#drabble week

[daisynik7]

When Nanami gets jealous, he gets mean. 

One day, you’re checking out at your favorite bakery, chatting with one of the new employees you just met the other day. Nanami stands beside you, already eyeing the poor guy suspiciously, sliding his arm around your waist, as if to make it even more apparent that the two of you are together. Still, this goes unnoticed; the man says something flirty, along the lines of I made this bread special for you today, I hope you enjoy it. He seals his fate by giving you a brazen wink, and you’re surprised that Nanami manages to keep his cool, though you can feel him tense up next to you. Before he can say anything, you pay quickly, grabbing your baked goods, fleeing the scene with your husband fuming silently in tow. 

The following week, when you suggest going to the same bakery the next morning for breakfast, Nanami is especially enthusiastic when he agrees. It doesn’t strike you as odd, until later that night. 

You’re cuddling in bed, and as usual, you both start getting handsy with each other. He slips beneath your top, flicking his thumbs against your perked nipples. His mouth grazes your neck, licking at your pulse points. You giggle, ticklish at the sensation, but then he nips at your skin with his teeth, immediately sucking on the spot hard. You whine his name, squirming at the sting. “Nanami!” 

“What is it, sweetheart?” His mouth is hot on your ear, one hand trailing down between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your panties. “You don’t like it?”

You do, of course, so you say, “I do like it. Just…no hickies. We’re seeing people tomorrow.” You’re referring to your friends, who you’re meeting for dinner. But Nanami has someone else in mind. 

“But that’s exactly why I want to,” he growls, sucking on your neck again, making his mark on you. “Everyone is going to know you’re mine.”

And how can you deny him when he’s being so fucking naughty right now, slipping his fingers inside you, grinding his body against yours, leaving more love bites on your neck and across your collarbone. When he gets on top of you, folding you into a mating press, pounding his cock in and out of your sloppy cunt, you can’t help but notice his gaze flitting to the hickies he’s left on your skin. His pace increases, marveling at his pretty little slut imprinted by his kisses.

Even that is not enough. No, he has to mark you up in every way possible. After he fucks you into three orgasms, clit swollen and rubbed raw by his thumb, he’s ready to bust. He pulls out of you abruptly, dropping your legs back onto the bed, crawling up to straddle your chest. He strokes his cock in his fist as you watch him, moans pouring out of your drooling mouth, hungry for it. It doesn’t take much longer for him to shoot his load onto you, painting your love bites in his pearly white cum.

The next morning at the bakery, you greet the employee, Nanami beside you with a small grin on his face. It takes a minute of idle chit-chat for the man to notice, pointing at his own neck to ask, “Are those...?”

Before you can answer, your husband slides his arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, smirking at the employee. “Ah, well, I made these special for you last night, I hope you enjoy it.” Nanami gives you a loud smooch on the cheek, grabs the pastries, and leads you out the door, leaving the man too stunned to speak and you with your face buried in your hands, mortified. 

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

pure fluff, fem reader, not proofread, katsuki really likes the way you smell, talks of marriage, katsuki being an absolute demon, biting bc is it rlly a cash fic if it doesn’t involve katsuki biting us ? lemme know if i missed sum else <3

a.n.: ..so this came to me in the middle of the night and i had to write it down before i forgot about it…please do not perceive me🫶🏾

katsuki keeps sniffing at your wrist.

for some reason, he keeps bringing your palm towards his face and you imagined he’d kiss it if he was feeling a little sweeter than usual or he’d bite your finger if he was feeling like a little shit.

imagine your surprise when instead, he just sniffs you and goes right back to watching tv.

he does it for the fifth time in the span of a few seconds and you turn your head that was smooshed into his chest staring at the tv to stare at him with a brow raised.

“katsuki.” he only grunts in response, nose pressed to your pulse point. a deep, grumbled noise comes from the deepest part of his chest when you try to pull your arm out of his grip.

“quit squirmin’. ”

“katsuki !” you squeal, giggling. katsuki grunts into your skin, pulling your hand closer to his face.

“what’re you doing ?” you chirp.

“ya smell like somethin’” is all he offers you for a response, your lip pulls up in confusion. you tilt your head.

“like what ?”

“i dunno, s’like—” he cuts himself off, pulls your hand away from his face to stare up at the ceiling in thought, only to bring it back to his nose.

you can’t help laughing at his behavior “ like what ?” you urge.

“different.” he settles “this some new perfume or somethin’ ?” he asks seriously, lifting himself up so he can sit up against the couch cushion and you follow, no longer laying but sitting up in his lap.

“not really, it’s this new body wash i found at the mall !” katsuki grunts in acknowledgment “was walking around with a friend and she recommended it to me, so i figured i’d give it a shot.” you explain.

“smells good right ?” you ask excitedly. katsuki damn near growls at your wrist, then he drops it and stuffs his head into your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you tightly like he’s trying to squeeze you to death, pulling you closer to him.

“so fuckin’ good.” he rumbles, the way his voice deepens has shivers going down your spine and has you impossibly giddy.

“what soap is that ? need ta stock up on it.”

you roll your eyes “so you can steal it from me ? no thank you.”

“m’ your boyfriend, you’re s’posed to share with me. what’s that saying? what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is yours ?” his voice is smushed against the fabric of your clothes because he can’t stay away from your skin for more than three seconds, going back for whiffs like an addict. you wrap your arms around him with a snort.

