#got drabble

[madaqueue]

18+ MDNI - f!reader (nasty freak boy who cums too early...i love him)

virgin!satoru who thinks he’s going to die. genuinely, he thinks his heart is about to explode out of his chest and his last memory will be the way you stare down at him with those lust-blown eyes and that awe-struck smile. why else would he be shaking like this, covered in a layer of sweat and lightheaded to the point his vision is swirling?

“are you ready, satoru?” is the only thing he can make out above the ringing in his ears - how can he tell you he only has a few moments to live when your legs are spread like this and he’s so hard it fucking hurts?

virgin!satoru who is the farthest fucking thing from ���ready’ but he’d rather die than disappoint you, so he’s at least got to try.

with an unsteady hand he swipes the tip of his cock up and down your slit, watching the way the light sparkles with how wet you are, for him.

“you can put it in, baby,” and he fucking groans, he can barely look at you when you talk to him like that, all syrupy sweet and thick and dripping.

virgin!satoru who finally, finally, pushes himself past your entrance. his eyes are locked on the way you swallow his length, the way he’s so hot he can’t breathe, can’t get enough air in because it all smells like you.

virgin!satoru who cums before he even bottoms out. he’s trembling and whining and it only gets worse when your hands find his shoulders and pull him into you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry, fuck-”

“it’s okay,” you coo, and he’s so fucking warm, and he’s grateful he can’t see the smile on your face because he thinks it might actually make his heart stop.

virgin!satoru who straightens his back, slowly pulls his cock out of you and watches in awe as his cum leaks down your thighs, who can’t stop himself from smearing it through your folds with his thumb, who doesn’t miss the way your pussy clenches as he does.

virgin!satoru who’s already hard again, who no longer cares if he’s dying because this must be heaven, who stares back at you with wild, unfocused eyes as he says, “i think…i think i’m ready now.”

a/n: i think i blacked out from lust writing this

[nanamiskentos]

﹙ 五条 悟 : gojo satoru ﹚

"you’re too young to be groaning like that," you tease as gojo flops onto the bed face-down, exhaling sharply.

"shut up," he mutters, voice muffled against the pillow. "i think my back just gave out."

you roll your eyes, settling beside him. his body is warm beneath your hands, muscles tense from who knows how many fights he got into today. gently, you press your thumbs into his shoulders, working out the knots.

"damn," he exhales after a beat, his usual cocky edge replaced with something softer.

"that good?"

"i might actually marry you if you keep doing this."

you snort. classic satoru. but you keep going, pressing deeper into his back. his breathing slows, and his body finally unwinds beneath your touch.

after a moment, he sighs. "you know, if i’m this messed up now, imagine how we’ll be when we’re actually old."

"you’re acting like you’re eighty."

"feels like it." he turns his head to glance at you. there’s something easy, something fond in his gaze.

"guess i’ll just have to take care of you forever, then."

for once, he doesn’t have a comeback. just a small smile — one that lingers even as the white-haired man drifts off to sleep under your touch.

[sunsburns]

imagine asking wade if he still likes you when he’s literally inside you LMAOOO I just know he’d be so flabbergasted

i know a normal people fan when i see one (18+, fluff)

but jokes aside, and dicks inside, wade would likely get whiplash; his head turning so fast he can hear a crack in his neck, staring at you like you're crazy because just seconds ago you'd been running your gentle hands over his skin. your fingers brush against the divots of his scarred skin, your cheek pressed to his chest, humming softly, close enough that your lashes tickle whenever you blink.

wade's a little out of breath, sticky with sweat, and miraculously, rendered speechless. to others, a rarity, but with you, while still rare, is more frequent, especially after sex.

sure, he drops a joke or two, but there is a window where wade likes to sit there, holding you, skin against skin, in silence; listening to the sounds of your shaky breaths as you come down from your high, the sounds of the bedsheets ruffling with slow movements from the both of you, even the sounds of the old crackly fan on his ceiling.

and so, in that small window of silence, the two of you lay there in a warm embrace, listening to each other's heartbeats as wade's dick slowly softens inside you.

but then that small window starts to close, the silence breaking with you. you shift, turning to press your chin against wade's chest while looking up at him, "hey," you whisper, a smile growing against your lips.

"hi," he whispers back to you, but he continues to stare at the window, watching the soft light of the rising sun peeking in through the white lace curtains you picked out, a part of you in the dingy apartment he shared with blind al.

"we've officially gone at it all night. fucking like rabbits. and i can't believe i'm saying this but, i'm fucking spent. i might need a few weeks to recover. i asked for a bone and you threw a whole skeleton at me, peanut."

you snort, rolling your eyes, "yeah, right."

"okay, fine, a week is too long." wade hums, he finds your hair and runs his hand over it, twirling a strand around his finger, "i'll be good as new by tonight or at least by the time you scroll to read another fic of me, of course."

you're still staring at him, and wade, ever the observant, notices. he shifts, sits up, holds onto your waist, and brings you up with him. you have to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, sensitive to the way he's touching you, the way his dick keeps you full.

wade raises his brows (or at least, where his brows would be), "what? is there something on my face? i know i'm ugly but i thought we were past that. your staring is making me a little self conscious, sweetbuns."

"wade?"

"yes, cupcake?"

"do you like me?"

"what-?" he stares at you, eyes wide and nearly popping out of his head. "do i- what? what the fuck kind of stupid ass fuck ass question is that? you think i don't like you? we literally fucked all night. literally did every position in the book. i let you peg me! you might be the only person on earth that matches my freak-"

"yeah, i know but-"

"bitch, i'm literally still inside you."

that's when you can't help but laugh, grinning against his neck when he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer. you love the way his body emits warmth, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him even closer like you want to live inside his skin.

wade holds you, his cheek pressing against the top of your head. and he groans loudly when you say, "you never answered my question."

"oh my god," he huffs dramatically, "of course i fucking like you. like no shit."

"okay, great. i was just making sure."

[leighsartworks216]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you're alive.

You're alive.

[riaki]

i literally cant stop thinkin’ about highschoolbully!gojo who used to be your ride or die ‘til he started getting attention from those popular jock type guys who are always assholes to everyone. and him being.. well, him means he preens under attention no matter who it’s from, so naturally he started to gravitate towards that group and their little troop of cheerleading fangirls. and then he started distancing from you and without either of you really realizing it, you’ve slipped between the other’s fingers. but the way he acts towards you makes you think he let you fall without moving a muscle to slow you down.

soon enough, a year swings by and by the end of it he’s gone from your life, save as just another face in the gaggle of boys who make crude jokes and laugh at smart kids and pop milk cartoons during lunch just for the hell of it. but you’re minding your own business, ‘cause you’re mature enough to realize that people come and go, no matter how close you might’ve been and you think it’s unfortunate that so many memories could be thrown aside in a blink of an eye, but it makes a lot of sense when you walk past satoru and his friends bullying some random kid. you don’t know him, but you’ve heard enough to realize it’s his girlfriend satoru’s flirting with while his ‘gang’ kick at the kid. and it’s sickening, but you don’t say anything when you walk by.

and when you don’t ever see the kid afterward and catch the dark eyebags under his girlfriend’s eyes, you come to the cruel realization that satoru isn’t the boy who’d bandage the scrape on your knee you got from tripping in the playground or buy you a soda because he’s noticed your sweat when you were walking home and you don’t have any money left on you.

