#and i got an idea for a drabble

[ruinix]

Quinn getting a huge baby fever after he saw you hold your little cousin (or whomever baby)

Hello, lovely…baby fever… yes, baby fever. Ummm, I fear I have…gone overboard again, so it took me a bit. I had to bring out the big guns (my AO3 thots with my fictional men). He almost turned…dark 🤨🙂‍↔️

Trouble

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Masturbation, a dash of Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex (use protection, lovelies), Brief Choking, Use of ‘hubby’ (some doesn’t like it so...🙂‍↕️), Quinn being pathetic as he gets hit with an extreme baby fever

Count: 2914 words | Masterlist

You are trouble. So much trouble. Quinn had to lock himself in a bathroom stall as he stares at his phone, his fingers tapping the video over and over and over again. It feels like a loop. A loop of you and that little baby.

Who is that? Who? But the identity of the baby is the second thing in this mind. You’re the first thing.

Quinn can’t stop watching. Can’t stop hearing your little coos for the baby you got in your arms. Can’t stop seeing the way you brush your cheek against the top of the baby’s head. Can’t stop the squeeze in his chest as you smile at the camera, the light shining behind you so perfectly that you appear to have a halo. Can’t stop feeling your happiness in this ten-second-long video. It makes him happy. Too happy that he had to cover up the little one’s face because he’s…his pants tighten up. Fuck.

Before he could type his reply, you send over a text that had him, leaning back against the door which creaked from his weight. His legs and hands shake. His soul shudders. It feels as though he’s not there. This must be a fucking dream.

Your text says, “When we have a baby, will they look as cute as this little duuuuuude?”

‘When. We. Have. A. Baby.’

When. Not if. When. Like you are stating the inevitable future. Like you are looking forward to it. Like you want him to give you children—or child, fuck, he’ll give you any number of children.

It’s just a simple thought, but it feels like a magnitude ten earthquake causing destruction. You destroyed him in the best possible way. Rattled him so much that he can barely function. He got practice for fuck’s sake. He can’t even tease your extended ‘dude’. He can’t. He can’t think straight.

All Quinn’s thoughts are questions.

‘You want a baby with me? When do you want to have a baby? Do you want to start making one now? Next week? Next month? Next season? Next year?’

‘Are you sure you want a baby?’

‘How many babies do you want? One? Five?’

‘Do you want them a year a part? Two? Three?’

Shaking his head to clear it, his tongue feels dry, his heart beating and ramming against his chest. He could barely ask who’s the little dude, barely understand that dude is your friend’s baby, could barely read every paragraph you sent after about little dude. Of course, he still reads it, despite not being able to process them, because he needs to hear you—at least—as he tumbles down the rabbit hole.

More like plummets.

His mind is clogged with images of you. Your tummy barely showing to fully rounded and full of his baby. You eating for two. You being all clingy or irritable with him—he’ll hug or console you either way. You wearing maternity clothes. Most especially, you holding his baby.

Quinn’s done for. He fucking is.

When you send your “I love you”, Quinn’s hand is already wrapped around his cock, your name escaping his lips in a plea, a revelation descending and dawning upon him.

He needs to have a child with you.

That’s why—for weeks, six weeks to be exact—Quinn cannot stop imagining and wishing the babies he sees in the streets, in social media, in the arena during games to be yours and his.

He has…baby fever. He realized that a week in. It’s weird. Quinn doesn’t think about kids or babies. His plan was to be with you. Just you and him without a doubt. Then after some time, he’ll propose. Then you will marry. Then you two will talk about kids, because even if having kids was not yet his focus, he wants a family with you.

You’re his endgame. He’s sure of it, so he’s moving forward with you. Until you sent the video of little dude—Jeremy, if Quinn remembers correctly—with you. Until he literally can’t stop picturing you and babies. Until it’s the only thing in his fucking mind other than hockey and you. Babies. Cute little babies.

He’s so fucked, because it’s not just the wholesome need for little babies. No. It feels primal.

He gets fucking hard, totally bricked up, wanting nothing but to fuck you until you’re bred. So hard that he had to jerk off multiple times during the day. Bathroom stalls. A janitor closet. Even when he’s home, he has to jerk off, given that you’re not there. He tries not to, but his cock would ache as his thoughts worsen, so he fucking fails. Every. Time.

His fogged-up brain will continuously echo: “Kids, now. Kids with you. Now. Now.”

Quinn thinks he’s losing his mind. He doesn’t know what to do, because the thoughts of little ones—with your eyes, your hair, your smile, your sweetness, your quirks, your gentleness, your everything—makes him yearn for it to be true. His heart aches for every day that goes without them. He needs a family with you. He needs little ones to spoil alongside you.

So for weeks, Quinn wants to breech the subject with you. He wishes to present his new foolproof life plan—that will also be your plan, if you accept. His new plan consist of: lots of fucking to make a baby, him providing for you and your children and possibly grandchildren, him being present for every step of the way, him being a good father. But simply, babies. The plan is to have babies, but the words always stop at his throat.

Because…even if he wants babies, that doesn’t equate to what you want right now. Right? He can’t just do what he wants, can he? Like breed you and—

“Little dude,” you say in a singsong voice, “would look so cute with this, right?”

Quinn looks up and sees you hold up a shark onesie. He can only stare, stare, and stare, because this has to be illegal. This, as in you holding up that onesie just a meter away from him. As in you looking proud of every baby clothing you bought. As in you being excited about buying things not for his baby. He hates it. The sudden disdain—to an innocent kid just because he’s not his—is making him all too riled up now. Why are you spoiling someone else’s baby? Fuck.

“Sure,” Quinn chokes out which he tries to mask with a cough.

He nods helplessly when you grin, a sparkle in your eyes, then you dash across the room to get your wrapping papers, tapes, and somehow, more paper bags. Just how many did you buy for that baby? It’s a fucking haul that makes Quinn irritable and also downright pathetic.

He should just say it. He wants a kid with you. He wants to be a father to your children. Easy words to say, but he still can’t say it. He’s such an idiot.

“I want to help,” he offers as you settle on the floor, scooting your legs under the coffee table, looking so cozy.

“Thank you, Quinn, but I got a wrapping system over here,” you giggle. Your arms are comically filled with stuff before you laid them out on the table. “You always crumple the wrapper, silly.”

Quinn does. He can wrap presents, but it’s a battle. Him against the paper. Usually, he wins but the gifts…they’re wrapped so messily. So different with your gift wrapping. While he’s nonchalant about it, you’re particular. He sees your focus for every fold. He has seen you get upset when you fold one piece wrong or if the ribbon is wonky. He loves that about you.

Still, you give him socks and onesies. Still, you let him messily wrap them. You even smile, looking so proud of him like he’s the best, looking utterly kind and patient. You place what he wrapped on your growing pile.

You’ll be a good mother. Quinn knows that. He’ll do his best to be a good father. He can do that. He can—

He jumps when you suddenly hop over his lap.

“Where’d you go?” You ask, pressing a kiss against his jaw. Quinn can only cling to your hips, savor your touch on his nape, the feel of your fingers running through his hair. “Come back, hubby.”

Hubby? Are you insane? Do you know what that does to him? Who is he kidding? You fucking do. You always do. You’ll be the death of him.

“My Love,” he groans, a bit too whiny in his opinion, but he can’t help it. The effect you have on him.

“You like that?” you chuckle, breathing in his sharp exhales. “Hubby.”

Quinn can only growl in response. You’ve short-circuited him and you laugh at him. Cruel. His cruel Love. He hugs you tighter, grounding himself. This is real. You called him Hubby. Not Huggy. Hubby. Your hubby.

