ready to use. 

you loosen your legs around rafes hips, allowing him to tug down his swimsuits, cock rising to stand tall and ready. he slips the condom out of the foil and wraps it down his length while you undo the ties on your bikini bottoms to get them off too.

“after this…” rafe trails off, losing his train of thought as you wrap your legs around his hips and tug him closer again, no clothing interrupting your grinding this time.

“after this what?” you giggle when rafe gives you a look, one that's slightly sheepish and won't admit that he completely forgot where he was going with the sentence.

“hm?” you goad him on as the head of his cock rubs between your thighs, teasing at your clit before running over it as well.

“boat.” rafe finally says. “we should go out on the boat.”

“you just wanna see me in a bikini for longer.” you laugh, the noise making rafes eyes shine in admiration. he never thought he'd like a sound so much until he heard your laugh.

“yes.” rafe nods, and as he sees you open your mouth for another quip back, he sinks his cock into you. “ive grown past being ashamed of admiring you.”

you let out a moan, head falling back against the pillows as he echoes your words from earlier back to you.

rafe wastes no time in building up a fast rhythm. despite the little foreplay, you're both desperate for each other. your bodies calling out constantly for the others touch.

you let rafe continue thrusting into you until you can't help it any longer, wanting to show him pleasure back, so you put all your weight and strength into flipping over so you're on top, his cock not leaving you the entire time.

“oh fuck, baby.” rafe grunts out, his hands coming to cup your tits as you begin to bounce on his cock, hips swirling and pumping as fast as your legs will allow.

“im- shit.” rafe tries to grab at your hips, to hold you tight and get you to slow down, but you overpower him, wanting to make him cum now.

“come on, baby.” you moan out. “give it to me, i want it.”

rafe gives up on trying to last, pumping his hips up into you as he lets out a moan, your name tumbling out of his lips as he cums.

you bend forward, hips gyrating slowly as he works through his orgasm. your chests press together as you watch rafes face, his mouth ajar and wet from kisses, his blue eyes glazed over in pleasure.

you can tell in his expression when he snaps back to reality.

“fuck.” he chuckles as you climb off, running his hands through his hair as he blinks rapidly, before looking for you.

“wait-” rafe grabs your wrist, trying to stop you from getting your swimsuit back on.

“hm?” you ask, shaking his loose grip off to continue tying the strings back together.

“what about you?” 

you just smile and toss rafes swim trunks at him. “you can finish me off on the boat.”

you've never seen rafe move faster.

[readwritealldayallnight]

It didn’t matter how long or short you were apart, Simon always brought something back for you

After each and every one of his deployments, though all you ever asked for was for him to return to you in one piece, he would find you a small souvenir, a token, a postcard, or some sort of little trinket from whichever corner of the glove he found himself in this time, keeping it near and dear to him until his feet were back on familiar ground and he could put it in your familiar hands

You had told him that it wasn’t necessary, but when he simply blinked and ask you if it made you happy, your reply was an instantaneous ‘yes’, to which he replied ‘then yes, it is necessary’

You loved and treasured all of them, multiple shelves throughout your shared flat adorned with the items that reminded you of the fact that he was always being reminded of you wherever he went

It didn’t take very long for Simon to become enamoured with your reactions each time he presented you with his newest find, wondering if whatever he picked out would make you gasp and cover your mouth, make you roll your eyes and smirk, make you laugh and squeeze his arm, each time was a guessing game that had his heart skipping a beat or two in anticipation

Soon enough, he decided he didn’t really need deployments as an excuse to surprise you, or any reason really, other than to see you smile

And so, trips to the supermarket made by Simon alone more often than not began including cupcakes in your favourite flavour

He’d come back from the mailbox and drop a single flower from someone else’s garden onto the table in front of you

Your nearly finished perfumes and lipsticks would magically find themselves replenished

But being Simon, his gifts didn’t always need to be extravagant

On the rarer occasions when he was only on base for a day, he’d often bring you back something simpler, if not sillier, like a paper clip or a sticky note with a terribly drawn doodle he’d stick to your forehead (god forbid he ever bring home a bullet casing, bragging about how he was thinking about you while he practiced shooting loads today-)

Sometimes he’d bring home a book he saw laying around the common room he thought you might enjoy

Other times he might walk into a room and notice you eyeing the hoodie he’s wearing, pulling it over his head without hesitation and offering it to you before you could even think to ask

Most of the time though, Simon was great at bringing home takeaway for dinner, a favourite sight of yours to behold as he walked through the door of the flat

Empty handed or not, so long as he was home with you , you were happy

[mynameisjag]

Wanted something that was light and nice, so I wrote it myself.

Trying to get into a better headspace by looking at my older fandoms…looks back into Batman…well, that didn’t help.

Fine, I’ll fix it for myself then!

Just A Moment

Just a moment, just a piece of their lives that will disappear into the shadows memories. So small and insignificant in the greater scheme of things...but oh, how Bruce loves those the most.