it’s a glass half empty, half full type of situation. on the one hand, you don’t have him anymore. on the other hand, you don’t have him anymore. that is, you lost your best friend, but you’ve also lost someone who has the potential to absolutely ruin your life. and you don’t know whether to be glad or not, so you just mind your own business even if it hurts a little when he ignores you, stops tossing paper at your head in class (unless it’s to embarrass you) and stops walking you to and from school.

but the cherry on top of the shit cake is that he doesn't get it. so when he approaches you in the library one day after satiating the need to tear pages from books and make them into paper airplanes to throw at people, he doesn't seem to understand why you try to ignore him, or put off his attempts to hold a convo. but the worst part is that he's just sleazy and clueless about it. it's like he took an eraser and wiped every single year of your friendship off the chalkboard with one fell swipe, and you wish he'd done that too to the less-than-appropriate messages he and his friends had written towards one of your classmates.

he doesn't understand why you're hesitant to talk, and that's what makes it the worst. he always thinks he's in the right, and he keeps setting you off and it sucks that he knows exactly what sets you off. "i'm an asshole? what're you talking about? really, you're in over your head. you never change." he laughs, and you ignore him, and he gets bored, and he's about to leave when he spots your wallet open next to your book, on the table. there's a polaroid peeking out, and he recognizes the tufts of white hair to be him. but there's a weird feeling in his chest, and he thinks he gets it from you, so he leaves because he thinks you're weird.

and it goes on; you practically become a nobody in satoru's eyes, because of that weird, weird feeling you give him. it's unfamiliar and he's never gotten it before and he doesn't like it. but it's unavoidable when your professor pairs you two for the end-of-term project. and of course, you're ready to do all the work, because that's how it always was between you when you were kids. but sometimes he'd surprise you by helping, and he'd show you that he was actually intelligent just to earn your praise because he liked it. but he ignored you, and you did everything, and it would've been okay if not for his friends egging him on to present your entire project when the day came and leave you with no content for a grade.

that's the first time it hits him: does he really want to do that? but it's not like it'll be the first time; you've always taken the hits for him, because you're naturally smart and you'll pick yourself back up in no time, and you get why he does it, so it'll be okay. so he agrees, and he enjoys the time he gets to spend with you through it, but the nagging weird feeling that blooms in his chest like a pesky weed only grows stronger. that's all his feelings ever seem to do around you.

but before you know it, presentation day swings around. you had coffee this morning (on his card), and you're ready enough to shoot him a small smile that sends his heart a-flutter. so you go up, feeling up to the task and ready until— he starts talking, and talking, and talking, and people don't think that he's taking your words out of your mouth because he's intelligent when he wants to make you praise him and you don't get the chance to get a word in and you notice the guys are laughing and hitting each other's shoulders to themselves in the upper rows and before you know it it's over. people are clapping but moreso they're looking at you and they're whispering— but it's terribly loud and they don't bother to hide it. they call you things that shouldn't bother you but they do anyway, because it's satoru's fault, and you're such a fool for thinking you could have it your way again.

so you leave class early, excusing yourself and ignoring the way your professor gives you a distasteful look and scribbles something next to your name. you're out the door in a second, neglecting your bags and satoru's a little lost because— didn't he just do good? people were clapping, and laughing with him and not at him, but it's attention either way so he doesn't mind. so why do you? why did you look at him like he stabbed you in the back? and his friends are calling his name, and he wishes he could chase after you and do something but he doesn't.

and it's a little sickening what they do next; one of their girls grabbed your bags and tossed it to them, and they've started rifling through it as if they own it, tearing up your shit and dumping everything onto the ground and he's kind of just... glued to the chair by his feelings. his heart feels like it's been patched together and the weird fuzzy feeling he had in his chest that's been cultivating has extinguished to be replaced with something he realizes he's only ever felt when it comes to you— guilt.

he's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize his friend is silently offering him something— nudging his side to get his attention. he takes it without really realizing he moved his hand, and his silent friend with the gauges in his ears and the dark hair gets up and leaves without another word. when satoru looks down, he realizes he's been given your wallet. "the reward for betraying your baby," they call it. like all you're worth is the money in your account.

he's a little curious. that's how he's always been; asking you questions, rummaging through your stuff, laughing sheepishly and shaking it off when you caught him red-handed. so he opens it up, ignoring your sad little cards and the funny look on your license. he's looking for something, subconsciously; but he doesn't find it. there's no white tuft of hair to suggest his presence in your life; just empty black leather. nothing else.

and he doesn't see you after. or the following day. or the following weeks; weeks that turn into months that turn into the end of school and he's graduating but you're not by his side. and neither are his so called 'friends'; the only thing he has to their name is your own ruined friendship. it's a shame; he feels alone. very alone. no fuzzy weird feeling, not even that thing people call guilt. no attention to chase, and connections are ever harder to make. it shouldn'tve mattered that much, right? it was just a presentation. why wouldn't you just come back to him like you always did? were you not still friends...?

but the blood is still on his hands, and he doesn't manage to ever wash it off. guilt has a way of festering; of weighing on the heart 'till there's nothing left to feel or think but unfortunate circumstance and what could've been done differently. it just sucks that he never tried hard enough to keep you from slipping between his grasp. and now, he doesn't even have a polaroid to your friendship's name.

pt.2

[impish-baby]

What do you think about harpy Dads who just lost their chicks to hunters and find little reader in a tree and they're just like you're my baby now!!!!

Harpy dads..

Their babies are gone. Every single one. Just like that.

Not a single egg was spared. The nest that his love spent so much time making perfect utterly destroyed.

He can't get Velo to eat. He can't convince him to drink. The only thing he'll do is sit in what remains of their nest holding any pieces of shell they could find no matter how small.

Gale can not bear to watch him waste away like this, maybe the heads of the hunters will bring some comfort.

And so the falcon with his keen eyes is sweeping through the outskirts of the forrest, determined to find a trail. Humans are clumsy, idiotic beasts. They've had to have left some trace behind.

It's there up in a tree that he spots the first one. They aren't very old, barely into adulthood it seems. Not that it matters to him.

A powerful beat of his wings is all it takes for him to land on the same branch they're sitting on, for creatures that act so mighty, humans only take an instant to be fearful of something bigger than them.

Gale wasn't even going to waste a second, raising a taloned hand ready to seek out his retribution, but he blinks and there is no longer a human.

The fluffy down feathers make his breath hitch.

A fledgling. Staring up at him with eyes brimming with tears. As if his heart wasn't broken enough.

He's cooing before he knows it, this time reaching out delicately to hold them.

"By the gods.." they're perfect. They don't fuss at all, simply limp in his arms, a baby. After so much was stolen. A blessing.

He gets home the quickest he ever has, and it still isn't fast enough.

Velo hasn't moved an inch.

"Love? Oh my love.." Gale kneels with the chick cradled in one arm, gently lifting his husband's chin. "Look, won't you, please?"

The smaller harpy's face remains blank, as frozen as he's been since the incident until the fledgling chirps so quietly it's bearly audible.

That does the trick.

He's nearly clawed when his love grabs them from him, Gale doesn't care at all, it's the most he's seen him move willingly in weeks.

Velo clutches them to his chest, shoulders shaking with broken sobs. It's gut-wrenching. Gale drapes himself around them both, taking a shuddering breath. His family. If anyone steps one foot too close, he'll make sure they bleed out into the grass.

[superbat-love]

AU of the Wayne family history. At the batkids’ insistence, Alfred finally agreed to read them an old, leather-bound book he’d been holding—a memoir of the very first Wayne.