He buries his head into your neck, greedily taking in your scent. God. You smell so good, so addicting like a custom-made drug, just for him.

His cock throbs, wishing to be seated in your pussy, wishing to spill his cum in your womb until it takes.

“Do you want a baby?” He forces out, his voice coming out raspy and broken and desperate. He’s probably blushing, because he’s burning up. Even his fucking eyes sting. He’s going to cry and it’s fucking pathetic.

“Hmm,” you hum, hands rubbing over his chest, soothing him.

One hand runs up his jaw, coaxing him to meet your eyes. Your beautiful eyes track every detail on his face, taking everything like it’s your first time when you’ve already done it hundreds of times.

Then you softly kiss his cheeks, the mole on the right, his forehead, the edges of his eyebrows, his eyelids, his lips. A simple soft peck. One by one until he’s just putty underneath you. His heart pounds but not from fear, for his undeniable love for you. Just like that you settle him.

“Been thinking about that, handsome?” you ask.

“Yes,” he nearly stutters.

“Do you want to have a baby?” you ask, pressing another kiss on the tip of his nose.

Quinn shudders, eyebrows meeting, breaths picking up. “Yes,” he confesses like he’s about to confess guilty and be sentenced to death.

A grumbled ‘fuck’ escapes his lips when you scoot closer, sitting your clothed pussy right over his aching cock. You roll your hips once and Quinn almost comes. Shit. What are you doing to him?

You’re saying something, whispering the words on his lips, but Quinn couldn’t focus.

You’re so close. Oh, so close. Your breaths mix together, making him all so dizzy. He wants to kiss you again, but when he tries to close the smallest distance between you two, you move back. Why are you…

Then he realizes what you said.

“I’ve been wanting your baby for so long, Q. So long.”

You want his baby.

It feels like the last tether around his control snaps.

No longer is he chasing your lips and letting you pull away. No longer is he shaking like a goddamned leaf, choking on unsaid words, yearning and begging to the void. No longer because you’ve said it. You want his child.

He captures your lips, hand slipping through hair, firmly tugging. The way you moan against his lips makes his blood rush his cock. Your hands grasping at his shirt. Your hips grinding against his. Your desperation is a distinct reflection of his.

“Quinn,” you gasp, panting for air. Your pupils are blown. Cheeks flushed.

Quinn groans your name, lifting you to rest you on the couch, him still kneeling on the floor, your hips glued together. He grasps your collar, ruthlessly tugging down. Buttons pop out, fabric tearing. It’s his shirt anyway. He can just give you more.

He doesn’t let you complain, easily capturing your lips, as he continues his rush to remove every bit of your clothing. You try to help, but he won’t let it. He can’t or else he’ll lose it.

He needs this. You need this. Those thoughts keep bouncing in his head as he deepens the kiss. His hand finds your pussy, already dripping. Slipping a finger, your pussy sucks it in, quivering, clenching, leaking. God, you’re so wet. He doesn’t even need to prep you, because you’re already so turned on for him. Only for him. He hooks his finger against your special spot, making you scream.

You’re so ready, aren’t you? Ready to be fucked. Ready to be bred.

“It’s such a dangerous day, Quinny,” you whimper, nails digging into his arms.

You’ve already sent him over the edge but hearing you—those new set of words—makes him spiral deeper into his haze.

He somehow gets rid of his shirt but only pushes his pants and boxers down, before he sinks every inch of his hard and leaking cock into your needy pussy. So easily. So smoothly. So eager and greedy.

“Fuck,” he growls, nipping your lips, blunt fingers digging into your thighs to keep them wide open for him. “You feel so good.”

So good. So perfect around his cock. He watches his cock slide out then back in, shivering at the feel of you, shuddering at your exhales, at how pleasure contorts your beautiful face.

“Quinn,” you say his name like it’s a prayer. “Breed me.”

He nearly comes from that. You’re such a minx. He leans back, fucking harder into you, bottoming out and hitting the spot that has you singing your screams, that has your eyes rolling up as your pussy convulses with tiny orgasms. Christ. He might not last long.

He just wants to fill you up, plug you with his cock so nothing spills. He needs to do that. If he doesn’t, you can’t get pregnant. You can’t have the child you want. The child he needs to take care of, to spoil, to love.

He wraps a hand around your neck. Of all the necklaces he bought for you, it’s his favorite and nothing else, but the sight of the little heart pendant resting on your collar bone, just beneath his wrist, has him snapping his hips harder, rolling to heighten his and your pleasure. Fuck, so good.

“Harder, hubby,” you taunt as tears run down your cheeks. “Please, just a bit upward.”

He follows your plea, hitting the spot you wanted him to reach, getting the immediate reward of you arching your back, pussy clamping down around him as you come. Your cum dribble out with your arousal. The squelching noises and skin slapping are so alluring. Quinn needs more.

Quinn rides your orgasm, prolonging it until you are whimpering and gasping, “I’m coming. Quinn.”

He tightens his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse quicken, pussy tightening. You can only hold his arm, hips raising to meet every thrust that makes your tits bounce. Your eyes roll as you come once again as he controls your air. What a sight.

He finally lets go of your neck, running his hand down your chest, teasing your taut nipples, making you whine, your tummy, until he reaches below your navel. He pushes down, then you scream and come around him again.

Look at you surrendering to him.

“That’s three,” he groans out, slowing down his pace. He rises, resting on knee on the edge of the couch, so he can fuck into you deeper. He hooks your quivering leg over his forearm, watching you bite your lips. “Got more for me, my Love?”

“Please,” you breathe. “Fill me with your cum, Q. Please. I need it.”

That’s his fuel. Your words. Your breaths. Your moans, mewls, whimpers, whispers of calling him your hubby. You, whining for more, more, and more, as he ruts and rolls his hips into your sopping wet pussy. The slight drool on the corner of your lips which he couldn’t fight the urge to lick. Your taste, your feel, your touch, all so divine.

He can’t get enough of you.

Soon, he’ll have little you’s whom he’ll love, whom he’ll play his games for, whom he’ll work hard for, whom he’ll be proud of. He’s already doing these things for you, but that promise will ignite—has ignited—another flame in him.

He’ll have pieces of you and him in his arms.

He can’t wait.

He can’t.

He needs to make it happen.

He must.

He captures your lips, your tongue meeting his instantly. Fuck. He can feel your desperation. You need it too.

Quinn slows, drawing every thrust deeper, losing himself in you until he comes so hard that his sight blurs, so hard that he almost crushes you to the couch, so hard that he whimpers your name because you also come. Every spurt of his cum, a silent prayer, a plea for it to take.

But even if it doesn’t, Quinn has the whole day to plug you up with his cock, to fuck you again with your hips raise to lessen the cum that spill which is fucking inevitable. So, he’s there to give you more.

He has to make sure that you’re full of him. Full of his seed on this dangerous day. So dangerous. A perfect time to breed you, isn’t it?

God, he can’t wait until he’s fucking you with your belly is round with his baby.

[thepagemistress]

Thinking half-thoughts but like... what if, in order to pull Cas out of the Empty, Jack had to leave the vessel behind? I've seen theories on getting Cas out by leaving the grace behind (which does make more sense lore-wise) but stick with me...

They can't get the vessel back or create a new one whilst it still exists (whatever, the logistics aren't the point) and obviously Claire is the only other bloodline vessel which isn't even worth entertaining. So essentially Cas is stuck in Heaven in his true form. And in the beginning, he did try and check in on Dean but it hurt too much to see him so listless and spiralling and not being able to do anything about it so he just went cold turkey and threw himself into helping Jack rebuild Heaven.

