#silly drabble

[surielstea]

I'm sorry but I just read Undercover Affection (which was ABSOLUTELY amazing) and the first thought on my mind at the end of it was "Rhys won't be getting his debrief anytime soon" lol

THIS GAVE ME SUCH A SILLY IDEAAA

Read this fic to understand what this little drabble about 💙💙

“They should be back by now.” Rhys’ voice broke the silence, a mixture of frustration and worry in his tone. It was late—far too late for him to still be awake, especially when his mate needed rest.

“Go to sleep, Rhys.” Feyre’s voice was muffled, her face pressed into the pillows, the weight of motherhood clearly pulling her under. “I’m sure they’re already back, just tired… they’ll debrief tomorrow.” She added, her words slurred by the drowsiness seeping into her body.

“No,” Rhys insisted, though his voice lacked the conviction he hoped for. “Azriel wouldn’t wait to debrief. Something’s not right.”

He shifted, sitting up in the dark, his eyes scanning the room restlessly. Feyre, her features softened by exhaustion, barely responded, but the tired sigh that escaped her lips spoke volumes.

“They’re likely sleeping, just like we should be.” She muttered, a hint of exasperation beneath her words. “We both need rest, Rhys.”

But Rhys was already slipping out of bed, unable to shake the feeling gnawing at him. He reached for her hand for a moment, brushing his thumb over her skin, and she sighed, the soft breath of a woman on the brink of sleep.

“Can you check on Nyx when you come back?” Feyre mumbled, her eyes barely open, already drifting. Her trust in him was a comforting balm, even in this restless state.

Rhys smiled softly, brushing a lock of her hair from her face, his gaze lingering on the serenity she carried even in sleep. “Of course, darling.” He whispered, placing a gentle kiss to her forehead before he winnowed away.

Outside, The Cabin was quiet, the wards preventing anyone from entering unnoticed. Rhys stood in the shadows, the familiar pulse of his power radiating as he reached for Azriel through their bond, his voice firm and commanding.

“You two alive in there?”

Azriel’s voice, strained and breathless, echoed in his mind. “Barely.”

The immediate concern that flared in Rhys’ chest made his heart thud painfully against his ribs. “Are you in danger?” he demanded, stepping toward the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

“If you come in here, it’ll be the last choice you ever make,” Azriel snapped, his warning sharp, tense.

Rhys froze, caught off guard. The sheer force of protectiveness in Azriel’s tone made something evidently clear, the primal aspect of the Frenzy twisting Az’s usually calm demeanor. It was rare for his friend to act this way, and Rhys knew that the mating bond made people act in ways they couldn’t always control.

A smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “So, my plan worked?”

“Rhys. Out of my head, I don’t have room for you.” Azriel’s voice was tight, almost pained.

Rhys chuckled, a low sound of amusement and disbelief. He leaned against the doorframe, deciding to push his luck a little. “I’ll have the others cover your workload for the next week.”

Azriel gritted his teeth, irritation laced with exhaustion. “Make it two.”

Rhys didn’t answer at once, the amusement flickering in his eyes. He nodded to himself, already winnowing back toward home.

When he arrived, his eyes fell first on the soft glow coming from Nyx’s room. He moved quietly down the hallway, his footsteps barely making a sound on the wooden floors. Peeking inside, he found his son nestled in the crib, his tiny chest rising and falling with each peaceful breath, a serene smile stretching across Rhys’ face as he marveled at the small being who had changed their lives so completely.

With a final, affectionate glance, he closed the door softly, the faintest of smiles lingering on his lips.

Returning to his bedroom, he closed the door behind him with a soft click, the weight of the night settling into his bones. The room was dim, the only light coming from the gentle glow of the moon streaming through the curtains. Feyre stirred as he slipped back into bed, and her voice was barely a whisper as she reached for him.

“Are they sleeping?” Her voice, thick with exhaustion, was a balm to his fraying nerves.

Rhys brushed his lips over her brow, a warm kiss that spoke volumes of his love for her. “Far from it, darling,” he murmured against her skin, his voice thick with affection. He smiled softly, watching her face as she began to drift off.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, despite her exhaustion. “Plan worked then, hm?” she mumbled, the words slurring together as sleep took over.

Rhys nodded, though she was already slipping deeper into slumber before he could respond. The serene expression on her face mirrored their son’s, and for a moment, Rhys allowed himself to simply bask in the quiet.