Clearing his throat, Alfred began in his usual calm, measured tone. "Long ago, a celestial being descended from the heavens, landing in a field owned by a struggling farmer. The celestial arrived in a dazzling ship, unlike anything seen on Earth. But the farmer, desperate to survive, dismantled the ship and sold its parts, making himself a fortune. When the celestial discovered what had happened, he was furious and sought out the farmer to demand justice."

The kids leaned in, totally hooked.

Alfred continued, "The farmer, terrified, begged for forgiveness. He promised that one day, his descendant would marry the celestial's firstborn child to atone for his crime. The celestial, after much thought, relented. He gifted the farmer the rest of the ship as dowry. From that moment on, the Wayne family flourished, their wealth growing beyond imagination."

Bruce, who’d been half-listening while skimming through some files on genetic engineering from the Fortress of Solitude, snorted. "Someone clearly had quite an imagination."

Without saying a word, Alfred flipped the book around and held it up for Bruce to see. The smirk faded from Bruce’s face as his eyes landed on the page. There, drawn in faded ink, was a detailed sketch of the ship… emblazoned with a symbol Bruce recognized immediately.

The crest of the House of El.

Alfred straightened, his tone subdued. "It would seem, Master Bruce, that the promise made to Jor-El must now be honored, given that his firstborn son has arrived on Earth."

Bruce froze. He recalled the Fortress’ eccentric behavior toward him and broke out in cold sweat.

[lvrsfilm]

contrary to popular belief, Simon Riley does not do casual.

Nothing about him is casual. Nothing about his dedication to his work and his team, the bullets he would disperse and receive for them. Nothing about his routine, the way he shines his boots or folds his uniforms every week like clockwork. He is a cut and dry man, or at least he tries to be.

You, on the other hand, are the opposite of him in so many ways that at a glance people would assume you're the kind of person he hates. (He wishes that was the case, it'd make his life simpler). You bounce around base like a lit firecracker, your fuse sizzling quietly even during missions, never burning out. You never seem to tire, even after the particularly hard ones that leave him mute and holed up in his quarters for hours every day after.

You are casual. Coming to his room whenever you feel like it, knocking in a way that lets him know it's you and no one else. Bringing him tea, or bourbon, the occasional meal if you can convince him. He doesn't see how you can think it's casual. Slipping off your boots, leaving them half laced at his door.

Slipping into his bed. Laying next to him in silence, just so he isn't alone. Bandaging any cuts that aren't severe enough to warrant him going to medical. The soft skin of your hands making practiced movements over his scarred skin that only you've seen. He is not a casual man. And you don't seem to have figured that out yet.

No other man on base interested in you would even entertain the thought of pursuing you, for fear of Simon somehow hearing their thoughts and stringing them up by their necks to show the others what happens if they touch what's his. Everyone else can see the way he looks at you, the way he lets you in.

Everyone except you, apparently.

You don't ask why he lets you in, and he doesn't ask why you keep coming back.

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re the first person to make him feel human in a long time. That every soft knock on his door chips away at the walls he’s built, cement crumbling under your touch, a feeling akin to warm liquid gold seeping through the cracks, running over his scar tissue. Like he's a victim of Midas. Exposing him to something he thought he’d buried years ago. You remind him what it’s like to be vulnerable, to crave something more than routine and mission reports.

And it terrifies him.

Because Simon Riley does not do messy, either.

But you? You’re a storm. Chaotic and unpredictable, rushing into his life like you’ve always belonged there. He doesn’t know what to do with you, how to keep you at arm’s length without losing the warmth you bring into his otherwise cold existence. So he lets you in, over and over, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.

Tonight is no different.

The knock comes—a rhythm so familiar now that it’s practically a lullaby. He already knows it’s you before he opens the door. You’re standing there, as casual as ever in civvies, with that cheeky grin that makes his chest tighten in ways he refuses to name.

“Thought you could use some company,” you say, holding up a thermos of tea like a peace offering.

He steps aside, wordlessly, because what else is he supposed to do? Tell you to leave? Pretend he doesn’t want you here? He’s not that good a liar, not around you.

You slip past him, kicking off your boots, leaving them next to the doorway as always, and make yourself at home like you belong here. Like you belong with him. And maybe you do.

He watches as you set the thermos on his desk and plop onto his bed, laying on your back and stretching like a cat, looking at him expectantly. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. An invitation. A promise.

He lays down, careful to leave just enough space between you to keep the illusion of distance. But then you lean into him, shoulder brushing his arm, and the illusion shatters. His resolve crumbles.

“You came straight here when we got back,” you say softly, tilting your head to look at him. “skipped dinner, I saved a plate for you from the mess.”

It’s such a simple statement, but it cuts through him like a blade.

He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. He looks at you like you're a puzzle he can't solve. Like he needs to figure put your angle, figure out why you're treating him so softly. For a second, the air between you feels impossibly fragile, as if even breathing too hard might shatter it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, his voice low, almost gruff, like the admission costs him something.

You tilt your head at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile. “Do what?”

He exhales sharply, as though frustrated, though it’s unclear if it’s with you or himself. “This… whatever it is you’re doing. Looking out for me. Bringing me tea. Sitting here. I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know,” you reply simply, your tone disarming in its honesty. “I do it because I want to.”

The words hang in the air between you, unassuming yet weighty, like they’re daring him to refute them. He doesn’t, because he can’t. You've made up your mind. There’s a stubbornness in your voice that he knows too well—one that he’s realized he has no defense against.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters after a moment, turning his gaze toward the ceiling. “It’s a waste.”

Your smile falters, just slightly, but it doesn’t vanish. “You’re not a waste.”

He flinches at that, so subtly you might have missed it if you weren’t so attuned to him. His fingers twitch on the mattress, his eyebrows furrowing beneath the mask. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t argue, but his silence says enough. You press your lips together, chewing the bottom corner slightly as you debate whether to push further. You decide to anyway, because that’s what you do.

You grin, a mischievous glint in your eyes, and he knows you’re about to say something cheeky. But instead, you surprise him again by reaching over to touch his hand—just a fleeting brush of your fingers, so brief he almost convinces himself it didn’t happen.

He closes his eyes, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t pull away. That’s something, you think.

You turn onto your side, facing him fully now, your fingers brushing against the back of his hand. He doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch this time, so you let your touch linger—gentle, steady, unassuming.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you add quietly, almost as if it’s a promise.

When he finally opens his eyes again, there’s something raw and unguarded in his gaze, something that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t thank you, doesn’t argue—but the way his fingers curl ever so slightly against yours feels like an answer.

[moechies]

toji ♡ crybaby pt. 2 cw ddlg themes

“m-m a big girl.”

you sniffle away sobs, forearm sliding across your glassy eyes, wiping your tears.

“yeah y’are. doin’ so good for daddy, hm?”

“yes..!”

“mm, daddy’s so proud of you.”

and he swears he feels your cunt clench around him. your pussy squelches with each thrust, every thrust puffing out pearlescent juices of your cum. you’re far past your limit, but your drive to please the man makes the pain inevitable.

“n’more cryin’ baby. big girls take it without cryin,’ right?”

“i-i can’t, f-feels too good t-toji, i— can’t, daddy—“

“shh, daddy’s got ya.” he giggles. you’re so amusing, he thinks. how a fragile little doll such as you, was one to become so infatuated with a man like him.

he’s a tank of a man. body roughed up and filled with scars he couldn’t tell you where he got them from, face as stoic as can be. anyone who dared to look in his direction was met with either a scoff, or a brutal death. he’s vile, and violent, but not with you; no, not with you.

how you manage to get so overwhelmed over some dick.. god it makes him dizzy. he understands to an extent how good it may feel, but you’re just.. different. and it drives him crazy.