“isn’t that saying usually for married couples ? we’re not married.”

“yet.”

your heartbeat quickens and you feel your skin prickle and go hot at how casually he uttered the word. you play around with the hairs on his nape.

“..yet” you utter quietly. his nose is pressed against your addams apple, deeming it his new favorite spot to sniff at you like a dog. “so until then, my secret stays with me.”

“tch, stingy woman.” he scoffs “might have to marry you sooner than i thought.” he smirks.

you move to shove your head into his shoulder in embarrassment and he straight up laughs, the asshole. you’d be angry if you weren’t as in love with him as you were in this very moment.

“oi, i told you to quit squirming.” he jests.

“katsukiii !” you whine. he only chuckles, greatly enjoying the way he’s tormenting you.

“what ?” he snorts, his nose is pressed to your shoulder “don’t act brand new, you knew i was gonna marry you.”

“this is bullying.” he barks out a loud laugh at your flustered response.

“me puttin’ a ring on that fuckin—” he grabs your hand again and presses his lips to your ring finger “divine smellin’ finger of yours is bullying ?” he chuckles.

“you’re so weird.” you can’t help the smile that grows against his shoulder and he feels it too, the smirk against your finger only grows.

“right back atcha.” he snickers, then bites into your shoulder like he’s trying to take a chunk out of you.

“ouch ! katsuki !” you yelp, smacking his back lightly, all he does is snicker like the evil motherfucker he is.

“sorry, baby.” he apologizes but you can hear in the teasing lilt in his voice he regrets absolutely nothing “ ya smell so good i couldn’t help it.”

a.n. : i actually don’t know if that saying is usually for married couples but pls ignore it for plot sake thx 🤞🏽💓

[starrystevie]

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

[livwritesstuff]

Honestly, Eddie doesn’t know why it had taken so long for him to realize his and Steve’s children could understand the shit that came out of his mouth.

(It took an embarrassingly long amount of time).

Even when Moe’s third or fourth word was fuck, he didn’t realize it (and she was using it mostly correctly too, which should have been a serious flag, but nope).

What made him realize it was when they started repeating the shit that came out of his mouth. 

To strangers.

In public.

The first time Eddie had been really caught off guard by something one of his daughters said was when Moe, who was three at the time, had proudly announced to an unsuspecting grocery store cashier, “Daddy says my Papa’s a DILF!”

And, like, Eddie had just heard the term for the first time, and obviously he was goddamn delighted by it because…duh. Steve. 

It just hadn’t occurred to him that his toddler might have caught it too, but little pitchers have big ears, or so the proverb suggests, and Eddie had taken it as a wake-up call that Moe isn’t a baby anymore (tragic as it may be).

He’s not the only problem though – Steve is just as bad, (if not worse, because he really doesn’t bother to check where their kids are before he starts running his mouth).

One particularly damning incident was at a restaurant, which is something they don’t even do all that often because, seriously, going to a restaurant with very young kids should be an Olympic event or something.

(The last time they all went out to eat, Nancy and Robin had made a drinking game out of all the times Steve and Eddie had to take a child to the bathroom and ended up so far gone that Eddie had needed to drive them home).

The incident started with the waitress asking, “Can I get you started with anything to drink?”

And it had ended with four-year-old Moe confidently announcing, “My Papa needs a fucking margarita.”

Thank god, the waitress had been a twenty-something college student and thought it was hilarious, but Steve had still been completely mortified.

[coryosbaby]

SENSITIVE . Luke Castellan x fem! Reader

Content warning . Broken bones and submissive Luke <3

Whenever someone uses a word to describe Luke Castellan, it’s always this: strong.

He’s the greatest swordsman in camp, after all. He puffs out his chest and slathers his aura in pride, outdoing every opponent.

Except for when it comes to you.

He’s— well, Luke is a sensitive boy. No one knows that, of course, except for you.

He shows his true self, now, on a rainy night in your cabin. Many campers have gone to dinner, and Luke had decided to stay back with you, curled up in your bed.

“(Y/N),” he whines, as you finish your night routine with a drastic slowness. “It hurts.”

You almost roll your eyes at your boyfriend’s antics as you lather on a bit of moisturizer. After a long trip and fall down a flight of stairs—ironic, really, considering his stealthiness— the boy had broken his hand. A small cast is wrapped around it, little phrases that you and other peers had written into it rainbow in color.

“You’re being dramatic.”

His lips form into a pout.

“‘M not,” he replies. His unbroken hand pats the empty spot beside him. “Come here, baby. I miss you.”

You can’t help the tug in your chest at his sweet tone. You do the last steps of your routine, sighing as you move out of your vanity chair and slide onto your silky pink sheets.

“C’mere, you big baby.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek as you bring him into your embrace, letting him wrap his big arms around you.

“You smell nice,” he compliments, humming. “Like a pretty flower.”

You giggle. His fingers move up to play with your hair.

“And your hair is so pretty. I love it. And your eyes…”

“Are you saying this because you feel sentimental, or because you want me to make out with you?”

“Both.”

You scoff, pulling him in for a kiss. He reciprocates eagerly, and before you know it his tongue slides warm and wet into your mouth. His hand moves up to your tits, softly groping.

And when you look down, you realize why he’s so clingy. A small smirk spreads across your lips.