Until he feels a barrage of emotions so strongly that it would have brought him to his knees were he to still have any. Pain, regret, sadness, acceptance, hope... a cacophony of chaos and he knows the source immediately. And he knows the reason. Dean is dying. It's barely been the blink of his many eyes and Dean's already dying. And there's nothing he can do about it.

But he could at least be there for him, even if Dean can't see him or know he's there. So he flies down to some decrepit barn to find Dean and Sam. Immediately, he is overcome with the need to FIX-IT. Why should he accept this? Why are any of them just accepting this?? If only he could...

And then an awareness shakes him to his core. The vessel is willing. The vessel has given permission. And Cas doesn't give himself time to talk himself out of it. He'll beg forgiveness later, just as long as Dean is alive.

And so he possesses him. Sam's still cradling his face and crying when Cas speaks through Dean's voice. "Pull him down."

Sam sniffs. Blinks. Frowns. It takes him longer than it usually would to connect the dots. Too long. "Sam!"

Sam starts and makes a grab for a weapon he doesn't have. "Who are you?"

"It's me," Cas says, also not thinking too straight through his own panic and the sudden onslaught of Dean's emotions battering him from the inside. "I can't heal him with the rebar still in. Hurry!"

Sam isn't hurrying. "Cas?"

"Sam, please!"

In a display of trust that Cas will be grateful for later, Sam finally bursts into action, pulling Dean from the beam, marvelling at how Cas keeps him upright. Then he begins to heal him from the inside, pouring his renewed grace into the wound and the rest of his body just because why not when he's already there?

Blinking Dean's eyes open, he finds Sam waiting, anxious. A nod from Cas has Sam sucking in a breath and launching himself forward to hug Dean. Or Cas. Or both.

It's nice. He wishes he could stay but he's done what he needed to and it was time to leave them to it. Shrugging out of Sam's grip, he offers a sad smile as he says, "I'll be waiting for you both. Just take your time about it, please."

It's clear Sam wants to argue but he needs to leave, now. And so he does.

Or...doesn't?

With a frown, he tries again. But still he remains. And Sam is now arguing but Cas can't focus, he's too busy panicking. And Dean is hammering on the little door in his mind that Cas put up to dull the unpleasant feeling of being possessed and Cas tries sending him reassuring pulses that yes, he's trying, he'll be out soon. But strangely that just increases the pounding which take on an edge of desperation until Cas has no choice but to open the door and-

"DON'T YOU FUCKING LEAVE ME AGAIN."

Everything stops. The pounding in his head, the tether on his grace, the desire to flee. The only thing that remains is an overwhelming sense of anticipation. And Sam still rambling about something that is probably very heartfelt and that Cas absolutely could not give a shit about right now.

To test a theory, Cas tries again to exit the vessel, only to have what he now realises is Dean's soul clamp down on his grace, keeping it rooted, nestled inside him.

"You ain't going anywhere, sunshine," comes Dean's shaky voice from inside his head. "We got some shit to talk about, you and me."

And so talk they do. And when Cas says that he's without a vessel and that's why he hasn't been by, Dean tells him that now he does. Just like that. As if he hasn't spent the entire time Cas has known him trying to avoid being a meat suit for an angel. But Cas can hear the eye roll as Dean says that Cas has been the exception to that rule for awhile. He made his peace with that fact years ago. Which explained the open permission he seemed to have.

"So, listen. We'll try to figure out how to get your body back. But, if we can't? Don't be using that as an excuse to not visit, yeah?"

If Cas had the choice, he'd never leave.

A flash of warmth roll through him, reminding Cas that he's not alone with his thoughts right now.

"Well. That'd be OK with me, too."

Cas smiles with Dean's lips. But that's OK because Dean's smiling too.

"...Have you listened to anything I just said?" Sam asks.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Country singer Steve Harrington, who has always leaned more into the pop country side of things (think Wanted by Hunter Hayes), but wants his third album to be more true to old school country roots.

His label agrees but only if he works with Eddie Munson, a rock star who had to leave the spotlight when he got kicked out of his band for, well, rockstar behavior gone too far.

Steve isn't amused, especially because he doesn't care for metal music or rock star shenanigans. He was "raised better" and doesn't think Eddie could sit down and write songs with actual emotion and feeling.

Cue long songwriting sessions where Eddie is trying his hardest to be on his best behavior because he knows this is his last shot at being taken seriously, and Steve being surprised every time Eddie proves that he's talented as a songwriter and musician, well outside the scope of just metal and rock.

They write a song that they're both so proud of, Steve asks if he'll record it with him just for fun. The released version would just be Steve.

Eddie agrees.

It's an incredible duet, something country music has needed forever, but Eddie doesn't want that version out there.

The label genuinely accidentally releases their version instead of the Steve only version. As soon as they realize, they remove it from official places, but it's too late.

Fans have already heard it and have gone crazy over it, begging them to let the radio play this version, begging for this version to be available for streaming. The Steve version is great, but it doesn't have the emotion that's laced in the tone of them singing together.

Eddie finally gives in when he sees how happy Steve is about the reaction to it.

But the label decides they want them to tour together, have Eddie work as his opening act, perform his acoustic songs that haven't been officially released anywhere. Eddie can't do it.

He can't go back into that lifestyle. He couldn't do it to his band, who made him promise that he'd come back to them when he got his shit straight. He can't do it to his fans, who stuck by him through some rough shit, but probably wouldn't support a fucking country music career. He definitely can't do it to Steve, who deserves to have someone with him who can be trusted not to go off the deep end.

So he runs. He hides. His uncle welcomes him home, congratulates him on finally embracing his country roots.

It doesn't take long for Steve to find him.

Because he'd been more honest with Steve than he'd ever been with anyone. He told him about his childhood, his Uncle Wayne, his struggle to make it. He told him about his worse struggle when he did make it, how he got in with the wrong people, the wrong things. Prioritized the lifestyle more than his own life.

Of course Steve knew where he'd run to.

Of course Steve came to remind him what his life could be if he allowed himself to find new priorities.

Steve's lips were pretty persuasive, but not nearly as persuasive as his promises to remind him what he could have if he kept his life his priority.

"But what if I let you down?"

"You won't."

"But-"

"No. You won't. You're gonna do amazing things for yourself. And I'm gonna be there to see it happen. That's all."

And he was.

They co-wrote Steve's entire album while Eddie worked on recording his own original songs. He liked that it was an old school rock and roll feel, some blues, some country, some hints of metal sneaking in on a couple songs.

He called his band to come help him with a song, hesitant to even ask, but they came. Of course they came.

He called his Uncle Wayne to play banjo on a song, worried that he wouldn't like the heavier electric guitar notes over it. Of course he loved being involved.

When their tour started, he let himself actually feel nervous.

But instead of running, he looked at the man who supported him through it, even when his own career was on the line.

Of course Steve was there.

[hanafubukki]

Thinking about heartbeats, how fae have sensitive ears to hear such sounds. Lilia would pause at times and listen.

Badum Badum

And he would sigh, it’s one of the ways he knew his boys are okay.

He listened in on Malleus’s heartbeat when he was in an egg, it was one of the few signs that, yes, this baby was still alive. When he wasn’t allowed to visit Malleus as a child, he would sneak close by the side of the tower of his room and listen in, making sure he was okay. And even long after he had grown, it was another way to detect him when he visited the cottage in the woods.

Thinking of Lilia listening to Silver’s heartbeat, it was a way to keep track of him while he was out and about around the cottage and in the forest. It was also his way of checking that Silver was alive during his sleep spells and to soothe his worries.

Sebek, Lilia didn’t always have to listen in on, his voice loud even at a young age. But during those times the boy would be quiet? He would listen and look for him. A little surprise visit and a prep talk would have the boy back to his loud self.