“daddy— i love you. love you, please—“

and no. neither of you know what you’re begging for so desperately. but your sweetness, your vulnerability, it makes him want to protect you, to hold you, to love you with everything he has.

“g’nna cum daddy..! pleasepleaseplease let me— please.!”

“hah.. such a good fuckin’ girl. go’head baby, good girls always get to cum.”

[transthatmasc]

When Cas gets back and finds out that Dean adopted a dog while he was dead he insists they get a cat too. Dean puts up a little fight cause he’s allergic, but Cas touches him on the forehead and says “not anymore” and looks so pleased when Dean relents.

Dean is beyond thrilled though because for the first time he thinks this will make sure Cas always comes back and treat the bunker like his home too.

Cas is also secretly pleased that Dean was willing to let him get a pet to live at the bunker cause he can use it as an excuse to be around more often.

Sam watches this interaction with his hand on his gun because he doesn’t know if he should kill both of them or himself. (He still goes with them to pick a cat from the local shelter. He gets a laser pointer to make the cat run in between Dean and Cas while they’re having eye sex in the library)

[k0mmari]

SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN AU (Pt.2)

Pt.1

Im not done with this, so to the people that wanted more, here it is! I, fortunately or not, have thought way too much again, so once more this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post. If you guys have any ideas about this btw, please do share them! I really am just letting my mind wander a bit more than usual, so maybe someone else can have more structured thoughts than me lol. (Fair warning, there probably will be plot holes, so sorry in advance!)

Please read Pt.1 if you haven't, or this won't make any sense!

After SY warped away from his impromptu meeting with Binghe, the last place he would like to end up would be even deeper into the Endless Abyss, but according to his System, the next piece of the virus was here. While not happy, since his Personal System was (mostly) working as intended, SY managed to activate Ghost Mode and walk towards the next part without having to deal with any of the creatures down there. (He had to try very hard not to get distracted by the monsters, lest his supervisor thinks he also went missing.)

It takes considerably more time to find the virus this time, so much in fact, SY starts to recognize his surroundings from SQH's ramblings (not that he was interested or anything), and he feels a cold sense of dread running down his spine. There was no way he was that unlucky that the object that got corrupted this time was-

He was that unlocky. Lo and behold, after entering a run down ruin, SY is faced with the legendary Xin Mo, power so overwhelming it manifested as dark fire covering the blade. The only reason why SY wasn't immediately writhing on the ground from the sword's power was Ghost Mode, which he could not rely for too long, as his Personal System was displaying warning after warning about Possibility of Corruption and God Like Plot Point. It all meant that SY was on a timer, and if he took too long, the sword would start corrupting his System, which in turn could corrupt him.

Now, since this was a VERY important Plot Point, Luo Binghe had to find Xin Mo or else the plot would derail to an unfixable degree, SY couldn't just snip at it, which was a problem, since manual debugging took a considerably longer time! Still, he summons his Scissors and positions it so he can start at least trimming off the virus.

His plan immediately backfires however, as an ominous crack sounds through the air and he's suddenly pushed away from the sword by a gust of energy. A bit disoriented, he shakes his head and acesses the sit-

Xin Mo, the horrible sword it was, was apparently so OP that it seemed to detect the Scissors at the last second, and the thing attacked back! The metal of the Scissors was dark and broken where it came close to the sword, almost broken in half! Which, not good! It any other time, a pair of broken Debugging Sheers would be more or less fine, if not a major inconvinience (and pay deduction) for SY, but since he'd been warping all over the time for a while now, his Personal System's energy reserves were carefully rationed, and if he were to use a chunk to send the Scissors back for some emergency repair, he'd only have one chance to go back to HQ. Alone.

He couldn't delay it any longer, he desperately needed to find SQH and pray he still had some energy reserves left.

Setting his Personal System's next warp location to SQH's last known location, SY wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would go back to Cang Qiong Mountain, but whatever; maybe SQH had wanted to start with fixing the bug on Binghe's pendant? Not that this was the right time since it was after Binghe fell into the Abyss, but SQH had never been good at warping. It takes a bit of wandering and going inside different buildings, but eventually his Personal System managed to get a dirrect ping on SQH's System, which sent a massive wave of relief rushing through SY, since it meant that SQH was still slive.

Though as to why he was at An Ding Peak, SY could only guess.

After a bit more wandering, SY enters on what seems to be a (very messy) office space, SY feels all the pieces coming together in his mind. Half sprawled across the table with piles of paper covering the entire table's surface lay the An Ding Peak Lord, which- was already weird, since wasn't this guy supposed to be an enemy of the Peak now? After the whole betrayal thing or whatever? But that would've been something to look into later, were it not for said Peak Lord casually scrolling through a Personal System screen. A Personal System that could only be used by the System's Maintanence Staff.

SY wastes no time in deactivating Ghost Mode, and when SQH's eyes snap to his, the man jumps so high from his chair he almost falls back. It's not a happy reunion by a longshot, since SY immediately jumped his friend co-worker and demanded an explaination, almost screaming about it was all his fault for doing shitty maintenence, and creating this shitty world if it's shitty OP sword which broke his Sheers? Do you know how expensive these are?? I know you do, cause the supervisor never lets you touch the good ones cause you keep cracking all the other pairs-

It takes a more or less one whole hour to calm down SY, but eventually the younger settled and lets SQH say his bit of the story: Apparently, in his messing around with the System's world creation program when he was trying to find the bug in his world, he'd accidentaly managed to get himself actually transmigrated to PIDW, though still with (limited) acess to his Personal System, which let him still send messages to their supervisor and pretend that everything was ok. He'd gotten so unlucky too! Out of all the people to accidentaly select, did it have to be the An Ding Peak Lord? Couldn't it have been Binghe? Or MBJ- (SQH cuts his lamenting when he notices SY's absolutely viscious death glare being stared right through his soul.)

Long story short, he'd initially did try to fix his blunder, but as more time passed and SQH's access to Maintenance priviledges went out one by one on his System, he eventually just... Started actually living there. In fact, he was living so well there that he dared say his life as Peak Lord was even better then when he was with the System! Of course, since he had been integrated as a 'character' now, he had his limitations, he actually managed to get to know his fellow peak lords! He knew the name of his character's family members and his disciples! He'd managed to build a life he never even thought he could have inside the System.

Sure, did he betray the Peak? Yes, yes he did. Were they all going to die in a few years time when Binghe came back from hell? Yeah, yeah they were, and he was immensely guilty and terrified, but! The plot could be changed! He already assumed someone from the System had popped up in the Conference, as when Binghe had recently made his alliance with MBJ, and had mentioned in passing this weird thing that had happened to him just before he fell into the Abyss.

Anyways, eventually SY begrudgingly accepts SQH's decision to stay in PIDW, but he still had to help SY; and so they form a plan: SY was going to transfer some energy to SQH so he could temporarily get his acess to the full version of his Personal System and use his energy reserves to send SY's Sheers and get them fixed. SQH was also going to properly apologize to their supervisor for suddenly quitting without notice AND order some more energy stacks to be sent to SY's System. SY on the other hand had devises a plan to get closer to XIn Mo without the sword exploding his face off:

Infiltrate Demon Emperor Luo Binghe's palace as a lowly staff member and slowly debug the sword from the inside.

A perfect plan! What could go wrong?