“I think you need a little bit of help, sweet boy.”

His cheeks, a dusty pink, turn even darker now. You take in the sight of the large bulge straining against his zipper. He lets out a nervous chuckle, though it doesn’t do much to stifle his nerves. His broken hand still stays trembling underneath your own.

“You don’t have to,” he replies, averting his gaze from you. “I’m not.. I mean.. I can’t—”

“I know.”

You don’t need to say anything else. Your palm splays out over his hardened cock, and he whines, a tiny breathless thing in the back of his throat that makes your panties soak with wetness.

“Mommy,” he utters. “I need your hands,” And then, bordering on a choked sob, “Please? I’ll be good, I swear…”

Oh, it’s so easy to get him worked up. So, so incredibly easy.

You hum, flicking the zipper of his jeans up and down playfully. His brunette locks are turned up and disheveled, and it’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

“Poor baby. It’s been a long time since you’ve touched yourself, hasn’t it ? Four, maybe five days?”

That was the last time he had fucked you, the day he had broken his hand. Your schedules were both so busy that neither of you had time to do anything since. Luke’s eyebrows press together, and a pout forms on his lips as he nods in confirmation. You press a kiss to his jaw, then another. He’s wearing the cologne you like, and a shirt you had once said looked particularly good on him. He had made his way into your room asking for this, you’re sure. He was asking to get all worked up and get you to handle it.

He just wants mommy’s attention, doesn’t he?

You pull his fly down, much to his excitement, a “thank you” falling sweetly off of his soft lips. Pushing his underwear down, his hardened cock slaps up to its fullest attention against his stomach. His balls are drawn up tight above the fabric of his briefs, full and ready to be emptied.

Oh, how worked up the poor thing is. Wet like a girl, cock dripping pre cum and the tip flushed an almost deep scarlett. He’s well endowed, much to your pleasure.

Giving his tip a teasing flick with two of your fingers, you watch as his eyes shut tight and he moans. It sounds precious, a choir full of angels singing. You wish you could hear it over and over again.

He isn’t looking at you, now, and that makes you annoyed. Your hand slaps his length and he lets out a pained yelp.

“Eyes on me. Do you understand?”

His bottom lip wobbles. A sensitive boy he is, despite his usually hard and cold demeanor, and his mommy’s disapproval makes him want to cry. He nods, his teary eyes staring deep into your own as you spit into your palm and take him into your hand.

You start by thumbing over his tip, rubbing softly into his slit. Watching his breathing increase and the way his head tilts back is absolutely enticing.

“Is that good, baby?” You ask softly. He nods eagerly, his hand shaking in his lap. He tries not to clench his broken fist together but that proves difficult, and he lets out a pained cry when he presses down on it. You coo to him, almost mocking, as you snake your arm behind his back and take the cast into your free hand.

“Don’t hurt yourself, okay? Just hold on to me,” your voice is a purr in the shell of his ear. “Need my boy big and strong again.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, his voice high pitched and whiny. “Yeah, mommy, yeah…”

Your hand wraps around the fullness of his length, twisting with a flick of your wrist. His forehead bumps against yours as his open mouth tries to land on your lips. You think he’s trying to kiss you, and it’s absolutely endearing. He can’t help but desperately shove his tongue into the warm confines of your mouth. You giggle at that, pulling him in for a sloppy, wet kiss.

When your lips leave his, it’s so you can bite and suckle pretty marks onto his neck. You lave over the reddish bites, humming as you cover his throat in them.

Other women at camp, be damned. He’s yours.

It isn’t long, with a gasping mouth and fluttering lashes, that he’s close.

“I’m gonna cum,” Luke murmurs, sugary sweet. “I’m g-gonna… momma, momma..”

He buries his face in your neck, salty tears pressing into your skin, and his cock spurts rope after rope of warm, sticky spend all over your hand. You watch with a smile, pressing a kiss into his hair as he fucks his hips up and mewls against you. Your heart flutters at the sound, your body on fire just from watching him come undone.

He sighs when you milk the last few remnants of cum from his spent cock. His curls stick to his forehead, sweat dripping down his brow. What a sight.

You find Luke’s shirt somewhere on the floor and wipe your hand on it. His nose crinkles up.

“That’s gross.”

Rolling your eyes and trying not to smile, you sit down beside him again.

“It’s your mess, Luke.”

He shrugs, his hand going up to push your hair out of your face. He gives you a pretty, lopsided smile. You kiss the scar underneath his eye, and his eyes cloud over again.

Always so sensitive.

He lays down on the bed, signaling you over. His lips find yours again, chaste but still nice, and when he’s using free hand to make you straddle his face, a gasp emits from you.

“Luke. It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“Want to,” he murmurs, sliding your panties to the side. “You took care of me, momma. Let me take care of you.”

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[bluejeanstrash]

it’s 1:23 am when seungcheol realises you’re no longer in bed with him. even though he’s got his back turned to you, there’s this gnawing feeling of something missing that stirs him awake.

he turns to see the empty space; sheets still warm with traces of you. he then turns back around to check what the time is, feeling his eyelids go heavy as he dozes off, phone still in hand.

it’s 2:02 am when seungcheol wakes up again, the phone falling from his grip, hitting the carpeted floor. he jolts awake, sitting up to see you’re still gone.