Thinking about the events after Lilia’s death, now this habit of his are seen in his boys.

Malleus who’s young and his ears sharp, maybe even sharper than Lilia’s, who after loosing him would stand by his door, neither going in nor leaving.

Listening.

There.

His heartbeat.

He’s alive.

Lilia is most likely sleeping given how late it is after Malleus’s walk. But a part of Malleus settles, tears in the corner of his eyes.

Everything is alright.

I love you.

Thinking about Silver who can’t rid of the ghostly feel of his father passing away.

Silver who would log onto the online servers his father plays to check if he’s still playing his video games late into the night

Who would sign in relief once he notices his father playing with his gaming friend of many years.

Thinking about Sebek, the one who wished for all their happiness and who loves a happy ending.

Hesitant and wondering if everything that occurred were true to reality.

He, who would stand by Lilia’s door, not moving for a couple of hours as if he were guarding everyone’s happiness himself.

Thinking about all three meeting by accident at Lilia’s door, no words exchanged, they know the look in the others’ eyes.

The feel of despair still haunts them in the coldness of night.

Thinking how Lilia chooses that moment to open the door, as if he knew, as if he always known they were checking up on him.

He gives them a smile, asking them if they want to have a sleepover. They all agree a bit too quickly that gives away their anxiety but none of them care.

All four end up falling asleep on Lilia’s floor in a tangle of limbs, pillows, blankets, and smiles with him at the center of all and they the center of his world.

They can hear his heartbeat as he can hear theirs.

The road to recovery is a long one filled with tribulations and uncertainties.

But despite the challenges they face, they will always have each other.

That alone will always lead to their Happy Ending.

[witless-winion1]

imagine Polites was in the courtyard for the last battle of Troy. Imagine he looks up from bandaging a comrade’s injury, and sees his friend. Helmet off, head lowered, face pinched in what could only be described as anguish. Polites would have called to him, but he knows better than to interrupt Ody during his Big Brain Thinking moments.

but then his friend raises something into view over the wall; a swaddle of white, and it’s squirming, enough that Polites could see it from where he stands, now frozen in confusion and inexplicable dread. Odysseus loved kids and babies, he wouldn’t harm one for any reason. Hell, he’d cried so hard when Penelope gave birth to Telemachus that he’d nearly passed out from dehydration. He’d spared every child in every battle in this ten-year war.

but his friend extends his arm, holding the swaddle precariously by the ends of the blanket, over the thirty foot drop onto the solid stone ground. The innocent baby just wiggles unconcernedly.

Polites opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say (because he certainly didn’t know himself) gets caught, and then his friend lets go.

and Polites can’t turn away as the white swaddle falls, a sudden, tiny cry starting from the hidden infant’s throat, that cuts off when it hits the ground, with a sound that Polites never wanted to hear again, and the white turns red.

Out of every horror he’s seen that night, that’s the one he dreams of when he eventually lays his head down to sleep.

He wakes thrashing, falling out of his hammock, and Odysseus’s hand jerks from his shoulder to his side, catching him before he can hit the ground and aggravate whatever minor injuries he got from the last battle.

Polites has always been a very honest person. Since boyhood, since he told his mother was sick because he ate too much sesamous when he was five, confessed to Odysseus and Eurylochus that he didn’t like hunting when he was nine, told his aunt she was too unkind to the less fortunate then them when he was thirteen.

when Odysseus asks him what troubles him, Polites can’t seem to bring himself to admit the truth.

when they sail for home, he forces himself not to avoid his captain. They’ve all done horrible things in the heat of Ares’ domain. but a baby? whispers his conscious.

Shush, he tells it. There’s a logical solution, there has to be.

and yet Odysseus offers none, and he is too cowardly to ask for it, and gods know he cannot make sense of it no matter how he tosses and turns with the rocking ship.

when they reach the island of the Lotus Eaters, Polites smiles at the funky little guys, adoring their blissful grin. He crouches and strokes it, cooing about how soft it is. Odysseus hums, unfazed, and grumpy. Polites can tell he hasn’t slept well the past few weeks. But he reaches down anyway and picks one up under the arms, studying it from every angle while the innocent creature just wiggles unconcernedly in his hands.

Polites can’t help the urge to gently pull the creature from his hands. He smiles to cover whatever tension there is, and places the lotus eater safely in the ground.

he reminds his friend that there’s no need to constantly be suspicious and prone to fighting; why not default to greeting the world with kindness and open arms? Even though trust may get taken advantage of sometimes, it would at least alleviate the risk of unnecessary blood spilled.

and as Odysseus looks away, Polites sees the pain in his eyes, staring at the Lotus eaters as they tumble around with each other. One drops suddenly from a low tree limb, and while Polites manages to stifle his wince, Odysseus is caught just off-guard enough to flinch when it hits the ground with a thump. The lotus eater gets up and ambles off without a scratch.

“This life is amazing when you greet it with open arms,” Polites says softly, reaching out to grasp his friend by the elbow. “I see in your face, there is so much guilt inside your heart…”

Polites could see as the words hit home, his friend’s shoulders drooping as he looks up at him. His eyes are nearly akin to what Argos’s looked like when their ships sailed from Ithaca’s harbor.

“…so why not replace it, and light up the world; here’s how to start…” Polites gently squeezes his arm. “Greet the world with open arms.”

“Greet the world with open arms…” Odysseus repeated softly, leaning into him. Polites let him hide his face in his chest, wrapping him in his arms and letting him hide from the weight of his not-so-secret sins.

[wandaverse]

playing with fire.

— buff firefighter!wanda x college student!reader

— summary: the 5 times you meet and the 1 time wanda lights a different kind of fire

— tags: pure fluff, major horniness, implied smut

— word count: 1,252 words

1. the first time you meet is late at night when there’s a fire in your dorm.

someone down the hall sets fire to their microwave trying to heat up a burrito. deeply asleep with fatigue from the week’s intense assessments, you don’t hear the screeching alarms.

without hesitation, a chilvarous wanda arrives at the scene and kicks down your door, carrying you out bridal style. wanda’s not complaining, not with the way you sleepily nuzzle into the safety of her neck.

through your sleepy haze you wonder who the buff woman carrying you out the building is, she smells like smoked cedar with faint hints of sea salt. you decide that you like this scent and the warmth that accompanies it.

2. you next meet at a sorority party gone wrong.

your friends get the stupid idea of trying fire breathing. the only thing you end up breathing though is clouds of smoke when your sorority house almost burns down. wanda arrives in the nick of time in her blaring red truck and douses the flames.

something else ignites within you though when you meet her properly for the first time, awake and certainly alert. you take in the sight of her breathless figure after rushing to fight the flames. so this is who saved you that night in your dorm… oh.

wanda is not particularly amused at you and your friends’ irresponsible antics. you shrink under the weight of her disapproving gaze, but also can’t help but cheekily grin. wanda can’t stay upset, she has to admit you look cute with ash all over your face.

3. your paths cross again when you notice a kitten stuck in a tree while studying on your campus’ lawn.

after many futile rescue attempts, you call emergency services and once again your knight in shining armour (or rather, reflective PPE) arrives. she gallantly climbs her ladder and saves the kitten. you don’t deny enjoying the view of her sunkissed skin when she takes off her jacket to swaddle the kitten.

afterwards, wanting to prolong the encounter, wanda asks if you want to ride with her in her fire truck to drop the kitten off at the nearest vet. you excitedly accept her offer and enjoy the trip around the city. wanda secretly steals fond glances at you, looking adorable with the kitten in your lap.