Bruce convinces Damian that they can sneak out of a guest speaker's speech for treats.

[nymphoniah]

i’m so DRUNK and i can’t stop thinking about pervy!logan not being able to keep his hands off of you.

content/warnings: ddlg, fingering, age gap (reader is in their 20’s)

“c’mon doll, it tickles huh?” he’d ask as his eyes bore into yours, and you couldn’t help but feel flustered, breaking the eye contact.

“mhm, yeahh”, you giggle out, face flushed a bright shade of pink as his hand creeps further up your skirt.

his hands make their way to your panties, the rough pads of his fingers feeling the fabric all soaked up, fingers lazily playing at your clit.

“feels good, princess?” he coos into your ears, his beard tickling your ears which were just as red as your face.

“y-yes,” you barely manage to get out, tilting back your head, tightly shutting your eyes in pleasure.

“look at my girl, enjoying herself,” he grumbles, continuing to rub circles on your clit. “dirty little thing…”

“y’like when your old man plays with your princess parts, doll?” he teases, his fingers pushing harder against you, bringing you closer to your breaking point.

you hastily nod your head yes, but logan lets out a tsk, showing his disapproval.

“words, bub,” he demands, punctuating his words by accelerating the pace of his fingers, the circles he’d rub on your clit getting tighter and tighter.

“oh fuck,” you whine, feeling yourself falter beneath him, the knot in your belly about to snap. “y-yes, daddy,” you cry out.

“good girl, good fuckin’ girl.”

[beloveds-embrace]

Noona my love I have a THOUGHT.

You know that scene from How to Train Your Dragon 2 with "you're as beautiful as the day I lost you" BUT its Price and his wife who was a military trauma surgeon who was taken as a POW and was presumed dead for over a year but they find her during one of their missions

I got a small drabble for you <33

John Price had mourned you.

He had buried the love of his life in the quiet corners of his soul, in the spaces where his grief wouldn’t drown him but would always linger. It was the kind of loss that changed a man- carved him into something harsher and colder.

You had been gone; captured. Taken during a mission gone wrong. Presumed dead. KIA.

For over a year, there had been no leads, no whispers, no hope. Just a long, agonizing silence in your shared safe haven, in your home, that told him everything he didn’t want to hear. And so, he had done the only thing he could- he had forced himself to accept it, to live with a wound that would never heal.

Until now.

Until he found you.

The air in the dimly lit cell was thick with the stench of blood and suffering, but John hardly noticed. His pulse roared in his ears as his flashlight cut through the darkness, landing on a frail, battered figure in the corner. Shackles at the wrists. A ragged uniform hanging off a body far too thin.

But he would know you anywhere. He would know you with his closed and his ears plugged and his tongue silenced- but he would always know you.

“…Love?”

The word barely made it past his lips, a broken, disbelieving thing.

Slowly, painfully, you lifted your head. Eyes once so bright and full of fire met his, dulled with exhaustion and pain- but there. Alive. Alive.

John doesn’t think, crossing the room in three desperate strides, sinking to his knees before you. His gloved hands cupped your face, trembling as if you might disappear if he held you too tight.

And then, in a voice raw with grief and relief all at once, he whispered:

“…You are as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

A small, choked noise left your throat- a laugh, a sob, a whisper of disbelief. Tears welled in your eyes as you reached up, fingers weak but familiar as they brushed against his beard, as if confirming that he was real.

“John…”

His name had never sounded so sacred.

He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the warmth of you, the reality of you. “I’ve got you, love. I’ve got you.”

And this time, he wasn’t letting go.

[mirainwonderland]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Thinking about RE4R Leon staring.

Just staring at you and appreciating his girl. Her curves and her hair and her little smile while she’s enjoying herself, perfectly unaware that he’s so entranced with her and that he can’t believe this fucked up life was kind enough to give him you. If there’s any emotion on his face it’s subtle. But in his head he’s going a million miles a minute about alllll the fucking things he wants to do to you.

When you notice him staring, you’re so unaware of the dirty thoughts that swirl around in his brain. You smile that sweet smile at him, noticing he’s slightly zoned out and his brain somewhere else. You poke his nose or pinch his cheek or ruffle his hair and go,

“Where’s your head?”

In the gutter.

But of course he can’t tell you that. He’ll probably show you later.

Nah fuck it. He’ll show you right now.

He grabs your chin and kisses you out of the blue, wondering what you’d taste like with a different flavor than that strawberry icecream on your lips.

He’s got to mentally slap himself before he gets carried away.

He slips in a little bit of tongue before he pulls away, biting your lip and leaving you a little bit stunned and flustered, blushing to the tips of your ears.

“What was that for?” Your voice cracks a little, clearing your throat when it comes out raspy. Icecream forgotten.

He takes the spoon and the half-eaten bowl out of your hands and leaves it on the table, taking your hand.

“Come with me and I’ll show you.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