‘babe?’ he calls out to a silent apartment. he tries your name next to no answer. he’s worried now — a growing anxiety fills his chest as he rushes out of bed.

‘baby?’ he checks the bathrooms first. then the other bedroom. the kitchen next. and as he’s walking across the living room, he sees your silhouette on the couch.

he rushes over, turning on the lamp behind you as a soft orange hue illuminates the room and your face along with it. you look awful. the colour’s drained from your face and your hair’s all matted — sticking to your forehead, and somehow you’re sweating and shivering all at once.

‘what the..’ he brings the back of his hand to your forehead, gently pressing it to your skin. he checks your cheeks next, and finally your throbbing neck ‘you’re burning!’

‘why didn’t you wake me up!’

‘you have schedule’ you mumble as he frowns, getting upset.

‘that doesn’t matter. don’t do that again’ he scolds, immediately softening his tone when you let out a weak cough.

‘have you taken your temperature yet?’ you nod, turning your head to the digital thermometer sitting on the table.

‘okay. let me take it again’ he gives the thermometer a shake before wiping it down.

you open your mouth as he places it under your tongue seeing the temperature rise till it finally stops at a worrying 101°F.

‘hmmn..’ he chews on his lower lip ‘we’ll keep an eye on it’

what felt warm a second ago is now cold as you shiver, feeling a sudden chill. seungcheol pulls the blanket up, tucking in your sweaty body tighter.

‘what about medicine? did you take anything?’ his one hand now tenderly stroking your hair as you shake your head no.

you had tried but looking for medicine was a pretty heavy ask when the room was spinning with every step so you decided to just lie down instead.

‘okay!’ he gets up with a determined sigh, any sleepiness long gone. now seungcheol’s in complete caretaker mode with his only objective to make you feel better.

through the haze of the fever, you can hear him pottering around, moving from room to room — there are sounds of water being poured and drawers being opened, rummaged through, and shut.

he returns around 5 minutes later, hands full.

‘you need to take medicine, okay? wait, baby, have you eaten?’ you shake your head again.

‘no, you need to eat something first’

‘i’m too tired’

he insists on something small, disappearing into the kitchen and coming back with a pack of biscuits — not the good kind, but the boring digestive ones that will fill you up a little more.

‘come on, let’s sit up’ you groan, feeling the room spin as he helps you up.

‘two biscuits. that’s it. open’

you open your mouth letting him feed it to you.

‘bite’ and you do — crumbs falling on your blanket which he promptly brushes away. ‘one more bite’ and you follow the instructions till two are done and dusted away.

‘one more’

‘i already had two!’

‘and now we’ll have one more’

you groan a no.

‘come on. just one more. for me’ you let him have his way, too tired to fight, falling back down immediately as you take the last bite.

‘now medicine’ he pulls you back up, handing over a pill and glass of water as you take it through half-shut eyes, resting against his body for a second.

‘good job. now we can lie down again'

after you're tucked back in, he sits on the floor next to you, wringing and then bringing a cool damp cloth to your burning forehead.

‘that feels nice’ it does. like a cool breeze on a hot day.

‘yeah? good’ he smiles, one hand gently stroking your hair back.

‘go to sleep’ you mumble ‘i’ll be fine. thank you’

‘i’ll sleep once you do’ he says firmly, hand still on your hair.

you're still dizzy but the steady strokes of seungcheol’s hand on you is a constant comfort. it takes around 10 minutes till you’re asleep.

he finally gets up, kissing his fingers and then planting that kiss to your forehead.

he heads into the bedroom, grabbing his stuff to come lay down on the floor beside you.

it’s 3:07 am when seungcheol falls back asleep, making sure he’s right where he belongs — next to you.

[mochiwrites]

couldn’t help writing a lil thing from @plumadot’s arts (linked here and here!)🥺👉👈 third life scarian possessed me so hard I broke out of my burn out for this reblogs would be really cool and awesome okaythankyou

——————————

“And how are preparations for Doom Day going, my good sir?” Scar’s voice is a light sound behind him, tone cheerful and inquisitive all at once.

Grian turns around from where he’s knee deep in sand, a small hole dug out in front of him. Scar comes to stand beside him, red eyes staring down at him. His gaze is soft, far too soft for a man who’s meant to be anything but.

With a soft noise, Grian pushes himself up to stand while dusting off his hands. He leaves his shovel in the ground by the hole. His wings flutter.

He hums, surveying the area. He gazes at the holes of sand, where the tnt will be set down, at the place where a bunker will be built. “Not bad, I’d say. I think this place’ll be ready by tomorrow or some time ‘round then.”

Scar whistles, moving to casually wrap an arm around the green life’s shoulders. “Amayzin’!” His lips lift in a smile. “Man, those Dogwarts guys won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“That’s if this trap even works, Scar,” Grian mutters, unable to hold back the bitterness in his voice. His traps have hardly worked all game, and he’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about this one failing too. “It has to,” he says, brows knitting together, “there’s too much riding on this one.”

His eyes trail over to Scar, who doesn’t seem to share his worries.

“Aw, c’mon G,” Scar starts as he pulls the other toward him. He tugs so that Grian’s facing him, their faces a few inches apart. Grian can feel how warm Scar is this close, can see the way his chest rises and falls. “I have total trust in you and your trapping skills. So relax a little, yeah?”