4. the next time you meet is not in the face of life threatening danger, but rather danger to your self-composure.

on a regular trip to the supermarket, you pass the row of calendars and your eyes land on a familiar face on the annual westview firefighters calendar sold for charity. you can’t ignore the curiosity that compels you to take a sneaky peak at its contents.

your cheeks instantly burn red when you turn to february’s page and find your favourite firefighter scantily clad and leaving little to the imagination. standing in a shallow pool of water with flames raging around her, wanda poses with an axe slung across her shoulders, wearing only a black training bra and her firefighter pants. her buff arms and unsurprisingly toned abs are on show as she stares directly at you the camera. you fight the urge to bite your lip at her flexed muscles, her sunkissed skin, the shine of her sweat mixing with ash. you’ve never felt so taken before, you forget your bearings for a second.

that is, until you hear a familiar voice call out your name.

your ears register her presence before your eyes and you quickly shut the calendar, throwing it back on the shelf as if its touch has burned you. you ready to make an excuse until you finally look up and find the firefighter just as scantily clad as, if not more than, her outfit in the calendar’s photoshoot.

wanda approaches you, seemingly in her post-workout fit and you have to stop yourself from drooling at the sight of her sweaty and taut arms and abs, only this time in real life. god, the photo doesn’t even do her justice. wanda calls out your name again with a husky laugh and your blush profusely, realising you’ve been caught ogling her not once but twice.

5. you meet once again when you move out to an apartment near campus and decide to cook dinner for yourself.

you quickly realise that you actually have no idea how to cook when your entire kitchen ends up in flames. wanda arrives just in time and puts out the grease fire. for a second, you can’t help but question fate. it’s as if there’s only one firefighter in all of westview with the way wanda always finds her way back to you. you’re not complaining though.

she turns to you and scolds you for your carelessness, but not before checking that you’re okay and not hurt by the wild fire. your heart secretly skips a beat at the continued display of care. ever the prince charming, isn’t she?

before she leaves for the next emergency, though, she asks you out for dinner instead. unsurprisingly, you say yes.

+1. the evening of your first date arrives.

you’re lounging on the couch in your apartment watching a sitcom when you hear a knock on your window. wanda has climbed up the fire escape and asks to be let in like a lost kitten. you lift open the window with a laugh and she tells you that she’s set up a picnic under the stars on the rooftop. she escorts you back out the window and up the fire escape. you giggle adoringly at her antics.

the evening goes well as you two happily find that the spark between you wasn’t imagined and isn’t going to fizzle out anytime soon. conversation flows naturally and you enjoy the food wanda has cooked for you. she jokes that at least one of you can cook, which earns her a playful slap. but when you reach over to do so, you accidentally knock over a candle and almost burn the entire picnic blanket. the fire is quickly avoided though thanks to wanda’s quick reflexes. she gives you a humuored tsk, but you secretly revel in her display of protection.

the evening comes to an end as the city around you calms down and the stars settle in for the night. wanda escorts you down the fire escape once again and the butterflies in your stomach continue to take flight. when you reach your window, you turn to wanda and thank her for the evening, for thinking of such a lovely idea and packing such a delightful picnic. when you place a goodbye kiss on her lips though and she takes you in her arms, you quickly realise that that’s not the only thing she’s packed.

wanda pulls back and blushes sheepishly at your realisation, but it’s enough to set you off. all night you’ve been teased with the sight of her shirt lifting and showing the slightest glimpse of her abs, the tight fit of her t-shirt’s sleeve around her arms, the simple yet alluringly attractive way she runs her fingers through her hair. she’s been teasing you all night and you decide that you’ve had enough. you quickly engulf her in kisses and pull her boldly through your window.

your night rages on and as the flaming sun begins to rise, wanda pleasantly learns that there’s one particular fire that she just can’t put out.

the end.

[prythianpages]

thinking about the New Year’s Eve trend where you go under the table (also I always grew up hearing that going under the table will bring you a luck in finding a partner but now I see the trend is to go under the table and eat 12 grapes so now idk what the actual tradition is lol, anyways back to my little thought):

You made sure to have the grapes ready at this year’s NYE, talking excitedly about the man you want to manifest with Nesta…who knows what she’s doing and suggesting traits that tease at Azriel. Cassian thinks it’s hilarious and he is also excited to see if you’ll actually be able to devour all 12 grapes so fast, already placing bets with Feyre.

Meanwhile, Azriel, who is madly crushing on you, watches from his corner of the room. He thinks it’s just all fun and games…this can’t really work, right? I mean, why would it work? There’s no real magic behind this…

But then Mor casually brings up that she had done this one NYE and it brought her, her most memorable fling and she sighs wistfully…panic begins to stir in Azriel.

The clock is ticking…

Azriel’s shadows begin to dance frantically around him, mirroring his inner turmoil as the inner circle prepares to cheer you on.

His eyes widen when you scoop a couple of grapes into your hand because Mother above, you’re actually going to do this and what if it actually works and he never gets a chance to confess…

10…9…8…

Azriel suddenly appears at your side, wings knocking awkwardly against the table, his shoulder bumping yours as he makes himself fit in that small space.

“Az, what are you—“

“I have to tell you something.”

“Right now??”

7…6…

Azriel reaches for your hand, the one that is holding onto a handful of grapes, and lowers it. A confused frown settles on your features and he coaxes your gaze to his with his other hand, eyes searching yours.

“Az—“

5…4…

The hand clutching the handful of grapes twitches in his grip, still determined to complete the tradition.

3…2…

But Azriel tightens his hold and wastes no more time. He leans in, crashing his lips against yours and pulling you into a frantic but sweet kiss.

“Happy new year!”

When he pulls away, your cheeks are flushed and eyes are wide but there’s a smile on your face. “What else do you have to tell me?”

Azriel only grins and says “so much more,” before kissing you again.

[ruenii]

i made myself cry but whatever!! WHATEVERRR--

SJ reincarnates as a baby and is now SY's little brother. Imagine how much whiplash he has when he's showered with so much love and adoration. His A-Die loves to carry him when he goes to read or work in his office, his A-Niang always sings lullabies for him when he goes to sleep and buys him so much baby clothes.

But his siblings are by far the stickiest, his first older brother and second brother were a bit distant; as they inherited the family business. It doesn't make them any less affectionate!! in fact, it makes them more clingy and want more time with their new youngest!! His Shijie, Shen Jiu thinks, is very outspoken. She's a top student and a social media influencer with thousands and thousands of fans. She always took pictures of him and dresses both of them up in matching outfits whenever she makes a video or a post.

and, finally, his San-ge; Shen Yuan. He was a bit of an outlier, always at home, rarely ever visiting the family, and preferred to just read novels or consume media to pass the time.

Shen Jiu, at first, thought it was a bit pathetic. Why is his San-ge only lazing around? their other siblings are successful and actually did something with their lives, while he was just wasting away!

He papped Shen Yuans head with his baby hands for that a couple times when the other tries to cuddle him close.

Turns out, Shen Yuan absolutely adores his little brother, that he'd actually try and visit the family just to see him. (Shen Jiu isn't preening at that, he isn't.)

Shen Yuan loves his snarky little brother, he loves that they both have a love for papping people on the head, he loves that cute glare he does when he's angry, he loves the pretty jade eyes he has, he loves his small, chubby, little fingers. Shen Yuan was absolutely smitten!

The rest of his family are happy that he got out of the house for once, and visiting them more often too! No more forcing their mei-mei to drag him out!

And Shen Jiu (albeit begrudgingly--) admits that, Shen Yuan is his favourite. He likes it when Shen Yuan visits the family more, he likes it when he gets to be carried by him and drool all over him because he's a piece of shit, and he loves it when Shen Yuan- or- his Yuan-ge focuses all his love on him. He's a territorial baby okay? No one gets to have his Shijie's and San-ge's attention more than him.