He kissed her again, once, then twice, his love and gratitude for her reflected in each gentle touch. As the peaceful rhythm of her breathing lulled him into a sense of calm, Rhys finally let go of the tension that had been gnawing at him all night.

He pulled her closer, settling beside her, and in the quiet of the night, he finally let sleep claim him as well.

[artytaeh]

lorenzo berkshire is the type of protective boyfriend who jumps to your defense. so there's another student who comes to you with the wrong intentions? attempting to make a joke out of you?

oh, he gets pissed. enzo settles a hand on his shoulder, almost making the guy think that he made such a popular kid laugh.

and there, just when he thinks that lorenzo is about to laugh with him and even invite him to the slytherin quidditch team's circle—fist straight to the nose. immediately. one would think it's scary, how lorenzo's cynical smile becomes such an intimidating scowl; an innocent gesture becoming a painful punch.

the message is clear.

the warning is sent in silent waves that will become gossip tomorrow.

no one messes with berkshire's girl.

[ophieslibrary]

Been thinking a lot about Task Force 141 & reader today. Reader getting captured on mission & the boys worry about getting them back. Except they didn’t need to worry at all.

Getting captured on a mission and taken to a secondary location where they begin torture for information on the infamous men of the 141. But what these idiots didn’t realize is that they left the bindings just a little too loose. So naturally they’re broken, and all the enemies are killed. Brutually. They were a small team that managed to escape to a safe house of sorts, all their other comrades were killed by the boys.

Now the boys are going fucking crazy. They searched up and down the base 3 times. Nothing. They even take a few stragglers that weren’t quite gone yet. They question, interrogate, torture until finally one of these little birds sings about a safe house a couple miles from base in the woods.

The head straight there armed to the nines expecting a fire fight to the death. Instead what greets them is blood and guts and bone. Corpses littering the floor around a table. Atop the table sits their sweet, sunshine in human form, team member. Swinging legs back and forth humming a song about a bunny in the forest.

Price is proud. Taking out every enemy alone is no small feat, even if it was a smaller squad.

Ghost is relieved. Not dead and seemingly okay, minus a few minor cuts and bruises.

Gaz is terrified. Covered in blood head to toe that is clearly belonging to the corpses laying around, and just singing.(!?)

Soap.. Soap knows that song.

Little Bunny Foo Foo hopping through forest, picking up the field mice and bopping them on their heads.

xx

I’m sitting in Urgent Care waiting to see if I have Strep and I couldn’t get this out of my head. It’s a little silly but I HAD to write it.😂🩵

Requests are: OPEN

[lostwriter--xx3]

Sirius' wedding day James: Y'know, I think it's kind of unfair how you went back on your promises. Sirius: Huh? James: Remember how you promised I'd be your best man no matter who you married? Sirius: Okay but- James: And today you're getting married but REMUS is the best man! Sirius: Okay, Prongs - James: I don't know, seems kind of unfair. Sirius: But Prongs, I'm marrying YOU. How can you- James: Oh well, promises are promises. Sirius: FFS...

[arielchelby]

It's Daenerys... and it's Jon!

And it’s almost fall! Do you know what you’ll be writing/creating for the Jonerys October Falling for You event? Also, if you haven’t joined already, we’d love to see you at the Female Run Jonerys Discord (Barbie Land approved 😘)

This beautiful MB and awesome edit were made by @moondancer71 !

Crossing the veil into the Real World was rougher than expected and Dany’s knees hit the pavement hard. Jon was quick to bring her to her feet. The surroundings were darker and dirtier than she was used to and she suddenly became aware of the groups of men staring at her as they passed by.  Dany was used to people looking at her with respect and admiration - but this was something else. These men were looking at her in a way that made her icy with panic.  “Jon,” she whispered, but he was already drawing his sword.  “Kneel before your queen!”  His show of force was answered with quizzical expressions.  “Stop, Jon!” she said, grabbing his arm. “You can’t Wall here!” 

[siriuslystargazing]

They say when a person dies the life they lived flashes before them like a sick memory book. When sirius fell through the vail he felt a momentary pull from the land of the living and of the dead. Some call this limbo.

Sirius laid in wait at limbo when a familiar face appeared. Like his own face all sharp and full of that French aristocratic arrogance but kinder and younger he was not a man nor a boy he to was stuck in a limbo. A limbo of youth.