Grian frowns at him in turn. Speculation and trust aren’t good enough when up against his fail rate. He needs one hundred percent certainty. But he can’t just test this one. It’s a one time pull. “Scar—”

Careful fingers grab his chin, rough and calloused from the harsh conditions of the desert but still far too careful. Red names aren’t supposed to be careful or gentle, and yet here Scar is.

“I trust you,” Scar says again, and Grian doesn’t think this is how things are supposed to go. It’s not the first time he’s had this thought, and he’s sure it won’t be the last (provided they both survive this, that is). “You really do worry too much.”

“One of us has to while you’re off gallivanting around without a shirt on,” Grian grumbles while reaching for the edge of Scar’s cloak. He holds onto it, fingers digging into the fabric.

Scar lifts a playful brow at Grian’s comment, “Does that mean I look good while valligaggling?”

Grian snorts, the action laced with too much affection. “That’s not even a word, Scar,” he replies with a little laugh, one that makes Scar’s grin widen.

“It’s close enough,” the man hums in answer, their faces moving closer. His hand drops to Grian’s elbow, the other drawing him in closer by the waist. Red eyes flutter shut as his breath ghosts over Grian’s lips. “And it made you laugh.”

“Your priorities are seriously mixed up,” Grian’s voice is hardly above a whisper as watches as Scar draws in closer.

Their lips meet seconds later, chapped and warm. Grian stares at Scar’s face, the way the creases in his forehead smooth over and relax. He looks so content, a funny feeling to express when the powder keg is seconds from exploding.

It hardly takes any time at all for Scar to deepen the kiss, raising his hand from Grian’s elbow to hold the edge of his jaw. His thumb settles too close to Grian’s throat, yet not an ounce of fear runs through him. His eyes shut as he presses his lips back against Scar’s, a bit more pressure than the other applies. He catches Scar’s wrist in his hand, and his grip is a little tight at first (too tight for a green name). He has to remind himself to loosen his hand, but Scar never gives a reaction.

He simply angles Grian’s chin up slightly, hand shifting to cup his cheek. His fingers tangle in his hair, brushing against his ear.

It’s kind of a shame they’re blowing up the desert. He wouldn’t mind sharing more kisses with Scar out in the open chilly air like this.

Scar kisses him like he’s something fragile, something precious. He kisses him like he’s afraid of breaking him, and really it’s laughable how gentle he is with Grian. His eyes say he shouldn’t be.

(Ironic then, that Grian is wearing more red than him.)

It’s with a soft sigh that Scar pulls back, setting their foreheads against one another. So easily, so fluidly, he holds Grian’s face in both of his hands, one of his thumbs brushing along his cheek. There’s a fond smile on his face, and Grian feels a little dazed by the sight.

“Gri,” Scar says quietly, a moment shared for only the two of them, “I need you to know, I—”

Some kind of alarm rings in Grian’s head, and he knows he cannot let Scar finish that sentence. Panic runs down his spine like electricity, zapping him. He sets his hands on Scar’s front, gently pushing back as he turns his head away.

“H-Haha, we’ve wasted enough time, haven’t we?” he questions, some kind of desperate attempt to change the conversation. “We have a war to prepare for, remember?”

He doesn’t watch Scar’s face as he turns away, unable to face it. He turns his back to Scar, wings twitching behind him. Grian purposefully looks down at the sand before him, reminding himself of what he’s meant to be doing. “We, uh, have much to do still,” he says, trying to focus on anything but Scar. “I mean, unless you want me to lose my first life!”

Grian goes to say more, but two hands land on his shoulders, stopping him. He jumps just slightly, startled. Yet it doesn’t last long as he feels Scar’s warmth against his back. “…Scar,” he mumbles.

Arms wrap around him proper, holding him close. He feels Scar bury his face in his hair as the smell of lilacs and poppies flood his senses. “Just a little longer, okay?” the red name murmurs so softly.

Let me hold you for a little longer.

Stay with me for a little longer.

Pretend this’ll last for a little longer.

How selfish, Scar is. Grian looks down at the sand below, its mocking grains. He grabs hold of Scar, keeping him right where he is. “…I’m not going to die, Scar.”

“Promise me.” Scar’s arms tighten around him, giving away how much he needs Grian to stay alive. How much he treasures Grian, both his partnership and company.

Grian squeezes him. He supposes he’s a little selfish as well. “…I promise.”

Scar lets out a shaky breath, burying his face further into Grian’s hair.

They don’t move for a little while. A gentle red name and a green name clothed in far too much crimson. Together they stand, selfishly.

[st4rfckerz]

mdni 18+

anakin loves it when you use him to get off. when you're on top, he can't help but watch your pretty body move rhythmically, your tits bouncing enticingly with each thrust. his hands roam freely over your body, he grips the fat of your thighs and gently guides you along his cock. his hips would rise to meet yours, his aching cock drilling deeper into you, filling you up completely.

"c'mon baby, you got it. take what's yours."

he loves the way you ride him, the way you control the pace, the way you take him deep inside you. he revels in the sounds you make, the way you moan his name, the way you cling to him as you reach your peak. he always sneaks his hand in between your thighs to rub his big thumb across your puffy clit when you least expect it.

"go on 'nd cum angel, make a mess on my cock."

he's more than happy to fulfill your needs, to be your personal plaything, and he'll do it with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. he knows that when you cum, it's because of him, and that thought alone is enough to drive him wild.