Shen Jiu grows up in a family that loves him so much it aches him, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He would burn the heavens if it meant keeping all of them safe.

[lennjamin-o7]

"I-I really don't get the plan here, mate."

"Bruuuuuh. It's simple, Phil! You said I can't go undercover because people look at me and think 'Oh man, that guy looks like he could rip out my liver with his teeth'-"

"I just said you are unapproachable-"

"-so, of course, the logical thing to do is make myself look harmless, right? Make it so people don't vibe check me and get 'Dangerous' as a result-"

"And how exactly does dying your hair bubblegum pink make people look at the six-foot tall buff former soldier and think 'non-threatening'?"

"Pink is a calming color, Phil."

"You're a fucking dumbass."

[hyruling]

Hiiii! I love your fics btw (I just got done re-reading know it’s for the better for like the 5th time). Anywho if you’re still doing domestic prompts, I think number 74 (vhs tapes) could be super cute and fun!

Love your work 💋

74) vhs tapes

—

“Eddie, what are these?”

Eddie looks up from the Sisyphean task of untangling a box of seemingly random cords that he's accumulated over the years. Buck is holding up a couple VHS tapes, each tucked in one of those white cardboard cases, the kind with the rainbow splashed across the front, tattered with dust and age. Eddie groans.

“Sophia,” he swears under his breath, and Buck chuckles.

They’re surrounded by boxes — Eddie’s pretty sure if someone were to walk in the front door right now, they wouldn’t even find Eddie or Buck for a good long while, as buried as they are. It’s a good mix of Eddie’s and Buck’s stuff, nearly a decades worth of things accumulated between the two of them. Buck is packing up boxes with miscellaneous items that are destined for Goodwill or storage, while Eddie unpacks his things from El Paso that need unpacking, and combining what doesn’t with whatever Buck deems donation worthy. Buck had let Chris off the hook today, sending him off to meet up with his friends at the mall because he can’t help but be Good Cop all the time, and so it’s just the two of them drowning together in the mess.

It’s an unspoken thing, their arrangement. When Eddie announced that he and Chris were moving back, Buck said, “I can start looking for a place." To which Eddie said, “No, you don’t need to do that,” and Buck had nodded with a flush in high on his cheeks, and that was that. They’ve spent the three weeks since in the hellish throes of moving, an exhausting endeavor between his shifts back at the 118 and the travel to El Paso and dealing with his parents. Only this time, Buck was there to carry it with him, easing the heaviness of it all with more cheer than a cross-country move warranted. 

Buck is inspecting the tapes carefully, and his face splits into a wide grin when he finds the one Eddie knew his sister must’ve snuck in under the guise of being helpful. He should’ve known when she showed up with a box of childhood memorabilia for him to take with him and a shit-eating grin.

“El Paso Regional Dance Competition, ‘04,” Buck reads, then looks up at Eddie with a similar grin. “Is this… Eddie, were you a dancer?”

Continue reading on A03

[paceprompting]

paper kiss

written for ‘mistletoe’ wc: 982 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no warnings apply | tags: pre-relationship, pining, fluff, werewolf steve, human eddie

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Steve had a problem.

Call in the troops, all hands on deck, cannot afford to fail level of problem.

Except he couldn’t exactly go around blabbing this issue to the entire party. Dustin alone would blab in five seconds, and he’d never hear the end of it for as long as he lived.

How was he supposed to admit the simultaneously best and worst idea he’d ever had to kiss Eddie for the first time?

Eddie had never the opportunity for the romantic nonsense, even if he rolled his eyes or stuck out his tongue at any sight of it. Eddie’s walls were covered in thorns and bristles from years of needing to bite first what usually came to harm him.

Steve, on the other hand, was highly practiced in romantic nonsense.

So, clearly: Christmas time equaled mistletoe.

Genius in its simplicity.

Idiotic in that it was fatal.

Because now he was basically supernaturally allergic to the stuff.

You get bit by one demodog and you had severe drawbacks, go figure.

It was hard enough trying not to stick his nose in Eddie’s collarbone—scenting, Robin called it. He didn’t want to know what the hell she was reading—and envelop himself in Eddie's forest, smoky scent while leaving his own behind. Even though he was literally the only person in Hawkins who could smell the difference, getting bit had come with all these other weird instincts.

Somehow, dealing with the transformation every full moon was easier than navigating daily life when every slight against the kids, against Robin, against Eddie had his claws and fangs bursting out with an inhuman snarl.

That he needed nearly two and half times more calories than ever just to not feel like he was going to pass out by midday.

When every time he looked at Eddie, he wanted so intensely his jaw hurt until they were close enough Steve could catch his scent. Close enough to always know he was okay because Steve was close enough to get to him.

Steve sighed, tapping his fingers on the counter.

“I’m just going to buy some.”

Robin leaned into his eyeline, a fearsome frown on her face, and jabbed her finger into his chest. “You’ll die, dingus.”

“Only if I directly inhale it.”

She flicked him. “Why is it important?”

Eddie wasn’t at the house, yet. He had chauffeur duty for the impeding Christmas-ification of Steve’s house—tinsel, garlands, lights, the whole nine yards—and the plan had led to Steve’s badly wonderful idea.

The kids would be so distracted decorating/devastating his house, Steve could easily pull Eddie aside for a private moment.

And they had both been too much shit. Eddie was worth more than a plain old kiss.

The kids entered the house in a whirlwind, shouting and laying out boxes and shopping bags to tear into without so much as a hello. Steve chuckled to himself.

He smelled Eddie before he saw him, and raised his head. His dark curls were dotted with melting snow, cheeks pinkened by the cold. Eddie stared intently at them, with something hidden in his hands.

Robin dismissed herself, hissing quietly at him before she darted off, “Just do it.”

Eddie didn’t watch her leave, slowly stepping into the kitchen until Steve met him halfway. Steve still couldn’t see what he was holding, Eddie’s fingers curled around something small.

Steve breathed in his fresh scent—pine forest and smoke—the tension in his shoulders fading.

“Um, I had this, sort of…thing. An idea,” Eddie started quietly.

“Do I get to hear it?”

Eddie started to roll his eyes, and then stopped himself. Like he was trying not to fall into old habits. Strange.

This idea had to be something special.

“So, I really want to kiss you.”

Steve’s heart pounded so loud in his ears, he hardly processed that Eddie had kept speaking, his enclosed hands moving in their usual way. Drew Steve’s attention all the more to what he was hiding.

“I thought, Christmas, mistletoe. Perfect opportunity.” Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling, since Eddie had gone onto the inevitable conclusion. “And then I remembered that would probably kill you before we ever got to enjoy it.”

Steve clicked his tongue. “Yeah.”

“So, instead, I made this.” Eddie opened his hands, and extended out what looked like a small plant with oval leaves and red berries.

Hesitantly, Steve reached for it. Eddie wasn’t about to poison him, but Steve wasn’t sure what to expect as he grabbed with two fingers at the nearest leaf. The thing crinkled as Steve lifted it.

“Paper,” he said with a soft smile.

He held the faux-mistletoe in one hand, examining it with the other. Stems of green oval leaves, tiny red berried and tied together at the top with a white ribbon. It was soft and slightly fuzzy like construction paper, and Steve faintly smelled Eddie’s pine forest all over it.

“And safe,” Eddie said.

All this to overcome Steve’s werewolf allergy. Because they both wanted to kiss.

For some reason, particularly under mistletoe.

Steve looked at Eddie, his eyes wide and waiting. He chuckled. “We have made this so complicated.”