SY selects to warp to a time where Binghe had Xin Mo mostly in control, so it is to no surprise he warps to a place were the Demonic Emperor's Palace is absolutely filled with women. Not the best situation, since a lot of people could and probably would be able to see him, but with that many harem members, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume there was also a considerable number of staff, which, to SY's luck, there was! In fact, after he managed to activate a disguise for his clothes so they matched the rest of the servants, no one bat an eye on his presence; at most someone would inquire about his short hair, but other than that he was as noteable as a fly.

The first phase of his plan was already a success, so now he had to move on to reconnaissance which was mostly easy and the worst thing in his life. He was mostly looking for Binghe's quarters could be as he probably kept the sword close to him at all times, though with how big the palace was, his objective had gradually shifted to mapping out the labyrinth of halls as much as possible (SY was very glad that the System allowed him to create a map in real time or he might have gotten lost in the first five minutes). He walks so much he even manages to catch a few pieces of gossip, though the most interesting one by far being one about Binghe:

Apparently, a year ago, the Emperor had a qi deviation where, for a day, he seemed to have completely shifted his personality; he refused to touch any of his wives and kept screaming for his long dead Shizun. SY doesn't really remember that plot point, though his wondering is cut short when he hears people walking towards his direction. instinctively he his behind a dark corner, momentarily forgetting that he 'worked' at the palace now.

At list his bad luck was finally turning over as the Golden Protagonist himself walked past him with one of his wives hanging off his arm, looking just as cool as SY had always imagined. He had to snap himself out of his stuppor though, as two things caught his attention: First, Xin Mo was, predictably, strapped to his waist, still glitched but at least the virus seemed more or less contained, which gave SY a bit more time to work, though the other thing he noticed...

Hanging onto an old-looking braid laid SY's missing tassle that Binghe had found for him all the way back at the Conference.

What the hell was Luo Binghe doing wearing that old tassle at this day and age??

A few days passed and the Tassle Incident (as he called it) had to be set aside, as it seemed that passing as a servant also meant that other servants and even some wives expected SY to actually work. Not great, he sucked at cleaning and the other servants spared no words to make it clear to him, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for his Scissors to arrive. SQH had sent him a few messages saying he'd gotten his part of the deal done, so now all SY could do was monitor Xin Mo's condition (from very far away), and occasionally manually debug some small virus pieces that had fallen from the sword, which luckily were easy enough to deal with that he didn't need to cut them off.

The only thing that was worrying him now is how... odd Luo Binghe seemed. Of course, he was supposed to be the pinnacle of the Cool Guy trope, so some edginess was to be expected, but Binghe didn't look just Edgy, he looked straight up depressed. There were bags under his eyes, and he barely seemed to tolerate the presence of 99% of his wives, and that damned braid with the damned tassle was still there-

Point is, Binghe acting so weird really threw SY through a loop, and he may have gotten a bit careless. At a random day when SY was carrying some dirty laundry another servant had just shoved at him, he had no prior warning before a voice sounded from behind him: "You seem to have dropped something."

He barely managed to shake off the violent sense of deja-vu that had sucker punched him in the face before he realized what was happening; Luo Binghe was talking to him. Directly to him. Shit- shit! Did he notice? Was Binghe doing a clever call back, spider-man style?? Was SY going to die????

SY shakily turns to Binghe, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor, bowing as much as possible that he still seemed respectful but the bag of clothes he had didn't all just fall to the floor. Thankfully Binghe didn't seem to mind, and simply put the fallen piece of clothing on top of the others and walked away. Though, just as SY was regaining his breath, Luo Binghe's voice stops him again. "You... Have we met before?"

SY trembles something about only being hired recently and not having the opportunity to formaly meet Junshang, and it seems to be a decent enough that Binghe just stares at him for a while longer before walking away. He really should grow out his hair if even the Emperor got weirded out like that...

Binghe started eyeing SY way more after that day. The protagonist would rarely speak directly to him, but SY could feel his gaze as if it were burning; though, since Binghe never said anything, SY just assumed that whatever Binghe's problem with him was, it was likely nothing to worry about.

In fact, it probably was because one of Binghe's wives had used SY is an impromptu act to try to get Binghe jealous (he just frowned, separated the two and walked away) and after that she had gotten infatuated with him, so she'd turned SY into her personal servant. Because of that SY saw Binghe at most two times a week instead of the 50% chnace of seeing his shadow once a week. Wow.

Because of this, as much as Binghe noticed SY, SY noticed Binghe as well, the protagonist seeming to get even more down as the days went. The tassle was still braided in his hair (SY worried it was just going to become a lock at this point), his eyebags never seemed to leave his eyes, and he was always muttering about... something. (SY managed to overhear something about 'fairness' and what Binghe actually wanted...?)

It all culminated at a seemingly random night. Most of the wives and servants had gone to sleep, only the more in-human women still hanging around, and SY, of course, but mostly it was because he wanted to see how close he could get to Binghe's quarters (aka Xin Mo) at night. Not that it was necessary, as when he was walking his attention was adruptly caught by the strangest sight: Luo binghe, sitting on one of the stone stair that lead to one of the many courtyards, being absolutely drenched in rain. The weirdest part was that a few servants and wives had also passed this place, and they all seemed like they didn't see Binghe, or didn't care.

Hating to see such an usually proud man (not that he'd seen much of that either) just soaking outside as if he'd just caught the love of his life cheating with another man, SY decided that at least he'd do a good job as a servant and take care of 'his Lord'. He grabs an umbrella from one of the adjacent rooms and slowly walks outside, covering Luo Binghe's form, not really caring if he was also getting soaked.

They stayed silent for who knows how long, but eventually, Binghe's eyes that had been laser focused on the horizon slowly blink once, as if coming out of a trance, and slowly move to SY's face, up to his hand holding the umbrella. "My Lord should get back inside. He'll get sick that way." SY half murmurs.

Binghe doesn't respond, though after a few seconds, his eyes seem to widen a bit and his breath comes out a little shaky. SY doesn't dare comment on it.

"Have we met before?" Luo Binghe asks again.

"...Yes." Shen Yuan says.

Binghe closes his eyes, and they stay like that for another hour.

Pt.3

[moongreenlight]

Ex Husband!Price who still comes over and shovels your driveway every time it snows. But then you feel bad because he comes into the mud room every fifteen minutes to warm up so when he’s done you insist he stays for a hot meal.

But then he helps clean up. Does the dishes and shoos you away when you tell him he really doesn’t need to do all that.

Even worse if you have kids!! They’re thrilled that dad is around so they beg you to let him stay to watch a movie or play a few rounds of their video game. Of course you say yes. Who are you to take him away from the kids?

But then it’s late and he’s wound up carrying the kids up to their beds and tucking them in because they’d already fallen asleep on the couch. You say your goodbyes and honestly it’s a little bittersweet because it’s been such a surprisingly good evening.

But when he tries to leave the driveway’s already gotten all snowy again and you’d hate to be worrying about him driving home in these conditions so you offer him a spot on the couch swearing it’s only for tonight.

But then you get to talking about schedules and the kids sports they’re signing up to play and he winds up walking you to your room so you can just finish your thought about how the two of you should split the costs for the sports your kids are doing in the spring.

But once you’re in your bedroom you remember that you’ve been meaning to ask him about something on your computer so you leave him with your laptop while you get changed.

But then oh noooo he comes into the closet to ask you for a password and catches you pulling on the top of your pajamas. You’re mortified. He says it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.