“Regulus?” Sirius breathed looking at his brother. Regulus didn’t say anything he just led Sirius to a doorway from the white of limbo to the darkness of death. “Is it terrifying?” Sirius sounded like a scared child but regulus smiled again placing a comforting hand on his brothers shoulder

“No. I don’t think so” Regulus looked into the inky abyss “it’s the way it is y’know, everything must come to an end” Sirius turns to Regulus “the drip finally stops” Regulus pushed his hand into the darkness as water spilled out. Sirius finally accepted he was dead. He knew it would take him long to figure it out.

“I guess I’ll see you on the other side?” Sirius huffed a laugh but Regulus turned to him and frowned

“Oh Sirius, there is no other side for you. This is it.” Regulus let the water from the abyss consume him dragging him to his final resting. Sirius tried to reach in after his brother but stopped the fear of going consumed him.

Then a hand grabbed the back of his shirt dragging him away from the black door, the white light of limbo sears and glowed bright and a flash everything changed.

The sound of muffled sobs and the feel of a cold hard ground shook him to life. Sirius drank the air back into his lungs bolting up right into the warm arms of his lover.

“I thought I lost you” Remus voice choked out “I thought I would never see you again” Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus holding onto him for dear life.

[bunny-jpeg]

simon doesn't have social media - he has a whatsapp to message exactly two types of people: military personnel (outside of their formal channels) and you. it was easier that way to keep everyone in one chat and the app was pretty handy.

you had never seen someone's phone storage be under fifty percent, but he didn't have much on the phone. most of the storage was taken up by the apps already pre-installed and photos - the man loved his photos.

his memory wasn't the best, he had his hunches as to why that was. so when he was home, he always took photos. especially ones of you. you hated when he sent you the worse ones - the time you tripped over your laces on a walk through the park, that time you just devoured your taco during a dinner date.

and all the photos of you asleep. so many photos of you asleep.

simon loved them all because they were photos of you. you didn't have to be all done up with the right angles or lighting. he wanted to remember you - so even when the distance felt large and unbearable. he could remember the times you two spent together. that exact walk in the park, that exact dinner date. a million little moments together, with the promise of a million more.

the whatsapp chat was like a scrapbook of your relationship - every i love you, the shopping lists, the times of returning flights and trains, the memes you sent (and he had no idea what they were meant to be), the pictures of wild flowers he'd take because they reminded him of you. a million messages flowed between you two - hundreds of photos and thousands of i love yous. good mornings in total different time zones, rants about work, the various emojis you sent and simon would respond with proper text. the i miss yous and the i love yous mixed together, yearning for return but keeping the love alive.

it was all mapped out through your frequent text messages.

and while you could map out your entire relationship through your whatsapp chat, there was a certain collection of photos that permeated through the chat. - simon riley didn't have social media. but he did love sending you some nudes.

you told him that he could have a thirst trap instagram which he replied with, "why would i? i don't want anyone else lookin' at what's yours." and for the first time in your entire relationship he used an emoji. the winking face one. <3

a/n: this got away from me- this was originally supposed to be about simon not understanding memes and you being the first to show them to him.... oops.

[theorist-fox]

Can I interest you in some silly sex with Simon? 🧎🏻‍♀️‍➡️

18+

Word count: 1k.

CW: nothing really. Just silly sex. Just giggling sex. Just I-need-to-give-this-man-some-humanity sex. Simon is ticklish and you find out, that's the plot.

Masterlist 🦊

You look delectable straddling his hips.

Naked and soft, plump tits sitting prettily in his hands. His thumbs swipe idly around your perked nipples as you ride him slowly, early morning sun peeking through the curtains and lapping at your skin. What a way to wake up, what a sight.

He stares at your lips and how they part for him—something he still has to get used to, though he probably never truly will. How dulcet does his name sound if it’s your voice whispering it, how beautiful your eyes when they take in his face.

Soft hands are pressed on his chest for leverage, and you’re treating him with a view he keeps pinned to the forefront of his brain—gliding your cunt until you’re chock-full of him, stroking yourself until you’re shivering.

He likes it when he’s on top, sure. He’s used to taking the lead and orchestrating every detail, in and out of the job. 

But when you allow him to sit back and take it? Hell, sign him up. He’d do it every day. Especially when it’s this lazy sex here, in which you’re canting your hips to cum before he does, giving him the blissful chance of feeling you clench around him when he's still hard. 