Eddie arched a brow.

“You transform into a hairy beast every full moon and I really want you to hold me down and lick me all over the rest of the month. Let’s just say our lives haven’t been simple for a while.” He stepped close, plucking the mistletoe from Steve’s hand to run it over his lips.

He flicked his eyes toward Steve over the paper leaves, playful and heated. A pleased growl rumbled through Steve’s chest, and Eddie’s eyes just gleamed. They had moved close enough that all one of them had to do was drift that much closer.

“Are you going to kiss the mistletoe?” Steve asked, peering at Eddie’s mouth and imagining the taste of pine and smoke. “Or me?”

[rissouu]

just thinking about guitarist!armin who asks if you wanted to go on a late night drive and of course you couldn’t decline, (you just loved feeling like a passenger princess in his tinted out srt). his hand gripped on the thick skin of your thigh as he nodded his head to the guitar notes— deftones played lowly in the background and both of you guys basked in the music. deftones had a way of soothing you and made you feel like you were on cloud 9, same for armin. “wanna go get some food mama?” his beautiful blue eyes met yours when he reached a red light, and you couldn’t lie. the eye contact plus his hand toying with the skin of your thigh had you feeling things.. “mm yes baby, but after could we head back home?” a look of confusion spread across his face since he thought you loved night drives, why were you in such a rush to go home all of sudden? “we could but why- oh?” it took him a while but he finally pieced everything together once he studied your facial expressions. he knew that look— knew it almost better than anything else honestly, the blonde chuckled lowly as he felt his dick practically jumping. “anything for you my princess..”

[mysteriesmuse]

It all started with Katsuki being dead-asleep and sprawled out and snoring in a way that most people would deem horrendously uncomfortable, and obnoxiously pleasant. Like an overgrown cat.

He was dead to the world until his phone rang. Biceps twitching and flinging awake in the dark Katsuki’s dark red eyes cut across the grey light of his room to catch into the stark blue phone light that was buzzing like crazy. Hands accidentally fumbling as he grabbed it he squinted with a surprised, “fuck.” Why were you calling him? You were 2 years his senior and the resident babysitter/tutor of his neighborhood back in Musutafu. A smart student and pretty girl: one of the only babysitters his parents ever agreed to come watch him. Mostly because your death glare was one that could really rival his own mothers, but also bc Katsuki harbored a little bit of admiration and a crush on you for some time making him actually behave for you.

And as your name flashes across the screen pressed against his cheek he can only remember sitting at the kitchen counters and sharing orange slices as you quiz him for his practical exams. He hasn’t seen you in years. Your voice flits through same as ever, “Hey Katsuki!” He shuffles and sits up closer. His eyebrows peaked — you sound breathy and stressed. “Hey to you too,” he growls. Another whisky giggle, “I know it’s late. I’m really sorry about that! It’s just — well your mother always tells me to call you if I was ever alone at night and I couldn’t think of who else I trust to call. . .” His damn mother did have a habit of telling resident kids to call him in case they were in dangerous situations. A habit she always kept up since he was a kid; always making him walk with you and the other girls when school clubs let out. And now here he was a fledgling hero and Mitsuki was still telling extras to call him — I guess some things never change. Katsuki could hear the faint music of karaoke bars over the phone. Already getting out of bed and rummaging through his drawers for a pair of sweats and hoodie. “S’ okay. Where’re you at right now?” You huff a little sigh, “I’m out at the bar strip on the west side of the city . . . it’s a little chilly.” Katsuki already has his feet in his slides and is heading out his dorm room, “I can hear your teeth chattering from here.” He huffs, “Now what’s the problem?” “I’m just a little nervous . . .” You admonish finally, “Could you just stay on the phone with me, please Katsuki? It’s really kinda sketchy out here.” He grunts, already stepping out the dormitory door and hitting the streets. “I can do that. How’ve ya been? It’s been awhile.” You huff a little laugh, “College is fine pretty mundane to what you’ve been doing. I’ve seen you on the tv and in the news a lot recently. I’m real proud of you Kit-Kat. Your folks are too.” Katsuki can feel his stupid heart leap at that nickname you gave him.

It’s because he used to give you kit-kats every year on white day — which wasn’t really out of the ordinary since you gave him chocolate on valentines, but you gave chocolates to all the neighborhood kids anyways. And despite his parents teasing and his agony you never seemed to think much of it, ruffled his hair and gave him a cute nickname.

He chest swells with pride nonetheless. A particular school event was coming up and he finds himself mentioning it as he spots your form sitting under the bus stop and shouts into the night instead of the phone. “I’ve got my year-three performance showcase coming up next week. If you wanna come watch I can definitely get you tickets next to my folks.” Your eyes go wide and flit over to his figure in the darkness. And the first thing Katsuki can’t help but think is that you look pretty.

Your arms are crossed over your chest and the black corset top you’re wearing. It makes your waist and broad shoulders pop. And as he gets closers he can see that it’s got the lace closures down the sides with cute little bows that you’ve tied. A pair of cream colored trousers and tall peep-toe heels underneath as you rise to greet him. Phone slack in your hand as you stare at him. The black straps of your top dangling over your smooth collarbone as you inhale, “Kats what are you doing here?” Your head of curled hair — he’s never seen you with curled hair before — tilts like a puppy dog. He shrugs hands in his pockets, “Coulda asked you the same.” He says pointedly, you curl in and flush with embarrassment, “How much have you had?” “Only a few. I’m still sober.” You reply with a shiver as you fall into step beside him, “Not as fun as I thought it was gonna be. My friends are still inside.” At this Katsuki feels himself relax he didn’t think this was really your seen anyway. Especially with those friends he knows you’re referring to: the older kids of the neighborhood. “Yeah the rest of them are real pieces of work, babe.” Babe. Did he just call you babe? Dunce face is rubbing off on him. You notice, glancing to look up at him, but he watches you shake your head a little and dismiss it as quickly. “So what’s this showcase that you mentioned Kit-Kat?” He huffs, taking the side closest to the street, “It’s a promotional showcase for 3rd years. Show the pros what we can do, explain our personal philosophy, our ambitions. It’s like a really big resume preview. It’s real important for getting yourself out there to the agencies although I already have good ties to some.” You nod, bumping elbows with him as you dodge a streetlight, “seems really important,” you muse. “I’d love to come if it’s no trouble?” Katsuki’s eyes are glued into your glossy lips while you say that, turning away with the tips of his ears pink as he grunts, “S’ no problem at all. I can get ya’ one tomorrow.” You hum thoughtfully, “it’ll be nice to see you in action up close. I’ve watched your sports festival showings before — it makes me want s’mores.” at this you giggle and lock eyes with him, “I let you do that one time.” Katsuki groans rolling his eyes. “Still the best ones I ever had!” He chuckles nudging you with his shoulder. You beam ear-to-ear and his heart pitters as you loop an arm through his to steady yourself, “I can’t believe we’re both so grown-up now.” And here you go turning sappy on him.

“You know Suki’ I know you’re gonna be a great hero because you’ve always done stuff like this for me. No matter how often others tell you different, you send them to me okay?” And you’re sniffling now, still shivering against his side as you prepare to fight off all the haters he has. He’s matured a lot since his debut, but they don’t say make a good-first impression for nothing. He glances at you intelligent, well-educated, passionate as you are you weren’t gonna put up much of a fight — he still appreciates the sentiment. He grumbles a “thank you” into your hair as he walks you home in the dead of night.

[sloasis]

When Eddie comes back to the station after being in El Paso and Buck has his whole I'm in love with my bestfriend realization I need him to be absolutely CHAOTIC .