[inhuman-obey-me]

🕶 with Barbatos please??👀 also yes on MC! (sorry for being specific, you can ignore it if you want but can it be directed at mc i'm not normal about Barb)

"I saw a little thing I didn't like you tried to hide." - Barbatos/MC

content warning: blood, reference to torture/gore

Barbatos has a reputation.

It is one that you remind yourself of at times, when you get lost in his sweet words and even sweeter treats. Those soft smiles, his ever-readiness to serve, his meticulous attention to detail so that things were always perfect for you – he would insist you had him wrapped around your finger, but sometimes you wonder if it truly isn’t the other way around.

After all, while you loved that side of him – one that few had the privilege to witness – you could not help but be intrigued by the part of him that reigned in the shadows. 

The part of him that delighted in the slow torture of a traitor. The part of him that could use a knife to cut up a bleeding-heart artichoke just as deftly as an actual bleeding heart. The part of him that could drive someone mad just by warping the space around him, damning them to experience eternity in a matter of seconds. 

Perhaps you were a bit too intrigued, your morbid curiosity having led you now to wander the dark halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle in search of him. He was supposed to meet you at the foyer earlier, but when the ever-punctual demon was nowhere to be found, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You wanted to see if you could catch the consistently composed butler off-guard, unprepared. 

A fool’s quest.

You pass an archway and stop in your tracks, swearing you heard a faint scream from down below. A metallic scent pervades, your stomach churning as you take a step, and then another, and yet another – slowly descending the stairs, unsure of what you’ll find at the bottom. 

It’s dimly lit, torches along the walls flickering with magic flames. Your eyes adjust, and your heart nearly skips a beat as you see Barbatos in the distance. You dive behind a wall, peering around the corner to observe. 

He seems to be talking to someone, though you can’t see who. A cell, you think, as you notice the iron bars gating certain areas. The light catches on an object in his hand, something silver, and you realize he’s cleaning it off with cloth. Your own hands fish out your D.D.D., opening the camera function to zoom in and get a clearer look.

Oh.

He’s splattered with blood, standing in a pool of it. It’s a sight to behold, and you’re unable to tear your gaze away from him. Slowly, your finger goes to the capture button, taking a photo of the scene. You duck back into the passage, checking to see how the shot turned out – and chills run down your spine as Barbatos seems to be looking straight into the lens. 

“Tsk, tsk.” Gloved fingers tightly wrap around your wrist, forcing you to turn around to meet a dark gaze that you knew all too well. “I saw a little thing I didn’t like you tried to hide.” 

“B-Barbatos!” His name leaves your lips in a squeak. You don’t know how he got to you so fast, but you do know it’s better not to question it. “I-I’m sorry, you didn’t show up earlier and I got curious and wanted to look for you so I ended up down here and then I found you but I didn’t want to disturb you and –” 

He puts a halt to your rapid explanation with a single finger against your lips, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s not like me to forget or lose track of the time. I must make this up to you immediately.” He lets go of your wrist, examining you once over before taking a step back. “But first, I need to freshen up. Shall we go upstairs?” 

With a nod, you follow him back up to the brighter hallways of the castle, though he pauses once you’re at the landing. “...And what are you going to do with that photo?”

“Oh.” You can feel the warmth rush to your cheeks. “I, uh … just kind of wanted it for myself.”

“Is that so?” You can hear the amusement in his voice, see the way his lips twist into a smirk.  “Well, if that’s the case, I suppose I can let your little reconnaissance slide. Next time, however,” he leans in close, breath ghosting your ear. “Just ask.”

[daisynik7]

The first time you try to make a baby with Nanami, he genuinely does try his best not to go absolutely feral on you. Of course, it doesn’t help that you’re provoking him, moaning the nastiest filth you can muster in his ears. Breed this tight pussy. Empty your balls inside me. Knock me the fuck up, daddy.

He’s pumping his thick cock in and out of your sloppy cunt, mounting you with your knees towards your chest, body folded in half. Sweat drips from his nose, feverishly fucking you with the wildest expression you’ve ever seen on him, determined to make you a mother. He pounds your fertile womb until it’s flooded with his seed, and there’s not a single drop left in his body to give to you. And when you’re spent beyond belief, his cum gushing from your little slit, he scoops it with his fingers only to pump it back inside you, thumb caressing your swollen clit to give you yet another orgasm. 

It’s not enough to breed you. He needs you to enjoy it, become addicted to it. Have you begging to be filled to the brim every single time you fuck, even if you’re not ovulating. Because Nanami loves giving you his cream pies. Nothing makes him happier knowing you’re stuffed full of him. 

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

this is loosely based off of @emmyrosee 's messing with sukuna post bc i just love the idea of messing with your whiny baby dramatic boyfriend and i immediately thought about katsuki ! if you want this taken down lmk !

katsuki is hilarious to mess with.

you've only been staring at him for about 5 seconds when he turns to you.

"whaddya want ?" he asks with a raised brow. you're still all smiles, resting your head into your palm

"nothing." you hum, he grumbles a bit but doesn't pay it any mind. until you keep staring. he's trying to focus on his phone but you can tell he's about to snap when he starts squinting at the device.

"what ?" he grumbles, red eyes narrow at your smile widening.

"nothing !"

"yn. don't fuck with me."