Goosebumps rise under your nails as they graze down his chest and brush his stomach. Your hands wander blindly on his belly, then his sides, as you clock his eyes with your heavy ones, panting softly, idly—my beautiful, beautiful girl.

But then you inadvertently brush his ribs, and he stiffens—even squirms, and your movements come to a halt.

You blink as conscience returns to you slowly, and the room sinks into tense silence. His cock twitches inside of you when you tilt your head inquisitively, squinting your eyes.

Experimentally, you brush your fingertips against his ribs again, and his biceps flatten to his sides, trapping your hands.

Your eyes widen, and his do the same.

“Don’t.”

You gasp, “Oh my God.”

“Darling, no.” He warns, but you’ve clearly made up your mind already.

Your lips are curled in a smile that promises mischief, and he can only give up, sit back, and count his losses.

“Darling, yes.”

Simon feels your fingers wiggle under the tight press of his arms, but no matter his strength, they're seemingly useless against that playful resolve you're displaying.

His cock is still embarrassingly hard inside you, and Simon reckons it won't soften any time soon. You don’t seem eager to get off him either, thus prolonging the torture with each tiny movement you make.

He inhales sharply and fights tooth and nail to school his expression into neutrality. His eyes are narrowed, and his jaw is locked tight. The only thing giving him away is the flush of his cheeks, getting pinker by the second because he refuses to open his mouth to breathe a much-needed lungful of air. Knowing that if he would, he'd bark a laugh that would proclaim you as the winner of this fight.

He would never.

You roll your hips, then—cheap trick. He unravels with a shaky breath, and his biceps give out enough for you to slip your hands away.

And then, he knows he's done for.

“Cut it out.” He barks, trying to sound stern and miserably failing. He knows because you're laughing even harder.

Your fingers feel like tiny bugs crawling up his sides, and they make his breath catch in his throat.

“Never.” You say, with a grin that scrunches your nose. A smile that would normally make his heart throb, but right now just makes him wish he were a lesser man so he could throttle you.

“Fuckin’-“

You chuckle.

You evil little cunt.

Resistance lasts a few more seconds before he bursts.

It’s not a full laugh that leaves him; more of a wheeze that makes you chortle like a wicked witch. His chest heaves as your fingers frantically tickle his sides. Tries to get you off him by shaking his hips, but that only makes the two of you falter and moan, and then chuckle and catch your breaths.

His shoulders shake in a breathless, choking laugh that pitches upward as you continue with your assault (yes, assault—he is not being dramatic), eyes veiled with tears of frustration and mirth. He shrieks when your hands travel under his armpits—the sound makes you giggle in a way that would have him melt. 

“That laugh’s lovely, baby.” You say with a smarmy grin he wishes he could wipe with a kiss, hands unrelenting against his sides. “Sound like a kettle whistling.”

He tries to glower and push you off, but you’re surprisingly strong when you’re focused. Right now, your only goal is to apparently make him hate you—he'd rather be held at gunpoint than being forced to hold in a laugh that makes his stomach hurt.

Simon now looks shockingly harmless, with his cheeks flushed bright red and his voice an octave too high—wouldn't look dangerous if he tried.

“Tea ready, yet?” You add, batting your lashes, because why not rub salt into the already embarrassing wound marring his pride.

It’s that unfathomably stupid joke that finally makes Simon crack. He barks out a laugh that bubbles up his throat, rippling through his stomach so suddenly that you bounce above him. Your own laugh follows soon after, because each time you manage to steal one from him, your heart vibrates with loving triumph.

But still—he is Simon Riley, isn’t he? Member of Task Force 141. Lieutenant in the UK Special Forces, SAS. The Ghost. There is some pride in there, one he'd like to keep intact.

He tries to recollect his breath, sniffling, and his arms shoot out to wrap around your waist. He rolls onto his side, taking you with him.

It’s then that you find yourself in a position of utter disadvantage, on your back with your big brute of a boyfriend holding you down. You’re wide-eyed and still smiling with barely contained giggles, and he’d be lying if he said it doesn't make his heart soar.

Sure, he’s panting, still proper flushed and apple-cheeked, with shivers wrecking his spine and unshed tears in his eyes—but he takes great pride in having won yet another fight (again, not overreacting at all, if you ask him).