He's not gonna know how to act around Eddie after he realizes , I need him to be bumbling and stuttering every time Eddie even looks his way , he's gonna totally mess up on calls and hand Eddie the wrong thing , he's gonna accidentally walk into locker room wall because he saw Eddie changing shirts , he's gonna trip over his feet when Eddie tries to help him do a chore around the station , he drops absolutely everything he is holding if he makes eye contact with Eddie , he'll even hide until Eddie's already gone to change in the locker room and then it all comes to a head when Buck goes into the gym and Eddie follows him and then just like their first episode Eddie asks him why he's been so weird since he's been back and then Buck takes his deflecting too far and gets mad saying stuff about how Eddie is just acting totally normal after being gone for so long and then Eddie's just confused and tries to fix it by inviting Buck to come over again and they can talk it out so they make that plan and then Buck is just like I almost ruined it all like I always do but knocks on Eddie's new front door because they sold his old house together and he's still being so awkward but they have beers and sit on the couch like old times and then Eddie asks him again Tell me the truth why are you acting so weird with me ? We're still bestfriends and I know that I didn't call and text you as much , I'm sorry . But you still always mean so much to me , and I'm back and I'm not leaving again -- and then Buck kisses him and they kiss and Eddie's surprised but he likes it and Buck pulls back and just goes I love you , thats why I've been so weird . I love you so much that I don't know how to deal with it , now that I realized , I just don't know how to not love you with everything in me . And then Eddie says I love you with everything in me too Buck .

[thedevilsoftruth]

Congressman Barnes who absolutely loves spoiling you with expensive gifts and all the little things you enjoy. Got your eyes on a particular dress? It's yours. See something you like in the window of a shop but put it off because it's too expensive? Don't you worry your pretty little head about it because it'll be wrapped up for you in a pretty bow on your vanity the next morning!

Congressman Barnes who maybe spoils you a bit too much because it causes you to get bratty at certain times. Bratty in the way that the smallest thing he could say could piss you off, and make you strom out of the room with your arms crossed.

But not on his watch, god no.

Because you could throw the biggest tantrum in the world and spend all his money just because he said one thing that made you upset the night before, but in the end, you would always be left with shaking legs and a limp body, begging him for forgiveness like a sinner in a church.

Because Congressman Barnes specializes in authority and in giving out orders to people. He was a sergeant in the military, and now he's a senator. He has power, and he will show you that power whenever you mouth off to him and act like a brat.

He'll let you yell at him, curse at him all you want through text messages and angry phone calls. But the second he walks through the front door, and the second he's merely within twenty feet from you, you know you have messed up in more ways than just one.

Because now he's got you bent over the edge of your bed with your hands tied behind your back, and he's fucking that apology out of you no matter how much you hate it.

" You wanna go off and throw a fit like a child? Then I'll treat you like a fucking child. "

He's fucking into you hard and fast, never letting you catch a break. He's a super solider, after all. He could go on for hours and never get tired. In this scenario, he does. In every scenario where you mouth off or throw a tantrum, he does.

Oh, and he never lets you cum. Not one bit because you don't deserve it. The second he feels you clamp down on him and squeeze him like a vice as if you're about to let loose, he's pulling out of you.

" nuh-uh. I don't think so. " He growls, pulling out of you for the third time that night. Your fingers are digging into your palm.

" Please, Bucky. " You sob, your face wet from how sweaty you are and from all your crying. " Please let me cum. I'll be good for you. " You promise with a beg, shaking your head as you look up at him from behind your shoulder with watery eyes. He laughs at you sadistically.

" oh, you will now? " His voice is laced with mockery. " Hm.. maybe you should have thought about that before you stole my credit card and went on a shopping spree completely out of spite. "

And then, his big, metal hand comes down on your ass, the sound echoing off the walls in your bedroom. You yelp and your tears start to fall down your face heavier.

" One of these days you will learn, " he pushes into you slowly, just an inch into your buzzing, drooling pussy. " that your actions have consequences. " You whine loudly, your eyes fluttering shut, your cunt begging for him to fill you completely.

You can't stop the whines.

" Bucky, please. " You cry softly as he continues to tease you by repeatedly pushing his fat cock into you by one to two inches just to pull out immediately afterwards. " Please, please, please, please. Wanna cum. "

Bucky just sighs and spanks you again.

" No, that's not how it works around here. " He tells you, bending down and whispering the words in your ear. His flesh fingers slide into your hair, and he fists it gently. " You don't get what you want just because you ask for it, you earn it. "

" But i-- "

" I don't wanna fucking hear it. " He sneers, pushing into you all the way without warning, making you squeal. " You've been a spoiled fucking brat today, so I'm putting you back into your place. Wether you like it or not, you will learn that throwing fits like that are not to be tolerated. " His fingers tug on your scalp, and you inhale sharply, closing your eyes, letting him take you.

" Do you understand me? " He asks in your ear, his voice harsh, deep, gravelly and hoarse. You bite your lip and nod your head. He huffs.

" Use your words, baby doll. " He says with a spank to your round, reddened ass. Your body is jolted forward by the impact, and you whimper.

" Yes. " You mutter in defeat, your legs shaking.

" Good girl. "

[abusivelittlebunny]

Plsplspls what is the photo you're art is based off of!! (Also your art is so tasty good)

You can just see Charles' brain running a hundred miles an hour seeing their size difference and how fucking dainty he feels in Carlos' hands I mean at this point the fic writes itself. That hand is not only on top of his thigh its reaching in, ready to part his legs manually because Charles was made to be manhandled, he's like a little doll, a fucktoy, a pocket pussy of course he needs to be moved however Carlos wants him-

"You're good there, cariño?" Carlos' chuckle breaks him out of his stupor and he blinks up, breathing deep and eyelashes fluttering like he has just been submerged under water.

"Hm? Ah, y-yeah, yeah, I'm good, completely." He clears his throat, trying to get rid of the embarrassing squeaky quality to it that comes from fantasizing a bit too much, hoping Carlos wouldn't catch on to his dirty thoughts but behind his sweet Labrador smile Charles can make out something... dark. Knowing. Almost as if he personally sprinkled perversion onto his brain like fairy dust.

"Good, aren't you? Good. You are a good boy." One could use the language barrier as an excuse for either of them phrasing things in a silly or even embarrassing manner in English, God knows they both have done so a million times, but the way Carlos' voice dipped low in almost a purr would make anyone halt and gulp. Charles certainly did.

If Carlos' voice and darkened gaze didn't, the squeeze to his thigh certainly made him be on high alert and question the innocence of the situation. It's not like Carlos never touched him before; he was quite touchy on average, always holding Charles by his waist or hips or curling one of those large hands around his nape or bicep or wrist.

Of course it made Charles flustered, he's been wondering what Carlos' dick down his throat would feel like since day 1 but Carlos couldn't have known about the effect he had on him, right? Charles wasn't that obvious. Right?

The large tan hand on his thigh slipped more inwards almost seamlessly as the car took a turn and if Charles thought Carlos would rectify his mistake, he was certainly in for a treat because Carlos instead used his grip to pull him closer, dragging him over as if Charles weighed nothing.

"Why so tense, cariño? I thought you were good? C'mon, baby, relax." Carlos pulled his entire leg over his own, spreading Charles' thighs wide and he had to carefully hide his crotch with his hands to not put the obvious source of his tension on display. Carlos was holding the leg in his lap with both hands now, massaging the inside of his thigh with one, the other stroking his knee as if he was some pet. "Nervous, are you? It's okay, baby, it's been a stressful season. I can help you let loose when we're back in the hotel, hm? Sounds good?"

Oh good God. Charles was not going to survive the journey with a sane mind, and Carlos definitely knew.