Somewhere in between deciding if you’ll drive to or pick up from practice on Thursdays, his hands start to wander. Resting over your sex from over a pair of flannel pajama pants. Usually, you’d tell him off. Monologue about how this isn’t how things work because it complicated things and you both need to set boundaries. But tonight you don’t.

Maybe it’s because you had two heavy-handed pours of your favorite wine with dinner. Maybe it was seeing him with your kids again. Maybe it had just been too long since you’d felt anything other than a cheap bullet vibrator.

So you let him slip his hand down your pants.

But it’s a bit jarring to feel his wedding band still on his finger.

[untoldstar]

yanderes who make you the exception.

Grumpy yandere who’s always glaring at other people and everyone too scared to even approach him. Who’s always rolling his eyes and grumbling when you accuse him of being a softy on the inside but his arguments don’t hold up when he gently pets your head when you doze off on his shoulder, or when you lean down to pick up something you dropped under the table and his palm covers the edge to protect your head from bumping into it.

Grumpy yandere who holds you as you cry over another guy, scolding you and saying “I told you so” he acts like this was expected and that you should have known better but his hand flexes and slightly trembles as he tries to contain his anger.

The next day you you see angry red marks covering his knuckles and a strange text from your ex where he apologizes profusely.

You haven’t changed your mind. He is a softie on the inside but he’s still terrifying….

Serial killer yandere who put spilling blood in the dead of night. He comes back home with the screams of his victims still ringing in his head, slowly creaking the bedroom door open to not wake you up, it’s actually a scary sight. A tall dark looming figure lingering around the doorframe. It would scare you if you weren’t used to this by now.

You sit up and reach over to turn on the small lamp on your bedside table. You take one look at him and narrow your eyes, shoving the blanket off your body and making your way over to him, you lightly smack him on his shoulder and his entire body slumps, looking like a kicked puppy “You got blood on your shirt again?! I told you to be careful! and what’s this? Oh my- what happened to your hand?!” you scold him and he pouts; moving closer to sneak his arms around your waist and burry his face in your neck “I’m sorry darling..” he murmurs “I’ll be more careful I promise. Please don’t be angry with me..” He plants soft kisses on your neck and you relent, sighing and rolling your eyes “Fine. Go take a shower. I’m gonna stay up for a while longer.”

This ruthless killer who can crush someone skull with his bare hands can’t bare to make you angry.

He might be the most terrifying thing someone could encounter on the streets but at home, all he wants is to have your attention, your touch, everything you have to offer.

Popular yandere who’s always so fucking perfect. Perfect smile, perfect words, perfect manners. He always had to act perfect but around you…he could just be him. You didn’t expect anything of him. When he’s around you he feels like he’s completely undone. All the restraints that kept him in check all this time completely gone.

He loves you. He loves you so much. He likes that he’s a nervous stuttering mess around you. That you call him cute when he’s too drunk to say a coherent sentence. That you look at him with those understanding eyes and gently caress his hand when he confides in you about his pressure, all that his family expects of him. What the public expects of him. If it were anyone else they would have told him “how good he has it” or that “he shouldn’t complain so much because some people have it worse”.

You listen. You treat him like he’s an actual human. He’s addicted to how he feels when he’s with and if anyone gets in his he might just burn it all to the ground. The cars, the mansions, the expensive clothes, all the connections he made. Just to stay in your embrace.

He doesn’t care if everyone leaves his side. They never meant anything to him. As long as you stay by his side he’s the happiest man ever.

Ex soldier yandere who’s seen so much pain in his life. Who’s experienced so much loss and so much hurt he can’t even feel anymore. He spends most of his time drinking and being a complete and total ass to anyone who approaches him. It annoys him that people can be all smiles and giggles when there’s nothing to smile about. That’s just how life is.

And you annoyed him most of all. You approached him one evening while he was drinking in that one dark corner of the bar and something about you made him tick. You had such a bright gleam in your eye and you looked so innocent approaching him out of everyone in that damn bar. As if you actually believed there’d be good in him.

He hated it.

He was meaner than usual that day. He’d usually throw a gruff “leave me alone.” and it’d get the job done but for some reason you pressed all his buttons when you barely even did anything. He figured it didn’t matter as long as it got the job done and it did. You left with your shoulders slumped a pout on your face and he was alone once again.

Except you returned the next day and the day after that and every other day. It unnerved him so much he decided to switch to another bar. So there he was drinking alone in another gloomy bar in a similar dark corner. Everything is exactly how it should be.

Except..it wasn’t. Something felt wrong. A nagging feeling in his chest, something he hasn’t felt before. He looked at the empty chair besides him and your absence gutted him. So he gulped down the last of his drink and made his way back to his old bar where he found you sitting in his usual spot with random man sitting too close besides you, not hiding his intentions at all. And you..you were sad. You were throwing polite smiles at the man but he could tell by your eyes that you were sad.

Did you really have that look on your face because he didn’t show up?

For some reason the thought of him being the one to bring you such sadness made his heart ache. Another thing he hasn’t felt in a long time.

So he pursed his lips and made his way to you, and from his peripherals he noticed how you straightened up and your face lit up as soon as you saw him but he kept his eyes on the man sitting besides you.

He roughly smacks a hand on his shoulder making him jump in his seat “She’s with me. Get your ass out of my chair.” The man narrowed his eyes ready to spit out a reply but ended up pursing his lips and getting up quietly after taking a look at his size. One thing that hasn’t changed about him after going to war is his build. Something that comes in handy in situations like this.

He plops down in his chair with a sigh and gestures to the bartender to get him his usual. You readjust in your seat and flash him a smile “you’re here!” He throws you a glance “Of course I’m here why wouldn’t I be.” you shrug and look down bashfully “I dunno I thought I freaked you out and made you switch to another bar.” He smile softly. You nearly did “No..no. I’m here.” And he’s not leaving you ever again. You nod and start your usual ramblings of your day. He guessed that was the official moment you became his ‘drinking buddy’ as you called your self.

He thought you were annoying at first. You just wouldn’t stop talking. Telling him about your day when he didn’t even ask. But slowly he started looking forward to hearing your voice. It became the only thing that got him through his bleak days. You became the one who got him through all of his darkness. Like a tiny crack of light that slowly get bigger and bigger until it’s all he could see. You wormed your way into his heart.

His short grunts turned into him comfortably talking to you and the soft smile he’d usually hide behind his glass glass turned into grins. He was smiling so damn much round you. Something he hasn’t done in years. And neither of you noticed the side long stares the bartended and some of the regulars exchanged as they witness this change in him. He’s gotten a reputation of being this grumpy man who’s always drunk and glares at anyone who even talks to him until you came along and suddenly he’s gone soft on you.

Only you of course.

His sunshine. His beautiful darling who’ll make it all better.

You made him alive again. You made him feel again. And he’ll be damned if you ever try to leave his side.

me when “I hate everyone except you”:

[fluffylino]

minho is felix's bestfriend and also happens to be your sworn enemy. he comes over one evening.

whats the worst that could happen...