He grabs your wrists and pins them above your head.

You fix him with a look. “Simon, no.”

Before you can add more to your complaint, he rams his cock into you until your chest stutters, your lips mouthing around a shaky breath he drinks dry with a wet kiss.

He fucks you into the mattress, then—once, twice, until the remnants of laughter vanish from your face and you’re trembling in bliss, eyes rolled back under heavy eyelids.

He places a sloppy kiss down to your collarbone.

“Simon, yes.”

[umamaki]

Caleb who is just so fucking big that he has trouble physically fitting into your life. He’s as buff as he is tall, and as hot as it makes him, it’s becoming an inconvenience to you both. Good luck having him over if you own anything less than a king bed. Despite the amount of times his weight alone has split the bedframe, you still haven’t upgraded your sleeping situation. Even laying on his side he’s taking up more than half your mattress. You will typically lay on top of him, but even that gets uncomfortable after a while. Especially after he’s just fucked you to oblivion, assuredly leaving your entire lower half sore for the next day or three. You’ll wake up in the morning somehow underneath him, being suffocated from his huge biceps having unknowingly wrapping themselves around your small frame. Not to mention that his shoulders alone practically measure the width of your shower. He’s just too big. You don’t even entertain the idea of shower sex at your apartment. The glass panes let you watch him struggle to bend down to just get his head under the showerhead, and you feel like some sort of voyer watching him. It’s perverted, it’s creepy. Yet it’s extremely arousing, the way he barely fits into a shower you use so comfortably. And all you can do is watch him and wait until he comes out to finally satisfy your heat.

[poopwons]

———💕SISTERWIVES HEADCANNONS WITH JEAN💕———

a/n: I had a silly little thought and wrote it out. My bestie is a good 4/5 inches taller than me and Jean is a whole foot taller than me, so we thought this would be funny. Also, I’m on mobile so sorry if it looks weird.

Cw: nothing really, fluff if you can call it that, maybe slight infantilization, but I’m literally doing it to myself and honestly, this is all in good fun and not meant to be taken seriously at all.

————————————————————————

Going out in public with his girls is stressful to say the least. One of them is so short he’ll lose her in the crowd if he’s not careful. The other gets distracted. To make things worse they both had tendencies to wander. One will veer off and the other will follow, the only comfort to him is that they usually stick together.

It was easy enough to find them most of the time, Jean is tall, he towers over most people, so picking out their vibrant hair is how he usually finds them, or if he knows something that will have caught their eye, he’ll head that way and sure enough, the two of them are stopped, “oohing” and “ahhing” at this or that.

However, this weekend presented a problem. They planned to go to a con, and with all the celebrity guests that were attending it was sure to be packed. Huge crowds of people, most of them dressed up in cosplays, making it harder for him to find his girls based solely on looking for their hair; lots of art stalls, which means lots of shiny things for the girls to get distracted with. Jean has a plan though.

“Are you serious?” One of the girls scoffs, giving the other an incredulous look.

“Yeah, we aren’t wearing those.” The shorter one agrees.

Well, fuck. This was the only plan he had. How is he supposed to keep up with both of them? He can’t keep a hand on each of them the ENTIRE time.

He sighs, “it’s gonna be crowded, you both know how you are. It’s either this, or I’m tying balloons to both of your wrists or something. I gotta be able to find you.”

He’s hoping they’ll agree to it. He knows it’s probably a little embarrassing, but he has to make sure they’re okay. A crowded convention center full of strangers? There’s bound to be a creep or two thrown in, and what if something happens to one of them?

“We can make it part of a cosplay,” Jean adds, hoping it will appease them.

“What cosplay could that possibly be for?”

“I don’t know— look, will you please just do this for me?” He sounds exasperated, so it’s clear he’s been a little stressed about this.

“Would it really make you feel better?” They ask, looking at each other, speaking in that silent language they’ve developed over the years. Luckily for Jean, he’s smart. He’s picked up on their looks over the years, and thankfully he gets them to agree to his ridiculous idea.