"i'm not !" you giggle " i'm just looking at you, am i not allowed to ?"

you know exactly what to say to fluster him without fail every time, it's something you're most proud of when you see the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink.

"..no."

you snort "no ?"

"shaddup." he says through gritted teeth "so what, you're just lookin' at me ?"

"yeah." you shrug "i like lookin' at my pretty boyfriend." you prop your head against the couch and sigh dreamingly to sell the lovesick act. katsuki inhales through his nose, chest puffing like he's upset and he tsks, ears and cheeks beet red.

"weirdo." he scoffs, then grabs the back of your head to pull you in and press his lips to yours roughly.

you're both breathing heavy when you pull away. he looks at you, mouth slightly agape as he heaves lightly, eyeing you from your eyes to your lips. and then he huffs through his nose like a bull and roughly pulls you into in chest, causing you to release an 'oomph !' at the force when he flops down onto the couch, pulling you with him.

"m'not pretty." he mocks your voice and you huff a laugh into his collarbone. you wiggle around and your boyfriend loosens his hold a bit so you can look up at him.

"you so are !" you argue, he won't look at you but narrows his eyes at the tv he'd turned to to distract himself from your gaze.

"nah, that's you, babe." he switches through the channels "thought you said i was handsome last week."

"you can be pretty and handsome at the same time, the proof is right in front of me." you flirt, he looks at your from the corner of his eye and his mouth curls up like he smelled something nasty when you wink at him.

"gross."

"you're blushing~" you sing, closing your eyes and laying your head onto his chest, you sigh happily when he starts rubbing up and down your back instinctively.

"go to sleep. m'tired of listening to you." he pushes your head down into his chest jokingly and you giggle. you can't see the smirk growing on his face from where your being shoved into.

you wrestle out of his hold to look at him to see he's already staring at you, half smirk on his face and he scoffs at your expression, you huff through your nose and your smile widens.

"you love me." you whisper knowingly, katsuki takes the hand off of your back to pinch at your side and he snorts when you squeal.

"unfortunately."

you yelp when he wets his lips and he captures yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

[maygrcnt]

“buck and eddie can’t be the same age because eddie is so much more mature than buck” babe have you been paying attention like even the littlest bit to their backstories

[kentofic]

a bite-sized nanami x f!reader sickfic as i recover from a cold of my own 💖 suggestive but no smut

You give a hearty sniffle, the covers tucked up to your chin as you huddle under the warm blanket, shivering. You sigh. You hate being sick. You’ve been laid up for the past day with a fever, stuffy nose, and scratchy throat. There’s no end in sight yet—but, to your luck, your sweet husband has stayed home to play nurse for you. And you do love being taken care of by him.

“Kento,” you call out, your voice hoarse, cracking around the edges. You cringe at the sound.

You don’t see how Kento halts in the next room, warmth pooling low in his stomach. You have no idea how deeply, how instantly, it affects him—the sound of your voice, pitched low and throaty like this. He reminds himself for the hundredth time that you need rest, that he has no right to jump your bones when you’re sick and exhausted. No matter how infuriatingly sexy you sound. He clears his throat, trying to gather himself.

“Yes, darling?” you hear from the living room. His tone betrays nothing.

“Can you bring me some water please? I’m all out.”

“Sure, be right there.”

You stare at the ceiling, slightly dizzy, as your husband bustles about in the kitchen. Soon he’s by your bedside with a glass of cool water, a small plate, an apple, and a paring knife.

He guides the glass into your hands, watching approvingly as you take a long sip. Then he picks up the apple and the knife and begins peeling it. You watch him with a smile, your cheeks and lips flushed rosy with fever.

“How did I ever deserve such an attentive husband,” you murmur, your voice like warm gravel. Kento’s hands falter for just a second. He clears his throat and resumes cutting small slices of the fruit. He feels the beginnings of a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

“Hush. You know I love taking care of you.”

Your chuckle is like a soft burble of water, punctuated at the end by a sniff. Kento holds a piece of apple up to your mouth, which you dutifully open for him. He pokes the piece between your lips, his thumb grazing your bottom lip as he withdraws his hand.

“Mm, tastes good,” you hum, low and soft, around the mouthful of fruit. The sound goes straight to Kento’s groin, and he coughs to dislodge the breath that catches in his throat. You peer up at him, concerned.

“You’re not getting sick too, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he assures you, smoothing your hair from your forehead. You catch his wrist and tug, trying to pull him closer, even weak as you are in this state. He leans forward to humor you. You scrutinize him with eyes soft and glassy from fever.

“You’re flushed, Kento. Are you sure you don’t have a fever?” you worry, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead. He lets out a soft sigh at the contact, his eyes fluttering for a moment.

“I’m not sick, sweetheart. Just guilty of loving my wife too much,” Kento murmurs. He pulls your hand from his forehead to place a soft kiss to your palm. You shudder at the tender brush of his lips on your skin, made extra sensitive from fatigue and fever.

“Do you love her enough to give her a kiss, even though she’s full of germs?” you wheedle, eyes crinkling at the edges as you smile at him. He chuckles as he laces his fingers with yours.

“I love her enough to give her much more than a kiss,” he smirks. You shiver again, this time not from fever, and you clench your thighs together as Nanami traces the softness of your bottom lip with his thumb. You let out a breathy sigh as he noses into your cheek before pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“But, as enticing as you are, you need your rest, love.”