-contains mature themes

frustration.

pure frustration was what you were feeling. was it really this difficult to operate a toy?!

a damn vibrator that too. a simple little vibrator. internally embarassed by your lack of 'skills' in using it.

maybe you were pressing down on the wrong setting. cause everytime it reached the highest vibrations, it would go back to the lowest setting, a few seconds after.

you didn't even feel like continuing because of how pissed of you were. what a bad way to ruin your fun.

it had been month since you last felt like you should treat yourself. get yourself off to be very specific.

and when you decide to finally try out your very first vibrator, the universe decides its not your day.

stepping out of the bathroom, still uncomfortable with the sensitivity between your legs. unintentionally edging yourself and eventually giving up entirely on trying to make yourself cum.

you blamed it on the vibrator. that darned cursed object.

flinging it on the bed in annoyance.

a small little sticky note is placed on the lamp on your bedside table. its from felix.

he had yelled goodbye while you were still showering (more like struggling). and you had yelled back, acknowledging him.

i'll be going out with chris for an hour or so. minho-hyung will be coming to our room in 20 minutes. im sowwy but he really needed a place to chill at...seungmin is studying and needs no disturbances....so i told minho he could stay in our room for a couple hours.

don't worry, bubssss i'll be back soon so things don't get awkward between yall!!!

MAYBE TRY AND GET ALONG?!

- lixie ☆

now this pisses you off even more. why the hell was everything going exactly the opposite of what you wanted.

lee minho was the last person you'd want in your shared dorm room. minho was literally gonna be coming here.

it had been almost 15 minutes since felix left. that means he'd be here anytime soon. before you even get the chance to hang your towel on the back of your chair, someone knocks on the door.

"fuckin minho of all people"

its real frustration at this point. nevertheless you open the door for him. taken aback by the attire he's in.

it was the very first time you'd ever seen him so...put together? dressed up?

what you meant was he was in semi formal attire ; a mixture of badboy or rather biker boy vibes.

"whats up with the outfit" you say, gesturing to him entirely. pointing out the leather jacket he had thrown on. it fitted him well. a bit too well.

the ripped jeans hugged his thighs. thick and muscular. a reminder that he works out and is a dancer.

"do i need a reason to wear what i feel like wearing?"

his cockiness has your fists itching to punch him straight in the nose. he huffs out a deep breath, walking right into the room. as if he owned the place. he had been here a number of times with felix. but it still pissed you off.

"fuck off" you mutter under your breath. closing the door and walking back to your bed.

that is until you see him plopping himself down on your bed. YOUR BED.

"what'd you say?" minho repeats. he has a few raspberries in his hand.

did he carry them all across campus..to eat them here ? you sometimes question his questionable habits and ways of thinking.

"don't feel like telling you" you cock back. placing your hands on your face and sighing.

were you that needy that for some reason his cologne made your breath fasten-

"what's gotten you so..." his voice trails off, beginning to question why you were so irritable. "...hot and bothered."

"i am not hot and bothered so kindly shut up"

you blurt out, blinking at him and thats when you realise.

where had you thrown the vibrator? did you put it back in your hiding spot or was it still in the bathroom...

"this says otherwise." and to your worst nightmare, minho is holding up the toy.

its like your blood runs cold. theres nothing you can say. or do. except go speechless and motionless.

"pretty cheap, don't you think?" observing it so casually. you feel yourself get wetter. his fingers catching it mindlessly.

"s-stop playing around with it" you stutter, suddenly feeling shyer than ever.

minho smirks and you unconciously press your thighs together.

"it doesn't work properly, does it."

switching it on. it buzzes loudly in the silence of the room. its vibrations are hardly anything.

you've had enough and you grab his wrist. pausing in shock when the buzzing becomes louder. you can feel it vibrating.

he presses down on it harder and it nearly vibrates out of his grip.

how had he managed to get it to its highest setting-

"did you cum? or are you just staining your panties right now as we speak." he snorts out, manspreading.

"cause this wasn't even switched on properly"

☆

you find yourself laying on your back. his hand slithered past the waistband of your pants. pressing it right over your cunt. teasingly moving the rounded tip up and down.

"needy pussy"

he's on top of you. smirking and observing every single change in your expressions.

"min-hho-" squirming under him. your hands flying down to weakly tug on his wrist. eyes struggling to stay focused.

"i must admit. hearing you say my name like that makes me want to see how you'll be if I fuck you"

sadistically keeping his pressure firm. nudging it under your panties.

"you're so much better like this, baby"

minho smirks. chuckling at the way you push yourself deeper into the bed. hips bucking upwards to escape his teasing. its cold when it comes in contact with your clit. the tips of his fingers rubbing into your folds everytime he played around with the toy.

"lee.minho a-ah" you writhe out, voice turning whiny. the familiar sensation builds up. except its more intense than ever.

he purposely turns the setting lower and you whimper in disappointment.

"maybe if i rub this..." pushing the vibrator all over your folds. a breathy gasp escaping his lips at how slicked up your cunt was.

"...or maybe if i touch this soaked cunt" dropping the vibrator and slipping his index finger through your slippery swollen lips.

"shit baby, did i get you this wet." and you know he's going to tease you for days if not months.

"you hate me, d-don't you" you whisper,shooting him a glare when he traces a digit over your clit.

eyes widening and breath quickening with how he maintains eye contact with you. bringing his head down to grunt in your ear. his fingers slapping your pussy meanly.

you whine, gripping his biceps. the leather jacket thrown on the edge of your bed.

"i hate you alright." he whispers, rubbing into your wetness slowly. minho chuckles. "filthy girl. you're throbbing on my fingers"

"i hate you so much that i jerk off to your pictures or that tone you use when you're pissed at me...i hate you to the point I cum so hard just picturing you taking my dick"

you can't control the fluttering feeling. coating his fingers even more so.

"i h-hate you more"

theres no heat in your words. gasping and legs quivering against his thicker thighs. keeping you open, unable to close your legs around his hand.

"hm, you do? tell me how much you hate me, kitten"

"i d-do...f-fuck" eyes rolling back in pleasure. desperately trying to chase your orgasm but he doesn't let you.

"yeah? you hate me so much that you're letting me touch you." minho says, voice going deeper. his ears are a shade of red and his lips parted.

"you're wet and begging for more under me. is that cause you hate me, sweetheart. or is that just you being you"

he quickens his pace. circling hard over your swollen and aching clit.

till you're throwing your hands around his neck. pulling him onto you entirely while you cum. its the hardest you've ever orgasmed.

maybe it was cause it had been so long...or you were sure it was because of him.

"there we go, good kitty" riding your high.

taking you by surprise when he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. so you push a few strands of hair out of his face. not letting go of him just yet.

"don't call me that" you whisper, struggling to hold in your smile. his lips curve upwards into a subtle smirk. kissing your neck slowly..

"but now that I know you're so pliant, i claim you as one of my cats"

your legs giving in when he gets up. wiping his coated fingers on his jeans. it leaves a wet stain.

"again as I said." you lift your head up, confused.

"this thing is useless!" grabbing the vibrator like he had personal beef with it. flinging it casually somewhere behind you.

"choose me. customize, personal talk, boyfriend material, protection...all in one package, baby"

pointing to himself.

he reaches over to the abandoned raspberries on the counter. walking back to stuff one small red berry in your mouth. smiling when you savour it.

"good kitty"

.

.

"is that minho hyung's jacket you're wearing?" felix' eyes widen. wondering why you were wearing the leather jacket.

"yeah and he told me i could wear it when i meet him for dinner tonight" you reply, lacing your boots up.

"YOU'RE HAVING DINNER WITH HIM?!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

I wanna be his dinner- GOD HE'S SO ARGHSBSJAKJW HAHAHAHIWHEHSHS

[spurbleu]

“i want to kiss you. not on your mouth, but on your most secret scars, your ashy black & journeyed knees, your ring finger, the trigger finger, those hands the world fears so much.”