✨Anyway, this is how Jeanie talked us into wearing silly little leashes, so he doesn’t lose us in the crowds at conventions. We are ready to cause chaos and he’s already sick of us✨

[dollyfetti]

katsuki loves your lip balm.

he’ll buy you as many different flavors and brands as you’d like, just to see the shimmery glisten it brings upon your lips. he especially loves seeing you when you’re all ready for bed, bonnet/scrunchie in your hair, your face all moistened and soft, and your lips adorably glossy.

he loves grabbing your chin and smushing his lips onto yours, smearing the product everywhere on your chin and his. he pulls back with the dorkiest grin that spreads even wider when you whine about having to reapply and your chin being all sticky.

he loves it so much that he’ll spend hundreds of dollars on it per month just to see it on you.

[nikkento-writes]

It starts with a distasteful joke from Gojo. "I bet Nanami's pretty vanilla in bed, am I right?" He nudges you playfully as he sips on his lychee mocktail in the restaurant. Your boyfriend excused himself to use the bathroom and Ieiri went out for a smoke, leaving you alone with Gojo, who you met for the first time just a little over an hour ago.

You're shocked that he'd even ask such a personal question, especially since your relationship with Nanami is still four-months fresh. Unsure how to respond, you simply laugh, not answering. When he continues to stare at you through his blindfold, your smile falters. "You're being serious?"

He smirks, clearly egging you on. "I just can't imagine our little strait-laced salary man being very fun in the sack. No offense."

You're torn between changing the subject all together into something less inappropriate and defending your lover's honor. And unfortunately for you, as the anger inside you begins to bubble at Gojo's tactless words, you choose the latter. "If you must know, he's very, very fun in the sack." You cross your arms over your chest, glaring at him. 

He shrugs, the shit-eating grin still on his face. "I just can't see it. But as long as you're satisfied, that's all that matters."

"I am very satisfied, thank you very much!" you emphasize, cheeks hot now, annoyed. Before you explode on him, Nanami and Ieiri return, so you try to contain your rage as much as possible throughout the rest of dinner.

You intend to keep his outrageous comments to yourself, not wanting to start any unnecessary drama, especially with Nanami who is above this type of ridiculousness. But remembering Gojo's smug expression makes you irate all over again. That night, while you're cuddling with Nanami, you share the story. "So, Gojo said something funny to me while you were in the bathroom." As you recount the short conversation from earlier, you keep it light-hearted, laughing about it as if it doesn't grind your gears (which it does). In all honestly, your sex life with Nanami is amazing, and while it's nobody's business but your own, you can't help being bothered that certain people think otherwise. 

When you're done, Nanami doesn't respond right away, processing it all before he speaks. "Interesting." His voice is steady, though you can sense a hint of annoyance in his tone. "He's an idiot," he adds, holding you closer, grazing his lips on your forehead. 

You giggle, snuggling into his chest. "I know."

"But...you are satisfied, right?"

The waver of uncertainty in his voice breaks your heart and you almost regret telling him. "Of course I am! You know I am!" you answer confidently, peering up at him.

He kisses your forehead. "You promise?"

Grabbing both his cheeks, you smooch him on the lips. "I promise."

Gentle kisses soon turn into sloppy ones as Nanami rolls on top of you, surrounding you in his strong and muscular body. It happens quickly; the blanket is shrugged off, clothes are stripped and scattered on the floor, your legs are spread wide for him as he eats you out voraciously, proving how much fun he can be in bed. He makes you orgasm twice like this, getting it nice and wet for his hard cock, throbbing in his fist as he strokes it. “Ride me,” he demands, laying on his back, licking his lips while you mount him.

You oblige, sinking down on his cock slowly, adjusting to his size. “Fuck, Kento,” you whine, wiggling on his lap until he bottoms out.

“Feels good, huh sweetheart?” He traces your mouth with his thumb, teasing it.

“Yes. So fucking good.” You suck on his fingers, rocking back and forth on his lap. 

He fucks you like this, his feet planted on the bed, bucking his hips up into you at a steady pace. Suddenly, his phone rings, interrupting for a moment. He glances at it, his expression tensing, showing you the name displayed on the screen: Gojo Satoru.

"Answer it," you say, grinding on him with a wicked smile on your face. "Prove him wrong."

For a split-second, he looks at you like you're crazy. But something in him snaps, probably the same thing that made you so angry earlier. Sometimes, you just want to prove yourself right. 

He picks up the phone, putting it on speaker. Gojo's voice rings out. "Nanami, I feel terrible. I said some inappropriate things to your girl - "

"Fuck me, Kento," you whine, bouncing on his lap as he thrusts up into you faster, entire body hot and electric with pleasure. 