You pout, letting out a disappointed sound as Kento pulls back. His gaze is soft but firm.

“Don’t whine. Get well first, then I’ll lavish you with all my saved up affection. I promise,” he says, his voice hushed, as he presses a final kiss to the top of your head.

You chew your lip before giving him a reluctant nod. You snuggle back under the covers, your eyes slipping shut. You’re filled with the determination to heal now, if you’re to get what you want out of your husband.

Kento watches you as your breathing evens out, your brow relaxing as a feverish sleep pulls you under once again. He sits there for a while, just admiring you—the way your hair splays out on the pillow, your warm cheek smushed so cutely against it, your lips parted as a soft, sleepy moan escapes you.

Kento stands suddenly. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, his pants tight. He chastises himself as he swallows the urge to rip off your blankets and keep you warm another way.

[deancaskiss]

cas is the one to lean in for a kiss; soft and tender and sweet against dean’s lips. but when he goes to pull away, something yanks at dean’s heartstrings. he grabs at cas, holding him steady so they’re breathing each others air. he’s not ready for the kiss to end. “one more,” dean murmurs against cas’ mouth, stealing another kiss. “one more,” he repeats a few seconds later, making cas smile against his lips. “one more, one more, one more.” and cas pulls dean closer, keeping his mouth against dean’s as he murmurs back, “you can have as many kisses as you want, dean. forever.” this time, cas kisses him deep and slow, as if there was no rush and nothing else in the world except them with their lips pressed together. “one more,” dean whispers, and cas kisses him again.

[unsolved-duvall]

okokok HEAR ME OUT but eddie falling asleep with his head between your legs??? he just loves the feeling of your legs around him and how you taste, and he’ll literally go until you can’t take anymore and he’s just slowly licking up his mess and just. falls asleep sucking on your clit 🥺 please i can’t keep this to myself anymore

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞, 𝐈 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 - 𝐞.𝐦. (𝟏𝟖+)

He’s just so so desperate to make you feel good. he genuinely believes there is nothing better than the sounds you make when he’s going down on you, your little moans and whimpers that fill the room. He will eat you out for his own enjoyment, perfectly content to give up breathing if it meant he got to live between your thighs for eternity, your soft hands running through his loose curls, quietly begging him never to stop.

He had gotten home from a long day to see you lying on your shared bed, you’re on your back and you have a book resting on your chest, you’re barely even reading it at this point, your eyelids so heavy you’re struggling to take in the words on the page. Eddie doesn’t even say anything as he walks into the bedroom, he just takes off his shoes, t-shirt and jacket until all he has on are his jeans. You look up at him, and even in your exhausted state you can tell from that look in his eyes what he wants.

You put the book down and reach a lazy hand out, grabbing at the air until Eddie gently throws himself on top of you, lacing his fingers through yours and pinning your hand to the bed as he mouths at your neck. The breathy way you say his name has him thanking whatever sort of god that might exist for letting him have you in his life, and in his bed.

You hear him whisper a pleading “can I taste you, angel?” into your neck, already covered in blossoming purple lovebites from last nights antics between the two of you. Eddie was insatiable.

You hum out in agreement and before you have time to kiss him Eddie’s slid himself down the bed to rest his between your legs, pulling down your pants and underwear in one smooth, rehearsed motion.

He paints your thighs in sloppy, open mouthed kisses before he turns all his attention to your cunt. Your eyes falling shut in perfect content as that familiar feeling of Eddie’s tongue on you comes flooding back.

He alternates between running his tongue through your folds and sucking on your clit, your breath hitching and back arching desperately off the bed every time. But Eddie isn’t doing this to make you cum. Not that he didn’t want you to. But he was doing this out of a selfish desire. He needed to taste you. Needed to hear your desperate pleas. Needed to be between your thighs. If you came (which you definitely did, that was inevitable with the way he was touching you) he wouldn’t stop. he just kept going, and going, and going.

You could be seeing stars and lose all control over your own body and Eddie would still be eating you out. Of course, you had a rule in place. Three taps to his shoulder and he stopped. Immediately. It would happen occasionally, Eddie would have been eating you out for an hour? two hours? you didn’t know anymore, and your clit was so swollen and your arousal was dripping down your thighs and you just couldn’t take it anymore.

The first time you tapped out you had apologised more times than you remembered, you knew Eddie needed this. Needed to go down on you to ease the stress from his aching body. So you felt horrible when you had to stop him. Eddie had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that you were never to apologise for telling him no or stop ever again. He felt like he’d failed you if you thought you had to apologise.

But tonight was perfect. Not too much, not too little. Perfect. You needed this as much as he did. Your hand held his as he went down on you. You could tell he was tired from the way he was slowing down, his hold on your hand getting that little bit looser.

Trying to catch your breath that Eddie had stole from you with every movement of his mouth in you, you breathed out his name. He didn’t even look up at you, his head resting on your thigh as he sucked on your clit. You knew he was barely there anymore. You tried to shift yourself away from him, to let him sleep.

But even in his half-awake state, his free hand gripped your thigh tight enough to leave bruises. His eyes were shut and he was barely moving his mouth on your dripping cunt anymore, but he couldn’t let you go.

You eased your body into the sunken mattress below you and settled in for the night, with Eddie between your thighs and his hand holding onto yours.