- danez smith, ‘king the color of space/tower of molasses and marrow’

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

you kiss him, and simon struggles to understand.

you dedicate yourself to it, a particular worship that a younger you might’ve called dirty. it’s as if you consider it self indulgence, the way you foil into the divots his war, his regret- even, especially, his violence. the parts of him that made him anxious to be as far as he could from you, while never leaving your side.

you trace the catastrophes that draw out in thin and thick across his back. hold the grimy, coarse part of his jaw, the bend of his nose. perfection cradling imperfections without so much of a flinch. you kiss, kiss, his hands. you touch the release of a trigger and the monster that festers beneath bruising nail with the mouth you pray with- and he…he…

blurs.

can’t seem to find a thread of himself when you hold him. unravels into blisters, bruises, scars and bullets- until your kissing all of it. cradling him in vestal palms, holding him together as he spills from your joints.

his filth has made your lips swollen, but the mercy in your eyes burns the guilt and gives him respite. you gave him a hummingbird heart when he had bear hands, and yet you hold both.

(you didn’t tame him, but that’s what it is, isn’t it? letting a wild dog be- and somehow it made him more domesticated than if you pulled out the leash. isn’t sure what to call that yet, but you give him time.)

he’s convinced he’ll never find out what you are, because no human he’s known gives like you can.

“si? you’re drifting off again.”

“…yer jus too fuckin warm.”

[ruinix]

Can you write a story about Quinn Hughes asking yin to move in?

Hello, lovely. It has been long since you submitted this ask, hasn't it? I apologize. I am the slowest. But here it is! I hope it meets your expectations. 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Stay with me

TW/CW: None, Fluff (kisses and everything), Just Quinn yearning

Count: 1296 words | Masterlist

You’re late. Uncharacteristically late, but it’s not like Quinn has somewhere else to be. It’s his maintenance day after all. He shifts on his seat. He’s on a park bench, tugging his cap down to hide from the glare of the sun. The weather’s not at all hot, but he’s sweating bullets. His heart pounds in his chest. He’s nervous.

His pocket feels heavy. The key—which he clipped on a keyring with keychains of the Canucks’ logo, a hockey jersey with his number and his last name, and your favorite animal and flower—feels like a heavy piece of his soul. He slips his hand into his pocket and grips it tightly that his knuckles turn white. It’s the key to his apartment. He wants you to move in with him. He needs you too.

Every second that passes without you in his house feels like an eternity he dreads. Sure, you come over but it’s not enough. He doesn’t like how silent his house turns whenever you leave. He doesn’t like it when you insist on taking your laundry and do them to your place—he has his own washing and dryer machine. Why would you need to go to your place? But he always swallows down his protest because he knows how particular you are with your clothes.

Don’t you realize that he already got the model of your machines? What about the same brands of detergent and fabric softener in the cupboards? How his clothes now smell like yours?

Quinn doesn’t think you are picking that up, so he made bolder moves. Like making room for your clothes in the walk-in closet. Like the well-stocked cabinet in the restroom with your shampoo, conditioner, hair masks, skin care, and even feminine products. Like how you have your own tableware and fucking house slippers. Still, without fail, you pack up everything you bring, and you go back to your place.

It’s driving him insane.

However, it’s clear to him that he needs to directly ask youif he wants you to stay with him. Hence, the reason why he asked you out today. He asked you out for coffee. Fucking coffee. Quinn groans, palming his face at how silly that is.

His exact words were, through text, “I want to try a cappuccino. Come with me?”

He almost banged his head against the wall after he pressed send and reread his text. Why? Because you have been giving him cappuccino from time to time. You bring it—or any other beverage like tea or a different coffee—whenever you come over. So, it is fucking stupid to say he wanted to try one.

Like the angel you are, you replied, “I know a place! Meet you at the park, Q. 3pm!”

You didn’t even correct him, didn’t give him a slight chance to be more embarrassed by saying that he already drank cappuccino, didn’t even hesitate to send him loads of emoji blowing a kiss. You are so sweet. His need for you only grows from that.

He truly needs you to wake up next to him and not pack up.

He needs you to stay.

He needs all your belongings in his place. In the room he has been working on. There is plenty of space for every article of clothing, for every season, and so much more space to fill. He needs your makeup on the vanity he set up. He needs your work things in the office he prepared.

He needs you.

Your presence. Your laugh echoing on his walls. Your scent in his sheets, the sofa, the whole fucking air of his space. He needs your messes—the coffee mug that you leave for him to wash, the unfolded mess of a fleece blanket on the sofa, the stuffed toys you occasionally bring, the shuffling of his books in his shelves, and more. He needs these traces of your existence to stay and never disappear.

He needs you everywhere.

He doesn’t like it when you leave, because every time, you take away every sense of warmth in his place.

It’s not the same without you.

He hopes you accept this—

“Quinn!” Your voice makes him sit up, making his thoughts pause, his head immediately turning towards your fast approach.

You’re wearing comfortable clothes, a slightly oversized sweater and a skirt. Your lips are painted with your favorite shade of a lip gloss—is it lip gloss or stain, he’s not so sure—and it suits you so well. It makes your skin glow. Your hair flows and bounces. The sun shines so perfectly on you that you look like a fucking angel. So beautiful. His chest squeezes. You’re not coming as quickly as he needs you to, so he stands up and intercepts you with a hug.

Oh, the way you melt into his hug.

Your arms wrap over his shoulders, pressing his chest against his. He swears that he can feel your heart beating. It’s as fast as his. So strong in your chest. Can you feel his? He both hopes you do and don’t. He doesn’t want you to know he’s nervous. It will worry you.

He kisses you briefly, a shiver running down his back when you kiss him back. After a few moments, he reluctantly parts from you. You grin, taking his hand and basically dragging him to a café just a couple blocks away.

Everything feels like a blur.

From ordering the cappuccino to sitting down and listening to you ramble about how your day went.

Quinn can barely focus because for every passing minute, the key in his pocket grows heavier, heavier, and heavier. His chest starts to ache beyond his nervousness. He softly places a hand over yours. You instantly pause, waiting so patiently for him to speak. Your eyes are wide and bright. You even lean forward to emphasize your focus. That eases him. Slightly.

Taking out the key from his pocket, overturning your hand with his shaky ones, he places it on your palm. He clears he throat and says, “Will you move in with me?”

He doesn’t know what to expect. This can go whichever way. He’s scared, but the longer he stares at you, the more he realizes that he doesn’t have to be. Even if you say no, he can ask again in the future. He can wait for you to be comfortable and live with him. He can and will.

Then your other hand softly traces and inspects the key and the keychains. Quinn’s heart races harder when your smile grows brighter. His breath catches when you finally meet his eyes.

“Yes,” you softly say. “I’ll move in with you, Quinn.”

Quinn grips your hands tightly, a sigh of relief escaping him, then he kisses your knuckles. One by one. His eyes are tearing up, but he blinks them away.

“I’m so happy,” he explains as a tear still escapes him. Even more when you wipe them away with your thumbs. “Sorry—”

You’re instantly on him, sitting on his lap, kissing him to stop any more apologies. You’re so sweet. He’s so lucky to have you and now you’re moving in with him. Fuck, he can shout right now, scream his lungs out that his girl will be living with him, but he holds himself back.

He deepens the kiss instead, tongue sliding over the seam of your lips for permission which you grant immediately.

He loves you so much.

Now, he needs to help you pack. The faster you get your things loaded in a truck or his car, the faster he can get to keep you to himself.

But when you moan into his lips, Quinn decides that it can wait.

Just a bit.