Nanami has the phone in one hand and the other that was just in your mouth playing with your clit now. Through labored breaths, he says, "Sorry Gojo, I'm a bit busy being an absolute bore in bed. Isn't that right, kitten?" 

He holds the phone closer to you while you moan your boyfriend's name, your third climax of the night approaching quickly. "Kento, Kento, fuck me Kento!”

Satisfied, Nanami sets the phone down on the bed, gripping your hips to pound up into you, the squelching of his cock pummeling into your wet cunt so erotic and lewd. “Gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna breed this slutty little pussy.” Over the edge now, he shoots his load inside you, letting out his own husky moans. He hastily lifts you off him to eat you out one last time, his cum leaking down from your cunt onto his chin as he sucks on your swollen clit until you come on his face, moaning obscenities incessantly. Completely spent now, you pull off him to cuddle, kissing each other messily as you both come down from your high. 

"Ahem." Gojo's voice startles you as you realize that neither he nor Nanami bothered to hang up the call. Horrified, the two of you wait with bated breath for his response, noting the suggestive ruffling in the background. "I apologize. I stand corrected."

[artytaeh]

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🎨 ’

in hogwarts legacy, a portrait of a deceased minister is in the hufflepuff's dorm, and that somewhat immortalizes him.

so personally, i think that theodore would have a slight anxiety about you and his son— theo would be damned if he'd ever let his little boy grow up without his mother, like he did.

even worst without the two of you.

i think that theodore would request a portrait to be painted of the two of you, during another trip to italy; the two of you are sat on a garden, together. that immortalizes one of the moments that he was the happiest— with you.

as sad as it is, theodore finds some assurance that even if he died, even if your son becomes an orphan, the two of you would have a way to see him grow up, or offer some words of comfort shall he need it.

( theo wishes that he had a portrait of his mother— the portrait wouldn't be able to hug him, sure— but at least, he wouldn't have forgotten her voice. )

theo would also request another painting of you, and you alone. he'd give his life for you, however, theodore knows better than to trust his luck to fate's cruel decisions.

and merlin, does he pray that he'll never have to seek solace on a portrait of you. ever.

imagine if there was another portrait of him alone !! you know how in harry potter they can go to other frames? imagine theodore's portrait sneaking to yours. ☹️ he could never be without his bella.

[spurbleu]

think it’s really funny to imagine the younger men of the 141 realizing that price is actually super good with women.

soap plays knight- shows off to gawking birds, kyle’s pretty boy eyes and sharp tongue garner plenty of attention, and all simon needs to do is sit in the middle of the bar, waiting till a sweet thing asks him ‘what a big man like him is doing alone?’

price isn’t as engaged. let’s his boys have fun, but for the most part prefers to hang back. enjoy his liquor and cigarettes- let them do their thing. course, doesn’t go unnoticed. which spurs their assumption it’s not a ‘he wont’ and instead a ‘he cant’.

“‘fraid they might not like you, capm���?”

“aye gaz, play nice. ye know ta old man’s sensitive.”

“lost his spark, i reckon.”

they rib him for weeks on end about being an old man, no game, out of his prime, ect ect. it’s all light and fun of course, and combat keeps them busy enough that the jokes start to be forgotten. doesn’t occur to them that price has just been biting his tongue since the first blow.

until- night off. pub lights, tallboys and pretty women. familiar scene, type of place that has been in nasty dreams for weeks. kyle and soap are assessing the room, and simon’s silently following along. it takes them a minute to realize they’re captain is gone- but not 10 seconds to find him again- with a sweet, gorgeous bird on his arm by the bar.

silently, they watch as he effortlessly charms her. they count how many times she laughs, how eager she is to hold his arm, how, within in minutes, they’re already cozied up on a booth, nursing beer and making eyes.

and why wouldn’t she? classically handsome, mature, cute smile, a rugged exterior with a gentle execution. it’s a no-brainer for her when he offers to ‘get out of here’, and hold the muscles that breech from his shirt. doesn’t catch the way he glances over to a corner of the pub as they make their leave, small smile tugging at the burs of his mustache as he clocks the shock of his men’s faces under low lighting.

soap and kyle’s jaw break, meanwhile simon lets out a barking laugh.

“old man’s still got it.”

needless to say, all three men said nothing about losing his charm at the next debrief.

[cheriecoke]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[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."